The Summer's End

by Mary Alice Monroe

  His hand slid up to cup her head and she felt their breaths mingle as he moved away from her. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, both cheeks softly, as the sky dissolved into night. This time when he released his hold on her, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. His eyes gleamed with invitation over her knuckles. Looking in his eyes, she knew what he was asking.

  There was no decision to make tonight. Harper had made this decision weeks ago when she’d opened the front door of Sea Breeze and first saw his face. She would not second-guess herself, question her decision, or ponder consequences. Tonight she would abandon her rational self and give herself up to the moment. To Taylor. She had never before experienced this type of connection with someone. She would not let it go without experiencing it fully.

  Harper’s gaze kindled, and taking his hand, she kissed each of his fingers.

  Taylor led her to the center of the deck, and together they slid to the blanket. The stars above shone their silvery light as they undressed, giving their bare skins an unearthly glow. He kissed every inch of her, and closing her eyes, she heard the lapping of the sea against the boat.

  When at last he entered her, her hips swayed beneath him on the gently rolling deck. She clung tight to his back and buried her face against his moist neck. Harper lifted her head and cried out to the vast sea and sky.

  Later, when they lay entwined in each other’s arms, Harper looked over the dark sea and saw a fiery harvest moon rising, bathing them in her golden light.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early the next morning, Carson woke with a dull, throbbing ache blooming in her abdomen. Waking further, she turned from her side flat onto her back. She’d been in an odd position, she told herself. Backaches were common in pregnancy. Her fingers gently stroked her belly, willing the cramps to go away.

  The ache persisted, not allowing sleep to return. Reluctantly Carson pushed back the coverlet and walked through the silent hall to the kitchen. She’d read somewhere that warm milk helped one to sleep, and it had to be good for the baby. Carson poured milk into a mug and slid it into the microwave, careful to step out of the way before turning it on. One of the articles she’d read advised against standing in front of a microwave. She’d been reading so many books and articles and online posts about pregnancy lately. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right.

  As she leaned against the counter, watching the numbers on the microwave’s timer click down, the dull ache suddenly sharpened to a pain that doubled her over. A short cry escaped her lips.

  This isn’t good, she thought in a panic. This can’t be normal. With another sharp pain she felt a trickle of blood between her legs.

  “No, no, no,” she cried as she hurried, crouched like a turtle, to the bathroom, feeling her hopes drain away with the blood running down her legs.

  Mamaw was no stranger to hospitals. She sat by the window quietly doing needlepoint to keep her mind and hands busy while waiting. Across from her, Harper sat in an uncomfortable metal chair. Dora had needed to stay with Nate, so Harper and Mamaw had driven a weeping, frantic Carson to the hospital. The hospital emergency room was crowded with over a dozen people all wearing the same anxious expressions as they waited for word from a doctor about a loved one.

  Thankfully, Mamaw and Harper didn’t have to wait long. A petite doctor dressed in scrubs with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail came out from the double doors.

  “Mrs. Muir?”

  “I’m here!” Mamaw rose to greet the physician.

  Harper drew near to hear the report.

  “I’m Dr. Carr. Unfortunately, Carson had a miscarriage. But all things considered, she’s doing well.”

  “Can we see her?” Mamaw asked.

  “Not yet. She’s undergoing a D and C. With rest, she should recover completely. Again, I’m sorry about the baby.”

  After the doctor left, Mamaw went to the window to stare out at the cityscape of Charleston. She’d spent all of her eighty years here. So many good days. So many bad. She thought back to the several miscarriages that she’d endured. The frightening gush of blood, the overwhelming sense of loss, the feeling of failure and futility. Poor Carson, she thought, her heart aching. It had been so difficult for her granddaughter to commit. A few weeks ago Carson might have viewed the miscarriage as a relief. But now, the loss of her baby would be devastating.

  Mamaw knew that time would heal her hurt, as she knew that there was nothing she could do to alleviate the heartbreak now but to be there for her, to hold her hand. She would wait until she could see Carson. She would remain at her side.

  She’d lost her baby.

  Carson lay on her back, staring out the window of the sterile hospital room, not quite able to accept her new reality. She’d only just gotten used to the idea of being a mother. To trust her instincts and let nature take its course. Was this nature taking its course? Or was she the butt of some great cosmic joke?

  She put her hands on her abdomen and let her fingers delicately tap on her tender belly. Only yesterday she had had a baby in there. Now she felt a great emptiness. A great sadness. She shivered in her thin hospital gown and reached down to grab the blanket she’d kicked off earlier. Bending, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and gasped with the effort.

  A nurse walking in caught the movement and hurried to her side. “Let me help you.” She guided Carson back against her pillows. “No sit-ups quite yet,” the nurse joked.

  “I’m just trying to reach the blanket.”

  The nurse covered Carson with the blanket, then quickly added a fresh bag of fluid to her IV. “You’re dehydrated. Have to keep up your fluids.”

  Carson almost smiled, remembering Mamaw’s constant admonition to the girls to always stay hydrated and moisturize.

  “Are you up to a visitor?”

  “Who?”

  “A young man. Blake Legare.”

  “Blake is here?”

  “Poor fellow, he’s been out there wringing his hands ever since you came in. He your boyfriend?”

  “Yes.” Carson paused, confused. “Or, he was.”

  “If you don’t want to see him, I’ll send him packing.”

  “Wait.” Carson’s heart ached to see Blake. To share this incomprehensibly sad moment with the only other person who felt the same pain and loss. “Please, send him in.”

  A short while later there was a knock on her hospital door and it opened.

  An exceedingly disheveled Blake stood hesitantly gripping the door. His eyes were rimmed red and his dark hair stood awry as if he’d been raking his fingers through it.

  “Carson . . .”

  She opened her arms to him.

  The following morning, Harper lay on her stomach across her bed, feet kicking the air, staring at her phone. It had been two days since her night with Taylor. Forty-eight hours of waiting for the phone to ring or a text message to chime in. Nothing. She knew because she checked her phone a hundred times a day.

  She’d tried to work on her book but was too distracted. Frustrated, she climbed from the bed and walked through Sea Breeze, looking for Carson. She found her on the porch, sitting in the shade, reading a magazine with her feet up on the ottoman. She was dressed in a loose, long dress in a blue island print, and her long, black hair was wound in a braid that fell over her shoulder.

  “Good morning.” Harper leaned over to place a kiss on Carson’s cheek.

  Carson frowned. “What’s so good about it?”

  Harper’s stomach twisted in sympathy for her sister as she slid down onto one of the big wicker chairs in the shade beside her. “Aw, honey. Bad night?”

  “I have a backache and cramps. Yeah, it’s been a bad night.”

  Harper didn’t reply. Carson had been prickly since she’d returned from the hospital. The women at Sea Breeze had decided to give her time to work through the depression that was natural after a miscarriage.

  Harper patted her hand. “Anything I can do? Get for you?”

&n
bsp; Carson shook her head and closed her magazine. “I’m sorry. I’m just hot and achy and I can’t even go in the water. I’m feeling bitchy but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

  “Aw, go ahead. I can handle it. And you have good reason to feel sad. If it’s any consolation, I’m grumpy myself.”

  “What’s the matter? You were all smiles the other day. You went on and on how wonderful your date with Taylor was. The boat, the moonlight . . . what happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” Harper replied with frustration, lifting her legs to the ottoman with a flop. “He didn’t call.”

  Carson turned her head sharply. “He didn’t call? Not once?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did you two . . . ?”

  “Yep.”

  Carson bridled. “That’s shabby. But I don’t understand. I thought you two were like long-lost lovers or something.”

  “Apparently it was all one-sided.” Harper shook her head and looked off. “Forget it. You have enough on your mind right now. I don’t need to bore you with tales of my love life.”

  “Please do. Anything’s better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”

  Taking heart, Harper sat up, tucking her legs up on the ottoman as she turned to face her sister. “I’ve had a one-night stand before. But this didn’t feel like that. I know he felt something for me.” Her shoulders slumped. “Or I thought he did. I’m hurt. Bewildered. So why wouldn’t he call me?”

  Carson removed her sunglasses and leaned closer to Harper. “Honey, do you know Taylor had PTSD?”

  “He told me. So?”

  “That could be why he’s not calling you. Avoidance is classic.” Carson tilted her head in thought. “I thought he’d overcome it, but . . . maybe not.”

  Carson had named Harper’s biggest fear. She licked her lips. “Do you know how bad it was for him?”

  Carson shook her head. “We didn’t talk about it. We really don’t know each other that well. He’s definitely on guard, and getting words out of him sometimes feels like pulling teeth. But, he seems solid. The dolphins are good judges of character, better than humans. And they love him. But”—she sighed—“some guys never really get over it.” She put her sunglasses back on and picked up her magazine. “I hate to say it, but maybe you’re better off that he didn’t call.”

  Harper murmured, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, honey, are you sure you can deal with his problems if he still has PTSD?”

  Harper drew back. Carson was firing with both barrels, her depression making her caustic, which was unlike her. She was usually so positive about life.

  “Look, Harper, be realistic,” Carson continued in a big-sister, know-it-all tone of voice. “You’re going back to New York. What did you really think was going to happen?”

  Harper picked at her nail and shrugged. “Maybe he’d come with me.”

  Carson snorted. “Girl, you don’t know nothin’ about a lowcountry boy.”

  “And you do?” Harper rejoined angrily.

  Carson leaned back against the cushion and did not answer.

  “What are you going to do about Blake?”

  Carson skipped a beat as her bravado fizzled. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice, and then flippantly, “I don’t even know what I’m going to do about little ol’ me.”

  “How is little ol’ you?” Harper asked gently.

  “I feel like I’m floating through life. Aimlessly.”

  “You just had a miscarriage.”

  “Yeah, I know. But . . .” Carson tossed the magazine onto the table. “It’s more than that. I didn’t just lose a baby. I lost me.”

  Harper tilted her head. “How so?”

  “Do you believe in dreams?”

  “I have dreams.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Do you believe they have meaning? Messages?”

  “You mean, like Jungian interpretation?”

  “I guess.” Carson’s shrug implied she didn’t know who Jung was.

  “It’s complicated. I’ve read a lot about dream interpretation, and basically I believe we get messages from our subconscious in our dreams. That our dreams help us work out the problems we’re wrestling with. We’re tapping into another part of ourselves.”

  Carson hesitated, then took a short breath. “Yeah, but . . . I think I got a message from some other source. I don’t think it was me.”

  “In a dream?”

  “Yes. When I was under anesthesia. That was the first time. I’ve been having the same dream ever since.”

  Harper felt a tingling of interest. “There’s a school that believes dreams act as a means of transferring messages from the subconscious or even the gods. What’s your dream about?”

  “An animal.”

  “What kind of animal?”

  Carson looked away. “A shark.”

  Harper was stunned. She would have bet money Carson was going to say a dolphin. “A shark?”

  “Yes.”

  Harper searched Carson’s face and saw that she was in utter earnest. “I’m listening.”

  “When I was still under anesthesia,” Carson began with a shaky voice, “I felt like I was floating underwater. I had this like . . . dream. In it, I was searching for Delphine, but she wasn’t anywhere to be found. I swam and swam, calling for her. I felt so sad. So lonely. Then I saw a dorsal fin and my heart leaped because I thought it was her. But the closer I got I grew afraid. Cold. I was so cold. . . . It was the shark. The same shark I met in the water last May.”

  She shivered at the memory. “I tried to get away, but you know how it is in dreams when you try to move but you can’t? The water was like sludge. I couldn’t escape it. The shark came very close to me, so close I could stare into those dark, soulless eyes. I couldn’t look away. My heart was pounding and I was back in May, looking at my own death.

  “Only this time, staring into the eyes, I stopped being afraid. I kept staring into its eyes and then . . . I became the shark.” She looked up at Harper to gauge her reaction. “Then I woke up.”

  Harper didn’t speak for a moment. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Right?” Carson’s voice was so low Harper could hardly hear her. “I know there’s a message in there somewhere, but nothing is clicking.”

  Harper pulled out her phone and began doing a search. After a few minutes she looked up. “Have you ever heard of animal totems?”

  “No.”

  “There are ancient myths that speak to our natural connection to animals. We have to be attuned to the animals, respect them, and by doing so we learn to communicate with them.” Harper checked to make sure Carson was following her. Her sister sat straight, eyes wide with attention. Harper was hitting a chord. “So, according to this, a totem is an animal that is a messenger for you. We can have many messengers in our lifetime, and if we’re open, we can learn from them.” She read further in silence. “According to this, your encounter with the shark was not coincidental. It touched a primal part of your heart and soul.”

  “Sure did. Fear.”

  “And it sounds like it stirred up some long-dormant feelings. Here.” Harper handed Carson the phone. “I looked up shark totems. Check it out and see what you think.”

  Carson took the phone and bent over it, shading the screen so she could read. A minute later it vibrated. “It’s Taylor ringing in.”

  Harper sat bolt upright.

  “Take it.” Carson handed the phone back to her.

  Harper took it, mouthing Thank you. She watched Carson swoop to her feet and hurry toward the door, no doubt to look up shark totems. Harper put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.” Taylor’s voice was animated. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

  Harper held back her answer, letting the silence stretch out between them to inform him that she was piqued.

  “Are you sure you want to see me again?” she said flatly.

  “Why do you ask that? Of course I do.”<
br />
  “You didn’t call me for two days.”

  After a silence he said in a lower tone, “I know. I’m sorry. I want to explain about that.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She heard Taylor let out a long sigh. “It’s really something I’d rather explain in person, Harper. Come on, let me take you to dinner tonight so we can talk.”

  “Fine,” Harper said in her best impression of her ice-queen mother. “But don’t think this gets you off the hook.”

  “Seven o’clock?”

  “Fine,” she repeated.

  “See you then.”

  Then she promptly hung up, smiling a bit in spite of herself.

  At six thirty that evening Harper shut down her computer, pleased with the day’s work. Her book was almost finished. Every morning she couldn’t wait to get back to the manuscript. All the hard work was done, the book’s climax had been completed, leaving only the resolution, which felt as if she were riding a sled down a steep hill, speeding toward the finish line.

  Looking at her watch, she saw that she was running out of time to get ready for her dinner with Taylor. She couldn’t deny that the snub of his not calling after they’d made love still stung. Several times this afternoon she’d thought of calling him back and canceling. Let him wait a few days to see how it felt. But if she was being honest with herself, she missed him. She wanted to see him. Hopefully her cold response on the phone earlier had been enough to let him know she wasn’t pleased with his lack of manners.

  She went in the bathroom to wash her face, apply moisturizer, and run a brush through her hair. Tucking it behind her ears, she stared at her face. It was her usual, familiar face . . . but different. She’d gained a few pounds since she’d arrived at Sea Breeze, mostly muscle from running and gardening. Her face had lost its gauntness. Leaning closer to the mirror, she could see the faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. Despite her maniacal application of sunscreen and wearing of hats, her fair skin freckled. Yet she preferred the healthy-looking, soft glow of color to her normally alabaster skin. Her red hair had blond streaks from the sun and had grown from its chin-length, sharply contoured blunt cut to fall loosely to her shoulders. Harper applied lip gloss and turned away from the mirror. This was her, she thought—au naturel. And that was enough.