The Summer's End (48 page)

Granny James looked into Harper's eyes with sincerity. “Georgiana does love you, as difficult as it might be to believe sometimes.”

“I don't think she'll ever forgive me for buying Sea Breeze. Or you, for that matter.”

Granny James released a short laugh. “Of course she will. Who else does she have to call and natter?”

“Or that I've written a novel.
Do you think I should send it to her? Along with my wedding invitation?”

Granny James feigned a scolding glance. “One at a time, darling. Rome wasn't built in a day.” She leaned forward to place a kiss on Harper's cheek. “I'll call her. Explain how things are. I'm her mother. I still hold some sway. Even over Georgiana.”

“I'll miss you, Granny James.”

“And I you.” She cast a final sweeping gaze around the property. “And I shall miss Sea Breeze.”

“Come back soon.”

“I intend to!” Granny James said with her usual spirit. “With that strapping young man you're going to marry, I expect there will be great-grandbabies coming.”

“Granny . . .” Harper laughed.

“I'm serious! I'm not getting any younger.” She clapped her hands. “Chop chop!”

The following morning Harper rose from her bed and tiptoed to the sliding door that divided her room from Mamaw's. The door rattled along the frame as she pushed it open.

Mamaw was wide-awake, propped up against pillows in her enormous four-poster bed. “There you are! I was just thinking of you.”

Harper felt a flutter of happiness as she scurried across the room to join her grandmother in the four-poster. Soon she was leaning against the pillows beside Mamaw. She kicked her legs under the blanket, stretching them out. This was the second time in as many weeks they'd had a private tête-à-tête. She hoped there would be many more.

Harper closed her eyes and was enveloped in a scent of exotic woods and spices, slightly oriental. “Mmm,” she sighed. “I love your perfume. I always think of this as your scent. I tried it on me.” She scrunched her nose. “It didn't smell at all good. It smells yummy on Carson.” She sighed. “Of course.”

Mamaw laughed. “Why
of course
?”

“Because she's so much like you. She's tall, beautiful . . .”

“You're every bit as beautiful. You have your own unique beauty. As does Dora. It's rather like perfume, you see. Each of you has your own distinct scent. Quality perfumes never compete.”

“I don't have my own scent.”

“Then let's find you one. I should think”—Mamaw tapped her cheek—“you would do well with Joy. Another French perfume,
very
good. It's sweeter, more floral, but with very deep base notes. And very fussy about who can wear it.”

Harper's thoughts moved back to Carson. “She's really going to Los Angeles?”

“Yes,” Mamaw said brightly without a hint of worry. “She's moving forward. This is a good thing, Harper. She has to see this cycle through. To come full circle. As you did.”

“Me?” Harper asked, surprised by the comment.

“Yes. You found yourself this summer. You've written a book!”

“I have,” Harper said with self-satisfaction.

“What are your plans for it?”

“First I'm going to get an agent. I know several good ones that I like very much. I'm sure they'll at least give it a read. And, hopefully, it will sell.”

“Oh, it will,” Mamaw said with certainty. “It's very good.”

“You're
my grandmother. Of course you love it.”

“Not true! I wasn't a fan of your father's book. I suppose you think that's wicked for his mother to say?”

Harper shook her head. “No. Just an honest critique.”

“Your book is wonderful. It will sell. You'll see. I'm never wrong about such things. And Dora is well on her way. I like Devlin. He's ever so much better than Calhoun Tucker. That man's not worth the salt in his bread.”

“And Carson?”

Mamaw thought for a moment. “Carson will do just fine.”

“Will she come back?”

“I hope so,” Mamaw said pensively. Then she smiled. “I believe so. This is her home.”

“And it's yours.” Harper turned her head to look at Mamaw against the pillows. “It will always be yours. My buying Sea Breeze changes nothing.”

“Why, it changes everything! This will be a family house again, with young children running through the rooms, as it was meant to be. It's time for the old to move on. To make way for the young.”

Harper sat up on the bed to face Mamaw. This was too important for idle chatter. “You're not leaving Sea Breeze,” she said firmly. “This is your home.”

“I appreciate you saying that, but I really should give you and Taylor your space. You don't want an old woman hanging around.”

“Don't be silly. Of course we do. Mamaw, you
are
Sea Breeze. Don't you know that?”

Mamaw's eyes moistened and her lips trembled with emotion. She looked at her hands in her lap. The large mine-cut
diamond that had been her engagement ring shone against her pale skin. “I've made plans. . . .”

“Change them. Aren't you the one that's always telling us to welcome change? You only planned to move because you couldn't maintain Sea Breeze any longer. You don't have to. I'm here. And after we're married, Taylor will live here. Sea Breeze is in good hands. You have nothing to worry about any longer. Stay here, Mamaw. With us. Where you belong.”

Her eyes were as bright as a bird's. “If I did, I can't stay in this room. It's the master bedroom. Where you and your husband should sleep.”

“It will always be your room.”

Mamaw shook her head firmly. “No. Not any longer. I would feel uncomfortable in here, especially after you're married. And”—a gleam of amusement brightened her blue eyes—“I've always thought your room would make the best nursery.”

Harper smiled at the thought. A nursery . . . “But, Mamaw—”

“No argument about this. I'm quite firm. But . . .”

Harper leaned forward.

“Since you want me to stay, I confess, I would be very happy to. To stay at Sea Breeze would be such a comfort.” A glint of coquettishness sparked in Mamaw's eyes. “And it would keep me close to Girard.”

“Mamaw . . .”

“Perhaps I can suggest a compromise. I could move into the cottage.”

Harper hadn't considered this possibility. In her mind, Mamaw was always ensconced in the main house. Her house. The cottage had belonged to Lucille, and Harper had assumed she
would keep using it for visitors. Yet, she thought, that arrangement had a certain serendipity.

“Are you sure? I don't want you to feel you have to move out of the house.”

“Quite sure. I've always doted on that cottage. Living there, I will have some degree of privacy. As will you.”

“We will be nearby. And you'll join us for dinners.”

“Some dinners,” Mamaw replied sagely. She smiled, and her expression was contemplative.

“Then it's settled.”

“If you insist.” Mamaw smiled. “Now”—she clapped her hands together—“I have something I want to give you.” She looked down at her hands. “I know that you love this ring.” She indicated the diamond on her hand. “It's been in the family for generations. It's believed to be the ring that the Gentleman Pirate, your ancestor, gave to Claire. It's as pure a diamond as you'll ever find. Flawless.” She smiled warmly at Harper. “Like you.”

Mamaw slipped the ring from her finger. “Back when I'd asked all you girls to choose something you loved from Sea Breeze, I recall that this was all you wanted. As you don't have an engagement ring . . . here.” She placed the ring in Harper's palm. “I want you to have it.”

Harper gasped. “I couldn't. I have Sea Breeze.”

“You saved Sea Breeze for all of us.”

“It wouldn't be fair to the others.”

“For once, Harper, think of yourself.” Mamaw slipped the ring onto Harper's bare finger. The faceted diamond sparkled in the morning light.

“Do you like it?”

Harper gazed at her hand. “Oh, yes.”

“Then it's yours, dear girl. With my love.”

“Thank you.” Harper almost squealed, flopping back against the pillows and staring at the ring on her hand with glee.

Mamaw sat back against the pillows and said with satisfaction, “No thanks necessary. Imogene and I had already discussed this.”

Harper made a face and turned her head on the pillow to look at Mamaw. “Granny James will be cheesed off that you're moving into the cottage. She loves that cottage. She'll fight you for it.”

Mamaw's laugh was a pure thing, as full of light and mystery as the prisms of color dancing on the walls from the diamond. “I'm counting on it!”

C
arson's bags were by the front door. Beside them sat a few more boxes of Dora's belongings, ready to be carted off to her new house. It was a time of leave-takings. But tonight the women of Sea Breeze were having a farewell dinner. No boys allowed.

Mamaw strolled through the house, flicking on lights, watching the golden light spill out onto the polished floors and cast shadows on the walls. In her mind she heard the voices of the past. So many years spent in this dear house. So many memories. She meandered through the rooms, letting her fingers glide over furniture, her gaze catching a favorite painting, lampshade, figurine, as she made her way to the back porch.

She expected to find the girls sitting on the black wicker chairs, sipping drinks and chatting like magpies. They never seemed to have a shortage of things to talk about, she thought with a chuckle. Stepping out on the porch, she paused, hand on the door.
Candles were glowing on the table but no one was there. Now where did they get off to?

The sound of high-pitched laughter caught her attention. Looking past the porch down to the dock, she spied the shadowy figures of three women clustered there. Laughing and talking, free as you please. Smiling, Mamaw moved to stand at the edge of the porch to watch them.

Her summer girls, she thought, her chest expanding.

Little did they know that she'd been watching them carefully all summer, as she had every summer since they were young girls. This summer especially. She watched as the women ventured out to the lower deck and slid their coltish legs into the water. Mamaw didn't know what they talked about. She didn't need to. It was enough for her to know that they shared their problems and struggles, their hopes and dreams, with each other, together under the southern stars.

Ah, girls, she thought, bringing her hand to her face. Could they ever possibly know how the sound of their laughter brought her such joy?

She used to think of her summer girls on the beach, holding hands together as they ran into the surf. Now when she thought of them together, she'd always think of them sitting on the dock, shoulder to shoulder, staring out at the Cove. As they were tonight.

Mamaw felt her heart expand to take in the panorama of another glorious sunset. Were there sunsets better anywhere else in the world? she wondered. She didn't think so. A sunset in the lowcountry was moody and sultry. The reds tinged the sky like blood after the day's battle. The golds were transcendent, settling over the horizon like hems of the angels. Some said the colors were
surreal because of the gas from the detritus in the marshes. Mamaw didn't believe that. Each time she saw one, she felt it was a gift from God to his favorite children. Those he blessed to live in this paradise. The sight had the power to fill her entire soul with shimmering light and fill her with hope.

As the sky deepened, the creek wound its way through the shadowy cordgrass like a translucent snake, sleek and seductive, and full of mystery. She sniffed the air, stirred by the pungent scent of salt, fish, and that mineral-tinged, soul-sucking pluff mud.