A Lowcountry Wedding (26 page)

Carson laughed despite herself. “I didn’t do it. She did!”

Atticus didn’t know much about dolphin interactions, but it seemed to him Carson was splitting hairs. He watched uneasily as the dolphin swam slowly past Carson’s unmoving hand projected out over the water, swam so close the dolphin’s skin glided across the hand. Atticus had to admit he was jealous. He would love to feel the dolphin’s rubbery skin against his palm, but again, this was a wild dolphin, and even he knew it wasn’t good.

Carson withdrew her hand. For a minute she stared at its emptiness. Then she tucked her arms under her head. At first the dolphin seemed piqued. She splashed the water with her rostrum and made several nasal
eh eh eh
calls. Then the dolphin made a shallow dive to push a wave of water with her tail directly at the board. Carson leaned back against the deluge and laughed, coughing with surprise.

“Delphine is pitching a hissy fit!” she called to Atticus.

“She sure is. But you know what’s best for her.”

Carson stared at him, hard. Then she nodded in agreement. Slowly, she rose to her feet. A slump-shouldered surrender was in her movements. It was, he knew, a moment of reckoning for her.

She looked at Delphine. “Go on and join your friend.” Carson stretched out her arm and pointed to the harbor. “Go on now. Go feed your baby.”

Delphine flipped water into the air with her rostrum.

Carson pointed again and said more firmly, “Go.”

Delphine backed away in the water, then dove, disappearing in the depths. Carson and Atticus scanned the still water. A few minutes later they spotted Delphine much farther off, swimming with speed toward the second dolphin.

“We should get back,” Carson called to him. “Make good our escape. I don’t want Delphine to follow me back to the dock.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Once again Atticus put his back to the work, stroking hard to gain speed against the current. He was out of shape, he realized with chagrin. Sweat formed at his brow but he didn’t slow down. They both knew that Delphine could effortlessly cross this distance in no time at all.

By the time they reached Sea Breeze and climbed onto the lower dock, he was sweating inside his wet suit. He wasn’t too proud to admit he was glad to see that Carson was winded, too. He helped her pull the eleven-foot boards from the water and carried both of them to the upper dock. They set them in a safe spot, then grabbed towels. Carson’s long braid fell over her shoulder as she bent to unzip the wet-suit jacket. She dried her face, then let the towel drop to a bench.

“So, tell me about what happened to Delphine,” Atticus said, drying his head with the towel. “How she got those scars.”

Carson turned to look out over the Cove for a moment before she said, “That dolphin saved my life. I was surfing and that girl T-boned a shark that was after me. Delphine saved me from a shark attack. I’d heard of things like that happening, but it suddenly became real for me.” Carson’s voice revealed her affection for the dolphin. “Later, she recognized me out here in the Cove while I was paddleboarding. She’s that kind of smart.
We bonded.” Carson raised her hand over her eyes. “Oh, Atticus, I did everything wrong. I named her, fed her at the dock, swam with her. I had fun—but Delphine suffered the consequences. There was a huge accident last summer. Delphine got caught in fishing lines. It was awful.”

“That’s how she got the scars?”

Carson nodded, her face bleak at the memory. “Yeah. Blake flew her to Florida for rehabilitation. He saved her life. Anyway, that explains the scars you saw. Blake and I nearly broke up over it. He was so angry at me. Disappointed. Rightfully so.”

“Is that why you didn’t want him to know about you coming out to see her?”

“No. I wanted to see Delphine again for the first time without Blake watching. I needed to know if I was strong enough to do the right thing.” She laughed harshly. “I didn’t quite make it, did I?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I think you did.”

“Do you think I broke my word to Blake?”

“That’s between you and Blake. What I think doesn’t matter.”

“Why should I tell him?” She looked away. “What would I gain? I don’t want trouble between us. I know what I have to do now and that I’m strong enough to do it.”

“So why not tell him that?”

She looked at Atticus. “Haven’t you ever kept a small secret to yourself? For the good of someone you loved?”

Atticus blanched and looked out over the water. In keeping his own secret, he felt like a hypocrite. “Many times,” he confessed. “To my mother, mostly. When I was in high school I lied to her whenever I went out drinking with friends and I told her I was out studying. Or the times I told her I didn’t know what
happened to missing bottles of alcohol.” He laughed without humor. “Once I replaced her bottle of gin with water. She found out during a party when she served very weak martinis.”

Carson laughed. “You did not.”

“I did.” His smiled faded. “And those were the easy lies. The later ones were harder. More serious. Though at the time I blew them off. Trips to the police station for underage drinking. A few fender benders. My father bailed me out, punished me. We decided to keep the truth from her. For her sake.”

“That was wrong.”

Atticus looked into Carson’s blue eyes and saw the truth in her statement. “Yeah.” He looked down, feeling shame burn his cheeks. “It was. I see that now.” He paused. “Lies are never a good idea. Trust me.” He looked at her. “Trust him.”

Carson listened. She held Atticus’s gaze a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

After Atticus left, Carson headed back down the dock to collect the boards. As she walked back, from the corner of her eye she saw a movement at Girard Bellows’s house. She stopped short to peer at the house next door. Someone was coming out from the house. No, two people.

She could hear voices now, not loud enough to understand the words. But she recognized one of the voices as Mamaw’s. Carson raced off the dock, set the boards on the ground, and hid behind the wide fans of a sago palm. Stealthily, Carson peered out from her hiding spot and saw Mamaw and Girard walk out on the patio carrying plates and mugs. Mamaw was wearing her blue bathrobe.

Carson let the palm fan go. It snapped back with a noisy rustle. She turned and walked back up the slope to the deck stairs, one foot in front of the other, her mind in a quandary. It was one thing to see a friend—a contemporary—sleeping at her boyfriend’s house. No big deal. But one’s grandmother?

At the door of the kitchen, Carson turned to look out once more toward Girard’s house. The man they used to call Old Man Bellows until Mamaw made them stop. From here on the porch she couldn’t see anything behind the carefully landscaped border of shrubs that was planted just to block the view.

“I guess someone else is keeping a little secret,” she muttered to herself. Then she released a short laugh. She couldn’t wait to tell her sisters.

I realize you may perceive contractual agreements to be unromantic, but they work as intended. For individuals with wealth, a prenuptial agreement is necessary.

H
arper carried a breakfast tray to Granny James’s room. She looked in the hall mirror and caught a glimpse of a young woman in tan linen ankle pants and a matching cotton sweater over which was a pink, ruffled apron. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Outwardly, she appeared to be the same twenty-nine-year-old woman she saw every morning. But Harper knew she wasn’t. A miracle was happening inside her. A new life. Harper realized that she was looking at a soon-to-be mother.

Grinning, she tapped the door with her foot.

“Come in!”

Harper angled herself so her hand could twist the door handle without spilling the tea. Inside, the drapes were closed, leaving the room half-dark. Only the bedside lamp was on, casting
a warm circle of light over the French-styled bed on which Granny James sat, supported by many pillows. She wore a floral bed jacket trimmed with lace and tied up with long, slim pink ribbons. Harper recognized the old-fashioned jacket as what her grandmother wore on what she called her “mending days.” Those days she spent entirely in bed to read, sleep, watch television, and generally rest up. In her lap lay a small electronic pad.

Granny James looked up to peer at Harper over her reading glasses. “Goodness, darling. All this fuss over me. How silly! Put that tray down, put your feet up. We could use a good chin-wag.”

Harper, brimming with anticipation for a long overdue catch-up with her grandmother, obligingly placed the tray on Granny’s mattress. After Harper poured tea, they kissed, touching cheeks. Granny looked more rested this morning. Less pale and drawn. She must’ve been awake for some time. Her face was washed and creamed and she smelled of scent. Even her hair was in place.

Harper pulled a velvet-covered lady’s chair from the corner and scooted it closer to the bed. The lovely room had recently been redecorated by Mamaw especially for Dora. Done in the French style, it had wallpaper with broad pink and white stripes, ornate French furniture, and a creamy Aubusson rug that Mamaw had pulled out of storage. The room was delightfully feminine.

“There’s Darjeeling tea steeped in water brought to a roiling boil for five minutes. Crumpets, butter and jam, honey—from my own bees, I might add—and a slice of melon. Nothing fancy, but to your liking I hope.”

“A feast. You’re an angel.” Granny James picked up the cup
and sipped. “If I were a cat, I’d purr” was her verdict. “It takes a Brit to know how to make a proper cuppa tea.”

“I’m a lowcountry girl now,” Harper quipped as she reached for the cup she’d brought for herself on the tray, for she enjoyed a sip of the dark brew.

Granny James sipped again, then set her cup on the tray. “You, my dear, have English history in your blood that is traced back farther than the reign of Charlemagne. Your family is in
Debrett’s
. Speaking of which, look on the bureau. I’ve a gift for you.”

Harper rose and went directly to the charming painted bureau. Lying beside Mamaw’s jewelry case was a wrapped parcel. She lifted it. “This one?”

“Yes. Bring it here.”

Harper did so and settled in the chair once again. Carefully she undid the pretty floral wrapping paper. Inside was a copy of
Debrett’s Wedding Guide
. Granny James had given her the
Debrett’s Handbook
, a weighty tome of advice with a beautiful red-and-gold embossed front, as a gift when she graduated from high school.

Harper gasped in excitement. “Oh, it’s perfect. Thank you, Granny. I’ve been reading Mamaw’s Emily Post guide to etiquette—but I know how much this will come in handy,” she hastened to add, not wanting to offend her other grandmother. Harper knew how competitive the two old biddies could be.

As Harper suspected, Granny James’s eyes narrowed and she sniffed haughtily. “That’s all very nice. But
Debrett’s
is the only wedding guide for British brides. Why, it’s the British etiquette bible! Guiding brides since the eighteenth century. You’ll find you won’t be able to make a decision without it.”

“But we’re having a beach wedding. That’s a far cry from an at-home wedding at Greenfields Park. I should think we must relax the rules and protocol a bit.”

“We might be personalizing the wedding by having it at the beach,” Granny James said archly, “but we will still maintain a proper degree of formality. We’re not having a luau, silly girl. No matter where the wedding is held we must apply the rules properly.”

A thought crossed Harper’s mind. “What does it say in your book about a pregnant bride?”

Granny James’s face softened as she looked at Harper’s belly. “Oh, Harper, I cannot tell you how much this baby means to me. To your family! To think, the James name will continue with this child.”

“The James McClellan name.”

“Will you hyphenate your name?”

Harper shook her head. “No. But he or she will have James as their middle name.”

“Yes, I suppose that is the way of things. I do hope you’ll have more than one. At least one boy. There seems to be a run of girls in the Muir family.”