I was halfway up the steps when the door swung open.
“Well, Lord, have mercy. Charlie Pruitt, you look like you’ve been through hell.”
I almost smiled. Eunice stood in the doorway in a soft cardigan and jeans, her bare feet tucked into slippers, and a glass of iced tea in her hand, like she wasn’t expecting company but not surprised to see me. That was the thing about Eunice—she always made you feel like you wereexactlywho she was hoping to see.
“Don’t think hell has me on their guest list just yet,” I said, scrubbing a hand over my face.
She stepped aside and drew me into the kitchen. “Come on in, my dear. Have one of Sutton’s scones, a glass of my sun tea, and tell me what’s working that restless mind of yours.”
Before we reached the breakfast nook, she pulled me into a long hug—warm and steady, the way she used to do when Magnolia and I camped out there as kids. Back then, Eunice Wilder never treated us like the rag-tag orphans trailing after her son; she treated us like family. No matter what had happened that past week—or who might have struck the match—I knew that part of her hadn’t changed.
We settled at the nook beneath the window, and I stared out over the sprawling yard. The azaleas weren’t in bloom yet, but they would be soon. Spring would come dancing into Savannah like it did, announcing itself with a trumpet of greenery and vines, blooms and bugs, humidity and brine drifting in off the bustling river.
Eunice set out an entire spread—scones, tiny cucumber sandwiches, lemon bars—because a snack in her kitchen always turned into high tea. She sat across from me, hands folded.
“I’d like to ask how Magnolia’s doing,” she said gently, “But I don’t want to pry if she would rather I not know, given the circumstances.”
I filled a plate—there was no refusing food in her house—then rested my elbows on the table. “She’s keeping to herself. Any news on Dane?”
Eunice shook her head. “None, sweetheart. Not a whisper.”
I picked at my plate, a sudden wave of unease washing over me at the thought of him, still out there, still a threat to my sister. Because, truth be told, if she weren’t with Lee that night, she would be dead. The memory of the fire, the way the smoke filled my lungs so quickly, and the waves of flames flickered furiously, eating away at the walls of my childhood home, suddenly started playing on a loop in my mind. I couldn’t stopthe images. I couldn’t stop remembering how, for a flicker of a moment, I thought that I wasn’t just an orphan but truly alone, that Magnolia was gone.
“How are you holding up, Charlie?” Eunice said, pulling me from the memory. “You look tired.” I had to laugh. What a nice, southernly way to say I looked like shit. I probably did. I rubbed the back of my neck and leaned back on my side of the booth. “Tired is a good word, I suppose. I haven’t slept since…”
Since the fire. Since Tally left. Hell, since the day she bulldozed into my life.
Eunice poured more tea. “Before Lee drove back to Nashville, he mentioned you were seeing someone. Was it Tally? You two were getting along quite well every time I bumped into y’all.”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” I said. There weren’t words for what Tally had become to me; she’d felt less like a girlfriend and more like a missing piece I’d never known I’d lost. “It’s over now. She’s gone.”
I stared out the window, searching the brittle lawn for answers.
Eunice’s voice cut through the quiet. “You’ve always flown guard for Magnolia, Charlie, but have you thought that spending all your strength shielding her might keep you from finding your own sky?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She’ll carve her path, stubborn or not. You can’t steer it for her, and you can’t stay ground-tethered forever waiting to catch her. You can’t find your own way in this world, Charlie, if you keep focusing on clipping your sister’s wings.”
I traced a circle on my saucer. “She’s all I’ve got.”
“Maybe,” Eunice said, “but she’s not all you are.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “It’s time to let yourself want a life that’s yours.”
Her words sat heavy and painfully true in the hush between us. I didn’t answer; I didn’t have to. She gave my fingers one last press, then released me to my thoughts, the untouched scone sitting on my plate, and the first hint of purpose stirring in my chest.
But what could I do?
She was gone.
“Sutton said you wanted to talk to me about something?”
She nodded, a tip of her lip letting me know she was welcome to changing the subject, only if I was. “I did. I wanted to pick your brain about giving Magnolia what would have been her wedding gift.”
“It better not be a bar,” I deadpanned.
She shook her head. “We wouldn’t, actually, be giving it to her. She would have to pay us back. And it’s not a bar. It’s an empty canvas for whatever she might dream up on her own.”
“On her own,” I parrotted.
