The Summer's End

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “It’s not only the kitchen,” Harper said. “There’s a film of dust on all the furniture. Dust bunnies on the floor.”

  “Mamaw had to cancel the cleaning crew,” Dora said. “She said she had to cut back. All of us living here, eating her food, using her hot water, has really upped her monthly expenses.”

  “Not to mention the bedrooms she created for us,” Harper added.

  Dora shook her head. “We’re still acting like those little girls who used to come here in the summer. All we did was play and eat and fight and think of ourselves. We didn’t do a lick of work, not really. And here we are, doing the same thing. Only we aren’t little girls anymore, are we?”

  Harper walked to the table and lifted the nearly empty carton of cookies. “Okay, who ate all the cookies and just left the package out, crumbs and all?”

  With her long hair flying Carson looked like an Amazon princess on the warpath as she stomped to Harper to snatch the carton from her hands. She took out the final fig cookie and popped it into her mouth. “I’m sorry,” Carson snapped. “I was hungry. Hey, I’m pregnant. Didn’t you ever hear of midnight cravings? It happens.”

  Harper looked at Carson’s abdomen and wondered again how a baby could be growing inside that flat, taut belly.

  Dora said, “We don’t care about you eating the cookies. Eat as many as you want. Just clean up after yourself! We’re not your maids. Besides, it’s not just Carson making a mess. It’s all of us.”

  Carson looked at her older sister. “You’re right, of course. We can’t expect Mamaw to take care of us. Nor should she. We should be taking care of her.”

  “Amen,” Dora said.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that,” Harper said, warming to the topic. “I’m worried about her. Want to guess where I found her this morning?” She paused, watching them shake their heads with curiosity. “Sitting on the porch. Playing solitaire.”

  Dora’s mouth opened in a silent gasp.

  Carson looked stricken. “Playing solitaire? That’s just too sad.”

  “She even asked me if I believed in an afterlife.”

  “No . . . ,” Carson breathed.

  “Bless her heart,” Dora said with a sorry shake of her head.

  Harper continued, “She’s having a hard time with Lucille being gone.”

  “Lucille doted on Mamaw,” Dora said. “And when Lucille got sick, Mamaw doted on her. I ’spect she’s lonelier than God right now.”

  “She shouldn’t sit around all alone,” said Carson. “Maybe we can think of things to do with her. Get her out of the house.”

  “We can go on a shopping trip to Charleston,” suggested Dora. “Then have tea at Charleston Place. Maybe a little champagne. Girl stuff. She’d like that.”

  “We can play gin rummy with her, like Lucille did,” said Carson. “Mamaw loves to play cards.”

  “I don’t know how to play gin rummy,” said Harper.

  “It’s easy. I can teach you.” Carson’s voice quickened with excitement. “How about we all play cards together, like we used to in the summers when we were little? I loved that. What was the name of the game we played . . . ?”

  “Canasta!” said Dora, her eyes gleaming.

  “Yes, that’s it!” Carson said.

  “I don’t remember how to play that, either,” said Harper. “Anyone know bridge?”

  Carson shook her head. “It’s got to be canasta . . .”

  “Or hearts. We played that, too,” Dora added with authority.

  “Hold on,” Harper interjected. “Before we start playing, can we talk about working? We have to divvy up the chores.”

  “Right.” Carson gave a military salute and smirked as she walked to the small desk. “Since when did you become the little general?” She rummaged through the drawers. “We can make a schedule, like I made for Nate in Florida.”

  Dora called after her, “I don’t think we need drawings of stick figures, suns, and moons.”

  “Ha-ha,” Carson quipped, returning to the table, hands filled with supplies. “Okay, I’ve got some paper, markers, pens.” She pulled out a chair and sat, spreading the materials in front of her with enthusiasm. “You two muddle about who does what. I’ll make the chart.”

  Dora caught Harper’s eye and they smiled. It was amusing to see the freewheeling Carson get behind something as orderly and routine as a schedule.

  “I’ll make coffee.” Harper headed to the sink with renewed purpose. “I’m no good making any decisions without my caffeine jolt.” Harper approached the sink hesitantly and plucked up the sponge with two fingers. She looked over her shoulder to see her sisters watching.

  They burst out with renewed laughing.

  “It’s not funny!” But this time Harper laughed as well.

  “I’ll pass on the coffee,” said Carson, patting her abdomen. “Makes me nauseous.”

  “Would you bring a cup up to Mamaw?” Harper asked. “I sent her to her room to get dressed. Poor thing was just lying about in her nightclothes.”

  Carson’s face registered shock. “Really? Damn, she must be seriously out of sorts. Let’s do this.”

  After Harper made coffee, Dora cleared the long wood table and wiped away the crumbs. Soon, steaming mugs were on the table, and a stack of raisin toast. The scent of coffee and cinnamon filled the air as the three women sat together and began making plans. First they created a formal schedule of chores to be done daily and those to be done weekly. Allocating the workload took a little more time as they argued about who did what chore best. Finally they set up a schedule for cooking meals and shopping. In the end, no one complained. Harper felt buoyed by the sisterly cooperation.

  As they worked, they reminisced about the meals Lucille had prepared, the homespun advice she’d offered, and laughed at the shared anecdotes. Harper thought to herself how talking about Lucille kept her memory alive in their hearts and memories. When the schedule was finished, they posted it on the fridge with magnets and stood back to admire it.

  “I don’t think there’s anything on that schedule that will help organize my life,” Carson said with a rueful grin. “But at least the house will be clean.”

  “I hear you,” Harper added, and the two women clinked mugs.

  “Speaking of schedules.” Dora carried her mug to the sink. “I hate to throw a wrench in our newly laid plans, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be on your work team.”

  “Why not?” Carson swung her head around.

  Dora set her coffee mug on the counter and took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve made some decisions.”

  Her sisters sat staring at her silently with rapt attention.

  “I’m not moving back to Summerville. I’ve decided to stay close by. Mt. Pleasant probably.”

  “Nate will be happy,” Carson said. “He loves the water.”

  “Nate’s the main reason I’m staying.”

  “And Devlin . . . ,” added Carson mischievously.

  Dora laughed in acknowledgment. “Him, too. But . . . the main reason is that I’ve found a school for Nate. It starts next week.”

  The announcement was met with surprised silence.

  Harper was delighted with the news but had to ask, “You’re not homeschooling anymore?”

  Dora shook her head and turned to the sink. She squirted soap into it and turned on the hot water. Water gushed through the faucet as the sink filled.

  “No. I’ve decided to send Nate to the Trident Academy. It’s a private school that has a wonderful program for children with Asperger’s syndrome.” Dora turned off the tap and turned to face her sisters. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. It’s time for Nate to mingle with other children. And it’s time for me to get out more, too.” Dora picked up the sponge and studied it. “So I’ve begun looking for a place in Mt. Pleasant, and let me tell you, it’s hard to find a rental I can afford.”

  “Aren’t you worried about all these changes for Nate? All at once?” asked Harper.

/>   “Of course I am.” Dora’s face was troubled. “Leaving Sea Breeze, a place he loves, to move into a strange place will be tough for Nate. But on top of that, he’ll be starting a new school, a whole new program.” Dora turned back to the sink and began to wash dishes with vigor. “That’s why I need to get him settled in a permanent place as soon as possible. We all know how difficult transitions are for him.”

  Harper rose to collect the dishes from the table and carry them to the sink. “How can we help?”

  Dora returned a grateful look. “Just asking him about it, bringing the school up in conversation, reminding him how many days till school begins. That kind of thing. We just have to get him used to the idea so it’s not a sudden shock. He’ll have a tour of the school at the end of the week. I’m hoping Cal will join us for that.”

  “Cal supports your decision?” Carson opened a drawer to grab a towel. “That’s a switch.”

  “You know Cal. He’s got to feel in control.”

  “What does control mean in this scenario?”

  “He put up a fuss initially about the cost of tuition.” Dora handed Carson a wet dish. “It’s high. There’s no sugarcoating that. But when I told him that I was getting a job to pay for half the tuition, he quieted down. Now he can tell everyone how he’s such a good father, putting his son through private school.” Dora made a face. “That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

  “Just honest,” Carson quipped. “Are you looking to buy or rent?”

  “Lord, I can’t afford to buy a birdhouse until my divorce is settled and the house in Summerville sells. It’s all kind of scary, but also exciting.” Dora laughed shortly. “I’m thirty-eight, and for the first time in my life I’m getting my own place.” Dora pulled the plug in the sink and, turning, grabbed the towel from Carson.

  Harper saw a new confidence in Dora’s face. “You sound happy.”

  Dora snorted and dried her hands briskly. “I think that’s hysteria you’re seeing.” Her arm dropped and the towel hung limp from her hands. “It’s not a happy thing to go through a divorce. Ten years of marriage . . .” She snapped her fingers. “Over. There’s a world of hurt mixed up in all of this. But,” she said with an optimistic tone, “it’s a new start. The end of a long period of unhappiness.”

  “I’m proud of you, Sis,” Carson said.

  “I’ve a lot to do in a hurry. Seems to be my mantra lately. At least I can carpool to the school from here without trouble till I find a place.” Dora looked around the room. “Thank God for Mamaw and Sea Breeze. It’s been all of our saving grace. But the sale of this house is imminent. We all have to face the fact we’ve got to move.”

  There followed a long silence.

  Dora tossed the towel on the counter and turned to Harper. “What about you? Where are you headed at summer’s end?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Harper answered evasively, leaning back against the counter. Inside, her thoughts were roiling. She’d been searching the Internet for possible editorial positions, writing, all the while keeping physically busy in the garden. Nothing she could report. Certainly nothing as life changing as Carson’s baby or Dora’s moving forward in her life, full steam ahead. “Still figuring things out.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everything is copacetic.” Harper forced a noncommittal grin.

  Dora turned her questioning gaze to Carson.

  Carson held up her hands like a shield. “It’s free rent. I’m staying here for as long as I can.”

  Harper thought that sounded defeatist. “Any luck on the job front?”

  “There’s not a big demand for a stills photographer in Charleston,” Carson added sarcastically. Then more seriously: “I’m knocking on everyone’s door in LA but nothing’s turned up yet. I’ve called everyone I know, and I mean everyone. It’s embarrassing. But I need to get something. I’m not kidding when I say the coffers are empty.”

  “I could lend you some money,” Harper hesitantly offered. She averted her gaze. The subjects of her wealthy family and her trust fund were touchy between her and Carson.

  “Thanks, Sis, but no. I don’t want to feel beholden to you. Our relationship is too important to me to risk.”

  Harper could appreciate that. She glanced back at Carson with a sly smile. “How about I pay you for a job?”

  Carson cocked her head. “Like what?”

  Harper considered. “Like surfing. I’ve always wanted to learn. I could pay you up front for a series of lessons. How does that sound?”

  “I’d love to,” Carson replied soberly. “But surfing isn’t exactly recommended for pregnant women. In case you forgot . . .” She motioned toward her belly.

  “But I thought—” Dora blurted.

  Carson sent Dora a level gaze. “You thought what?”

  Harper heard the cold challenge and tensed, fearing the abortion argument between conservative Dora and liberal Carson would erupt again.

  Harper jumped in the fray. “She thought, as I did, that you’d decided not to have the baby.”

  Carson’s face was difficult to read. “I wasn’t aware that I’d decided anything.”

  “Oh.” Harper picked up her mug and took a quick sip.

  An awkward silence followed, a sharp contrast to the easy banter of only moments earlier.

  Carson’s face changed, seeing her sisters’ confusion. “I went to talk with Lucille, the night she died.”

  “You did?” Dora tilted her head to catch every word. “What did you talk about?”

  “Oh, we talked about a lot of things. Mamaw, Blake, the baby . . .” Carson looked at her sisters. “You two.”

  They chuckled and muttered comments about what might have been said.

  Carson added, “It seems like it was just last night.”

  Dora sighed in commiseration. “I know. I miss her terribly. So does Nate.” She turned to Carson, truly interested. “So what did Lucille tell you?”

  “She didn’t tell me what to do. That wouldn’t be her style. It was an emotional evening. I was teary and she was consoling.” Carson shook her head in disbelief. “She was the one dying, and she was consoling me.”

  “That was Lucille,” said Dora.

  “Lucille told me how she used to watch me surf.” Carson picked at her nail, trying to keep her voice level. “All these years and I never knew that.”

  “Sounds like something she’d do,” said Dora.

  “She and Mamaw both. We talked about the waves, and how when she watched me, she could tell that I knew instinctively how to move, where to place my feet to keep balance. She told me to remember that I had good instincts. And that I had to trust them. Now more than ever.”

  “What are your instincts telling you now?” Harper asked softly.

  Carson rested her hands over her belly. “My instincts are telling me to stop obsessing over this decision and to just be. To live and let live. This baby is here.” She patted her belly softly. “I’ll just have to work out the details as they come along.”

  There followed a moment’s stunned silence.

  “You mean . . . you’re keeping the baby?” Dora asked.

  Carson nodded.

  Dora’s eyes widened as comprehension sank in. “We’re having a baby!” she hooted, clapping and practically bouncing in her chair.

  Carson put up her hand to still the explosion. “Let’s not start all that again. I’m trying to get used to the idea. You know me. Just the thought of being tied down to anything, anyone, makes me panic.” She put her hand to her heart. “Oh, God, my heart’s pounding at the thought. I’m not sure I’m ready. If I’ll ever be ready. I worry if somehow I’ll lose myself. Become invisible.”

  Dora grabbed her hand. “You won’t disappear. We won’t let you.”

  “You’ll shine,” added Harper.

  “Promise me you’ll keep reminding me of that,” Carson entreated.

  Dora put her hands to her cheeks in wonderment. “We’re having a baby!”

 
“Slow down, sister mine,” Carson admonished. “Let’s take it one day at a time, like you said.”

  Dora asked, “Does Blake know?”

  Carson shook her head. “And you’re not going to tell him. Or Devlin.”

  Dora opened her mouth to argue but, on second thought, snapped it shut.

  Dora’s come a long way, Harper thought, pleased to see her eldest sister showing some restraint where, only a short time earlier, she would have plowed full steam ahead with her unwanted advice.

  “Okay,” Harper said to Carson. “I guess I’ll pay you for the surfing lessons in advance.”

  Carson laughed with resignation and relief. “Yeah, okay. And thanks.”

  “If you really want to thank me, you can start vacuuming.” Harper pushed off from the counter. “Don’t think being pregnant gets you off easy. Dora, you’ve got garbage duty. FYI, it’s recycling day tomorrow. I’m going to start in the kitchen. Come on, girls.” Harper clapped her hands. “We’re wastin’ daylight.”

  Dora looked at Carson, her arms spread out in a gesture of incredulousness. “Who is that girl?”

  Hours later Mamaw walked into the kitchen to prepare lunch. She was arrested at the threshold by a vision of utter chaos. The entire contents of the cabinets—boxes of food, tins, spices, and all the dishes—had been emptied out and grouped into piles on the kitchen table and counters.

  Mamaw put one hand on the doorframe and stared in mute shock at the pots and pans littering the floor. “What on earth . . . ?”

  Harper was scrubbing the inside of a cabinet. Hearing her grandmother’s voice, she crawled out from deep inside and raised her head. The sponge in her hand dripped water to the floor.

  “Hi, Mamaw,” she called in a cheery tone.

  “Child, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  “I’m cleaning the kitchen.”

  Of course, Mamaw thought ruefully, it wasn’t enough for Harper to simply tidy the kitchen. She had to disassemble it, scour it, then reorganize it. Where did she get her energy? Mamaw wondered. She couldn’t ever remember having that kind of energy. It seemed as if all Harper’s domestic talents, dormant all these years, were bubbling out at Sea Breeze.