“Good.”
“Me, too.”
Nate tilted his head, curious. “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see Carson.”
Nate considered this. “Are you going to marry Aunt Carson?”
Carson barked out a laugh.
Harper swung her head around.
Taylor took the question in his stride. “Why would you think that?”
“On account of she’s going to have a baby and I was wondering if you’re here to be the daddy.”
Taylor’s gaze slid to Carson.
Carson slipped her palm on her cheek, speechless.
“You’re having a baby?”
Carson dropped her hand and shrugged. “Yep.”
Harper watched Taylor digest this news and was relieved to see him smile in genuine pleasure. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m just getting used to the idea,” Carson said breezily. Then she launched into the story of how she’d been in the pool with Delphine and how the dolphin had been persistently echolocating on her belly.
“You were diagnosed by a dolphin?” Taylor summed up with a short laugh. “Classic.”
“I know, right? Gotta admit it’s a great story. I can use it at parties for decades.”
Nate tugged Taylor’s shirt. “Is Thor here?”
“Sure is. He’s out on the porch.”
“Can I go see him?”
“He’d like that.”
“Will he remember me?”
“Sure. He’ll be glad to see you again. Go on out and keep him company.”
“Okay.” Nate took off like a shot.
Carson smiled. “A boy and a dog. Another classic.”
“Iced tea’s ready,” Harper called out. She set out a tray with two tall glasses of sweet tea, lemons, and sugar cookies.
“Thanks,” Taylor said, trying to catch her gaze.
Carson said, “Let’s go out to the porch. There’s no place to sit in here.”
Taylor turned to Harper. “Are you coming?”
Harper smiled, pleased at his invitation. “If I’m not interrupting . . .”
“You’re not interrupting!” Carson exclaimed. “The more the merrier.”
They were just leaving when Mamaw entered the room.
“Girls!” she sang out in a high voice reserved for guests. “Look who’s come by for a visit.”
Mamaw stepped aside and everyone fell silent as a smiling—and then suddenly very confused-looking—Blake followed Mamaw into the kitchen.
Chapter Four
Blake!” Carson sounded astonished. Harper could understand her sister’s surprise: Blake had not been to Sea Breeze in weeks, though he lived on the same island. Their breakup had not been amicable. Glancing furtively at Taylor, Harper thought this couldn’t be more awkward.
“Hey, Carson.” Blake stepped hesitantly into the room filled with people. He was wearing a NOAA polo shirt and carried a computer bag. He glanced around, spotted Harper, and nodded with a quick smile of recognition. “Harper.”
“Hey, Blake.” Harper glanced quickly to Carson, who stood still and silent, her eyes haunted.
Mamaw instinctively moved in to smooth the awkwardness. “My, but there’s a party in here!” she exclaimed, arms outstretched. “How wonderful.” She zeroed in on Taylor. “Harper, dear, you have a friend.” She walked toward Taylor. “We haven’t been introduced.”
Harper stepped forward as years of training clicked in. “Mamaw, I’d like to present Taylor McClellan. Taylor, this is my grandmother Mrs. Muir.”
“McClellan,” Mamaw repeated, rolling the name over in thought. “Are you related to the McClellan family in McClellanville? I know Sarah McClellan. But, wait, she married so her last name would be different. What was it . . . ?”
“McDaniel,” Taylor replied. “Yes, ma’am, I am. She’s my aunt. She married Stuart McDaniel.”
Mamaw’s face brightened with the connection. “Of course. What a lovely couple. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen either of them. So you’re their nephew. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taylor.”
Taylor stood straighter and took Mamaw’s offered hand with a particularly warm smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Muir.”
Harper saw Mamaw cock her head in approval of the young man’s manners. Harper stifled a smile, thinking maybe all they needed to bring Mamaw out of her funk was a handsome young man to pay her some attention.
“I’m Blake.” He shifted his computer bag to the other hand and stepped toward Taylor for a handshake.
Taylor shook Blake’s hand firmly. “Taylor.”
Blake and Taylor were close in height and both deeply tanned from the summer sun, but there the similarity ended. Blake was as lean as bacon, his face long and narrow. He stood in the relaxed stance of an islander with his hands in his well-worn pockets. His dark brown hair was longer than usual and fell in salt-stiff curls around his head.
In contrast, Taylor was broad and muscled. His shirt was ironed, his face clean shaven. He stood straight and alert in a military stance.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Blake asked Taylor. “You a friend of Harper’s?”
“Yes, I hope so.” Taylor smiled briefly at Harper. “But I actually came by to see Carson.”
Blake skipped a beat and his expression grew more guarded. “How do you know Carson?”
Taylor, hearing the hint of an interrogation in the question, stiffened perceptibly.
“Taylor and I got to know each other in Florida,” Carson offered, seeming to find her voice. “At the Dolphin Research Center. He’s in town and looked me up. Mamaw, you remember me talking about him.”
“I do, indeed,” Mamaw replied graciously.
Carson walked to Blake, her caftan swooshing against her legs. Harper sensed the tension between them and was sorry for it. Harper had always liked the marine biologist who’d claimed Carson’s heart—and the hearts of all the Muir family with his steadfast love for Carson. His rescue of Delphine earlier in the summer had been nothing short of heroic.
“Blake, what brings you here?” Carson asked, an edge to her voice, her tone unwelcoming.
Blake’s eyes flashed briefly, then he took a step back. “I had some news about Delphine,” he said coolly. “But we can talk later.”
“Delphine?” Carson went for the hook. “What about her?”
“I don’t want to interfere with your . . . reunion. I should’ve called first.”
“Is she all right?”
Blake paused to meet Carson’s gaze. “Yeah.” His lips suppressed a smile as he offered her a loaded glance. “She’s more than all right.”
Harper watched as the two shared a long look that spoke volumes and made the rest of them feel like voyeurs to witness it.
Carson turned to Taylor. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but this is important. It’s about Delphine, the dolphin I told you about. Can I be terribly rude and ask you to wait a bit longer?”
Taylor inclined his head toward the porch. “No problem. I just came by to say hey. I’ve got to run. The dog and all.” He glanced at Blake, then turned to leave.
“I’ll walk you out.” Carson walked to Taylor and slipped her arm in his. She offered him a brilliant smile that melted the awkwardness. “Seems the least I can do.”
Harper stood by the door, still holding the tray of iced teas and feeling very much the fool for it.
Passing her at the door, Taylor offered a smile. “Nice to meet you, Harper.”
She looked in his eyes, pulsing with warmth. She wanted to say something . . . anything . . . but couldn’t.
When Carson drew near, she heard Taylor say to her in a low voice, “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“You didn’t.” Carson patted his arm. “The trouble was there before you arrived. It’s a long story.”
Harper stood stock-still after the door had slammed behind Taylor and Carson. She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed for the gush of
romantic feelings that had been roiling inside her since she’d met Taylor McClellan. Enough, she told herself. No more dreaming. It was time to put away childish thoughts and focus on tasks at hand. She had a job to get, an apartment. She had to make plans to return to New York.
She turned and walked resolutely across the kitchen. Mamaw and Blake were struggling to keep up some semblance of polite conversation while Carson was out.
“Care for some tea?” Harper asked Blake and Mamaw.
They each took a glass with thanks. Harper heard her phone ding and, setting the empty tray on the counter, quickly checked it.
It was a message from her mother.
After making her excuses and retreating to her bedroom, Harper closed the sliding doors and sat on the four-poster bed. Her mother’s terse query asked why Harper hadn’t responded to her mother’s e-mail from the previous week, checking in on Harper and where she stood with her return plans. Harper groaned inwardly, knowing she couldn’t keep putting her mother off. She hadn’t spoken to her since their blowout on the phone back in May. She was sure her mother had been waiting for her to come crawling back to New York. As the days flew by, however, and Harper remained on Sullivan’s Island, it brought Harper a smug pleasure that her mother had reached out first.
But it wasn’t smugness that had kept Harper from responding to her mother’s e-mail. Georgiana had been pleasant enough in the e-mail, but Harper could imagine the foot tapping in her mind. Rather, Harper didn’t know what she’d say to her mother. She hadn’t made up her mind what to do or where to go come fall. She’d been hoping the answer would become clear to her. It seemed instead she was going to rely on her default program and return to New York for lack of other options.
Staring at her phone, she summoned her courage. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she dialed a number she hadn’t called since Memorial Day.
On the second ring she heard the familiar clipped British accent. “Georgiana James here.”
“Mummy?”
“Harper!”
“Yes, hello. It’s me.”
“I was just thinking of you.”
“Were you really?”
“Yes. I’ve just returned from the Hamptons and the apartment is so quiet with you gone.” Georgiana released a dramatic sigh. “I’m exhausted. It was a madhouse. Everybody was there. I had to come back to New York to get some rest before the next onslaught at Labor Day. But it’s always so beautiful there, and I’m expected. We do what we must. You should have been there. Everyone asked where you were.”
Harper doubted that but she heard the thinly veiled criticism. No one even knew she was there most of the time. Harper wondered why her mother insisted on filling the house with tiresome guests only to complain about it later. There was never respite from the loud, slightly inebriated conversations, the raucous laughter, and the long string of parties. Her mother’s packed social calendar was her life’s blood. In contrast, Harper couldn’t bear constantly being “on.” Usually she retreated with a book to the beach or with her laptop to her room, much to her mother’s annoyance.
“It’s quite peaceful here,” Harper said.
“I’m sure it is, darling.” Georgiana skipped a beat. “There’s no there there.”
“Well, I’m quite content.” Harper could already feel herself growing petulant and contrary in the face of her mother’s disapproval.
“About that.” Harper tensed at the tone that signaled a lecture. “When are you coming back from your summer vacation? I mean, really, darling, aren’t you going stir-crazy lost in the swamps?”
“Not at all. They’re called the wetlands, by the way.”
“Is that so,” Georgiana said in a bored tone. Then, getting back to her point: “Summer holiday is over. It’s time to come home. We have a very exciting fall lineup. I need you back at work.”
“I didn’t think I had a job to come home to,” Harper rejoined pointedly.
Harper heard the sound of her mother inhaling from her cigarette. “I vaguely recall that you quit.”
“I suppose I did.”
“It was a heated moment.”
“Yes, it was.” Harper recalled the bitter phone call the previous May when her mother made clear, in terse words, that Harper worked for her and had to do as she was told, not only for her job but in her personal life. That moment had crystallized for Harper the true nature of her relationship with her mother. With the veil of sentimentality ripped off, she was able to stand up to her mother for the first time and declare her independence. Or, a first step toward it. She’d found the strength to quit her job, which freed her up to spend the summer at Sea Breeze. Something she’d not planned on doing, but had turned out to be a blessing.
“Actually, Mummy, that’s why I called. I wanted to talk to you about a job.”
“Good. You must come back as soon as possible. You were quite right about that girl,” Georgiana pushed on in a confidential tone. “Absolute nightmare. She can barely spell, much less punctuate a sentence. And entitled?” She exhaled. “Can you believe the twit wanted to be promoted to editor? Already? Imagine. I sent her packing.” Another exhalation.
“Nina? You were singing her praises last time we talked. You were quite clear that you thought she’d be a better editor than I. How I wasn’t ready.” Harper’s cheeks flushed at the memory.
“You’re imagining things. You’ve always been oversensitive, Harper. The salient point is that I need you back. All is forgiven.”
Forgiven? Harper’s fingers clutched the phone in a fistlike grip. Her mother always had the ability to twist things around so that in the end she was the victor. “I’m not coming back to—”
“Not coming back? Where would you go? Wait a minute . . . Has Mummy been talking to you again about moving to Greenfields Park?” Georgiana laughed, a high trill sound. “Typical. Now you know where I get my wheedling and conniving side from. Well, I can’t blame you if you choose to move to England. I’ve been a disappointment to them, so I suppose there’s some satisfaction in knowing that at least my progeny can fulfill their dream.”
“But I haven’t—”
“Haven’t what?”
“Mother, will you let me finish a sentence?” Harper said with heat. There was a silence. She continued in a calmer voice, “I haven’t chosen to move to Greenfields Park. I haven’t chosen anything. What I began to say was I’m not coming back to being your editorial assistant. Though I appreciate the opportunity,” she hurried to add, “I’ve grown beyond that position.” She thought that more politic than declaring she no longer wanted to be her mother’s lackey. Over the past two years she’d given more of the editorial jobs to the other employees and her personal agenda to Harper.
“Not be my assistant?” Georgiana sounded affronted. “But who else can do the job?”
Harper prayed for patience. Why was it her job to ensure her mother had a satisfactory assistant? “Mummy, you can hire someone new to be your personal assistant. I’ll train her, if you like. But I’m qualified to be an editor. More than qualified.”
Harper waited. She knew her mother would often make whoever was on the other end of the conversation wait in silence for long periods while she thought things through.
“I’m going to start sending out my résumé,” Harper said flatly, ending the standoff. “I wanted you to know first. I’d appreciate a letter of recommendation.”
“When did you become so heartless?”
“I beg your pardon? How am I heartless?”
“Who do you think nurtured your career in publishing all your life? Sent you to the best schools, mentored you, introduced you to every important publishing house? Me. You never could have made the connections and have the opportunities you’ve had were it not for me. And this is how you repay me? You threaten me that you’re going to another house? That’s like turning down my option clause.”
“I’m not turning anything down,” Harper said with exasperation. “Other than the job as your assistant.
You haven’t offered me anything else yet.”
There was a pause and she heard her mother puffing away like a locomotive. At length Georgiana spoke again, this time in her business tone of voice—clipped, heavy on the British accent, impersonal. “You always were hard to reason with when you’re at that place. I’d hoped you’d outgrown your grandmother’s influence.”
“Which grandmother are you referring to? Not that it matters. Mother, I’ve not discussed this with either Mamaw or Granny James. I’m not talking to you as your daughter but as your former editorial assistant who wishes to apply for a position as editor.”
There was another long pause. This time, Harper waited her out.
“Very well. If you’re serious about applying for a job as an editor, I’ll be happy to discuss it with you. In my office, like any other applicant. Call me when you get back to New York to set up an appointment. Must go now. Cheers.”
Harper heard the click of disconnection. She fell back on the mattress to stare at the ceiling, momentarily stunned and confused. When she’d called her mother, she’d been filled with determination to make decisions, to return to New York. Yet once again her mother had shown her that her hopes were naive.
Working for her mother in any capacity was a bad idea. Harper realized that now. Georgiana James would turn on her. Tell her she wouldn’t succeed. But what else was new? The logical, pragmatic side of Harper knew she had to stop stalling and apply to other houses.
But the emotional part of her was feeling belittled and hurt. Harper brought her hands in to cover her face, then turned on her side and curled up in a ball. Rejection hurt. Even after all these years. She thought she’d get used to it. But she kept this childish hope that someday her mother would, if not love her, at least appreciate her qualities. Not Georgiana James. She excelled at letting Harper know, in every manner possible, that she didn’t matter. Or if she did, it was only in how Harper could fill her mother’s needs and wants.
Any attempt at autonomy, even typical teenage experimenting with clothing and makeup, was strongly opposed. Harper wondered if her mother had any idea how crazy Harper could have gone at the boarding schools. Or what a good girl she’d been all those years when her friends were sneaking out at night, trying drugs, sex, and booze. Then Harper snorted a very unladylike laugh. Georgiana was too self-absorbed to have even noticed, let alone cared.
The Summer's End Page 6