The Summer Wind (11 page)

Mamaw stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Dear girl, when I invited you to return to Sea Breeze from the hospital, I intended for you to begin your healing here. If you wanted to stay in bed and wallow, you should have gone home with your mother.”

Dora grunted and curled her legs tighter against her chest.

Mamaw went to the windows and opened the curtains wide, flooding the room with sunshine.

“Look outside, child! There’s the ocean, the beach, the sunlight, the sweet-smelling air—and it’s all just waiting for you. You mustn’t turn your back on it any longer.” She tapped Dora’s shoulder. “Or on me, for that matter. You’re acting like a spoiled child and I won’t have it.”

This was classic Mamaw, coming to the point, not the least afraid of speaking her mind. Honesty was always easier to deal with, and suddenly Dora felt glad Mamaw had come into her room like a ray of sunshine. A bit ashamed of her behavior, Dora rolled over to face Mamaw.

“I feel like such a fool,” she said. “I’ve failed as a wife. As a mother.”

“Of course you haven’t.”

“Haven’t I? My mother certainly thinks I have. I feel like I’ve broken some rule of womanhood. I’ve fallen down and just can’t get myself up. Every time I try, I just fall back again.”

Mamaw’s face softened. “Let me help you.”

Mamaw took Dora’s arm and gently tugged her into a sitting position.

“There. That’s better.” Mamaw stood back and surveyed Dora, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Child, you are one hot mess. When was the last time you washed your hair? And you look so pale. Fair skinned and pale are not the same thing. I know just what you need. Stand up, girl. You heard me. Stand up!”

Dora obliged. She wasn’t one to ignore Mamaw’s order. She slowly stood, a bit off balance from all the time spent lying horizontally, sighing dramatically in a small show of rebellion.

“Good. Now, look at me, Dora.”

Dora slowly, hesitatingly, raised her gaze to meet Mamaw’s. She met Mamaw’s eyes and felt the timeless connection of her grandmother’s gaze.

“Come with me, child.”

Dora didn’t speak but offered her hand to Mamaw while her heart whispered,
Yes!

Mamaw took hold of Dora’s hand and led her down the hall to her bedroom. Dora felt like a child, her gaze darting from left to right, not wanting her sisters to see her in this state, as she allowed herself to be herded along. She was aware of Mamaw’s hand in hers, dragging her from the abyss. She didn’t want to let go.

Once in Mamaw’s suite, with the door firmly shut, Dora felt safe. This was Mamaw’s feminine sanctuary—plump chintz chairs, lots of pretty pillows, paintings of the ocean and wetlands, fringe on the curtains.

Mamaw released a slow smile. “There, that’s better. Whenever I feel chewed up and spit out, I take a nice, hot, perfumed bath. It does wonders for my spirit. How does that sound?”

Dora’s face perked up a bit at the suggestion.

“Wonderful.”

“You sit here, dear, while I fill your tub,” Mamaw instructed. “No, no, don’t do a thing, just relax!” she added cheerily, brushing away Dora’s halfhearted effort to help.

Dora sat on the big queen bed, feeling very much a child again as Mamaw disappeared into her bathroom. Dora heard the thunk of the pipes and the gush of water. Shortly after, a sweet scent wafted into the room. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Roses . . . it was intoxicating. Mamaw came back into the room with a big aqua-colored towel and handed it to Dora.

“Undress,” she ordered. “The bath will take a few minutes to fill. While you wait, drink this.” She handed her a small glass of amber liquid.

“What is it?”

“Rum. Neat. It’s aged and as smooth as a baby’s butt, so enjoy it. But don’t whisper a word of this to Lucille. She’ll have
my
butt if she finds out I’ve still got a bottle hidden.” She giggled and her eyes shone with triumph. “Behind the toiletries. The small bottle blends right in!”

“But Mamaw, I shouldn’t drink this.” She moved to hand the glass back. “We all agreed. No alcohol.”

Mamaw gently pushed Dora’s hand back. “Precious, this is one thing I’m
not
worried about with you. None of us are perfect. We don’t need perfection. Balance will do.”

Dora sipped from the glass. The rum was smooth and burned only slightly on the way down, warming her chest. It felt utterly lovely, and, this early in the day, decadent.

She removed the nightgown with lace trim that always made her feel like an old lady. Kicking it across the room, she swore she’d never wear it again. She slipped into Mamaw’s thick terry robe.

Mamaw stepped from the bathroom and called her name.

“Dora! Come, child.”

Dora stepped into a room filled with steam and scent. Mamaw helped remove Dora’s robe and guided her into the steaming tub. It was so hot Dora lowered herself into the water by fractions of an inch, giving her body time to acclimate. Gradually she stretched out and let her body ease fully into the perfumed, bubbly water. She leaned back and let her head rest against a pillow at the edge of the tub. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the steam and felt the tension flow from her body to vanish into the water. She sighed, feeling as though somehow she’d been rescued. The drops on her face were not tears but perspiration.

Mamaw served sweet tea on the back porch while Lucille passed blueberry scones from the Village Bakery. She’d called together this impromptu family meeting while Dora was soaking in the tub. It was a lovely afternoon in the shade of the black-and-white-striped awning. Large, white cumulus clouds
drifted over the sweeping view of the Cove. Pots of colorful flowers set about the porch added punches of color and the air was heady with their scent.

Mamaw tapped her spoon against her glass to silence the chatter. Carson and Harper stopped talking and Harper closed the lid on her laptop.

“Where’s Dora?” asked Carson.

“Still sleeping in her room?” asked Harper.

“No,” Mamaw said with a reprimanding glance at Harper’s thinly veiled criticism. “But that’s precisely the reason I called us together. Dora is not herself.”

“I’ll say,” Carson said. “I’ve never seen her so low.”

“The way she flew off the handle . . .” Harper added with a shake of her head.

Mamaw corrected Harper. “She wasn’t upset as much as she had a breakdown. There’s a difference. The important point is that Dora asked for help.”

“I can’t ever recall her asking for help before,” Lucille mused.

“Exactly. We need to put our heads together and come up with ways that we can help Dora through this difficult time. Thank the Lord, she did not have a heart attack. But this definitely was a warning. A shot over the bow. The doctor was clear that Dora must make serious changes in her eating habits, exercise patterns . . .” She sighed. “Or lack thereof.” She paused to glance toward the porch door to make certain it was closed. She didn’t want Dora to overhear and have her feelings be hurt.

“Unfortunately, instead of trying to make changes, she’s holing up in her room. She says she’s still too tired, but . . .”
Mamaw sighed dramatically to indicate there was much more involved than fatigue. “I thought we might find ways to be her cheerleaders. Rally around her. Show we care.”

“Get her out of bed,” Lucille added drily.

The sisters were silent for a moment. Then Harper spoke up.

“That’s all good . . .” she began, her tone hesitant.

Mamaw tilted her head, waiting. Harper, for all that she didn’t gab much, was a deep, careful thinker. When she offered an opinion, it was her own and reflected an intellect mature beyond her years.

“ . . . but the will to change has to come from her. She’s not a little girl. We can’t
make
her do anything.”

“True, but we can encourage her,” Carson said. “I was grateful when y’all stood by me when I wanted to stop drinking. You took every bottle out of the house. I know because I looked for them,” she added in a lightly self-deprecating manner. She joined in the laughter, then continued in a more serious tone. “If there had been wine in the fridge at night, I could not have resisted.”

“And there’s still none in there, in case you go looking,” Lucille told her pointedly.

Carson made a face while the others chuckled.

Harper leaned toward Carson. “How are you holding up on that front?”

Carson swirled her iced tea a moment. “I had a lot of time to think while driving to and from Florida. I don’t want to think I’m an alcoholic, but with both my parents being alcoholics, and with my track record . . .” She shrugged. “There’s definitely a problem. Truth is, the craving for a drink just won’t let go. I used to think that I just drank socially. Most single girls our
age go to bars or restaurants and just hang out. But it always involves alcohol. Right?” she asked Harper.

Harper nodded. “And the hope to meet some guys.”

“When I totaled it up, I figured I used to drink at least five drinks in one night.”

“But those five drinks would be consumed from, say, eight p.m. until one a.m.,” Harper said. “That’s about one drink an hour. In that context, it hardly seems excessive.”

“And yet, I went out drinking with friends several times a week. Plus had a glass or two at home.” Carson frowned. “Any way you do the math, that’s a lot of drinking.” She took a breath. “I’m thinking of joining AA, just as a precaution. It might help to hear other people’s stories and get a sense of where I stand with this whole thing.”

Mamaw’s brows rose. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“It is if she thinks it is,” Lucille rejoined emphatically.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Carson hedged. “Still just thinking about it.”

“You go on thinking,” Lucille said. “Don’t you be lazy and let it slide.”

Mamaw leaned forward to pat Carson’s hand. “That’s a brave decision. One your father should have made. I regret I didn’t encourage him to do the same. If you suspect you need AA, then go. I’m proud of you.”

Mamaw shared a gaze with Carson that pulsed with affection.

“See, that’s my point,” Harper said, returning to Mamaw. “Carson’s decision to do something about her drinking came from
her
. She’ll succeed because she wants to. If Dora is going to succeed in changing her diet and her lifestyle, the desire has
to come from her. Without that, all the cheerleading and good suggestions in the world won’t make a difference.”

“I agree the decision has to come from her,” Mamaw said. “But we can help her reach that point. And encourage her, to ensure her success. Girls, our Dora’s been through the wringer at the hospital, and I’m not just talking about her medical problems.”

“What happened?” asked Carson.

“She was bullied, plain and simple. Her mother”—Mamaw rolled her eyes—“horrible woman, pressured Dora to come back with her to Charlotte, delivered with that tone of disapproval Dora usually caves under. And Cal . . .” She made no attempt to keep the scorn from her voice. “He suddenly
suggested
that they rethink the divorce. He asked her to move to his condo in Summerville.”

“Really?” Harper said, surprised. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is not,” Mamaw answered emphatically. “He is being shamelessly selfish. It was all I could do not to put him in his place. Winnie, of course, was all agog with the possibility of a reconciliation. No divorce—no scandal. She didn’t give a thought to what was best for Dora.”

“Mamaw,” Carson said cautiously, “I’m sure she does care about Dora. She’s her mother, after all, and entitled to her opinion.”

“I agree with Carson. How can saving their marriage be wrong?” Harper asked, still not convinced.

“But of course it’s not wrong, if the reasons are sincere,” Mamaw replied. “Cal Tupper doesn’t give a hoot about Dora. Or his son.” She straightened in her chair. “He might fool Winnie but he can’t fool me. She really knows nothing about the
man. He wants to keep Dora in Summerville, close to that behemoth of a house, so she can supervise the repairs. Chop-chop. That was his motive.”

“Excuse me, but again, what’s wrong with that?” asked Harper. “It’s what she’d be doing if they weren’t having problems in their marriage, isn’t it? She is his wife, after all. And being a homemaker is her job.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” Harper asked.

Carson narrowed her eyes and wagged her finger. “What aren’t you telling us?”

Mamaw glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “The point is Nate.”

“What about Nate?” Harper asked.

“He’s not included in the invitation to live at the condo.”

Carson was incensed. “Not included? But he’s their son!”

“
That’s
the point,” Mamaw said, nodding with satisfaction that her side had been vindicated.

“You mean, he wants
us
to take Nate off his hands?” Carson asked, incredulous.

“Exactly.”

Carson leaned back in her chair. “You’re right. He is a shit. Poor Nate. Poor Dora.”

“I don’t know him from Adam so I’m not defending him,” Harper said. “But do we know both sides of the story?”

“How can you say that?” Carson blustered, turning to face Harper. “He’s a jerk. We all knew that before the divorce.”