sharp quills. They don't even feel comfortable going in for a hug or a nice girls lunch with you because you might poke them with one of your criticisms.”
She laughed to herself. "You definitely should not be a writer. That's just about the silliest thing I've ever heard anyone say."
"Maybe so, but I think it's apt. Your daughters can't be close to you because they don't trust that you're not going to criticize them or hurt their feelings. They keep up their guard. And the problem is, you don't seem to realize this, so you just keep doing it over and over again, pretending like you're trying to help. "
"I am trying to help."
"Well, and pardon me for saying so, but if you continue doing what you're doing, you're going to ruin your relationship with your family. And if that's why you came here, you couldn’t be doing more things to screw this up if you tried."
SuAnn said nothing. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them just staring at the ocean, probably for different reasons.
"So what should I do?"
"Well, the first thing I think you should do is go sit down there on that sand and think about what I've said. Really think about it. Stop thinking of yourself as the victim. Think about what your words may have done to those people you say you love. And if you feel like you've done something wrong, then apologize. Mean it. And then stop doing it."
She blew out a long breath. "That's a lot easier said than done."
Dawson stood up, realizing he was never going to get any more peace on the deck that night. "Probably so. But if you really want a great relationship with your family, you're going to have to do the work because you've messed it up. No two ways about it."
He turned and started walking toward the house. "Dawson?"
"Yeah?"
She smiled slightly. “Thank you."
He nodded and then turned toward the house, never feeling more shocked in his life that SuAnn had just told him thank you. Miracles still happened, apparently.
Dixie sat there, her hands on both sides of the coffee mug. It was a crisp, October day, but certainly not cold yet. Still, she loved the feeling of the warmth on her hands as they often got cold from her circulation problems.
"So, are you going to tell us why we are here?" Janine finally asked. She and Julie had been sitting at the table with Dixie for twenty minutes, lots of small talk going back-and-forth about the weather and the upcoming masquerade ball. But it was obvious something was going on with Dixie, and that was why she had invited them to have coffee with her at the bookstore after it closed.
"Can't an old lady have coffee with her friends?" Dixie asked, cocking her head to the side innocently.
"I don't know any old ladies at this table, but I do know someone who is trying to keep something from us," Julie said.
"Is this about our mother? Did she say something to you?" Janine asked, throwing up her hands.
"No. Actually, the most I've seen of your mother is her walking by and occasionally waving in my direction. We try to steer clear of each other," Dixie said, with a laugh.
"Then what's going on?" Julie asked.
"Well, I'm trying to work up my nerve to tell you both this."
"You're worrying me," Janine said, reaching over and putting her hand over Dixie's.
Dixie smiled. "No, there's nothing to be worried about."
"Is it William?" Janine asked, concern on her face.
"No. William is doing fine. This is about me."
"Is it about your Parkinson's?" Julie asked.
Dixie smiled slightly. "Not entirely, but I guess you could say it's related."
"Are we going to keep playing this game of riddles or are you going to tell us?" Janine asked.
Dixie took a deep breath and blew it out. "I'm in love."
Julie and Janine sat there, their eyes wide, before both of them broke out into giggles. "Really?" Julie said. "That's fantastic!"
"Wait a minute. I thought you told us you were out there playing the field, dating every Tom, Dick and Harry out there!"
Dixie laughed. "Well, the only one I'm dating is Harry."
"His name is Harry? What's he like?" Julie asked.
Dixie grinned from ear to ear. "He's wonderful. He's funny, smart and so nice. He kind of reminds me of an older version of Dawson. I met him at Parkinson’s rehab, and we just hit it off."
"You're sure it's love?" Janine asked.
"Positive. I've only felt this