The Summer Girls (13 page)

“I thought you went to bed,” said Carson as Harper slipped a sparkly turquoise top over her braless torso.

“No. Nate had a hard time falling asleep. I’m sorry I didn’t make it back to the kitchen. I’ll do dishes tomorrow night.”

“No problem,” Carson said, wriggling into her jeans.

“Are you going out?”

“Just for a drink,” Carson replied, sucking in and zipping. Harper finished clasping on her necklace and Carson turned to admire the unusual arrangement of big chunks of turquoise stones encased in gold that blazed against Harper’s blue eyes. Carson couldn’t take her eyes off them.

“Isn’t it kind of late?” Dora asked.

Harper snorted. “No.”

“Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” asked Harper, clearly testy. She refused to meet Dora’s gaze and instead leaned over the sink to apply gloss to her lips.

“Just down the road,” Carson replied, hoping to keep the peace between the eldest and the youngest. “Station Twenty-Two probably.” Carson saw a longing in Dora’s eyes
and felt a sudden sympathy for her. She remembered what it was like to be the odd man out.

Dora reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s something I want to tell you about Nate,” she said.

“What?” Harper asked as she applied gloss to her lips. Her tone implied she wasn’t interested.

Dora cleared her throat nervously. Carson was combing her hair. She checked out Dora in the mirror, curious. It wasn’t customary for Dora to be nervous.

“My son has autism.”

Carson’s hand stilled. Her glance darted in the mirror to Harper, who was applying blush to her cheeks. In that look they shared an immediate understanding and compassion.

Carson lowered her hand and turned to face Dora. She didn’t know what was an appropriate response.
I’m sorry
wasn’t right. What she felt was more sympathy for her sister, for what she could only assume meant more challenges.

Harper said, “Are you sure?”

Dora bristled. “Of course I’m sure. You don’t think I’m making this up?”

“No,” Harper quickly said, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, is he diagnosed?”

Dora still chafed at the question. “Yes, he’s been to a child psychiatrist and we’ve been through all the tests. There’s a wide range of diagnoses wrapped up in the autism spectrum. Nate has Asperger’s syndrome, a high-functioning form. Don’t misunderstand. He’s highly intelligent. It’s like he’s dyslexic in reading social cues. Things like facial expressions, gestures . . . those little ways we
communicate with each other.” She paused while her gaze swept both Carson and Harper. “Like the look you both gave each other in the mirror—Nate doesn’t get those. And he doesn’t always show emotions like you’d expect.” She twisted the diamond on her ring finger. “He’s really a good boy. I didn’t want you to think he was some spoiled brat who throws tantrums.”

“Oh, no,” Carson immediately replied, more out of politeness. In truth, that was exactly what she’d thought.

“There are a few other things you should know,” Dora continued, intent on making them understand her son. “Nate doesn’t like to be touched. So please don’t hug him or kiss him. And he’s very particular about things, like what he eats, and his routine. He gets very upset with any change. Which is why I didn’t want to move him from his room.” She laughed sadly. “You saw what happened there. When he’s overwhelmed he has his little meltdowns.”

Carson watched her twisting her ring. The skin beneath it was irritated and red.

“I should’ve told you right away,” Dora added. “But I still feel very defensive about him.”

“Don’t be,” Carson interjected. “I’m glad you told us. It helps us understand what’s going on. I’m sorry, too, about your divorce.”

“Me too. And I’m sorry we haven’t been in touch,” Harper added.

“Does Mamaw know about Nate?” Carson asked.

Dora shook her head. “I’ve only told my family in Charlotte and a few friends. I’ve been homeschooling, so . . .”

Carson looked at Dora, her face pale and tired, and
thought of the beautiful, confident girl who’d dreamed of a future as the happy wife of an adoring husband with two or three perfect children and a beautiful, well-maintained home. Dora’s marriage was on the rocks, her child had special needs, and she was preparing to sell her house. Talk about having the rug pulled out from under.

“Aw, Dora,” Carson said, and impulsively wrapped her arms around her sister. “This has to suck.”

She felt Dora stiffen; then Dora burst out laughing. When she pulled back, Carson saw relief shining in her eyes. “It does,” Dora said, choking back a laugh that sounded more like a cry. “It sucks.”

Hearing the expression from Dora’s lips made Carson and Harper laugh with her. It was as though a valve had opened up and let all the pent-up steam in the room release.

“Hey, Dora, come on out with us tonight. We’re just going for a drink. It’ll be fun,” Carson said.

“Maybe another time,” Dora replied. “Nate’s still upset and I can’t leave him.”

“You sure?” Harper asked.

Carson saw longing in Dora’s eyes but she shook her head. “Next time.”

Harper zipped her makeup bag so fast it hummed. “Then we’re off. Oh, Dora,” she added. “I totally get why Nate’s in the library. That’s cool. But I’m going to bunk in the twin bed in your room tonight so don’t freak out if you see me tiptoeing into your room.”

Carson winked at Dora as she followed Harper out. “Don’t wait up.”

Mamaw hid in the dim shadows behind the door of the library, a book clutched to her breast and her head tilted to catch the words of her granddaughters. She couldn’t sleep and had come into the library to find a book to read. Nate was fast asleep on the pullout sofa bed, exhausted, the dear boy.

Oh, Dora, why didn’t you grab the chance for a little fun and just go?
She could hear the longing in Dora’s voice from across the hall.

She spied Dora as she went to her room and closed the door. Then she heard the clickety-clack of high heels on her hardwood floors. She waited until she heard the front door close, then hurried to peek out the window. She watched Harper climb into the passenger seat of Carson’s car, heard the pitiful creak of the rusty door as she slammed it shut. Carson gunned the engine and she heard the girls shout out, “Death to the ladies!”

Mamaw walked into the dimly lit living room and peeked around for Lucille. Seeing the coast was clear, she hurried to the small liquor cabinet. She’d had it fully stocked for the weekend. She poured herself two fingers of her favorite Jamaican rum, added ice, and took a sip. To hell with her doctor’s warnings. She was about to be eighty years old and needed a little fortification tonight. The sweet burn trailed down her throat to warm her belly. She smacked her lips with satisfaction.

Back in her room, Mamaw lit the bedside lamp and climbed under the billowy blanket of her big bed. Without
Edward to share it, she felt adrift in an ocean of sheets and pillows. Still not sleepy, she opened a novel and began reading. After a few minutes, whether it was the slow start or her agitated mind, she set the book aside. She just couldn’t settle tonight. Her mind was running a mile a minute, going over and over every gesture, comment, and look her granddaughters had made. Giving up sleep, she climbed from her bed and went outside on the back porch to sit on a cushioned wicker chair.

The moist air did its work of softening her bones. She and Edward used to grab their pillows on hot nights and sleep out on the porch, same as their parents and grandparents did back in the days before air-conditioning. She’d rest her head on his shoulder and they’d lie quiet on the small iron bed with crisp white sheets and listen to the sounds of the night—the swell of cicadas, the chirping of crickets, the occasional lonesome call of an owl, and the muffled laughing of young girls. Sometimes Edward would say, “It’s high time those girls got to sleep.” But she’d hold him back, knowing how special summer friendships were.

Mamaw had hoped that she would hear that talking and laughter again this evening, as they used to. But Carson and Harper couldn’t wait to escape and Dora had retreated to her room. She sighed heavily. Not that she could blame them. Dinner had been a debacle. They’d behaved like strangers. Worse than strangers. Mamaw rested her forehead in her palm. What was she to do? The weekend wasn’t starting off at all as she’d planned. Harper and Dora had made clear that they were only staying for the weekend. Mamaw knew she needed the entire summer to heal the wounds
that separated them. She sighed and watched the fireflies glow off and on in the dark as they drifted randomly in the night.

“Please, God,” Mamaw said, closing her eyes. “I’m just asking for enough time to see these girls discover the bonds between them again. To realize that they are more than acquaintances. More than friends. That they are
sisters
.”

Opening her eyes, Mamaw brought her fingers to her lips, considering her options. Her party was tomorrow night. It would be her last chance with all the girls together. She sighed. There was nothing left to do but resort to Plan B.

Station 22 was a popular Sullivan’s Island restaurant. Carson felt at home in the shabby-chic decor with colorful local island art on the walls. It was the oldest restaurant on the island and known for its great seafood. And it was packed. Carson and Harper followed the noise toward the large bar in the back of the room where men with sunburns, baseball caps, and island shirts and women in slinky summer tops and heels gathered with drinks in their hands, laughing and talking. Carson searched for a familiar face and grinned when she spotted Devlin seated at a table across the room. She waved and called his name. He looked up and, spotting her, stood and called her over.

Devlin, gregarious as ever, grabbed two more chairs so they could join the already overflowing table and signaled the waitress. Introductions were made and Carson was amused to see the four other men staring at Harper’s perky
breasts while the women checked out her clothing. Especially her Louboutin shoes. What Carson liked best, however, was that Harper knew it and played along. The crowd was so dense and loud Carson had to shout to be heard. After a while, she gave up, leaned against Devlin’s shoulder, and nursed her beer, enjoying watching Harper at the center of attention.
Who knew the little mouse could be such a party girl?
she wondered.

Devlin leaned over close to her ear. “Your little sister’s a fox.”

Carson looked up and saw the gleam of appreciation in his eyes as he gazed at Harper. “I see she’s made another conquest.”

His glance shifted to her and his pale eyes hazed with woozy seduction. “She’s not the sister I’m interested in.”

Carson gave a little snort of disbelief.

“Speaking of sisters, where’s Dora?” Devlin asked, pulling back. “Why didn’t she come out with you?”

Carson quickly got over the momentary sting of realizing she wasn’t the sister he was interested in, either. “She’s stuck at the house with Nate. Her son,” she explained when he shook his head uncomprehendingly.

He took a swig from his beer. “Well, sure she’d be married with children by now.”

“She’s getting a divorce.”

Devlin’s brows rose with curiosity.

“Don’t hold your breath, Romeo. She’s not the bar-hoppin’ type.”

“What type is she?” he asked, amused.

“The churchgoing, stay-at-home type.”

“Really?” He considered this as he downed his beer. “That’s not the Dora I remember. You know what they say about the quiet ones.”

“Dora, quiet?” Carson chuckled. “I think you’ve got the wrong sister. Harper over there was the quiet one.”

He looked at her askance. “You mean that she-cat over there holding court? I think you’ve got your sisters mixed up.”

Carson finished her beer and wondered how well he’d known Dora and whether there was any truth in the rumors she’d heard that Dora had broken Devlin’s heart. She raised her hand to attract the waitress and ordered another beer.

“You should’ve heard Dora at dinner,” Carson told him. “
Quiet
and
shy
are not words I would use to describe the way she took Harper down. As well as”—Carson lifted her hand and began counting off—“Northerners, New Yorkers, gays, tree huggers, and Democrats.”