The Summer's End

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Taylor rang the doorbell at Sea Breeze precisely at seven o’clock. They decided to stay local and eat sushi at Bushido restaurant on the Isle of Palms. The thick tension floating between them had each behaving in an exceedingly polite manner. More so than on their first date. The mood was decidedly uncomfortable. Before climbing into the truck, Taylor took her hand to stop her.

  “Can we talk now?” Taylor asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  “If you wish.” Harper was being curt but she couldn’t help herself. She was hurt and angry and, yes, pissed off.

  “Let’s take a walk on the beach,” Taylor suggested.

  September was just around the corner, and Harper noticed small changes on the beach. The sun was setting earlier. Already the sky had shifted from blue to the mystical blend of periwinkle and lavender that preceded a sunset. The white-tipped ocean was iridescent as it reflected the silvery violet.

  A sprinkling of color was returning to the dunes as the wildflowers opened up to the cooling temperatures. She spied the first spires of goldenrod, sea oxeye, and her favorite, yellow primrose. She spied a large cluster of shorebirds in the distance, early birds in the migration south along the Atlantic Flyway. Soon the monarch butterflies would be passing through. Harper had always left the lowcountry for home in the North by this late in the season. She was pleased that this year, for the first time, she’d see the subtle changes of autumn at the beach.

  They walked side by side, not holding hands, close to the shoreline. Harper usually ran on the beach in the morning, when the sand was wiped smooth by the outgoing tide. Now the beach was covered with footprints and the occasional litter from thoughtless visitors.

  Taylor removed his sunglasses and stuck them into his shirt pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Go ahead. But I really do hope you’ll quit someday. Those things will kill you.”

  His lips curved slightly as he put a cigarette into his mouth. “Glad you care.”

  She stopped and waited while his large hands cupped the cigarette and he lit it, then took a long drag.

  Walking again, he turned his head, his gaze steady. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  She looked away, thinking, Too little, too late. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “Will you give me a chance to explain?”

  He’d heard her tone and knew she was putting up walls. She looked at him, walking erect, but his eyes spoke of the turmoil he was in.

  She swept a lock of hair from her face, already damp from the humidity. “All right.”

  “I didn’t call because after you left I went into my shell. It’s what I do when I need to decompress. It’s a survival pattern. I call it turtling. I tuck in and get quiet. It’s different from relaxing. It’s kind of zoning out.” He took another drag on the cigarette. “See, when I didn’t call, it’s not because you didn’t matter to me. It’s because you matter so much.”

  Harper didn’t understand just yet, but felt a quickening of hope.

  “There are a lot of symptoms with PTSD. You know about the anxiety, hypervigilance, depression. For me, the worst was sleeping.” He laughed shortly. “That’s a gross understatement. We all have problems with falling asleep, or waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to go back to sleep. But I had nightmares.” He rubbed his jaw, collecting his thoughts. “Bad. Worse, they were so damn real. When I was dreaming, I was there, reliving the experience. When that happens, your whole body reacts, your heart starts pumping and your blood races. I was trained to fight, and if someone woke me up while I was in one of those dreams, I’d go right into fight mode. I’d grab my gun and search the room.” Taylor raked his hair, visibly shaken. “Hell, I wasn’t even awake. I could have killed someone.”

  Harper remained silent, listening.

  “When I first got home from war, I didn’t leave the house. I kept away from crowds, shopping centers, anywhere people gathered. I was always on high alert. I had a girlfriend back then. We’d dated in college. Real nice girl. She wrote to me while I was away. But when I came back, she couldn’t deal with me. She said I’d changed. She tried, but . . .” He shrugged. “We broke up.”

  Harper conjured up this pretty woman holding his hand, her photograph in his wallet. Someone he’d wanted to marry, perhaps. Harper couldn’t help the flare of jealousy. “Did you see her when you returned home this time?”

  Taylor shook his head. “She’s married now. Wouldn’t be right. And I’ve moved on.”

  As quickly as Harper had conjured up the woman, she disappeared into the ether. “What turned things around for you?”

  “Thor.” He smiled.

  “Thor . . .”

  “He’s more than a dog. He was my salvation. We were together twenty-four/seven. Thor sleeps beside my bed, and if I go into REM and start having a nightmare, he wakes me up. When I open my eyes and see him, I know I’m okay.”

  “Do you still have nightmares?”

  Taylor stopped walking and turned to face her. “Not in a long time. Like I said, I’m feeling good. I go out and leave him at home all the time. But . . .” Taylor looked at the sea again, his mouth pinched. After a moment he looked back at her, holding her gaze. “Harper, I worry that it might come back. I’m afraid, if we’re sleeping together, I might have a nightmare and hurt you. I couldn’t bear that.”

  Harper caught her breath, understanding. Harper knew that his not calling her the past few days, his “turtling,” was not about his not thinking of her. Quite the contrary, he was only thinking of her.

  “I’m glad you told me this.” Harper reached out to take his hand. “I just wish you’d have told me right away.” She laughed shortly. “Texted me, at least.”

  Taylor played with her fingers. “It’s hard to explain all that in a text.”

  “The closer we get, the more we have to trust each other.”

  He looked up from their joined hands. “So, I take it by that that you’ll see me again?”

  A smile twitched at her lips. “Oh, yes.”

  The tension fled from his face and he smiled. He began walking again, but Harper pulled at his arm, stopping him. “Don’t be shy about asking for your space when you need it, Taylor. Take all the time and space you need. Just tell me. Okay?”

  Taylor’s eyes kindled. “I don’t want any space between us now.” He leaned toward her, sliding his arms around her, and pulled her closer.

  Later they ate dinner at Bushido as planned. It was a favorite among locals and tourists alike, the subtly Asian atmosphere sleek and inviting. Once they were seated, the waitress promptly came to take their drink order.

  “I’ll have a mango martini.”

  Taylor looked at the waitress. “A mango martini and a pale ale.”

  The waitress quickly returned with their drinks and stood poised for their order. “Do you need more time?”

  Harper looked at Taylor with one brow raised. From his wry grin, she knew he’d caught the double entendre.

  “Yes, please,” he told the waitress.

  Harper took a long sip of her martini, enjoying the chilled sweetness.

  Taylor leaned across so his face was close to Harper’s. He couldn’t withhold the wide grin that spread across his face. “I got the job!”

  Harper was taken aback. “My God, that was fast. Congratulations!”

  “You’re looking at Boeing’s new project manager. I start training in three weeks.”

  Harper clapped her hands together in delight. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Taylor took a pull from his beer, then shook his head as though he still couldn’t believe the news. “You know, two years ago, I didn’t think I had a future. It’s one of the symptoms of PTSD. I know that now, but back then I was deep in the dark. I didn’t expect to have a career, marriage, children. A normal life. So now, to get this great job, to have you by my side . . .” He shook his head again. “I feel on top of the world.” He raised his bottle of beer. “Here’s to the future!”

>   Harper raised her glass and they clinked. In her mind she wondered, What future? She sipped the martini, then set the glass on the small square napkin. “So”—she looked into his eyes—“you’ll be here in Charleston.”

  “Right.”

  “But I’ll be in New York.”

  Taylor’s arm froze midair. He drank from his glass, then set it on the table. “Is that definite?”

  “I don’t have any other plans.”

  “You’re moving back in with your mother?” His tone reflected his disbelief.

  “No,” she replied in a rush. “But I’m moving back to New York. Probably.”

  “Why New York?”

  “New York is still the heart of the publishing industry in this country. It’s where the jobs are. But if not New York, it’ll be London.”

  Taylor’s eyes widened. “As in London, England?”

  “Of course London, England. There are serious publishing jobs there. My grandparents live not far from the city. It makes sense.”

  “Aren’t there jobs you could get here?”

  “Maybe. But far fewer opportunities. Smaller companies. Anyway, why would I do that?”

  Taylor leaned back in his chair and spread out his hands. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

  Harper bent her head. Her toes curled in her shoes.

  “What about everything you said about loving this place?” Taylor’s tone had suddenly gone dull. “Feeling at home here?”

  “It’s all very good to feel at home here. Unfortunately, the place I call home is being sold, and there’s that business of having to get a job and finding a place to live.” She said softly, “You could come to New York with me.”

  “What? I just got this job. And it’s exactly what I was looking for!”

  “So, it’s me that has to relocate.”

  He looked broadsided. “Whoa, are we really having this discussion? Already?”

  Harper let her fingers run down the stem of her glass, trying to hold her tongue. Taylor had made his decision, found a job, and his path was paved. He was assuming that she’d simply follow suit, only he’d ignored the possibility that she’d be applying for a job outside of Charleston.

  And wasn’t she being just as overbearing with Taylor? She’d blithely been assuming that he’d consider a move to New York with her. But he’d been ambitious and beaten her to the punch by landing a great job in Charleston. Meanwhile, here it was already the end of August and she had yet to lift one finger to prepare for the fall.

  “Yes, we’re having this discussion,” she replied evenly. “If you want any input into whether I go or stay.”

  “It’s simple. Stay.”

  “Oh, Taylor . . .”

  Their eyes met and they both looked away.

  Harper drained her martini glass. “We could have a long-distance relationship,” suggested Harper, breaking the silence. “I could fly in on weekends or sometimes you could come to New York.”

  “My schedule is going to be crazy during training—day shifts, night shifts, weekends. It’ll be hard enough trying to find time to be together if you were living here in town. But out of town?” He shook his head. “Forget it. It wouldn’t work.”’

  “I see. So it’s okay for me to move or fly back and forth. But not you.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  The tang of mango lingered on Harper’s tongue as she considered his words. He was holding his ground. Harper knew that if she were more like her mother, she would finish her drink, smile, thank him politely for dinner, and walk out of the restaurant and out of his life. Nothing or no one stood in Georgiana James’s way.

  But she wasn’t like her mother. Nor was she like her father, who couldn’t commit. She didn’t have any role models to follow in this decision. It was hers alone to make.

  The waitress came to take their orders. Harper picked up her menu and scanned it. Her appetite was gone. She ordered a roll of sushi to be polite and another martini. Taylor ordered the nigiri dinner and another beer.

  The waitress took the menus and left them in tense silence.

  Taylor’s brows knit and he searched Harper’s face. Then he reached out to take her hand in his. “I don’t want to argue. Let’s table this discussion until you get a job. One that you love and are excited about. It’s not fair for me to put any pressure on you.”

  She felt a rush of relief. “I have so much I’m figuring out now. I’ve got to be realistic and accept things the way they are rather than the way I wish they’d be.”

  “I know.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to hold herself together and not cry. “I don’t know if I can stay here.”

  He nodded soberly. “I know.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day Taylor began painting the cottage, and Harper dove into her job search in earnest. She wasn’t sorry to have a reason not to be around Taylor at the moment. They’d finished their dinner last night in mostly strained, sad silence, each aware of the ticking clock that hung over them. They ended the night with a tender kiss on Sea Breeze’s front porch, but Harper knew they both needed some space to figure things out.

  Meanwhile, Dora was in stride with her job at the dress shop, and Nate had settled into his new school. Mamaw had at last begun to sort through her belongings, starting with her clothing. Filled black plastic bags began piling up in her room. Only Carson remained in a funk behind her closed door. Still, Sea Breeze appeared relatively calm.

  Until Devlin called with the news that he’d scheduled a showing of the house.

  There followed a flurry of cleaning and polishing. Harper raked and weeded the gardens. Taylor’s father came to help with the painting. Everyone chipped in, working hard, each holding at bay the heartbreak that this showing implied. By Labor Day, Sea Breeze had never looked better. On the afternoon of the showing, they cleared out of the house, each to a separate destination.

  It was, Harper thought, a sobering hint of the exodus to come.

  Carson was on her way to the coffee shop. All she wanted from life right now was a nice cup of iced chai latte in an air-conditioned room. She drove her car down the business section of Middle Street. She loved these few blocks of shabby-chic restaurants and shops crowded together, each with its own quirky look. There was nothing mainstream about it, not a chain store in sight.

  Only 10:00 a.m., and the lunch crowd hadn’t yet descended. This used to be a sleepy town of locals. Now it was getting so crowded with guests and tourists in the summer that some of the charm had fallen off into the vortex of tourist trap.

  Carson never entered Cafe Medley without thinking of Blake and their first coffee here. Here, he’d forgiven her for lying to him about Delphine. She had serious thinking to do about that man. She placed her order and waited, crossing her arms and brooding.

  She had known from the start that Blake Legare would be trouble. He wasn’t even her type. Not LA cool or movie-star sexy or model gorgeous. He wasn’t in the film business at all. Or wealthy. She’d fallen in love with a federal employee who worked long hours for low pay because he loved what he did. A simple man with simple tastes and strong convictions. He loved the lowcountry, his family, his dog, dolphins—and her.

  Yes, he loved her. And that frightened her.

  “Carson?”

  She startled at hearing Blake’s voice just while she was thinking of him. She jerked her head around to see him standing in front of her, a large, steaming mug in his hand. Blake wore his usual baggy khaki shorts and a faded brown polo shirt, the collar not fully turned out. She half smiled, knowing he didn’t notice such things.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The server handed her the cup of chai. She started walking toward a table, Blake following her. She was vaguely annoyed. She’d wanted to be alone, to think. Lately, it seemed every time she turned around, he was there.

  She took a seat at the tiny table. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “I am. I
’m responding to a dolphin stranding. We’re shorthanded and I took the call. Glad I did.” His eyes sparked as he pulled out a chair.

  They sat across from each other at the small bistro table. Blake leaned forward, his gaze searching her face. “How are you?”

  Carson looked at her mug, despondent. “I’m fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

  “Blake, nothing’s wrong. Stop asking me that.”

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  “Stop hovering!”

  He sat back against his chair with a hurt expression. “I’m not hovering. I just walked in for a cup of coffee and here you are.”

  “Yes, you are hovering. You’ve been stopping by the house all hours of the day and night, always checking on me, always asking me how I am.”

  He looked stricken. “You just lost the baby. Our baby. I care!” he added with heat. “Isn’t that what a boyfriend is supposed to do?”

  She didn’t reply.

  After a long, pained pause Blake’s face fell. “Oh. I see. We’re there again. You don’t want a boyfriend.”

  She stared at her hands, clenched tight around the frosted glass.

  Blake gave a short groan. He leaned far back, tilting the chair on its hind legs, and, turning his head, stared out the window, his face set.

  Carson’s heart ached for him. The part that loved him.

  Blake put his hands on the table and looked at her. His tone was cool. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  She looked at her mug. “I don’t, either. But we need to.” She glanced up quickly and saw his face. His head was bent and he was staring intently at his cup. “Blake, I don’t want to be this woman who always hurts you.” She tried desperately to find words to make him believe the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him again. “That’s not who I am. But that’s what keeps happening, over and over.”