Palmer Rutledge was approaching his sixtieth birthday, and in the last few years she’d witnessed his aging. He’d had to loosen his belt notch a few times, his hair was thinning, and what there was had as much gray as blond now. Palmer was a conservative dresser, even on the construction site, in khakis and his ever-present polo shirt. He believed that clothes spoke of his position as the boss. He was building this house on spec, as he had the house before. Each project was a roll of the dice. He had to do well, or once again slide into bankruptcy. With the stakes so high, both she and her mother worried about his stress levels, lest he slip off the wagon and turn to drink.

“It’s great, Daddy,” Linnea exclaimed. He reached out for her as he approached, but she held out her hands. “No hugging,” she warned.

He stopped abruptly, his smile falling.

“We can elbow-bump.” She poked out her elbow.

“Hell, you mean I can’t hug my own daughter?” Palmer blustered.

“Daddy, you’re not even wearing a mask.”

“I can’t wear a mask out here when I’m working. Can’t breathe in the damn thing. Besides, I heard it was okay if I was outside.”

“If you stay six feet away. Thus, no hugging.”

“I hate this damn corona stuff,” Palmer said with an angry sweep of his hand. “We don’t even know if those masks work.”

Her mother walked up and put a calming hand on her husband’s shoulder. “We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do.” She looked at Linnea. “Hey, baby.”

Linnea was proud to see her mother wearing a mask—then smiled at how the soft blue tie-dye was color-coordinated with her blue blouse over tan pants. Julia was as conservative a dresser as her father. They were a matched set, like the china spaniels sitting on her mother’s mantel. Linnea had rebelled, albeit gently, against her parents’ social conformity in most areas of her life, choosing to study environmental science rather than business, pursuing her career rather than a husband. At the aquarium, Linnea modeled her classic sleek attire after her aunt Cara’s. But at home, where she could be herself, she went vintage. Her grandmother Lovie’s clothes were treasures in her closet.

As different as she was from her parents, however, she knew there were many areas of overlay. Family meant everything to them. They were happy only when their feet were planted in the lowcountry, preferably near Charleston, where their ancestors had founded the city. The coastal landscape shaped their lives. Saltwater ran in their veins.

Yet Linnea didn’t rest on nostalgia. She was passionate about educating people on how to protect the landscape they loved, about endangered habitats and species, about critical issues facing them because of climate change. And her prime target student was her father.

Despite loving the land, Palmer fell into that group who believed the wetlands would always be there, that climate change was sometimes confused with normal climate cycles, that a wall alone could protect the city from flooding. As long as he could make his dollar, all was well with the world. They’d had some pretty explosive arguments, especially when Linnea had left Charleston and moved with John to San Francisco. But they’d weathered that storm, as they had countless hurricanes. She was home again. Love had prevailed.