Lowcountry Summer eBoxed Set Read online

  Never, not even as a little girl, had she hesitated to leap into the salt water, as eager as any other creature of the sea that had been on land too long. The ocean, the Atlantic especially, was her motherland. She knew she shared the water with countless other creatures. Sharks included. The ocean was their home, too, one she’d shared with them for all of her life. She told herself that what had happened yesterday morning was a freak occurrence.

  She shook her legs, swallowed hard, and expelled a long, shaky breath. “Get back in there. You belong there. Come on . . .”

  Carson rolled her shoulders, then took off into the water. The water was chilly as she splashed into the shallows. Her heels dug into the soft sand; then, when she was far enough out, she slapped her board onto the water. She felt the tingling cold on her bare skin as she lay flat on the board, then stretched her arms out and began paddling hard out to sea. Push, push, push, she told herself, puffing hard. The sunlight on the water was glaringly bright. Carson felt cold, and the salt water burned her eyes. The first wave was approaching. She gripped her board tight. Ducked her head. Took a breath to dive under it.

  Then she bailed. She couldn’t help herself. Her muscles were tightening and her heart was pounding in a panic. All she could think of was that she had to get out of the water, get back to shore. Gulping air, she paddled for her life. Once in the shallows she leaped from her board and dragged it ashore, collapsing on the sand.

  Carson crouched on the beach with her forehead resting on her knees as her breath slowly returned to normal. When she could, she wiped her face with her palms and stared out at the ocean again, stunned.

  What had happened to her out there? She’d panicked for no reason she could name. Who was this girl? She had always thought of herself as fearless. But today, when the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, she hadn’t fought. She had fled.

  Carson retreated from the beach, packed up her car, and headed back to Sea Breeze. Her hands clutched the wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. She told herself over and over that her panic was just a normal reaction to what had happened yesterday morning. That in time the fear would dissipate like the confusion one felt after a nightmare. She just had to keep trying.

  Still, Carson felt shaken to her core. Her whole life seemed to be spiraling. She was free-falling without a parachute, and now even surfing didn’t bring her the sense of belonging that it always had.

  Perhaps her fear wasn’t a failure as much as it was an omen.

  There were no secrets from Mamaw.

  Later that night, after Carson had showered and feasted on crab cakes and red rice, she and Mamaw went to sit for a spell on the back porch. Carson curled up on a large black wicker chair with a glass of wine. A candle flickered in the low light and Carson could hear the pounding of the surf in the black distance. Across from her, Mamaw sat in a rocker, wrapped like a queen in a scarlet shawl.

  “Well now, missy,” Mamaw said when they’d settled in their chairs. Her blue eyes shone like full moons in the candlelight. “You’ve arrived early looking like one of the Joad family with your car packed to the gills, you’ve been sulking around, and tonight you’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” Her left brow arched. “Let’s have it.”

  Carson sighed, took a sip of the cool wine, then set the glass on the table. “I’m okay. I’m just a little freaked, is all. I was almost shark food out on the ocean yesterday.”

  Mamaw sucked in her breath and her hand reached up to the pearls around her neck. “What? What happened?”

  “It was one of those weird perfect storms of coincidences. I was farther out than usual and this shrimp boat was closer in than usual. All these gulls and pelicans and dolphins were chasing the chum.”

  “Not a good combination.”

  “Right. It was a smorgasbord.”

  “A shark . . .” Mamaw shivered dramatically. “Honey, I hate knowing you’re out there with those beasts.”

  “Oh, Mamaw, they’re out there all the time. It’s their home, don’t forget. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of sharks out there. A lot.” She saw the expected look of shock on Mamaw’s face and wanted to spare her worry. “We’re not their usual diet and they leave us alone. But this guy . . .”

  Carson paused, feeling again that drop she’d felt in the pit of her stomach after the determined bump the shark had delivered to her leg. Carson knew that most of the accidents with sharks in the surf were just that—accidents. A case of mistaken identity.

  “I just got spooked.” She went on to tell Mamaw the details of the encounter, ending with how the dolphin T-boned the shark. “If that dolphin hadn’t defended me, I don’t know what might’ve happened.” She paused, her hand resting on her wineglass.

  “And . . .”

  Carson took a small breath. “And, Mamaw . . . I can’t get back into the water. I tried today, but I just couldn’t do it . . . I’ve never felt that. Never. You know the ocean is my lifeline. I feel lost, desperate, like I’ve been cut off from my fix.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Mamaw placed her palms together at her lips and considered. “But that incident in the ocean . . . That’s not all that’s bothering you, is it? You came here feeling a little lost already, didn’t you?”

  Mamaw looked at Carson in a way that made Carson squirm in the chair. It was the look of someone who was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

  “I guess . . .” Carson admitted.

  “I thought so.” Mamaw sat back in her rocker and pushed back and forth, biding her time, like the waves beating the shores in the distance.

  “I’m in trouble, Mamaw,” Carson confessed. “I’m out of work, out of my apartment, out of money.” Carson brought her hands to her face. “I’m so ashamed.”

  Mamaw stopped rocking. “My dear girl. I don’t understand.” Mamaw had a way of sounding both shocked and calm. “What about that television show? It seemed to be such a success.”

  “It was,” Carson acknowledged after a shaky breath. “It ran three seasons, which is a long time by industry standards. Word that it was canceled came out of the blue. They didn’t bother to explain why.” She reached out for her glass and took a long swallow of wine.

  “But surely you can get another job,” Mamaw said persistently. “You’ve been working in your field for more than ten years. You’ve traveled the world, worked on films. I’ve bragged on you to anyone who would listen.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “Carson, I don’t understand. You’ve been so successful.”

  She shrugged, hating to have to explain. “I don’t know . . . It’s a tough job market. The streets of L.A. are littered with folks like me trying to get a job. I’ve tried, really I have.” She sighed heavily. She couldn’t tell her grandmother that some of the connections she’d called on were men she’d slept with, or that she’d been fired from a gig for showing up intoxicated. Her reputation wasn’t as sterling as Mamaw thought.

  “It’s been humiliating,” she confessed. “I hung in there as long as I could, but I’m broke.”

  “Surely you’ve saved something for a rainy day?”

  “I freelanced. There wasn’t much to save.” She looked at her grandmother earnestly. “And you know I’ve had a lot of experience living on a shoestring.”

  Mamaw nodded, confirming her understanding that her son, Carson’s father, had been unreliable at best, negligent at worst, and that Carson had borne the brunt of that broken lifestyle. They’d moved from one place to another, living from check to check, always waiting for that screenplay that would make them rich to sell.

  “There’s nothing left, Mamaw,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “It’s as though all my years of work amount to nothing.”

  “Oh, honey, I know it seems like that now. But at times like this you have to take the long view. Trust me. You don’t know where this turn will take you. God never closes a door without opening a window.”

  Carson pinched her
lips. She didn’t dare tell her grandmother, a staunch churchgoer, that she no longer believed in God.

  “What about that young man you’d been seeing? What was his name? Todd? Where does he fit into this scenario?”

  Carson suppressed a shudder and downed the last of her wine. “I broke it off last winter,” she said summarily. “He took it hard, I’m afraid. Claimed I’d broken his heart and that he’d been saving for a ring.”

  Mamaw sucked in her breath. “A ring?”

  Carson was quick to dispel her hopes. “It’s all for the best. All I could think was that I’d gotten out of that one in the nick of time.” She quickly rose to her feet, in need of more wine. “Be right back. I’m getting a refill. Do you want a glass?”

  Mamaw shook her head.

  Carson walked swiftly across the porch to the kitchen, her thirst building. Lucille had tidied up the kitchen and retired, but she’d left a plate of homemade lemon bars on the table. Carson refreshed her glass, then, remembering where their conversation was heading, took the bottle with her. She tucked it under one arm, and with the other, she carried the cookies back to the porch. She found Mamaw looking out into the darkness with a pensive expression.

  “Oh, Carson,” Mamaw said with a sorry shake of her head when Carson settled back in her chair. “I worry about you. You’re over thirty, my dear, and though you’re just as beautiful as ever,” she hastened to say, “you are getting older. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to throw away every proposal.”

  Carson’s eyes flashed as the arrow struck true. “I’m only thirty-four,” she shot back. “I’m not the least bit worried about getting married. I’m not even sure I want to get married.”

  “Now, don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

  “I’m not ruffled,” Carson complained, shifting on her seat. It was hard to sit still and listen to someone two generations removed extolling values that no longer had any impact. She had been raised to be respectful of her elders, but this rankled. “It’s just . . . I don’t know, it’s insulting that you think my only hope in life is to get married. Frankly, Mamaw, from where I sit that never worked out too well for Dad. You’re from another era. Thirty-four isn’t old. Women aren’t getting married right out of college anymore. We’re starting our own careers. I’m not waiting for some man to take care of me. I depend on myself.”

  “Yes, dear,” Mamaw said serenely. “I see how well that’s working out for you.”

  Carson squeezed her toes and simmered. “Well, I’m not going to settle just to get married. Like Dora did.”

  “Carson,” Mamaw said with a hint of scolding. “It’s not nice to say something like that about your sister. Especially not now.”

  “Why not now?”

  Mamaw looked at her with wonder mixed with regret. “Mercy, child. Didn’t you know Dora is getting a divorce?”

  Carson leaned forward in her chair and gasped. “No!”

  “Oh yes . . .” Mamaw nodded sagely. “It’s all very sad. Cal up and left them both seven months ago. Said how he couldn’t live there anymore. Dora was devastated. Still is, I’m afraid.”

  This was shocking news to Carson. In her mind, Dora was the ideal Southern housewife with traditional values, involved with her husband’s career, her church, her community. Every Christmas she received a beautifully engraved card with a photo of the family smiling, dressed in their red sweaters on the front porch or seated in front of the pine-strung mantel. Looks could indeed be deceiving.

  “Poor Dora. They’d been married for what? Twelve years? That had to be a terrible blow. She never let on that she was having any troubles.”

  “She wouldn’t, dear. That’s not her style.”

  Carson thought of how her sister never revealed anything unpleasant, even as a girl. If Dora had won a prize, it would be sung from the rafters. If she failed a test, she took it to the grave.

  “Did she see it coming?”

  “I’m afraid if it wasn’t concerning her son, Dora didn’t see anything. That may have been the cause for their split. She’s dedicated her life to Nate. But a wife shouldn’t forget her man. Cal felt ignored, and I daresay he was.”

  “A woman shouldn’t forget herself, either,” Carson added.

  Mamaw raised her eyes. “So true.”

  Carson sighed with sincere regret for her sister. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s not something one puts on a Christmas card, dear,” Mamaw said. “Nor was it a secret. It pains me that neither of you have kept in touch. A pity.”

  “It is,” Carson said softly, acknowledging the truth. It was a sorry statement that they’d become so estranged that her sister, even a half sister, wouldn’t write to let her know she was getting a divorce. Carson had to accept half the blame for that. She’d not reached out to her sister, either, when she lost her job and was floundering. Maybe, she thought, they could help each other now.

  “What’s wrong with us, Mamaw?” Carson asked softly. “If someone like Dora can’t hold a marriage together, what hope is there for me? I have had a long string of men and relationships.” She snorted. “If you can call them that. When I’m alone at night, sitting in the dark and nursing a drink, sometimes I wonder if I’m like Daddy, missing a gene for love and doomed to a lifetime of failed relationships.”

  “I don’t think so, dear. Granted, your father never set a good example. But you’re my granddaughter, after all. And you’re the most like me. I had a long string of beaus, true. But don’t forget that I was married for fifty years. Edward was the love of my life.” She reached out to gently pat Carson’s hand. “You just haven’t found the right one yet.”

  Carson looked up skeptically. “And Dora?”

  Mamaw sighed. “Who knows? Perhaps Cal wasn’t the right one after all.”

  Carson guffawed. “She settled.”

  “She made a mistake,” Mamaw said, correcting her. “It happens.”

  “And Harper?”

  “Goodness, Harper’s a child yet!”

  “She’s twenty-seven.”

  “I suppose she is,” Mamaw said with some surprise. “I always think of her as a little girl. Yes, well . . . Aren’t you the one who just told me that you’re waiting to get married? That thirty wasn’t old?”

  Carson chuckled. “Hoist by my own petard.” She kicked off her sandals and curled her feet up onto the chair, settling in for a good gossip. “What’s the story with Harper, anyway? I hate to admit I haven’t kept up. Is she still living in New York?”

  “Harper doesn’t communicate with me much, either. I’m sure her mother doesn’t encourage the connection. All I’m privy to is that she still lives in New York. With her mother,” she added, clearly not approving. “And she works for her mother’s publishing company. Her mother has her talons in deep with that fledgling, I can tell you. Harper’s a very bright girl, you know. Went to all the best schools.”

  “Of course,” Carson muttered, feeling an old envy rear its head. She felt burned each time Mamaw let drop what good schools Harper had attended. Carson would have given anything to have gone to a boarding school like Andover, then to a college like Vassar. Only she would have gone to California Institute of the Arts or the Savannah College of Art and Design. She’d filled out the applications but there was never any money for her. After graduating from high school, Carson worked during the day and took night classes in photography at a local community college. Any success she’d achieved came from her own talent and hard work. All she ever got from her parents were her good looks.

  “Must be nice to have everything handed to you on a silver platter,” she said, hearing the bitterness in her own voice.

  “There are curses with that, too. And, Carson, you went to college.”

  Carson felt the burn and said with heat, “No, I didn’t. Not really. I took classes at a local college. I never graduated.” Carson shrugged and shook her head with pique. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said, burrowing into
the cushions and taking a fortifying swallow of wine.

  An awkward silence fell between them as Mamaw rocked and Carson finished her glass.

  “I’m sorry,” Carson said, a soft voice in the darkness. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I shouldn’t be so nasty.”

  “You’re not,” Mamaw replied indulgently. “And I want you to feel you can say anything here, to me.”

  “This place has always been my home. My refuge. I need your support now, Mamaw. I’m feeling lost,” Carson confessed, her voice wavering. “And afraid.”

  Mamaw immediately leaned over to put her long, slender arms around her. She smoothed the hair from Carson’s forehead and kissed it.

  Carson relaxed, feeling safe again after so many months of uncertainty. She didn’t know what she’d expected Mamaw to do when she’d returned to Sea Breeze. Perhaps toss a few dollars her way, offer a consoling pat as more wine was poured. A little indulgence, certainly. Wasn’t that what had always been offered to her father whenever he was down on his luck? Carson needed a little indulgence now.

  Mamaw drew back and grasped Carson’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. Carson smiled shyly, expecting one of Mamaw’s platitudes to buck up her spirits.

  “Now, you listen to me, young lady,” Mamaw said, looking directly into Carson’s eyes. “Enough of this moping and feeling sorry for yourself, hear? No more talk of being afraid. That’s not who you are. You’re a Muir and don’t you forget it. I admit, you’ve had a difficult time of it with your father. I indulged Parker at such times as this and I daresay I may have made mistakes there. But I won’t make the same mistakes with you, my precious.”

  Mamaw released Carson and sat back in her chair.

  “You may not want to find a husband, and that’s all right. You’re a big girl now and capable of making your own decisions. But, darling, you can’t lie around here feeling sorry for yourself and licking your wounds. There’s no fight in that. No honor. Listen to your grandmother. Tomorrow you need to get up early and face the new day. Get back out in the water.”