A Lowcountry Wedding

by Mary Alice Monroe

  She got the hoped-for smug smile as he straightened and caught her gaze.

  Carson hid her own smile of satisfaction by looking down at the tray. He’d remembered her favorites. Wheat toast, yogurt, fresh berries, coffee.

  But, oh, she needed water.

  “I’m parched,” she said in a raspy voice. “I’m so dry I can barely speak. Could I have some water? You’ve run me dry, boy.”

  She detected another faint smile of self-satisfaction as he ducked out of the room. She sipped the coffee, and in a moment he returned. Hobbs pushed past him into the room, trotting to the bed, and immediately began sniffing the sheets with keen interest. Carson giggled as Blake shoved him away with a gruff “No.” Hobbs backed off with a snort of displeasure and sat a few feet away, staring at Carson with baleful eyes.

  Blake handed Carson a tall glass of icy water. “I’m pretty sure when a dog snorts like that it’s dog language for ‘Fuck you.’ ”

  Carson laughed, then drank thirstily. Again, she felt a breeze flutter the curtains and slide across her body like water.

  Blake sat on the bed beside her. She felt the dip in the mattress with his weight, then his cool hand as it slid across her body. “I’ve missed seeing you in my bed.”

  “Oh, I’ve missed this, too. You by my side. The soft island breezes. I slept like I haven’t slept since I left.”

  He snorted. “I should hope not.”

  “When you let me sleep, I should say.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her. The moment lips met the spark ignited, as it always did for them. She felt the telltale trembling of his lips as his tongue pushed hers open.

  “No, no, no,” she whimpered, pushing him back. “I don’t have the energy. Or the time. They’re expecting us for lunch.”

  He released her, but still leaning close, his dark eyes searched hers. “Carson . . .” He hesitated, and his tone implied he wanted to talk.

  “Yes?” She picked up a slice of toast. She bit into the buttery bread, using the action to disguise her sudden wariness.

  Blake pushed back and placed his palms on his thighs. “We need to talk.”

  She knew that look on his face. She felt her guard go up. “I thought we’d done enough talking.”

  “You took off your ring.”

  Carson glanced at her ring finger, barren of the diamond. “We’re still engaged. Sort of. We’re going to be promised to each other. While we work things out. No pressure.”

  “Last night when we were exhausted, it seemed a decent compromise. But in the light of day . . . What the hell does promised even mean? We’re sort of engaged? We’re promised to do what? That puts us in limbo.” Blake shook his head, moving his dark curls, longer now after a winter’s growth. “I can’t do that.”

  “But we said—”

  “I can’t face them.”

  “Who?”

  “Your family. I can’t go to Sea Breeze and be with your family and talk weddings as if it’s all going to happen when you’re not wearing my ring.”

  “But we went through this.” Carson sat up. “I’m still wearing your ring. Around my neck.”

  “Not on your finger. Not in a way that matters.” Blake shook his head. “The way I see it, we’re either engaged. Or we’re not.”

  “I don’t see why you’re making a federal case of this.” She felt her fuse light up. “It’s up to you. I have a job offer. It will take me away for a few months and it’ll pay well. Then I’m home again. I’m okay with that. Lots of married couples are separated for a while.”

  “Not me. Not for months at a time. We both know the temptations you’ll face. And when you come back, how long will you be home? How long before you accept the next job? And the next?”

  “We’ll have to work out the ground rules. I’ll only take one or two jobs a year depending on the length. No more than a few months at one time.”

  “That’s what you told me about this last job. Four months. You swore by it. But it took six.”

  Carson flushed. There was no denying it, but she was tired of apologizing for it. “So I’ll only take one job a year.”

  “I don’t want to have a marriage where my wife is gone for six months of the year. I don’t want to take those odds.”

  Carson raked her hair with her fingers, then clutched it in fists while she counted to ten. He was being unreasonable. They sat across from each other, stiff shouldered, eyes blazing. “And I don’t want to sit around jobless. I told you that. I can’t. I won’t,” she said emphatically. She dropped her hands. “Why should I be the one to give up my career? You could move to California, you know.”

  He reached out to take her hand. “I know,” he said in a low voice.

  When he lowered his tone, it immediately diffused the tension between them. Blake could cool quickly, and in doing so, he could always bring her down from the edge as well. It was a gift, she knew. One she appreciated. He managed wildlife as readily as he did the humans who worked under him with that same calm and easy manner. But she’d seen his temper flare, too. When he got truly angry, he was formidable. He could be terribly stubborn. As, she knew, could she. Harper referred to them as Scarlett and Rhett.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said in that soothing tone of voice. “I’ve thought about this all morning.”

  She looked into his face. His brown eyes appeared so black she couldn’t tell where the pupils ended and the irises began.

  “We have things to work out,” he acknowledged. “Our schedules may be tough to manage. But all couples have issues to get through. That’s what marriage is all about. Taking the good and bad, the hard and easy. And making it work. The way I see it, if we can’t get through this now, then what’s the point of being engaged or promised or whatever you want to call it? On the other hand, if we love each other, and we want to be together, to get married, you should wear the ring and together we’ll figure something out. We have time. Then, if we can’t find a solution we can live with”—he shrugged in the Gallic manner—“then you can give the ring back to me before the wedding and we’ll call it all off for good.”

  Carson could only stare back, mute. The thought of breaking her engagement had crossed her mind. But the reality of it was too cold. She shivered.

  Blake saw her reaction and took both her hands. “But I don’t believe that will happen. Because I love you, Carson Muir. And I believe you love me.”

  “I do,” she said softly though urgently.

  “We’ve been through worse.”

  Carson’s mind whirled back through a series of traumas that she’d fought her way through the past year. And each time Blake was there, enduring it all with her.

  “Yes, we have.”

  “Have faith, Carson. Wear my ring.”

  Carson smiled tremulously. She stretched far across the bed to the small marble-topped bedside table to grasp the diamond-and-sapphire ring that Blake had given her the previous September. The ring she’d removed during the night with the intention of slipping it on a chain and wearing it around her neck. She was unaware of the beautiful, long line her slender, athletic body presented to Blake, but she felt his hand once again slide across her curves. Sitting back up, she held the ring between two fingers. Then, in one movement, she slid the ring back onto her left ring finger and smiled up at him.

  “Carson!” Harper exclaimed, grinning wide. “You’re here!”

  Carson looked much the same as she had the previous fall. Tall and exotic with her long dark hair, brilliant sapphire-blue eyes, and her finely tuned body that turned heads wherever she went. Yet she appeared different, too. The restlessness had settled and her manner had a new softness. She wore no makeup yet had the glow of a woman well loved.

  “You look beautiful. Rested. It must’ve been an easy trip.”

  “I caught some z’s on the plane.” Carson moved through the open door into the house, her eyes scanning Harper. “You look different, too. Less sleek New York and more French country. I like it. Careful, th
ough. Don’t go too Suzy Homemaker on me.”

  “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” Blake said to Harper, stepping into the house.

  “Harper knows I swing from the hip, don’t you, Sis?”

  “I do.” Harper laughed, closing the door behind them. Carson was always honest, sometimes brutally so.

  Carson leaned forward to give her sister a hug, then pulled back and asked, “Where’s Mamaw?”

  “Oh, she’s here somewhere. Probably in her cottage. She’ll be up in a minute.”

  “The cottage?” Carson asked with surprise.

  “Yes.” Harper paused to kiss Blake and offer him a hug, then turned to Carson. “Mamaw moved into the cottage. I thought you knew that.”

  “No,” Carson said coldly. “Why would she move into the cottage? This is her house.”

  Harper’s smile fell, replaced by stunned surprise.

  Carson immediately realized her mistake and quickly amended, “I mean, it’s your house, of course. But it’s still her house, too. In a way. I mean . . .” She let her words slide away feeling sure her meaning was understood.

  Harper’s stare was defensive, as was the stiffness of her smile. “I would never ask Mamaw to move to the cottage,” she said with some heat. “In fact, I begged her not to. But she insisted. And you know Mamaw when she’s made up her mind.”

  Carson grinned wryly. “That Muir stubbornness.”

  Harper paused, assuaged a bit by the humor. “She said she wanted to have a smaller space of her own. Mamaw has free rein of the house, of course. She comes and goes as she pleases. She still likes to sit on the back porch, the same queen as always.” Harper’s tone grew thoughtful. “But more and more, I find her sitting on the porch of the cottage, rocking, reading a book. I think she finds comfort there, where Lucille lived.”

  “But isn’t it, I don’t know . . . weird? Sleeping in her room?”

  “At first, maybe. But not anymore.” Harper met Carson’s gaze squarely. “This is my home, after all.”

  There it was. The line in the sand. The house now belonged to Harper. She’d bought it free and clear. In doing so, she’d not only provided Mamaw the opportunity to remain at Sea Breeze rather than move into a retirement community alone, but the generous purchase offer had provided Mamaw a comfortable income to live on for as long as she lived. It was extraordinarily fortunate for all of them that the house could remain in the family.

  The tension was broken when Taylor entered the foyer, a huge black dog at his heels. Blake and Taylor greeted each other warmly, leaning forward to slap backs and mutter words of welcome. They were both tall, but the resemblance ended there. Taylor was broad shouldered and muscled and bore the upright stance of a man who’d spent years in the Marines. When Harper had first met Taylor, his hair had been shorn close to the scalp. Now the light brown hair was longer at the top and she’d been amused to see it had a slight wave.

  “Carson!” Taylor stepped forward to wrap her in his strong arms for a firm hug. “Good to see you again. Welcome home. Here to stay now, are you?”

  Carson flushed with pleasure at his hearty welcome. “I’m good. Glad to be home.”

  “You look good.”

  “I stopped at Blake’s place to freshen up.” She glanced at Blake, who met her gaze with a conspiratorial smile.

  “Well, be prepared,” Taylor said ominously. “Harper’s been revving up, just waiting for you to get here. And her grandmother arrives next week. Whoooeee, Blake”—Taylor patted Blake’s shoulder—“there’s going to be a sea of estrogen bubbling over wedding details here. You and I have to make ourselves scarce and get out of their way. Let’s start with getting ourselves a beer.”

  As the men chuckled and walked off to the kitchen, Harper glanced at Carson and could see the anxiety in her face, the awkward looking around the room, unsure of where she should go.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get settled. Where do I sleep?” she asked Harper, in a nod to her authority over Sea Breeze.

  Harper visibly relaxed. Her smile bloomed with enthusiasm. “In your room, of course. It will always be your room, Carson. That will never change.”

  Carson heard the sincerity in Harper’s words and moved to wrap her arms around her.

  Harper smelled the oriental scent of Bal à Versailles, Mamaw’s scent and now Carson’s as well. Harper always associated the scent with love and security, and it brought her instantly back to the days of their girlhood summers. In that moment all the tension vanished and there was only her and her sister, back at Sea Breeze, together again.

  Chapter Six

  When a woman lives long enough to see her grandchildren married and settled, she feels blessed.

  Later that evening, when the moon rose over the earth and the stars sparkled in a crisp, cool sky, Mamaw stood at the kitchen window peering out at the Cove. The moon shed dreamy light across the water, creating a ribbon of light on the rippling tide. Her granddaughters were sitting together on the dock—Eudora, Carson, and Harper. This early in the season that water would be nippy, so instead of dangling legs in the sea they sat huddled in blankets against the chill. Occasional yelps of high-pitched laughter sang out in the quiet night. In the moonlight, they could be young girls again—her Summer Girls. Her heart expanded as she said a prayer of thanks that the summer before her plan to bring the girls back together at Sea Breeze, after their being scattered to the four corners of the United States, had worked so well. Far better than her expectations. Here they were once more, happy, connected. Sisters.

  True they were half sisters. The daughters of her only child, Parker, and his three wives. Not that she blamed him for wandering. Though she loved her granddaughters to distraction, her daughters-in-law were a disappointment to say the least. Dora’s mother, Winnie, was a small-minded, prejudiced woman Mamaw found annoying at best.

  Then there was poor Sophie, Carson’s mother. Mamaw couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the eighteen-year-old French nanny, even though she broke up Winnie and Parker’s marriage. But then again, if it wasn’t Sophie, it would have been someone else. Her son had a wandering eye, and Sophie was too young and too weak to withstand his charms. Her tragic death had scarred young Carson, but in consequence, the four-year-old was delivered to Mamaw’s care. And for that special bond she shared with Carson, Mamaw would always be grateful.

  Mamaw only had disdain for Harper’s mother, Georgiana James. A more arrogant, self-righteous harridan she’d never met. And a negligent daughter and a narcissistic mother to boot. For the scant few months she was married to Parker, Georgiana was also cruel. The best Mamaw could say about that union was that Harper was born—and a sweeter child never walked the earth.

  But Parker, bless his heart, though a dear boy, had displayed little restraint or sense of responsibility to himself or his daughters. Mamaw had done her best to support him, but in the end she’d only made excuses and cleaned up his messes. Edward was furious with his son, then disgusted, then finally apathetic. He’d wanted to cut Parker off since college, but Mamaw wouldn’t hear of it. In her day, a mother did what she could to help her child. Yes, she’d spoiled him. But Parker was her only child. She’d made mistakes, she knew that now. Her therapist had taught her the word they’d coined for what she was—an enabler.

  Mamaw had her regrets, true. But one thing she had no regrets about was inviting her three granddaughters to Sea Breeze each summer. She gathered her Summer Girls together like precious seashells and helped them to connect as sisters should. Mamaw sniffed. She couldn’t count on their mothers for that! Besides, with Carson in California and Harper in New York, how else could she be certain they’d know where they were from? To remind the girls of their southern roots.

  And they did come. Every year, from the time they were young girls until they reached their teens. Then, typically, each of the girls made other summer plans, and before too long they stopped coming to Sea Breeze. The slim thread that bound them together was broken.


  They visited rarely. In fact, only for the funerals of their father and a year later, their grandfather, her dear husband, Edward. She received letters and phone calls, but Mamaw had felt lonely, even neglected, by the girls. She reasoned it was all part of the selfishness of youth. Yet when she reached the ripe old age of eighty and realized that she could no longer care for an estate on the sea with all the nips and tucks necessary for maintenance, she brought the girls home once more to celebrate her eightieth birthday and bid farewell to Sea Breeze before it was sold.

  She had hoped they would all come for the weekend. But the girls had ended up staying the summer. . . . Mamaw sighed in memory, hardly able to believe how perfectly everything had come together. She owned that it was due to her admittedly manipulative ways. Lucille had pointed her finger at her and accused her of “foolin’ around where you ought not.”

  Mamaw shifted her weight and sniffed. She saw her actions as simply the determination of a devoted grandmother to protect her beloved granddaughters. Sometimes one had to be creative, eh? And what did it matter now, anyway? Mamaw smiled again as she looked out at the girls sitting shoulder to shoulder on the dock, a unified block of family. She’d succeeded. Far more than she’d thought she would, even in her wildest dreams.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She turned and smiled when she spied Girard approaching. In his presence she was not Mamaw, the name her granddaughters affectionately called her, but Marietta. Ageless, still attractive, full of life. A woman in love. Girard was a courtly figure. At eighty, with his tanned skin and white hair streaked with dark gray strands, his blue eyes that always held a hint of mirth, he still turned her head. She recalled her friend Sissy’s comment the night they’d first met Girard and his wife, Evelyn, fifty years earlier. Sissy had nudged Marietta and whispered how Girard reminded her of Cary Grant. Mamaw laughed to herself. God help her, he still did. She and Girard had been friends back then. Good neighbors. But all these years later, he a widower and she a widow, they’d reconnected, thanks to the charms of one beguiling dolphin.