The Summer Wind (25 page)

Mamaw’s gaze swept over their expectant faces. “I’ve done a bit of work, as you’ve heard,” she began. She let her gaze rest on Harper.

“Harper, dear, you’ve been a true gem putting up with being evicted from your bedroom this summer without a peep of complaint. We’ve all appreciated it.”

“Of course, Mamaw,” Harper said. “It’s nothing. And I’ve enjoyed bunking with Dora.” She glanced at Dora with a smile.

“Precisely the spirit I’m referring to. Nonetheless,” Mamaw continued, “Carson and Nate are due back in a few days and I’ve done a bit of rearranging that I hope will suit you. This is your room now.”

Mamaw turned to grasp the large brass door handles and with a push slid open the doors. Sunlight poured into the bedroom from the bay windows, revealing a sitting room transformed into a bedroom. Instead of the settee and armchair, a feminine antique bed with scrolls and curves was set at an angle from the windows, a soft blue patterned Persian rug at its feet.

Harper sucked in her breath and walked slowly into the sunny room, her head turning from left to right to take in the changes. The small desk from Dora’s room had been painted a cream color and moved under the bay windows, and atop it, fresh flowers were arranged in the Chinese Rose Medallion vase she’d once told Mamaw she liked. Only Mamaw could be so attentive to the smallest details.

“You created a room . . . for me?” Harper asked in a small voice.

“It wasn’t much. I had that bed and armoire in storage. You don’t have a closet, I’m afraid. But you can have Edward’s computer room for yourself. It just sits there unused. Other than that, Lucille and I just moved things around a bit. Oh”—she
indicated the pale blue coverlet on the bed—“we thought you’d like to pick out a new coverlet yourself.”

“Oh, Mamaw, I would have been content with an air mattress on the floor.”

Mamaw laughed in the manner that implied what Harper said was absurd. “That is precisely why it brought me so much pleasure to do this.” She kissed Harper’s forehead. “I had the doors added so you could simply shut me out. They lock, see?” she said, pointing out the brass bolt. “I also had a door added so you can have a private entrance from the porch. I know how you like your privacy.”

“Thank you, Mamaw. I’m . . . I’m overwhelmed.” Harper had been raised to hold her emotions in check and blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears.

Dora stood in the background, her eyes taking in the new room with wonder. “I have to admit, I’m going to miss sharing a room with you.”

Mamaw looked to Dora to seek out any signs of jealousy that Harper had received such a boon. It was with relief that she saw nothing but genuine pleasure in Dora’s face. It made her feel all the more eager about her next surprise.

Mamaw said to Dora, “You don’t think I’ve left you out, do you? We’ve begun work on your room, too. Come take a look.”

They followed Mamaw, giggling, through the living room again to the west side of the house. As they passed the library, the smell of fresh paint permeated the air. Looking over her shoulder to make certain that Dora was behind her, she smiled at seeing all three women with expressions on their faces like children on Christmas morning. Without delay, she pushed open the door.

The small bedroom was in the chaos of transition. Most of the furniture had been moved out, a painter’s tarp covered the floor, and all the trim was freshly painted glossy white. One wall was covered with a pale pink-and-white-striped paper, feminine and chic.

“There’s a lot left to be done,” Mamaw said. “I had to call in every chit and I’ve been on the phone nagging seamstresses all over town.” She proudly walked them around the room, pointing out changes. “The wallpaper will be hung tomorrow and we can get the curtains in as soon as all is dry. I only have a small window of time, and I’m determined to have everything in place before Carson returns from Florida. You’ll have to sleep in her room until then. If that’s all right with you. Lucille’s changed the bedding. All is in the ready.”

“Of course,” Dora sputtered. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect anything like this. I would’ve been happy with a bigger bed. But . . .” Worry had now entered her voice. “Mamaw, all this effort and expense. I . . . we’ll only be here for a short while . . .”

“I know, but I’m having so much fun and the Realtor told me I needed to freshen things up a bit. So it had to be done anyway.” She shrugged with a roll of the eyes and said, “
Que sera sera.
Now, Dora, there’s one object in particular I want you to see. It’s what sparked all this effort in the first place,” she said, guiding Dora out of the room. “I put it in Carson’s room for now. Come see.”

“A new bed, I hope?” Dora said. She hated sleeping in that twin.

“That, too,” Mamaw assured her. “I’m having a full bed brought over from storage.”

“Thanks be to . . .” Dora muttered before her voice stuck in her throat.

Mamaw opened the door to Carson’s room and in the corner, dominating the space, she saw Mamaw’s imposing French vanity. Dora stood staring at the beloved priceless antique, speechless.

“The vanity is yours, Dora.”

Dora walked slowly to the vanity, her hand reaching out to delicately trace the elaborate curves of the brass mirror.

“Oh, Mamaw,” Dora said breathlessly. “How did you know how much I loved this?”

Mamaw smiled indulgently. “I’m your grandmother. I
should
know such things.”

Dora turned to face her. “But what will you use?”

“Oh, child, at my age, the less I look in the mirror, the better.” She glanced at Lucille, who stood by the door beaming with pleasure. “Especially not if that old bird won’t give me her skin cream recipe.”

Lucille’s grin widened. “Too late now, anyway!”

Mamaw sniffed and shook her head with resignation. Turning to Dora, she took her hands. “My dear girl, you’ve worked so hard to rediscover how very beautiful you are, inside as well as out. I hope you’ll look in this mirror every day and see that beauty reflected.” She squeezed Dora’s hands. “You hear?”

Tears spilled over Dora’s eyes as she nodded, her laugh broken with a choked cry.

“You’re ruining her makeup!” Harper cried, laughing.

Mamaw held Dora in her arms, relishing the softness of her, the sweet scent of tuberose in her perfume, and the depth of feeling Dora was allowing herself to unleash, at last.

T
he glimmering candlelight on thick white cotton tablecloths, the original lowcountry art on the walls, the orchids in bud vases, the hum of conversation punctuated with occasional laughs, the clinking of silverware—all combined to create the ambience of a perfect dinner date.

Dora shifted nervously in her seat and swirled the cabernet in the large crystal bowl of her wineglass. She took note of her perfectly polished pink nails. Tonight she wore her new shimmering blue silk dress that Harper had found for her during their shopping spree. Mamaw’s large, creamy pearls graced her neck, and she knew she looked her best in the elegant Charleston restaurant.

Across the table, Devlin studied the oversized menu. He, too, was transformed tonight, handsome in his beautifully cut tan suit, a blush-pink shirt, and a Ferragamo tie. She studied his hands on the menu—they were not long-fingered, like Cal’s.
Rather, they were wide and ruddy from being out on the water. A man’s hand. On his ring finger he wore a thick gold signet ring. She sipped her wine, her imagination taking a turn in this romantic restaurant. What, she wondered, would those hands feel like on her body?

Devlin looked up from the menu and, catching her perusal, smiled.

“You look beautiful tonight. That reminds me . . .” He set the menu down and, with a gleam in his eyes, reached into his breast pocket to pull out a small jeweler’s box. He set it on the table before Dora.

“What’s this?” she asked, feeling a sudden panic.

“Nothing big, just something I saw that I thought you might like. Go ahead, open it.”

Dora cast him a glance of mock suspicion and reached for the gray velvet box. Opening it, she found a pair of large blue-stoned earrings within a border of tiny diamonds.

“They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, shocked at their size. They had to have been costly.

“I always said your eyes are the color of aquamarines. Topaz are too clear. Yours are a deeper blue, like the deep ocean.”

“I can’t accept these. They’re too expensive.”

“Please, don’t play that game. We’re way past that. I saw them, I want you to have them, and they match your dress. Aren’t those enough reasons to put them on right this minute and let me enjoy seeing you in them?”

Dora grinned and plucked the earrings from the box. It took a moment to slip the pearls from her ears and replace them with the aquamarines. When she was finished, she searched her purse for a mirror and pulled it out to study
her reflection. The large aquamarines were dazzling and they were, indeed, the same color as her eyes, making them pop against her soft tan.

“I was right,” Devlin said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

“Thank you,” Dora said, lowering the mirror to give Devlin her full attention. “Thank you times ten. I’ve never had such beautiful earrings. I’ll treasure them.”

“Don’t be putting them in a box, afraid to wear them. You should wear them every day. If you lose them, I’ll get you another pair.”

Dora listened to the words with wonder. Cal had always been so frugal. He never splurged on a gift of jewelry for her. He was the type to buy her an appliance or a scarf. Tonight Devlin was offering her dinner at a five-star restaurant, fine wine, and now a gift—this was a full-court press.

The waiter stepped up to the table. He was dressed in black pants, a white shirt, and a black bow tie. After a few words of chitchat he launched into a description of the evening’s specials with a flourish. Dora’s mouth was watering after weeks of low-fat, lean meals.

Devlin picked up the menu and began ordering.

“Let’s start with some lobster cakes. Then we’d like the she-crab soup.” He glanced at Dora. “It’s the specialty of the house. You’ve got to have some.” Looking again at the waiter, he said, “That honey-roasted duck sounds good, too. And I can tell you right now we’re both going to want some of your famous coconut cake.”

“Devlin, wait . . .” Dora interrupted.

Devlin turned his head, expectant.

Dora turned to the waiter. “We’re going to need a few more minutes.”

The waiter nodded and discreetly stepped away.

“Dev, I can’t eat all that. I’m on a . . .” She didn’t want to use the word
diet
. “The doctor said I can’t eat all that fatty food. Lord, the she-crab soup alone could kill me.”

Devlin’s smile dropped as his eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I forgot. What an idiot I am.”

“No,” she said in a hurry, not wanting him to feel bad. “You were being a gentleman. But I think it’s best for me to order my own dinner.”

“Of course,” Devlin said, but she could tell he was flustered at his mistake. He raised his hand briefly and the waiter quickly reappeared.

“The lady will order her own dinner,” Devlin said.

“Certainly.” The waiter turned his attention to Dora.

She cleared her throat and studied the enormous menu. “I’ll have the chef’s summer salad, no dressing . . . the grilled shrimp, and hold the hushpuppies. And could I substitute the creamed corn for collard greens?” She closed the menu and, handing it to the waiter, added, “No dessert.”

“Well played,” Devlin said. He closed his menu and returned it to the waiter. “I’ll have the same. Except, I still want some of that coconut cake.” He glanced at Dora again. “I might convince the lady to try it.”

“Dev . . .”

“One bite!” he exclaimed, then laughed.

Their laughter was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. Dora immediately drew her evening bag closer and pulled it out. She kept her phone turned on in case the call was about Nate.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, Dora. It’s me, Cal. I thought I’d better give you a call and check in.”

“Uh, Cal, I can’t talk now. Can I call you back?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m out to dinner.”

“Oh. Okay.” There was a pause. “With who?”

“I have to go. I’ll call you back. Bye.”

She slipped the phone back into her bag and, a little sheepishly, looked up at Devlin. He was watching her with a skeptical expression.

“Sorry about that. I thought it was about Nate.”

“That was your husband?”

The word
husband
coming from his lips while they were on a date sliced the air of intimacy they’d been enjoying.

Dora cringed, thinking, What were the odds that Cal, who rarely called, would pick tonight? “Cal, yes.”

“Does he call you often?”

“Actually, no.”

“You
are
separated . . . getting a divorce?”

“Yes, of course,” Dora replied, bristling. “You don’t think I’d be having dinner with you, accepting gifts, if I weren’t?”

He spread out his palms. “Just asking.”

Dora couldn’t respond. An awkward moment passed while she sipped her wine. It was with great relief that the first course arrived.