A Lowcountry Wedding (28 page)

“What did she say?” asked Granny James in a low voice.

Harper swiftly wiped away a tear from her cheek. “Must we discuss it?”

“Yes, dear, I think we must. Tell me what she said.”

Granny was no stranger to Georgiana’s ability to cut a person off at the knees. Granny had been there for Harper for all of her life to listen, to console, to reassure her that she was loved.

“Well, first she congratulated me on the baby.”

“That’s something.”

Harper laughed derisively. “Then she proceeded to tell me to sell this backwoods house and move to Greenfields Park. She was quite clear it was my responsibility. Even my destiny. I suppose to fulfill her own sense of duty.”

“Oh, this is such a mess. I never expected Georgiana or you to take the reins at Greenfields Park. I’d hoped, of course. But, Harper,” Granny James said with annoyance, “we’ve been through all this long ago and made our peace. You live here at Sea Breeze and I think you’ve made the right decision because you love it here.” Granny smiled a watery smile. “And so do I. Most of all, you’re happy.”

“Why can’t my mother understand that?”

“Oh, Harper, I wish I knew. There’s something missing in that woman.”

“I know. A heart.”

Granny James looked at her hands with pinched lips.

“But what about Greenfields Park?” Tears flooded Harper’s eyes. “Did I let you and Papa Jeffrey down? I’d feel horrid if I did.”

Granny James reached out to take Harper’s hand and pull her close against her chest. “Dear girl, no! Not at all.”

Harper leaned back and wiped her eyes, sniffing. “But what will happen to it?”

“I don’t know where to begin.” Granny James moved the breakfast tray away and pushed back to sit higher against her pillows. Once settled, she placed her hands on her thighs. “It’s time I tell you, dear. I’ve sold Greenfields Park.”

“
Sold
it?” Harper was shocked. Greenfields Park was a large estate, a historic manor house filled with antiques, portraits.

“But you knew it was meant to be sold.”

“Y-yes,” Harper stammered. “But so quickly?”

“Not so very quickly, actually. You see, I’ve known for some time I might have to sell it. What with your grandfather’s Alzheimer’s. Georgiana made it very clear she was staying in New York. So I waited for you to decide whether you’d come back to take over the estate. I hoped you would, of course. No guilt,” she said, pointing at Harper when she saw the desolate expression on Harper’s face. “You’re entitled to make your own decisions.” Granny James’s fingers creased the edge of her sheets. “But once you decided to stay at Sea Breeze, I was free to act on, frankly, several offers that had been floating around for some time. Greenfields Park is quite the plum, you know. There are very few estates like it available.” Harper heard the pride in her grandmother’s voice.

“I’m not surprised it sold, Granny, only how fast. I’m kind of in shock, to be honest. I didn’t get the chance to go back for a last look-see. A farewell. I had some very happy days there. I would have liked to show Taylor the property.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for all that. It’s going to take me a while to settle everything and parcel out all of the treasures inside. There are so many decisions to be made, not only by
me, but by you and Georgiana.” Granny delivered a firm look. “I want to keep the important family pieces, of course. You’ll have to come soon to choose what other pieces you want. Then I’ll pass some on to nieces and nephews. The nonfamily pieces I’m selling with the house. A sheikh from Saudi Arabia bought the place and wants everything possible included. Can you imagine?”

Harper could very well imagine. The collection of furniture was not only rare but had taken her grandmother a lifetime to amass. “Don’t be taken over a barrel. Some of your pieces are priceless.”

Granny James delivered a withering look. “Really, Harper. Do you think I don’t know my business?”

Harper smiled, her eyes filled with amusement. Imogene James was never one to be swindled. Harper suddenly felt pity for the sheikh.

“What about Papa Jeffrey?”

Granny James scoffed. “He doesn’t remember me, much less the house.”

Harper faltered at the raw emotion in her words. “Is . . . is he settling into the new home?”

Granny James grew pensive, the sad look in her eyes returning. “Yes, dear, as well as can be expected. He is not the same person he once was. The home has become his new world. The people who care for him. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

Harper was alert to the catch in Granny James’s voice. “You’ve done all you could. For such a long time. No one could have been more attentive. More loving.”

“I did try my best.”

Harper steered the conversation back to the estate, wanting
to distract Granny James. “What will you do now that the house is sold? Where will you go?”

It was Granny’s turn to falter. “Well, I was rather hoping I could spend some of my time here.”

“At Sea Breeze?”

“Yes, at Sea Breeze. You’re my family. And now with a baby coming, I’d like to be closer. Oh, don’t look alarmed,” Granny said with a nervous laugh. “I’d only be here for a few months at a time. I will still spend summers in the Hamptons with Georgiana. And I can stay at her condominium in New York, as well. We get along well enough. She works all day and spends evenings out, after all. And, she is my daughter. Plus I want to travel. So I wouldn’t be underfoot.”

Granny James paused and let her gaze float about the room. “But I’d like for this to be my base. I’ve become quite fond of the lowcountry. Sea Breeze in particular. There’s an aura about this place that’s quite seductive. And of course,
you’re
here.”

Harper listened, processing Granny James’s response but not quite ready to offer up an answer. She needed to mull it over and consult with Taylor first. Sea Breeze was a big old bear of a house—there had to be a space for Granny James that would satisfy them all.

Granny James grew aware of Harper’s hesitation, and suddenly her tone became more urgent. “You understand now why I was so disappointed to find Marietta in my cottage. I’d thought it would be the perfect arrangement. Me in the cottage, giving you and Taylor your space, out of the way and all that.”

“Mamaw had the same idea.”

“Right,” Granny James said with annoyance. “And she beat me to the punch, as they say.”

Harper sighed and leaned back on her arms.

Granny James adjusted the ribbons of her bed jacket. “We don’t need to decide anything now. Don’t give it another thought. We’ve a wedding to plan, after all. Lists to make.”

“Granny James . . .”

“Don’t we have an appointment at the bridal shop this afternoon? I must get up and dressed.”

“Granny—”

“No!” She put her hand up. Tears flashed in her eyes. “No more talk.”

The tears in her grandmother’s eyes frightened Harper more than anything she’d said. Granny James was the bulwark never faltering in the family. The rock upon which every ship rested upon for safe harbor. To see her crumbling now shook Harper to her very foundation.

“Off you go, dearest. But do have that conversation with Taylor about the prenup. Now you understand why time is of the essence. I’ll take care of the legalities, don’t you worry. You have enough to think about now.”

Harper left to go to her own room. She was grateful that Taylor was at work and she was alone. There she closed the door, curled up on the bed, and had a good cry.

Isn’t that what a wedding is all about? The gathering of family. The sharing of stories. The linking of arms. For better or for worse.

C
arson was sitting at the kitchen table, her laptop open, an empty bowl of cereal beside it and a half-finished cup of coffee at her fingertips. She was doing her usual morning routine of reading the
Charleston Post and Courier
and checking e-mails. The sky was gray and heavy with thin, dark clouds so she’d decided not to go to the ocean and had instead lingered over a second cup of coffee. She jumped when her cell phone rang.

She checked the time: 6:46 a.m. Who would be calling her so early? she wondered as she answered.

“Hello, this is the Isle of Palms police station. Is this Carson Muir?”

Carson stiffened. “Yes.”

“We had a report of a dead dolphin on Isle of Palms. Or at
least they think it’s dead. Between Third and Fourth Avenues. Can you take that?”

She climbed to her feet, her blood racing. “Yes, of course. Right away. Thanks.”

Carson put the phone in her pocket and took a second to collect her thoughts. She had only just completed the one-day workshop. This was her first call. Without delay she hurried to her room, tugged a T-shirt on, and slipped into cutoff jeans, buttoning them as she scoured the floor for her sandals. Slipping into them, she grabbed the backpack that she’d prepared and headed for the door. Carson had spent a lifetime racing to the ocean to catch the dawn. Mamaw used to tell her she dressed faster than a nun late for mass.

Outside, she caught her first whiff of the new day. The air was moist and cool, with a hint of the warmth that would come later. A good omen, she thought as she hurried to her car. Another positive sign was that no car was blocking her in this morning. The Blue Bomber was a baby-blue convertible with sexy tail fins. She was a beauty, old but in good condition, and the best gift Mamaw had ever given her. Sliding into the white leather seat, Carson fired the powerful engine and was on her way.

Carson breathed in the ocean’s breeze when she stepped out onto the beach. The sea was gray like the sky, and just a few people were on the beach, most no doubt kept away by the weather as Carson had been. One woman walked her small dog on a leash. Carson’s eye was drawn to where two other women stood shoulder to shoulder near the shoreline, looking down at something on the beach. One bent and reached out to touch something. Cursing under her breath, Carson took off on
a trot. Part of her job was to keep the public from touching the carcass. As she drew close to the women, her gaze shifted to the sand. There lay a small, pristine dolphin. Her heart lurched at seeing it.

The women turned to look at her with skepticism. They clearly felt in charge. They were middle-aged with soft bodies and reddish dyed hair tucked in hats that matched the pastel colors of their nylon jackets. Even behind their sunglasses Carson could tell they were checking her out.

“It’s a dead dolphin,” the woman in the pink nylon jacket told her with authority.

“So it seems.” Carson slipped off her backpack and dropped it on the sand, then knelt beside the tiny dolphin, hoping she was wrong. In truth, it didn’t look dead. It was a neonate, likely just born, still with its folded dorsal fin and faint neonate stripes. It was perfect, not a bite nor a mark on it. Just a sweet baby with that sweet smile dolphins had that melted the heart. Immediately she thought of Delphine and fear shot through her that this might be her calf.

Carson opened her bag and pulled out her stranding-report form, a pen, and plastic gloves.

The women watched her carefully. “Are you with the dolphin team or something?” the woman in the aqua-blue gym jacket asked with suspicion.

“Yes,” Carson replied, trying to be friendly. “I just have a few things to check off my list. Do you mind stepping back a bit? . . . Thanks.”

“We’re the ones who phoned it in,” the lady in pink informed her with an air of self-importance. “We were taking a walk and found it and called the police.”

“I tried to push it back into the ocean,” the lady in blue said in a woeful tone. “I didn’t know if it was dead and wanted to save it. But the waves just pushed it right back on the beach. Look at my pants.” She lifted her left leg. The nylon pants were indeed wet to the calf.

Carson put her gloved hand on the dolphin. Without question it was dead. Poor baby, she thought as she took measurements, then filled out the forms. Male neonate. Thirty-nine inches in length.

She looked over her shoulder and spoke to the women behind her. “Thanks for calling it in. You did the right thing. But in the future if you see a stranded dolphin, please don’t touch it. Stranded animals are often sick, and diseases can be transmitted to humans. Not to mention, they could bite. Best to call it in, like you did, and wait for help.”

“You’re touching it,” the lady in blue argued.

“Yes, but I’m trained to do this and I’m wearing gloves.”

The woman in pink harrumphed softly. “It could’ve died while we waited for you.” They watched a few minutes longer, then apparently bored, the women meandered on.

“Thank you again,” Carson called after them, but they didn’t respond. She finished the form, then put her supplies back into her backpack. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. She’d sent out the NOAA pager, as directed, but she’d also called Blake directly. It helped to know the guy in charge, she thought as she watched his pickup driving toward her along the shoreline. Carson waved her arms overhead.

Blake climbed from the truck and strode straight toward her.
Even though it was only April, he was already tanned, wearing shorts and a navy NOAA T-shirt. He had that laid-back, old-fashioned masculinity that always set her blood thumping. His dark eyes lit up when he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss. “How’s my girl?”