“Like what?” Dora asked, intrigued.
“I don’t know,” Harper said with a small smile. “I’m not just sitting around,” she hastened to add. “I’m looking at my options. Lining up a few things. But, I’m also kind of . . . waiting.”
“Waiting?” Dora asked dubiously. “That sounds so not like you.”
Harper shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed. “I’ll know when it happens. But wherever I end up, I promise I’ll stay in touch.”
“That’s the big question for all of us, isn’t it? It’s like we’re on some ship waiting to dock. I’m not sure where I’ll end up either,” Dora said. She made a face. “By the end of summer I’ll be in the midst of a divorce. And selling my house.” She put her hands together in supplication. “Please, God, let someone buy it.” She lowered her hands and began counting off her fingers. “And I have to find a new place to live. A job. A new school for Nate.” Dora blew out a plume of air with a soft whistle. “I’ve got more on my plate than I can eat, that’s for sure.”
“You’ve got Devlin in the wings,” Harper reminded her.
“Dev . . . He’s a good ol’ boy with one eye always on the tides. It’s what I like most about him. He’s laid-back where I’m uptight. But he’s also smart, successful. He keeps me grounded. And Lord, he knows how to push my buttons in a good way.” She smiled with a little embarrassment. Dora looked at the empty space on her ring finger. The bruising was gone but the skin remained pale where the ring once lay.
“I’ve made a decision. A big one.” She looked up to see Carson and Harper staring at her. “I’m going forward with my divorce. I can’t go back to Cal. I feel sad,” she admitted. “It’s hard to break up a family. Except, we weren’t much of a family, and I know I can’t live like that anymore. I know we’ll both be happier apart than we were together.”
“I’m glad you made the decision.” Harper reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
Carson looked sideways at Dora. “Is it because of Devlin?”
Dora’s cheeks colored. “For sure, my feelings for Dev helped me make the decision. But he wasn’t the deciding factor. Cal had already left the marriage, don’t forget. We were on the way to a nasty divorce when I had that attack. Sister mine, if I learned one thing this summer, it’s that I’m not going back to a loveless marriage. It’s not enough for me.”
Carson tilted her head and studied Dora as a smile eased across her face. “Good for you.”
“But I’m not looking to hitch my star on any man right now, either,” Dora continued. “I think I want to be an unmarried woman for a while.” She glanced up. “This summer is my time. I used to think that was selfish, just focusing on my needs and what I wanted. I’ve spent my entire life thinking about other people’s needs—trying to make them happy, seeking approval. I’m heading on forty. It’s high time I start thinking about how I want to spend the next forty years of my life.” She sat straighter and the blanket slid from her shoulder. “You know, I’ve never lived on my own before.”
Harper shook her head in disbelief. “Never?”
“Nope,” Dora replied, yanking the blanket back over her shoulder. “I went straight from my mother’s house to Cal’s house.” She waved her hand. “Not counting college, of course. But I lived on campus with a slew of roommates. That doesn’t count.” She sighed. “I’ve always lived where I was told to. I never rented my own apartment. I’m kind of looking forward to it.”
“Where?” asked Carson.
Dora considered this. “I won’t go as far as New York or England, that’s for sure,” she added with a quick smile toward Harper.
Devlin’s face flashed in her mind, their times out on the boat together, cooking crabs, drinking beer, watching sunsets. She thought of the exhilaration she felt running on the beach, watching the changing tides, collecting shells with Nate.
“I’ll stay in South Carolina, definitely. I want a small house, with a tiny bit of land I can garden that needs little to no maintenance. I see now how I isolated myself. And ate to compensate for the void I was feeling. This time, I’m going to reconnect with old friends, make some new ones, rejoin my community. I think I’ll stay right here in the lowcountry. I love it here,” she admitted with heart. “Nate does, too.” Her son’s smiling face came to mind. “He’s better when he’s near the sea.” She took a breath and looked at Carson and Harper.
“Wherever I end up, I’ll keep in touch. I promise. I’m going to need my sisters to get through this.”
Dora and Harper turned to look at Carson.
“What about you, Carson?” Harper prodded.
Carson only looked down and offered a noncommittal shrug.
“Are you okay?” asked Dora.
“No. I’m not okay,” she fired back, almost as a challenge. “I’m pretty far from okay.” She looked at her sisters, her eyes flashing. “You both have support systems in place, imperfect as they might be. You have families who’ve got your back. For me, it’s only Lucille and Mamaw. This house. And now that’s all being blown away like the sand out there in the wind. Predicting what I’ll be doing in the fall feels damn impossible. Forgive me if I can’t get past next week.”
Dora reached over to put her hand on Carson’s shoulder. “You have us, too. Me and Harper are right here. Oh, honey, we know this is a tough time for you. But we’ll be here for you all the way. Hey, you can come live with me,” she said with a nudge of encouragement. “It won’t be fancy, but I’ll help you take care of that baby.”
Carson recoiled from Dora’s hand. “Baby? I’m not having a baby.”
Dora looked confused. “But I thought . . .”
Carson went rigid and her voice turned cold. “You thought wrong.”
Understanding flooded Dora’s features. “You’re considering an abortion?”
“Of course I am,” Carson said, clenching her fists under the blanket. “I’m unmarried, without a job, without a place to live . . .”
“Carson,” Dora said, leaning forward and slipping off her blanket. “What about Blake?”
Carson’s voice trembled with raw emotion. “Don’t go there.”
“Carson, I—”
“Dora,” Harper said in a warning tone. “Can’t you see she’s struggling? This isn’t your decision. Let it go.”
Dora stared at Harper, letting her words penetrate. Let it go. Letting things go without a fight was what she’d been trying to do all summer. But this was so important. She had things she should say to stop Carson from making a decision she might live to regret. Like how hard it was for her to conceive Nate. How she’d suffered one miscarriage after another, staying in bed for months at a time and gaining fifty pounds in the process. How Carson should keep the baby.
Dora looked at Carson, sitting straight, bowed up for a fight, tears flashing in those blue Muir eyes. Then it hit her. She thought of her mother and how she always had a should at the ready at moments like this to keep her daughter in line. Dora didn’t want to tell Carson what she should do. That hadn’t worked out well between them in the past.
Dora wanted a relationship with her sister, one based on love and trust. She thought again of all the phone calls they’d shared while Carson was in Florida and how they’d talked about everything and nothing. Dora wanted her sister to pick up the phone and call her after they left Sea Breeze.
Dora pressed her fingers to her eyelids. Harper was right. Her opinions were not what her sister needed to hear now. Dora’s life might be a shit storm at the moment, but she was beginning to see the light breaking through the clouds. That’s what Carson needed now. Just a sliver of luminosity to give her hope.
Dora looked at Carson and spoke in a calm voice without contention. “A few months ago, I might have told you what I thought you should do.” She laughed in a self-deprecating manner. “I wouldn’t have been shy to tell you my opinions, either.”
“I think I can guess what you’d say,” Carson said flatly.
>
“Probably. Those are my opinions,” Dora said honestly. “We’re so different. We share the same father, but we haven’t had the same upbringing, the same religious beliefs, culture, lifestyle. The list goes on and on.”
“Even if we grew up in the same house,” said Harper, “we’d all be different.”
“Well, yeah,” Dora conceded. “Honey, I’m stuck in my own mud pile right now. I don’t need to be flinging any of it around. I’m the last person who should give you advice.”
She stopped when she saw the stunned expressions on Carson’s and Harper’s faces. It was slightly irritating, but gratifying at the same time—their shock confirmed for Dora that she had done the right thing.
“What I’m trying to say,” Dora pressed on, needing to get the words out, “is I don’t really know what you’re going through. When I got pregnant I didn’t have to make a choice. I was married. I wanted a baby. And yet I still had problems.”
Carson’s face lost its belligerence, and Dora saw that she was listening.
“I had miscarriage after miscarriage. Each one broke my heart. I wanted a baby so badly and I just couldn’t carry one. I felt I’d failed. And then I had Nate. My sweet, darling boy.”
Tears came to her eyes, and Dora wiped them away. She didn’t want to be emotional now, just honest.
“Being a mother is hard.” She took a long breath and exhaled. “Okay, I’m just going to say this. I’ve never said it before, at least not aloud.” She clenched the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I was brokenhearted when I got Nate’s diagnosis of autism. At the beginning I didn’t know how bad it was going to be, if he’d learn to speak, to communicate at all, even go to the bathroom. I was told I was being selfish, that I had to think about my child and not myself. I tried. I really did.” Dora swallowed hard, feeling the old emotions well up.
“But deep inside I grieved over the loss of the child I’d planned on having. The perfect child . . .” She shook her head. “I know that sounds awful. That’s why I could never talk to anyone about those feelings. Not even Cal.” She snorted. “Especially not Cal.”
Dora looked up to gauge her sisters’ reactions, sensitive to criticism or judgment in their eyes. Not finding any, she continued. “I’ve been on a long journey since then. I know now there is no such thing as a perfect child. I love Nate for who he is, just the way he is. I may have to teach him about emotional cues, but he’s had to teach me, too. Sure, I know it will always hurt when I visit my son at school and find him eating alone, or when he’s not invited to a birthday party. Or when I can’t take away his anguish when he’s trapped in the throes of a tantrum. But any mother feels this when she can’t make life perfect for her child.” She smiled tremulously and shrugged. “It’s not easy being a mother. But this is the part I want you to know. I’ll be thankful every day because I thought I’d never be able to have a child and now I have this amazing gift.”
Dora searched Carson’s face and saw the vulnerability in her eyes. She knew there was so much more she could say. She felt the words aching in her chest. But Carson was too fragile. Dora needed to tread softly.
“It’s not going to be easy, no matter what you decide. In either case, your life will never be the same.” She reached out and put her hand on Carson’s shoulder. “You’re my sister and I love you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you.”
Carson leaned forward and slipped her arms around Dora.
“Thank you,” Carson said, with a tremulous whisper.
“I’m here, too,” Harper said, wrapping her slender arms around both her sisters.
Carson lay on her side, her hands tucked under her head and her eyes wide open. She’d been lying in bed, listening to the storm slowly dissipate as it moved off island. Outside the house, as well as inside, a temporary peace had been restored. She saw the first faint gray light of dawn through the slats of the shutters. She heard the dawn song of the birds in the surrounding trees, vigorously heralding the new day.
The dawn had always called to Carson. She rose from her bed and slipped a silk kimono over her underwear. Tying it at the waist, she walked out into the hallway, careful not to awaken her two sisters sleeping side by side on Dora’s bed. She’d heard them talking into the wee hours of the morning.
She opened the front door, cringing when it creaked loudly in the silence. Stepping outdoors, she was met immediately with the moist sweetness in the air that always followed summer storms. Raindrops lay heavy on the leaves of the oak tree, along the bark, and in puddles on the ground. A pearly mist hung over the island, and as she walked down the stairs she felt as though she were entering another world.
A noise caught her attention and she followed the sound, turning her head toward the cottage. She saw Lucille in her robe and slippers slowly climbing the stairs up to her front porch. Carson hurried across the cold gravel to Lucille’s side.
“Let me help you up the stairs,” she said, taking hold of Lucille’s arm. The old woman’s bones felt as light and hollow as a bird’s. They reached the porch and paused while Lucille caught her breath. Carson couldn’t remember ever seeing Lucille so winded and it scared her.
“I want to lie in my own bed,” Lucille told her.
“Of course. I’ll open the door for you and turn on a light. We don’t want you falling in the dark.”
“I could walk through my house with my eyes closed,” Lucille muttered, but she waited while Carson turned on the lights, then held open the door for her.
Carson followed Lucille into the cottage. All was as neat as a pin. The walls were painted stark white but the artwork covering the walls was alive with the vivid colors of popular African-American artists of Charleston. Everywhere she looked she saw signs of Lucille’s personality and handiwork—the sweetgrass baskets, the embroidered pillows, the knitted throw. It was easy to see that Lucille loved her cottage and was happy here.
Stepping into Lucille’s bedroom, however, Carson caught the stale scent of illness and medicine. She helped Lucille out of her robe and into the black iron bed. Lucille had shrunk in size, and her robustness had disappeared along with the pounds. She looked like a child with her dark eyes wide in her face, her gray hair frizzled around her head like a halo, engulfed in the brightly colored crazy quilt. Carson let her gaze flutter around the room, capturing Lucille’s robe lying across the small lady’s parlor chair, the large bouquet of summer flowers, and the bedside table filled with medicine bottles.
“There, that’s better,” Lucille muttered. “I like lying in my own bed. Under my own roof.” She blinked heavily several times, seemingly exhausted. Then her gaze sought out Carson, and finding her, Lucille smiled weakly and patted the mattress. “Come closer, child.”
Carson came to sit on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle Lucille. It was heart-wrenching to see Lucille so weak and frail. For her, Lucille had always been the strong, opinionated, unwavering pillar of support. This woman had raised her. She’d been a mother to her every bit as much as her grandmother had. Carson held her breath, trying in vain to stop the tears.
“Why you crying?” Lucille asked.
Carson sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she blurted.
“Must be something, ’cause you hardly never cry. Tell me.”
Carson didn’t want to tell her she was crying because she couldn’t bear to see her so weak, so sick. How she couldn’t imagine life without her. So instead she told her of the other source of her tears, knowing Lucille was probably the one person who would listen and not judge her.
“I feel so lost. And scared.”
“About that life you got growing inside of you?”
Carson took a deep breath and nodded. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Carson couldn’t look at her. “I think I do.”
“I see.” Lucille went quiet.
“You don’t think I’m a terrible person?”
Lucille
snorted and shook her head. “You’re in trouble. And you’re scared. I can see that.”
“I’m thinking of going away.”
“ ’Course you are.”
Carson frowned and looked up. “Why do you say that?”
“ ’Cause whenever trouble comes, you run away.”
“No, I don’t!”
Lucille patted her hand, her thick knuckles and stubby nails beautiful to Carson. “Yes, child, you do. Always have. I’ve known you since you were born. When someone gets too close, you cut loose. Carson, you can’t ever outrun the kind of fear you got bottled up inside. You think if you don’t let anything or anyone get too close you won’t get hurt again, like you were when your mama died, or when your daddy took you away from us to go to California. I never thought your mamaw should’ve let that happen. You cried then like you’re crying now.” She sighed heavily. “And now, you’re upset I’m gonna leave you, too. Now, don’t deny it,” she said, waving her hand against Carson’s open mouth. “The plain truth is, I am going to die and there’s nothing you can do and it scares you. I see it in your eyes. And you’re afraid your mamaw’s gonna die, too. Well, child, one day she is!”
“No,” Carson cried, her shoulders shaking as the tears gushed. She lowered her head to Lucille’s shoulder as she did when she was a little girl. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to go.”
Lucille patted her hand as Carson released the pent-up tears that she’d held at bay for too long. Tears of sorrow for Lucille’s illness, for the pregnancy, for her breakup with Blake, for her guilt over Delphine, for all the sorrows she knew were as yet coming.
When she finished Carson pulled herself back up and reached for a tissue.
“Feel better?”
Carson shrugged. “I feel drained.”
The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer) Page 30