The Summer's End (38 page)

“Imogene.” Granny James accepted the hand with a stiff smile. “I do hope I'm not imposing. I had reservations at a very nice hotel but Harper insisted.”

“Of course. You're family, after all. Harper has told us so much about you. These are my other granddaughters.” Mamaw stepped aside and gestured. “Dora, the eldest. And Carson. Harper's sisters.”

The sisters stepped forward with southern hospitality, smiling and warmly shaking Granny James's extended hand.

“You're all half sisters, isn't that right?”

Mamaw raised her brow. Harper knew she despised the term
half sister.
“Yes. My son, Parker, is their father.”

“Yes, but they have different mothers—all three?”

Mamaw bristled at the implied criticism. Dora and Carson exchanged a wary glance.

“That's right.” Mamaw's pithy tone went tit-for-tat. “But we don't refer to them as half sisters. It's the parents who gave up halfway. My girls never give up.” Mamaw smiled warmly at each of the three young women. “Sisters are sisters.
My
summer girls,” she added territorially. She lifted her chin with the air of someone who had just won the first round. “Let's go indoors. It's a bit hot out here.”

The house smelled of lemon polish and soap, testament to the preparations they'd
made for this visit. The mood was formal as the three women each found a seat on the antique furniture in the living room. The pale blue grass-cloth paper on the walls, the delicate side tables, and gilt-framed paintings, mostly of scenes of the lowcountry, made for an elegant yet still beachy room that Harper was proud of.

“Early-American furniture?” Granny James's eyes swept over the highboy. “Eighteenth-century, I suppose?”

“Yes.” Mamaw's eyes brightened. She loved to talk furniture. “That highboy is Chippendale. When my husband, Edward, retired, we moved from our house in Charleston to the island. It broke my heart to deaccess so much of my furniture. I only kept the family pieces, and even of those I selected only my favorites for this house. I keep the rest in storage off island. Away from hurricanes.”

Granny James sniffed as though smelling mold. “Yes, keeping furniture would be a worry living on an island. With all this humidity and sun. Good furniture, that is. Our family heirlooms date back much earlier, of course. Was it difficult giving up your home in Charleston to move to this . . . quaint little island?”

Mamaw sat straighter and smiled stiffly. “Quaint, perhaps, but utterly perfect for our needs. We were ready to downsize from our large house at his retirement. Edward and I loved this house and the island. This is a family house. We spent our summers here, you see.” Her gaze fell on Harper. “With the girls.” Mamaw's face grew solemn. “What proved difficult was Edward's passing after only a year.”

“You've lived here alone? All those years?”

“Yes. With Lucille. My maid and companion. Lucille passed
this summer, sadly. And now that I've reached the ripe old age of eighty, I'm afraid, even though I love it, the house is proving to be too much.”

“Too big? Really? Why, it's a very sweet house. Cozy. I should think it'd be perfect.”

Mamaw drew herself up. “You have no idea of the maintenance a house of any size demands on an island.”

Granny James was listening intently. “I heard you were selling Sea Breeze.”

Mamaw's expression shifted to curiosity at the comment as Dora and Carson bustled into the room carrying trays of tea and cookies. The scent of Darjeeling, which Harper had informed them was Granny's favorite, filled the air as Dora poured.

Harper was relieved to see her grandmother accept the tea with relish. She shifted on the silk sofa, her teacup balanced expertly in her hands, and sipped.

Granny James made a face. “Oh, this tea isn't hot. Did you steep the tea in the harbor, like the colonists?” She laughed as though it were a joke, but set her cup and saucer on the table and coupled her hands stiffly in her lap.

Harper cringed. Mamaw's face was granite. Carson and Dora silently simmered. It was getting warmer in here, Harper thought. Though the air conditioner was on, Mamaw never kept the house cooler than seventy-two. Mamaw was wearing her usual linen tunic, this one a pale blue that brought out the brilliant blue of her eyes. Dora looked cool in a Lily Pulitzer sundress, as did Carson in her long white caftan. Harper wore her green sundress and pearls. In contrast, Granny James appeared to be sweltering in her dark suit, but Harper knew her
grandmother would expire before she would remove her jacket.

Mamaw was launching into the plans she'd made for Granny James's visit. Trips to Charleston to tour the old houses, perhaps a stop at the plantation houses. Harper saw her grandmother's face grow still and her eyes glaze.

“You might wish to freshen up,” Mamaw continued. “We've prepared a lovely dinner. We serve at six.”

Granny James slowly rose to her feet, dragging her enormous purse with her. “I'm afraid I won't be joining you for dinner. I'm very tired. Jet lag and all. If you don't mind, I'd very much like to retire to my room.” She sighed. “Or cottage.”

Mamaw's smile slipped. But she rallied and pulled her smile back into place as she rose to a stand. “Why, of course. You must be exhausted from your long journey. It's not like the old days before the airlines cut costs and provided a good meal and special accommodations for the elderly. And you do look warm. We don't wear dark colors on the island.” She looked to Harper. “Be a dear and see your grandmother to the cottage and help her feel at home. There's a small kitchen there,” Mamaw explained to Granny James. “We stocked it with cereal and tea and nibbles. In case you get hungry later. But do let us know if you need anything.”

Mamaw clasped her hands in front of her, her duty as hostess complete.

Granny James slipped off her navy-blue jacket the moment she entered the cottage, then reached up to pat her hair. Draping the
jacket over the nubby white sofa, she walked around the sparsely furnished, freshly painted white room, taking in the brilliant Jonathan Green painting on the wall, the raffia-covered coffee table, the sea-grass rugs, and the long white cotton curtains at the windows. Harper followed her into the bedroom. Harper had left the windows open and the pale blue linen curtains ruffled on a breeze. Here, too, the walls were white and the linens a matching pale blue.

“I feel like I'm in Santorini,” Granny James said with a slight smile.

“That's what I was hoping you'd feel.”

Granny James stretched out her arms and, bending over, tested out the mattress.

“Brand-new,” Harper assured her. “Everything is new. This was Lucille's cottage. We stripped it and freshened it up. You're the first guest.”

“I should hope so. I understand the woman died in here.”

Harper sighed. “Mamaw's tried very hard to make you feel comfortable. Sea Breeze is very dear to her.”

“Yes, she seems a proud person.” Granny took off her sapphire earrings. “With very little to be proud about.”

Harper shook her head. “I'll get your suitcase.”

When she returned to the bedroom, her grandmother had slipped off her shoes and was standing at the window, staring out. Without the boxy jacket, in her knit shell, Harper saw that her grandmother had kept her slim, curvaceous figure.

“Not Santorini,” Granny James said wistfully. “This cottage takes me back to Cornwall. My family had a cottage there once, overlooking the sea. A cottage very much like this one.” She sighed. “I was very young. I loved it there.”

Harper dragged the large black suitcase to the center of the room. “You brought enough for a long stay.”

Granny turned from the window. “I didn't know what to pack. I planned for every contingency.”

“A swimsuit and shorts would have been enough for Sea Breeze.”

“Yes, I see that now.” Granny walked to the bed and sat down, sinking into the down coverlet. “Harper, dear. Please sit down.”

Harper went to sit in the small antique lady's chair beside the bed.

“This engagement of yours”—Granny James got right to the point—“it feels rushed. I've not yet met the man. Or his family.”

“I know it seems like that. It all happened so fast.” Harper laughed. “We're kind of in shock ourselves. But it just felt right.”

“But marriage, Harper . . . it's too important a decision not to take seriously.”

“Granny James”—Harper sat straighter—“we're not rushing into marriage. We haven't even set a date. I have to find a job, a place to live. Taylor is just beginning his new job. We both know that we have a lot to get settled before we get married.” She looked into Granny's eyes. “I assure you, we are taking it seriously.”

Granny James studied Harper's face, considering, then sighed. “Very well. That's enough for tonight. We can talk more tomorrow. Just you and I.” Granny put her hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn. “I'm completely knackered. And”—she dropped her hand—“I have no intention of being a tourist.”

Summarily dismissed, Harper went to her grandmother and chastely kissed her cheek. Even under the best of circumstances,
Granny James rarely gave out kisses or hugs. Unlike Mamaw, who made stepping into her arms so easy.

“Good night.” Granny James's face softened and she let her hand linger on Harper's arm. “It really is good to see you again, my dear. I've missed you.”

Harper smiled at the tender expression. “I've missed you, too. Good night.”

She closed the door behind her when she left.

H
arper woke the next morning and hurried to the kitchen to prepare Granny James's breakfast. She was stirring a pot on the stove when Mamaw walked in, breezy and sweet scented in a tangerine top and khaki pants.

“Smells good. What is it you're cooking?” She looked in the pot. “Grits?”

“I thought Granny would enjoy it. Being a southern dish and all.”

“How long does Imogene intend to sleep, do you think?” Mamaw asked, her disapproval thinly veiled. She laid out on a tray her usual morning meal of coffee thick with cream, a biscuit, and cut fruit.

“She's usually an early riser,” Harper replied somewhat defensively. “England is five hours ahead of us, so she went to bed last night at what was past midnight for her. Plus, I think she's
been very worried about me. Probably hasn't slept well for days.”

“That might excuse her rude retreat last night.”

Harper rolled her eyes.

“Whatever was she worried about?”

Harper twisted her lips. “My mother called her and filled her head with stories about how I was running off to get married.”

Mamaw made a soft harrumph. “I thought as much. And I assume Georgiana told her, with relish, that you'd wanted to buy Sea Breeze?”

“Yes. Afraid so.”

“Horrible woman. So now your grandmother is here to rescue you, I suppose?” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

Harper kept her eyes on the melon she was slicing into small pieces.

“I wonder if she'll be up for a tour of Charleston today?”

“No,” Harper answered quickly. “I mean, let's give her a day or so to relax. Remember, you always say it takes three days to acclimate to island time.”

Mamaw stilled her hands and asked, concerned, “How long does she intend to stay?”

Harper shrugged. “I don't know. A few days, at least.”

“I've heard of European visitors staying for months. Fish and visitors . . .”

“Oh, I shouldn't think it will be long.” Harper stirred the pot faster, thinking of Granny's enormous suitcase filled with clothes. “After all, we won't be here ourselves in a month.”

Mamaw looked at her tray. “I suppose not,” she said flatly.

Harper didn't
want to dwell on the unpleasant inevitable. “I'd better make up a tray for Granny. Go check on her.”