The Summer's End

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “It doesn’t work like that. The first goal is to release the dolphin to the wild. Delphine is still young and reproductively in her prime.” Blake released a reluctant smile. “I have to tell you, after what you’ve just said, I believe that you’ll do whatever you have to do for Delphine’s best interests.” He smiled at her. “My recommendation will be for release to the Cove.”

  Carson gave in to impulse and leaped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Blake.”

  Neither one of them made a move to pull away, each enjoying the contact again after so long. It was always this way between them. Sparks flew when they touched. Carson finally, reluctantly loosened her hold and slid slowly away. She teetered, feeling dizzy.

  Blake’s arm shot out to steady her. “You okay?”

  “Fine. Just lost my balance.” She snorted. “Hormones.”

  “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

  “I made an appointment. Next week.”

  “Can I . . . I mean, is it okay if I take you?”

  Carson hesitated. This was a big step. A first in their being partners in her pregnancy. She looked into his eyes, felt his arm holding hers, steadying her.

  “Yes. I’d like that.”

  Chapter Five

  The following morning Dora stood in front of an ironing board, pressing one of the two dresses she was considering wearing for her first job interview in almost fifteen years. She stood dressed only in her fancy new lacy bra and panties in front of the glass sliding doors to Devlin’s bedroom porch. The large room was graced with a patio that offered a sweeping view of the ocean. The doors were wide-open to the onshore breezes.

  “Now that’s what I call a view,” Devlin said from behind her.

  Dora threw Devlin a saucy look over her shoulder, knowing full well which view he was referring to. Devlin was lying on his enormous, king-size bed that they’d just made love upon, one knee up, one leg hanging off the side of the mattress, as naked as a jaybird. He didn’t care that he had a paunch growing, and that at forty he wasn’t as trim as he’d been at seventeen when they dated all those years ago, only to end up with other people and ultimately find their way back to each other. Unlike Dora, Devlin had no modesty issues and was completely at ease with his body.

  In contrast, Dora had always struggled with her weight, especially the tire around her middle. She had her mother’s figure and cursed that she’d not inherited the long, lean frame of the Muir clan, like Carson and Harper. She also resented the biological burden that women carried, those damned extra fat cells on their hips for reasons of reproduction. Since she’d started her walking regimen, however, she’d whittled down that tire, and her body not only looked better, but she felt better. Exposing even some of her body was, for her, a measure of confidence.

  She turned back to her ironing, shaking her head. “You’re such a man.”

  Devlin chuckled low in his chest. She smiled. Even his laugh had a lowcountry accent. “Darlin’, I just spent the last hour trying to prove that very point to you.”

  Dora blushed, remembering the details of the past hour.

  “The only sight prettier than a woman ironing is a woman cooking a meal.”

  Dora pressed the steam button on the iron. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Why? It’s the truth. Put on an apron and I’ll show you.”

  “Hush now, you’re being ridiculous.” She huffed in feigned annoyance. “You know I’ve got to get going. I’m running late, thanks to a certain distraction.” She pulled the pale blue cotton dress with white-stitched embroidery off the ironing board and held it up in front of her. “Which do you like best for the interview? This one?” She gave him a minute to observe, then set the blue dress down and held up a chocolate-brown shift. “Or this one?”

  “I like you with neither on the best.”

  Dora rolled her eyes. “Try to be serious, Dev. I need to look good. Real good. I need this job.”

  He sighed with resignation, giving up the tease. “What job is that?”

  Dora took a breath, trying to be patient. She’d told him about her job interview at a local dress shop earlier, but to be fair, he’d begun kissing her neck at the time. “Don’t you recall? I told you that I had a job interview at a dress shop in Towne Center. The location would be so convenient. I don’t want to have to go to the city to find work.”

  “A dress shop? What do they pay?”

  She shrugged. “Fair wages.” When he gave her a doubtful look, she conceded, “Minimum wage. But I get a discount on my clothes.”

  “Uh-huh.” Devlin rose and walked to the end of the bed to slip on a waffle-weave robe. “Why don’t you come work for me?”

  Devlin owned his own real estate firm on the barrier islands. He’d done extremely well during the boom of the past twenty years, but like most Realtors was hurting during the downtrend in the real estate market. The market was just beginning to pick up.

  “What would I do?”

  “Be my assistant.”

  “I don’t have any secretarial skills. I can barely find my way around a computer, much less a fax machine. And you’ve already got a receptionist.”

  “I need help scouting out houses to flip. You’d be my right-hand gal. You have a great eye for real estate. You’re a natural. You can study for your real estate license.”

  The idea of getting her real estate license was tempting. She and Devlin had been working together shaping up a darling cottage on Sullivan’s Island. But working with him as a couple and working for him as an employer were not the same thing.

  “No.”

  “Hear me out.” Devlin laid his palm out in the air. “Look how well you and I do together working on that cottage. It’s turning out real well. And don’t we enjoy working together?” When she nodded, he grinned. “I think so, too. You’ve got good instincts with houses, Dora. That’s something you can’t learn in school. You’re born with it.”

  “No.”

  “I’d pay you well. Hell, a sight better than minimum wage.”

  Dora walked to him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you. You are a prince among men and I appreciate the offer. I really do. But, no.”

  “Why the hell not? You like real estate.”

  “I do.”

  “Why accept a minimum-wage job when I’m offering you something better?”

  “Because you don’t really need me. And”—she emphasized to discourage his objection—“I want to get a job on my own, without someone handing it to me. Not this time. This is important to me. Try to understand.”

  With his tousled blond hair and baby-blue eyes, he looked like a pouting child. “I never heard you talk about wanting to be in retail.”

  “I don’t particularly.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because, frankly, I don’t have a college diploma, secretarial skills, computer skills, or training in any particular area, for that matter. I’ve done volunteer work most of my life. What can I say? I saw the ad in the newspaper. It’s either this or asking the customer if she wants fries with that.”

  “So go back to school. What’s your hurry?”

  “Nate has to go to school, not me. He starts private school in a few weeks. You know my house hasn’t sold. We haven’t gotten so much as a single offer, not even a lowball, so money is tight. I’ll get child support and alimony, but it won’t be enough to handle this expense. If I want Nate to start at the private school, I have to contribute. It’s as simple as that. And that’s okay. I’m looking forward to working again. Earning a paycheck. Putting something toward my Social Security. It’ll make me feel . . . independent.”

  Devlin scratched his jaw but didn’t reply.

  Dora picked up the brown shift, held it up, and asked again, “So which looks better?”

  He pointed to the blue. “Matches your eyes.”

  “You don’t think it will make my butt look fat?”

  “Honey, I ain’t stupid enough to try
and answer that one.”

  Dora sucked in her belly, wishing she’d had the discipline to skip the grits the night before. She stepped into the dress, wriggling as she tugged it over her hips. It was snug around the caboose, but it fit. “Harper picked these out. She always goes for that sleek, severe look. Don’t you think it’s a bit plain? I wish it had a bit of ruffle, or some bling on it.” She sighed and walked to Devlin’s side. “Zip me up?”

  Devlin obliged. It was like being a married couple, she thought contentedly as he worked the tiny clasp at the top. Only better. She was free to come and go from his house as she pleased, though she supposed that would come to an end once she and Nate moved out of Sea Breeze and he didn’t have his aunts or great-grandmother to keep an eye on him at a moment’s notice. Devlin wanted to tie the knot, but after a lifetime of being at her mother’s or her husband’s beck and call, she was enjoying her newfound freedom—though she didn’t dare tell him that.

  “How’s Carson doing?” Devlin asked.

  She’d already told him that Carson was keeping the baby. It was typical of Dev to be concerned about her. He and Carson had been surfing buddies since they were kids. Dora was secretly convinced that Carson once had a crush on Dev back when he was a dashing blond surfer and a leader in her surfing crowd. Though, of course, Carson denied it.

  “Good. Real good.”

  “Saw her with Blake. They on again?”

  “You mean Rhett and Scarlett?” She chuckled. “The jury’s still out on that. They’re seeing each other ostensibly to make plans for Delphine.” Dora smirked. “But they’re not fooling anyone.” She thought of the knowing smiles, the cuddling, and other indicators. “But you know Carson. When things get too close, she bolts.”

  “I always said that was one fish that was hard to catch.”

  Dora chuckled as she began to set her blond waves, knowing it was true. Carson’s history of running from relationships was legendary. “I think the only reason she hasn’t run back to Los Angeles yet is because she can’t afford to.” Dora sighed. “She’s jumpier than a driver who’s got to pee looking for exits.”

  Devlin chuckled, a low rumbling sound. “You get like that whenever I mention marriage, too.”

  Dora scoffed and waved her hand dismissively. “Not the same thing at all. I figure her being stuck here is a good thing. She’s forced to stay and deal with her problems rather than run from them. Or from a guy.”

  “Blake’s a good guy.” Devlin went to the bar and poured himself a glass of seltzer water over ice. Dora noticed, pleased that he was cutting back on his drinking. “Speaking of guys, what was that you were mentioning about some guy coming from Florida to see Carson and getting our boy all riled?”

  Dora put down her brush, her eyes gleaming with news. “Mamaw told me all about it. It was a big misunderstanding. Anyway, this Taylor fella . . . Mamaw say’s he’s quite the looker . . . is just a friend of Carson’s. From when she was in Florida. But”—Dora’s eyes sparkled—“as it happens, he turns out to be a person of interest for Harper.”

  “Harper?” Devlin said with doubt. “Our Harper? I didn’t figure she got her nose out of her computer long enough to be attracted to any guy. Thought she’d have hooked up with one of those online things . . . what you call those, anima icons?”

  “Avatar.” Dora knew such things because of Nate. “What you talkin’ about, boy?” she teased. “Our Harper’s got plenty of interest from real flesh-and-blood fellas. Except she’s not interested in them. According to her, she’s waiting for true love to hit. Thinks it’ll happen at first sight. And, she thinks it hit with this Taylor fella.”

  Dev appeared amused by this notion as he walked closer. “She doesn’t strike me as the love at first sight type. More like she’d be analyzing any guy for his pros and cons.”

  “Our sweet academic turns out to be a closet romantic. Don’t you just love it? And I’ll have you know that she’s not on the computer nearly as much now as she was when she first arrived. In fact, she’s outdoors a lot now. In that garden she’s mad for. And she’s been asking me to teach her how to cook. Bless her heart. She barely knows how to boil water.” Dora poked Devlin in the ribs with her elbow. “Yep, I’ll bet she’s standing there in front of the stove right now, wearing an apron, stirring a pot, or cutting up vegetables.” Dora wiggled her eyebrows. “Should I be jealous?”

  Devlin laughed again and moved to slip his arms around her and rest his hands on her ample bottom. He gave a gentle squeeze. “You might be if she had a little more meat on her bones.”

  Dora laughed out loud, then kissed him full on the lips, amazed at how this man could always make her feel beautiful.

  “You know,” he said in a low voice by her ear, “I fell in love with you at first sight.”

  “I was thirteen,” she said as a rebuff. “What did you know about true love back then?”

  “Hell, woman, I’m not talking about when you were thirteen. I’m talking about last June, when I spotted you walking down Middle Street. All red in the face, sweat soaking that USC T-shirt.”

  Dora barked out a laugh and slapped away his roving hand. “You dog! I was trying so hard not to look winded.” She laughed harder. “I thought I was going to die either from the heat or from you seeing me like that after fifteen years.”

  “I never saw anyone more beautiful. Like I said, I fell in love with you on the spot. Again.”

  Dora softened and, reaching up, tenderly brushed his shaggy blond hair from his forehead. “You do turn a girl’s head.”

  Devlin slipped his arms around her again. “Shame you put that dress on,” he murmured in her ear.

  Dora glanced at the clock on the wall, then smiled at the sound of her dress zipper humming down the track.

  Mamaw stood on the dock, staring out moodily as she did so often lately. It was early in the morning, but warm, hinting at the heat that was surely coming as the sun rose higher. Normally she wasn’t one to sulk and let days slip away without notice. She had interests, hobbies, friends. Still, here she was, wandering about aimlessly, feeling pitifully lost without Lucille.

  Lucille had come into her employ when Mamaw was a young bride in her new home on East Bay in Charleston. They’d grown old together. While always a treasured employee, Lucille had evolved over the years into Mamaw’s companion, her confidante—her dearest friend. Lucille had held Mamaw up during the dark days following her son’s death, then her husband’s. She’d stood by her side, made sure she ate, encouraged her to get outdoors and walk. Day by day they had created a routine that altered the nature of their relationship. Marietta had no secrets from Lucille. They’d been like two peas in a pod.

  Unlike Edward or Parker, Lucille had been a part of Mamaw’s everyday life. Every question—concerning her granddaughters, the house, meals, the garden—was discussed between them. Every decision—from major issues such as finagling a way to get her granddaughters to agree to come to Sea Breeze for the summer, to minor ones such as what to watch on television—was negotiated with Lucille. Usually over a game of gin rummy.

  Now Lucille was gone. The wheel that turned Mamaw’s daily life was missing a cog. She’d known that she would grieve, yet she hadn’t anticipated how Lucille’s absence would be felt countless times a day, in all the small details Mamaw had come to take for granted. Being with Lucille had been as natural as breathing. Without her, she couldn’t seem to take an easy breath. She knew her granddaughters were worried about her. The dears, they’d all gathered the night before to play a game of canasta with her after dinner. She stroked her arms. It was fun, she supposed. She just couldn’t seem to muster excitement about anything these days. Was this what they called depression? she wondered.

  “Marietta!” a voice called, drawing her from her reverie.

  She turned her head toward the voice. Across the water, standing on the neighboring dock, was her neighbor Girard Bellows—Gerry, his friends called him. He was precariously bent over a small johnboat as he load
ed gear. When he straightened, he lifted his hand in a neighborly wave. His long, lean frame could make even his nylon fishing pants and patched shirt look elegant.

  Marietta smiled, remembering how Girard Bellows had always been a handsome man, especially back in the days when his hair was as black as an eagle’s wing and her hair was as golden as sunlight.

  Marietta returned the wave.

  Girard shouted, “How’ve you been?”

  “Fine, thank you,” she called back, trying to be neighborly.

  Girard raised his finger in the universal signal to wait one minute. She nodded, then watched, curious, as he climbed into his small johnboat, fired the outboard motor, and came cruising the short distance over to her lower dock. Mamaw, perched on the upper dock, leaned over the railing and watched him jump to her dock and tie up with the grace of a man half his age. When finished, he looked up at her with a wide, white-toothed grin. He wore a Harvard baseball cap over his shock of white hair that contrasted handsomely with his tanned face. Girard had a vigor about him that was as youthful today as it had been back when she fished with him almost fifty years earlier on this very dock.

  “Couldn’t see making a lady shout,” Girard called out as he drew near. He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his pale blue eyes.

  My, but Girard Bellows has aged well, Mamaw thought to herself. She’d always found him attractive. Even fancied him a bit, though it was all innocent enough. Girard came from an old moneyed family in the Northeast somewhere. He had that grace of movement that she thought was a gift of one’s DNA. He always liked to tease her that his folk, who had come over on the Mayflower, were on the eastern coast long before hers in Charleston. That’s when she claimed her pirate ancestry as her trump card. Who knew when and where the Gentleman Pirate first arrived on these shores? It had been a running joke between them for years, and she smiled now, remembering it.

  When they were younger, neither of them lived on the island full-time. Local couples shared occasional drinks on weekends when families returned to Sullivan’s Island for the season. The Bellowses were never invited to the Muirs’ Charleston house, nor were the Muirs invited to the Bellowses’ home . . . it was in Connecticut, she remembered. Later, both families retired to Sullivan’s Island. Then Edward had died, followed soon after by Girard’s wife, Evelyn. Mamaw hadn’t seen much of Girard at all since Evelyn’s funeral.