“Tell me what to do.”
“You’re doing real good all on your own. You took away the conflict when you told him he didn’t need to take a bath. I’m impressed.”
“I’m scared.” Carson made it sound like a joke, but she wasn’t kidding. She wished she could tell Dora how inept she felt dealing with this child. What was she thinking? She didn’t know the first thing about children. But she’d made sweeping assurances so that Dora would go along with their plan. She couldn’t make her sister nervous now.
“Aw, sis, I feel for you. You know I do. But don’t be. He’s the one who’s scared.” Dora’s voice hitched a bit. “Just a scared little boy. Remember that, and you’ll do fine,” she said, her voice returning to normal. “If he has a meltdown, just hold him tight until he gets through it. It won’t be easy. You’ll be just as exhausted as he is when it’s over. But you will get through it. I think right now the main thing is to get him on a routine as soon as possible. Maybe make him a schedule.”
“You mean with gold stars and all that?” She looked toward the interior of the room, wondering where she’d put it.
“Kids with Asperger’s do better with pictures than charts. How good are you at drawing?”
Carson slipped on her flip-flops and hurried in the dark to the car to fetch the box of art supplies that Dora had packed for the trip. Little did Dora realize that it would be Carson who would use them. She fumbled with her key but managed to get back into the room before Nate realized she’d left. She carried the box to the small glass-topped table and pried open the box. There was the usual assortment of computer paper, colored pencils and markers, watercolors, coloring books, glue, and Scotch tape. Carson smiled when she saw dolphin stickers. Her sister really was a great mom.
Fifteen minutes later she had a small stack of drawings. She carried them and a roll of tape to the bathroom, where Nate was idly letting water pour over his toothbrush. He seemed to be self-soothing so she didn’t interrupt him. She reached up to tape a picture to the left side of the mirror. It was a rudimentary, stick-man drawing of a boy brushing his teeth under the sun. Next she taped up a similar drawing of a boy brushing his teeth under the moon and stars. Nate studied the drawings.
“This is to remind you to brush your teeth in the morning. And this one is for the evening,” she told him.
She went directly into the bedroom, pleased that he followed her. She taped a drawing of a woman sleeping in a bed under where she’d written her name. The nondescript woman had long, black hair, which was the best she could do to indicate it represented her.
“This is where I sleep.”
In similar fashion, Carson went to the bureau that Nate had claimed and put his name on it. She put her name on the closet, a drawing of a boy in bed with Nate’s name over the futon, and on the fridge she taped up a large meal chart. The drawing of a spoon and sun rose over the drawing of a clock at seven a.m. for breakfast. A plate, fork, and a moon were over six p.m. for dinner.
“This is our schedule,” she said, pointing to the drawings. “We have new rules. Starting tomorrow, every morning we will get up at seven, get dressed, and eat breakfast. At eight thirty we will go to the Dolphin Research Center. And every night we will eat dinner at six. You will go to bed at the same time you do at home, eight o’clock, and you can watch your television or play games for an hour.” She could see the tension in his body relax as he studied the chart on the fridge. “It’s already after nine, so hop into your bed, but because it’s our first night and special, if you like you can watch a little TV until nine thirty. Or you can go right to sleep. Which would you like to do?”
Nate’s wide eyes studied her and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the choice put before him. Dora was right; the pictures had provided him with a map to his world.
“I’ll watch TV. Please,” he added.
“You got it.”
She placed his pillow from home on the bed and he climbed onto the futon. He looked at her drawing of the boy on the bed and giggled. “You’re a bad drawer, Aunt Carson!” he exclaimed.
Carson burst out laughing. “You’re right! I’m a terrible drawer. Look at the feet. They’re huge!”
Nate looked at her, eyes wide with both astonishment and pleasure that she’d laughed. “It’s a very bad drawing!” he exclaimed, catching the gist. He pointed. “You gave the boy six toes.”
This made Carson laugh all the harder. It was infectious. The more one laughed the harder the other laughed. Not that any of it was all that funny, but they were both laughing together at the same thing and it felt good. As she laughed she could feel the stress flowing from her body. Seeing Nate holding his belly and howling with laughter, she knew he felt the same. She hadn’t seen him laugh like this since they were in the Cove together, before Delphine’s accident. This was the first sharing since then of something that was good and fun. A wave of peace swept over her, knowing she’d done the right thing to bring Nate here.
She could do this, she realized as she wiped her eyes and leaned back against the lumpy futon beside Nate, enjoying his company.
Chapter Nine
Sullivan’s Island
The following morning Dora awoke to pounding in her temples. Blinking in the morning light, she realized the pounding was coming from outdoors. She dragged herself from her bed, padded to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, and followed the sound of voices to the back porch.
Stepping outdoors, she paused, catching a waft of the sultry air. The pungent scent of pluff mud was strong this morning, tingling in her nose. She breathed deep. This brown, sucking, rich mud redolent with the scent of spartina grass and tidal flats was the perfume of the lowcountry. It was the scent of home.
As she sipped her coffee, her thoughts quickly shifted to Nate. She wondered how he would enjoy his first day at the Dolphin Research Center. Last night she’d talked on the phone with Carson until late. Dora had already been second-guessing her decision to let Carson take Nate to Florida without her; she still had a hard time believing she’d agreed. So when Carson had called to ask for her help with Nate, Dora was a breath away from hopping in her car and driving south to rescue them. But she forced herself to make light of the situation, for her own benefit as much as to keep Carson calm. And it had seemed to work. For the first time, she’d let go and let Carson have a chance at resolving the problem. She was as proud of herself as she was of Carson. Dora had learned to trust someone else—to trust Nate.
She’d also learned that she was not indispensable. This realization was as humbling as it was freeing.
The morning sky over the ocean was brilliant with puffs of white clouds dotting the blue. Dora took a deep breath and blew out slowly. The thought that she was free to do whatever she pleased that day came unbidden, surprising her with possibilities.
Under the shade of the large black-and-white-striped awning, Mamaw was sitting in her favorite oversized black wicker chair with her feet propped on the ottoman, a glass of iced tea on the table beside her, reading a book. She looked like a queen in a white linen tunic and scarlet pants. The morning’s peace was abruptly rent by a sudden pounding and the high-pitched hum of power tools.
“What in the name of all that’s holy is all that noise?” Dora asked, setting her coffee mug on the glass-topped wicker table.
Harper emerged from the garden, holding clippers and a clump of sorry-looking roses in her hand. “Top secret,” she said, climbing up the steps to join them on the porch. She smiled under her broad-brimmed straw hat. “Mamaw’s having some remodeling done in her bedroom, but she won’t divulge the details.”
Dora greeted her sister and strolled over to place a kiss on Mamaw’s cheek. “Do tell, Mamaw. What you got cooking over there?”
“Can’t a woman have a few surprises, even in her own boudoir?” Mamaw said archly.
“No,” both girls answered at the same time.
Dora lowered into a wicker chair beside Mamaw
and stretched out her long legs with a soft moan. “What time did they get here? I thought the pounding was in my head when I woke up.”
“Did you go to Dunleavy’s again?” Harper asked. “I noticed you got in rather late last night.”
Dora gave Harper a warning glare but it was too late. Mamaw caught that comment and she pounced.
“Were you out with Devlin again?” she asked.
“Mamaw, retract your antennas. Dev and I are just two old friends who are catching up on old time. ’Nuff said.”
“Old friends, huh?” Mamaw said in a slow drawl. “Well.” She put on her sunglasses. “I have to say, hearing the name Devlin Cassell again is déjà vu.” She looked pointedly at Dora’s short nightgown. “Though if you were sixteen, I wouldn’t allow you to still be lounging in your nightgown at ten o’clock in the morning. Aren’t you supposed to be doing your walk now?”
Dora stifled a yawn. “I know, I know. I’ll walk later.”
“I’m just trying to be supportive.”
Harper placed the stems of a clutch of the small yellow roses into her water bottle and carried them to Mamaw. “All I could find, I’m afraid.”
“Why, thank you,” Mamaw said, setting down her book to accept the flowers. She delicately plucked the browned, curling leaves from the stems. “Poor things, look how stunted they’ve become. Pitiful, really. My roses used to be so large and fragrant they took my breath away.”
“I remember. What happened to the garden?” Harper asked, pouring herself a glass of iced tea from the pitcher and lowering herself into a chair beside them. “There always used to be lots of flowers and butterflies out there. There’s not much left out there now but the weeds.”
Dora sat up in the chair to peer out at the garden that was located along the border of the porch. It was a small, narrow plot of land between the house and the wild cordgrass that bordered the Cove. She had studied horticulture in college and, though she’d never received her degree, instead choosing to leave college to marry Cal, she’d continued taking master gardener courses. One of the aspects she’d loved most about her home in Summerville was the acreage that surrounded the house itself.
She’d planted an extensive garden the first year that they’d moved in, investing an enormous amount of time and energy into the project. She could still remember how fulfilled she’d felt at the end of an afternoon in the garden, covered with dirt and sweat, grinning like a fool. After Nate came along, however, her focus had shifted to him, and as he grew and his needs became more demanding, the garden slipped into an afterthought.
“It looks like my garden in Summerville,” she said with a hint of cynicism. “This climate turns the land into a jungle in no time. Especially out here on the islands. The heat is a furnace blast and the humidity is crushing.” She sat back and turned to Harper. “You must feel it when you’re running?”
Harper lifted her hair from her neck. “That’s why I run early in the morning.” She let her hair drop and said pointedly, “So should you.”
“Nag, nag, nag,” Dora teased. “I swear, just walking leaves me hot, winded, and drenched.” She looked again at the remnants of the garden. “Mamaw, I have to say, roses were always an ambitious choice. It doesn’t pay to plant anything but indigenous plants on a barrier island.”
“I don’t care. I love roses. There isn’t much soil out here, I grant you. But I try. When I think of the beautiful walled garden at my Charleston house . . .” Mamaw said wistfully. “The camellias and roses . . . Do you remember it, girls? The loveliest dappled light . . . The wall protected the plants from the wind and salt from the sea. I tried to create something similar here, but . . .” She sighed. “The combination of weather and old age got the best of me, I’m afraid. I couldn’t keep up and eventually I just lost the heart for it. I do miss my roses, though. Actually, Dora, they did surprisingly well here, despite the odds. Those poor plants are just old and tired, like I am.”
Harper patted Mamaw’s leg. “Not so old.”
“When I’m working in that heat,” Mamaw said, “I feel as old as Methuselah.”
“You’re going to live forever,” Dora said. “But I sympathize. I couldn’t keep up with my garden, either. It’s a labor of love.”
“True, true,” Mamaw said, and returned to her book.
“I wouldn’t know,” Harper said wistfully. “In the city we don’t even have a patio, much less flower boxes.” She looked out over the property. “I always wanted a garden of my own.”
“What about your house in the Hamptons?” asked Dora.
“Oh, there are gorgeous gardens there, to be sure. But I only visit there on weekends or for a week’s vacation, hardly time to tend a garden. Besides, my mother pays a fortune to a fleet of gardeners and they’d have a conniption if I brought a shovel or spade to their flower beds.
“You should see my granny’s garden in England. It’s a true English garden with masses of flowers and flowering shrubs. Granny cuts them fresh every morning and does arrangements for the house. Quite lovely. She’s rather like you in that way, Dora. Passionate about all things gardening. The gardens were designed ages ago but she makes changes here and there and has the final word on all plantings. Still, all the digging and weeding is done for her.”
“That makes things easier,” Dora said with an edge.
“Exactly,” Harper agreed. “Poor Granny broke her leg recently, though; I don’t imagine she’ll be able to do even that much gardening this summer.” She paused and said with a twinge of guilt, “I really should visit.”
“Do you go to England often?” Dora asked.
Harper began removing her garden gloves. “Not as often as I should.” Then she said in a lower voice, “It’s a very big house with very big expectations to fill.”
“What does that mean?” Dora asked.
Mamaw set down her book and listened.
“My mother is an only child, and I am her only child. The house in the country is the James family seat and I am the heir. There is,” she added diffidently, “no spare. Whenever I visit I feel like I’m living in a glass tower.” Harper tugged off the fingers of the glove with short, angry tugs. “Everyone is watching, waiting for me to find the right husband and carry on the James name.” She pulled off the glove and stared at it in her lap. “They’re quite disappointed that I’m twenty-eight without a prospect in sight.”
“Do they expect you to marry and live in England?” Dora pressed on, realizing how little she knew about the pressures her younger sister faced. She had always assumed Harper was living quite the charmed, carefree life of a wealthy urbanite.
“Granny would love it, of course. Whenever I visit she throws elaborate parties to introduce me to all the eligible young bachelors. Not unlike you, Mamaw,” Harper gamely added in Mamaw’s direction.
Mamaw feigned shock. “I have no ulterior motive. I only want you to feel at home here!”
Harper laughed lightly. “You are the dearest. But you’re fooling no one. I’d rather find my husband on my own terms, thank you very much.” Her tone grew wistful again. “He’s out there somewhere.”
“That all sounds very romantic,” Dora said. “But tick-tock, sister. You’re not going to find him sitting here by your lonesome. You haven’t gone out on a date since you’ve arrived.”
“Well, look who’s suddenly Miss Lady Out on the Town!” Harper remarked playfully.
“True, true,” Dora said with a laugh. “But seriously, you’re so young and so pretty.”
Harper sat straighter in her chair, lifting her chin. “I’ll know him when I meet him,” she said. “I’ve always dreamed when I do, it will be a thunderbolt. I’ve heard of such things happening, haven’t you? You look into a stranger’s eyes and boom, you just know.”
Dora thought of how she shivered whenever she looked into Devlin’s eyes. She spoke as much to herself as to her sister.
“I never thought of you as a romantic,” she said with a short laugh. “That’s the st
uff of fairy tales. What you’re referring to is plain lust. Marriage is another thing altogether. Thunderbolts are fun, but a husband has to be a good provider. And in your case, your man has to have a long and illustrious pedigree.”
Mamaw turned in her chair to look askance at Dora. “When you talk like that you sound like your mother,” she said drily.
Dora paled and brought her hand to her mouth. “I do, don’t I?” She turned to Harper. “Oh, hell, don’t listen to me. What do I know? Look at the mess I’ve made of my life.”
“You’re doing just fine,” Harper said. “Let’s forget about me,” she said, deflecting the attention from herself back to Dora. “I’m glad to see you going out for a change.”
“As should you,” Dora replied, tossing the spotlight back to Harper. “You’re becoming an introvert,” Dora argued, “only talking to people on the Internet. That’s not good.”
“But it is good,” Harper said insistently. “For me. My whole life, even as a girl, I was on a treadmill, always pushing toward some goal.” She paused, then said evenly, “Mother was very good at setting goals.”
Dora snorted in an unladylike manner. “I get that.”
Mamaw set her book down again and looked at Dora.
“Dora, you might need people now,” said Harper. “But I need solitude.”
“Solitude is different from isolation. I isolated myself in Summerville even though there were lots of people around me, and let me tell you, I was lonely. I can understand seeking moments of peace, but be careful that you are not hiding out.”
“I know the difference,” Harper said defensively. “It’s hard to explain. I didn’t realize it when I first arrived here in May. I thought I’d come in for Mamaw’s weekend party, then be on my way. Of course”—she looked sheepishly at Mamaw, catching her eyes and smiling—“it didn’t turn out that way. Since I’ve been here, though, it’s like my whole body has slowed down. I’m paying attention to the minutiae that suddenly loom so large. And I like it. I’m off the treadmill. I don’t have set goals, I don’t feel I have to live up to someone else’s expectations. I can just be.”
The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer) Page 13