“Don’t be silly. These are hard times.” She put her hands on Linnea’s shoulders. “Back when I was in financial”—she lifted her shoulders and her lips in an ironic smile—“and emotional trouble, my mother welcomed me into this little house, knowing I’d find my way. And I did. And now, it is my turn to offer the same to you. This is what we Rutledge women do. We take care of each other. And other women as well. It’s a tough world out there for women, as you’ve just experienced.” She let her hands drop. “So, darling girl, no thanks necessary. This is your legacy. And the purpose of this dear house. With so many blessings, we pay it forward.”
Linnea felt the responsibility of her aunt’s mandate profoundly. This was a passing of the torch. There were no words, so she remained silent.
Cara said, “Frankly, I’m more worried about the aquarium. How long will they be able to survive with their doors closed? They still have all those animals to feed and house.”
“They’ve kept on a skeleton crew. I know it was a hard decision for Kevin to furlough us.”
“He had no choice. Bosses have to make the tough decisions and do what’s best for the institution.” She sighed then shook her head and said wryly, “Beware the Ides of March.”
Linnea looked at her aunt sitting across from her. Always cool and practical, she had a long history in management. She’d left Chicago almost two decades ago to settle in the lowcountry, but even on the island, she maintained her city chic. In jeans and a crisp chambray shirt, she looked elegant. Her hair was cropped short again and framed her face in a style that flattered her cheekbones and dark eyes.
Cara had the dark Rutledge looks of her father, Stratton. Linnea, like her father—Cara’s older brother, Palmer—had the softer, petite, blond genes from Grandmother Lovie. As always, Linnea was taken by the way her aunt casually waved her hand in the air as she spoke or raised her fingers to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Linnea studied the subtle and refined gestures, wanting to emulate this woman she admired. Cara was not merely elegant or in possession of a razor-sharp intellect, she was generous. Family came first with her. Cara might look like her father, but in this, she was most like her mother, Lovie.
Cara glanced at her watch. “I really must go,” she said, rising. “Don’t worry, Sweet-tea. Keep the faith. We always pull through somehow, don’t we?” She looked over toward the house. “Hope! Time to go, honey.”
From inside they heard a wail: “I don’t wanna go to the doctor.”
Cara met Linnea’s eye, smirked, and went to fetch her daughter. Linnea heard a brief complaint before Cara walked out of the house with her daughter’s hand firmly in hers.
“Come for dinner Sunday?” Cara asked Linnea as they walked together down the gravel driveway to Cara’s car. “I’m hoping David will be home.”
“I thought he was back.”
Cara’s lips tightened as she shook her head. “Not yet. The coronavirus is hitting London hard and he’s been trying to get out for days. Flights are packed and there’s talk of shutting down the airports.”
Linnea heard the worry in her voice. “If anyone can get home, David will.” She smiled. “He’s like a homing pigeon.”
Cara met her eyes with a grateful smile. “He’s pretty resourceful.” Then she said in a more upbeat tone, “Shrimp and grits sound good?”
“I’ll be—” Linnea broke off. Catching a movement from the second-floor window of the carriage house next door, she stopped short, gripping Cara’s arm.
“What?”
“There’s someone in the carriage house,” Linnea said sotto voce.
Cara looked up to the window and broke into a wide grin as she waved. “That’s John.”
Linnea felt her throat grow dry. “John Peterson?”
Cara laughed and looked at her with amusement. “Of course, John Peterson.”
Myriad emotions flooded Linnea. This shock threatened to break the dam of her emotions, already brimming over with worry over being laid off.
“What’s he doing here?” she demanded, her cry sounding petulant to her own ears.
“He had a conference in the area and stopped to visit his mother. Emmi, of course, was over the moon. She dotes on that boy. While he was here, he got word one of his colleagues in San Francisco tested positive for coronavirus. So, rather than take a chance of infecting others, he put himself into quarantine in his old apartment. He’s worried not only about his mother, but about Flo. In her eighties, she’s vulnerable. I admire him for that decision.”
Linnea’s brain was stuck on the fact that John was back. Living next door. She hadn’t seen him since their breakup a year earlier. She’d thought he was the love of her life. And then he wasn’t.
“Why didn’t Emmi tell me he was back?” she asked.
Cara’s brows rose. “Why would she? You’ve made no secret of the fact that you don’t want anything to do with John. He is her son. That put her in a tough position.”
Linnea crossed her arms. “She could have at least given me fair warning.” Her gaze shot up to Cara along with her temper. “Wait. You knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She felt the tension flare and saw the spark of indignation in Cara’s eyes, the slight lifting of the chin.
Cara waited to speak, considering her words. “I suppose I could have told you. And might have if I wasn’t so preoccupied.” She paused. “Excuse me if I’m worried about my husband. The fact is, I just didn’t give John’s being here much thought.”
Linnea swallowed, awash with shame for her show of pique. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped at you like that. I’m all off-balance, thinking only of myself.” She reached out to place a hand on Cara’s arm encircling her daughter. “Is there anything I can do for you? Watch Hope for a while? Make you a casserole?”
Cara’s shoulders lowered and she quickly shook her head. “Please, no casseroles!” She smiled. “You know what I really need?”
Linnea shook her head.
“A nanny.”
Linnea’s heart sank. “Oh?”
“I have to get the house ready for David’s arrival and Hope is cranky. She hasn’t been able to play with anyone since they’ve closed the school. Not even her cousin Rory. Heather is under lockdown with him and Leslie.” She sighed dramatically. “Hope is clinging to me. Honestly, I could use a break to get something done. I’ll pay you, of course. And”—she raised a brow—“don’t you need a job?”
“I do. And of course I’ll be your nanny.”
Cara looked skyward. “Thank heaven. I’ll take her to the doctor’s for her checkup, then could you watch her for a few hours? I want to spread plastic in the hallway, spray things down, get everything ready.”
“Just drop her off.”
“Thanks. Better go.” Cara looked meaningfully at the carriage house window. “Be nice,” she said cajolingly, then leaned forward to kiss her.
“How long is John going to be here? Gordon is coming from England in April. I don’t think I can bear the battle of the beaux.”