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entertained.”
    Lillian looked toward the row of sweet-smelling English lavender she’d coaxed into growing along the short fence lining the drive. “What the girls need is more time with their father.” She sensed his shoulders tightening. “You’re welcome to join us, you know.”
    He reached out a hand toward Lucy and tucked her pale blond hair behind her ear. She responded by leaning into him like a daisy toward the sun, pulling her little sister with her. “I’ve got plans.”
    Lillian tilted her head back to stare into his face. “Plans?”
    His lips tightened. “Yes, plans. That don’t involve children. And if you can’t watch the girls, I’ll find other arrangements.”
    She watched as Sara squatted to smell the lavender, the bow on her dress untied and dragging in the dirt. Lucy simply stood next to her father wearing the same unreadable expression, the color blanched from her cheeks like sun-bleached shells on the beach.
    Lillian kept her voice light, knowing Lucy was listening to every word. “That’s not necessary, Tuck. We’ll be happy to watch the girls.” She put her hand on Lucy’s head, feeling the warmth through the fine strands of hair. “Just . . . try not to be too late. Maybe you can join us for coffee when you return.”
    “Maybe,” he said, his eyes averted as he gave her a quick peck on the cheek before gathering both girls in a stiff hug.
    Only Sara seemed oblivious to the awkwardness. She held out a sprig of lavender to her father. “For you, Daddy,” she said, shoving it under his nose before kissing him heartily on the cheek.
    “Thanks, sweet pea,” he said softly as he straightened, tucking the sprig into the pocket of his starched buttoned-down shirt. His eyes met Lillian’s for a moment, and they recalled that he hadn’t called Sara by her nickname since Susan’s death more than a year before. It was as if that one event had renamed them all and taught them to speak in separate languages.
    “Good night, Lucy,” he said.
    Lucy kept her head down, her gaze firmly planted on the row of lavender.
    Tucker turned and began walking toward his Jeep, then stopped. “Oh, before I forget—Helen and I rented out the caretaker’s cottage. To a genealogist. She’s doing research on families in the area.”
    Lillian struggled to keep her composure. “But I thought . . .” She swallowed back the wave of anger. “I assumed that with Susan no longer here to handle the rental property that we could just close it up. . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she was aware that she’d said those very same words more than once.
    His hands fisted in his pockets. “I know,” he said, his words clipped. “But then this woman called, and when Helen told me she was a genealogist, I felt obligated to Susan to say yes.”
    Despair settled on Lillian like dusk in the marsh; suddenly and completely she found herself in darkness. “Tucker—what about your practice? And your girls? Wouldn’t they benefit from your time more?”
    He studied her for a moment before dipping his gaze to his daughters, who stood mutely together, their hands held between them.
    “I don’t think I’m a good influence on anybody right now.”
    Despite the pain in her back and the need to sit down, she raised her chin. “Perhaps you’re right. But don’t wait too long. You don’t want to give yourself something else to regret.”
    He glanced at her with what looked a lot like dislike in his eyes but she didn’t shrink back. “Good night, Malily.”
    The three of them turned to watch Tucker climb back into his Jeep and peel out of the gravel drive, throwing up dirt and rocks behind him.
    Lillian crooked each arm out, knowing the girls wouldn’t want to touch her ruined hands, and waited for each to take an elbow before leading them to the door tucked under the front porch between the twin curving sets of stairs that led upward. She’d had the elevator installed nearly five years earlier when she’d found