Marta Perry - Twice in a Lifetime

They hadn’t worried him, although he’d been taken aback that Miz Callie’s family was so determined to keep her from doing what she wanted with what was hers. Still, he knew, just from the way Miz Callie’s face softened when she spoke of Georgia, that this granddaughter had a special place in her heart.

That was undoubtedly why Georgia was here. After failing to influence or intimidate him, the family had sent for her, banking on Miz Callie’s affection to sway the decisions she intended to make.

Miz Callie released her granddaughter. “Matthew, I didn’t mean to ignore you like that. My manners have gone astray ’cause I’m so excited to see this long-lost granddaughter of mine.”

“Miz Callie, you know I was just here at Christmas time.” Georgia stood with her arm loosely around her grandmother’s waist. Staking out her territory, apparently.

Christmas time? Six months ago, and Atlanta wasn’t that far away. If you care so much about your grandmother, Ms. Georgia Lee, why don’t you come to see her more often?

“Nice that you could come for a visit, Ms. Bodine.” He smiled, sure she’d take that exactly the way he intended. “What brings you back to Charleston—business or pleasure?”

“I’m here to spend a little time with my favorite grandmother.”

Miz Callie’s cheeks flushed. “Your only grandmother, as you well know. Georgia, this is Matthew Harper. Matthew, my granddaughter, Georgia Bodine.”

She hadn’t identified him as her attorney, and he wondered if the omission was deliberate. He extended his hand again, his eyebrows lifting. Georgia wouldn’t refuse it this time unless she wanted open warfare in front of her grandmother.

Georgia took his hand, holding it as gingerly as if it were a clump of washed-ashore seaweed. He closed his fingers around hers, holding on a bit longer than she’d probably want.

Small, not much taller than her tiny grandmother, Georgia was all softness—soft curves of her body, soft curls in that long, dark brown hair, a soft curve of the smooth cheeks. Until you got to her eyes, that is. A deep, deep brown, he guessed they could look like velvet, but they were hard as stone when they surveyed him.

Those eyes issued a warning, but that wouldn’t deter him. Fulfilling his client’s wishes was a trust to him.

And on a personal level, he had to succeed at this. He couldn’t keep depending on his partner to pull him through. His daughter’s face flickered in his mind. For Lindsay’s sake, he had to make this work. He was all she had.

“What brought you to Charleston?” Georgia turned his own question back on him. “I can hear from your voice that you’re not a native.”

“Only of Boston,” he said. He doubted she meant the words as a compliment. “I came south to go into partnership with my law-school roommate, Rodney Porter.”

Her eyebrows lifted—she obviously recognized the name of an old Charleston family. She couldn’t know that Matt was as surprised as anyone at the enduring friendship between the Boston street kid and the Charleston aristocrat, a bond that went back to their first year at Yale.

“I think Rodney was in high school with one of my brothers.” Her voice was cool, but he sensed she was giving him a point for that connection.

“I’ll have to ask Rod about that.”

Her brothers weren’t among the family members he’d met, but they were probably all cut from the same cloth—down-home Southern slow-talkers with a touch of innate courtesy, even when they were castigating him as an interfering outsider who should go back where he came from.

Georgia was different, though—moving at a quicker pace, honed to a sharper edge. Her grandmother had called her a big-city businesswoman. That should make her easier to understand than the rest of her family.

“I’m sure Rodney will remember whether it was Adam or Cole.” She smiled. “We all tend to know one another around here.”

And you don’t belong. That was implicit in her tone, although he didn’t think her grandmother caught it.

Georgia wouldn’t get under his skin that easily. “You work in Atlanta, I understand. What do you do there?”

“I’m a marketing director for a software firm.” Something flickered in her eyes as she said the words, so quickly that he couldn’t identify it, but it roused his curiosity. Job problems, maybe?

He’d spun this conversation out as long as possible. Clearly he wouldn’t make any progress on Miz Callie’s problem today.

He shifted his attention to his elderly client. “Why don’t we discuss our business later? After all, your granddaughter has just arrived.” In the nick of time, she probably thought.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you…” she began.

“I’m sure Mr. Harper will be happy to postpone your meeting,” Georgia put in.

Until you’ve had a chance to try and dissuade your grandmother, he thought.

“That’s not a problem.” Better to take the initiative than have it taken from him. “I’ll give you a call.”

“At least take this information with you.” Miz Callie picked up a folder she’d dropped on the bookcase when she’d rushed into the room. “It contains the notes I’ve made on what I want.”

Georgia’s fingers flexed as if she’d like to snatch that folder. “Maybe we could talk about this first—”

“No.” Miz Callie cut her off with what was probably unaccustomed sharpness. “Here you are.” She thrust it into his hands.

He took the folder, encouraged by the sign that Miz Callie was set on what she wanted. Maybe Georgia wouldn’t find this so easy a task.

“Thank you. I’ll go through this and give you a call, then.” He turned to go.

As he did, the older woman slipped her arm around her granddaughter’s waist again, a look of apology on her face.

Miz Callie knew what she wanted, all right. But if there was one person who could talk her out of it, that person was clearly Georgia Bodine.

With Harper gone, Georgia’s tension level went down a few degrees. She hadn’t been able to prevent him from taking away that folder, but whatever business he’d intended hadn’t been accomplished yet. She had breathing space to find out exactly what was going on with her grandmother, and how much of her family’s wild talk was true.

“You must be hungry.” Miz Callie spun and started for the kitchen at her usual trot. “I’ll fix you a sandwich, some potato salad—”

“I don’t need all that.” She followed her grandmother to the kitchen, where African violets bloomed on glass shelves across the windows and a pitcher full of fragrant green basil graced the counter next to the sink.

She closed the refrigerator door her grandmother had opened. “Honestly. I stopped for lunch on the way. Maybe just something to drink. Is there any sweet tea?”

Miz Callie’s smile blossomed. “It’d be a sad summer day there wasn’t sweet tea in this house. You fill up the glasses with ice.”

It was like old times, moving around the kitchen with her grandmother. In moments they’d assembled a tray with glasses, the pitcher of tea, a sprig of mint and a plate of Miz Callie’s famous pecan tassies.

Georgia’s mouth watered at the sight of the rich, sweet tarts. Her favorite. But her grandmother hadn’t known she was coming, had she?

She’d ask, but Miz Callie was already heading out to the deck off the living room, picking up the battered sun hat she wore outside. Carrying the tray, Georgia followed.

She stepped through the sliding glass door and inhaled the salty scent of sea air. The breeze from the water caressed her skin as it tossed the sea oats that grew thickly on the dunes.

“I love it here.” The words came without thought as the endless expanse of sea and sky filled her with a sense of well-being.