Nate had connected them again earlier this summer when he’d wanted to learn more about fishing. Nate had spotted the older man fishing on his dock and somehow found his way next door to ask Girard for help. Girard loved few things more than fishing and had taken immediately to teaching the boy, who proved to be an apt pupil. Nate called him Old Mr. Bellows, Mamaw recalled with a light laugh.
Then there had been the accident with Delphine, and all fishing stopped.
“Haven’t seen you out here for a while,” Girard said.
Marietta shook her head. “I’ve been busy. Lucille passed.”
Girard’s smile immediately fell and he offered sincerely, “My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“And your great-grandson, Nate. Nice boy. He sure loves his fishing.”
“It was nice of you to take the time to teach him.”
“Did he go home?”
“No, he’s still here.”
“Really? I haven’t seen him out on the dock. He hasn’t come asking for fishing advice.” Girard shook his head. “That’s one determined little guy.”
“Nate hasn’t touched his fishing rod since, well, not since the dolphin was hurt.”
“Oh, right.” Girard’s face grew solemn at the memory. “Sorry business, that.”
“Yes.”
“Did the dolphin survive?”
“She did. Delphine went to the Mote Marine Cetacean Hospital. Nicholas Johannes flew the dolphin to Florida in his plane, otherwise I don’t think the dolphin would have lived.”
“Good man to do that.”
Marietta nodded.
“Well, tell that rascal Nate he’s welcome to come over anytime.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
Girard looked down at his boat bobbing at the lower dock. “I seem to recall you were a pretty good fisherman in your day.”
“Fisherwoman. I still am,” she replied, taking umbrage. “Fishing is like riding a bicycle. Once you learn you never forget.”
He looked at her, smiling. “Is that so?” Girard crossed his arms. “In that case, why don’t you and I go fishing together sometime?”
Mamaw was startled by this invitation that seemed to come out of nowhere. Flustered, she felt her heart beat faster. Fishing, indeed . . . What a thought! She was busy. She had things to do. She couldn’t just jump into a boat and take off on a lark.
As she opened her mouth to decline, she heard the high-pitched cry of an osprey. She could never refuse the call of an osprey, and looking up, she spied the beautiful, black-winged raptor circling the Cove.
Beside her, Girard paused to take in the sight. “The great fish hawk at work,” he said with awe, bringing his hand up to his brow to shield his eyes. “No better fishers in the world.”
“I’ve always loved ospreys. They’re site loyal and mate for life. I think that makes them rather noble, don’t you?”
“I do, indeed.” He pointed to a small island to the right. “I built a platform on that hammock right over there. The same couple have returned to the nest, year after year, for about ten years. They’ve got fledglings now.”
Mamaw turned to study Girard with new eyes. “That was you?”
“It was.”
“I’ve wondered for years who did that. I’ve enjoyed watching that nest, the couple returning every February, checking for hatchlings, enjoying the fledglings. They’re getting ready to leave again.” She turned to cast him an assessing look. “And I have you to thank.”
“’Fraid so.”
She remembered then Girard’s love of nature, which she had appreciated when she was on the board of the land trust and had helped Girard arrange to put his family’s considerable land holdings in South Carolina into a conservation easement. Like other wealthy northern families, his family had owned a large plantation upland that they’d used for hunting parties. South Carolina was richer today for the thousands of acres now in conservation across the state. That deal had been the feather in her cap at the land trust.
Marietta turned to study the handsome profile of the man beside her. She reconsidered his invitation. “I might could go fishing,” she said, slipping into vernacular. “When do you have in mind?”
“Why not right now? No time like the present.”
She scoffed. “Now? How could I? I’d need to get my fishing rod, sunscreen . . .”
“Excuses. I have all that.”
She closed her mouth, flustered. It was true. No one at the house needed her help. She was moping about aimlessly. In truth, she needed nothing but a little gumption. Marietta felt a lightening in her chest, the first since Lucille’s death. Wouldn’t that old marsh hen cackle to see her and Girard Bellows out fishing together again?
Marietta took a deep breath. Then she released it with a laugh that was carried out on a breeze like an echo to the osprey’s call. “Why not, indeed?”
Chapter Six
August was bearing down hard. The entire weekend the beaches were packed with colorful towels and sunburned bodies. Even on Sunday morning it appeared folks were skipping church and praying on the beach. Everyone was trying to beat the heat and cram every last beach day in before the school season began.
By Monday morning, it was hotter than a sauna, even early morning on the beach while Harper attempted her daily run. The sand felt baked beneath her feet and radiated the heat. Harper considered herself lucky that she seldom perspired. Today, however, sweat was dripping down her face. That summer storm the forecasters predicted for the end of the week couldn’t come fast enough, she thought.
Harper swiped her hand in front of her face, shooing away a swarm of pesky gnats. Cursing, she gave up the fight and cut her run short, slowing to a walk on the way home. By the time she reached Sea Breeze she was sweaty and as splattered with bugs as a windshield. She staggered along the tilting slate walkway to the back of the house, past the overgrown gardenia shrubs to the outdoor shower. A huge banana spider sat in its gorgeous web under the eaves. She jolted to a stop. She saw more of them out now in late summer as the humidity rose. She used to be spooked by them, mostly because of their size. But once she learned that the brilliantly colored spiders with tarantula-like legs were in fact not only harmless, but helpful because they ate mosquitoes, she’d reached a truce. She’d give the spiders their space if they didn’t invade hers.
She carefully stepped around the intricate web and under the flow of water. It was bliss even as it sputtered warm from the old, miserly faucet to cascade down her body. She lathered up with the lavender shampoo and soap that Mamaw kept in supply, the sweet, calming scent filling the small space. When finished, she slicked back her hair, wrapped herself in a towel, and walked, refreshed, into the kitchen, dripping a small trail of water. All she wanted now was a cool glass of water.
The kitchen screen door slammed behind her, alerting the tall young man standing in the kitchen. He swung his head around to face her.
Harper stopped short, mouth agape.
Taylor’s gaze took in Harper dressed only in a towel, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Good morning.”
Harper tightened her towel around her, her face coloring. “Good morning. I, uh, didn’t expect to see anyone.” She looked around the room. “Where’s Carson?”
“This isn’t a social call. I’m here to work on your kitchen. You talked to my dad and set us up for beginning of the week, remember?”
“You’re doing the work?”
His genial expression shifted to reflect his worry. “I know what I’m doing. Is that a problem?”
“No,” Harper hurried to reply. “I’m just surprised, is all. I was expecting your dad.”
“He’s still working on another job. I offered to help out. It’s the only way he could’ve gotten the project done right away.” Taylor shifted his weight and added offhandedly, “To be honest, we pushed your job in front of another project.”
“Oh.” Harper felt instantly grateful. “That’s great.” She
tightened her towel around herself, even as she wanted to sink right into the floor.
When his father had stopped by the day before, he’d taken a quick look at the kitchen and offered a reasonable estimate for the job. When she’d asked if he could begin right away, he’d replied that she was in luck. He had some extra help now. She didn’t imagine that the “extra help” would be Taylor.
Dora burst into the room, returning from her run. She was drenched in sweat, her face as pink as her soaked T-shirt. Wiping her brow with the back of her arm, she hollered, “I’m sweating like a two-dollar whore on nickel night!”
Harper stifled a laugh. She glanced at Taylor and saw his lips twitch in a smile.
“Oh.” Dora’s eyes went wide when she spotted Harper in a towel standing beside a strange man. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”
Harper nodded her head in Taylor’s direction. “This is Taylor. The man who befriended Nate and Carson at the Dolphin Research Center?”
Recognition dawned on Dora’s face and she hurried over to his side, her grin widening. “You’re that Taylor? Well, I’ll be. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Lord, as far as my son is concerned, you walk on water. He doesn’t make friends easily, so high marks to you.” Dora wiped her palm on her running shorts and offered it to Taylor.
While they began talking, Harper muttered, “I’m going to run off and get dressed.” She hurried to the bathroom she shared with Mamaw and stared at herself in the large Venetian mirror that hung over the sink. She saw a slender woman in a towel with red hair slicked back and freckles from the sun popping out across her nose. What were the odds she’d again meet up with Taylor looking a mess?
She hurried to dress but took some time to apply a touch of makeup, leaning forward closer to the mirror. A few new lines bordered her eyes, too. She cursed, hearing her mother’s voice in her ear: Stay out of the sun. You have milky-white James skin. Harper gently added more moisturizer over the offending lines with her fingertip. Turning from the mirror, she went directly to the armoire in her bedroom and pulled out a soft green summer shift, simple and cool for a hot day. She slipped it over her head and smiled, pleased with how the vibrant hue complemented her peachy coloring.
When she returned to the kitchen, she found Dora and Taylor huddled over the kitchen table studying paint samples. Harper approached slowly, eager to join in. She cleared her throat. “What do you have there?”
Taylor immediately turned to face her. “You have to pick out your colors.”
“Oh. Of course.” She moved closer to look at the samples spread over the table.
Dora stepped toward her, the challenge of a new decorating project shining in her eyes. She was still in her running clothes but her face was no longer flushed. “Mmm, you smell good. I, on the other hand, must smell like Patty’s pig. Anyway, come take a look. I found some paint colors I used for the cottage. I think they’d look beautiful here. They’re soft and beachy.”
Harper drew close to the table, feeling a clenching in her gut. She appreciated Dora’s help, but she was also aware that Dora might take over the kitchen project as she had done with the garden. This was her project and Dora tended to be a general, making Harper the private. “I have a few ideas.” Harper had spent hours searching online for kitchen decor over the past few days and even had a file of printed pictures.
“Of course you do,” Dora replied reassuringly. “Taylor told me you wanted white cabinets. That’s what I painted the kitchen cabinets at the cottage. So I thought I’d show you the sample colors I selected. If you like them, fine. If not, fine.” Dora glanced up at the clock. “Here.” She handed the color chart to Harper. “I’ve got to scoot. Devlin is taking Nate and I for a final fishing trip before school starts. I’ll be back in a few hours, if you have any questions.” She winked at Harper. “Have fun.”
Harper flushed, hoping Taylor didn’t notice the wink. While she’d been anxious for her sister to leave them only a moment before, now she keenly felt Dora’s absence. It was just she and Taylor again. She suddenly felt awkward.
Taylor turned back to the table. “I’ve painted both of these whites before in other houses I’ve worked on. This one is very bright, the kind you see on all the prefab cabinets. This one”—he lifted a creamier white—“is softer. I think you’ll like it better in this older house, especially with all the natural light you’ll be getting from the windows. You don’t want it too bright in here. Hold on. I’ll paint a swatch on the cabinets so you can judge for yourself. You have to see the paint on the walls. It’s always different than the swatch or in the can.”
She watched, curious, as he pulled out his pocketknife, then lowered to his haunches to pry open the sample cans of paint that Dora had provided. Harper noticed his hands had a few scratches, the kind one got from outdoor work.
After stirring the paint with a few swirls of the paint stick, he rose and fetched a paintbrush from his supplies. “You’ll want to stand back. Wouldn’t want to get paint on that pretty dress.”
She was pleased he’d noticed. For her part, she couldn’t help but notice how his white T-shirt, thin and torn, stretched across his back and the muscles of his forearms flexed as he painted one large square of paint on one cabinet door, then a second color on another. She usually dated the more slender, intellectual type of man, whom she met through work, family, or friends. But secretly she’d always been physically attracted to a well-muscled man. A workingman. She stepped back as he’d suggested, as much for a distraction from staring at him as to keep her dress paint-free.
When he finished, he came to her side, and they stood almost shoulder to shoulder and together studied the colors.
“You’re right,” she told him at length. “The creamy white is better.”
“The other is too Home Depot.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to a Home Depot.”
He swung his head. “You’re kidding. It’s a hardware store. Like Lowe’s or Menards?”
“Never been there, either. Not even Sears.”
His gaze was disbelieving. “That’s almost un-American,” he teased.
“Have you ever been in a Saks? Or a Neiman Marcus?”
He laughed, conceding. “Point taken. Well, you’re in for a treat. You should hightail it to the hardware store of your choice and pick out the color you want for the walls.” He picked up one of Dora’s papers. “Or, here’s the address of a paint store that’s close. It’ll be easier for you to deal with than a hardware store. It’s smaller and the guy will help you out.” Holding out the sheet, he added, “I’m guessing this’ll be a first for you, too?”
She nodded with a sheepish grin as he shook his head in disbelief. The difference in their worlds was clear. And she was intrigued.
He released the paper with a wiseacre grin, then turned to cross the room to the sink. As he rinsed the paintbrush, he looked at her over his shoulder. “Tell them you want samples of paint. Don’t buy gallons.”
“Okay, boss.” She was sure she would have brought the gallon buckets if he hadn’t warned her. “I’ll be right back.”
She was beginning to feel a camaraderie between them. Being friends was good, she resolved. No preening or positioning. No clever repartee. Just comfortable honesty. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder to see Taylor stretching his arms out to remove a cabinet door. Sighing, she turned away, her fluttering heart betraying her resolve.
Dora showered and changed into clean clothes, her eye on the clock. Devlin would be pulling up at the dock shortly with his boat. He was so excited about the day, had made all the plans, eager to bond with Nate. Dora had permitted Devlin to meet Nate a few weeks back, but this would be the first time they’d be spending any significant amount of time together, and Dora’s heart squeezed as she realized how much Devlin wanted everything to go perfectly.
She slipped a broad-brimmed hat on her head, then hurried to Nate’s room down the hall, feeling the tension that accompanied an appointment schedu
led with Nate. Always in the back of her mind was the fear of a meltdown. She knew the next week would be a big challenge for her son as he started a new school. She so very much wanted this day to be fun for him.
Outside his bedroom door she said a quick prayer, then gently pushed it open. Nate was sitting on the floor, fully dressed in his soft shorts and a T-shirt, playing with his Legos. His head was bent and his blond bangs covered his eyes. Her expression softened and her heart surged with love.
“Ready to go fishing?”
Nate’s head swung around at the sound of her voice. He nodded and leaped to his feet. “I’m ready!” He went to collect the cherry-red fishing rod Mamaw had given him in May, the one that had once been his great-grandfather Edward’s.
Dora’s gaze devoured her son, noting how he’d filled out this summer and how his usually pale skin glowed from time in the sun.
Since he’d returned from Florida, Dora had made a point of trying to be more a fun mother than a strict one. She took him on outings, whereas before she had always talked herself out of it for fear of one of Nate’s meltdowns. Their favorite thing was to kayak in the Cove. Together they’d explored the local parks, walked the beach in search of turtle tracks. Best of all, her little boy had let go of his guilt about Delphine’s accident and picked up his fishing rod again.
“Can we go now?” he asked in the tone of someone who’d already waited far too long.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
About an hour later, Devlin guided the Boston Whaler through the winding waterway with the peacock pride of the captain of a beautiful boat. He grandly gestured as he pointed out new and expensive houses or spotted a great blue heron or some other shorebird searching out a meal. It was lovely out on the water that mirrored the blue sky, though they were one of only a few boats out today as summer wound down. Dora leaned back against the cushion, sipping her fizzy water, and felt as if she were the queen of the Nile. On this hot day she enjoyed the occasional splash of water when the boat bounced on a wave.
The Summer's End Page 9
