The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer)

by Mary Alice Monroe

  “That’s so sad,” Dora said mournfully. “They work so hard to get to the ocean, then they get tossed back. Can’t you help them? Pick them up and carry them to the water?”

  Cara shook her head vigorously. “No, they need to make it on their own. Nature is an amazing teacher. We’ve learned that though it looks like the waves are hard on them, in fact the waves help orient the turtles in the right direction. They’ll swim for twenty-four to thirty-six hours to reach the Gulf Stream, where there are vast floats of sargassum weed. They act as nurseries for the hatchlings for the next ten years or so.” She paused. “Still, it’s estimated that only one in a thousand hatchlings survives to maturity. That’s why we’re here. Every hatchling counts. And though the number of nests along our coasts is still way down from back in the days my mama was tending turtles”—she paused to grin—“we’re trending upward again.”

  “You sound like your mama.”

  Cara smiled. “I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

  Dora looked out as another wave tossed two of the three hatchlings back to the shore. And once again, the hatchlings righted themselves and took off in their comical scramble for the sea. She followed one hatchling to the shoreline, feeling an attachment to this small turtle that she’d never seen before and would never see again. Was it her maternal instinct? This desire to nurture a young life? Like Cara said, instinct was powerful.

  This time when the dive instinct kicked in, the hatchling dove deep and made it past the breakers. Dora felt her spirits soar as she stood ankle deep in the warm water, cheering on the hatchling until it dove again, disappearing. She continued watching the smooth surface of the water past the breakers.

  There they were! Her breath hitched when she spotted two tiny heads emerge as the hatchlings took a breath.

  She stood for a while longer just watching the waves roll in, picturing in her mind the turtles’ epic scramble home to the sea. Perhaps for her, too, getting tumbled and tossed around a bit had been a good thing, she thought to herself. With luck, eventually she’d right herself and start heading in the proper direction. She had to trust her instincts.

  After all, she thought with a laugh, her odds had to be better than one in one thousand.

  On her way back to Sea Breeze, Devlin’s truck pulled up alongside her and he fired off a wolf’s whistle.

  Dora loved it, but she feigned annoyance. “Devlin Cassell, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “Nice outfit,” he called out.

  Dora blushed, thinking again how Devlin had seen her in her ratty gym shorts and T-shirt. She sauntered toward the truck and leaned against the open window. “Feels a lot cooler in here.”

  “Hop in.”

  “Can’t. Want to finish my walk.”

  “Aw, come on. There’s something I want to show you. It’ll only take a minute. Hop in.”

  Dora narrowed her eyes with speculation, but curiosity won her over and she trotted around the front of the truck to the passenger side and jumped in. Devlin floored it and the tires spit gravel as he took off toward Breach Inlet.

  “You sure look cute walking out there,” he told her.

  She deflected the compliment. “What do you want me to see?”

  “Hold your horses. We’re almost there.” He pulled into the parking lot at Breach Inlet and swung open his door. “Come on. Hurry.”

  Together they jogged along the path to the bridge that spanned the turbulent water between Sullivan’s Island and Isle of Palms. On the western side of the bridge lay Hamlin Creek, the wetlands, and the Intracoastal Waterway. On the eastern side, the water emptied out into the Atlantic Ocean. It was stunning to see how calm the water was on the western side, and how choppy and turbulent on the east. Devlin led her to the middle of the bridge, then they crossed the road to where they could overlook the creek. She stood beside him as cars passed from one island to the other. Suddenly he pointed.

  “There! Look straight out, smack dab in the middle. See the dolphins?”

  Dora raised her hand over her eyes and squinted. Then she saw them. One larger dolphin arcing in the water, then—she squealed with delight—she spotted the smaller dorsal fin of its baby.

  “I see them. A mother and baby! They’re beautiful.”

  Devlin was watching her, smiling at her reaction. “The mothers like to bring their young here to feed. See how turbulent that water is? There’s lots of fish in there and it’s easy hunting. I’ve heard tell mothers give birth to their young here, too, but I’ve never seen it.”

  He peered out at the water. The sunlight glistened against the murky brown depths of the rough water. “Right beneath us! See?” he called out, pointing excitedly. “There’s another pair.”

  Immediately beneath them on the bridge Dora spotted another mother dolphin arcing in the water, and immediately after, her young calf. She clutched Devlin’s arm and in response, he slipped an arm around her waist.

  Dora watched the smooth symmetry of mother and child skimming in tandem across the water. The young calf was riding safe and secure in its mother’s slipstream. Her thoughts naturally turned to her own child and she felt a sudden loneliness for him. He’d love to see this and she wished he were here with her. She wanted to share special moments of happiness with her son, like this, rather than always be the disciplinarian.

  They stood side by side watching the dolphins, feeling the warmth of the sun on their backs until the dolphins swam off into the creek. She looked down to see his hand at her waist, then up to his face as he stared out at the water with an expression of a deep appreciation and even peace. She thought to herself, I like spending time with Devlin. He was easy to be with and deceptively intelligent. He played the role of a good ol’ boy, but he was very smart. Few people knew the lowcountry as intimately as he did. He loved the sea, the land, the culture, the history—all of it. These islands were his home. She found that very attractive.

  Devlin turned his head and caught her looking at him. His eyes kindled. “Thought you’d like to see that.”

  She was touched that he’d thought of what she’d like to see. Dora couldn’t remember Cal thinking of her in that way. She smiled and hoped it conveyed all she’d been feeling. “I surely did.”

  “Best get you back. I’ve got to get to work sometime today.”

  Dora reluctantly turned away from the view and followed Devlin back to the truck. “It’s been quite a morning,” she told him. “First turtles, now dolphins.”

  “That’s just a normal morning in the lowcountry,” he said in a magnanimous tone as he opened her door. “You just have to get out and look.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted. How many people were like her? she wondered. Living in this paradise and not exploring its wonders. She slid in the front seat and waited for him to hop in beside her. “I’ve stayed indoors for too long.”

  Devlin put the key in the ignition, then paused to turn and face her. “Girl, you know what you need?”

  Her lips twitched. “Nope.”

  “I think you need someone to reintroduce you to your own backyard.”

  She tilted her head, amused by his suggestion. “You think?”

  “I do.” He fired the engine.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have someone in mind for the job?”

  He shifted into first, then cast her a sly grin that kicked her heart into gear.

  “I just might.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said in a teasing tone, then laughed as the truck pulled out of the parking space.

  He drove a few blocks through the dappled shade of Middle Street. “How about I start by taking you boating?” he asked at length. “We used to love to cruise these waters, remember?”

  Dora looked out the window and recalled countless summer days going out on Devlin’s boat when they were young, roaring up the creeks, putting down anchor near some hammock, making out while the boat rocked gently in the waves.

  “Yes,” she replied dreamily. “I remember.”

&
nbsp; The truck stopped at the sign. “We’ll do it again,” he said, swinging his head around. The sparkle in his blue eyes was contagious. “We’ll putter along the coastline, have a few drinks, then I’ll take you to dinner.”

  Dora moved her sunglasses down her nose so she could look at him eye to eye. “That sounds rather like a date.”

  “Well, I hope so!” he blurted. “It was meant to. Took me damn near three days to work up the nerve. So what’s your answer? Yea or nay?”

  Dora slipped her sunglasses up her nose. “Yea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Harper couldn’t wait to get back into the garden. She’d already ordered four books on the subject of gardening in the South, plants for hot-weather climates, and butterfly gardens. She and Dora had designed a modest garden plan, and Harper had ordered the plants. Dora was keeping firm control—approving or disapproving any of Harper’s suggestions. Her lack of trust chafed, especially in light of how Dora didn’t trust Harper to take her son to Florida. No matter what they did, or how hard she tried, Dora seemed to keep her at arm’s length.

  Harper was deep into comparisons of varieties of lantana when the morning’s peace was rent by a squeal of delight, followed by the thundering of feet approaching. As she looked up from her computer, the porch door flung open and Dora rushed out, her face beaming with news.

  “I lost ten pounds!” Dora exclaimed breathlessly. “Ten pounds!”

  Harper turned in her chair, surprised to see Dora practically jumping up and down. “Hey, congrats! That’s a lot of weight. Since when?”

  “Since the last time I weighed myself in the hospital.”

  “I told you that you were slimming down.”

  “You’ve always been trim and fit. You don’t understand how huge this is,” Dora said, her eyes still blazing with triumph. “I’ve been trying to lose ten pounds for ten years.”

  Harper wondered why her being fit would render her any less excited for her sister. “It’s the exercise, more than any diet,” Harper said, trying to be supportive. She closed her laptop and rose to her feet. “We have to celebrate.”

  “What’s the point? I can’t eat anything good.”

  “Why do we have to eat at all? Let’s go shopping!”

  Dora looked surprised at the suggestion, as though she’d never thought of having a celebration without food. “Well, I could use something pretty to wear on my dinner date with Devlin.”

  “Something that shows off your figure.”

  “Well, I’m hardly showing off,” Dora said, suddenly shy. “I have another ten to lose, at least.”

  “Glass half empty,” Harper told her, wagging her finger. “You can buy another dress when you lose the next ten, too. Come on, sis, life’s too short not to celebrate each milestone.” Harper scooped up her laptop, water bottle, and pens and paper from the table. “Besides, we haven’t had a shopping trip yet. Or a mani-pedi. I seem to recall it was on our list of things to do this week. It’ll be fun. Just us sisters.”

  Though Harper meant the shopping trip to be a bonding experience, so far it was anything but. Harper stood outside the dressing room of the fifth store they’d plowed through with all the joy of Sherman’s march to the sea. Every dress or top she’d brought in for Dora to try on was figuratively burned and utterly rejected.

  Harper stood outside the dressing room door, counting to ten and telling herself that this would be the last bunch she’d select from this cute shop. Harper was at her wit’s end. She couldn’t get Dora free from her locked-in look of cover-ups in flowing fabric without any discernible waistline, and she wouldn’t show any skin. Dora wanted to go to the clothing stores in the mall that catered to overweight women or women of a particular age who didn’t want to show too much curve. Stubbornly, Harper steered Dora to King Street in Charleston to some of her favorite stores, hoping to inject a little trend and youth into her older sister’s style.

  Harper loved clothes. In New York City one of her favorite things was to gaze at all the store windows, swooning over the new styles so fancifully displayed. The bonus of shopping on King Street in Charleston was that there were so many wonderful, chic boutiques, and they wouldn’t have to fight the crowds. It should have been fun.

  Instead it was war. Dora shot down all the stylish outfits Harper brought in; they were “too tight,” or “too small,” or “too young.” She wasn’t even nice about it. Dora was snapping and snarling like a cornered dog in the dressing room, sulking while Harper went back out to find new outfits for her to try on.

  Harper resented feeling like she was torturing Dora, rather than trying to help. This batch was her last effort before she bailed. Mustering her resolve, she knocked on the dressing room door.

  “Ready?” she called out in a pleasant voice.

  “More?” Dora called back with a groan.

  Harper closed her eyes, then said with forced cheer, “Last bunch! I’m sure we have a winner here.”

  Dora opened the door a crack, just enough to reveal her mulish expression. She looked about ready to burst into tears. “I don’t want to try any more on. I’m done here.”

  “Dora, just a few more. I thought you looked beautiful in some of the dresses.”

  “No, I didn’t. I looked fat. Everything makes me look fat!” Dora blurted out.

  A salesgirl approached them, young and perky and eager to help. “Anything working for you?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Harper said in a polite tone.

  “Yes, we are. None of these work. You can take them all,” Dora snapped.

  “Uh, okay,” the salesgirl replied, sensing the tension. “I’ll just step in and clear these away so you have a little more room,” she said, slipping past Harper to the door.

  Dora frowned at the intrusion but stepped aside, hastily covering herself with one of the dresses draped across the small chair. When the dressing room door opened, Harper got a glimpse of Dora in her large white bra and granny underpants. Harper stared at the dressing room and was shocked. It looked like Armageddon, with dresses and blouses and skirts flung everywhere. Harper stepped into the capacious dressing room and helped the young lady pick up some of the scattered clothing, embarrassed at the condition of the room, the lack of respect for the clothing. When the clerk left, Harper stayed in the dressing room with Dora, clutching with white knuckles the last three dresses she’d selected.

  Dora rounded on her, eyes narrowed with anger. “I want you to stay out. I saw the look on your face when you saw my body. You were shocked.”

  Harper closed her eyes and groaned. “I wasn’t shocked at your body,” she said with strained patience. “I was shocked at the state the dressing room was in!”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Well,” Harper admitted with a half grin, “I might’ve been shocked at your underwear. Next stop, we’re buying you a decent bra! Something from this century.”

  Dora knew she was trying to make light of it, but Harper didn’t realize how insulting her quips could be. Didn’t she know she already felt like an outdated matron compared to her and Carson? Dora glared at Harper in the mirror.

  “Please get out, Harper,” she said with forced civility. “I want to get dressed and go home.”

  “Why are you making this so hard?” Harper cried with frustration. “This outing was supposed to be fun, and all you’re doing is sulking and throwing clothes around like a spoiled child.”

  “Then stop acting like my mother!” Dora shot back.

  “What? How am I acting like your mother?”

  “You’re not listening to what I want. You’re telling me what to wear. Ordering me around. This isn’t a shopping trip. It’s a damn makeover!”

  Harper was so angered by Dora’s accusation that she tossed the remaining dresses onto the chair. They promptly slid off to the floor.

  “I’m trying to be helpful! I know fashion and I’m showing you some outfits that I think you’ll look good in. But you won’t even try them. God, you’re impo
ssible. You’re so stuck in your ways.”

  “I didn’t ask for a makeover. Stop trying to change me.”

  Harper exploded. “You dress like a grandma!”

  Dora’s mouth dropped open and tears flooded her eyes.

  In the shocked silence, Harper felt terrible for losing her temper. In the mirror she saw Dora cowering behind the slip of fabric. Everything about Dora—her posture, her crumpled face, her defiance—spoke of defeat.

  “I’m sorry,” Harper said, softening her tone. “The last thing I wanted to do today was to make you feel bad. I don’t know, maybe I was trying to give you a makeover. It’s only because I wanted you to see how beautiful you are.” Her tone changed to reveal her frustration. “But you won’t have it. You’re so stubborn, Dora, and for no good reason. I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t like the rut you’re in because it’s comfortable.”

  Dora didn’t answer.

  There followed a heated silence, during which Harper bent to pick up the dresses from the floor and hang them on the wall hook. Dora remained rigid against the wall, her face turned away, holding the dress tight against her body like a shield.

  Harper turned and faced Dora. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the way you look. But you shouldn’t take it out on me. And you know what? It’s not just today. From the moment I got here you’ve been pushing me away. You do that a lot, Dora.”

  “I’m not pushing you away,” Dora said defensively. Then she shrugged one shoulder insolently. “I just figured we didn’t get along.”

  Harper appeared slapped. “But why? I’ve tried, God knows I’ve tried.”

  “Maybe it’s just the way we were brought up. You’re from New York and I’m from Charleston.”

  Harper’s voice went cold. “Don’t play that north–south card with me. It’s such a cliché, and you and I have moved way beyond those differences. This goes deeper. To trust.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Harper looked up at the ceiling. “Where do I begin?” She lowered her gaze and met Dora’s. “Okay, here’s a recent one. I really had fun playing video games with Nate. But you chewed me out pretty good over that without even giving me the chance to explain why I did it. FYI, games are what he likes, Dora, and what he’s good at, and there’s solid evidence it’s okay for him to play them with someone else. The operative word there, Dora, is play. He wasn’t alone. We were interacting.”