My Magnolia Summer

by Victoria Benton Frank

If you were to cut me open, you’d find the water of the Atlantic instead of blood, driftwood instead of bones, and seashells in place of everything else.

I belong to the island. Sullivan’s Island, where I grew up, calls me home every night. This is my story about how I returned to the island and found my wings.

I was in love with food, obsessed with it. Food wasn’t just fuel; it could heal a broken heart, it could entertain, it could bring you home.

Gran always said worrying was useless, it was paying the toll twice.