The Summer Wind (38 page)

“I’m not. I promise.” Dora patted his chest with her hand. “I’m right here.”

He bent and kissed the top of her head. “That’s where I want you to stay.”

Dora awoke the following morning filled with light. As soon as she reached the beach she began to run. She didn’t stretch. She simply took off, with her fists pumping at her sides. Her feet pounded the hard-packed sand, one foot after the other. To her right, the ocean was a roiling mass of choppy, white-tipped waves.

You’re strong. You can do it. You can make your goal
.

She said the words over and over, like a metronome keeping the pace. She had to believe the words, too.

Sweat poured down her brow, but she pushed on, past the lighthouse on her way to Breach Inlet. She remembered the first time she’d reached this point, the first day of her walking program. She was tired, thirsty, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. That was the morning Devlin had found her. She’d looked her absolute worst and he’d thought she was
beautiful. Dora laughed out loud, hearing the joyful sound like a clarion call in the early morning wind.

She reached the inlet and turned back, keeping up the pace. Her heart felt ready to burst, but Dora kept on running the final lap. Her muscles were screaming, but she’d come too far to quit before she reached her goal. No more excuses. Today she was going to make it.

She ran, her strong heart pounding, until she reached as far north as she could run on the tip of Sullivan’s Island. At last Dora came to a stop, panting hard, her hands on her hips, sweat pouring down her face. She was exhausted but triumphant. A grin stretched wide across her face. She’d made it!

She stood on the sand, letting the brisk wind cool her body, as her gaze swept across the stretch of beach of this small island she loved. Beyond, the vast Atlantic Ocean was stirring like a great beast, growling and spitting, awakened by the storm.

She laughed out loud, her voice minging with the roar of the waves. She had come a long way to reach this morning. Her namesake, Eudora Welty, had been right, she thought. A love of place could heal the soul.

Dora turned her head to look toward the back of the island, to where the Cove raced with the tides, where the cordgrass rustled in the wind, where the egrets feasted. Above the treeline she could barely make out the widow’s walk of Sea Breeze. She smiled as Mamaw’s words sang out in her mind.

Find yourself, and you will find your way home.

D
ora showered and dressed in a light summer shift, then carried her coffee and bowl of whole grain cereal out to the back porch. The sun was a ghostly eye in the sky, obscured by an armada of gray clouds. She sidestepped several vegetable and herb flats as she crossed the porch to join Mamaw and Lucille playing cards in their usual spot under the awning. The awning was rattling in the gusts of wind.

She took a seat at the table beside Carson, who was reading the
Island Eye
.

“Good morning,” she called out as she approached. “Storm’s coming.”

The women looked up and greeted her warmly.

“You were up and out early,” Mamaw said.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Lord, no,” Mamaw said. “At my age one never sleeps well. Harper woke up just minutes after you left.” Mamaw looked
out to the garden. “Dear girl made coffee, fueled up, and went straight to work on planting those flower beds.” She sipped her tea, watching, then as she lowered her cup said, “I swanny, look at that girl lift those bags of soil. They must weigh as much as she does.”

Looking out to the backyard, Dora saw Harper lifting enormous bags of compost and dumping the contents into two new raised garden beds.

Lucille chuckled. “She’s little but she’s feisty.”

“Dora, why aren’t you out in the garden with her?” Mamaw asked. “Isn’t it your project, too?”

“Hell, no,” Dora said, chewing her cereal. “Harper took over that garden. I just get in her way.”

Carson lowered her newspaper and laughed. “That’s a switch.”

“Not really,” Dora said with a bemused expression. “She’s not the meek little mouse I used to think she was. I’m kind of afraid of her.”

Mamaw laughed as she picked up a playing card and held it in the air, deciding whether to keep or discard it. “She must’ve ordered every garden book ever written. Her room is littered with them. I’ll wager she’ll read each one, too.”

“What are all of those?” Carson asked, pointing to the flats.

“Vegetable starter plants,” Dora replied.

“Just what we need,” Lucille muttered, picking up a card. “More vegetables. Wish she took a hankering to raising me a nice pig. Or a couple of chickens.”

“Don’t mention it to her!” Mamaw exclaimed. “Or we’ll have chickens arriving tomorrow.” She threw down a card.

“Don’t worry. Sullivan’s isn’t zoned for livestock,” Dora said.

“That won’t stop Miss Harper if she puts her mind to it,” Lucille said, picking up Mamaw’s card.

“Bless her heart,” Mamaw muttered. “Hush now, here she comes.”

The women stopped talking as they watched Harper walking across the yard, slapping dirt from her clothes. It was a futile gesture. She was streaked from head to toe with soil that was fast becoming mud in her sweat.

“She doesn’t even look winded,” Dora said with awe.

“Hi, y’all,” Harper said as she approached.

The three women stared at her wide-eyed with shock that their New Yorker greeted them in the Southern style.

“If that don’t beat all,” Lucille said under her breath.

“I’m just playing with you,” Harper said with a light laugh. “Though I must say that expression is catchy.” She turned to Dora as she poured herself a glass of water from a thermos. “Dora, glad you’re back. I could use your help. I’ve got to get all these plants in before the rain comes.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Green Jeans,” Dora said, but she didn’t look the least bit sorry.

Harper harrumphed and turned an imploring gaze on Carson.

“Carson . . .”

“Don’t look at me,” Carson said. “I hate gardening.”

“Aw, come on,” Harper moaned. “I need to get all those plants in before the rain.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she launched into a monologue of her progress. “I’ve come too far to mess it all up now. There’s three different kinds of lettuce, patio tomatoes, and oh, the herbs! They smell heavenly. Parsley, thyme, rosemary, sage, oregano, dill, and lots of basil.
Aren’t they sweet? So tiny and all. I call them my babies.” She turned to Lucille. “Lucille, this will be your very own kitchen garden,” she said proudly. “In a few weeks, you can just saunter out and pick whatever you like.”

Lucille smiled sweetly. “That’s nice. Thank you, baby.” She glanced at Mamaw.

“I really would help you, Harper,” Dora said. “But I’m going out to play with Nate. We have a kayaking lesson this morning. Although . . .” She looked up at the gathering clouds. “I hope it isn’t canceled because of this storm.”

They all looked up at the clouds heralding the tropical storm that was barreling in from the south.

“It’s really moving in,” Mamaw said. “You shouldn’t go out on the water today no matter what.”

“Those clouds now have an official name,” Carson informed them. She looked to Lucille. “Guess what it is.” When Lucille shrugged, Carson said, “They named it Tropical Storm Lucy! Isn’t that a hoot? I think it’s only fitting they named a storm after you, you ol’ windbag.”

The girls laughed at the joke as Carson moved to kiss Lucille’s cheek.

Lucille grunted. “I ain’t never been called Lucy in my life and never will. I’ve always been Lucille.”

Mamaw didn’t laugh. “These midsummer storms can be surprisingly strong. They can pack a punch. I’ve lived through too many of them not to take each one seriously. Last summer Tropical Storm Debby wiped out our dunes. Cut them clean away.” She clapped her hands together, rousing the group to action. “Girls, plans or no plans, today we have to prepare for this storm. We must take all the cushions inside, put anything
light or loose that can be picked up by the wind into the garage. Harper, all your garden tools have to be put away. We don’t want anything to become a missile in the wind and break a window. We can’t be too careful.”

“Mamaw, you always panic with every storm,” Dora said. “This house has weathered storms for over a century.”

“That’s because I prepare! And I’ll have you know, young lady, that this house might still be standing, but I’ve done many repairs over those years. Hugo almost took the whole house away. Once you live through that, you never turn your back on the ocean.”

“Amen,” Lucille muttered.

“Lucy’s gonna be a real storm,” Carson said, looking up at the sky. “I can always feel it in my bones. It’s the shift in the barometric pressure.”

Dora looked at the sky again, feeling the foreboding every person in the lowcountry experiences at the approach of a named summer storm. “At least it’s not a hurricane.”

“But the forecast calls for high winds,” Harper said, looking warily at the sky. “I’m worried about my plants.” She took a deep breath. “I’m off. Got to get them in before the storm hits.” Harper marched off to retrieve a flat of herbs and hoisted them in her thin arms with the ease of a common laborer.

“Who is that girl?” Carson asked, resting her chin in her palm. “And where does she get all that energy?”

“It’s the enthusiasm of a convert, my dear,” Mamaw replied. “It’s irrepressible.”

“Speaking of energy,” Dora said to Carson, “I noticed you slept in again this morning. You haven’t been out surfing or kiting since you got back. With those waves building in the storm,
I thought for sure you’d be with those other crazy risk takers out there.”

“I’m still just tired from the trip. Not feeling that good, that’s all.” She looked to Lucille. “I think I’ve got what you’ve got.”

Lucille snorted. “Honey, you ain’t got what I got.”

Carson leaned against Lucille’s shoulder and declared with humor, “Well, you sure ain’t got what I got.”

The way Carson said it had Mamaw looking up quickly to catch Dora’s eye, then Lucille’s. In that moment the three women shared a knowing look. In a synchronized movement, all heads turned toward Carson with narrowed eyes.

Dora bent closer to her sister. “Carson, are you pregnant?”

“The air’s so wet I could drink it,” Mamaw said. Pearls of sweat formed on her brow, and her hair was frizzing.

Tropical Storm Lucy was gathering strength as it moved north along the coast. The sea was roaring in anticipation, echoing throughout the island. A heavy humidity hovered over the lowcountry like a pall. They’d all pitched in to prepare for the storm’s predicted arrival that evening.

Mamaw took a final look-see around the property to make certain all the flowerpots, garden supplies, cushions, and knickknacks were safely stored indoors.

“We’re done here. And we’re hot and sweaty,” Carson said, her arms above her head to redo her ponytail. “We’re going to the beach.”

Mamaw was glad to see a little more color in her face this morning. She was wearing a bikini top and yoga pants that hung low off her hips. Looking at her flat belly, Mamaw found it hard
to believe a new life was growing in there. Carson refused to discuss her pregnancy, not even with her. After she’d admitted to the truth, she’d stormed off to her room and shut the door. Mamaw had thought she might hear a rap on her bedroom door and that Carson would slip in, like she usually did for a chat. Carson was resolutely silent.