Lowcountry Summer eBoxed Set

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “Well, look who’s suddenly Miss Lady Out on the Town!” Harper remarked playfully.

  “True, true,” Dora said with a laugh. “But seriously, you’re so young and so pretty.”

  Harper sat straighter in her chair, lifting her chin. “I’ll know him when I meet him,” she said. “I’ve always dreamed when I do, it will be a thunderbolt. I’ve heard of such things happening, haven’t you? You look into a stranger’s eyes and boom, you just know.”

  Dora thought of how she shivered whenever she looked into Devlin’s eyes. She spoke as much to herself as to her sister.

  “I never thought of you as a romantic,” she said with a short laugh. “That’s the stuff of fairy tales. What you’re referring to is plain lust. Marriage is another thing altogether. Thunderbolts are fun, but a husband has to be a good provider. And in your case, your man has to have a long and illustrious pedigree.”

  Mamaw turned in her chair to look askance at Dora. “When you talk like that you sound like your mother,” she said drily.

  Dora paled and brought her hand to her mouth. “I do, don’t I?” She turned to Harper. “Oh, hell, don’t listen to me. What do I know? Look at the mess I’ve made of my life.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” Harper said. “Let’s forget about me,” she said, deflecting the attention from herself back to Dora. “I’m glad to see you going out for a change.”

  “As should you,” Dora replied, tossing the spotlight back to Harper. “You’re becoming an introvert,” Dora argued, “only talking to people on the Internet. That’s not good.”

  “But it is good,” Harper said insistently. “For me. My whole life, even as a girl, I was on a treadmill, always pushing toward some goal.” She paused, then said evenly, “Mother was very good at setting goals.”

  Dora snorted in an unladylike manner. “I get that.”

  Mamaw set her book down again and looked at Dora.

  “Dora, you might need people now,” said Harper. “But I need solitude.”

  “Solitude is different from isolation. I isolated myself in Summerville even though there were lots of people around me, and let me tell you, I was lonely. I can understand seeking moments of peace, but be careful that you are not hiding out.”

  “I know the difference,” Harper said defensively. “It’s hard to explain. I didn’t realize it when I first arrived here in May. I thought I’d come in for Mamaw’s weekend party, then be on my way. Of course”—she looked sheepishly at Mamaw, catching her eyes and smiling—“it didn’t turn out that way. Since I’ve been here, though, it’s like my whole body has slowed down. I’m paying attention to the minutiae that suddenly loom so large. And I like it. I’m off the treadmill. I don’t have set goals, I don’t feel I have to live up to someone else’s expectations. I can just be. ”

  “That’s the magic of being at Sea Breeze,” Dora said. “But it’s not real.”

  “Isn’t it?” Harper asked rhetorically.

  “No. You’re on vacation,” Dora persisted.

  Harper let her gaze sweep the vast wetlands that stretched across the vista. “Mamaw, you never made me feel like I had to measure up to some standard here. Quite the opposite. As far as you were concerned, I was family and all that was required of me was my occasional presence.” She glanced at Mamaw with a wry grin. “That and good manners.”

  Mamaw made a face.

  Harper stared down at her sweet tea and stirred the ice with her finger. “It sounds escapist, I realize that,” she said. “But when I come here to Sea Breeze . . . I don’t know how to explain it.” She looked back out at the Cove. “I feel so far away from that other world. It’s truly different here. Time is inconsequential. My internal clock is set by the sun and the moon and the tides. I feel unfettered. And, if I stay long enough, in the stillness I sense something’s opening up inside. Something important.”

  A short silence fell as Harper continued staring out at the vista.

  Harper looked back at the two women and shook her head, seemingly embarrassed for the confession. “I’m sure that all sounds very New Age or whatever. I’m okay, really I am,” she said evasively.

  There followed another momentary silence. Dora looked at Mamaw to see her studying Harper.

  “Girls,” Mamaw said, her eyes gleaming. “I’ve just had the best idea.”

  Eager for a change of subject, Harper brightened. “I’m all ears.”

  Mamaw set her book aside and leaned forward, closer to the girls. “Dora, you love gardening and know a lot about it. Harper, you want to learn how to garden. Why don’t the two of you take this poor pitiful garden on as a project? It’s something to work on together. I’ll supply the plants. I’ll even pull out my garden gloves and help you. What do you say?”

  “Mamaw,” Harper said with enthusiasm. “That’s a splendid idea!”

  “I don’t know,” Dora said, dragging her heels on the idea. She already had so much on her plate. “Do you have any idea how much work is involved? And how hot it is out there?”

  “But, Dora,” Mamaw said, a bit put out. “You love gardening. It doesn’t have to be a massive project, like your garden in Summerville. It won’t take that much time if you keep it small. Besides, isn’t gardening supposed to be good for the soul?”

  Dora cast a dubious glance at her grandmother. She stood and looked out over the garden, her finger tapping against her lips as she considered the possibilities. It might be good for her to get her hands back in the soil again, she thought. To create something. She needed creativity in her life—what woman didn’t? It occurred to her that she’d let that important part of her life go.

  “We’d have to come up with a plan, first,” Dora said.

  Harper opened her laptop with alacrity. “Right.”

  “It’s already midsummer, so we’ll only want plants that can withstand the lowcountry summer heat. I don’t know what the garden centers have left in stock. Offhand, sweetgrass would be nice, and they don’t flower till October, a profusion of pink fluffy heaven. It will look showy when you put the house on the market, Mamaw. Then there are hardy plants like gaillardia, lantana, verbena . . .”

  “Slow down,” Harper said. “I’m typing them up.”

  “And roses,” Mamaw added, getting swept up in the idea. “We must have a few roses.”

  “Roses too,” Dora said with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s what you want. There are knockout roses now that can handle the heat. We’ll plant them just for you. Harper, when you research plants, remember to keep in mind zones. This is Sullivan’s Island, not the Hamptons.”

  Harper snorted. “That much I figured out.”

  Mamaw clapped her hands. “Oh, girls, this is a wonderful idea!”

  The pounding ceased and a sudden peace descended.

  “I’m heading inside in search of breakfast,” Dora said. “Or is it lunchtime? Whatever, my diet is all pretty much the same these days—vegetables and fruit. By the way, where is Lucille? I haven’t seen her pattering about in the kitchen.”

  “She has a doctor’s appointment. She’ll be back soon,” Mamaw answered, picking up her book again.

  Dora’s brow furrowed with concern. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Darlin’,” Mamaw said, “at our age, we go in for regular maintenance.”

  Dora walked off to the kitchen. Before she left the porch, she looked back to see Harper bent over her laptop, her fingers tapping away. Harper was always typing. What was going on in that clever mind of hers? She’d discovered this morning how little she really knew about her. Digging around a bit might indeed be a good idea.

  Florida

  It was a hot and steamy July morning that made even a lowcountry girl sweat. The air-conditioning in the cottage rumbled noisily but did a poor job cooling the space. Carson’s alarm went off at seven. She’d blearily opened her eyes as the sunlight pierced through the drawn curtains, but Nate was already awake, playing his video game. She figured it gave him a measure of comfort in the
strange place and she let him play until it was time to dress.

  They spoke little as they fumbled through the morning routine. The dreaded shower was not mentioned and Nate dressed himself in his usual soft-fabric, elastic-waist clothing. Breakfast was touch and go in the hotel’s dining room. Nate scrutinized every option, laboriously deciding a blended fruit yogurt and a piece of white toast was acceptable. He was amused by the packaging of the tiny boxes of cereal and took one, though he ate little of the cereal. For Carson, coffee was enough and she drank it like a camel, storing caffeine in her body for whatever surprises the day held.

  It was a short drive to the Dolphin Research Center, barely long enough for the air-conditioning to cool the car. Yet Nate was already anxious when they pulled into the parking lot beside the giant sculpture of a dolphin and a calf. Nate danced on the balls of his feet, tugging at her skirt to hurry her as she locked the car. They walked at a clip through the front entrance and the gift shop, past souvenirs and T-shirts that held no interest for Nate. He tapped his fingers by his mouth as she registered at the desk and received their passes. As soon as she opened the door to the park, Nate shot out and began running.

  “Nate! Wait!” she called out, and took off after him on the winding walkway past cages of exotic birds calling hello, a water park, and a few quaint cottages. She turned the corner to see Nate standing frozen, arms out stiffly in an arrested posture. Before him a large lagoon spread out along the glistening Gulf of Mexico.

  “Why did you run off?” she asked, catching up to his side.

  Nate didn’t respond. He remained motionless, staring in disbelief and wonder at the lagoon. Only his fingers moved, and they trembled.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned that he was on the verge of a meltdown.

  Then she heard the high-pitched whistle. To her ears it was a concerto of welcome that she translated in her heart. In the front of the lagoon she saw five dolphins clustered along the walkway, watching the passersby and waiting. Returning her gaze to Nate, she understood immediately why he’d balked.

  “Do you see all the dolphins, Nate? Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “I can’t go near them.”

  “Yes, of course you can. That’s why we’re here.”

  “No. Blake said we are not supposed to go near the dolphins.”

  “Blake was talking about the wild dolphins. The dolphins in the Cove. These dolphins live in this lagoon. It’s their home. It’s okay to visit them, Nate.”

  “I . . . I don’t want to hurt them,” he said in a trembling voice.

  Her heart nearly broke at hearing this. She’d known that he was deeply disturbed by Delphine’s accident at the dock. But she’d never understood how much blame he’d assumed for his part in it. She could hear in his voice that he’d taken on all the blame, and that was far too big a burden for these young shoulders to bear.

  She knelt next to him and spoke gently. “Nate, what happened to Delphine was an accident. It was my fault for bringing her to the dock in the first place. But she’s doing better. She’s going to be okay. You’ll see for yourself when I take you to see her. These dolphins are healthy. They’re used to people visiting them. Here, it’s okay for us to swim with them. We can get close to them. That’s why I brought you here. So you can understand the difference between dolphins that live in a facility like this one and dolphins in the wild. Okay?”

  He brought his fingers to his mouth.

  “Listen! They’re whistling for you. They want you to come over. Let’s get closer, okay?”

  She led the way to the covered walkway that lined the front lagoon. It was a beautiful, natural setting with seawater and fish flowing in and out. Nate inched closer to the rope fence that bordered the lagoon. He peered over the edge, poised for flight. Just a month earlier, Nate had run down the dock at Sea Breeze and leaped into the Cove. He’d been fearless with Delphine. Now Carson watched his cautious, even timid posture and felt the weight of her responsibility in helping this boy through his sense of loss.

  A long, sleek dolphin swam right beneath Nate, tilted to look up at him, then began making clicking sounds. Carson was relieved when she saw Nate smile.

  “Mrs. Tupper?”

  Carson turned toward the voice. A slender woman with flowing brown hair in nylon fishing pants and a pale blue dolphin T-shirt approached, carrying a clipboard. She smiled as she drew near, and her beautiful, warm eyes captured Carson’s attention, making her feel welcome.

  “I’m Carson Muir. Nate Tupper’s aunt. I’m here with him for the program.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Joan, the director of the program. I’ll be working with Nate this week.”

  “Thank you for squeezing us in on short notice.”

  “Happy to do it. I understand we have a little boy who’s had a bad experience with a dolphin.” Her gaze searched out Nate. When she found him leaning over the rope fence making clicking noises back to the dolphin, a grin spread across her face. “I’m pretty sure the dolphins are going to take good care of him.”

  “Small steps,” Carson told herself, repeating the advice that Dora had given her on the telephone the night before.

  The first session with Joan at the Dolphin Research Center was going better than Carson had hoped. They began in the small classroom, where creative activities with a dolphin-based theme introduced the goals set by Dora and Joan. Dora had spoken with Joan by telephone prior to Carson and Nate’s arrival, and had communicated that she wanted Nate to work on overcoming his guilt over the accident, but also to help him with his interpersonal skills. Joan had formed “Team Nate,” telling Carson that they’d work together to make sure Nate met his goals.

  When she handed Nate his schedule, he clasped it firmly and immediately bent over the table to study it thoroughly. Carson could almost hear his sigh of relief at the sight of the schedule, a simple piece of paper that promised him order throughout his day and removed the threat of the unknown.

  For most of the classroom session Carson sat along the wall as an observer. From this vantage point, a fly on the wall, she was fascinated to watch Joan slowly, firmly, steadily build on skills that allowed Nate to grow comfortable. She spoke with a warm lilt in her voice that eventually broke through Nate’s reserve. Carson was proud when Nate revealed how bright he was, and how knowledgeable about dolphins. From time to time Joan would turn her head to meet Carson’s gaze, brows raised in surprise that Nate knew the answer to a question.

  When the classroom session ended, it was time to begin working with the dolphins. Carson could feel the excitement as Team Nate walked to the front lagoon. He was nervous, but Joan and Rebecca, the dolphin trainer, kept their voices upbeat and cheery, distracting him with questions as they outfitted him in a life preserver.

  When they took Nate to the lower dock, Carson went in search of a place in the shade to sit and observe.

  She spied a long, wooden bench set against the wall of the trainer’s building. It sat in the deep shade of a long thatched roof. One man sat there, staring out over the lagoon. He might have been a bodybuilder, his muscles bulging from his black T-shirt. But the rigid posture, the chiseled cut of his chin, the shorn hair, the black sunglasses, and the way he crossed his arms across his chest made her wonder whether he was in the military. He gave off a strong vibe that said Stay away. There was no place else to sit, however, and Carson didn’t scare easily, so she walked to the bench and took a seat on the opposite side.

  He glanced her way when she sat down and nodded politely in acknowledgment.

  “Hi, there,” Carson responded. Then, because she was curious, she asked, “Are you here to swim with the dolphins?”

  His lips turned upward in mild amusement. He had a beautiful mouth, she thought, and a strong, straight nose that made her think of Michelangelo’s David. As a professional photographer of movie stars and models, she had a habit of noticing and filing away physical details. He was, in fact, stunning in a masculine way. If she were work
ing, she might have handed him her card for an audition.

  “You could say so,” he said.

  Carson wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. Yes or no, she thought, mildly annoyed. Nor did he offer a rejoinder to keep the conversation going. Curious, and stubborn, Carson refused to let his coolness deter her.

  “I’m here with my nephew. That’s him with the dolphin,” she added, pointing to the dock in the lagoon right in front of them. Another group was at the dock at the far right of the lagoon. They appeared to be a family, parents with two young children around eight years of age. “Is that your family?”

  He glanced at the family, then shook his head with a chuckle. “No.”

  Talking to this man was like talking to Nate, she thought. Except this man wasn’t family or nine years old, and she certainly didn’t have to deal with his rudeness. She gave up and pulled out her camera and lens and instead focused on Nate, who was sitting on the dock with his legs in the water. A sleek gray dolphin waited only a few feet in front of him. Carson moved closer, watching through her lens as Nate tentatively put out his hand and gave a signal to the dolphin. In a flash, the dolphin rose high up in the water and toggled back on his tail in an impressive show of strength and agility. Rebecca blew her whistle and Team Nate released a hearty cheer for the dolphin and Nate. In the close-up view of the lens, Carson saw the boy’s eyes light up and a huge grin ease across his face. Carson snapped a quick shot to capture the moment, then put her hands to her mouth and fired off a whistle.

  She was still smiling when she returned to the bench.

  “Nice whistle,” the man said, his lips twitching in a grin.

  She glanced at him and, feeling happy about Nate, said with a cocky air, “Thanks.”

  After a pause, he spoke again. “Is this his first time with a dolphin?”

  Surprised the man was initiating a conversation, Carson half turned to face him. His gaze was on the water, but she sensed that behind those sunglasses he was watching her every move.