The Summer's End (34 page)

“I really am sorry,” Carson said. “I'm being an idiot. It's just . . . I'm struggling. I feel lost and I just can't pull it together. I know I can get short-tempered and mean when I'm depressed. I'm really sorry I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. You were trying to help.”

Harper bent to let her hands slide in the water. “You always have a problem with my family's money.”

“You know it's
really all about my own insecurities that I have none.”

Harper drew back and wiped her hands on her blouse. “Well, now I don't, either. So can you just quit it?”

“You really don't?”

“If I stay here, my mother is cutting off my income from the trust fund.”

“Can she do that?”

“She's the executor.”

Carson looked at her. “How much money are we talking about?”

Harper shrugged. “Enough that I don't have to worry.”

Carson sighed. “Must be nice.”

“Carson . . .”

“Sorry, but really, from where I come from, that sounds pretty good.”

“I would give every penny of my trust fund to buy Sea Breeze. I don't care about the money.”

Carson snorted. “Only people with lots of money can say that.”

“Can I say something and not get you mad?”

Carson looked at her warily. “What?”

“Get a friggin' job! You're always bellyaching about not having money. Go get some!”

“I've tried!” Carson shouted back. “No one's hiring me.”

“Maybe not here. You're a stills photographer for film and television. One of the best. You're not going to find a job like that here. Go back to LA and start pounding the pavement. Something will turn up.”

Carson shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Why not?”
Harper asked, exasperated.

Carson looked at her feet as they kicked the water. “I burned my bridges. I was careless and thoughtless with my career.”

“Is that when you were drinking?” Harper asked softly.

Carson groaned and kicked harder in the water. “Yeah. There's a rule on set. You can get drunk on your own time, but not on the production's time. I screwed up my job. Slept with the director. Lord, I was really on a binge. Word got out and now no one will hire me.”

Harper looked at her sister's averted face. Carson appeared downcast, with her long, dark hair in a flyaway knot at her neck. “Carson, you haven't had a drink in a long time. It's been three months.”

Carson nodded, watching her feet swish the water.

“So . . . why are you drinking now?”

Carson swung her head to stare, wide-eyed, at her sister.

“Granny James didn't raise me stupid,” Harper said, slipping into colloquial. She pointed. “Did you think I wouldn't see that brown bag? You are so busted.”

Carson swallowed hard, her face pained. “I didn't drink any.”

Harper made a disbelieving face.

“Really, I didn't. But I was close.” Carson groaned loudly. “I want it so bad.”

“It's not going to help. You know that. If you drink that now, you'll only feel worse about yourself.”

“I couldn't feel worse about myself. It'll make me feel better. At least numb.”

Harper heard the low, growling tone of depression in her sister's voice.

“Carson, how can I help?”

“You can't. Nobody can.”

Carson was staring pensively at the Cove.

“What about Blake?”

“I broke up with Blake.”

“Again?”
cried Harper, her heart falling. “But you love him.”

“I know,” Carson said miserably.

“Why?” Harper whined.

“I'm all mixed up now!” Carson blurted. “The baby's gone. My career's gone. Soon Sea Breeze will be gone. Everything I love is going away.”

“Seems to me like now's the time you need to hold on to Blake the most.”

Carson pulled her legs out of the water and brought them close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her long legs. “I'm a hot mess. He's better off without me.”

“No . . .”

“Really. It's that totem thing, remember? The shark?”

“I wouldn't make my life decisions based on that.”

“That's what I'm supposed to do. According to the book. And my gut. You see”—Carson, eyes intent, turned to face Harper—“it's like the me I used to be is gone.” Carson waved her hand out to the sea. Her voice cracked. “And she took my courage, my self-esteem, and my heart with her.”

Harper leaned closer to place a consoling hand on her sister's shoulder. To show in a small way that her sister wasn't alone.

“I have to find her again,” Carson said shakily. She sniffed and shook her hands in front of her, similar to the way Nate did
when he was nervous. “And,” she said in a normal voice, “that I have to do by myself. No one can help me do that. Can you understand what I'm saying?”

Harper thought about how she'd done the same thing for herself this summer at Sea Breeze. She'd isolated herself, given herself time and quiet to search inward for her strengths, her passions. To find herself.

“Yes,” she said with heart. “I know exactly what you're saying.” She held her breath. Harper hadn't planned on sharing her secret with anyone other than Taylor, but she knew now why Taylor had said writing could be a gift. “This summer I did just what you're describing. And . . .” Harper licked her lips. “I started writing.”

Carson wiped her eyes, then turned her head to stare at Harper. “Writing?” Carson's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Writing what?”

“A book.”

Carson's eyes widened. “I knew it!” She pointed. “Your fingers were always tapping at something. I had a bet with Dora you were writing a book. I said it was a tell-all. Dora thinks you're writing a historical about the Gentleman Pirate. So what is it?”

Harper smiled devilishly. “You win.”

Carson gasped. “Shit!”

“You can't tell anyone. You promise?”

“I promise. But why not? You should be proud.”

“With Daddy's history, I'm not ready to tell anyone. Least of all my mother. It's a big secret.” Harper paused. “But I'll show it to you.”

Carson went very still. “Me? Why me?”

“You're my heroine. Don't you know that yet? Carson, you've always been the hero in all my stories.”

Carson's face crumpled as she leaned closer to give her sister a clumsy hug.

“Come on.” Harper disentangled herself and pulled her sister to a stand. “Let's go get it. Oh.” Harper pointed to the dock. “And bring that bag with you.”

In Harper's room Carson flopped on the bed and kicked her legs in the air with excitement. “I feel like it's Christmas and I'm getting the best present.”

Harper grimaced as she went to the desk. “Well, we'll see how you feel after you've read it.”

She unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a large manuscript. The pages were dog-eared but she carried it to Carson as if it were a bar of gold bullion. It was, in fact, a treasure beyond price. A part of her soul lay embedded in these pages. These words were like a written confession of her deepest, darkest secrets. And now she was exposing them to another's eyes.

Carson rose to a sitting position, her face apprehensive as Harper drew near with the manuscript.

“First, you have to make a trade. The bottle of booze for the book.”

“Right.” Carson leaned over on the mattress to fetch the brown paper bag. She handed it to Harper. “Go ahead and throw it out.”

“I will.”

Carson waited in anticipation.

Harper's
hands grew clammy. “Don't show it to anyone else. Promise?”

“I promised already.”

“Say it!”

“I promise,” Carson said solemnly.

Harper took a breath, then reached out and handed over the book. It felt as if Carson were prying the book from her fingers.

Carson wiped her palms on her shorts, then smoothed the top page with her palm as she looked at it. She looked up with wonder. “You called it . . .”

Harper put her finger to her sister's lips. “You promised—don't tell anyone!”

It was late. After midnight. Carson slipped from the house to the garage. Her hands were shaking as she fired up the big engine of the Blue Bomber. She was frightened of what she was going to do. What she knew she must do.

Harper's book was a revelation. Though it was a novel and the characters had made-up names, they were thinly veiled. Anyone knowing the family would be able to identify which sister was which in the book.

Carson clutched the wheel tight as tears filled her eyes. Was that how Harper really saw me? she wondered. Callie, the character in the book, was strong and fearless. Devoted to the sea and her family, and to one beguiling dolphin in particular. This woman was a heroine by anyone's measures.
Can that be me?

More tears, she thought with annoyance as she swept them from her cheeks. What kind of a heroine was weeping all evening?
Yet, it was as though the tears were washing away the film of self-doubt that had plagued her. Tonight she'd almost fallen into a pit of despair and self-destruction. Harper—and her book—had led her from the brink. But no one could save her but herself.

She had to be the heroine in her own story.

Carson took a deep, calming breath and shifted the gears. She backed out of the garage, then drove with purpose north on Middle Street. A few minutes later she parked near Dunleavy's Pub. Cars were still parked in the slots, but she found one nearby. The laughter on the street was louder and brassier, a sign of late-night drinkers. She reached the dark green pub at the corner, past the picnic tables, and peered in the windows. It was near closing time, but a handful of people were still there, mostly in their twenties and thirties. The late crowd.

Taking a breath, she pushed open the door. Immediately she smelled the freshly popped popcorn and recalled the days it was her job to make it. She stood at the door of the popular watering hole and glanced quickly around the room. Old beer cans and license plates from across the country decorated the walls, along with photographs of local sports teams and signed photographs of a few famous greats. A soft buzz filled the room. The television over the bar had a baseball game playing.

Ashley, a fellow waitress when Carson worked here, smiled, drawing near, carrying a tray of dirty glasses back to the sink. “Hey, girl. Long time no see!”

“You took the night shift.”

Ashley shook her blond head. She looked tired after a long night. “No, filling in. Hey, great to see you.” She smiled wearily and, her arms loaded, hurried on to the kitchen.

Carson's
gaze moved directly to the bar, the crown jewel of the pub, which dominated the back wall. Behind the bar, in his usual spot, the bartender stood facing the room, polishing a glass.

Carson walked straight to the bar, grabbed hold of the polished wood, and leaned forward, her gaze squarely on Bill. He was the bar's owner and manager and had been her boss when she was a waitress here. He was an old friend of Mamaw's, which had helped her get the job. Bill had also fired Carson for stealing a bottle of liquor.

Bill, a big man, had a long, drooping face that spoke of how he'd seen it all and suffered no fools. He had spotted her the moment she'd entered the room. His habit was to immediately check out anyone who walked through his door. His gaze had followed her as she walked across the room, and he studied her as she stood before him.

“Carson.” He nodded in greeting. He set down the glass and towel, then walked to stand across from her. “How can I help you?”

Carson gathered her courage. “Do you remember how you told me you'd be my sponsor for AA?”

His expression shifted. “I do.”

“I'm asking you to be my sponsor.”