Annabelle’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”

“Never more serious.”

Annabelle put her glass down on the table, resting her hand there as though to steady herself. Relief flooded her face and she replied, “Yes.”

Linnea smiled and felt that gush of joy born of one woman helping another. She lifted her glass. “Well, then… here’s to being roommates.”

Anabelle’s face lit up. She lifted her glass, and they clinked in the air.

“Roommates!”

Linnea sipped her chardonnay, then settled back in her chair. As she swirled the glass in her hand the ice cubes clinked, and she wondered if this was the best of ideas… or the worst.

chapter two

She would dig deep to find the strength.

Wasn’t that what women did?

CARA STOOD AT the front window staring up at the sky. Thunderclouds roiled and rumbled. A major storm front was moving in that promised a downpour, possible flooding. Worse still, the leaves on the palm trees across the street were shaking in a frenzy. Never a good sign when flights were due in. Last she’d checked, planes were still landing at Charleston International Airport.

She glanced at her watch and her lips tightened. David’s plane from London had been delayed, again. He’d texted from Heathrow Airport that he was boarding the plane. She’d purchased fresh flowers, gone to Simmons Seafood for shrimp, and prepared his favorite dinner of shrimp and grits. Wine was chilling in the fridge.

She tapped her fingers against the window glass. Where is he?

“I LOVE BEING outdoors when a storm is approaching,” Julia Rutledge said, tucking her arm into her husband’s and moving closer. Small and trim, she fit comfortably beside Palmer’s five foot ten height.

“Me too,” Palmer said, patting his wife’s hand. “But we’d best hustle. That storm’s coming in fast.”

The wind gusted, punctuating his comment, sending her usually carefully coiffed hair flapping wildly about her head. A hat would be useless in this gale. Julia felt the cool moisture against her face and breathed deep. It was a refreshing respite from the past week’s unseasonably warm weather. It was only March and yet it’d felt like June. She lifted her chin and sniffed the air. Her senses were assailed with the sweet ozone scent that heralded the storm.

They walked along the shoreline where the sand was firm. The beach was deserted—neither man nor beast dared the storm. The tide was high. On Sullivan’s Island the dunes were low; the maritime shrubs formed a protective barrier against any incoming waves. Their beach path wasn’t too far now. She thought they might make it home before a drenching.

“Speaking of hustling home,” she said, leaning into Palmer, “what about our son? It sounds like it’s pandemonium at Oxford. Do you think the university will cancel classes?”

“I expect they will. Any day now.”

“What’s he going to do? How will he get home?” Her blue eyes flashed as her worry quick-shifted into panic. “Palmer, you should get him a ticket. Today. I want my baby home. I don’t want him sick with that coronavirus in a foreign country.”