Lowcountry Summer eBoxed Set

by Mary Alice Monroe

  She’d be leaving soon.

  The thought came unbidden and struck a chord of sadness in the morning’s sweet music. Harper went to the window and opened the wooden slats of the plantation shutter to peer out. Dawn had not yet broken. Pale gray light illuminated the shadows. She’d thought she was a night person, someone more productive in the wee hours. Here at Sea Breeze, however, she’d discovered she enjoyed rising with the sun. Perhaps its was because Carson waxed poetic about how glorious it was to be out on the water when the dawn exploded over the ocean. How it was her favorite time of the day. Carson could be so passionate about anything connected to water.

  And yet . . . Harper had listened to her words, could see that sunrise in her mind’s eye, and suddenly felt a stirring to witness that for herself. Why not now, she asked herself? Before it was too late. What was she waiting for?

  Harper felt as lighthearted as she slipped into denim shorts and a swim suit top. She laced up her running shoes. As quietly as the mouse she was nicknamed after, she slipped open the sliding door that separated her bedroom from her grandmother’s. It rattled on the track and grimacing, she paused to listen. She didn’t hear Mamaw stir in her dark bedroom. Harper tiptoed quickly across the carpet, closing the door behind her.

  The house was quiet, everyone was asleep. Making good her escape, Harper flew out the front door aware that the sun waited for no man or woman. She was met with a surprisingly cool and sweet tasting morning air. The wind that had roiled the ocean had chased away the humidity and heat, leaving the morning air unusually refreshing for August. The morning was still, amplifying sounds. Above her, the leaves of the great oak tree rustled in the soft breezes and the palm fronds scraped like castanets. Beneath her feet the gravel crunched loudly as she hurried across the driveway to the garage.

  The rusty, trusty old bicycle leaned against the wall. She pulled it out from the garage, swung her leg over the seat and took off.

  Harper was twenty eight years old but felt no older than thirteen as she pedaled furiously along the streets. The neighboring houses appeared blanketed in the shadows, their occupants still asleep in the hush over the island. Only a few feral cats darted soundlessly across the roads. She hadn’t seen as many feral cats clustering on the island this summer. People said it was the coyotes. She kept her eyes peeled as she pushed on along the muted street that cut through Sullivan’s Island. Past Stella Maris Catholic church with its hallowed steeple. Past the ominous, giant mole-like burrows of Fort Moultrie. Past the tight cluster of restaurants, shuttered now and deserted. Only a few joggers and an occasional automobile shared the road with her.

  At last she reached the northern tip of the island where Carson had told her the surfers gathered. She turned off Middle Street toward the sea. Several cars, all with roof racks for surf boards, crowded the narrow side streets, but she wasn’t surprised because Carson had told her this was a popular place for kite surfers. At the beach path Harper had to push the bike through the tall barrier of shrubs. She could hear the waves pounding the shore echoes. The surf was unusually loud this morning. Her excitement built as she pushed the wheels of her bike through the soft sand of the path. When at last the path opened up to the beach she stopped to catch her breath. The panorama of sand and sky spread out before her into infinity. A gust of onshore wind caught her hair and sent it fluttering about her shoulders. Lifting her face she smelled the sea and tasted salt on her lips.

  Harper’s chest expanded as she took in the vista. A dusky blue sky and gray sea came together to form one infinite horizon line. The sun did not rush to her glory. She rose at her own pace, imperious, radiant, bursting in her display of achingly beautiful pastels. The colors reflected, shimmering, on the water. Harper felt so small in the presence of something so profoundly beautiful. Something never-ending. Yet, at the same time, she felt connected to it, empowered to be part of this godlike perpetuity. She stood motionless as she stared out, holding firm to the handlebars. In that dazzling moment she felt the glistening light enter her soul to fill her with hope. Harper understood at last why Carson rose early to catch this moment, day after day. It truly was spiritual.

  Harper clutched that handlebars of her beach cruiser tight in the clarity of the dawn’s light, The new day was spread out before her like a blank page, ready for her to write words upon. She felt empowered, filled with light. She’d given herself this one summer to discover—at long last—what she wanted to do with her life. No longer would she continue meekly following what her mother had planned.

  All summer Harper had secretly worried if she was being naive to hide out at Sea Breeze and be contemplative. Naive, her sister Carson thought. Hiding from reality, as Dora voiced. Or just a complete and utter fool, this her mother’s opinion.

  Harper lifted her chin and smiled at the dawn. They were all wrong. Courage better described her decision. This one decision may have been the bravest thing she’d ever done. She didn’t know what her future would bring. Yet standing in the glow of the rising sun, Harper was filled with a tingling sensation that her future was only just beginning.

  * * *

  Carson~

  The sea was calling her. Carson lay in the dim light of her bedroom listening to the incessant roar of her old friend, the ocean, and felt compelled to rise and rush out to heed the call. It was rare for the waves to come in hard, like they were now. When they did, Carson had always joined her friends to grab their surfboards and get to the water. It was her nature to do so. Saltwater ran in her veins.

  Carson didn’t jump from her bed this morning, however. She continued to lie on the bed, her palms resting on her abdomen. She no longer was free to follow her whims. No longer the fearless surfer or world traveler able to pick up and leave when she wished.

  She was pregnant. This fact changed everything.

  She let her fingers gently stroke her belly, still flat, despite the life growing beneath the taut skin. She herself hadn’t guessed. It took the echolocation of a dolphin to tell her.

  “Oh baby, ” she crooned. “What am I going to do with you? I’m not married, I don’t have a job, I don’t even have my own place to live. How am I going to take care of you?”

  She brought to mind last conversation with Lucille. The night she died. Carson had been struggling with what to do about the pregnancy and went to Lucille to sit at her knee as she had so many times growing up and once more ask for advice. Lucille didn’t tell her what to do. That wasn’t her style. Instead, the old woman guided Carson’s thoughts to find her own answer. Carson would never forget her words.

  You’ve got good instincts. Listen to them. Trust them. You’ll know what to do.

  Carson had a lot of time since Lucille’s death to ponder those words. When she was surfing, Carson had to trust her instincts on the wave, to know when to step left or right. It was all a matter of balance.

  She had to listen to her instincts now. It didn’t make sense for her to have a baby now. All her rational arguments were against it. But over the rational thoughts her instincts spoke loud and clear. That and her raging hormones, she thought with a snort. Lying on the bed, listening to the echoing sound of the waves rolling to the shore, Carson knew she had to ride this wave home.

  “Well baby,” she said, patting her tummy. “It’s me and you now. I’m not running away from you.”

  * * *

  Dora~

  Dora’s arm shot out to silence the alarm clock. She peered open one eyelid. 7 am. Rise and shine, she mumbled.

  She moved in a stupor, accustomed to the routine. She dressed quickly in running clothes, splashed cool water on her face, applied SPF moisturizer then did a few stretches. This past summer she’d learned that she had to get her exercise done first thing in the morning because if she waited, she’d slip into a thousand lame excuses why she didn’t have time. She’d learned to make time for the things that mattered to her.

  And nothing mattered more to her than her son.

  Dora swiftly walked down the h
all to Nate’s room. She very gingerly pushed open the door. The room had that stuffy closed-in smell but Nate, unlike the rest of the inhabitants of Sea Breeze, did not like to sleep with his windows opened. He was adamant about his likes and dislikes, quick to let you know if something was right. She went to the side of his bed and stood for a moment staring into her nine year old son’s face.

  Her heart bloomed with love for him. Did a child ever look more angelic than when asleep, she wondered? Nate’s long pale lashes fluttered against cheeks. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed heavily. One small hand rested on the pillow above his head, like he was fencing. He was small for his age but his thin frame had filled out this summer at Sea Breeze and his skin glowed with a tan. Nate loved the water. She called him her little fish. As her eyes hungrily roamed his face she noted that his shaggy blond hair needed a trim and she made a mental note to take him to the barber. It would be a fight, she thought with a sigh. Nate hated to have his hair cut.

  Poor little guy, she thought as she reached out to gently stroke hair from his forehead. She felt the moisture of perspiration at his brow. Cutting his hair was the least of the changes he’d be facing soon. He who hated any change. In a short period of time she had to help her son transition from home schooling to a classroom setting. It was a big decision, long and hard in coming. She’d found a private school that specialized in bright children with special needs, like his Asbergers. The school offered highly individualized instruction and school-wide positive behavior support. This summer she’d faced the reality that Nate was older and needed more than she could offer. He needed to communicate and socialize with his peers.

  Dora sighed. They both did. Isolation had not been good for either of them.

  On the heels of this decision was her intention to move to Mt. Pleasant, closer to the school. A new school . . . a new home . . . Dora said a quick prayer that she’d find the strength.

  She bent to gently kiss Nate’s cheek, breathing in the scent of him. When he was awake, he didn’t like to be kissed.

  “We’ll be fine,” she whispered close to his ear. “Mama’s here. I won’t let you down.”

  * * *

  While Harper pedaled back to Sea Breeze her mind was filled with words that could capture that glorious sunrise. Iridescent, shimmering, glittering ethereal, inspiring . . . Harper parked the bike in the garage and hurried toward the house, eager to slip quietly back into her bedroom and begin writing. She wanted to describe what she’d seen and the feelings that had swirled in brilliant color. As she made her way across the back porch a cough drew her attention. Harper turned her head to the back corner of the porch and was surprised to see her grandmother sitting tall and straight-backed in one of the large black wicker chairs. In the dim light, wearing her long white cotton nightgown, Mamaw appeared ghostly.

  “Mamaw!” Harper exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?”

  Mamaw smiled as Harper approached, but it was a tired smile. Her pale blue eyes were sunken and her arms were wrapped around her slender body as though she were chilled.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Mamaw replied. “I woke very early and my mind kept wandering.” She shook her head. “It’s so exhausting when that happens. A curse of old age. I just gave up and came out here to sit a spell. I thought the fresh air might help.”

  On the glass topped table Harper saw a line of playing cards. Her heart pinged, realizing Mamaw was playing solitaire. The image of Mamaw and Lucille playing endless games of gin rummy together on the porch at all hours of the day and night flashed in Harper’s mind.

  Harper hurried to put her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “How long have you been out here?” she asked, alarmed. “You chilled to the bone.” She rubbed Mamaw’s arms briskly with her hands, trying to warm her.

  “Mmm . . . that’s nice,” Mamaw said. “Thank you, dear.”

  Harper pulled up a chair and dropped into it. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

  “What’s got your mind wandering?”

  “Oh . . . I was thinking of Lucille,” Mamaw said wistfully.

  Of course, Harper thought.

  “It was a nice funeral, wasn’t it?” Mamaw asked.

  “It was. Very. I’d never been to a Gullah funeral before. So much song, tears, and rejoicing.”

  “And ‘Amens’,” Mamaw added wryly.

  Harper smiled in agreement. She’d been moved by the unrestrained calling out at the service, the passion, the strong sense of community.

  Mamaw looked back out over the water. “I was sitting here, looking across the Cove, and it brought to mind what the preacher talked about at Lucille’s service. How their ancestral spirits who came to the lowcountry—those by force and those who came after—lived, thrived and died here. They worked hard, cooked rice, cast nets for shrimp, raised children and now they’ve all moved on to the bounty of the afterlife. That’s what Lucille believed, you know. She was tired at the end, I daresay looking forward to crossing the water.” Mamaw sighed, remembering. “I confess, I’m ready.”

  Harper leaned forward to grasp Mamaw’s hand.

  “Don’t go yet,” she said. “We still need you.”

  Mamaw’s lips slipped into a wobbly smile, briefly, then fell again. “I’m having a hard time believing she’s really gone.”

  “It all happened so fast. ” Harper also felt deep sorrow at Lucille’s swift battle with cancer.

  Mamaw looked at Harper and asked pointedly, “Do you believe in an afterlife?”

  Harper released Mamaw’s hand and leaning back, scratched her head, thinking this was a heavy conversation to have before a first cup of coffee. She’d never warmed to the idea of a God that rewarded the good with heaven and the others an eternity of brimstone and fire. It seemed so unforgiving. Still, after much soul searching she’d come to believe there was a higher being. She’d felt a connection to that infinite power this morning while staring out at the sunrise.

  “I guess so,” she said with hesitancy. “I don’t think much about it.”

  Mamaw smiled ruefully. “You’re young. You think you’re immortal. When you get to my age, you’ll think about it . . . a lot.”

  “I don’t like to see you out here alone, playing solitaire and thinking of death. It’s a tad morbid.”

  “I’m not feeling the least bit morbid. Quite the opposite.” Mamaw patted Harper’s hand with a weary smile. “Death is becoming an old friend “

  Harper rose and tugged gently on Mamaw’s arm. “Come inside and I’ll make you a nice breakfast. Something warm.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Mamaw resisted, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve just got the dwindles.”

  “How about I bring you a nice hot cup of coffee?”

  Mamaw perked up at the suggestion. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

  “Coming right up.” She paused. Mamaw was always an elegant woman who take great care with her appearance. She had been a leading Charleston socialite famed for her parties as much as her beauty. To see Mamaw sitting on the porch still in her nightclothes, her white hair flowing unbrushed to her shoulders and wrapped up in a coverlet like a bag lady shook Harper to the core. This was an outward sign of the state of her mind.

  Harper made a bold suggestion. “Mamaw, while I make coffee, why don’t you get dressed?”

  Mamaw turned her head to deliver a stern face with a brow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

  Harper rushed on. “Don’t you remember, you used to tell us how Thomas Jefferson wrote his eleven year old daughter from France letters on deportment. He admonished her to always rise and dress promptly. Neat and clean and tidy.” Harper paused, pleased to see her grandmother was listening. “Your told us your mother read you his letters and you read them to us. Why, if you caught us lying about in our jammies, you sent us straight to our rooms to get dressed.”

  Mamaw raised on brow. “I’m delighted to learn you paid attention.” She offered her hand in a royal manner. Harper too
k it and helped Mamaw to her feet. “Very well,” Mamaw said. “The sun is up and so I should rise with it. It is, to paraphrase Scarlett O’Hara, another day.”

  Continue Reading…

  The Summer's End

  Mary Alice Monroe

  More from the Author

  Beach House Reunion

  Beach House for Rent

  A Lowcountry Christmas

  A Lowcountry Wedding

  The Summer's End

  The Summer Wind

  ALSO BY MARY ALICE MONROE

  Lowcountry Summer Trilogy

  The Summer Girls

  The Summer Wind

  Beach House Memories

  The Butterfly’s Daughter

  Last Light over Carolina

  Time Is a River

  We hope you enjoyed reading this Gallery Books eBook.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Summer Girls copyright © 2013 by Mary Alice Monroe, Ltd.

  The Summer Wind copyright © 2014 by Mary Alice Monroe, Ltd.