Harper bent to let her hands slide in the water. “You always have a problem with my family’s money.”
“You know it’s really all about my own insecurities that I have none.”
Harper drew back and wiped her hands on her blouse. “Well, now I don’t, either. So can you just quit it?”
“You really don’t?”
“If I stay here, my mother is cutting off my income from the trust fund.”
“Can she do that?”
“She’s the executor.”
Carson looked at her. “How much money are we talking about?”
Harper shrugged. “Enough that I don’t have to worry.”
Carson sighed. “Must be nice.”
“Carson . . .”
“Sorry, but really, from where I come from, that sounds pretty good.”
“I would give every penny of my trust fund to buy Sea Breeze. I don’t care about the money.”
Carson snorted. “Only people with lots of money can say that.”
“Can I say something and not get you mad?”
Carson looked at her warily. “What?”
“Get a friggin’ job! You’re always bellyaching about not having money. Go get some!”
“I’ve tried!” Carson shouted back. “No one’s hiring me.”
“Maybe not here. You’re a stills photographer for film and television. One of the best. You’re not going to find a job like that here. Go back to LA and start pounding the pavement. Something will turn up.”
Carson shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Harper asked, exasperated.
Carson looked at her feet as they kicked the water. “I burned my bridges. I was careless and thoughtless with my career.”
“Is that when you were drinking?” Harper asked softly.
Carson groaned and kicked harder in the water. “Yeah. There’s a rule on set. You can get drunk on your own time, but not on the production’s time. I screwed up my job. Slept with the director. Lord, I was really on a binge. Word got out and now no one will hire me.”
Harper looked at her sister’s averted face. Carson appeared downcast, with her long, dark hair in a flyaway knot at her neck. “Carson, you haven’t had a drink in a long time. It’s been three months.”
Carson nodded, watching her feet swish the water.
“So . . . why are you drinking now?”
Carson swung her head to stare, wide-eyed, at her sister.
“Granny James didn’t raise me stupid,” Harper said, slipping into colloquial. She pointed. “Did you think I wouldn’t see that brown bag? You are so busted.”
Carson swallowed hard, her face pained. “I didn’t drink any.”
Harper made a disbelieving face.
“Really, I didn’t. But I was close.” Carson groaned loudly. “I want it so bad.”
“It’s not going to help. You know that. If you drink that now, you’ll only feel worse about yourself.”
“I couldn’t feel worse about myself. It’ll make me feel better. At least numb.”
Harper heard the low, growling tone of depression in her sister’s voice.
“Carson, how can I help?”
“You can’t. Nobody can.”
Carson was staring pensively at the Cove.
“What about Blake?”
“I broke up with Blake.”
“Again?” cried Harper, her heart falling. “But you love him.”
“I know,” Carson said miserably.
“Why?” Harper whined.
“I’m all mixed up now!” Carson blurted. “The baby’s gone. My career’s gone. Soon Sea Breeze will be gone. Everything I love is going away.”
“Seems to me like now’s the time you need to hold on to Blake the most.”
Carson pulled her legs out of the water and brought them close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her long legs. “I’m a hot mess. He’s better off without me.”
“No . . .”
“Really. It’s that totem thing, remember? The shark?”
“I wouldn’t make my life decisions based on that.”
“That’s what I’m supposed to do. According to the book. And my gut. You see”—Carson, eyes intent, turned to face Harper—“it’s like the me I used to be is gone.” Carson waved her hand out to the sea. Her voice cracked. “And she took my courage, my self-esteem, and my heart with her.”
Harper leaned closer to place a consoling hand on her sister’s shoulder. To show in a small way that her sister wasn’t alone.
“I have to find her again,” Carson said shakily. She sniffed and shook her hands in front of her, similar to the way Nate did when he was nervous. “And,” she said in a normal voice, “that I have to do by myself. No one can help me do that. Can you understand what I’m saying?”
Harper thought about how she’d done the same thing for herself this summer at Sea Breeze. She’d isolated herself, given herself time and quiet to search inward for her strengths, her passions. To find herself.
“Yes,” she said with heart. “I know exactly what you’re saying.” She held her breath. Harper hadn’t planned on sharing her secret with anyone other than Taylor, but she knew now why Taylor had said writing could be a gift. “This summer I did just what you’re describing. And . . .” Harper licked her lips. “I started writing.”
Carson wiped her eyes, then turned her head to stare at Harper. “Writing?” Carson’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Writing what?”
“A book.”
Carson’s eyes widened. “I knew it!” She pointed. “Your fingers were always tapping at something. I had a bet with Dora you were writing a book. I said it was a tell-all. Dora thinks you’re writing a historical about the Gentleman Pirate. So what is it?”
Harper smiled devilishly. “You win.”
Carson gasped. “Shit!”
“You can’t tell anyone. You promise?”
“I promise. But why not? You should be proud.”
“With Daddy’s history, I’m not ready to tell anyone. Least of all my mother. It’s a big secret.” Harper paused. “But I’ll show it to you.”
Carson went very still. “Me? Why me?”
“You’re my heroine. Don’t you know that yet? Carson, you’ve always been the hero in all my stories.”
Carson’s face crumpled as she leaned closer to give her sister a clumsy hug.
“Come on.” Harper disentangled herself and pulled her sister to a stand. “Let’s go get it. Oh.” Harper pointed to the dock. “And bring that bag with you.”
In Harper’s room Carson flopped on the bed and kicked her legs in the air with excitement. “I feel like it’s Christmas and I’m getting the best present.”
Harper grimaced as she went to the desk. “Well, we’ll see how you feel after you’ve read it.”
She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a large manuscript. The pages were dog-eared but she carried it to Carson as if it were a bar of gold bullion. It was, in fact, a treasure beyond price. A part of her soul lay embedded in these pages. These words were like a written confession of her deepest, darkest secrets. And now she was exposing them to another’s eyes.
Carson rose to a sitting position, her face apprehensive as Harper drew near with the manuscript.
“First, you have to make a trade. The bottle of booze for the book.”
“Right.” Carson leaned over on the mattress to fetch the brown paper bag. She handed it to Harper. “Go ahead and throw it out.”
“I will.”
Carson waited in anticipation.
Harper’s hands grew clammy. “Don’t show it to anyone else. Promise?”
“I promised already.”
“Say it!”
“I promise,” Carson said solemnly.
Harper took a breath, then reached out and handed over the book. It felt as if Carson were prying the book from her fingers.
Carson wiped her palms on her shorts, then smoothed the top p
age with her palm as she looked at it. She looked up with wonder. “You called it . . .”
Harper put her finger to her sister’s lips. “You promised—don’t tell anyone!”
It was late. After midnight. Carson slipped from the house to the garage. Her hands were shaking as she fired up the big engine of the Blue Bomber. She was frightened of what she was going to do. What she knew she must do.
Harper’s book was a revelation. Though it was a novel and the characters had made-up names, they were thinly veiled. Anyone knowing the family would be able to identify which sister was which in the book.
Carson clutched the wheel tight as tears filled her eyes. Was that how Harper really saw me? she wondered. Callie, the character in the book, was strong and fearless. Devoted to the sea and her family, and to one beguiling dolphin in particular. This woman was a heroine by anyone’s measures. Can that be me?
More tears, she thought with annoyance as she swept them from her cheeks. What kind of a heroine was weeping all evening? Yet, it was as though the tears were washing away the film of self-doubt that had plagued her. Tonight she’d almost fallen into a pit of despair and self-destruction. Harper—and her book—had led her from the brink. But no one could save her but herself.
She had to be the heroine in her own story.
Carson took a deep, calming breath and shifted the gears. She backed out of the garage, then drove with purpose north on Middle Street. A few minutes later she parked near Dunleavy’s Pub. Cars were still parked in the slots, but she found one nearby. The laughter on the street was louder and brassier, a sign of late-night drinkers. She reached the dark green pub at the corner, past the picnic tables, and peered in the windows. It was near closing time, but a handful of people were still there, mostly in their twenties and thirties. The late crowd.
Taking a breath, she pushed open the door. Immediately she smelled the freshly popped popcorn and recalled the days it was her job to make it. She stood at the door of the popular watering hole and glanced quickly around the room. Old beer cans and license plates from across the country decorated the walls, along with photographs of local sports teams and signed photographs of a few famous greats. A soft buzz filled the room. The television over the bar had a baseball game playing.
Ashley, a fellow waitress when Carson worked here, smiled, drawing near, carrying a tray of dirty glasses back to the sink. “Hey, girl. Long time no see!”
“You took the night shift.”
Ashley shook her blond head. She looked tired after a long night. “No, filling in. Hey, great to see you.” She smiled wearily and, her arms loaded, hurried on to the kitchen.
Carson’s gaze moved directly to the bar, the crown jewel of the pub, which dominated the back wall. Behind the bar, in his usual spot, the bartender stood facing the room, polishing a glass.
Carson walked straight to the bar, grabbed hold of the polished wood, and leaned forward, her gaze squarely on Bill. He was the bar’s owner and manager and had been her boss when she was a waitress here. He was an old friend of Mamaw’s, which had helped her get the job. Bill had also fired Carson for stealing a bottle of liquor.
Bill, a big man, had a long, drooping face that spoke of how he’d seen it all and suffered no fools. He had spotted her the moment she’d entered the room. His habit was to immediately check out anyone who walked through his door. His gaze had followed her as she walked across the room, and he studied her as she stood before him.
“Carson.” He nodded in greeting. He set down the glass and towel, then walked to stand across from her. “How can I help you?”
Carson gathered her courage. “Do you remember how you told me you’d be my sponsor for AA?”
His expression shifted. “I do.”
“I’m asking you to be my sponsor.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following day, Harper didn’t see the shops she passed along Highway 17 or the gated communities nor the long stretch of longleaf pines in the Marion National Forest. As she drove north to McClellanville, her mind was going full speed, caught up in a maelstrom of emotions and thoughts. She’d left Carson in her room alone. She couldn’t bear to stay there while her sister read her book. It was too personal.
Harper squeezed her hands on the steering wheel and thought again of her advice to Carson—now’s the time you need to hold on to Blake. It was high time she took her own advice.
The light turned red and Harper brought the Jeep to a stop, shifting the gears easily. She remembered her terror when she’d purchased the Jeep and realized it was manual transmission. Immediately she’d panicked. Why hadn’t she believed she could do it?
As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Fear. Fear of failure. Fear of not being perfect. Fear was at the root of her problems. The bedrock of her timidity.
The light turned green and Harper took off again. She was driving through a remote section of the vast Francis Marion Forest. As the miles passed beneath her humming wheels, her anger percolated. What kind of a sick mother would threaten to cut her child off? she wondered. Mamaw never cut off Parker, not even at his worst. Wasn’t that the unconditional love a mother was supposed to feel for her child? Did unconditional love even exist, or was it just another fairy tale?
She’d read books on family dynamics ad nauseam. She couldn’t even count the books she’d read about mother-daughter relationships. A lot of them waxed poetic about a mother’s unconditional love. A love that knew no bounds. She’d never forget what Erich Fromm wrote. How a mother’s love need not be acquired, it need not be deserved.
“Right,” she muttered bitterly, never having felt that innocent, peaceful assurance of her mother’s love.
Cutting the cord between her and her mother hadn’t been as difficult as she’d thought it would be. She’d always envisioned that someday she’d go off on her own, but she saw now that was another fairy tale. For far too long it’d been so easy to accept the money handed to her, to live in a gilded cage. Like the child her mother had called her.
At last she came to the blinking light that signaled Pinckney Street. Harper had plugged Taylor’s address—which she’d found easily enough, after a quick Google search—into her phone’s GPS. She’d never have remembered this turn without it. Flicking her signal, she turned off the highway toward McClellanville, remembering the long and foliage-tunneled road toward the sea.
She drove through the few blocks of town, then turned on Oak Street and stopped at a driveway bordered by a clump of tall, leggy shrubs. She checked the address. This was it. The dirt drive was bordered by enormous live oaks dripping moss. Peeking out from the foliage sat a charming, if modest, white clapboard house with black shutters and a bright, cherry-red, sloping tin roof. Harper thought it was a vision from a classic southern painting. Two gable dormers adorned either side of the roof, and a wraparound porch embraced the house like loving arms. Jeremy Creek glistened in the sunlight behind the house.
She pulled into Taylor’s driveway and spotted Thor lying on the porch. Immediately he raised his head. Harper turned off the ignition, aware the big dog was watching her every move. When she stepped out of the car, Thor immediately barked low and came trotting off the porch and across the yard, his dark eyes trained on her.
“Hey, Thor.” She stuck out her hand toward him.
Thor sniffed her hand, then nudged his head against her leg for a more vigorous rub. He began whining gently, then barking excitedly, his tail wagging. Harper was giddy to be welcomed so warmly.
“Thor, back,” Taylor called from the porch.
The dog responded immediately to the sharp command and backed off.
Taylor leaned over the railing and grinned with obvious pleasure at seeing her. He immediately hustled down the stairs and jogged toward her.
She saw in his expression all that she needed to know. Harper took off at a run toward him, arms out. She ran into his arms and he lifted her in the air and twirled her around. When he set her down, his face drew near
to hers and their heated breaths mingled, his lips against hers.
“You’re here.” He buried his hands in her hair and bent to kiss her. He kissed her cheeks, her hair, her eyes, her ears, nibbling softly, then finally her lips.
Harper broke from the kiss and looked up at him, eyes shining. “I’m home.”
Once again Harper was on board the Miss Jenny. She and Taylor had spent the last hour belowdecks in the stateroom, taking their time making love. While the boat gently rocked, Harper felt treasured in his strong arms, safe. He whispered her name over and over like a litany of prayer, and she responded with sighs. She wanted it to go on forever.
Afterward he held her close. She felt the stubble of his chin against her tender cheek and his breath at her ear.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” Taylor asked.
Harper felt her chest constrict, not wanting the seductive, peaceful mood that always fell over her and Taylor on board the Miss Jenny to be destroyed.
Taylor, sensing her swift change of mood, moved over her body to face her on the narrow bed. His gaze was searching. “Are you all right?”
“No. Not really.”
“What’s happened?” He was suddenly alert.
“I’ve so much to tell you, I don’t know where to begin.”
“My daddy always said begin at the beginning.”
She laughed lightly. “Then I guess it all began the moment I decided to buy Sea Breeze.”
She told it all. She released the entire story in a gush of words, like a floodgate opened, sparing him no details from the moment Devlin arrived at Sea Breeze with the offer on the house, to joining her sisters on the dock, to her decision to buy the house, to Mamaw’s delighted reaction and Georgiana’s vitriolic one, ending with her threat to cut off Harper’s inheritance if she didn’t comply with Georgiana’s demands.
Taylor turned to lie on his back and laced his hands behind his head. “So, I guess you’re not an heiress any longer.”
“Sadly, no. I’m broke.”
“Well, kiddo”—he slapped her bottom teasingly—“nice knowing you.”
The Summer's End Page 24