The Summer's End (19 page)

“She did.”

“And Dora took her car?”

“Of course.”

“Rats. I need to pick up the lighting fixture I ordered for the kitchen. I guess I'm stuck here.”

“There's a bicycle in there somewhere.”

“Oh, Mamaw, I can't very well pick anything up with that old thing.”

“I suppose not.” Mamaw put her glasses back on and returned to her book.

“I can't be cooped up at the mercy of whether Dora or Carson are home to let me borrow a car. I should just rent one. Where's the closest place?”

“Mt. Pleasant, I'm sure.”

“I don't know why I didn't do this before. I'll call a cab to take me to the rental office.”

Mamaw lowered her book. “Won't renting a car for a month or longer cost a small fortune?”

“What choice do I have if I want wheels?”

Mamaw's expression turned crafty. “You could buy a car.”

“Buy one? What would I do with a car once I leave? I live in
Manhattan. The only people who have cars there are commuters, the very rich, or crazy.”

“I suppose your mother would fit into all three categories,” Mamaw said archly. “Doesn't Georgiana need a car to go to the Hamptons?”

“Mummy has a driver take her everywhere she goes.”

“Of course she does,” Mamaw remarked snippily.

Harper ignored Mamaw's tone, not wanting her to go off on a Georgiana rant, which she was apt to do with little prompting. “I had a car when I was in college. To get back and forth. But I sold it when I started working in the city. It was expensive to keep up and traffic in the city is beyond ridiculous. I catch the subway or a cab.”

“Well, you can't do that here.” Mamaw removed her eyeglasses. “As luck would have it,” she began in a tone that usually meant she had something up her sleeve, “I happen to have a friend who is selling a sweet little car. Very sporty. A Jeep, I believe it's called. I wonder if you didn't see it? It's parked on Middle Street with a
FOR SALE
sign on the windshield.”

“You mean the one close to the fire station? The cream-colored one?”

“The same.”

“It is cute.” Harper remembered the Jeep Wrangler, which looked in good condition. “But it can't be cheaper than renting.”

“It might be.”

“How much does she want for it?”

Mamaw rose to her feet, a woman on a mission. “I can call and find out. Follow me.”

They went straight inside the cottage to the phone sitting
beside the sofa. The cottage still carried the barely perceptible smell of vanilla.

“Mamaw, we should really tackle the cottage. There's a lot to sort through,” Harper suggested gently.

“Not yet. We have plenty of other things to do.”

“I know. Like the attic. I was up there getting those knobs for the kitchen, and it's chock-full of stuff. Mamaw, when did you think you were going to sort through all this?”

Mamaw waved her hand, dismissing the subject as one would a pesty gnat. “Later, dear. Later.”

“Procrastination,” Harper muttered softly as she followed Mamaw. She knew full well that when
later
came, it'd be tinged with panic.

Mamaw sat by the phone and dialed a number. Her eyes sparkled with excitement when she glanced up at Harper. “Hello, Paula?” Mamaw said with a cheery voice. “It's Marietta.” They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before Mamaw cupped the phone and got down to business. “I'm calling about that sweet little car you're selling. . . . The Jeep, yes. Is it still for sale? . . . It is?” Mamaw winked at Harper. “Can I ask how much you want for it? . . . Uh-huh.” Mamaw made a face. “That much? You've had the car for quite a while, haven't you?”

Looking for clues, Harper watched Mamaw's animated eyes as she listened.

“Well, thank you for sharing all that, Paula. My granddaughter Harper is in need of a car, nothing too expensive. This might be just the thing if you have a little wiggle room in the price. . . . Why, yes, I think she could come by and take a look at it right now. . . . What was that? You will?” Mamaw nodded at Harper. “Very good, then. We'll be
right over. It may take a few minutes. We're walking!” She laughed.

“Mamaw, ask her if I can write a check,” Harper whispered at her side.

“Oh, Paula, one more thing. Harper is visiting for the summer, which is why she doesn't have a car. If things progress, could she write you a personal check? I will personally guarantee it. . . . Oh, thank you, Paula. You're a good friend. . . . What's that?” Mamaw's eyes widened and she gave Harper a thumbs-up. “Why, that's very generous of you. . . . Yes, it would be nice to clear it off the grass. . . . Yes, it can be an eyesore.” Mamaw hung up and smiled at Harper.

“Well?”

“Let's hightail it right over. She bought the Jeep years ago on a whim. Bless her heart, she thought her family might have fun driving it. Thing is, no one ever did, and a Jeep is not the style of car that, shall we say, suits a woman of her age and station. So it's just been sitting in the garage all this time, collecting dust and taxes. She's eager to get rid of it. She said if you buy it today and take it off her front lawn, she'll give you the friends-and-family discount!”

Harper and Mamaw walked the six blocks to where the cream-colored Jeep sat parked on the grass on Middle Street. When they drew near, they stopped talking to walk around the car, peer into the windows, and check it out for bumps or rust.

As promised, the Jeep appeared pristine, obviously having been kept in a garage for the majority of its life. Harper didn't
spot any wear and tear on the removable top, either. “This is the proverbial car that was never driven and kept in the garage by an old lady.”

“We should just thank our lucky stars that it's still here. Like it?”

Harper nodded. She did like it. Very much.

“Then let's not dally. Paula is expecting us.”

Mrs. Randolph's house was one of the many historic cottages on Sullivan's Island. Most of the early houses were built by Charlestonians as summerhouses to escape the heat and humidity in the city. Smaller, filled with individuality and charm, these cottages held the two-hundred-year history of the island. Newer, grander houses now peppered the island, but to Harper's mind, the cottages gave Sullivan's Island its appeal. Harper especially admired Mrs. Randolph's long, white porch and the line of white rockers and robust planters spilling over with annuals.

The front door swung open and Mrs. Randolph stepped out, crooning her hello to Mamaw with a friendly hug. She was a full-figured woman of Mamaw's vintage. Her face was plump and coursed with lines but her eyes were bright with warmth and vitality.

“It's such a beautiful day,” Paula exclaimed. “Why don't you and I have a chat and sip our tea on the porch while Harper gives a look-see to the Jeep?” Paula handed Harper the keys. “Take your time, dear.”

Harper strolled across the scrubby island grass to the car. She didn't know much about cars. She made a show of looking under it and climbing into the driver's seat. Once inside, she felt the excitement of possibility. It was adorable. Fun. A perfect island car.
And it looked almost new and had the bonus of having only twelve thousand miles on it. She thought of her bank account and knew she should be prudent. After all, she had to go back to New York, pay a security deposit on an apartment, rent, utilities. And she still had to find a job.

A half smile crossed her face. But she'd be getting a check from her trust fund soon. Enough to tide her over for a little while. Harper ran her hands over the steering wheel, feeling a desperate desire to own it. Maybe she was right about love at first sight. She giggled. Only for her it was a car.

She walked with an easy gait to the porch. Mamaw and Mrs. Randolph were sitting on rockers, their heads bent, deep in conversation. When she drew near, they turned their heads and stared back like two contented cats.

“I'll take it!” Harper exclaimed.

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Randolph clapped her hands.

After the paperwork was signed, Harper took hold of the keys of the first car she'd owned since college.

“How do you feel?” Mamaw asked as they walked back to the Jeep.

Harper squeezed the keys in her hand. “As free as a bird able to take off and go anywhere at whim.”

“That kind of freedom doesn't last long. Enjoy it.”

“You know, for the first few weeks at Sea Breeze I didn't want to go anywhere. I was perfectly content to live a hermit's life. I enjoyed the lack of pressure. Not having someone”—she looked meaningfully at Mamaw—“my mother . . . always calling my name. But”—Harper sighed—“now I want to get out and explore.”

“Like you did as a child.”

“Exactly! Only now I have wheels.”

“‘Oh, the places you'll go!'” Mamaw said, quoting the title of a Dr. Seuss book she'd read to Harper as a child.

They laughed together, and Harper found it good to see her grandmother having a good time. She went around to help Mamaw climb up into the Jeep.

“Goodness,” Mamaw exclaimed, settling into the seat, “I can understand why Paula didn't drive around in it herself. It's a workout just getting in and out.”

“That's what makes it fun. And I need a little fun in my life.”

She climbed into the driver's seat, put the key in the ignition, reached for the clutch, and suddenly her excitement dropped like a lead balloon. “Oh, no.” Harper stared at the transmission, stunned.

“What's the matter?”

“It's manual transmission.”

“Yes, dear. So?”

“So . . . I don't know how to drive stick.” Harper put her palm to her forehead.

“Didn't you ever learn?” asked Mamaw, surprised.

“No. I had to learn the basics of how a clutch worked when I learned how to drive. But I always drove automatic. I mean, really. Who drives stick anymore?” Harper shook her head in dismay. “I didn't even think to ask. I just assumed the car was automatic.” Harper unbuckled her belt and grabbed her purse. “I hope Mrs. Randolph won't get upset. I have to return it.”

Mamaw grabbed Harper's arm. “Now don't get your knickers in a twist. The deed is done,” Mamaw admonished. She set her pocketbook on the car floor. “You won't find another deal
like this one, I promise you. Paula practically gave you the car. You're a smart girl. You can learn how to drive a stick. In my day, all the cars were manual.”

“But who's going to teach me? I don't know anyone who drives manual transmission.”

“I do.”

“You?”

“Yes. I could teach you.”

Harper just stared back.

“Don't look so surprised. I'm old but I'm not senile. I'll have you know I'm a very good driver. Never had a ticket.”

Harper remembered her grandmother's turtlelike driving. “I don't think they give tickets for going too
slow.
”

“Maybe not, but I've gotten my quota of honks,” Mamaw quipped. “Now, buckle up, sweetie. We're going for a ride.”

Mamaw turned out to be an excellent, if demanding, teacher. For the next half hour Harper jerked, stalled, and shifted gears along the side streets of Sullivan's Island. Mamaw was patient but firm, not allowing Harper to quit until she could go from first to second to third gear and reverse without stalling. With few other cars and even fewer people walking, she could start and stop often without drawing someone's ire.

By the time they returned to Sea Breeze, both the Blue Bomber and Dora's silver Lexus were back in the driveway. Taylor was loading paint cans into the back of his truck. Harper slowly maneuvered the Jeep into the space beside his. When she put on the parking brake and pulled out her keys, her shoulders slumped in relief.

“Very good, dear,” Mamaw exclaimed. “You should take it
out every day and just drive around the neighborhood until you get the hang of it.” She paused. “Before you venture into traffic.” Mamaw climbed down from the car.

“Thanks, Mamaw,” Harper called out. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

Mamaw's smile was wobbly. She reached up to smooth her hair. “Yes, dear. I know.”

Harper let her hands slide along the steering wheel with pride.

“New ride?”

Harper startled and put her hand to her chest. She swung her head to see Taylor bent low, looking in her driver's window, his face inches from her own.

“Didn't mean to creep up on you.”

“I was just lost in my thoughts.” She smiled. “I just bought it. What do you think?”

His gaze scanned the tan interior. “It's right pretty. Looks new but I'm guessing it's a '95, with those square headlights. I like the looks of those better, and it has a sweet spring leaf for a bouncier ride.”

“But it's manual transmission.”