The Summer Wind (42 page)

Dora searched Carson’s face and saw the vulnerability in her eyes. She knew there was so much more she could say. She felt the words aching in her chest. But Carson was too fragile. Dora needed to tread softly.

“It’s not going to be easy, no matter what you decide. In either case, your life will never be the same.” She reached out and put her hand on Carson’s shoulder. “You’re my sister and I love you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you.”

Carson leaned forward and slipped her arms around Dora.

“Thank you,” Carson said, with a tremulous whisper.

“I’m here, too,” Harper said, wrapping her slender arms around both her sisters.

Carson lay on her side, her hands tucked under her head and her eyes wide open. She’d been lying in bed, listening to the storm slowly dissipate as it moved off island. Outside the house, as well as inside, a temporary peace had been restored. She saw the first faint gray light of dawn through the slats of the shutters. She heard the dawn song of the birds in the surrounding trees, vigorously heralding the new day.

The dawn had always called to Carson. She rose from her
bed and slipped a silk kimono over her underwear. Tying it at the waist, she walked out into the hallway, careful not to awaken her two sisters sleeping side by side on Dora’s bed. She’d heard them talking into the wee hours of the morning.

She opened the front door, cringing when it creaked loudly in the silence. Stepping outdoors, she was met immediately with the moist sweetness in the air that always followed summer storms. Raindrops lay heavy on the leaves of the oak tree, along the bark, and in puddles on the ground. A pearly mist hung over the island, and as she walked down the stairs she felt as though she were entering another world.

A noise caught her attention and she followed the sound, turning her head toward the cottage. She saw Lucille in her robe and slippers slowly climbing the stairs up to her front porch. Carson hurried across the cold gravel to Lucille’s side.

“Let me help you up the stairs,” she said, taking hold of Lucille’s arm. The old woman’s bones felt as light and hollow as a bird’s. They reached the porch and paused while Lucille caught her breath. Carson couldn’t remember ever seeing Lucille so winded and it scared her.

“I want to lie in my own bed,” Lucille told her.

“Of course. I’ll open the door for you and turn on a light. We don’t want you falling in the dark.”

“I could walk through my house with my eyes closed,” Lucille muttered, but she waited while Carson turned on the lights, then held open the door for her.

Carson followed Lucille into the cottage. All was as neat as a pin. The walls were painted stark white but the artwork covering the walls was alive with the vivid colors of popular African-American
artists of Charleston. Everywhere she looked she saw signs of Lucille’s personality and handiwork—the sweetgrass baskets, the embroidered pillows, the knitted throw. It was easy to see that Lucille loved her cottage and was happy here.

Stepping into Lucille’s bedroom, however, Carson caught the stale scent of illness and medicine. She helped Lucille out of her robe and into the black iron bed. Lucille had shrunk in size, and her robustness had disappeared along with the pounds. She looked like a child with her dark eyes wide in her face, her gray hair frizzled around her head like a halo, engulfed in the brightly colored crazy quilt. Carson let her gaze flutter around the room, capturing Lucille’s robe lying across the small lady’s parlor chair, the large bouquet of summer flowers, and the bedside table filled with medicine bottles.

“There, that’s better,” Lucille muttered. “I like lying in my own bed. Under my own roof.” She blinked heavily several times, seemingly exhausted. Then her gaze sought out Carson, and finding her, Lucille smiled weakly and patted the mattress. “Come closer, child.”

Carson came to sit on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle Lucille. It was heart-wrenching to see Lucille so weak and frail. For her, Lucille had always been the strong, opinionated, unwavering pillar of support. This woman had raised her. She’d been a mother to her every bit as much as her grandmother had. Carson held her breath, trying in vain to stop the tears.

“Why you crying?” Lucille asked.

Carson sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she blurted.

“Must be something, ’cause you hardly never cry. Tell me.”

Carson didn’t want to tell her she was crying because she couldn’t bear to see her so weak, so sick. How she couldn’t imagine life without her. So instead she told her of the other source of her tears, knowing Lucille was probably the one person who would listen and not judge her.

“I feel so lost. And scared.”

“About that life you got growing inside of you?”

Carson took a deep breath and nodded. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

Carson couldn’t look at her. “I think I do.”

“I see.” Lucille went quiet.

“You don’t think I’m a terrible person?”

Lucille snorted and shook her head. “You’re in trouble. And you’re scared. I can see that.”

“I’m thinking of going away.”

“ ’Course you are.”

Carson frowned and looked up. “Why do you say that?”

“ ’Cause whenever trouble comes, you run away.”

“No, I don’t!”

Lucille patted her hand, her thick knuckles and stubby nails beautiful to Carson. “Yes, child, you do. Always have. I’ve known you since you were born. When someone gets too close, you cut loose. Carson, you can’t ever outrun the kind of fear you got bottled up inside. You think if you don’t let anything or anyone get too close you won’t get hurt again, like you were when your mama died, or when your daddy took you away from us to go to California. I never thought your mamaw should’ve let that happen. You cried then like you’re crying now.” She sighed heavily. “And now, you’re upset I’m gonna
leave you, too. Now, don’t deny it,” she said, waving her hand against Carson’s open mouth. “The plain truth is, I
am
going to die and there’s nothing you can do and it scares you. I see it in your eyes. And you’re afraid your mamaw’s gonna die, too. Well, child, one day she is!”

“No,” Carson cried, her shoulders shaking as the tears gushed. She lowered her head to Lucille’s shoulder as she did when she was a little girl. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to go.”

Lucille patted her hand as Carson released the pent-up tears that she’d held at bay for too long. Tears of sorrow for Lucille’s illness, for the pregnancy, for her breakup with Blake, for her guilt over Delphine, for all the sorrows she knew were as yet coming.

When she finished Carson pulled herself back up and reached for a tissue.

“Feel better?”

Carson shrugged. “I feel drained.”

“A good cry is like letting loose the steam from a pipe. Gotta do it before it bursts.”

Carson blew her nose. “I’m crying a lot lately.”

“Hormones.”

“Oh, God . . .” Carson said with a long sigh.

“You and I, we’re both participating in the cycle of life. The beginning and the end. I find that kind of reassuring, don’t you?”

Carson looked out the window.

“We all enter and leave this world alone.” Lucille tapped Carson’s hand, drawing back her attention. “But it’s sharing our lives with others what makes life worth living. And makes the leaving easier. When your time comes, you know you’re leaving a part of yourself behind, with them.”

Lucille moved to sit higher up against the pillows. Her face scrunched up in pain with the effort while Carson fluffed up the pillows. Once she settled back, Lucille looked again at Carson, her dark eyes piercing.

“What’s really ailing you, child?”

Carson lowered her head. Her confusion and despair were like a black hole, sucking the light from her life. She squeezed her wildly swinging emotions into three tiny words: “I am afraid.” She hastily wiped her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t like being afraid. I feel frozen, like I did back when I was floating in the ocean staring into the deadly eyes of the shark. I couldn’t move. That’s how I feel now. My mind can’t make a decision.”

Lucille made a face and scoffed at the notion. “But you got away! You made it to shore. See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Girl, you got good instincts. I used to watch when you went out in that ocean riding them waves and wonder what that must feel like.”

“I didn’t know you watched me surf.”

“Well, I did. Your mamaw and I both did. You know how to move your feet and your legs, when to move a bit to the left or right, how to ride that wave back to shore.” She released a gentle laugh. “You might look like a natural out there, but I know how you got up early and went out there day after day, no matter what the weather. After all them years, your body just knows what to do. And
now
you’re doubting yourself? Girl, get out of your head! We might all be cheering you on from the beach, but it’s like I was saying. You’re alone out there on the water. You got to trust your instincts to take you where you’re supposed to go.”

“This isn’t the ocean. This is life. It’s different.”

“No it ain’t.” Lucille gave her a no-nonsense look, her
beautiful, intelligent eyes radiating faith and encouragement. “Carson, honey, life is like that ocean out there. It’s deep and bountiful, and the waves just keep on comin’. Sometimes the waves get choppy, sometimes they smooth. You just got to ride them, Carson, same as you always done.”

Lucille’s smile fell as her voice weakened. “Whatever you decide, don’t be afraid. I don’t never want to hear you say those words again. You hear?”

Carson nodded.

“You’ve got good instincts. Listen to them. You’ll know what to do.” Her eyelids lowered and she patted Carson’s hand a final time. “Now I’m tired. Didn’t sleep a wink in your mamaw’s bed. Go on and let me rest, eh? Just a little while.”

Carson bent to kiss Lucille’s cheek. She smelled of vanilla.

“Sweet dreams, Lucille,” she whispered.

Carson stepped outside the cottage and closed the door quietly behind her. She stood on the edge of the porch and raised her face to the warmth of the morning sun. The fog had lifted, though a soft rain still fell. The shrubs, flowers, and grasses were no longer bent over by the pounding rain and struggled to stand taller, shaking off the drops. Bits of leaves and debris lay scattered across the gravel, remnants of the storm. Looking up, she saw the ball of sun pushing rays of golden color through the dispersing clouds. Behind them, soft hues of rose and blue already were stretching across the morning sky.

Overhead, the calls of the birds grew increasingly strident, and beyond, she heard the roar of the ocean. As always, she followed its call. Carson walked across the gravel toward the beach, eyes on the sky.

M
amaw awoke slowly. She pried open an eye, yawned, then gathered her wits after the long, trembling night. Suddenly remembering, Mamaw turned to look at the pillow beside her.

Lucille was gone.

Of course she was, she thought with a weary sigh. Lucille no doubt sneaked out at the first sign of the storm’s abatement. She did love her own bed.

The sliding door to her former sitting room, Harper’s room now, was open. Supporting herself on one elbow, Mamaw craned her neck and peeked in. She saw that the bed had not been slept in. She’d heard the girls chatting like magpies in the other room until she’d fallen asleep. She wondered how late they’d stayed up. She hoped it had been one of those all-night bonding experiences that would stay with them long after the summer had passed, keeping them close despite the distance between them.

The house was silent. Mamaw slipped into her pink silk robe and slippers, then went into her bathroom and took her time with her toiletries, washing her face and brushing her teeth, adding moisturizer and running a comb through her hair. She opened the window and felt the breeze, carrying with it the scent of pluff mud and an earthy sweetness from the storm.

She slipped into underwear, a pair of soft pants, and a tunic, then went out into the living room, relishing the sight of sunlight pouring in through the windows. Peering out, she surveyed the storm’s damage. She was especially anxious about the ancient live oak tree that dominated the front yard. Those giant limbs hanging over the house were always a worry. She smiled with relief, seeing that once again the old tree had weathered the strong winds.
Good ol’ tree
, she thought with affection.