The Summer Girls (33 page)

He smirked. “Coffee. Right.” He kissed her nose and released her to fill the coffeemaker with water.

“Can I help?”

“There’s a bag of ground coffee in the fridge,” he told her. “And pull out that bag of grits, too, will you?”

She liked where his thoughts were heading.

They worked in tandem, putting together the grits, butter, milk, and water. When Blake pulled out a chunk of cheddar cheese, Carson balked.

“No cheese,” she said, grabbing the cheddar and holding it close. “It ruins the taste of the grits.”

“Does not,” he said, reaching for the cheese.

“Does too,” she said, laughing now as he gripped her, manhandling her in the tussle for the cheese.

Blake won and stepped back, triumphantly holding the cheese in the air, out of reach while Hobbs barked.

“Really, Blake,” she moaned, “grits are best plain with lots of butter.”

“Trust me,” he told her, lowering his arm. “With eggs, you want the cheese.”

“So much for showing a girl a good time,” she quipped.

“You’ll see,” he said, smirking.

While Blake stirred the eggs, they sipped hot coffee and shared some of the twists and turns of their lives, the crazy chapters, the poignant moments. All part of the usual dating interrogation. His fascination with marine life had been lifelong and marked most of his memorable moments.

“Aren’t you still tempted to explore other areas?”

He stirred the grits, considering. “I still travel a lot, to conferences or to study. I spent several months volunteering in the Gulf after the oil-spill debacle. We’re seeing a significant increase in untimely deaths in dolphins in that area and I fear we’ll see repercussions from that disaster for many years to come.”

“No, I mean to just pick up and go. To travel for the sake of traveling.”

He shook his head. “I’m thirty-seven. I got that out of my system. My head’s in a different place now.” He looked up at her, suddenly serious. “What about you?”

Carson sipped her coffee, unsure of her answer. “If you’d asked me that question a month ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I liked to say I went wherever the wind blew. The minute I heard about a photo job, anywhere in the world, I’d be on the first plane out. I spent the last four years based in L.A. with a TV series. It was a change for me. I thought I’d love staying in one place, going out with the same people, maybe save a few dollars.”

“I take it you didn’t?”

She shook her head. “Actually, I did. For a while. But by the time the series was canceled I was already feeling the wanderlust. I hated my apartment and had broken up with my boyfriend.”

“Maybe L.A. was the wrong place,” Blake suggested. “I loved the Bahamas, but it wasn’t home.”

Carson caught the faint whisper of hope in his tone. “Maybe,” she said, but she was unconvinced.

“Stir this for me?” Blake said, handing her the spoon. When she took the wooden spoon he grabbed hold of her waist and lowered his head. “I needed to kiss you just now.”

She laughed lightly, feeling a bubbling of interest. When his lips touched her, it was spontaneous combustion all over again. Blake reached over to turn the heat off the grits. Then he reached down to lift her off her feet in his arms.

“Wait,” Carson called out, waving the spoon, dripping grits on the floor that Hobbs quickly dispensed.

Blake walked her to the sink, where she dropped the spoon. Laughing, she ducked her head on his shoulder as he carried her to his bedroom. Suddenly all the terribly corny comments about being hungry for something other than grits easily flowed from her tongue.

T
he following day Carson sat on the dock, her feet dangling in the water, waiting for Nate. The seawater was warming as summer progressed. She knew that by September the ocean would feel like bathwater to her. She’d developed a routine with Delphine. If she whistled and banged on the dock, Delphine would often appear. Carson longed to see her, and knew that Nate would be eager, as well. Yet today she found she could not call her.

Blake’s words came to mind.
Feeding dolphins is not kind. It’s self-indulgent. Selfish. People are thinking of themselves, not the dolphin
. Carson kicked the water mulishly. Sure, she’d heard the warnings about not feeding the dolphins. She’d seen the signs. She’d just thought that her bond with Delphine was special. She’d rationalized that it was okay for her, even if it wasn’t okay for everyone else. The trouble was, she still wanted her relationship with Delphine. She
didn’t know if she could give it up. She was torn about what to do. As she sat, swinging her legs in the water, one word played over and over again in her mind.
Selfish
.

The reverberations of footfalls on the dock drew her attention. She looked up to see Nate negotiating the step down to the lower dock. He was filling out; his life preserver didn’t hang so pitifully from his shoulders. He was also tan and his light brown hair was turning blond from the sun. She smiled, thinking how much her nephew looked like a typical beach boy.

“Hi, Nate,” she called out. “Ready to swim?”

Nate looked out over the water. “Where is Delphine?”

Carson paused, knowing full well that his fixation on the dolphin was not going to be easy to dampen. Still, she’d made up her mind to do the right thing.

“She’s out there somewhere. Either playing with her friends or hunting fish. Let’s just go in the water and have a good time.”

“Call her, Aunt Carson.”

“I already tried,” she lied, not wanting a meltdown. “Come on, let’s jump in the water. She’ll come if she wants to.”

Nate searched the water again while Carson held her breath. Then he seemed to accept what she’d said at face value and began to climb down the ladder into the water.

Carson followed him, realizing she might have come upon the solution to her moral dilemma. She wouldn’t feed the dolphin any longer, nor would she call her to the dock. Delphine would come
if she wanted to
.

That evening Mamaw was in the kitchen getting a glass of milk when she heard a strange creaking and rustling outside on the porch. She set down the glass and walked to the door. Darn raccoons were back again, she muttered to herself. She flicked on the light and opened the door. She was startled to see Nate. He froze with eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. In his arms he precariously balanced three fishing rods and a bait box.

“What on earth?” Mamaw asked.

Nate didn’t say a word. He only lowered his arms and squinted in the bright light.

“Nate, what are you doing out here?” she asked him, her tone scolding. “Do you know what time it is?”

“It’s eleven thirty,” Nate replied.

Mamaw couldn’t quite get accustomed to how literal the boy was. “Yes, and that’s way past your bedtime.”

“I know.”

“What are you doing? Are you going fishing?”

“No. I’m setting out my rods.”

“At this time of night?”

“I had to wait until everyone was asleep. It’s a surprise. I want to have fish for Delphine in the morning so she’ll come. I’m going to set my rods the way the old man told me that he did. He set his rods and left them, and when he came back he had a fish.”

A few days earlier Mamaw’s neighbor Mr. Bellows had been fishing on his dock. Mamaw had gone over to talk to him. They’d known each other for years. When she returned, she told Nate that he could go to the neighbor’s dock and watch him fish. When he’d told her he was afraid, she’d said
the best way to learn the ropes of fishing was to watch those more experienced. Then she told him that the old man—Mr. Bellows—had been a good friend of Papa Edward, and that if Papa were here, he would have taught him how to fish, just like he’d taught Carson how to fish.

“Nate,” Mamaw said gently now, “I understand it’s a surprise. But you know it’s against the rules to go out on the dock alone.”

“That is my mother’s rule. It’s not Carson’s rule. I’ve decided I don’t want to be with my mother anymore. Or my father. I don’t like it when they fight. I want to stay here with you and Carson. And Delphine. So I have to obey Carson’s rules. And Carson never told me that I can’t go out on the docks alone. So I’m not breaking Carson’s rules.”

“Well, if that doesn’t take the cake,” Mamaw muttered to herself. To Nate she said, “Dear boy, you present your argument logically. However, your basic premise is wrong. You do not get to decide if you’re going to stay with Carson or your mother. Your mother is your mother. Period. That will never change. Secondly, when it comes to you, your mother’s rules are the rules of this house as well. Thus, there is no going out on the dock alone. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Nate’s shoulders slumped. “But I must set up my rods. I already made my bait balls. I spent four dollars and twenty-three cents on the ingredients and hooks. That leaves me with only seventy-seven cents of my five dollars. I don’t have any more money for another batch.”

In for a penny, in for a pound,
Mamaw thought to herself, and closed the door behind her. Besides, what was the
harm? He was filled with all the crazy dreams and schemes of a boy.

“All right, Nate. If I go with you, then you won’t be breaking the rules. Hand me a few of the rods.”

The night was cooler than expected. The stars and the moon were blocked by cloud cover, so it was especially dark. Nate carried a flashlight, which lit their way along the stone path. Mamaw had never liked traipsing in the wild at night. She couldn’t see the snakes and spiders and other creepy crawlies she knew were in that grass. When her feet stepped onto the wood of the dock, she felt much better. She followed Nate just a short way down the dock; then he stopped and put down his gear.

Mamaw held the flashlight for Nate as he pulled a plastic garbage bag out from his tackle box.

“These are called mud balls,” Nate told her, lifting the mushy balls from the bag. Mamaw had to lift her nose higher, they smelled so bad. “The old man next door taught me how to make them. He told me to use cat food and bread mixed with mud. He said this’ll sure bring them around and to make sure I used the damn cat food.”

Mamaw chuckled to herself. That did indeed sound like Hank. “His name is Mr. Bellows.”

“Mr. Bellows,” Nate repeated as he worked.

“You’re very good at that,” Mamaw told him. “Did you ever do it before?”

“No. Just with the old man, Mr. Bellows. My father has some good poles and rigging in the shed at home, but he only took me fishing one time. That was two years ago when I was seven. He got mad when I made mistakes. He doesn’t
know how to make mud balls. He didn’t catch any fish, either. Mr. Bellows catches many fish. He’s a much better fisherman than my father.”

Mamaw sighed, feeling for the boy. She didn’t interfere as Nate carefully attached a leader to the bottom of the line. When he pulled out the hook that looked like a fish with bulging red eyes and several claw hooks, he looked up at Mamaw and smiled. She had purchased that one for him, not having a clue what kind of a fish it caught, just because she thought it was so comical. She stepped in to help him bait the hooks.

Nate cast the lures out and spent a good deal of time spacing the rods evenly along the deck railing, making sure that they were each approximately two feet apart.

“The old man, Mr. Bellows, said a tangled line is the kiss of death,” Nate told Mamaw. “I know it isn’t really a kiss. It means that it’s a bad thing for the line to get tangled.”

“I see.” Mamaw found it fascinating how Nate took the details of his task so seriously. She watched as he carefully tied each of the poles by the handle to the railing of the dock with a piece of nylon rope. He tied double knots, saying he wanted them to hold the fish until he got back in the morning.

“Looks good and tidy,” Mamaw told him. “I think it’s time we went back to our beds.”

As they walked up the dock, every few feet Nate looked back to make sure the poles were where he’d left them.

“I’m sure we’ll catch something,” Nate told her as they entered the house and closed the door behind them.