“They’ve kept on a skeleton crew. I know it was a hard decision for Kevin to furlough us.”

“He had no choice. Bosses have to make the tough decisions and do what’s best for the institution.” She sighed then shook her head and said wryly, “Beware the Ides of March.”

Linnea looked at her aunt sitting across from her. Always cool and practical, she had a long history in management. She’d left Chicago almost two decades ago to settle in the lowcountry, but even on the island, she maintained her city chic. In jeans and a crisp chambray shirt, she looked elegant. Her hair was cropped short again and framed her face in a style that flattered her cheekbones and dark eyes.

Cara had the dark Rutledge looks of her father, Stratton. Linnea, like her father—Cara’s older brother, Palmer—had the softer, petite, blond genes from Grandmother Lovie. As always, Linnea was taken by the way her aunt casually waved her hand in the air as she spoke or raised her fingers to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Linnea studied the subtle and refined gestures, wanting to emulate this woman she admired. Cara was not merely elegant or in possession of a razor-sharp intellect, she was generous. Family came first with her. Cara might look like her father, but in this, she was most like her mother, Lovie.

Cara glanced at her watch. “I really must go,” she said, rising. “Don’t worry, Sweet-tea. Keep the faith. We always pull through somehow, don’t we?” She looked over toward the house. “Hope! Time to go, honey.”

From inside they heard a wail: “I don’t wanna go to the doctor.”

Cara met Linnea’s eye, smirked, and went to fetch her daughter. Linnea heard a brief complaint before Cara walked out of the house with her daughter’s hand firmly in hers.

“Come for dinner Sunday?” Cara asked Linnea as they walked together down the gravel driveway to Cara’s car. “I’m hoping David will be home.”

“I thought he was back.”

Cara’s lips tightened as she shook her head. “Not yet. The coronavirus is hitting London hard and he’s been trying to get out for days. Flights are packed and there’s talk of shutting down the airports.”

Linnea heard the worry in her voice. “If anyone can get home, David will.” She smiled. “He’s like a homing pigeon.”

Cara met her eyes with a grateful smile. “He’s pretty resourceful.” Then she said in a more upbeat tone, “Shrimp and grits sound good?”

“I’ll be—” Linnea broke off. Catching a movement from the second-floor window of the carriage house next door, she stopped short, gripping Cara’s arm.

“What?”

“There’s someone in the carriage house,” Linnea said sotto voce.

Cara looked up to the window and broke into a wide grin as she waved. “That’s John.”

Linnea felt her throat grow dry. “John Peterson?”

Cara laughed and looked at her with amusement. “Of course, John Peterson.”

Myriad emotions flooded Linnea. This shock threatened to break the dam of her emotions, already brimming over with worry over being laid off.