The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer)

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Across the room Lucille was at the stove, stirring a pot of vegetable soup. Lucille and Mamaw stuck by their word unwaveringly, clearing all the processed foods and sweets from the cabinets. There were nights when she’d prowled the kitchen for something good to eat—meaning cookies, candy, anything sweet—cursing them for not leaving a single morsel of chocolate. Dora had gained a whole new understanding of Carson’s addiction to alcohol.

  “That soup smells wonderful!” Dora exclaimed.

  Lucille grunted. “It’d be a whole lot better if I could put a ham bone in it. Nothin’ a good soup needs more than a ham bone. That’s what gives it the flavor.”

  “So put one in.”

  She grunted. “Can’t. Miss Harper can sniff out a bit of pork like a coon dog does a possum. Nothing gets past her. It’ll be good,” she said, stirring. “Just not as good, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

  “We’re sure putting you through your paces this summer with all our demands, aren’t we? No alcohol, no fat, no salt, no butter.”

  “No taste,” Lucille grumbled.

  “It’s healthy,” Dora offered.

  “I do what I gots to do,” Lucille said with the sigh of the long suffering. “But I won’t give up my corn bread. I don’t care how much Miss Harper complains about my bacon grease, I will not give up my mama’s corn bread!”

  “God forbid!” Dora agreed. “Bless her heart, she’s from New York and doesn’t appreciate the virtues of pork. But she’s making an effort. And you’re a genius in the kitchen. Everything still tastes wonderful. I, for one, know I wouldn’t be able to stick to this diet without your support. I swear, Lucille, your cooking is holding this family together.”

  Lucille appeared mollified and half smiled. “Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for this family.”

  Dora paused and stared at the woman bent over the stove. Lucille had the heart of a lion but she was normally shy of expressing her affection in words. She showed her love through action—breakfast in bed on birthdays, an ironed dress for a special occasion, fresh flowers on the bureau. To hear these words now took Dora by surprise. She went to Lucille’s side and kissed her cheek.

  Startled, Lucille drew back, her dark eyes wide. “What’s that for?”

  “Does it have to be for something? You’re family, you know.”

  Lucille, clearly flustered by Dora’s show of emotion, awkwardly tried to smile as she turned back to the stove. “Just caught me by surprise, is all. You’re not one to give kisses.”

  Dora wondered about that comment as she returned to the table. For so long she’d held herself back from excessive shows of affection. Cal was not physically affectionate. No pats on the behind or arms around her shoulder during a movie. She was especially restrained with Nate, knowing that he’d get upset if she spontaneously hugged or kissed him. Did that restraint come naturally to her? Was she, as Cal had insinuated, frigid?

  Dora stuffed a few paper napkins into the canvas bag. “I’m sure Cal would agree with you. Maybe I should change that, eh?”

  “This surely is a summer for changes.”

  Dora laughed, hearing the truth in that.

  “Where are you off to this time?”

  “We’re going boating.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Devlin.”

  Lucille paused her stirring, her lips twisted in thought. “I know that name. How do I know that name?”

  “Devlin Cassell,” Dora replied. “You remember him. I went steady with him back in high school. Blond hair, blue eyes, tan. Surfer. He was here all the time. Practically lived in the kitchen. Used to steal your cookies.”

  Lucille swung around, eyes wide. “That Devlin? Lord help us. Was that the man you got all trussed up for the other night?”

  Dora laughed. “Sure was.”

  Lucille clucked her tongue. “Back when, your mamaw was on her knees praying most nights that boy wouldn’t get into your skivvies, worried ’bout what else he’d steal beside cookies. And now it’s startin’ up all over again.” She turned back to the stove and said in a lusty wail, “My, my, my . . .”

  “Mamaw doesn’t have to worry about my cookies any longer,” Dora said drily. “Let’s just say things aren’t as hot and heavy now as they were back when we were teenagers.”

  “You talk like you’re an old woman.”

  “I’m thirty-six. Almost thirty-seven. With a child.”

  “You got the same parts, don’t you?”

  “Last time I looked.”

  “And they still work?”

  Dora smirked. “I wouldn’t know. It’s been so long.”

  “Seems to me it’s high time you find out.”

  Now it was Dora’s turn to be flustered. “Well, it wouldn’t be right,” she stammered. “I’m not divorced yet.”

  “You ain’t been living as man and wife for a long time.”

  “It would be wrong for me to, you know, be with another man.”

  “Who says?”

  “My lawyer, probably. My mother, most certainly.”

  Lucille grunted in a manner that gave no doubt she didn’t care for Winnie. “Who’s gonna tell them? That’s one woman who’d be a lot happier if someone took the long pole out of her backside.”

  “Lucille!” Dora burst out with a laugh.

  “You know it’s true. And don’t you tell me you’re not thinkin’ the same thing.”

  Dora giggled at Lucille’s unexpected burst of temper. Her mother had never given Dora that little talk mothers were supposed to give their daughters at puberty. Dora didn’t think Winnie could bring herself to say the words. When Dora was thirteen, she had found a pamphlet on her bed written by some priest or bishop. It was all about the mystical body of Christ, and Dora couldn’t figure out what they were talking about.

  “She was always pretty rigid about rules, I’ll give you that. And sex. I don’t think she finds sex very ladylike.”

  “It was a miracle you were born, child,” Lucille said. “When Winnie talks about Adam and Eve, I’ll wager all she can think about is how they committed some sin. What’s that special name they call it?”

  “Original sin.”

  “That’ll be it. Ain’t we learned nothin’ since then? Still calling sex a sin. Sex is as natural as the birds and the bees.” Lucille grew agitated, putting one hand on her hip as she spoke. “God put a man and a woman together, buck naked in paradise. ’Course He knew what was gonna happen. Way I see it, that was the plan all along. Else how would Cain and Abel be born? Or any of us?”

  She covered the pot of soup and turned off the stove. “Don’t listen to your mother. You ain’t sixteen no more. You’re a woman, fully growed. Make up your own mind. Just remember, we’re all Eve’s daughters.” She caught Dora’s gaze and held it. “This is your one and only life, girl. Your time in the garden.”

  Lucille pointed the wooden spoon at Dora. “What you waitin’ for?”

  Dora stood on the dock, staring into the current of the Cove. Even with Nate on holiday, Dora still acutely felt the weight of her responsibilities. She felt more and more sure of her decision to proceed with the divorce. This opened a Pandora’s box of decisions. Where would she move? She’d have to find a school for Nate, a job for herself. This was a watershed moment in her life.

  A large fish jumped and landed in the water with a noisy splash, creating ripples that fanned out farther and larger across the water as Dora watched. She sighed—the ripples of her decisions would have long-lasting consequences as well.

  The growl of outboard motors broke her dark thoughts. Lifting her head, she saw the tip of a blue-and-white boat heading toward the dock. Squinting, she spotted Devlin waving at the wheel and immediately broke into a grin and waved back.

  As the big boat drew near, Dora couldn’t help but notice it was a very nice one. A Boston Whaler, at least twenty feet in length with a pretty, bright blue canopy. Devlin always liked his toys, she thought as she stood on the edge of the dock with her arms outstre
tched, ready to catch the rope.

  Dora loved boating—she was good at it. When the girls came to Sea Breeze for the summers, it was Dora who drove the boat while Carson and Harper rode the inner tubes or water-skied. Dora wasn’t much for getting wet. She preferred the feel of the wheel in her grasp and the throttle of engines at her control.

  The boat’s engine bubbled in the water as Devlin slowly brought the boat alongside the dock. Dora deftly caught the rope and secured it. Her legs stretched precariously between the dock and boat as she tied the line. She almost lost her balance for a moment, not having the control she did when she was younger. She blushed and looked up at Devlin.

  He was busy tying up the line in fast, sure movements. He was stocky but moved across the boat like a dancer. Knowing boats, she appreciated his speed and confidence. That, she knew, came only with years of experience.

  Devlin looked up from the boat, grinning behind his dark sunglasses at seeing her. A worn Ducks Unlimited cap tamped down his blond, windblown hair and his skin was tanned. Devlin was an outdoorsman, as comfortable on the water as on land, and Dora found that very attractive. She smiled back and tossed him the canvas bag, then reached out to accept Devlin’s hand. At his touch she felt an electric-like charge, calling to mind the conversation about natural urges she’d had earlier with Lucille. He must have felt it, too, because he squeezed her hand again before releasing it.

  Devlin went to the cooler and retrieved two beers. He put them in koozies and handed one to Dora.

  “Make yourself comfortable, pretty lady,” he told her as he rushed back and forth across the boat untethering the ropes. When he was done, he went to the wheel.

  Dora opened her can, then moved to stand close to him under the awning. He reached out to slip an arm around her and tugged her closer.

  “Glad you’re here,” he said, giving her bottom a modest pat.

  Dora laughed for the pure joy of going out on the boat with Devlin on such a perfect day. “Me, too.”

  It was still early. The sun was rising overhead in a cloudless sky. Devlin slipped his arm away to lean back, half standing, half sitting against the captain’s chair. He reached for the throttle with one hand, while the other was on the wheel as he slowly revved the motors. They growled and gurgled as he guided the Whaler through the narrow marsh creeks.

  Dora held on to the rocking boat as she moved to sit in the second seat beside him. She held her beer, but her fingers itched to drive the boat. She knew a captain didn’t like to give up his wheel and she didn’t want to press—at least not on their first outing.

  As the boat took off, she thought back to when they were young and she and Devlin had been out on his boat. He used to let her drive. When her hands were on the wheel, he’d come up behind her and put his hands on her waist. He’d told her he was steadying her, but as they bounced along the waterway he’d leaned closer, wrapped his arms tighter around her, and buried his lips in her neck. Her toes curled as she remembered the rush of feelings.

  She remembered how great a kisser Devlin was. Day after summer day they went out on the boat alone to explore the winding creeks and deserted hammocks, stopping at frequent intervals to explore each other’s bodies with equal excitement and adventuresome spirit.

  Dora opened her eyes and studied the man at the wheel from behind her sunglasses. Was it really twenty years ago? Where did the time go? He’d aged some, as she had. She could see the weather-beaten texture of his skin, the first gray hairs at the temple. Their bodies were fuller, softer. Her gaze traveled to his mouth and she smiled furtively. He still had those beautiful lips.

  They had traveled years apart, too, she realized. Yet today, back on a Boston Whaler in these familiar creeks, with Devlin, she thought, I feel sixteen again.

  Devlin guided the Whaler out of creeks into the wide and heady Intracoastal Waterway. Once there he slowed the boat to a stop, stepped aside from the wheel, and waved his hand, indicating Dora should come closer.

  “Come on, honey, let’s give you a chance at the wheel. I seem to recall you were pretty good at handling one of these things.”

  Dora burst into a grin. He’d remembered! Clearly she wasn’t the only one taking a trip down memory lane. She set her beer into a holder and began walking across the boat when another boat roared past them, sending huge wakes their way. Dora lost her balance in the rocking boat and tottered with her arms stretched out wide.

  Devlin grabbed her waist. “Hold steady, girl.”

  Dora clung to his arm a moment, like it was her anchor. When she got her balance, he released her and she clumsily walked the few feet to the wheel and grabbed hold.

  Looking up, she spotted the speeding boat weave past another boat in the queue ahead. It was filled with four teenagers, all insolent, bronzed, and beautiful.

  “Damn hooligans. Someone ought to arrest those boys, speeding like that,” she blustered.

  Devlin laughed beside her. “Aw, hell, Dora. We were just like that. What goes around, comes around. Come on, sugar. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

  She glanced over at him. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades but knew there was a boyish sparkle of mischief in them.

  “You’re a bad influence on me,” she said.

  “Always have been”—his lips spread to a grin—“Mrs. Dora Tupper.”

  He’d used her married name for the first time. She hadn’t been aware that he knew it.

  “What you waitin’ for, girl? Let’s get this ol’ tub going!”

  Dora reached down to grab the throttle and pushed it forward. The Whaler’s engine growled again and they took off along the waterway. Dora lifted her chin, feeling the vibrating, powerful engines under her control, the push of wind against her cheeks.

  “Put a little muscle on it, Dora. You drive like a girl.”

  Dora burst out in a laugh and accepted the dare. She gripped the throttle with her hand and pushed forward hard. The engines screamed as they churned water and the boat tore off down the Intracoastal Waterway. The boat bounced on the small waves like a bronco, cool droplets splashing her face, and the wind coursing through her hair, streaming it back like a flag. She let out a whoop while beside her, Devlin let loose a rebel yell. She hadn’t felt this alive in years.

  Devlin stepped behind her and placed his hands on her waist.

  “Just like old times,” he said, lowering his lips to her ear.

  Dora leaned back against him, enjoying the feel of his hard body against hers. She slowed the boat, wanting to enjoy the moments as they cruised the waterway. She rolled her palms along the wheel, one eye on the shallows, the other on signals, passing slower boats with finesse.

  “Stay left at the split,” Devlin called, pointing out the direction.

  “Aye aye, Captain.” She veered left, maneuvering the boat to a narrow creek bordered on both sides with cordgrass growing so high that she could barely see over it. It felt more like they were traveling through a long tunnel.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “It’s getting narrow in here. If the tide goes out, we can get stuck.”

  “We’re good here,” he told her with confidence. “This is deep water.” He leaned forward, his lips close to her cheek. “Don’t you remember where we are?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

  She caught the scent of beer on his breath and enjoyed the feel of his chin grazing her skin. She studied the long stretch of cordgrass and for the life of her couldn’t remember. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Keep going,” he told her encouragingly.

  She drove the boat at a slower pace through the narrow creek before it opened up again to a wide area of water spotted with several small hammocks. The breeze picked up in the open area and brushed away the cobwebs in her memory.

  “I know where we are!” she exclaimed, turning around to face Devlin, laughing. “This is our old hangout.”

  He slipped his arms tighter around her waist and said teasingly, “More than a hangout, if memo
ry serves.”

  She blushed and faced forward again, her eyes lingering on the rounded hammock in the distance, a jungle of tall palm trees, live oaks, Chinese tallow trees, and shrubs. This had been their spot. The isolated place they’d anchor and make out and talk for hours. This secluded haven was where she’d lost her virginity. She smiled, realizing Devlin remembered.

  “You ol’ horn dog,” she said with a playful push.

  “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  He nuzzled her neck and she felt again she was racing along the Intracoastal.

  “We can pull anchor right up yonder,” he said, pointing to a shallow spot near what had been their favorite hammock. “Seems as good a place as any to have some lunch.”

  “Lunch? I didn’t pack lunch, just some things for us to munch on.”

  “You weren’t supposed to. You don’t think I invited a lady out for a trip without seeing to the details, do you?”

  “I don’t remember you ever bringing food to this hammock before.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Devlin rubbed his jaw in embarrassment. “I’ve grown up a bit since then. Learned some manners at my daddy’s knee.”

  “Your daddy? I’ll wager you learned through trial and error with all the pretty girls you’ve brought to this hammock since me.”

  “None of them were as pretty as you.”

  Dora felt embarrassed by the compliment. Of course she wasn’t the prettiest.

  “Stop it, Devlin. You don’t have to say that.”

  “Say what? It’s the truth. You’re beautiful.”

  “I said stop it,” Dora snapped. “We both know I’m not.” She turned her gaze away. “At least, not anymore.”

  Devlin took the wheel as the mood shifted. Dora went to stand at the opposite side of the boat. Devlin brought the mighty engines to a stop and set anchor. The boat rocked lightly in the current, immersed in a sudden great silence.