The Summer Girls (43 page)

“Y
ou wanted to see me?”

Mamaw looked up from the small gaily wrapped box she held in her lap. Carson stood by the door, her expression curious, perhaps a bit anxious at being called to Mamaw’s room. Carson was leaving for Florida the following morning. All day she had been a whirling dervish packing and preparing for the trip. The house was quiet now save for the murmurs of the girls out on the back porch and the clinking of ice in their glasses. Mamaw surveyed the young woman dressed in what she had come to accept were Carson’s pajamas—men’s boxers and an old T-shirt. Her long hair draped her shoulders like a black velvet shawl.

“Yes, come in,” Mamaw replied, waving a hand to usher in Carson. Then she patted the chair beside hers.

Carson smiled and joined Mamaw in the small sitting room that adjoined her bedroom. A small lamp with a blue-fringed
shade spilled yellow light on the chintz fabric covering the table and the matching chairs. This was Mamaw’s favorite room, a perfect spot for a tête-à-tête. She idly let her fingers smooth the collar of her pale pink silk robe as she measured Carson’s steps toward her.

Carson bent to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “This is nice.”

“I wanted to have a little chat before you leave,” Mamaw began.

“I’m all packed and ready to go, just like the song,” Carson told her.

Mamaw searched Carson’s face and saw the familiar signs of pending departure—the excitement in her eyes, the fission of energy radiating from her pores. Why were her loved ones always so eager to leave? The open road had never called to Mamaw. She’d never understood why anyone would want to leave the sultry winding creeks, the phenomenal sunsets, or the song of the surf in the lowcountry. There was more than enough culture in Charleston for even the most discriminating tastes. What the lure of foreign cities was, Mamaw was sure she didn’t know.

Carson must have seen the anxiety in her face, because she leaned forward to place her hand over Mamaw’s. “I’ll be back soon. I promise. I’ll only be gone a few weeks. I know how important this summer is to you. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Oh, child,” Mamaw said, patting Carson’s hand, “you’ve never disappointed me.”

Carson looked at her askance. “Never? But I feel like I’ve just made a mess of things. Again.”

“Never,” Mamaw replied firmly. She hated to see any sign of defeatism in her granddaughters. She was quick to ferret it out.

“Quite the opposite. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Carson,” she began, looking squarely into her granddaughter’s eyes, wanting to be heard. “This has been a very difficult month for you. Yet you’ve weathered this emotional roller coaster of family secrets, confronted your drinking, shouldered the responsibility of this terrible accident with the dolphin, all with a grace and courage that not many women possess.”

She paused to see Carson’s eyes widen with incredulity, and in that moment saw again the little girl who had come to live with her after the fire, her burned skin bandaged, her hair singed, and her blue eyes wide with a vulnerable hope that had made Mamaw’s heart go out to her.

“I am very proud of you,” Mamaw said with emphasis, wanting the words to sink in.

Carson shut her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “I’m not sure I deserve that,” Carson said in a stumbling manner. “And as for my drinking, I’m just taking it day by day.”

“That’s all any of us can do, my dear. We wake up, bolster our resolve, and rise to face the new day. Or else lie in bed and waste our lives.”

Carson nodded her head, listening. “Now you sound like Blake,” she said. “He’s very, shall we say, optimistic.”

“Oh?” Mamaw said, her ears instantly perked to any mention of a young gentleman caller. “How is that nice young man?”

Carson’s smile was all knowing. “He’s fine, Mamaw.”

She waited but nothing more was forthcoming. Mamaw couldn’t help herself from continuing. “You’re still seeing him, then? After the incident with the dolphin?”

“I think I’m on probation,” Carson replied with a light laugh.

“How does he feel about you leaving?”

“He’s not happy about it,” Carson replied honestly. “But he understands why I have to do this. He arranged for me to see Delphine. I could never have gained access if he hadn’t.”

“I see. Well, he’s a very nice young man.”

“You’ve already told me that, Mamaw,” Carson said with a gentle nudge. “Seriously, I do care for him. A great deal. More than I’ve cared for anyone before. And I’m quite certain he feels the same way. It’s like you said. We’re taking it day by day. Okay?”

Mamaw tried to disguise her pleasure in this revelation by looking down at the package in her lap. “
So
,” Mamaw said in an upbeat tone, straightening in her chair and taking hold of the box. “I have a little gift for you.”

“A gift? It’s not my birthday.”

“I know very well it’s not your birthday, silly girl. And it’s not Christmas, Fourth of July, or Arbor Day.” She reached out to hand Carson the small box wrapped in shiny blue paper and a white ribbon. “Can’t a grandmother give her granddaughter a gift if she wants to? Open it!”

Carson’s face eased into a smile of anticipation as she bent over the box and tidily unwrapped the ribbon, rolling it in a ball, then slowly undid the tape, careful not to tear
the paper. Mamaw enjoyed watching her open the gift delicately, recalling once again Carson as a little girl. So unlike Harper, who ripped through the paper, shredding it and letting the bits scatter around her.

Before opening the lid, Carson shook the box by her ear, eyes skyward in mock appraisal. “A bracelet, maybe? Or a brooch?”

Mamaw didn’t reply and only lifted her brows, her hands tightening together as her own anticipation at Carson’s response mounted.

Carson opened the box, then lifted the corners of the yellowed, fragile cotton handkerchief, one that Mamaw had tucked in her sleeve on her wedding day, delicately embroidered with the initials MCM. Then she went still. Wrapped in the cotton was a key attached to a silver key ring in the shape of a dolphin. Carson looked at her grandmother with an expression of disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? Is this . . . is this the key to the Blue Bomber?” Carson cried.

“The same.”

“But . . . I thought you said . . . I don’t understand,” Carson stammered.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Mamaw said with a light laugh. “It’s my gift to you! That Cadillac might be old, but she’s in perfect condition. She’ll take you to Florida and back safely. And anywhere else you might want to go. It’s yours now. I want you to have it. You’ve earned it.”

Speechless, Carson leaned in to wrap her arms around Mamaw’s shoulders and squeezed tight. Mamaw caught
the scent of her own perfume on Carson’s skin—their scent now—and felt the age-old bond she’d always felt with Carson.

“I don’t know what to say,” Carson said, sliding back in her chair. She stared at the key in disbelief.

“ ‘Thank you’ is usually appropriate.” Mamaw winked.

Carson laughed, then smiled at her. “Thank you.”

Mamaw felt a rush of emotion mist her eyes. “Oh, I do hate to see you go. Well, kiss me good-bye now, my precious girl,” she said with false bluster. “Then off to bed. You’ll need your sleep for the long drive.”

“I’ll kiss you good night now, and kiss you good-bye tomorrow.”

Mamaw shook her head. “No, all now. I hate good-byes.” She sighed. “There have been too many in my life.”

Carson kissed her grandmother’s cheek, lingering at her ear. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

It was a fitting morning for travel. The sky was cloudless and the air was clear, free from the heavy Southern humidity that made one feel drenched by nine
A.M
. Mamaw stood on the widow’s porch, her hands clutching the railing, looking at the scene unfolding below.

“You sure you don’t want to go down and join them?” Lucille asked by her side. “We’re like a couple of old hens roosting up here.”

“Quite sure,” Mamaw said, feeling again the twinge in her heart that she always felt at partings. She rallied, straightening
her shoulders, and said archly, “We’ve said our good-byes, and you know how I despise melodrama.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucille said with heavy sarcasm. “You sure do hate any drama.”

Mamaw had the grace to chuckle. She directed her gaze to the cluster of young women gathered around the blue Cadillac. The car was packed; the top was down. For a moment she recalled herself as a young woman standing in that very driveway, laughing, hugging, kissing when she’d said numerous good-byes to Parker as he followed his wanderlust, and the forced smiles that belied her heartbreak each time her Summer Girls returned to their distant homes at summer’s end. And, too, the dreadful, final farewells to her husband and son. Such was the burden of a long life. There were too many good-byes, so many sunrises and sunsets, memories joyous and painful.

Carson was the tallest, dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue linen shirt. Her dark hair was bound in a braid that fell down her back like a long rope. Over this she wore a straw fedora-like hat with a bright blue band. She was leaning against the big car with a proprietor’s air, dangling the keys in front of her sisters’ faces. Dora stood beside her in pink Bermuda shorts and a floral T-shirt, her blond hair flowing loose to her shoulders. She sipped from the mug in her hands as they talked. Harper was as sleek as a little black bird in ankle-length pants and a shirt, her coppery hair pulled back in a ponytail. How she could stand in those high-heeled sandals, Mamaw didn’t know.

“They’re as different from each other today as they’ve
ever been,” she said to Lucille. “And yet, in the past few weeks I believe they’d discovered that they’re not without some rather profound commonalities. Don’t you think?”

“If by commonalities you mean they’re not at each other’s throats and beginning to like each other again, I’ll give you that,” Lucille replied.

“That, too, of course,” Mamaw said with a hint of impatience. But it was so much more than this, and yet too difficult to put into words. Though the girls were still negotiating the delicate bonds of sisterhood, in the past weeks she’d heard in their voices, and seen in small gestures, the beginnings of reconnection. A rediscovery of the magic they’d once shared when they were together at Sea Breeze during those long-ago summers—the three of them huddled on the beach under a single towel, whispering together in their beds, sipping from three straws in a single root-beer float, exploring the mysteries of the island and beach. Her prayer was that as the summer unfolded and the women shared time again at Sea Breeze—the very name implied a breath of fresh air—they would discover the life force that would give their lives purpose and meaning.

The sound of laughter swelled from below, drawing Mamaw’s attention again. Something had stirred the girls to that belly-holding, bent-over laughter that brought tears to the eyes. Their high-pitched hoots were louder than the piercing call of the osprey circling above them. Mamaw’s heart swelled and her eyes grew misty again.

“Look at them,” she said to Lucille. “That’s how I
always
want to see them. Happy. Bonding, supportive of each
other. After we’re gone, that’s all they’re going to have. Is that too much to ask?”

“I reckon that’s every mother’s prayer,” Lucille said.

“I’m worried about them,” Mamaw said from the heart. “They look happy for the moment, but they’re still so unsettled. All of them. I wonder what I can do to help them.”

“Now don’t you start up on that again. Remember the trouble that caused? You got them all here. You got them back in the game. That’s all you can do. Now it’s up to them to play out their own hands.”

“But the cards are still being dealt,” Mamaw cautioned.

Lucille shrugged. “Sure enough. Till the game is over.” She turned to Marietta and they exchanged a look that spoke of a lifetime of shared worries. “You win some, you lose some.”

The symphonic honk of the Cadillac’s horn brought their attention back to the girls below. Carson was looking up to the rooftop, her arm straight in the air, waving. Mamaw and Lucille raised their hands and enthusiastically returned the wave. They watched as the big car pulled slowly out of the driveway with Dora and Harper trotting after it, shouting “Death to the ladies!” With a final honk, Carson hit the gas. The engine roared and she took off, disappearing around the hedge of greenery.