“And . . .”

Carson took a small breath. “And, Mamaw . . . I can’t get back into the water. I tried today, but I just couldn’t do it . . . I’ve never felt that. Never. You know the ocean is my lifeline. I feel lost, desperate, like I’ve been cut off from my fix.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mamaw placed her palms together at her lips and considered. “But that incident in the ocean . . . That’s not all that’s bothering you, is it? You came here feeling a little lost already, didn’t you?”

Mamaw looked at Carson in a way that made Carson squirm in the chair. It was the look of someone who was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

“I guess . . .” Carson admitted.

“I thought so.” Mamaw sat back in her rocker and pushed back and forth, biding her time, like the waves beating the shores in the distance.

“I’m in trouble, Mamaw,” Carson confessed. “I’m out of work, out of my apartment, out of money.” Carson brought her hands to her face. “I’m so ashamed.”

Mamaw stopped rocking. “My dear girl. I don’t understand.” Mamaw had a way of sounding both shocked and calm. “What about that television show? It seemed to be such a success.”

“It was,” Carson acknowledged after a shaky breath. “It ran three seasons, which is a long time by industry standards. Word that it was canceled came out of the blue. They didn’t bother to explain why.” She reached out for her glass and took a long swallow of wine.

“But surely you can get another job,” Mamaw said persistently. “You’ve been working in your field for more than ten years. You’ve traveled the world, worked on films. I’ve bragged on you to anyone who would listen.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “Carson, I don’t understand. You’ve been so successful.”

She shrugged, hating to have to explain. “I don’t know . . . It’s a tough job market. The streets of L.A. are littered with folks like me trying to get a job. I’ve tried, really I have.” She sighed heavily. She couldn’t tell her grandmother that some of the connections she’d called on were men she’d slept with, or that she’d been fired from a gig for showing up intoxicated. Her reputation wasn’t as sterling as Mamaw thought.

“It’s been humiliating,” she confessed. “I hung in there as long as I could, but I’m broke.”

“Surely you’ve saved something for a rainy day?”

“I freelanced. There wasn’t much to save.” She looked at her grandmother earnestly. “And you know I’ve had a lot of experience living on a shoestring.”

Mamaw nodded, confirming her understanding that her son, Carson’s father, had been unreliable at best, negligent at worst, and that Carson had borne the brunt of that broken lifestyle. They’d moved from one place to another, living from check to check, always waiting for that screenplay that would make them rich to sell.

“There’s nothing left, Mamaw,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “It’s as though all my years of work amount to nothing.”

“Oh, honey, I know it seems like that now. But at times like this you have to take the long view. Trust me. You don’t know where this turn will take you. God never closes a door without opening a window.”

Carson pinched her lips. She didn’t dare tell her grandmother, a staunch churchgoer, that she no longer believed in God.

“What about that young man you’d been seeing? What was his name? Todd? Where does he fit into this scenario?”

Carson suppressed a shudder and downed the last of her wine. “I broke it off last winter,” she said summarily. “He took it hard, I’m afraid. Claimed I’d broken his heart and that he’d been saving for a ring.”

Mamaw sucked in her breath. “A ring?”

Carson was quick to dispel her hopes. “It’s all for the best. All I could think was that I’d gotten out of that one in the nick of time.” She quickly rose to her feet, in need of more wine. “Be right back. I’m getting a refill. Do you want a glass?”

Mamaw shook her head.

Carson walked swiftly across the porch to the kitchen, her thirst building. Lucille had tidied up the kitchen and retired, but she’d left a plate of homemade lemon bars on the table. Carson refreshed her glass, then, remembering where their conversation was heading, took the bottle with her. She tucked it under one arm, and with the other, she carried the cookies back to the porch. She found Mamaw looking out into the darkness with a pensive expression.

“Oh, Carson,” Mamaw said with a sorry shake of her head when Carson settled back in her chair. “I worry about you. You’re over thirty, my dear, and though you’re just as beautiful as ever,” she hastened to say, “you are getting older. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to throw away every proposal.”

Carson’s eyes flashed as the arrow struck true. “I’m only thirty-four,” she shot back. “I’m not the least bit worried about getting married. I’m not even sure I want to get married.”

“Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

“I’m not ruffled,” Carson complained, shifting on her seat. It was hard to sit still and listen to someone two generations removed extolling values that no longer had any impact. She had been raised to be respectful of her elders, but this rankled. “It’s just . . . I don’t know, it’s insulting that you think my only hope in life is to get married. Frankly, Mamaw, from where I sit that never worked out too well for Dad. You’re from another era. Thirty-four isn’t old. Women aren’t getting married right out of college anymore. We’re starting our own careers. I’m not waiting for some man to take care of me. I depend on myself.”

“Yes, dear,” Mamaw said serenely. “I see how well that’s working out for you.”

Carson squeezed her toes and simmered. “Well, I’m not going to settle just to get married. Like Dora did.”

“Carson,” Mamaw said with a hint of scolding. “It’s not nice to say something like that about your sister. Especially not now.”

“Why not now?”

Mamaw looked at her with wonder mixed with regret. “Mercy, child. Didn’t you know Dora is getting a divorce?”