The Summer Girls (38 page)

Dora took a few steps to the edge of the porch, watching the figure on the dock. It was odd. Carson seemed to be staggering and . . . What was she doing? Good Lord, she was taking off her clothes. She couldn’t be thinking of going swimming now? Alone in the dark?

Then another thought struck. She was drunk.

“Carson!” she called out. She watched Carson standing at the edge of the dock, weaving and staring into the water.
What in all that’s holy?
“Carson!”

Dora set the coffee mug on the table, and when she looked out again, Carson was gone. Dora’s heart jumped and she took off running for the dock, her heeled sandals slowing her down. She kicked them off and ran. When she reached the end of the long dock, she couldn’t spot Carson in the water. A cloud passed, allowing a window of moonlight to shine on the water. Dora squinted her eyes as she peered out and spied a shimmer of skin in the moonlight farther down the cove. Dora cursed. The idiot was caught in the current.

Adrenaline raced through her veins as Dora sprang into action. She punched the motor to lower the boat from the raised dock, pacing while keeping her eye on the figure in the water. The motor churned as the boat lowered at an agonizingly slow pace into the water. She moved quickly
now, untying the lines and jumping into the boat. She’d always been the boater in the family, the one who’d rather tow the skis or the rubber raft. Dora powered the engine and took off toward Carson. She searched the dark water, stopping the engine abruptly when she spotted her bobbing in the water. The boat floated in the drift as Dora hurried to grab the life preserver.

“Carson!” she called out over the side.

“Here!” Carson called back.

“Grab hold.” Dora tossed the preserver into the water. It landed close to Carson. She kicked and stroked and grabbed on, coughing. Pulling hard against the current, Dora cursed and sweated as she drew Carson to the side of the boat.

“Give me your hand,” Dora called out.

Carson released the preserver and lifted her hand to her sister. Holding tight, Dora leaned far back and pulled Carson into the boat. Carson landed gracelessly on the seat like a beached seal.

Carson bent over on her knees, coughing up water; then she leaned over the side of the boat and vomited. Dora held her long hair back from her face as Carson heaved the alcohol and salt water from her stomach. When finished, she slipped weakly down on the padded bench and rested her forehead on her hands, shivering. Dora went to fetch the boat’s emergency blanket and wrapped it around Carson’s shoulders. Carson had always been the strong one, the athletic one, and yet now she was as weak and frightened as a drowning kitten.

And Dora knew it was her fault.

“A
h, you’re awake.”

Carson awoke, seeing the world through a cottony veil. Her eyes were dry and gritty and she blinked heavily. The shadowed stripes of the closed blinds revealed bright daylight.

“How long did I sleep?” she croaked.

“Thirteen hours,” Mamaw answered. “But who’s counting?”

Carson shivered under her thin cotton sheet and blanket. Every bone in her body ached. “I’m so cold.”

Mamaw rested her palm against Carson’s forehead, testing for fever as she had when Carson was a little girl. Carson thought her palm felt cool and comforting and her lids drooped.

“You still have a fever.”

“I feel awful.”

“It’s no wonder,” Mamaw answered, going to the closet and pulling out a patchwork quilt. She shook it out, then laid it atop Carson. “You were in that cold water for hours in the morning, then you go out swimming late last night. What were you thinking? You know that’s feeding time for the sharks. And alone! Lord help us, anything could have happened. And almost did. If it wasn’t for Dora just happening to be out there on the back porch . . .” Mamaw reached for the glass of water on the bedside stand. “Here, darling. I’ve a few aspirin to help bring the fever down. Let’s see if you can’t drink a little bit, hear?”

She helped Carson rise to her elbows. The movement brought a ricochet of pain in Carson’s head but she managed to swallow the pills. After a few sips she collapsed back down on the bed.

“That should help you feel better. Do you think you can eat something?” Mamaw asked, setting the glass down. “Lucille made a pot of chicken soup, just for you.”

“Maybe later,” Carson replied, licking her moistened lips.

Mamaw’s long fingers tucked the quilt around the bed. “You’re still so warm. I’ll get you a cool cloth for your forehead.”

Carson reached up and clutched Mamaw’s hand. “Don’t go.”

“All right, dear,” Mamaw replied, a little surprised. “I’ll stay, if you like.” Mamaw sat on the edge of the bed. She was wearing one of her tunic tops, this one in a pale coral that matched the coral earrings in her ears. “What’s the matter, child?”

“Mamaw, I . . .” Carson’s face crumpled. She closed her eyes and once again saw the nightmarish image she’d conjured
of her mother burning in bed that had kept her tossing and turning all night. Her brain felt scorched, as though the memory was a brand that had burned into her every waking thought. She shuddered and turned to curl up closer to Mamaw, putting her arms around her with a soft cry.

“Carson!” Mamaw exclaimed as she smoothed away the hair from Carson’s forehead in a soothing rhythm. “You haven’t held on to me like this since you were a little girl.”

“Mamaw, last night,” she said tremulously. “I remembered the fire.”

Mamaw’s hand stilled. “Oh, child . . .”

“After all these years, I remembered. I must have blocked it out of my mind.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remembered the fire and waking up in that awful smoke. It was so hot and it burned. I heard Dad calling me. I went looking for him, but I was so afraid. But I kept going. Then when I saw him . . .” She stopped and clutched Mamaw tighter.

“Saw him? What happened?”

“He turned away. Mamaw, he left me there, in the fire. I was just a kid and he left me there. I’ll never forget the sight of his back as he ran down the stairs.” Her voice caught. “How could he have done that?”

“Oh, Carson, Carson,” Mamaw murmured. “How can I explain what happened?”

“You can’t. It’s too awful. I’ll never forgive him.”

Mamaw rose slowly and went to the window. She adjusted the blinds enough to allow a bit more light into the room. She looked for a moment out the window, at
the gentle rain that pattered against the glass. The earth needed the rain, she thought. Carson’s tears were good for her, too. Cathartic. How could she help her get through this storm?

She turned and held her hands together. “Carson, your daddy came to see me after the fire. He was sick, as you are now. Sick in his body and sick in his soul. He’d just lost your mother. For all that they were not good for one another, they did love each other. He mourned her.” She paused. “And he mourned what had happened to you. He lay in my arms and cried like a baby. He was riddled with guilt that he didn’t go back into that burning house and search for you. When he saw that fireman carrying you out, all smudged with smoke and burns, he dropped to his knees and gave thanks.”

“But he saw me,” Carson cried, turning to look at Mamaw. “You can’t always defend him. I was there. He saw me. And he ran away.”

“No, child, he didn’t see you,” Mamaw told her in a resolute tone. “Parker told me how he came home and saw the fire in the upstairs windows. He went running up in a panic to fetch you and Sophie. By the time he reached their bedroom the room was in flames. The bed.” She made a small, desperate gesture. “He saw her.” Mamaw shook her head sadly. “He saw her body burning on the bed. Don’t you see? He was in shock, honey. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just turned and ran out of the house and probably would’ve kept on running if a fireman hadn’t stopped him. He was out of his mind, honey. He never saw you.”

Carson closed her eyes and brought to mind that horrid night. She remembered how she’d called out to him. How she’d seen him standing in front of his bedroom, still as a statue, before he turned and fled down the stairs.

She’d never reached him. He’d never reached out for her. What Mamaw told her was possible. Her heart wanted to believe, but her mind fought it.

“He was still a chicken shit not to come for me. I was only four years old.”

“Oh, Carson,” Mamaw said wearily. “It’s so easy for us to judge now, in hindsight. We think we know what we’d do in an emergency. But one never knows until one is tested. I couldn’t say what I’d do in that situation.”

“
Nothing
would stop me from going after my own child.”

Mamaw patted her shoulder in consolation. “Perhaps not. You’re stronger than him. Always have been. You’re the strongest woman I know. Child, you didn’t give up in that fire. You were only four years old but you found your way out. You’re a survivor.”

Mamaw sighed wearily; the past twenty-four hours had taken a lot out of her. She sat down in the chair beside Carson and once again gently stroked her hair with her fingertips.

“Trauma is a hard, hard burden to bear. You suffered it and endured. Perhaps now that you understand the trauma of what your father went through at that moment, you might be able to forgive him for what he did. And forgive your mother’s part in this tragedy.”

“I don’t forgive either of them. They both abandoned me,” Carson said angrily.

“Sophie was a lost soul. She took a risk with her own life and the life of her child. And paid the highest price for it. There’s nothing more to say about that.” Mamaw looked around the room, at the portrait hanging over Carson’s bed. She prayed she could find the words to bring the confidence of that ancestor back into her granddaughter’s spirit.

“As for Parker,” Mamaw continued, “he, too, paid a high price for his failures. He never forgave himself for not helping Sophie with her drinking, or for leaving you behind in that burning house. It haunted him till his dying day. I fear your father never really made it out of that fire. Why do you think he wouldn’t leave you with me? I begged him to leave you with me, to let me take care of you, but he said he was your father and he wouldn’t leave you behind ever again.”

“He should’ve,” Carson ground out against Mamaw’s lap. “I wish he had.”

“I do, too. But he was your father and for all his faults, he loved you. Try thinking on that, honey, and let go of the anger.”

Carson felt weakened by the emotional onslaught. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to think about it. Or him. I just want to forget all of it. Forget everything.”

“That’s denial, dear,” Mamaw said. “You are not that little girl any longer. You’re a woman. At least now you know the truth, and in time it will help you gain perspective.”

Carson turned her head away on the pillow.

“Listen to me now. I know you harbor a guilt, undeserved, for not being with your father when he died. You poor, motherless child. Who was taking care of
you
? You
were not Parker’s parent. That was not your job. That was mine. Release that guilt from your heart. Release your anger at your father. Let it all go.”

Carson squeezed her eyes shut and felt the heat of tears pooling against her pillow. “I can’t,” she said as a whimper.

“You must. If you keep your guilt and anger festering inside of you, they will poison your life. You must find it in your heart to forgive your father . . . Nate . . . your poor dead mother.” She paused. “Me. And yourself. For your own sake.”

Mamaw patted Carson’s hand and rose to her feet, spent. She felt ancient, like some old relic whose bones were about to splinter into dust. Before leaving the room, she turned at the door and looked once more to her granddaughter. “Remember, my darling. Your father didn’t save you. But you saved him.”

A spell of bad weather had moved in. Three days of nonstop rain. Dora stepped from Nate’s room and quietly closed the door behind her. She slumped against the door. He was always sensitive to noises, and the thunder that rumbled all night long had kept him awake. That merely added to the meltdown Nate was suffering.

Dora straightened, wiping her face with her palms. She looked across the hall to see Carson’s bedroom door was closed. From the room she shared with Harper, she heard the click-clacking of fingers against a keyboard. Dora sighed with annoyance. Harper had been holed up in there for days, either on her phone or her iPad or her computer. Hiding out.