A Lowcountry Wedding (25 page)

“Well, we are double blessed!” Mamaw exclaimed.

“You have no idea. The family line continues! There were days I wasn’t sure. Oh, Marietta, this certainly is a celebration!”

The two women embraced, then Imogene scurried to Harper’s side. Mamaw stepped back into the corner to enjoy a moment of peace and watch as the spirit of the evening shot skyward at the happy news. The evening would progress as it should, she was old enough to know. The women would cluck like hens endlessly about weddings and babies. The men about sports, mutual funds, and fishing as though no mention of a baby had been made. And the children . . . She watched as Nate and Miller withdrew to the sofa, both with electronic games in hand. She shook her head, amused.
Typical,
she thought.

Amid the clinking of glasses, the sound of Michael Bublé crooning in the background, the rise and fall of laughter, Mamaw slowly brought her champagne glass to her lips and thought to herself how comforting it was to see life carry on. Tasting the golden sweetness,
she could not have imagined a happier ending to this evening’s play.

She felt oddly smug to be free from any entanglements of house and hearth. Even babies. She wasn’t married or a mother yet. She was still free to skip out of the house at will.

C
arson rose at dawn the following morning and rushed outdoors before Harper could snag her sleeve and involve her in more wedding plans. And before anyone discovered that she was meeting Atticus to go paddleboarding.

The lowcountry was blessed with an upcoming string of exceptionally warm days—a gift to the residents after the cold spell. She slipped into her wet suit; the neoprene was cold against her skin. The air might be warmer, but the water in the Cove would be frigid.

She tiptoed through the house, shushing Thor’s inquiry of a low, gruff bark. She silently closed the door and checked out the cottage. Mamaw was an early riser, too. But thankfully there was no sign of her this morning. The sun had risen but
only just. Overhead the sky was a robin’s-egg blue streaked with pink-tinted cirrus clouds. Her heart quickened as she scampered down the front stairs. This was her favorite time of the day, when everything was fresh, new, full of possibilities. She scurried across the gravel to the garage. The old sliding door was rotting in spots, and chipped paint flaked like dandruff when she moved it. The door rattled noisily along the rusting metal frame. Mamaw would have to replace the door soon, Carson thought, pushing with all her might. Then, pausing to catch her breath, she realized that such things as broken garage doors were no longer Mamaw’s concern. They were Harper’s.

She felt oddly smug to be free from any entanglements of house and hearth. Even babies. She wasn’t married or a mother yet. She was still free to skip out of the house at will. Grabbing hold of her board and hoisting it in her arms, she thought again how she loved being young and relatively carefree.

The sound of a car on gravel sent her running out from the garage. She saw a large gray Silverado Z71 pulling into the driveway. With its fender flares, nerf bars, and chrome trim, she thought of how Blake would love a pickup like that. Who knew the dishy Rev was a country boy at heart?

The truck door swung open and Carson hurried to the pickup. She didn’t want him to go to the front door and wake up the house. “Morning, Rev!” she called in a stage whisper.

“Morning,” he whispered back. Atticus climbed from the truck and pulled out a bag of gear from the back. He was wearing a full wet suit with a wet-suit jacket and sandals. Wet suits clung to the body, and she had to admit the Rev looked in damn good shape. She, too, wore a sleeveless wet suit with a
jacket, her long hair pulled back in a thick braid. She was accustomed to men giving her body a double take.

“Why are we whispering?”

“We don’t want to wake everyone up. Did you bring a board?” She looked into the back of the truck.

“No, should I have? I don’t have a board here. My stuff’s in Atlanta.”

“No problem. I have two.” She turned and led the way. “Follow me to the garage. The board’s probably dusty, but who cares, right? We’re going in the water.”

Atticus did as he was told. The garage was a hazard, chock-full of stuff. It took a bit of time to get both boards out from behind the clutter. They were wedged behind a golf cart and gardening equipment.

“This place needs a good cleaning out. God knows where my kiteboard stuff is,” she said, looking around the dimly lit space. Lines of sunlight flowed in through cracks in the wood. “It’s my first trip on the water since I’ve been home. Careful there!” She pointed to the floor where a stone planter blocked his path.

In the driveway they dusted off the dirt and spiderwebs from the long boards, one blue, the other green, then Atticus hoisted the green one up to his shoulder and followed Carson along a stone path that wound its way past azaleas and jasmine blooming, fragrant in the morning mist to the back of the house. As they rounded the house and emerged from behind an imposing bottlebrush shrub, Atticus came to an abrupt stop. He was unprepared for the power and beauty of the Cove. The sun was higher in the sky now, casting fingers of pearly-pink color farther across the whole sky.

The back of the house was even more impressive than the front. Clearly, he thought, the builder of this house loved the water, then remembered some talk of the Muir family’s coming from a long line of sea captains. The back porch stretched across the width of the house, wider at the left where a black-and-white awning shielded a circle of large black wicker chairs. The property sloped to a second tier, where a second deck surrounded a swimming pool. Below this tier, wooden steps led the way through a well-maintained flower garden to the dock.

“Quite a place,” Atticus told Carson with awe.

“Sea Breeze has that effect on people,” she replied in the breezy manner of someone who had heard that comment many times before. “Come on, Rev, we’re wasting daylight.”

Her movements were smooth with the skill of experience. Soon she had both boards in the water by the dock, SUP leash attached, and paddle in hand. The water was calm this morning, and sticking her foot in, she shivered. “Damn. The ocean is icy.”

“I’m used to cold water.”

“Then you’ll love this.”

She stepped onto the board, finding her balance readily. Using her paddle she easily pushed off from the dock. She turned her head, making sure Atticus was behind her. “You coming, slowpoke?”

“Nag, nag.” He stepped onto the board and bent his knees, finding his balance. He was doing well, though not quite as adroitly as Carson. He hadn’t been paddleboarding in a few years, and it took him a few minutes to feel comfortable. Carson, however, was a natural. She was already out in the current, getting farther ahead by the second. He inserted his paddle into
the water, grateful for his long arms, and dug deep. He took a few strokes on one side, then switched to the other, making a beeline for Carson.

Carson made it all look effortless, as though the board were an extension of her body. She was long, lean, and strong. Her paddle sliced through the water like a hot knife through butter. He had the advantage of strong back muscles, however, and before long he caught up with her.

Once in the current it was easier. Coasting, he took the time to look around and appreciate the tranquillity of the early hours of the morning when the earth was awakening. The paddle made pleasing, soft splashing noises in the quiet morning. White egrets stood in the tall grasses that bordered the water, while overhead, pelicans flew in formation over the creek toward the open sea. The air had a dreamy quality, a purity. Each stroke in the water felt like a prayer.

As they made their way slowly toward the harbor, Atticus knew full well what Carson was praying for. Her strokes were too determined. She had a goal in mind. Delphine. He couldn’t blame her. With each pant he, too, uttered a silent prayer that the dolphin would appear.

Carson suddenly raised her paddle and paused, scanning the water. Atticus followed suit, standing motionless, his eyes searching. They were the only ones on the water, and for as far as he could see, it appeared quiet and shimmered in its reflection of the pink sky.

“There!” Carson called out, pointing. “Three o’clock.”

Atticus abruptly shifted his gaze to three o’clock but saw nothing.

“There’s another one. One o’clock.”

He looked but again saw nothing. Too slow. The water was still but he kept his gaze as steady as one of Beau’s coon dogs out on a hunt. Suddenly, off in the distance, he spied a pair of dorsal fins of similar size. His excitement shot skyward. “I see them!”

Carson turned to grin over her shoulder, delight lighting up her face. “Come on, city boy, put your back to it.” She lowered her paddle and dug deeply, moving forward at a rapid clip.

Atticus laughed, loving the thrill of the moment. The water, the strokes, the hunt—he felt so alive. He kept his eyes peeled. The two fins rose and fell in different spots but remained in the same general area. Carson seemed to know exactly where to go.

“They must be fishing in the inlet,” she called back. “If they were traveling, there’d be no possible way we could keep up with a dolphin’s speed.”

He thought she was doing a pretty good imitation. He kept digging his paddle in the water, breathing hard, trying to keep abreast.

As they drew nearer the inlet, both dorsal fins disappeared. Once again Carson lifted her paddle, watching, listening, coasting with the current. They waited for several minutes. Atticus figured the dolphins had moved on, then a noise caught his attention. From behind them, soft and muffled. Carson heard it, too. She raised her hand over her eyes and peered toward the sound.

There it was again—the unmistakable sound of air through a blowhole!

Carson anxiously scanned the water.

Atticus could feel his excitement bubbling. Then he saw the dolphin break through the water twenty feet behind them. His heart was beating hard. “There!” he called out.

Carson held up her hand to indicate they should remain still. Suddenly a dolphin emerged again, closer. Atticus swung around and teetered on his board. Arms out, he just managed to keep his balance and not fall into the water. Taking a breath, he lowered to his knees.

One dolphin had swum off. Only one was here now. It swam toward his paddleboard, close enough for him to get a good look at its glossy and sleek gray skin in the sunlight. It dove again, but not before he saw the crisscrossing of pale scars across the glistening body.

His heart raced. He paddled closer to Carson. “It’s her! “Delphine. I saw the scars.”

Carson wiped tears from her face and nodded. She wasn’t able to speak.

A moment later the dolphin emerged close to Carson’s paddleboard. Atticus watched in silent awe as the dolphin leaned to its side parallel to the board, her beautiful almond-shaped eyes studying the woman on the board.

“Delphine!” Carson exclaimed, looking back into the dolphin’s eyes. “It’s me.”

Suddenly the dolphin made a high-pitched whistle and dove. A second later she emerged, leaping high into the air and splashing noisily back into the sea.

Carson laughed loudly and raised both arms into the air. “Woohoo!” she shouted, and turned to Atticus, her eyes shining. “She recognized me!”

Atticus’s fist pumped the air, as though he’d leaped with
the dolphin. Something about this creature forged a feeling of kinship. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt such joy.

Delphine swam rapidly back to Carson’s paddleboard, then made two tight circles around it, eyeing her. Atticus tried not to interfere, staying low on his board. He felt privileged to witness this extraordinary bond between wild dolphin and human.

Delphine emerged beside Carson’s board, her dark eyes eager. Expectant.

Carson lowered on the board to bring her face close to Delphine’s. She was careful to keep her hands on the board. For several minutes she sat quietly as she rocked, then slowly she stretched out on the board onto her belly. She gazed eye to eye with Delphine. It seemed to Atticus that the dolphin was studying her, as well.

“Poor baby,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Delphine merely looked serenely back at her seemingly without judgment.

Other than the faded scars, Delphine appeared healthy. And fat, he thought with a smile.

“So, you’re having a baby,” Carson said to Delphine. “I guess we were both pregnant last summer. Only
you
kept your baby. Good for you.”

Atticus pursed his lips and shifted his weight on his board. He hadn’t known that Carson and Blake had lost a baby.

Delphine started making staccato nasal noises and hitting the water with her rostrum.

Carson turned her head to him. “She doesn’t understand why I don’t pet her.” Carson’s expression showed she clearly ached for the contact. “She’s my best friend. She helped me through some of my worst moments.” Carson reached out her
hand. Then stopped midair. “No. I mustn’t touch her. She’s wild.”

But Delphine had other plans. She rose in the water to deliberately bump her rostrum against Carson’s hand.