“Have you seen it? Been in it?”

“I’ve been to the island, but not in the house. The Eldrin clan that owns it are the great-great-grandchildren of the original owners, who were slave merchants and indigo farmers. Now this family has some bankrupt business and they need to sell the land—and they don’t care to whom. They fiercely protect the island and house from nosy naturalists like the OWP. It’s amazing how they don’t care, how they just want the money.”

“Which island is this, Amy?”

“It’s off the coast from Savannah, next to Osprey-head Island.”

“I know exactly where that is.”

“You do?”

Phil poked at Amy’s ribs. “It’s your turn, darlin’.”

Amy returned to the couch, her head swimming and tiles jumbled. She looked at Phil. “I was in the middle of telling Nick about the island.”

“It’s your turn,” he repeated.

She looked down at her letters—all consonants. “I can’t spell anything.”

Nick leaned farther across the coffee table, tiles scattered. “Phil, it’s pretty cool that she’s involved in this. She could save another island from the damnation of bulldozers and paved roads.”

“Island? She’s always trying to save one house or another. She does a good job of it. Which house are you talking about, honey?”

“The one on the island, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Phil tilted his head as if she’d just spoken Gaelic to him, as if she hadn’t been blabbering for months on end about this project, as if she’d just grown another damn head.

“Which island?” Phil asked.

“Phil, there’s only one island. You know, the Oystertip Island project. The small island with the historic house.”

“Yeah, yeah. That one.”

And she saw, as she was sure everyone else did, that he had no idea what she was talking about. Irritation nestled below, far below, but embarrassment became her primary concern.

“Yeah, that one. The one with the committee I’m on and the meetings and the endangered species.”

Eliza put down four letters and looked up. “Nick’s always trying to save things, too—trees, animals. You know, nature takes care of itself.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I just don’t get it.”

Amy’s mouth opened, then closed. Just don’t get it. Nick was married to a woman who just didn’t get the one thing he was most passionate about. Amy had so many things to say about that, but she couldn’t find a thing to say.

“Neither do I.”

Amy looked up to see who said that. Who else didn’t get it?

Phil.

She fought hard against the intruding thought that she was married to a man who just didn’t get one of the things she cared about the most—but the idea came as unbidden as the movements she’d felt in the boat with Nick.