The Summer's End (23 page)

“Did the doctor diagnose your PTSD?”

“Not right away. I'm a Marine and we like to think we can tough it out. But this time I couldn't.”

Harper saw something in his expression that made her realize how he'd suffered during the time it took for him to reach the point to ask for help. Harper slid her hand across the table to put it over his. “How's your therapy been working out for you?”

He looked at their hands, then intertwined their fingers. “It's going good. I've been reaching out. Pushing myself. I had to once more muster up the courage and strength to make another plan.
I decided it was time to come home again and get my life back on track. I have my college degree from the Citadel. I've applied at a few places for a job, and one here in Charleston called me for an interview. That's what prompted me to come back home sooner than later. So far, everything is moving on a trajectory.”

“Any company would be lucky to have you.”

He turned her hand in his, then gently rubbed his thumb across her palm.

She felt every neuron in her hand tingle.

He looked up from their hands and met her gaze. “Best of all, I met you.”

They stared into each other's eyes, each aware that they were moving into new waters. Words, movements, emotions, all had to be navigated anew.

Around them came a smattering of applause and people began rising from their chairs. The noise level of the restaurant rose as good-byes were exchanged and congratulations offered. Taylor and Harper let go of their hands when a few of his friends stopped by the table to say good-bye and comment on his poems.

“Last call,” the waitress said, coming up to their table. “We'll be closing soon.”

Taylor turned to her. “Want to go?”

Harper nodded and Taylor settled the bill. He rose then without a word, reached over to take her hand, and linked arms, keeping his hand on hers. “Can't have you fall.”

She wanted to say something like
I've already fallen,
but she couldn't bring herself to say anything so corny. So she only smiled, glad
now for the silly shoes that kept her arm in his. Knowing with him she wouldn't be hurt.

They drove home along East Bay and over the Ravenel Bridge, which soared like a great bird over Charleston Harbor. Sitting high in the truck, Harper looked ahead at the trail of red brake lights. Most of the restaurants on Coleman Boulevard were closed. She and Taylor spoke about the poetry they'd heard, their favorite poems, and other readings they'd attended. By the time they began crossing the wetlands in single file on the long two-way road across the vast acres of marsh, they'd lapsed into a comfortable silence. The tires hummed beneath them and the moon shone bright, lighting up the black, ragged tips of oysters in the mud at low tide.

In the darkness Taylor slid his hand across the seat to capture hers. She sighed at the touch and smiled, moved by the simple gesture that was, she knew, a statement. The radio played country music, and though Harper wasn't a fan, she was attuned to the lyrics. Tonight had been a celebration of words, and these lyrical songs spoke of love and loss and life. While riding in a pickup truck with a lowcountry man, traveling over the moonlit marshes, Harper felt the music fill her.

Sea Breeze looked beautiful in the moonlight. Light dripped through the moss hanging on the heavy boughs of the old oak, bathing the gravel beneath in mystery. Taylor walked Harper to the front door. The fifteen steps felt like a mountain hike by the time they reached the porch. She stopped at the door and faced Taylor, her cheeks fevered. Desire pulsed between them. Mamaw had left the porch light on.

“I'd invite you in,” she said softly, “but Mamaw . . .”

“No. And I don't have my own place.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. She felt the heat of his breath on her lips. His green eyes were catlike, intense and seductive. Her breath came quick.

“You're driving me crazy, you know that . . . ,” he said in a husky voice.

She laughed shortly. “Yeah.”

Then he leaned back, creating a distance.

Harper's breath puffed out.

Taylor's lips slanted in a crooked grin. “I don't know if it's even proper for me to kiss you. I'm working for you and all.”

Harper leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his face close. “You're fired.”

A wry grin crossed his lips. “Good.” He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head in a crushing kiss of passion and possession.

Harper fired and rehired Taylor several times in the following days.

M
amaw walked into the kitchen, pleased to find it empty so she could take her time noting all the changes. Sunlight from the back windows poured into the freshly painted, bright room, filling the space with light. She reached up to touch the new roped chandelier over the table, then the gleaming, white-tiled backsplash. The room's outline was the same, but everything else was so warm and inviting. So youthful and vibrant. Mamaw thought again how she wouldn't have done any of this without Harper's urging. Since Lucille's death she'd been stuck in a rut. Content with the way things were. Before that, even, if she was being honest. Young blood was good to stir the old pot once in a while, she thought.

Laughter and shouts from outdoors caught her attention. She hurried to the rear window, pushed the shutter wide-open, and peered out at the water. “Well, I'll be,” she muttered, squinting.

A party was going on at the dock. Carson was on her paddleboard in the water, pushing close to the dock. Nate and Dora, still in life jackets, were climbing out from their kayak. Why, there was Taylor, too, she saw with surprise. Standing next to Harper. She watched Taylor as he bent to lift Nate's end of the kayak and hoist it to the upper dock.

Mamaw put her hand to her cheek. Bless their hearts, it must've been a coincidence that they all met up at the dock at the same time. “Thank you, Jesus,” she muttered. Carson began calling everyone into the water from her board. She was laughing and waving her arm. Mamaw watched as Taylor tried to lure Harper into the water even as Harper was backstepping, trying to escape his grip. “Go on, Harper,” Mamaw murmured aloud. “Don't be timid. Jump in! Get wet!” She couldn't remember seeing Harper swim in the Cove all summer. Harper preferred to swim in the pool, where the water was clean and there were no fish, no sharks.

Mamaw's eyes widened in surprise as Taylor lifted Harper up in his arms—to lots of clapping and hooting from her sisters. Nate was jumping up and down in excitement. “My, my, my.” Mamaw smiled. Things must be progressing between those two.

She heard the girls count to three. Saw Harper kick her legs in Taylor's arms, watched her head duck on his shoulder as she clung tight and Taylor jumped into the Cove. Mamaw burst out laughing and clapped her hands together. Now Nate was jumping in! The first time he'd swum in the Cove since Delphine's accident. Dora ran down the dock and did a cannonball jump in after him. Carson dove off her board and emerged next to Nate. Everyone was laughing and splashing.

Mamaw laughed again and brought her clasped hands to
her heart, overcome with joy. “We did it, Lucille,” she said with a prayer to the heavens. “There's laughter at Sea Breeze again.”

Mamaw turned from the window, feeling as though a heavy weight had fallen from her shoulders. She glanced at all the fresh changes that had been made in the kitchen. Mamaw knew what she had to do.

Without hesitation she went directly to Lucille's cottage. “No more procrastination. It's time for a fresh start.”

Later that afternoon, Dora, Carson, and Harper gathered in the cottage at Mamaw's request, equipped with buckets, cleaning supplies, mops, boxes, and garbage bags. Mamaw had instructed the women to clean out and organize Lucille's cottage top to bottom, though in typical Mamaw fashion she had soon excused herself from the work, citing her need for a nap. Harper was delighted because Mamaw had asked Taylor to return in a few days to paint the cottage, too.

Sorting through Lucille's cottage proved more emotional than any of them had expected. Handling the personal items brought memories to sort through as well. They began in Lucille's bedroom. Medicine bottles were collected in a box to take to the pharmacy for disposal. Blake had told Carson how damaging it was to the local water quality for people to toss their unused medicines into the toilet. The medicine was not completely filtered out in the water filtration plant and ultimately ended up pumped back into the local water to be consumed by marine life. This pollution was one of the reasons dolphins were getting sick in the wild.

They packed away Lucille's personal items, took down the
curtains, rolled up the carpet. Then they tackled the most intimate items—her clothing.

Carson opened the closet door and felt her knees go weak as she caught the familiar scent that lingered on the clothes and saw the line of shirtwaist dresses in multiple colors. Carson pulled one out, in a soft blue, and brought it to her face. “It still smells like Lucille,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“Vanilla,” Dora said.

“When I think of Lucille, I always see her in one of those dresses,” added Harper. “Even when I was little, it was always the same style.”

“It was her uniform,” Dora said.

“Don't call it a uniform,” Carson warned. “Mamaw never liked that word. She didn't want Lucille to feel she had to wear one, but you know Lucille. She chose the shirtwaist because she liked it and wore it every day.”

Carson set the dress gently down on the bed. “This is going to be harder than I thought.” Her voice choked. “I'm feeling emotional these days.”

They packed the dresses, shoes, and coats of all colors neatly into boxes to give to charity. Along the top shelf of the closet, in a neat line, was a row of hatboxes. Inside each was a magnificent hat, one showier than the next.

“Oh, Lord, these bring back memories.” Dora held up a large-brimmed straw hat with bright coral-colored trim and enormous flowers. She hurried to the mirror and placed it on her head. “How do I look?”

Carson plucked the hat off Dora's had. “We should be respectful. Lucille took such pride in her hats. Wore them to church every Sunday.”

“I'm
not laughing at Lucille. She could carry it off. I'm laughing at how
I
look in it.”

“You'd look funny in any hat. You're not a hat kind of girl.”

“What's a hat kind of girl? I'll have you know I love hats. Every woman looks good in a hat if it's the right hat.”

Carson guffawed in exasperation. “I've never seen you wear a hat.”

“I wear hats all the time.”

Harper ignored the banter and instead opened another hatbox and gingerly pushed back the tissue. Slowly, reverently, she removed the magnificent hat—royal purple with a wide, sloping rim and a profusion of ribbons and feathers.

Harper remembered one Sunday in particular when she'd seen Lucille emerge from her cottage wearing a purple coat and this purple hat. Harper had been no older than ten. She'd stopped what she'd been doing to stare at the hat, completely agog. In England, showy hats and fascinators were common. Yet Harper had never seen such a hat in New York, and certainly not in the lowcountry. She'd walked over to the cottage porch to get a closer look. Lucille closed her pocketbook and, seeing the girl staring at her, tilted her head and eyed the child with suspicion.

“What you starin' at, child?”

“Your hat,” Harper replied in her quiet voice.

“What about my hat?” Lucille's hands went to it. “Is it crooked?”

“It's so beautiful. Like a queen's crown.”

Lucille smiled and preened a moment, adjusting the hat on her head. “Why, thank you, Harper. I do love this hat. Purple is my favorite color.”

“Lucille,
why do you wear such fancy hats to church?”