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lavish serpentine brick patio flanked by mulched gardens of roses and boxwoods. Spacious yet cozy, the state-of-the-art country French kitchen and garden were a gift from Uncle Cam, who insisted on “nothing but the best” for the woman who cooked and cleaned and cared for his children. Here amid the wonderful smells of pot roasts and peach pies, Mamaw reigned supreme, providing a haven of hope and home for family and friends. Sunlight was at home here as well, glinting off a golden oak floor and cottage glass cabinets, each complemented by pristine white granite counters that sported every kitchen convenience known to man.
    Lacey’s eight-year-old cousin Spencer sat at an antique provincial kitchen table in a nook area backdropped by a lush yard of towering oaks dressed in Spanish moss. Shafts of sunlight spilled through the oversized bay window, illuminating the intricacies of his Snap Circuits, Jr. building project, which sat in a shallow wooden box his dad had probably built for ease of transport. On the edge of the box perched two of Spencer’s favorite action figures that pretty much went everywhere he did, according to Nicki. At the base of his chair lay a snoring Sherlock Holmes—Spencer’s beloved sheep dog—who hadn’t a “clue” anyone else had even entered the room. Spread-eagle on his back, Sherlock looked more like a mop than a watchdog, gray wisps of hair fluttering with every growl of a snore.
    “Hey, Lace,” Spencer said in a shy voice that held no hint of the stutter that appeared when he was nervous or excited. Tiny for his age, Spencer possessed an innate gentleness in hazel eyes the exact color of his sister’s, black-rimmed glasses magnifying them all the more. When he blinked, the thick lenses imparted the effect of a baby owl, giving credence to his studious nature and keen intellect. A thatch of brown hair as unruly as his rumpled dinosaur T-shirt barely covered protruding ears while a timid but sweet smile inched across his freckled face.
    “Hi, buddy—how’s my favorite cousin?” she asked with a tight squeeze, noting his impressive electrical display.
    “Hey—I thought I was your favorite cousin?” Nicki shot a playful scowl over her shoulder, giving Spencer a wink in the process. She pulled a tray of cookies from the oven, and the sweet smell of cinnamon instantly trumped the pot roast, watering Lacey’s mouth. Snickerdoodles … her favorite!
    Lacey ruffled Spence’s hair even more than it was. “Nope, you’re too much of a girly-girl who can be a pain at times while this sweet boy here is no trouble at all. Plus he watches sports with me.” She pressed a kiss to Spencer’s head, skimming a finger across his intricate circuit board. “So what’s this, Einstein—circuitry to zap your sister when she gets out of line?”
    “Naw.” He gave a bashful duck of his head, offering Nicki and Mamaw a sheepish grin. “This is a burglar alarm.”
    “Ohhhhh, I see,” Lacey said, jutting a brow as she watched Nicki sample a cookie before transferring them from the sheet to a plate. “To keep your sister out of the cookie stash so she won’t pork up before the wedding?”
    He giggled, a soft and gentle sound that made her wanna hug him all over again. Painfully shy with strangers, Spencer was diagnosed as borderline Asperger’s Syndrome, resulting in behaviors other children considered odd such as finger twisting or the slight fluttering of his fingers when he turned a page in a book. According to Mamaw’s letters, kids called him “oddball” or “Dense Spence” at school, making it difficult for him to make friends, an ongoing worry for both Mamaw and Nicki. Especially with his father on naval commission halfway across the world, an officer on the USS George H. W. Bush. The poor little guy never really knew his mother since Aunt Susan passed away from cancer when he was barely two, which was when Mamaw stepped in to help Uncle Cam.
    “Hey, I’ll have you know I baked