The Summer Wind (5 page)

“Did it die?” he asked.

“Too soon to tell. Carson followed the dolphin to Florida, to the rehab center.” She shook her head. “I’m worried for Nate if she dies. Since the accident he’s been back in his room with those damn video games. He won’t go outdoors or swim in the Cove. I’m afraid he’s in one of his bad periods.”

“I never was much of a help during those spells,” Cal admitted.

“You could have tried,” Dora said pointedly.

To her surprise, Cal nodded. “I admit there are times I could have been a little more patient with him,” Cal said.

Dora was taken aback. Cal had never before acknowledged his poor treatment of Nate. “He’s only nine. You still have plenty of time to repair bridges.”

“That’s true.”

For a moment, Dora felt almost hopeful. Maybe there was a way they could still work this out, still be a family. They owed it to Nate to try. She was about to utter those words when Cal spoke again, his tone suddenly businesslike and strained, any hint of a remorseful father wiped clean.

“Anyways, Dora,” he said, his eyes focused on a point just over her shoulder, “that’s not what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

Dora felt her stomach rise to her throat and a burn blaze across her cheeks. Against her better judgment she’d let her guard down for a moment, thinking he might have changed. And she knew he was about to stomp all over that vulnerability.

“I see,” she said in a carefully measured voice. “What do you want to talk about?”

Now Cal was studying the wineglass as if it held the secrets of the universe. After a moment he folded his hands together on the table and met her gaze.

“I came to discuss an amicable divorce.”

“An amicable divorce?” she repeated, not comprehending the meaning of the phrase.

“Yes.” Cal leaned forward slightly and began to speak in a
controlled and deliberate voice, as though he’d memorized each word. It frightened her more than if he’d shouted.

“You see, a divorce doesn’t have to be a free-for-all. You saw how much tension and anger was pent up in the lawyer’s office this morning. Divorce can be amicable if the divorcing couple communicates frankly about their needs and desires while resolving the issues they face.”

“
The divorcing couple
,” she repeated, incredulous and enraged by his pretentiousness, his distance. “Lord in heaven, Cal, you sound like you’re on some advertisement. The divorcing couple? There’s just you and me.”

Cal sat back, slightly insulted. “Right,” he said.

“Go on. I’m listening.”

He continued. “Basically, you and I will work out the details ourselves,” he said, dropping the officious tone. “Not the lawyers. If we ask the attorneys to resolve our issues, it can get nasty and our case can go on forever and cost a fortune in legal fees. Look at what happened today. Your lawyer was blindsiding my lawyer. It was getting contentious. The way I see it, we can make a settlement plan ourselves, have our lawyers look at it, and we can remain friends. I’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’d be better for Nate, too, don’t you think?”

Now that Cal had effectively burst her bubble of denial, Dora could listen to his words and hear the veneer he was spreading on thick.
Her
lawyer blindsiding? It had been just the opposite.

“I don’t think so, Cal,” she replied in an even tone. “I heard what you offered today. If that’s your idea of working things out, then you can take your settlement and stick it where the sun don’t shine.” She smiled sweetly.

Cal’s face colored. “So, you’re going there, are you?”

“I’m only continuing down the path you started us on.”

“I thought, well . . .” Cal sat back in his chair, slapping his palms on his thighs in a gesture of impatience. “I don’t know why I’d expect you to be reasonable.”

“You thought I’d just sit back and do whatever you told me to do, like I always did. Didn’t you? Good ol’ Dora. She’ll toe the line.” Dora jabbed her finger at him. “
You
left, Cal. You walked out that door, not only on me but on your son. I expected a man who did something like that would feel some guilt. I expected you to be generous. To
be reasonable
.” She laughed insultingly. “I saw how reasonable you were. Nate and I can’t live on what you offered!”

“If I had more I’d offer more!”

“I know exactly what you make and I know when I’m getting the short end of the stick. You always were cheap, Cal. But I’m not just talking about the money. We always said if anything ever happened to us that the antiques you inherited would go back to your family and mine would go back to mine. But now you want my family antiques, too.”

“Everything we own, including the furniture, is considered communal property. The lawyers explained that. We have to divide it equally.”

“Have to? If we do this amicable divorce thing, we can do what we want. You just said so.”

Cal set down his glass and stood abruptly. His chair scraped the wood floor. “I can see there’s no discussing anything when you’re in this mood. This is where Nate gets it from.”

Dora gasped and felt a sharp pain, as though the words had stabbed her heart. She’d always known that deep down he’d
blamed her for Nate’s autism. Dora’s heart began pumping hard in her chest and her mouth felt so dry that she couldn’t respond.

“I’d better go,” he said.

“Yes, go. You’re good at that!”

His face pinched and he turned to leave.

“You didn’t just leave me, you know,” she cried after him. “You left Nate.”

He turned back to face her. His own face was set in resolve. “Yes.”

Her heart ached for her son, her sad, lonely boy. “You haven’t called or visited him. You’re a lousy father, do you know that?” She could feel the emotion rising and was powerless to stop it, didn’t want to stop it. “You never even once took Nate fishing!”

“Fishing? What the . . . Where did that come from?”

“He wanted to learn how to fish. What boy doesn’t? Mamaw taught him. Not you. You never taught him anything. He was always a disappointment to you.”

“Dora, we’re getting off track. Why are we digging up all this anger when the only reason I came over tonight was to try to find a peaceful settlement? You always do that. You get so emotional.”

“You want to see emotion? I’ll show you emotion!” Her voice rose to a shout. “Why did you leave me? You never told me. Why?”

The louder she yelled, the more withdrawn Cal became. He blew out a plume of air. “I hated my life,” he answered simply.

Dora went silent, mouth agape, blindsided.

“Every night when I came home I stood at the door and resented that I had to enter this house.” His gaze swept the
room. “I hate this goddamn house,” he said in a cold monotone. “It’s been an albatross around my neck. Then the minute I’d walk in you’d start rattling on and on about Nate’s problems or the house’s problems, or the yard’s problems. There were always problems! I couldn’t get five minutes to sit down and relax before you’d start right in wanting to discuss some earth-shattering problem, like the garbage disposal was broken.”

“You could have told me! I’d have given you space.”

“It’s not only that.”

“What else?”

“It’s us.”

“What about us?”

“There is no us!” Cal exploded. “There hasn’t been for a long time. There’s only you and Nate. I’m the odd man out. Sure, I understand that Nate needs a lot of your time. I get that. But once you got his diagnosis you were obsessed. You couldn’t do enough. You’ve been
over
involved. Our entire lives revolved around him. Dora, you hover. You plan every moment of his life.”

“It is my job!” she cried, almost in tears. “I’m his mother!”

“You were also my wife! You forgot that part. I became an afterthought in this house.”

“An afterthought? I cooked your meals, cleaned your house, did your laundry.”

“I want a wife, not a goddamn maid!”

Dora sucked in her breath. More than all the words spoken in the lawyer’s office, more than all the lists on ledgers, this moment told her for certain that her marriage was over. He didn’t love her, had not loved her for some time. Would never love her again.

“I . . . I didn’t know you felt that way.” She choked back tears.

Cal wagged his head with exhaustion. He was the picture of a man throwing in the towel. He softened his voice. “Don’t cry, Dora. Please . . .”

His words just made her sob harder. She gulped for air, unable to catch her breath. It felt as though he’d taken her heart in his hands and was squeezing it, tighter and tighter. She felt pain under her rib cage and, clutching her chest, she doubled over.

“Dora, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear him for the thundering in her ears. She staggered forward, her knees buckling.

“It’s my heart. I can’t breathe.”

A
sultry, salty breeze lifted Carson’s long, dark hair like a sheath of silk from her shoulders. It was the only visible movement as she sat still as a statue on a metal chair, leaning forward with her chin cupped in her palm. She had an athlete’s body, strong and trained. She could hold this position for a long while, her gaze laser-focused on one particular blue tank in the Mote Marine cetacean hospital.

This rear area of the hospital was more utilitarian than the larger, beautiful Mote aquarium. A large wall was dominated by an attractive sea-green and white mural depicting dolphins. The mural distracted the eye from the industrial gray stucco walls and towering water tanks in the behind-the-scenes outdoor arena. A few blue holding tanks occupied a corner of the space. All the tanks were empty save one, which held a dolphin.

“Oh, Delphine,” Carson murmured.

Carson had barely recognized the beautiful, beguiling Delphine she knew from Sullivan’s Island. That dolphin was a vigorous, sleek female in her prime. This dolphin’s skin was a dull gray, she was listless and weak, and her long body was crisscrossed with scars.

Staring at the listless dolphin, Carson couldn’t move or speak. Her heart was crushed under the weight of her guilt. Sitting in the glare of the sun, feeling the burn, Carson had to own that it was her fault this dolphin had been so badly injured. As Blake had told her, this is what her selfishness had brought them to.

Blake Legare worked for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Charleston. He’d been her friend, her lover, but the fact that she’d kept from him the truth that she’d befriended a dolphin at the dock at Sea Breeze had forged a wedge between them. She’d gone against all that he worked so hard to educate the public against doing, and in the end she’d proved him correct. She’d fed a wild dolphin and the dolphin was injured. Yet Blake still arranged for her to visit the Mote Marine cetacean hospital, where he’d brought Delphine for treatment. For this, she’d always be grateful.

Carson had driven to Sarasota from Sullivan’s Island the day before. Tired and hungry, she arrived in town late and checked into a modest motel as close to the Mote Marine hospital as she could afford. She’d barely slept a wink waiting for dawn, and was standing at the doors of the hospital when they opened.

The staff had received word of her impending arrival and were friendly enough, but until formal permission was granted for access, all Carson was permitted to do was enter the hospital area, wait patiently, and watch. She’d been sitting for over
an hour and that was more than enough time to observe how sick Delphine truly was. Even with Blake’s warning, she hadn’t been prepared for the extent of the dolphin’s injuries.

A short while later, Carson heard a voice call her name. She turned to see a tall, attractive woman in a swimsuit and bright blue rash guard with
MOTE
emblazoned across the chest. She wore her blond hair in a long ponytail and carried a clipboard. Carson sprang to her feet, eager to talk to someone about Delphine.

“You’re Carson Muir?” the woman asked.

“I am,” Carson replied, reaching out her hand.

“Lynne Byrd,” the woman replied in greeting, giving Carson’s hand a perfunctory shake.

Lynne looked at her clipboard, her demeanor all business. “It says here that you’re requesting to be allowed to volunteer with the dolphin rehabilitation program.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s see.” She checked her notes. “Dr. Blake Legare contacted us.” She glanced up. “Do you know Blake?”

Carson looked at the exceptionally pretty woman and felt a flutter of jealousy. “He’s a friend.”

She smiled. “Yeah, Blake’s a good guy. We’ve worked together,” she said in an offhand manner that spoke only of a professional relationship. “He asks that you specifically be allowed to volunteer with the dolphin Delphine.” She glanced up, questioning. “Why this dolphin?”

“I know this dolphin.”

“You
know
her?”

Carson heard the same censorious tone in Lynne’s voice that she’d noticed in Blake’s when he’d first learned that Carson had befriended a wild dolphin.

Carson nodded. “It’s a long story.”