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she—was gone. I turned towards the house and called Rhett to follow. But I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d missed something important.

FIVE

    I grabbed my suitcase, garment bag, and makeup case from the back of the Escape. Another wind gust, too cool for the day, beat at my back as I climbed the steps. When I unlocked the mahogany and stained-glass door, it blew open. Oddly, the wind offered no resistance when I closed the door behind me.
    I set my luggage down on the heart-of-pine floor in the foyer. Rhett followed as I wandered down the wide entry hall and through the dining room, where Gram had presided over holiday feasts. In the kitchen Gram’s grocery list was still on the refrigerator, an open copy of Southern Living on the black granite-topped island.
    I slipped into the sunroom that fringed the back of the house, hungrily exploring for more of Gram. The wall of full-length windows offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic. A half-completed crossword sat atop a stack of magazines in the sweetgrass basket by her favorite chair. I sank into the overstuffed tropical print and put my feet up on the ottoman. A soft throw spilled across the chair arm. I gathered it to me, nuzzled my face in it, and inhaled. Lavender. Gram’s favorite.
    Gram’s life passed before my eyes. When I was little, she rocked me to sleep crooning Broadway tunes. She taught me to play Scrabble, Monopoly, and poker. We had slumber parties and watched old movies wearing pajamas, wide-brimmed hats, and pearls. She taught me which glasses were for champagne, how to shag, and why life isn’t fair. She held my hair while I puked up the tequila I swiped from her liquor cabinet and she never told Mamma. It’s not that she loved me more than Blake, Merry, or Marci. It was more that Gram and I were kindred spirits.
    The doorbell chimed. Rhett raced towards the foyer and I followed. I glanced through the tall window to the right of the door. Kate Devlin stood on the porch holding a casserole dish. I couldn’t help but think of Kate as an old-fashioned Southern Belle—gentility personified. Her delicate ivory skin would never confess her age, though she was only a few years younger than Gram. Kate’s dark-chocolate hair was no doubt the same shade it had been the day she married Stuart Devlin.
    In a world where things went according to script, Kate would have been my mother-in-law. In my fantasies, she reflected a great deal on how I would have made a more suitable wife for Michael than Marci the Schemer. I fluffed my hair and opened the door.
    “Hey, Kate.” I stepped back to welcome her inside.
    “Liz, darlin’, I was hoping I’d catch you. I know you won’t have time for cooking while you’re settling in. I made you this chicken potpie.” She handed me the dish.
    Boy, word got around this island fast. “Well, thank you so much. Aren’t you sweet? Please come in.”
    Rhett sniffed at the dish and whined.
    “Stop that now,” I admonished him.
    When I looked up Kate had one foot on the top step. “Thank you, darlin’, but I can’t stay.” She started down the steps. “I’m running late for a meeting at the church. Come by and see me real soon, you hear?”
    “All right then.” I waved. “Thanks again.”
    She was inside her dark blue Lincoln MKS and headed down the drive lickety-split.
    The bottom of the dish was frosty. Women like Kate kept potpies, casseroles, and stews in the freezer ready to go for new neighbors and friends with any manner of emergency. She sure had gotten here fast—left in a hurry, too.
    I put the potpie in the freezer. It hadn’t thawed much, and I was banking calories. Mamma would not be serving a diet-friendly dinner Wednesday evening. I’d no sooner turned away from the refrigerator when Rhett started barking like a hound of hell.
    I started back down the hall and heard a key turn in the lock. The door swung open. There stood Marci the Schemer in a red linen suit and heels. With her ivory skin