The Summer Girls

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “Is that the same dolphin that was here this morning?” Mamaw asked.

  “That’s Delphine,” Nate announced. “She is Carson’s dolphin.”

  “She’s not my dolphin,” Carson said again, getting the sense she was fighting a losing battle. She looked into the water to see Delphine waiting below, her dark eyes gleaming. “You’re not helping,” Carson told the dolphin, but as always, Carson couldn’t help but smile back.

  “How did she get here?” Harper asked. “At our dock?”

  Carson tried to downplay the drama. “What can I say? She likes me.”

  Mamaw laughed with pleasure. It was a lovely trilling sound, feminine but not silly. “You always were our little mermaid.” She reached out to gently cup Carson’s face in her palm. Then she turned and leaned over the railing to stare imperiously down at the dolphin. Delphine tilted her head, staring back in her beguiling manner.

  “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Mamaw declared.

  As she straightened, a breeze caught her coral-colored silk scarf and sent it floating in the air. Mamaw gasped and Carson lunged to grab it but the scarf floated just out of her reach, sailed in the air a moment, then landed in the creek.

  “Off it goes,” Mamaw said with a sigh. “It was only a Ferragamo.”

  Delphine took off after the brightly colored scarf floating in the water. Curious, the dolphin poked at the floating fabric like it was a piece of flotsam, then lifted it in the air and tossed it. She grew excited by the game and swam around the scarf in a tight circle, tossing it a few more times. Then she grabbed the scarf and disappeared with it under the surface.

  “You little thief!” Mamaw called out at the widening ripples.

  “She’s back!” Harper said, pointing to the dolphin emerging farther out in the cove. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh. My. God.”

  Delphine returned to the dock dragging the coral scarf around her pectoral flipper, looking like a lady walking along the boardwalk.

  Everyone started laughing then, even Mamaw. She leaned over the dock railing. Beneath her, Delphine was dragging the Ferragamo scarf in her mouth. Carson lowered the camera and gazed at the faces of her family—Harper, Dora, Mamaw, Nate—recognizing that this was a singular moment for them all. Everyone was smiling and laughing, and it was this enigmatic dolphin that had appeared from nowhere to bring them to this tipping point.

  “At least you display good taste,” Mamaw called out in her inimitable imperial tone. “Welcome, Delphine, you little minx! I hereby declare you one of my Summer Girls.”

  Carson, Harper, and Dora clapped and hooted, united in Mamaw’s welcome of the dolphin. The mood shot upward as Delphine paraded her scarf in the water beneath them.

  “I want to catch another fish for Delphine,” Nate declared, walking off to fetch his rod.

  “Wait. No. We shouldn’t,” Carson called after him. “There are laws forbidding feeding dolphins. Fines.”

  “Oh, why not?” Dora asked, getting caught up in Nate’s enthusiasm. “Who’s going to see us? And what harm can feeding one little fish do? It’s their natural diet, isn’t it? Nate is so excited. I haven’t seen him get so interested in anything else but his video games. And look, she obviously wants it!” She hurried over to Nate’s side.

  Mamaw picked up some bait and waved Nate closer. “Bring your rod. You’d better get crackin’, boy. You’ve got a customer waiting.”

  “Don’t worry,” Harper said, tapping Carson’s arm in a consoling fashion. “It took all afternoon to catch that one fish. I doubt they’ll catch another.”

  Carson crossed her arms in worry, glancing from Delphine to her family. Mamaw and Nate were bent over a hook, head to head, attaching bait. Dora picked up her rod and began casting out. Even Harper had joined the fray, taking Carson’s rod to Mamaw for bait. They were talking to each other, communicating.

  Below them, Delphine was still there, head out of the water, watching them with curiosity. The scarf was gone, no doubt tucked away in some safe spot. Carson didn’t have the heart to argue. After all, who was she to interfere? Wasn’t Delphine free to come and go at will? Maybe Dora was right. What harm could come from offering Delphine one little fish?

  CHAPTER NINE

  The time for her party had come at last. Mamaw rested in the coolness of her sitting room, the shades drawn against the relentless sun, shuffling a deck of cards. Her hands moved with deft skill, cutting the deck in half, making air whir against her palms as the cards fell into place. One by one, she snapped seven cards onto the small desk to begin yet another game of solitaire. Her hands stilled when she heard a soft knocking on the door.

  “Come in!”

  “You ready to start dressing?”

  Mamaw turned to see Lucille in a blue taffeta dress with a beaded bodice. “Oh my word, Lucille. You look beautiful!”

  “Don’t I know it? I love the glitter,” Lucille replied, preening with the compliment. “I thank you for my new dress.”

  “It suits you. You look radiant. Royal blue is your color.”

  “Now it’s time to put down those cards and get you lookin’ pretty.”

  “Are you sure we don’t have time for a quick game of rummy?”

  Lucille laughed and drew closer. “I never known anyone who loves to play cards as much as you do.”

  “Except perhaps, you?”

  “Even me.”

  Mamaw sighed dramatically and set the cards on the table. “Did you know these cards were given to my grandfather by Admiral Wood? And he was gifted them by Admiral Perry. This is my prize deck.” She kissed them for luck. “It’s a special day, isn’t it?”

  “It surely is. Come on, Miz Marietta. Let me help you up.”

  “Very well,” she replied, releasing the playing cards with reluctance. “There is no more delaying the inevitable playing out of cards tonight with my granddaughters.”

  “No, ma’am. You’re ready.”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. All that’s left is to see if we can squeeze my largesse into my gown.”

  “You should’ve bought something new for yourself, Miz Marietta. It’s your birthday, after all. Instead of buying things for everyone else.”

  Mamaw swept open the door to her large walk-in closet. Seeing so many clothes, hats, and shoes almost sickened her. “Oh, Lucille, I don’t need another dress. I don’t want one. Look at all those clothes!” She stared at them dispassionately. “Most of them I haven’t worn in years. I can’t even fit in most of them. I don’t know why I hold on to them.”

  “Maybe it’s time to go through and weed out some and give them to charity. Before you move on. You won’t have room for all of them in your new place.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea. I can’t take it all with me.” She smirked. “Going to the retirement community is like a dry run for the final departure, eh? A downsizing? Lord knows I’m ready for it. I’m weary of taking care of this place, worrying about every storm that approaches, closing drapes against the sun, the silver, the china, the furniture. It’s all such a burden now. I long to be free of all that stuff. To have a little fun again.” She put her hand to her cheek as she gazed at the line of gowns in the closet. “But it will be hard to part with my evening gowns. Each one holds a special memory.”

  Mamaw sighed, running her hand along the gorgeous silks, taffetas, brocades. In her mind’s eye she wasn’t Mamaw but Marietta Muir, the Charleston socialite known for her glittering parties, her easy repartee, her refined tastes. “Such lovely fabrics and colors. Do you think the girls might want to scrounge through them first and see if there’s something they might like? Carson is about the same size as I once was. And Harper, if they were taken in.” Mamaw thought of Dora and didn’t think she’d fit into any of the dresses. “Dora might like my shoes and bags.”

  “Could be . . .”

  “There was a time when I bought a new dress for every big occasion,” she said wistfully. “Edward’s eyes lit up when he saw me all fancied
up in my best.” She paused, recalling Edward’s face when she’d step out into the living room and do a pirouette for him. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t really care how I look anymore.”

  “That’s a switch,” Lucille murmured.

  “Do you think that it’s a sign I’m slipping? You know, dementia or something?”

  Lucille laughed and shook her head. It sounded to Mamaw like a hen’s cackle. “Mercy no!” Lucille said, waving her hand. “I ’spect you’ve just got more important things on your mind now than frills.”

  “Yes,” Mamaw said with conviction, taking heart. “Yes, that’s it.”

  “So, which dress do you want me to pull out?”

  “That off-white linen gown with the black scrollwork. It should fit, don’t you think?”

  “Only one way to find out. Now, hold on to my arm while I fluff it open so’s you can step inside.”

  Mamaw held tight to Lucille’s arm, wobbling as she gingerly stepped inside the gown. Lucille struggled with the zipper around the waist.

  “Can you suck in any?” Lucille asked.

  Mamaw sucked in as tight as she could but her muscles were so atrophied that nothing she did seemed to make a difference. Once she’d had such a flat belly; now it seemed to be the spot where all her calories went. After much effort, Lucille pushed the zipper up its path.

  Mamaw released a gasp, feeling the tight waist like a boa constrictor against her belly. “Lord help me, I can hardly breathe! Now I know what my ancestors must’ve felt like in a corset.” With a rustle of fabric she took careful steps to the full-length mirror on her door. She threw back her shoulders and stood tall while she perused her reflection. The ornate black scrolls at the waist distracted the eye from the rounding of her belly, and the A-line cut flowed to the floor, giving her a sleeker silhouette.

  “Not bad,” she murmured, smoothing her hand over the fabric. “Not bad at all. I don’t look a day over seventy,” she quipped.

  “Them seams look ready to burst,” Lucille said, perusing the dress with her chin in her palm.

  “Oh, let them,” Mamaw replied, fanning her face. “I just have to take shallow breaths. I do want to look nice for our photographs. Is the photographer here?”

  “Yes’m. He’s been here for a while. Of course Carson’s fussing that she could’ve done the pictures better and we just should’ve asked her.”

  “But I want her to be in the photographs.”

  “That’s what I told her. But I understand how she’s feeling. It’s silly, you hirin’ a caterer when I could’ve cooked up a meal better.”

  “What am I going to do with the two of you?” Mamaw asked, lifting her palms. “I’m just trying to let someone serve you for a change.”

  Lucille muttered something under her breath that Mamaw couldn’t catch.

  “Just say thank you,” Mamaw teased. “Speaking of the caterer, is he here?”

  “Sure he’s here. Been settin’ up for hours. And the girls are in the living room. Everyone’s here. They’re all waiting on you!”

  “Oh . . .” Mamaw felt flustered. She didn’t like to be rushed. “Well, it is my birthday party. They can’t very well start without me.”

  She went to her dresser and pulled a small jewelry box out from a drawer. She had selected her jewelry very carefully for tonight. For all her discomfort, she did look like a queen in this gown. She wished that Edward were here to see her.

  She leaned forward, closer to the mirror, to place the diamond scroll earrings, a fiftieth-wedding-anniversary gift from Edward, into her lobes. On her ring finger, she wore the antique cushion-cut diamond. The large stone caught the light and glittered like a million stars on her finger. Finally, she gathered the three black velvet bags containing the pearls and placed them in her black beaded pocketbook. Only a single blue velvet bag was left on the bureau.

  She looked over her shoulder and summoned Lucille.

  “I’d meant to give this to you later, when we had dessert. But I think . . .” Marietta turned to face Lucille. “Well, dear friend, you should have this now.” She handed Lucille the velvet bag.

  Lucille’s eyes were wide with curiosity as she accepted the bag. “What’s this? You already bought me this dress.”

  “It goes with the dress.”

  Lucille gave her a mock-suspicious glance, then opened the bag and let the contents slip out into her palm. “Lawd have mercy!” she exclaimed when she saw the pair of large sapphire earrings, encircled with diamonds. “Lawd, Lawd . . .” She looked again at Mamaw, this time with shock. “Are they real?”

  “Yes, of course they are.” Mamaw laughed. “They were my mother’s. And now they’re yours. They’ll look wonderful with your dress. I can’t wait to see them on you. Go on, put them on.”

  Mamaw watched Lucille stand in front of the Venetian mirror to replace her gold hoops with the sapphires and diamonds, her hands shaking with excitement. Mamaw felt a rush of love for her, thinking of how those hands formed the bedrock of her world.

  Lucille straightened, the earrings flashing at her ears, but not as bright as her eyes. “How do I look?”

  It brought Mamaw a flush of pleasure to see how the earrings—baubles that had been sitting uselessly in a safe—brought such pleasure.

  “I think the word is . . . sexy,” Mamaw said, and got the hoped-for blush.

  Humor fled as Mamaw took Lucille’s hands. “Dear friend, please accept these earrings as a small token of my love and thanks, for more than I can ever express.”

  Lucille pinched her lips, equally unable to express her emotions.

  “Shall we go? It’s time for me to lay my cards out on the table.”

  Lucille took Mamaw’s arm and, old friends, they began walking. At the bedroom door, Mamaw stopped short and her hand tightened over Lucille’s as she took a sharp breath.

  “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do fine,” Lucille said in a comforting tone. “You’ve been thinking on this for a long while.”

  “Nervous? It takes a lot more than three silly girls to make me nervous.” She placed her hand on her stomach as she took a deep breath. “But there is so much at stake, isn’t there?”

  “They’ll want the truth now.”

  Mamaw took another breath and looked beseechingly at Lucille. “Am I being a tad overbearing with the demands I’ll make tonight?”

  “You? Overbearing?” Lucille chuckled. “Heaven forbid. Manipulative, maybe. Conniving. Calculating. Controlling . . .”

  “Yes, yes . . . It may be my one flaw,” Mamaw conceded with a twitch of her lips. “I see now how all my meddling has only resulted in miserable failures.”

  “And Mr. Edward’s.”

  Mamaw fell silent as she thought again of her husband. He had been a dear man but he did, perhaps, love her too much. His love had blinded him, and knowing it, she had taken full advantage when it came to matters concerning their son.

  “Do you think Edward had, well, given up on Parker?” she asked Lucille.

  “No. But I always thought he should’ve given that boy a good whuppin’.”

  “Maybe.” Mamaw’s thoughts journeyed down a troubled path as she absently twiddled the diamond on her finger. “Maybe he should’ve whupped me, too. He let me get my way too often. Oh, Lucille, I fear that I weakened both the men in my life.”

  “That was then,” Lucille said. “This is now. Just say what you’ve got to say and let the cards fall where they may.”

  “Yes,” Mamaw said, and looked at her diamond. “I must restrain myself and not offer my opinions tonight. Let them work this out among themselves.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Mamaw couldn’t abide fools, and Lucille was nobody’s fool. Mamaw had always counted on Lucille’s ability to cut through the chaff and to give her opinion, honestly and clearly, when needed. Mamaw gathered her wits. In the card game of bridge, Mamaw annoyed her partners by taking forever to formulate how she would play out her hand. But once she began sh
e’d snap her cards on the table with alacrity, having already thought through each trick in her mind.

  Mamaw sucked in a long breath. “I’m ready. Shall we go out?”

  Lucille tightened her hold on Mamaw’s arm. “Let the game begin.”

  Her party began exactly as she’d planned. After the photographer had finished, Mamaw had her favorite brut rosé champagne served in French etched-crystal glasses, which had been in the family for generations. Mamaw preferred the wide saucers to flutes. The pink bubbles tickled her nose while she sipped. Nate was happy to scurry to his room for a special dinner on a tray and a movie. Tonight was just for her girls and she wanted it to be perfect.

  The five women sat together under the glistening crystal chandelier in the sage-green dining room. Mamaw had removed the leaves of the Sheraton table to create a more intimate circle. The candlelight glimmered against the family silver and crystal. From time to time, Mamaw caught the scent of the white roses in the centerpiece.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked around her table at the four faces. Conversation flowed seamlessly around stories of shared memories of summers long gone. At some point between the fishing and the champagne, even Dora had lost the chip on her shoulder and engaged enthusiastically. The eldest of Mamaw’s granddaughters, Dora had a picture-perfect memory for details that brought her stories alive. Mamaw thought how she’d inherited this quality from Parker.

  Carson’s laughter rang out. She’d always loved to laugh and wasn’t shy about it. Carson was quick with an aside that added punch to a story and was fearless with her opinions, delivered with a tease rather than a jab. She, too, could spin a yarn.

  Only Harper remained reserved. Not shy, she was amiable and laughed at the stories. But rarely did she add to the conversation. Yet when she made the rare comment, it was clever and displayed a sharp wit. Mamaw listened, her eyes gleaming over the rim of her wineglass, marveling at this previously unrevealed side of her granddaughter.

  Mamaw watched her girls tasting the different courses of food, sampling the wines, making surprisingly well-informed comments on the seasonings and vineyards. She felt aglow seeing them enjoying the event, smacking their lips and laughing. The mood was as bright as the flickering candles.