Harper nodded. She did like it. Very much.
“Then let’s not dally. Paula is expecting us.”
Mrs. Randolph’s house was one of the many historic cottages on Sullivan’s Island. Most of the early houses were built by Charlestonians as summerhouses to escape the heat and humidity in the city. Smaller, filled with individuality and charm, these cottages held the two-hundred-year history of the island. Newer, grander houses now peppered the island, but to Harper’s mind, the cottages gave Sullivan’s Island its appeal. Harper especially admired Mrs. Randolph’s long, white porch and the line of white rockers and robust planters spilling over with annuals.
The front door swung open and Mrs. Randolph stepped out, crooning her hello to Mamaw with a friendly hug. She was a full-figured woman of Mamaw’s vintage. Her face was plump and coursed with lines but her eyes were bright with warmth and vitality.
“It’s such a beautiful day,” Paula exclaimed. “Why don’t you and I have a chat and sip our tea on the porch while Harper gives a look-see to the Jeep?” Paula handed Harper the keys. “Take your time, dear.”
Harper strolled across the scrubby island grass to the car. She didn’t know much about cars. She made a show of looking under it and climbing into the driver’s seat. Once inside, she felt the excitement of possibility. It was adorable. Fun. A perfect island car. And it looked almost new and had the bonus of having only twelve thousand miles on it. She thought of her bank account and knew she should be prudent. After all, she had to go back to New York, pay a security deposit on an apartment, rent, utilities. And she still had to find a job.
A half smile crossed her face. But she’d be getting a check from her trust fund soon. Enough to tide her over for a little while. Harper ran her hands over the steering wheel, feeling a desperate desire to own it. Maybe she was right about love at first sight. She giggled. Only for her it was a car.
She walked with an easy gait to the porch. Mamaw and Mrs. Randolph were sitting on rockers, their heads bent, deep in conversation. When she drew near, they turned their heads and stared back like two contented cats.
“I’ll take it!” Harper exclaimed.
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Randolph clapped her hands.
After the paperwork was signed, Harper took hold of the keys of the first car she’d owned since college.
“How do you feel?” Mamaw asked as they walked back to the Jeep.
Harper squeezed the keys in her hand. “As free as a bird able to take off and go anywhere at whim.”
“That kind of freedom doesn’t last long. Enjoy it.”
“You know, for the first few weeks at Sea Breeze I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was perfectly content to live a hermit’s life. I enjoyed the lack of pressure. Not having someone”—she looked meaningfully at Mamaw—“my mother . . . always calling my name. But”—Harper sighed—“now I want to get out and explore.”
“Like you did as a child.”
“Exactly! Only now I have wheels.”
“‘Oh, the places you’ll go!’” Mamaw said, quoting the title of a Dr. Seuss book she’d read to Harper as a child.
They laughed together, and Harper found it good to see her grandmother having a good time. She went around to help Mamaw climb up into the Jeep.
“Goodness,” Mamaw exclaimed, settling into the seat, “I can understand why Paula didn’t drive around in it herself. It’s a workout just getting in and out.”
“That’s what makes it fun. And I need a little fun in my life.”
She climbed into the driver’s seat, put the key in the ignition, reached for the clutch, and suddenly her excitement dropped like a lead balloon. “Oh, no.” Harper stared at the transmission, stunned.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s manual transmission.”
“Yes, dear. So?”
“So . . . I don’t know how to drive stick.” Harper put her palm to her forehead.
“Didn’t you ever learn?” asked Mamaw, surprised.
“No. I had to learn the basics of how a clutch worked when I learned how to drive. But I always drove automatic. I mean, really. Who drives stick anymore?” Harper shook her head in dismay. “I didn’t even think to ask. I just assumed the car was automatic.” Harper unbuckled her belt and grabbed her purse. “I hope Mrs. Randolph won’t get upset. I have to return it.”
Mamaw grabbed Harper’s arm. “Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. The deed is done,” Mamaw admonished. She set her pocketbook on the car floor. “You won’t find another deal like this one, I promise you. Paula practically gave you the car. You’re a smart girl. You can learn how to drive a stick. In my day, all the cars were manual.”
“But who’s going to teach me? I don’t know anyone who drives manual transmission.”
“I do.”
“You?”
“Yes. I could teach you.”
Harper just stared back.
“Don’t look so surprised. I’m old but I’m not senile. I’ll have you know I’m a very good driver. Never had a ticket.”
Harper remembered her grandmother’s turtlelike driving. “I don’t think they give tickets for going too slow.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve gotten my quota of honks,” Mamaw quipped. “Now, buckle up, sweetie. We’re going for a ride.”
Mamaw turned out to be an excellent, if demanding, teacher. For the next half hour Harper jerked, stalled, and shifted gears along the side streets of Sullivan’s Island. Mamaw was patient but firm, not allowing Harper to quit until she could go from first to second to third gear and reverse without stalling. With few other cars and even fewer people walking, she could start and stop often without drawing someone’s ire.
By the time they returned to Sea Breeze, both the Blue Bomber and Dora’s silver Lexus were back in the driveway. Taylor was loading paint cans into the back of his truck. Harper slowly maneuvered the Jeep into the space beside his. When she put on the parking brake and pulled out her keys, her shoulders slumped in relief.
“Very good, dear,” Mamaw exclaimed. “You should take it out every day and just drive around the neighborhood until you get the hang of it.” She paused. “Before you venture into traffic.” Mamaw climbed down from the car.
“Thanks, Mamaw,” Harper called out. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Mamaw’s smile was wobbly. She reached up to smooth her hair. “Yes, dear. I know.”
Harper let her hands slide along the steering wheel with pride.
“New ride?”
Harper startled and put her hand to her chest. She swung her head to see Taylor bent low, looking in her driver’s window, his face inches from her own.
“Didn’t mean to creep up on you.”
“I was just lost in my thoughts.” She smiled. “I just bought it. What do you think?”
His gaze scanned the tan interior. “It’s right pretty. Looks new but I’m guessing it’s a ’95, with those square headlights. I like the looks of those better, and it has a sweet spring leaf for a bouncier ride.”
“But it’s manual transmission.”
“That’s good.”
“Not if you don’t know how to drive manual. Mamaw just gave me my first lesson.”
His eyes crinkled up as he tried not to laugh. “Is that why your grandmother was running like the cavalry up the stairs?”
“No doubt heading for her rum.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Before you know it, shifting gears will be like water off a duck’s back.” He walked around the Jeep, appraising it.
Harper grabbed her purse and climbed out of the Jeep. Her knees still felt weak from her lesson with the clutch.
“Say,” he said, returning to her, his eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, “is this the Jeep that was parked over on Middle Street?”
“The same.”
A look of chagrin crossed his face as he shook his head remorsefully. “I thought I recognized this cream puff. I looked at it the other day when I d
rove by. I was thinking of buying it for my little brother. He’s turning fifteen and this would be a sweet ride for a high school boy.”
“Well, you might still have your chance at the end of summer.”
“You’re selling it? So soon?”
“I won’t need a car in New York.”
Maybe it was her imagination, or the glare of the setting sun in his eyes, but he blinked hard and she thought he looked disappointed.
“When you planning on heading back?”
“At the end of summer sometime.”
He shifted his weight, and for a moment neither spoke. A crow cawed loudly from the neighbor’s tree.
“I got the cabinets done today,” he said, shifting to a businesslike tone, looking toward the house.
She got the sense he wanted to look anywhere but at her.
“Next I’ll start on the walls. I should be about finished tomorrow. You ladies will have your kitchen back in no time.” “I thought it would take a little longer.”
“Nope. I got the trim done today. The walls go fast. I’ll put the knobs and pulls on last. Best let the paint dry for twenty-four hours.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. You said your father does some electrical work. Can he hang a light fixture?”
“He can. So can I.”
She held back her smile. “Oh, good. I bought a new one. I have to go pick it up, but I can have it for you by tomorrow. Do you have time to hang it?”
He rubbed his jaw in thought. “If you’re doing that, the ceiling will need to be patched. Then painted. It’ll be extra, but not too bad. And it’ll take another day.”
Harper dismissed her inner voice telling her not to spend the money. After all, she had just promised the next installment from her trust fund to Mrs. Randolph and the new Jeep. But she wanted to do the job right for Mamaw. And . . . it meant another day with Taylor.
“Let’s do it.”
He looked at her and seemed to relax. “All right, then.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, then he lowered his head to kiss her. The moment she felt his lips, her blood raced and she leaned into him, slipping her hand around his neck. He made a soft sound in his throat and brought his arms around her, pressing her against him.
He released her with a reluctant smile, then tapped the roof of the car twice. “See you Monday.” He turned and walked to his truck. Whistling.
Dora was discouraged.
She was sitting outside a house in Mt. Pleasant beside Devlin in his truck. Devlin had accompanied her as she toured three potential houses to rent. This was the last of a week’s effort in rain and shine and not one could she see herself bringing Nate to live in. They were either in deplorable condition, in a sketchy neighborhood, or something was simply weirdly off, such as this one’s being smack-dab next to a power line.
“I don’t think I’m going to find a decent house that I can afford to rent. Not even a small one. I guess it’s time to chuck hopes for a house. The only option in my price range seems to be to rent an apartment.”
“Will that no-count husband of yours give you any more for rent?”
She shook her head. “He says he doesn’t have it. Not with all the work going on at the house. And still no offers.”
Devlin grunted and tightened his hand on the wheel but didn’t reply.
“I’ve got some good news, though. I think I may have got the job at the dress shop!” she exclaimed, interjecting a note of cheer.
“That’s real good, honey.” Devlin reached out to squeeze her hand. “If you have a minute to spare, can I stop at that cottage on Sullivan’s? I have to check a few things before it goes on the market.”
“Of course. You gave up your afternoon for me.” When he fired up the engine and drove off, Dora asked the question niggling at her. “The cottage is finished?” She had helped Devlin refurbish the quaint little structure over the summer. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ready to put it on the market?”
“I just did. Thought you’d like to see it now that it’s all spruced up. Seems only fair, seeing as how you saw it at its worst.”
“Never at its worst,” she said with a twinge of sadness. “That house always had its sweet side.”
A short time later he pulled into the newly created tabby driveway. Dora peered out the window, taking in all the landscaping that had been done since she’d last seen the house, only a few weeks ago.
“You used my landscaping ideas,” she exclaimed.
“Course I did. I told you that you were good. Your design really opened up the place, especially that pergola over the garage. Real classy. I never would’ve thought of that.”
His words were like salve on a wound. Still, it broke her heart to see the cottage going on the market, even though it had been her job to ready it for sale. Seeing the pretty cottage all decked out and with new landscaping was like giving away a puppy after whelping and raising it for a full eight weeks.
“Come on inside.” Devlin fiddled with the key. “I have to put this lockbox on the front door for the Realtors. You go on and take a look around.”
Dora walked from room to room of the cottage, her head turning from left to right as she took in the freshly painted walls in colors she’d chosen, the molding, the refinished hardwood floors, the spanking-new lighting fixtures that she’d selected. Out back, Devlin had created the patio area that she’d designed to complete the larger pergola that matched the one out front. A stone pathway wound its way to Hamlin Creek. Dora stood on the patio with her fingertips to her lips and tears forming in her eyes when she saw the new wooden dock stretching out over the racing water.
Every color choice, every light fixture in the cottage, she’d selected. Each paver, each plant, each tree outdoors, was directly from her design. It was as if she had been decorating the house for herself.
She heard a crunching of the gravel behind her, then felt Devlin’s arms around her waist.
“What’ya think?” he asked in a slow drawl by her ear.
“It’s beautiful. Perfect.”
“I told you that you were good at this house stuff.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Could you see you and Nate living here?”
Dora’s breath stilled. She turned in his arms to face him. “What are you saying?”
Devlin’s blue eyes shone in the lowering sunlight, and in their light she read his love, so sincere that her heart opened.
“I have a proposal.”
“Oh, Devlin . . .”
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” Devlin said with mock frustration. “Woman, you do tire a man out. I’m talking about a plan I have.”
Dora had the grace to blush. “Oh. Sorry.” Her lips twitched.
“You’ve seen what your measly allowance could get you in a rental. Now, I could dance around this, but I won’t play with your intelligence. I know your antennas are wiggling, so I’m going to put it right out there. You love this cottage. You put your heart and soul and sweat into fixing it up, right by my side. Don’t think that didn’t endear this place to me, too? I think we created something really fine here. Don’t you?”
Dora nodded, listening intently.
“I could put it on the market. I’d make a small profit if it sold today. But truth is, the market is slow and it might sit for a long while. That’s never good. But if I hold on to the place awhile and let the market improve, which I’m betting it will, I’ll increase my profit in a year, maybe two’s time. After all, this little house is sitting on some deep water. It’s got potential.”
Dora didn’t dare speak.
Devlin shifted his weight. “So I’m wondering if you’ll do me the favor of living in it for a while. Look after it. Just for a year or so.”
Dora drew back in his arms. “Absolutely not.”
Devlin shook his head and let his arms drop. “Why the hell not, woman? Don’t you like it?”
“I love it. And you know it.”<
br />
“Then why . . .”
“Because if I accept this gift—because that’s what it is—I’ll be seen as a brazen hussy from this county to the next. I’m already dating you. Sleeping with you. They’ll call me a kept woman.” She shook her head with determination. “I can’t let Nate live in a situation like that.”
“A kept woman? What century are you living in?”
“You know what I mean. This is a conservative area.”
“Then marry me!” he shouted.
“No!” she shouted back.
Devlin stepped back. He looked deeply hurt.
“I can’t marry you,” Dora explained, cajoling. Her fingers reached up to play with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m not divorced yet.”
“I know that,” he mumbled with dejection. “I meant later.”
“Please, Devlin. Don’t go there. Not yet. Not tonight. I’ve told you already, I don’t want to think about getting married again until I’ve signed my divorce papers. I want to take a deep breath as a single woman. To sign my name as Eudora Muir just once more before I change it again. Let’s not confuse things between us. We’ll still be together. A couple. Nothing’s going to change between us but that piece of paper that means so little to you but is so very symbolic to me. It’s who I am, Devlin. I’m a traditional girl and I’m already breaking a lot of rules here. I’ll come around. And when I do”—she reached up to tenderly stroke the stubble on his cheek—“I promise, you’ll be the first to know.”
Devlin sighed and his chest rumbled with the effort. “Woman, you are one hell of a negotiator.”
Dora smiled and kissed him. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
His hand patted her bottom with a proprietary air. “How about this? You rent the house from me. We’ll make it legal.”
“I can’t afford—”
“I know what you can afford,” he said, cutting her off. “And I’ll rent it to you for that amount. You can tell the world you’re renting the house, and that’ll spare your reputation. Now, Dora,” he said slowly, “think before you spout out another no.”
Dora quieted and gave him his say.
“Nate will love living here. He loves the island, knows it, thinks of it as home, and it’ll keep him close to Mamaw. Living here won’t be as big a change for him as moving into some condo a ways off.” Devlin stretched out his arm, pointing to the dock. Her gaze followed his. “And look out there at that dock. Nate can fish out there anytime he wants. I built that special for him.”
The Summer's End Page 14