A Lowcountry Wedding

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “I’m sorry we kept you waiting. I’m calling you to tell you that after much discussion, we’ve decided to go in a different direction and we won’t be hiring a PR director at this time. You were one of the strongest candidates and we’d like to keep your résumé on file should something else open up. But for now, I’m very sorry that we don’t have a position to offer you.”

  Carson listened in a daze as the flow of words floated in one ear and out the other. The only words she fully caught were I’m sorry. After that, nothing else mattered. She didn’t get the job.

  After several more moments of platitudes, she and Jennifer bid each other a polite good-bye, and Carson dropped her phone on her bed. A moment later, she, too, fell on the bed and covered her face with her palms. She didn’t have a job. No job. She’d waited for several weeks for them to get back to her, fully expecting to be hired. Precious time that she didn’t have, with no other real prospects on the horizon. What was she going to do now?

  Without pausing to think, Carson picked her phone back up and dialed the number she knew by heart.

  After she hung up the phone, Carson spent an hour staring despondently at her bedroom ceiling, then rinsed her face with cold water and drove to Blake’s apartment on Sullivan’s Island. He was working on a report at home so she knew he’d be there. His apartment building was once a bachelor officer quarters, built around 1900 when the island had a large military presence. The old white wood building had since been converted to apartments. Typical of a wooden building near the ocean with a brick foundation, the exterior needed some work, but with its long porch and the ocean nearby, Blake was lucky to have his apartment, as these were some of the few for rent on the island.

  Carson knocked on Blake’s door and heard the familiar gruff bark of warning from Hobbs. The door swung open and Blake’s face was before her. His hair was unbrushed, curls askew. His dark eyes widened when he saw her, unexpected, at his door.

  “Hey, baby,” he said as a crooked smile of pleasure eased across his handsome face. “I didn’t expect to see you till tonight.” Leaning forward, he kissed her. She tasted something deliciously bitter and tangy on his lips and, looking down, saw he carried a beer in his hand. He was careful not to drink when she was around, an effort she deeply appreciated, and he now tried to discreetly tuck the bottle behind his back. Hobbs immediately came to sniff it.

  “Don’t stop on my account,” she said irritably, passing Blake as she walked into the room. “Better yet, why don’t you have a drink for both of us.”

  Blake’s smile collapsed to a frown. He held the door a moment, inhaled deeply, then closed the door and followed her into the small living room, pausing only to set the beer bottle on top of a stack of mail on the front table.

  Carson went to the brown nubby sofa that seemed ubiquitous in bachelor apartments. She plopped down and idly glanced around, her fingers tapping her thighs.

  This, she thought, was the place she was supposed to call home in a short while. She felt a cloud of dismay float over her. It looked more like a college student’s apartment than a career man’s home. How could he not see that books and magazines sat everywhere in tilting piles, that his torn leather La-Z-Boy looked more like a holder of laundry? The sisal rug had been chewed in one corner by Hobbs, and she didn’t even want to count the food stains. In the corners and under tables were tumbleweeds of Hobbs’s hair.

  Her gaze roved to the galley kitchen, which was part of the open plan of the apartment. He didn’t have dirty dishes lying everywhere, thank heavens. Blake was careful about bugs. But he was clueless about the purpose of cabinets. The counters were cluttered with boxes of cereal, bags of bread and rolls, and electronics plugged into the wall.

  The trouble was that she was as bad as, or worse than, Blake at housekeeping. Didn’t couples try to find someone who was the opposite so that they complemented each other? How would they ever manage living together? Suddenly Carson felt desperate that she’d be leaving the spacious and beautiful Sea Breeze for this cramped, bland apartment.

  The whole wedding—the thought of getting married—suddenly made her feel anxious and just plain scared. She used to be able to tone down her insecurities with a drink—and she craved one now more than she had in months. It was a physical ache. So she clenched her hands and knees and tried to physically hold herself together. It felt as if she were holding back a bomb about to go off.

  Hobbs ambled by, tail wagging, and gently nudged her knee with his nose. It was wet, cold, and slobbery. She usually gave the dog a good rubdown when she came in, but today she couldn’t. “Go away,” she barked at him, pushing his big block head away.

  The big yellow Lab stood for a moment, looking wounded, as though wondering what was wrong.

  “Hobbs, settle,” Blake ordered as he drew near.

  Hobbs cast a final baleful look at Carson and obeyed the command, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor as he trotted to the corner where his bed lay. He settled onto the cushion with a grumpy grunt.

  Blake didn’t sit. He leaned against the kitchen-island counter, resting his elbows on it. His dark brows were gathered and he was watching her warily.

  “Carson. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I didn’t get the job at the aquarium.”

  He sighed in understanding. Pushing himself from the counter, he took long strides and was at her side in an instant. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “It’s only one job. You’ll find another.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He paused, taking in her mood. “Okay, your dukes are up. You’re looking for a fight. I don’t want to fight.” He rose to his feet. “Want some coffee?”

  No, she wanted to scream. She wanted some tequila. Vodka. “Sure. Thanks.”

  She stared out the window, through the cheap vinyl blinds, at the trees outside, listening to the noises coming from the kitchen. She knew what she wanted to tell him, but knew if she said the words, Blake might end their engagement. She clenched her hands. She really, really wanted that drink now.

  She heard the clicking noises of his automatic coffeemaker and a moment later caught the scent of java in the air. “Smells good.”

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Thanks.” Her voice was still petulant.

  Blake carried the mug of steaming coffee to the wood coffee table. “Careful, it’s hot. Better let it cool a minute.”

  Carson stared at the creamy brown liquid, her hands clasped between her knees.

  Blake grabbed an armchair and sat in it, his eyes on her. “Carson?”

  “What?”

  “What did they say?”

  “They’re going in a different direction. I have a great résumé. They’d like to hang on to it. But no.”

  “Okay, that’s a good rejection.”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s really great,” she snapped sarcastically.

  “I know it’s not what you were hoping would happen. I’m disappointed, too. But it’s not the end of the world. Hey, something just popped up this week. Something you might really like. Maybe even better.”

  “Not now, Blake.”

  “Why not now?” Urgency entered his voice. “Just listen. It’s with Waterkeepers of Charleston. They’re a great nonprofit. They—”

  “I already have another job.”

  Blake silenced and tilted his head to look at her with a guarded gaze. “What job is that?”

  “You know what job. With Jason Kowalski. I called him to find out what the status was. He told me it was a good thing I’d reached out because he was in the process of getting his team for the film together. It’s going to be a major film. Big budget.”

  It felt as though the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. Blake’s face was set. “So you took it?”

  “I told him I’d let him know by the end of the week.”

  Blake looked vaguely out the window. “I thought you were going to give us until the wedding to find you a job. T
hat’s a month away. We’d agreed.”

  “I know.” Carson looked down at the table. Saw the coffee cooling. A scented candle, already half-burned off.

  “Then why are you rushing it?”

  “I’m not rushing anything. I called to check in. I have to make a decision by the end of the week or this job is gone.”

  Blake swung his head around. “What the hell do you care if this job is gone?”

  Carson didn’t look up. “I care. I think I want to take it.”

  Blake reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. “Carson, look at me and explain why you want to take this job, knowing what that would mean. For us.”

  Carson leaned back so Blake’s hands fell from her shoulders. She still couldn’t meet his eyes. “You know how I feel. I . . . I wanted things—to change. I hoped—I’d find something here.” She looked up at him. “But it’s not happening. You say you have another job possibility. We both know it will end up being the same story: I won’t have the right credentials, or I’ll not be right for what they’re looking for, or it’s really just a courtesy because they already have someone on the inside they want to hire. This can go on for months and months.” She stopped and said loudly, angrily, “I can’t just keep applying, and hoping. And waiting. I’m not good at standing still, Blake. You know that. I have to keep moving.” She shook her head in confirmation. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I can’t.”

  Blake looked off again, his jaw working furiously. When he turned back to her, his face was rigid. “Are you breaking our engagement?”

  She looked at him in shock. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m asking you to still go through with the wedding if I take this job.”

  Blake leaned back against the cushions, his shoulders drooped in defeat. “I’m sorry, Carson. I can’t do that. I know I don’t have the right to make this decision for you. I only know I can’t go through another six months like the last.”

  So, Carson thought to herself. It sounded as if they were giving each other their bottom lines. She wondered what Atticus would advise now. “What do we do?” She looked down at the diamond on her hand.

  “Are you asking out of politeness, or do you really want my answer?”

  “I want your honest answer,” she said bluntly. “Of course.”

  He looked at her, and though his face was calm, his eyes were dark with intent. “Okay then. I know what I think you should do. Contact Charleston Waterkeepers, the Coastal Conservation League, NOAA, and every other nonprofit and profit organization that deals with environmental subjects you can sink your teeth into and send a blitz of résumés out there. Frankly, you sat on your ass for the past month and assumed you’d get the aquarium job. Well, you didn’t. Now you say you’ve only got a few days to decide. So you’d better get cracking, girl. That’s what I think you should do. Fight for us, baby.” Blake took a breath. “Or break it off now. Don’t make me hope if there’s nothing to hope for.”

  Carson sucked in her breath. She heard what he was asking, knew it was fair. Blake was always fair. Now she had to be fair, as well. She looked down at the ring on her finger, the small diamond bordered on each side with a sapphire. The ring that had been his mother’s. The ring that had helped keep her sober when she was out of town because when she looked at it, she saw Blake’s face.

  “All right, I will. I do want to marry you. I don’t want to break off our engagement.”

  Blake released a sigh. “Do you still want that drink?”

  “Yes,” she replied honestly. “But then I always want a drink. I don’t want it as badly as I did when I walked in.”

  “Do you need to call Bill?”

  Bill was her sponsor. She shook her head. “I’m okay. I thought I needed to, but not now. Though, I might give Atticus a call.”

  “Sounds good. I’m glad you feel you can talk to him.” Blake reached down and took her fingers and held them in his. Gently he stroked the inside of her palms with his thumb. “You can always talk to me, too, you know.”

  “I know.” Then she laughed shortly. “Except I need to talk about you.”

  “Okay.” He laughed, too, though there was no humor in it. He brought her fingers to his lips. “Are we still on for dinner?”

  “I don’t want to go out. I want to get cracking, as you put it. Want to come over and we can work on them together?”

  “Yeah,” he said, brightening. “I’ll bring sushi.”

  “Sounds great.”

  They’d reached an impasse. There wasn’t anything left to say.

  Carson rose to leave. In the corner, Hobbs saw the movement and immediately climbed to his feet and trotted toward her. Carson, hoping to make up for her rude behavior earlier, gave him a generous pat and back scratch, sending tiny golden hairs flying in the air.

  “See you in a little bit,” Blake said, and kissed her gently on the lips. She felt his warm breath, waited, hoping he would kiss her again.

  But he didn’t.

  Carson felt the chill when his arms slid from her shoulders. She smiled quickly as she said good-bye, then turned and walked head bent to her car, aware that he was watching her. She’d found a parking spot not far from the house, yet by the time she’d reached the car and turned to wave once more, Blake was already gone.

  Atticus was sitting at the dining-room table of his condominium writing a sermon for Sunday. He’d been asked to fill in for the pastor of Morris Baptist Church while he went to a conference. Atticus gladly agreed. He needed to get back in the pulpit. Preaching gave his life purpose and meaning. The Reverend Manigault at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta had been wise to urge him to take a sabbatical in the lowcountry for as long as he needed. Atticus was doing more than forging new relationships. He was forming a new identity.

  His sermon was on honesty. Something he’d spent a lot of time praying about in the past weeks. During that time he’d slowly gotten to know the Muir family, though he knew he’d only scratched the surface. A lot was bubbling underneath that he wanted to tap into. He’d spent several hours chatting with both couples—Carson and Blake, Harper and Taylor—but for the most part everyone was being on their best behavior in the small groups, keeping things vague. No one was digging into serious issues. Usually Atticus would have taken the gloves off by this point and started probing deeper, getting the couples to open up more. He felt that he hadn’t seen anything real, raw, and truly honest since that morning out on the water with Carson and Delphine.

  Yet in all fairness, he’d never before been in a situation like this. First, they weren’t parishioners. Second, they weren’t even Southern Baptists. And third, how could he ask for honesty from them when he was living a lie, or omission—whatever he chose to call it.

  He didn’t know if he could continue the charade much longer. The dishonesty of the arrangement with Mamaw tainted everything he did or said with his sisters. And even if he wanted to tell them the truth, the question was, how could he? How could he drop the news that he was their brother after having spent the past weeks denying them that knowledge?

  His cell phone rang. He reached for it.

  “Hi, Atticus?”

  “Harper?”

  A light, nervous laugh. “Yes, it’s me.”

  His heart warmed for this particular sister, close to his age, tenderhearted. Of his three sisters, she seemed the most fragile. He readily understood Taylor’s inclination to be her knight in shining armor.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I really need to talk to you. In person. Do you have time?”

  “Is it urgent?”

  “Yes,” she said in a soft voice.

  He heard the anxiety in her voice as though she’d shouted the word. “I’m working now. Can I swing by in two hours?”

  “Thanks.” Her relief was audible. “I’ll make tea. See you then.”

  He hung up the phone and started back at his sermon. Then the front doorbell rang. Who could that be? he wondered, pushing back his chair and r
ising. He crossed the tiled floor and swung open the door.

  Carson stood at the door carrying two Starbucks coffees. “Surprise.”

  “Come in,” he said, glad to see her, but curious what she’d come for. Other than Dora, no one in the family had come by his condo yet.

  “Nice place,” she said, looking around. Like him, she was drawn immediately to the view. “I always love the view of the Cove until I see the view of the ocean. I go back and forth. But this is pretty up here. How long do you have it for?”

  “Till June.”

  “Then what?”

  “I go back to Atlanta. At least until I get my permanent location. In the meantime, I’m working at a few local parishes, helping where I can.”

  “While you do your research.”

  “What?” he asked, uncomprehending.

  “While you do your research. That’s what you said you were in Charleston to do.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said quickly, remembering what he’d told them the day he’d arrived. “Of course.”

  “What are you working on now?” She walked toward the table filled with papers, several of them balled up in the trash.

  “My sermon for Sunday.”

  She studied him a moment. “Do you ever get nervous up there? With all those people listening to you, hoping to be inspired. I’d think it would be daunting.”

  Atticus shook his head. “Maybe before I speak I get a little nervous. Not stage fright exactly. More that I hope that my message is received. That I find the right words. Once I begin to preach and feel the spirit of the Lord, I just let her rip.”

  She nodded, lips pinched, and looked out the window to the ocean.

  “So, what’s up, Carson? Want to talk about anything in particular?”

  “You must be so bored of hearing my problems by now.”

  He laughed. “What? No way. They’re mesmerizing.”

  “Very funny. Seriously, we Muirs are really keeping you on your toes.”

  “It’s par for the course with weddings,” Atticus said, hoping to reassure her. “Brides and grooms always end up having more questions than they thought. You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t. So sit down and let’s drink that coffee. It smells great. Then you can tell me what’s on your mind.”