“It might’ve mattered a while ago, but not anymore.” Her tone changed. “Until now. We’re not talking about a dress to wear to work or on a date. We’re talking about your wedding dress!” Her voice grew more impassioned. “You’re my soul sister. My best friend. I’m your maid of honor.” She pointed at Cara. “And don’t you dare correct me and tell me I’m your matron of honor. I’m not married. I’m a maid. I don’t want to be a matron. That sounds so old.”
“Maid it is.” Cara didn’t dare smile, but her lips twitched.
Emmi nodded sharply to imply that issue was settled. “Now,” she said, “I don’t understand why you’re dragging your feet on getting a wedding dress, but it’s time. And I hope you’ll ask me to be there. This is the one time it does matter to me. I love you, Cara. I want to share this with you, if you’ll let me.”
“Of course, I’ll let you. You’re my best friend too. I couldn’t manage any of this without you. Let’s get this menu done today, and we’ll move on to the dress. Together.”
“Good,” Emmi said, her green eyes bright. “I’ve been saving bridal magazines and I’ve circled a lot of dresses I think will look fabulous on you.”
Cara wanted to groan, but loved her friend enough to simply smile and say, “Great!”
“Okay, then.” Emmi shifted in her seat to face forward. “We’d better get this show on the road.”
The red Volvo wagon lurched forward as they drove past the gates along the tabby drive toward the house. Cara slid into a parking spot, rolled up the windows, and grabbed her purse. As they stepped out into the heat of late afternoon sunshine, her gaze swept across the Ashley River. A long dock stretched out from Lowndes Grove into the racing water. She envisioned it festooned with flowers and wondered if she and David could make their exit from the wedding party in David’s boat. It might be fun, she thought with a smile, getting into the mood.
They turned and made their way to the redbrick patio in front of the shining white plantation house.
A slender, attractive woman in a vividly patterned J.McLaughlin dress stepped out from the glassed porch. The wedding planner had shoulder-length dark hair and a vibrant smile. Lifting her arm, she waved in a graceful arc over her head.
“Welcome!” called Elma Garcia.
Cara waved back, then linked arms with her best friend. “Are you ready to sample more cake?”
Emmi scrunched up her nose. “Cake, flowers, plates—I’m ready for it all. But let’s start with the wine.”
Chapter Three
Sea turtles are generally solitary creatures. They rarely interact with one another outside of courtship and mating. When it is not nesting season, sea turtles may migrate hundreds or even thousands of miles.
MUCH LATER IN the day, Cara pulled into the driveway of Primrose Cottage and turned off the car lights. Night was falling. She lazily climbed from the car and stretched. Across the car, Emmi did the same.
“I’m so stuffed, I have to loosen my dress,” Emmi said with a groan.
It was true. They’d tasted and approved the four appetizers, followed by a salad of oranges, fennel, and olives served with a delicately crisp pinot grigio. The main course was filet mignon, mashed potatoes with truffle oil, and glazed carrots, accompanied by a lush cabernet. The coconut cake was as light as a feather. And, of course, a dry and delicious champagne. Cara was the designated driver and didn’t swallow most of the wine. Emmi, however, was feeling delightfully giddy.
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” Emmi asked her. “Come on, admit it.”
“Okay,” Cara replied with a reluctant smile. “It was fun. But now,” she said, glancing at her wristwatch, “I must hurry to get to the ferry. David’s meeting me with Hope and Rory.”
“You’re going back to Dewees again?” Emmi asked. “You practically live out there now.”
The tone was slightly accusatory, and Cara knew it was because Emmi missed spending more time with her.
“You know they share a nanny, and David covers when I work late. It’s easier for me to stay there on Dewees than try to catch a ferry back home. Especially when I’m going to take her back to Dewees the next morning. Or when I’m running late—like tonight.”
“Okay, I get the hint,” Emmi said, as she retrieved the remaining white boxes full of the food samples and leftover cake that they knew Flo would enjoy.
They chatted as they walked along the pavers to the side kitchen door. The house was dark and the two women shared a worried glance.
“Flo! I’m home!” Emmi called out as she stepped inside.
It was nearly 7:30 p.m., but the kitchen and living room were empty. Emmi balanced a box on her knee and stretched her hand along the wall to the light switch. Instantly, light filled the room.
Cara followed her into the country-style kitchen, letting the screen door slam behind her, and laid the boxes on the wooden table. She could walk through this house with her eyes closed. When they were children, she and Emmi, sisters from other mothers, had played at Flo’s house. It was neutral territory, a place without as many rules. Flo’s mother was an eccentric artist who’d provided art, dancing, and singing lessons. Flo was more like an aunt to both Cara and Emmi. She had acted as the buffer between the girls and their mothers when they wanted to stay up late at a nest with the turtle team.
Years later, when Emmi was grown and divorced, she’d purchased the house from an aging Flo. Though the owners were different, as before, the kitchen doors of the two neighboring houses were always open—but with Lovie passed, their turtle team gatherings had shifted from Cara’s beach house to Emmi and Flo’s place. Cara, Emmi, and Flo continued to spend hours talking in this kitchen. Flo’s mother had decorated the Victorian house in early bohemian. After Emmi bought it, she’d promptly painted the white exterior a Caribbean blue with coral trim and tastefully decorated the house in the southern shabby-chic style that she loved. Flo never gave much mind to décor and was happy anywhere the people were kind, the food good, and the turtles nearby.
They heard Flo’s voice from the stairs. “Who’s there? Emmi? That you?”
“It’s just us chickens!” Emmi called back, opening the white baker’s box and bending near for a sniff.
Flo appeared at the kitchen entrance wrapped in a mousy-gray chenille robe, her thin white hair sticking up from her head and her blue eyes blazing. Her face was pale, and there was a look of panic in her eyes.
“Where were you?” Flo’s voice rang with fear.
Emmi’s hands stilled and she straightened to study Flo’s stricken face. All humor fled from hers, replaced with concern. “Flo,” she said in a calm voice, “I was at Lowndes Grove with Cara. The wedding venue. We went to sample the food and wine. Don’t you remember?”
Flo blinked hard several times, then shook her head. Cara saw the confusion in Flo’s eyes and hoped it was from being awakened, and not the Alzheimer’s that had been getting worse.
“I was worried,” Flo said in a scolding tone. “You left me alone. It’s late!”