“Don’t I know it!”
“Gawd, what a pair we make. Maybe we should move in together.”
“We’d kill each other.”
“But what sport we’d have!” Imogene reached for her bottle of water and took a long swallow. She put the bottle on the table and made a face. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of your special tea, would you? The family recipe?”
Marietta chuckled and shook her head. “Not now. But how about a game of cards tomorrow afternoon? I’ll make it special.”
“You’re on. Make a pitcher. Make two. I need a purge.”
The air of a truce floated between them as they settled back into their chairs. They lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Marietta studied the woman across the table from her. Once again she’d leaned back into the cushions and looked off at the Cove. Imogene just didn’t have the same vitality she’d had the last time she was here. Imogene shivered under the heavy towel. Her hair, drying in the sun, blew in soft wisps, exposing a pinkening scalp. They were old soldiers, Marietta realized. Comrades-in-arms. They’d fought many battles in their years. Seen their triumphs, too. But the woman across from her appeared near broken.
“Come sit in the shade. You’re getting a sunburn,” Marietta said.
“I’m too chilly.”
“Then wear a hat.” Marietta reached beside her, grabbed her floppy beach hat, and handed it to Imogene.
Imogene took it and flopped it on her head with an exaggerated push. “Happy now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a bossy bitch.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Imogene adjusted the hat on her head and settled into a brooding silence.
When it appeared she had nothing more to say, Marietta prompted her, “Why do you feel the need to come to Sea Breeze? You have so many options. Money isn’t a problem. You could move anywhere. Imogene . . . my friend . . . what’s got you so shaken?”
Imogene’s eyes watered and she brought her hand to her lips. The coral polish was chipped. “I feel lost,” Imogene said softly. “For the first time in my life.”
“Lost? How so?”
“You know very well how I feel,” Imogene said reproachfully. “When your husband died . . . I’m sorry, what was his name?”
“Edward.”
“Yes, when Edward died. Didn’t you feel lost?”
“Yes, I did.” Marietta recalled the deep depression she’d slipped into after his death, so close after the loss of her son. She’d felt she was drowning in her sorrow. Lucille had saved her with her trademark compassion, care, and unwavering diligence. She wouldn’t let Mamaw go under.
“You had a good marriage, didn’t you? Happy?”
“As happy as can be expected. Naturally we had our ups and downs.”
“But of course you did,” Imogene said impatiently. “No couple can be married for some fifty years and not have ups and downs. Hell, even thirty years. A long marriage can be a battlefield. We had bloody blowups, I can tell you. There were times I hated Jeffrey. Wished he would just die. I’d be free without the scandal of a divorce.” She laughed shortly. “I can’t count the times I’d planned to leave him. And he me. He cheated on me, you know. Several times. He felt somehow entitled to a bit of dalliance, don’t you know. His own father did, and his father did the same thing to his wife before him. We wives are meant to look the other way. Excuse their flirting about as simply a man’s way. The self-important pricks,” Imogene muttered under her breath. “I suppose that’s what happens when a man’s wealthy and successful and powerful in his business. And has a title to boot.”
“ ‘Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ ”
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more.” Imogene nodded vehemently. “Jeffrey was decent enough looking, to be sure. But it’s that other stuff that was the aphrodisiac to young women. We muddled through, however. Age has a marvelous way of mellowing one, doesn’t it? In the end, we found great comfort in each other’s company. The reward of perseverance.” Imogene picked lint from the towel. “I admired him. Jeffrey was a brilliant man.” She stilled her hand and looked vacantly at the pool. “Then came the Alzheimer’s. It’s a dreadful disease. I hate it. It stole Jeffrey from me. Not all at once. Bit by bit. It’s terrible to watch a luminous mind implode like a black star and not be able to do a single thing to stop it.” Her voice broke and she reached for her water bottle.
Marietta felt her own eyes moisten at Imogene’s unexpected display of emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am, too.” Imogene sipped water, then licked her lips. As she screwed the top back on the bottle, her voice grew thin. “That wasn’t the worst of it, though.”
Marietta leaned forward to hear her voice, which had grown as soft as a breeze.
“I did my best to care for him at Greenfields Park. I hired a full-time nurse. A nutritionist. Therapists. No expense was spared. I thought if I couldn’t cure the disease, I might be able to slow it down a little. At the very least make Jeffrey comfortable and feel safe. They get quite frightened at times, you know. When they don’t remember things or get lost. These things I was prepared for. There are loads of books published on the subject. I must have read them all.
“What I wasn’t prepared for were the small daily hurts.” Imogene paused in recollection. “Jeffrey was a publisher, you know. Years back. He was a very fast reader. Had an extensive library. Reading was his world. I’d watch him as he sat and read. He’d set the book down, then pick it up again a bit later and begin reading from the beginning. Over and over. He didn’t remember what he’d just read. It was painful to watch. Eventually he stopped reading altogether. He couldn’t make sense of the words. A part of him died that day.” Her lips trembled. “And a part of me died the day he didn’t know who I was.”
“Oh, Imogene,” Marietta said with feeling.
She waved away the sympathy. “In the last two years, he deteriorated rapidly. You recall I couldn’t bring him here last summer. Nor the Hamptons before that. He loved going there. Loved the sea.” She smiled wistfully. “He would have liked it here, too. He’d have called the scenery primitive.” She laughed at Marietta’s expression. “Jeffrey was a terrible snob, you know. If it wasn’t British, it wasn’t up to snuff.” There was a small pause. “He was also fastidious about his personal habits. A spot on his cuff would drive him to distraction. So imagine the horror I felt for him when he dropped his pants in the middle of the front hall and relieved himself. He proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing and refused to put them on again. There was quite a struggle. He’d decided he liked being stark naked.” Imogene laughed, but there was sorrow in it. “I knew then that I’d reached the end of what I was able to provide. He needed more. He had to go to a Memory Center.”
Imogene adjusted her position in the chair, trying to find a comfortable spot. When settled, she folded her hands on the table and looked at them. “That place is his home now. The people who care for him are the ones who matter. They’re his family now. There’s no place for me there. I’m no longer important to him. He doesn’t even know me.” She brought her fingers to her cheek as though seeing the scene again. “Driving away that morning, leaving him there . . . it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” She looked up and her eyes were watery. “I’ve lost my purpose. My rudder. I feel adrift.”
Marietta rose to come to her side. She lay her hand on Imogene’s shoulder, felt the sharp bone beneath the towel. “Of course you were right to come here. To Sea Breeze. Not only to Harper. But to Taylor. And to me. In time, you will find your strength again, but until then you need the comfort of family and friends. We’re here for you, my dear friend. You belong here. With us. At Sea Breeze.”
Imogene was listening, her eyes wide and vulnerable.
Marietta smiled with encouragement. “After all, isn’t that what a wedding is all about? The gathering of family. The sharing of stories. The linking of arms. For better or for worse.”
Imogene choked back a teary laugh. “Till death do us part.”
“Let’s not go that far! It’s a bit too close to home. Come dear, let’s get dressed. The girls are expecting us to be at our best. We mustn’t disappoint. The wedding must go on!”
Chapter Sixteen
A young bride looks sweet in a cloud of white tulle. But a bride in her thirties or older would do well to choose a creamy or off-white color. As would, perhaps, a woman who is already sharing a home with her intended.
Dora, Carson, and Harper parked the car in the lot and walked along the crooked sidewalk on East Bay through the bustling crowd. Spring was in full flower and Charleston was a destination city for vacations. Tourists fled the snowy North and were hell-bent on wearing shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, even in the city.
The Muir girls, however, wore dresses and heels. Harper even wore a hat. They were all in a festive mood, helped along by the champagne—and sparkling cider for Carson and Harper—that they’d consumed at SalonSalon hair salon, where they’d tried out hairstyles for the wedding. Feeling primped and pretty, they strolled down King Street, going from the hair salon to Studio R to pick up their printed thank-you notes, then straight on to Croghan’s jewelry store, one of the oldest jewelers in the city, to pick up the grooms’ rings.
Shopping in Charleston always meant a fun day. Boutiques, antiques stores, jewelers, great restaurants, cobbled streets oozing charm and history. Shopping for a wedding dress, however, makes the day stellar. And that’s just what the girls intended to do later that afternoon.
But first, they had reservations for lunch at Magnolias. Fresh flowers decorated the tables draped in thick white linen. As usual, the restaurant was filled with locals and visitors alike. The girls were seated swiftly, and a short time later Carson bit into her fried-green-tomato BLT. She closed her eyes and emitted a soft groan of pleasure.
“I’d forgotten how delicious this was,” she muttered while chewing. “Does anyone make a better fried green tomato?”
“Not exactly the diet of someone shopping for a wedding dress,” Harper said testily.
Carson picked up a chip and devoured it. “I don’t care about a dress half as much as I care how damn good this is.” She looked at Harper. “How’re your chicken livers?”
Harper looked at her plate, barely touched, and offered a quick but unenthusiastic smile. “Very good. I’m just not that hungry.”
“Oh, baby, do you have morning sickness?” asked Dora, eyes round with concern. Harper resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Dora had been clucking around her like a mother hen since she’d announced her pregnancy. Besides, she wasn’t feeling sick. More sad and confused by her argument with her mother earlier that morning. That and the prenup. The thought of asking Taylor for one hung over her like a thundercloud about to burst.
“Yes,” she lied. “I should have ordered something bland.” At that thought, suddenly the smell of the liver made her stomach turn for real.
“You just hold on a minute, sugar.” Dora raised her hand and signaled the waitress. “I’m sorry, but could you remove her plate, please, and bring us some toast with avocado and sea salt?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The waitress picked up the offending plate with alacrity and nodded demurely, whisking it away and hurrying back to the kitchen.
Harper smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
“You should’ve ordered a crème brûlée while you were at it,” Carson said. “If you didn’t finish it, I’d help you out.”
“How can you eat like that and keep your figure?” Dora asked.
Carson shrugged. “High metabolism, I guess. And lots of exercise. It’s always the exercise. Sorry. No secrets there. By the way, are you still running?”
Dora looked slightly embarrassed. “I was until recently. I’m just starting work with Devlin’s company and I’ve got a lot to learn. I’m running around like a chicken without a head. On top of that, I’ve got Nate’s schedule to juggle. You’d think I’d be losing weight, nervous energy and all, but I’m not. I’m gaining. But,” she added with more pride, “Nate’s joining clubs at school and he has new friends! Oh, he’s doing so well. It warms the cockles of my heart to set up playdates.”
“He’s doing so well at the new school,” Harper said, feeling genuinely happy for the ten-year-old boy who’d been so lonely before Dora had moved to Sullivan’s Island.
Dora nodded her assent. “The private school is costing me an arm and a leg, but it’s worth every penny.”
“How’s Cal taking it?” asked Carson. “Still complaining about the tuition?”
Dora rolled her eyes. “Of course. That man can’t utter a sentence without attaching a whine to it. But it’s in writing. You gotta love a good lawyer.”
The waitress returned with the toast for Harper and a basket of warm rolls for the table. The scent of biscuits lured Harper, suddenly ravenous, to reach for one immediately. She looked up to see Dora staring at the rolls.
“Oh, go ahead,” Harper told her. “Today’s special.”
Dora thought a moment, then shook her head with resolution. “Nope. I have to try on a bridesmaid gown. And I’m standing up there next to you two beanpoles.”
Carson chuckled and took another large bite of her sandwich. “You look beautiful, Sister mine. And happy. That’s what matters. How’s it going with ol’ Dev, anyway?” Carson and Devlin had been friends for years. She had prodded a reluctant, withdrawn Dora to go out to meet him the previous summer.
“Our professional relationship is fine. There were a few noses out of joint at the office when I first arrived. Some of them thought I was getting preferential treatment. Sleeping-with-the-boss kind of thing. Devlin put a stop to that right quick. By the way, Mamaw offered to introduce me to her friends, and we all know how important that is. So, I’m feeling hopeful there. And Devlin and I work well together. We’re like peas and carrots that way. Our personal lives, however . . .” Dora shook her head and twiddled her fork in her fingers. “All this marriage talk is making him testy.”
“Meaning he wants to get married?” Carson said, swirling her iced tea.
“Right.” Dora skewered an olive. “He doesn’t understand why we don’t join the fray.”
“Frankly, Sis, I don’t either.” Carson looked at Harper for agreement. She was busy chewing a roll and only nodded.
Dora abandoned her fork and instead reached for her white wine. “I just don’t want to get married right now. Should I feel guilty about that?”
“Hey, I have no problem with that,” Carson said, heading off an argument. “It’s Devlin who’s having the problem.”
“I can handle Devlin. Just lay off, okay?” Dora sipped her wine, frowning. “Sorry. I’m a little sensitive about that subject.”
“I understand,” Carson said.
“The thing that’s got me seriously worried is he’s made some noise about selling the cottage.”
“Your cottage?”
“Technically it’s not my cottage. I rent it from Devlin, at a ridiculously low amount.”
“Ooh, that horrible man,” Carson teased. “Cruel and unusual, making you pay only token rent.”
Dora grinned and acknowledged the tease with a nod of her head. “We both understood from the beginning that I was doing him a favor by renting the house. I was taking care of the place until the market improved and a good offer came up.”
“And he was doing you a favor,” Harper pointed out.
“For sure.”
“And you believed him that it was a real estate agreement?” Carson asked skeptically.
“Hell, no. I know I’m a kept woman, but it’s a good excuse, isn’t it?”
Carson burst out laughing.
“He loves me and I love him. I know we’ll get married someday, and this cottage bit is just business. That’s the deal. We flip houses to make money. I get part of the profit. But, shit,” Dora said under her breath, “I love that little cottage. So does Nate.”
“No.” Dora shook her head. “No way. I’m scared I won’t be able to afford rent for a crappy place off island as is. I won’t be able to stay on Sullivan’s, for sure. And no!” Dora said sharply, pointing at Carson, who was about to interrupt. “I’m not moving in with Devlin. He’s already asked and I told him no. I can’t live with him before I’m married. I couldn’t bear the gossip.”
Dora’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d just said. She swung her head around to face Harper. Her sister was sitting straight backed with an unreadable expression on her face, but her already-fair skin had visibly paled another shade. “Oh, Harper, I didn’t mean anything by that. I don’t care if it’s just me living with him. It’s Nate I have to think about. School and all. Kids can be so nasty.”
Harper shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I understand. Though frankly, I couldn’t care less about gossip.”
“Good for you.” Carson raised her glass of iced tea.
“Really?” Dora challenged with a cool gaze. “You’re not living with Blake.”
“Oh, I’d live with Blake, no problem. I just like it better at Sea Breeze.” Carson chuckled, then took a healthy swallow. “And if you tell him that, I’ll deny it.” After they finished laughing, she added, “Hey, Dora, I’m in the same boat as you are. Blake and I are undecided about where to live. We could stay in Blake’s apartment after we get married. We both love Sullivan’s and being close to y’all. But he’s hankering to move to John’s Island, closer to work. He wants to buy a house.” Carson shuddered. “And nothing says forever like buying a house together.” She grimaced. “It all sounds so permanent.”
“Sister mine,” Dora told her, leaning in, “that’s what marriage is. Permanent.” She lifted one shoulder in response to Carson’s questioning glance. “Well, it’s supposed to be,” Dora backtracked, acknowledging her own divorce. “Hey,” she suddenly said with excitement. “If Blake lets his place go, let me know. It’s one of the few affordable places on the island. I might be interested.”
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