“Don’t sass me,” Momma said. “I can still turn you over my knee.”

Leslie rolled her eyes and I poured her a mug of coffee and handed it to her, shaking my head. I thought, Well, that was an ironic thing to say for someone who had spent most of her life in bed until Leslie returned. But when I looked back at Momma there was a tiny smile creeping across her face. She was having fun.

“I’m having breakfast with Charlie this morning,” Leslie said.

“Why?” Momma said.

“Because I have to get some things straight between us,” Leslie said.

“Good luck with that,” I said. “But let me know how it works out. I’ll be next door.”

I rinsed out my mug and blew them a little kiss.

It was a beautiful day and there was no humidity to speak of. Spring had officially returned to Sullivan’s Island. More and more flowers were blooming, and all the bushes had new growth. The azaleas had reached their peak and the magnolias were about to pop open. Confederate jasmine and fig ivy were on the crawl again, climbing and winding around anything in their path. And all those dahlias I planted earlier in the month were coming soon. I was more excited about them than anything else I’d ever planted.

Last spring, just by chance, I’d gone to the Citadel Mall and saw an exhibition put on by the Charleston Garden Club. That was the first time in my life I’d ever seen a dahlia, and I fell in love with them right away. They were so intricate, they almost looked like origami flowers made of tissue paper. And they bloomed in a riot of colors, too many to remember. I decided right then and there that I was going to grow dahlias, even though they weren’t fond of our zone or of the coast. So, I worked hard to create the perfect environment for them by mulching leaves and some other organic matter into the soil. I knew they hated hot weather, so I bought a bunch of cheap beach umbrellas to give them shade when it grew too hot, which happened every single year of my life. And I planted the dahlias in a location where they would get afternoon shade. If they didn’t bloom, it wouldn’t be because I had not tried my best. But if they all bloomed as planned, this summer’s garden would stop traffic.

Anyway, my focus for the next seven days was not dahlias but little boys, little boys who needed a truckload of love, and I was ready to deliver. I rang the doorbell and inside of a minute, Tyler opened the door.

“Good morning, best man! How are . . . what’s wrong, baby?”

Tyler burst into tears and fell into my arms.

“Tyler! Tell me what’s happened?”