“Girls,” Mamaw called out when they clustered around the table, “before you sit, we have to choose partners.”
The girls eyed each other nervously.
“I hate choosing teams.” Harper frowned petulantly. “It always reminds me of when I was young and in physical education at school. No one ever picked me for their team because I was too little.” She looked at Carson. “You were probably the first one picked.”
“As a matter of fact, I was,” Carson said with a wry grin.
“No fears, my dear.” Mamaw fanned out a deck of cards across the table. “Pick a card. The closest numbers will be partners.”
Relieved, they all drew a card. Mamaw and Dora were paired against Carson and Harper.
“The South shall rise again!” Dora warned them.
“Here we go . . . ,” groaned Carson with a roll of the eyes.
“It feels weird to play cards in the living room,” Dora said, arranging four glasses of iced tea and a bowl of mixed nuts on the table. “I always felt this was the room we all had to be proper in. Well behaved.”
“A lady?” Carson asked teasingly.
Harper silently mouthed, Death to the ladies!
Carson chuckled at their childhood mantra. Then her smile fell as her gaze swept the room. “The last time we were all in here was during the storm. In July, remember?”
“Of course we remember, sugar,” Dora said. “It was her last night with us.”
Mamaw was shuffling the cards but paused to look around the room. Frank Sinatra was crooning “Summer Wind” and candles flickered. Mamaw closed her eyes and said softly, “Lucille still is with us.”
Harper smiled then, a sad smile.
Mamaw opened her eyes and, with determination, briskly shuffled the two decks of cards. They snapped in her hands with a croupier’s precise movements. “It’s better indoors today. I swanny, the weather is positively wilting. We’ll expire if we play outdoors. I’m old enough to tell you that I’ve suffered through plenty of years without air-conditioning—sleeping outdoors on porches, fanning ourselves relentlessly, drinking cool drinks. I might not be a big fan of air-con out here on the island, but on days like this I bless the birth of Willis Carrier.”
“Amen,” added Dora, raising her iced tea in a salute.
“I’m a convert,” said Carson, lifting the long braid from her back. “I used to hate it. Coming in from the water, air-conditioning always made me too cold. But ever since I got pregnant, I can’t take the heat like I used to.”
“It’s your body heat, dear,” Mamaw told her. “It’s warmer now. You’re working harder.”
Carson eyed Mamaw skeptically.
Mamaw’s eyes widened. “It’s a fact! Look it up.” She began dealing the cards.
“It’s not the heat that bothers me. It’s the humidity,” said Harper. Lifting her hair like Carson, she twisted her shoulder-length hair up into a French twist and secured it with a clip. Then she rubbed her arms, dotted with angry bites. “And the bugs. I got sucked dry yesterday during my run.”
“Summer in the South . . . ,” mumbled Dora.
“The heat riles the skeeters up,” Mamaw said, picking up her cards.
Harper scratched her leg and groaned. “Well, they love me.”
“It’s your red hair,” Dora said with authority as she picked up her cards, one by one. Her blond hair was neatly pulled back in a ponytail with a pink ribbon. “The color red attracts bees and mosquitoes.”
“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Carson said dismissively.
“It is not,” Dora argued, looking up from her hand. Dora didn’t like to be corrected.
Carson skewered her with a look. “It is.”
“Hold on.” Harper grabbed her phone and bent over it for a moment.
Dora wagged her foot with frustration. “I know I’m right.”
“Here it is.” Harper glanced up to smile conspiratorially. “You’re both right. Bees don’t see color.”
“Told you,” said Carson with a gloating smile.
“But”—Harper pointed her finger in an arresting motion in the air—“it’s true mosquitoes tend to go for clothing in black, dark blue, and red. And”—she giggled as she pointed to Carson—“pregnant women.” Then with a laugh: “And drinkers of beer.”
Dora and Harper burst out laughing. Mamaw held her cards up to cover her smile.
“Well, damn,” Carson said, in typical self-derisive fashion. “In either case, I lose. I stopped drinking, but now I’m pregnant.” She rolled her eyes. “Figures.”
Harper eyed Mamaw’s rum drink skeptically. “Speaking of drinking, when did we relax the rules about alcohol around here?”
Mamaw raised her glass to her lips and took a prim sip. “Since I discussed it with Carson.”
Carson shrugged. “Why shouldn’t Mamaw have her nip of rum at night? The smell of alcohol makes me sick, so no temptation. Seems wrong to punish her. It’s her house, after all.”
“You mean, I can have a glass of wine?” Dora asked eagerly.
“Be my guest,” Carson said.
Dora smiled like a Cheshire cat. “For medicinal purposes only, of course.”
“Enough chatter,” Mamaw announced. “Let’s play cards.”
Time flew by as they played canasta and the relaxed chatter floated in the air. “Mamaw, your color is back,” Harper said as she looked over her cards. “You look, I don’t know, happier.”
“Why, thank you, dear.” Mamaw arranged her cards. “I was just thinking how I feel better.”
Dora looked at her cards and asked nonchalantly, “Been outdoors much? Say, on the water?”
Mamaw knew this was coming. She discreetly looked over her cards to deliver a squinted-eyes warning at Dora.
Dora ignored her and blithely continued as she picked a card from the pile, “You know, when I was out on the boat with Devlin and Nate earlier today, we passed this small johnboat with two people fishing together. A man and a woman. They were just as cozy as could be. Why, Mamaw, I could have sworn the woman was you. Didn’t you hear me call out to you?” Dora’s voice sounded innocent but she held her cards over her mouth to conceal her grin.
Mamaw simmered as Harper and Carson first looked with astonishment at Dora, then at Mamaw.
“Okay.” Carson lowered her cards. “What’s going on?”
Mamaw sniffed and took a sip of drink. She then sighed as if a long-suffering soul who had to put up with the antics of a child. “Tempest in a teapot. Girard Bellows and I went fishing,” she declared as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We’ve been friends forever. He saw me sitting on the dock and no doubt took pity and invited me out on his boat. I had a very nice time, thank you very much. End of story.” She tapped her cards on the table. She made a show of arranging them. “By the way, Dora,” she said archly, “you should use more sunscreen. You’re burned as red as a boiled lobster.”
“You went out with Old Man Bellows?” asked Carson incredulously.
Mamaw lay her cards on the table. “First of all, we didn’t go out. We went fishing. Secondly, he’s not Old Man Bellows. He’s Mr. Bellows to you.” She gave Carson a no-nonsense glare. “And we most certainly were not being cozy.” Mamaw picked up her cards. “It was a small boat.”
Dora leaned over the table and said in a stage whisper, “They were shoulder to shoulder. Canoodling.”
The girls started snickering.
Mamaw looked at her cards. “I’d say I’ve found the jokers in this deck.”
Carson hooted. “And you’re the wild card!”
Mamaw relented and joined their laughter, relishing the first sounds of merriment in Sea Breeze since Lucille’s death. Even if it was at her own expense.
The late afternoon stretched on into evening as they played hand after hand of canasta. It was so hot no one was very hungry, and since the kitchen was out of order, they nibbled crackers and cheese, leftover quiche, and raw vegetables. While they played, the talk
never ceased. They discussed ways that they could each help an anxious Nate prepare for his new school. They spent a long time coming up with possible names for Carson’s baby, which ranged from family names to silly ones. Harper was leaning heavily toward Poseidon, but Carson only rolled her eyes. Eventually the conversation turned to the progress of the kitchen’s makeover.
Carson, fanning her cards and smiling, asked Harper, “How’s it going with Taylor McClellan?”
Harper shrugged noncommittally and peered at her cards. “He’s doing a good job. Moving right along.”
“Interesting that Taylor’s doing the project. And not his father,” Carson said.
“Not really,” said Harper. “I suspect he’s helping his father this summer.”
Carson moved a few cards around in her hand. “Actually, that’s not what I heard.”
Harper’s glance darted up from her cards.
Carson’s eyes were gleaming. “I heard that he asked his father if he could do the job.”
“That’s not unusual. He’s doing jobs and picked this one. He’s your friend.”
“Except he’s not working for his dad. He’s in town for job interviews.”
Harper looked up from her cards. “Then why did he ask for this job?”
Carson tapped her cheek in feigned wonder. “I can’t imagine.”
Harper sat back in her chair. “Really?”
“And”—Carson laid down a discard—“he asked me if you were seeing anybody.”
Harper’s grin widened.
Dora narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t canoodling?”
The women burst out laughing again.
“I just love that word,” Harper said, her mood shooting skyward. “But I’m not even sure what it means.” She discarded.
Mamaw picked up the card. “It means to fondle and kiss.”
Harper balked. “No, ma’am, we are definitely not canoodling. Unfortunately.”
“Yet,” added Carson.
“Well, I just love the blue you chose for the walls.” Dora discarded. “It’s just the right shade. Kind of a haint blue. It will be gorgeous against the creamy-white cabinets.”
Harper basked in the compliment. “Thank you, partner.” She picked up a card. “What is haint blue?”
“That’s the blue the Gullah-Geechee paint on their porch ceilings to protect it and chase away negativity,” replied Dora. “It’s meant to keep the evil spirits out.”
“Amen to that,” muttered Carson.
“More lowcountry lore to learn,” Harper said.
“Why bother doing the kitchen now?” asked Carson.
Mamaw spoke up. “Because this house deserves it.”
“And it’ll improve resale,” Dora added.
“Mamaw, that reminds me.” Harper forced her tone light after Carson’s comment. “I’d like to get some new knobs and pulls for the cabinets. Do you mind if I change them?”
“Not at all, dear. But before you go shopping, take a look-see up in the attic. I have a bunch of old knobs and door handles and all kinds of whatnots up there. All collected from family houses over the years. God only knows all what’s up there.” Mamaw smiled wryly. “Help yourself to whatever you find. I don’t know if they’re any good, but—” She was interrupted by the sound of tires skidding to a halt in the gravel driveway, followed by a car door slamming. “What in heaven’s name . . . ?”
Mamaw, who sat closest to the window, pushed back the curtain and peered out. “Lord, Carson, here comes Blake. And he’s barreling in like a hurricane!”
Carson dropped her cards on the table and stood up, eyes wide.
The doorbell rang, followed by three impatient knocks. While Mamaw and the other two women straightened in their chairs, Carson hurried to the front hall. She opened the door and Blake rushed in, swooping up Carson in his arms. He swung her around a few times, grinning like a fool. Mamaw, Harper, and Dora set down their cards, the game forgotten.
“Blake!” Carson laughed into his face as he swirled her. “Put me down!”
Blake gently set her feet on the floor but kept his hold on her arms. He was grinning from ear to ear in triumph. “We found her!”
Carson stared back, uncomprehending. “Found who?”
“Delphine!”
“What?”
“I found her in the database.”
Carson’s heart leaped to her throat. “Oh, Blake!” Impulsively she leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips.
Blake leaned back but kept his arms around Carson. “It was that little hole you found in the tail fluke.” He rushed his words. “I spent the last two days poring over thousands of photographs and I found it. I couldn’t believe it. When I blew the photo up, I saw the scar on her rostrum, too. It’s a match. Delphine is definitely from our community. Baby, she’s one of ours!”
Carson’s voice was choked. “I knew it. So Delphine can be released into the Cove?”
He nodded and lowered his forehead to hers. “Yes.”
Carson wrapped her arms around Blake and buried her face in his neck. Inside, her heart was spinning with joy. She wanted to shout out, dance, jump up and down. But all she could do was weep.
Delphine was coming home.
Chapter Eight
The following morning, Harper sipped coffee in the kitchen and prayed to the gods of caffeine that the liquid she was pouring into her system would soon take hold. She’d spent another long night up writing and was feeling utterly spent. Musing over a chapter she had pounded out at a particularly late hour the night before, Harper didn’t even hear Taylor come in. She jumped as he shut the door behind him. A gust of wind sent the papers and droplets of rain flying.
“It’s a day for ducks,” she told him as he removed his rain jacket. He wore shorts and a white T-shirt splattered with different colors of paint. The short sleeves were frayed and so worn he’d rolled up the edges over his biceps. She took his jacket, shaking raindrops onto the floor.
“Yep. I don’t mind bad weather.” He slipped out of his shoes. “Out on the boat, you learn to deal.”
He looked up and Harper’s heart skipped a beat. Rivulets of water dripped from his hair down his face, making his green eyes shine even brighter against his tan.
Harper rushed to a drawer, pulled out a kitchen towel, and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed when he took it and she felt a rush.
“Thanks.” Taylor wiped his face, then tossed the towel on the counter.
Harper glanced around, as much to take her eyes off him as to take the room’s measure. The cabinets had been primed, and the cabinet doors were neatly stacked against the walls. Blue painter’s tape bordered the cabinets on the walls and floor. Here and there, sample swatches of different shades of blue paint splattered the walls.
“Everything’s so organized.”
“I’m a Marine. We’re trained to run a tight ship,” he said, half-serious, half in jest.
Harper was glad they’d broached the subject she was curious about. “When did you leave the Marines?”
“You never leave the Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”
“Oh.” She’d heard the pride in his voice. “So, you’re still in the Marine Corps?”
“I got out four years ago.”
“Were you in Afghanistan?”
“Yes.”
“Is the war the reason you joined the Marines?”
“That’s not so simple to answer. I graduated from the Citadel and the war was escalating. It was a no-brainer to go in with my classmates. I wore the ring.”
“And now you’re back.”
“Yes.” His face went still. “Not all my classmates were so lucky.”
Words fell away and his stillness gave away nothing.
“Okay, then,” he said with finality, prying off the lid of his Styrofoam cup. Steam rose from his coffee. He took a sip, then set the cup on the counter. “Best get started. Can’t open the windows with all this rain, but at least this part goes fa
ster.”
“Before you do, I wonder if you’d come with me to the attic?”
“The attic?”
“Uh, yes. I want to change the knobs and pulls on the cabinets. They deserve something better, once they’re all freshly painted. Don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I guess that’d be nice. Yeah.”
“Mamaw said there were some vintage ones stored up there that we could use. I want to give them a look first to decide. If we like them, I don’t know if I could carry them. I don’t know how heavy they’ll be.” She looked out the window, indicating the weather. “I thought if we did it now, while it’s early, it might be cooler up there. Especially with this cold front in.” She took a breath. God help her, she was rambling.
He gifted her with one of his rare smiles. “Sure.”
“Okay.” She squeezed her hands, then turned. “It’s this way.”
She was aware of him walking behind her as she led the way through the living room to the west wing of the house where the girls’ bedrooms were. Midway through the hall a trapdoor led to the attic. She reached for the rope handle, but Taylor reached up to grab it first. After a yank he had the wooden stairs pulled down.
“You can go first,” Harper told him, then followed him up the narrow stairs. “There’s a light switch at the top.”
In the center of the large attic the steep roof was tall enough for even Taylor to stand up, but it sloped sharply on either side. Two dormers cut through the roof on the front side of the house, and each had a functional window, though they were filthy, and the room smelled musty. She sniffed, then sneezed.
Rain pattered on the roof like a drumbeat, slow and steady.
Taylor stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze traveling the attic with an appreciative expression. “What a great space.”
Harper had only been in the attic once, when she was very young. She and Carson were exploring the forbidden territory one afternoon when Mamaw and Lucille had gone off shopping. She’d found the space dingy and dusty and filled with boxes and furniture, boring to two young girls searching for pirate’s booty.
The Summer's End Page 11