He took her hand and held it, saying nothing. She was aware that she was letting it start all over again. She had deliberately put distance between them—that was the only way she could heal. It was like cotton batting to insulate herself from his rough edges. He could no longer cut her, make her bleed inside. It had taken all her will and strength. If she let him win her again, let him back into her heart, she might never get loose again. It was a risk, but she longed to take it.

After a time, Sam said, “Do you think we’ll be able to stay here?”

She sighed. It was exactly the wrong question for the moment, couldn’t he see that? “I don’t know,” she said. “A lot of things can happen, I suppose.”

“Meaning? I thought you liked it here, the job and all. You’ll be teaching again real soon.”

“Things are very different down here.” She paused. He waited. “The people are different.”

He nodded. “The way they talk.” He thought of Harry making him work for every sentence. “I can hardly follow it sometimes.”

She looked at him curiously. Maybe he was having a difficult adjustment, too—maybe that’s why he’d brought it up. She hadn’t considered that before—men just adapted so much more easily. The whole world was set up for men to adapt easily. “It’s not just how they talk,” she said. “It’s what they say. What they don’t say. Whenever I leave a room, I can feel them talking about me behind my back.” She had told him all about her interview at Hemenway School. It was important he understand how small they had made her feel.

He poured more coffee, stirred in sugar. “Don’t get paranoid, sweet. People are the same here as anywhere—some good, some bad.”

“They wait on me last in the shops. They never include me in the conversation.”

“You have to admit, the shops are full of bargains.” There was nothing you couldn’t find in the shops—the advantage of being in a deepwater port. And prices were a relief from Chicago. “Come on, we haven’t been here very long. They’ll get to know us.”

“You hear all this talk about Southern hospitality. And they’ll break their necks for you, all right, if you’re family. Or if you’ve lived here for a hundred years. But if you’re a stranger …”

Sam patted her hand. “You miss your family, I know. But isn’t it beautiful here? The pinewoods, the ocean. The way the air smells off the river. I mean, you can smell this place.”

She pushed away the tray and rested her head on his lap. “This place gets into your blood,” she said. “I understand why they fought for it. Why they don’t want to live anywhere else.”

“Well, then.”

“But they don’t even want to go anywhere else. Even for a visit. Even as a tourist. Even in books. Down here, it’s a flat earth.”