Lowcountry Summer eBoxed Set Read online

The moist air did its work of softening her bones. She and Edward used to grab their pillows on hot nights and sleep out on the porch, same as their parents and grandparents did back in the days before air-conditioning. She’d rest her head on his shoulder and they’d lie quiet on the small iron bed with crisp white sheets and listen to the sounds of the night—the swell of cicadas, the chirping of crickets, the occasional lonesome call of an owl, and the muffled laughing of young girls. Sometimes Edward would say, “It’s high time those girls got to sleep.” But she’d hold him back, knowing how special summer friendships were.

  Mamaw had hoped that she would hear that talking and laughter again this evening, as they used to. But Carson and Harper couldn’t wait to escape and Dora had retreated to her room. She sighed heavily. Not that she could blame them. Dinner had been a debacle. They’d behaved like strangers. Worse than strangers. Mamaw rested her forehead in her palm. What was she to do? The weekend wasn’t starting off at all as she’d planned. Harper and Dora had made clear that they were only staying for the weekend. Mamaw knew she needed the entire summer to heal the wounds that separated them. She sighed and watched the fireflies glow off and on in the dark as they drifted randomly in the night.

  “Please, God,” Mamaw said, closing her eyes. “I’m just asking for enough time to see these girls discover the bonds between them again. To realize that they are more than acquaintances. More than friends. That they are sisters.”

  Opening her eyes, Mamaw brought her fingers to her lips, considering her options. Her party was tomorrow night. It would be her last chance with all the girls together. She sighed. There was nothing left to do but resort to Plan B.

  Station 22 was a popular Sullivan’s Island restaurant. Carson felt at home in the shabby-chic decor with colorful local island art on the walls. It was the oldest restaurant on the island and known for its great seafood. And it was packed. Carson and Harper followed the noise toward the large bar in the back of the room where men with sunburns, baseball caps, and island shirts and women in slinky summer tops and heels gathered with drinks in their hands, laughing and talking. Carson searched for a familiar face and grinned when she spotted Devlin seated at a table across the room. She waved and called his name. He looked up and, spotting her, stood and called her over.

  Devlin, gregarious as ever, grabbed two more chairs so they could join the already overflowing table and signaled the waitress. Introductions were made and Carson was amused to see the four other men staring at Harper’s perky breasts while the women checked out her clothing. Especially her Louboutin shoes. What Carson liked best, however, was that Harper knew it and played along. The crowd was so dense and loud Carson had to shout to be heard. After a while, she gave up, leaned against Devlin’s shoulder, and nursed her beer, enjoying watching Harper at the center of attention. Who knew the little mouse could be such a party girl? she wondered.

  Devlin leaned over close to her ear. “Your little sister’s a fox.”

  Carson looked up and saw the gleam of appreciation in his eyes as he gazed at Harper. “I see she’s made another conquest.”

  His glance shifted to her and his pale eyes hazed with woozy seduction. “She’s not the sister I’m interested in.”

  Carson gave a little snort of disbelief.

  “Speaking of sisters, where’s Dora?” Devlin asked, pulling back. “Why didn’t she come out with you?”

  Carson quickly got over the momentary sting of realizing she wasn’t the sister he was interested in, either. “She’s stuck at the house with Nate. Her son,” she explained when he shook his head uncomprehendingly.

  He took a swig from his beer. “Well, sure she’d be married with children by now.”

  “She’s getting a divorce.”

  Devlin’s brows rose with curiosity.

  “Don’t hold your breath, Romeo. She’s not the bar-hoppin’ type.”

  “What type is she?” he asked, amused.

  “The churchgoing, stay-at-home type.”

  “Really?” He considered this as he downed his beer. “That’s not the Dora I remember. You know what they say about the quiet ones.”

  “Dora, quiet?” Carson chuckled. “I think you’ve got the wrong sister. Harper over there was the quiet one.”

  He looked at her askance. “You mean that she-cat over there holding court? I think you’ve got your sisters mixed up.”

  Carson finished her beer and wondered how well he’d known Dora and whether there was any truth in the rumors she’d heard that Dora had broken Devlin’s heart. She raised her hand to attract the waitress and ordered another beer.

  “You should’ve heard Dora at dinner,” Carson told him. “Quiet and shy are not words I would use to describe the way she took Harper down. As well as”—Carson lifted her hand and began counting off—“Northerners, New Yorkers, gays, tree huggers, and Democrats.”

  Devlin laughed and took a swig of his beer. “I knew I liked her.”

  “Please, ” Carson said with a sorry chuckle. She could feel the liquor working its magic, loosening the tension. “Spare me. Mamaw’s not here to stop me from wiping the floor with you.”

  “That I’d like to see.” Devlin let his arm slide around Carson’s shoulders and he leaned in close to her again. “How about we forget about your sisters and take off?”

  Her brows furrowed and she turned her head. His blue eyes were staring straight into hers with a seductive glint. She wouldn’t mind going home with Devlin, she thought. It had been a while since she’d been with a man, and Lord knew she’d dreamed of being with Devlin many times back when she wasn’t legal.

  “Stop sniffin’ around me, you ol’ horndog. You just told me you had the hots for my sister.”

  “What is it about you Muir girls?” he said with a slow smile. “I’m just a fool for you.”

  “You’re a fool, I’ll give you that,” Carson said teasingly. She drew back and stood, then felt the floor sway. She wobbled in her heels and grabbed his shoulder. “Time for me to go.”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  Carson looked into his eyes and realized he was more drunk than she was. “I’m with Harper.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Devlin argued, and his tone was persuasive. “I’ll get Will to take her home. He’s more than willing.”

  Carson checked out the big-shouldered man in a fashionably ripped black T-shirt with a beer glaze in his eyes. Harper was dwarfed beside him as she leaned against his massive chest.

  “Too willing. No, I think the little lady’s had one tequila too many. I’ll take her home.”

  Devlin inched forward and let his hand slide along her thigh. “You sure?” he asked in a husky voice.

  “No.” She sighed and pushed his hand away. Damn Harper, she thought to herself as she stepped closer to her sister. Weaving slightly, she called out over the noise. “Harper! We’re going.”

  Harper turned her head. Her hair was mussed and she moaned against Will’s chest, “So soon?”

  “Yep. Come on, sister mine.”

  She took her sister’s arm and pulled her to her feet, shaking her head against the chorus of offers to take Harper home, knowing full well none of them would go directly to Mamaw’s. This fun-loving, carefree woman was not the shy, retiring little girl she remembered. Carson watched with amusement as Harper laughed out loud at something the big fellow in the black T-shirt whispered in her ear, then waved a coy good-bye. Carson kept a firm grip on Harper as she tottered across the room. Once outside, the gravel and sand proved too much for Harper’s spiky heels. She bent over to slip them off, and in the process began hurling out the evening’s tequila.

  Carson held back Harper’s hair and kept a steadying hand on her shoulder until she finished. Then she settled Harper in the passenger seat and walked around the car to the driver’s seat. She was fumbling for her keys in the dark when she was startled by the sound of a man’s voice at her window.

  “You sure you can drive home?”

  At first
she thought it was Devlin and she blinked in the restaurant’s bright lights. It was Mr. Predictable. She racked her groggy brain for his name. Blake, that was it.

  “Please,” she said, trying to enunciate clearly with a thick tongue. “The day I can’t drive a straight shot down Middle Street going twenty-five miles an hour, you can take away my keys.”

  “I think that day has come,” Blake said. He smiled but his gaze was firm. “How about you give me your keys and I’ll drive you home.” He opened the car door.

  Carson realized he wasn’t asking permission. Beside her, Harper was already snoring softly. Carson closed her eyes for a minute and felt the world spin. She didn’t think she was drunk, but maybe she’d had more than she’d thought. She opened her eyes to see Blake was still standing in front of her in his blue jeans and T-shirt, his hand stretched out, palm up.

  “How’re you going to get back to your car?” she managed to get out.

  “No problem. I don’t have a car. I’ll just toss my bike in the trunk.”

  “You can’t. It’s filled with junk.”

  “Then I walk a few blocks.” He pushed his palm closer. “Keys.”

  “Shit,” Carson murmured, defeated. She dug in her purse and found the key attached to a big silver chain. “You know, I don’t really know you,” she said warily, holding the keys back.

  “Sure you do. But if you feel more comfortable, I’ll try to find one of your friends inside who’s not too drunk to drive you home. Either way, Carson, you’re not driving tonight.”

  “They’re not my friends.” Carson pouted and thrust the keys into his hand, her fingers brushing his. She climbed into the backseat and crossed her arms in a show of defiance. She knew she was being pitiful, but she had to salvage some self-respect. As he slid behind the wheel she noticed the breadth of his shoulders, his strong hands on the wheel as he fired up the engine.

  The drive was less than a mile but it felt like hours as they drove in a dark silence, save for Harper’s gentle snoring. Clouds covered the moon and stars and the sky was inky. Carson leaned against the cushion and looked out the window at the house lights flickering as they passed. She wondered how Blake had just happened to be in the parking lot when she’d left. It seemed every time she turned around, there he was.

  “I thought you didn’t drink,” she said, turning her head toward him. He was a dark silhouette, so she couldn’t gauge his expression. “What were you doing at the bar?”

  “It’s a restaurant, too,” he answered. Blake drove a bit more, then added, “But I came looking for you.”

  Carson felt suddenly uneasy. She hadn’t thought it could be just a coincidence. “Looking for me? Why?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said easily. “But then I saw you go off with that other guy, the one who was with you at Dunleavy’s, and I figured you were together. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

  He was talking about Devlin, she realized. “I’m not with that guy,” Carson said. “He’s just an old friend. I have a lot of guy friends.”

  Blake brought his hand to his jaw and scratched. “Oh.”

  “So what did you want to talk about?” she asked, still not comfortable with his following her.

  “We got cut off earlier. At Dunleavy’s. We were going to set a time for me to teach you about kiteboarding. You still interested?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure,” Carson said, regrouping. That made sense. It was a relief he wasn’t stalking her . . . not much, anyway. It was actually flattering that he was so determined. “When’s a good time for you?”

  He shrugged. “I work during the day so weekends are good. Or any day after five.”

  Carson considered the party this weekend. She was excited to learn and didn’t want to put the lesson off too long. He pulled into the driveway of Sea Breeze and parked the car.

  “Monday?” she suggested, leaning forward in the seat.

  He faced her then, and in the dim light she could just see the side of his mouth curl in a smile. “Monday it is. I’ll meet you at Station Twenty-Eight at five.”

  Blake climbed from the car to open the passenger-side door while Carson climbed out from the back. Blake was very gentle with Harper as he shook her. She awakened with an unladylike snort. Blake helped Harper out of the car, holding on tight when she hit cool air.

  “I feel sick,” Harper moaned.

  Carson stepped a foot away, just in case. “We’ll put you to bed so you can sleep it off.”

  She and Blake walked on either side of Harper and guided her as she wobbled to the front door.

  “Do you want me to help you bring her in?” he asked.

  “No, thanks, I can manage the rest of the way.” Carson got a better grip on Harper’s waist. “She’s a little thing. I don’t want to wake up Mamaw or Lucille. Harper won’t want anyone to know about this.”

  “She’ll have a hard time keeping it a secret tomorrow when she’s hungover.”

  “Yeah. She can’t hold her liquor.”

  “And you can?”

  “So you see.”

  “Well, you’re not as drunk as I’d feared.”

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “Still,” he said seriously, “you aren’t fit to drive.”

  “Debatable.”

  Harper moaned. “I wanna lie down.”

  “I better get her in. Thanks.”

  He handed her the car keys, tucked his fingers in his back pocket, and backed away. “See you Monday at five.”

  “Come on, honey,” Carson said to a softly groaning Harper. “Time to put the baby to bed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Carson couldn’t wait to slip into her swimsuit and sneak off into the cove before the others woke up. She scurried down the dock while the sky was misty gray and climbed on her paddleboard. Her paddles splashed softly in the early-morning quiet as she coasted toward the inlet, scanning the cove. Sure enough, a dolphin emerged alongside her paddleboard with a noisy exhale from its blowhole. Carson felt her heart skip and immediately broke into a smile. She knew it was the same dolphin even without seeing the damaged fluke beneath the water.

  “You came back!” Carson exclaimed, calling out in a high voice.

  The dolphin made a high-pitched whistle that sounded happy to Carson’s ears.

  The dolphin swam ahead rapidly, then leaped in the air and returned to the paddleboard with eager eyes. It was watching her, inviting interaction. There was no question that this time this social dolphin had sought her out. And more, it was trying to communicate. Carson wanted to engage but felt deaf and dumb.

  Always, in the back of her mind, a voice teased her, This is all your imagination. The dolphin isn’t trying to communicate. It’s just a wild animal. Yet another voice argued that she should ignore her rational doubts and simply accept what was happening. When she looked into the dolphin’s eyes, there was no questioning the animal’s intense level of awareness. And it seemed to be challenging her.

  Carson decided then and there to cast away all doubts and make up her mind to believe. And this she’d have to do with her heart rather than her mind.

  Carson slowly moved to lie on her belly on the board. She wanted to get face-to-face with the dolphin. The dolphin didn’t swim away, as she feared it might. It lingered, tilted its head, and looked at her with keen, curious eyes.

  She rested her cheek on her hands and for a while they simply watched each other in a joyful quiet. It reminded her of nights with her sisters when they were young, lying on their beds, sharing stories as they fell asleep. As she bobbed on her board, water, salty and cool, splashed in her face and formed thick pearl drops on her lashes.

  To her surprise, the dolphin tilted on its side and looked at her. Delighted, Carson imitated it and rolled to her side. The dolphin slipped to its belly, then lay on its side again. And Carson did the same. An idea blossomed in Carson’s mind and this time, she turned over completely onto her back. She held her breath. After a pause, the dolphin rolled over,
presenting its gleaming white underbelly. Carson saw one long line and what looked like parentheses on either side of it. They both flipped around at the same time.

  Aha, Carson thought, grinning. You’re a girl. I just knew it. Carson lifted her head and, looking into the radiant eyes, spoke the name that had been floating on her tongue.

  “Hello, Delphine.”

  Mamaw lounged in her robe on the back porch, feet up on the ottoman, sipping coffee and reading the Post & Courier. Today was her birthday! Eighty years of living . . . Who’d have guessed it? She felt she’d earned the right to be decadently lazy today. Her past was behind her and she’d lived a full life. She didn’t like to think her best was behind her as well, but she was realistic that this might be true. Still, it was a blessing to live long enough to see your children grow and prosper and procreate and to witness another generation carrying the torch. As it was a curse to outlive your children, your husband, your friends.

  This was the hand she’d been dealt, however, and she was glad to still be in the game. Eighty years of good resolutions and failures. Eight decades of dreams and dashed hopes. When she was young she’d marked the years’ successes and failures with a measure of equanimity. After all, she still had plenty of years left to set things right. When she reached sixty, she paid closer attention to the passing of the years, and now, at eighty, she didn’t dare hope for another decade, but prayed for at least a few more years so she could witness these young women finding their path. Truth was, she’d be grateful to see this summer through.

  From the west wing of the house a screen door creaked. Mamaw turned her head to see Nate dressed in his usual outfit of soft fabric shorts, T-shirt, and tennis shoes. He was half bent in a crouch and scuttled across the porch like a ghost crab. She watched him hurry down the long wooden dock, breaking one of his mother’s strictest rules. Mamaw set her coffee cup down with a clatter and hurried as fast as her body could to the porch’s railing.

  What is that boy up to? she wondered. Dear heaven! He was going straight to the edge of the dock. He wasn’t going to jump in, was he? Could he even swim? She felt her heart rate accelerate, was ready to call out.