A Lowcountry Wedding (4 page)

Carson’s fingers played with the hairs on his chest. Furrowing her brows in consternation, she sighed heavily.

“What?” he asked, alert to her shift in mood.

“Oh, I’ve been wondering. . . .” She looked at Blake and saw his alert expression. Like a man waiting for the other shoe to
drop. She paused. Carson had hurt him before. She couldn’t hurt him again. She tried to couch her words.

“While I was away, the work was hard, yes. Demanding. Frustrating. That cyclone that hit really slowed down production. I’ve lived through Category One hurricanes here on the island before, but this cyclone was worse. There were moments I wasn’t sure we’d make it. We were all pretty scared.” She snorted. “I don’t know if Kowalski was more afraid of the storm or the cost of the delay.”

Blake waited without speaking, his hand stroking her bare arm.

“All those delays. I know I swore I’d be back earlier. I’m months late. I couldn’t help them. I’m sorry.”

“I know. We talked about it. It’s done. You’re here now.”

Carson hesitated. “I also said that I wouldn’t take another film job.”

Blake’s gaze sharpened. “Did you?”

“No.” She took a breath. “Not yet. But Kowalski offered me another job. A good one, with good pay. He told me I did an excellent job.” Her lips turned up. “That applied to my not drinking, too.”

Blake nodded slowly, his brow furrowing as though he wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at, but he knew he didn’t much like where it was going. “That’s what you wanted. Validation. Your self-esteem back. You succeeded.”

“Yes. And it feels wonderful. It’s like I got myself back.” Her hand touched her heart. “The strong, confident me. Feeling that again, I . . .” She took a breath. “I can’t go back to the way I was last summer. Lost, penniless, unable to get a job.”

“The way you felt last summer had a lot more to do with all
that you learned about yourself than the job issue. You joined AA. That took a lot of personal strength. And your bond with your sisters. I like to think I was part of that, too.”

“You were. Of course you were. But learning that about myself and going out into the world, testing myself and succeeding, are two different things. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’ll never be cured. The temptation to drink is present every day, and every day I have to have the personal strength to say no. To do that, I have to be centered and strong. Blake, I’m terrified of going back to that woman I was last summer—broke, wallowing, unemployed. So I’m wondering . . . why do I need to go through that when I was offered another job? One perfectly in line with my career, too. I know people who would kill for that job offer.”

Blake gently disentangled himself from her arms and rose to sit on the bed. He crossed his legs and looked out the window a moment, but she knew he wasn’t looking at the rain.

“How long would this job take you away for?”

“I’m not sure of the details, but probably two months.”

“Does that mean four?”

“Hey, a cyclone doesn’t usually hit while filming.”

“But there are delays.”

“Sometimes. Of course.”

Blake shook his head. “You said this was your last film job.”

“I know. At the time I thought it was. But I’m not sure now. I have nothing else here.”

Blake snorted derisively.

“I don’t mean you. You know that.”

“You haven’t looked.”

Carson scrambled to rise and sit across from him, unaware
of, unconcerned about, her nakedness. “Yes, I have! Last summer. All summer. I had to take pity donations from Harper.” Carson shook her head violently. “I can’t do that again. And why should I? Why should I take a job I don’t love when I have a job that I do love?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

She looked at him questioningly.

“We’ll be married. You’ll be my wife. You won’t be penniless. What’s mine is yours. That’s what a marriage is.”

Carson took a deep breath and turned away from the sincerity on his face. The room was half-dark with the lights off and the dark sky outdoors. “Please understand,” she began, trying hard to keep her voice calm and reasonable, “that I appreciate that. But I can’t sit back and let you take care of me. I need to feel I can take care of myself. You know how I grew up—my father took me away from Mamaw when I was a little girl and moved me to Los Angeles, where he was going to make his name and fortune. He was always trying to write or sell something. By then he’d given up on his dream to write the great American novel and got into screenplays, magazine pieces, ghostwriting, anything he could so that he could pay the rent. And when he couldn’t, he took what little money we had and got drunk. I learned pretty early to depend on myself. I had to hide his money to buy groceries. I cooked, cleaned, got myself to school. I was more the parent than he was. When I turned eighteen, I’d had enough and left. When he died a few years later, I was sad. But I also felt a little relief.” She shrugged, a physical effort to remove the guilt she carried. “It’s always been me, taking care of me. That’s all I’ve ever known.”

“First, I’m not your father. I come from a long line of steady,
hardworking stock. Secondly,” Blake said with a hint of humor, “independence isn’t the key to a good marriage.”

Carson shivered, feeling chilled. She reached out to pull the sheet up over her shoulders. Carson knew that commitment of any kind, much less marriage, was difficult for her. She didn’t like long-term leases, jobs that kept her tied to one city, one place. In the past, whenever a boyfriend had started getting serious or mentioned the word
ring
, she’d run. Only with Blake had she found herself able to consider a pledge of commitment. For better or worse, through sickness and health, till death do us part. Blake never had any doubts, was steadfast in his belief in her. In them. But she was beginning to feel shackled by the promises she’d made last fall, bound not only to marry but to give up her independence.

Carson answered seriously, “I know you’re not my father. You’re as far from him as a man could be. But . . .” She looked down and tugged at the sheet, pulling it closer.

“But what?”

“But as for my independence, I’m worried.” She twisted the sheet in her hands, taking a breath, looked up, and met his eyes. “I’m not prepared to give it up.”

Blake’s dark gaze sharpened. “What are you saying?” Then, visibly paling, he said with caution, “Are you breaking our engagement?”

It is always a stressful situation when the wedding of a daughter—or a granddaughter—brings together parents who are divorced. It is especially difficult when both families are bitterly estranged.

T
o Harper’s mind, planning a wedding was not much different from studying for an end-of-term exam. Considerable research had to be done—traditions, venues, music, cake designs, flowers, recipes, decor, goodie bags. Though she admitted to being surprised by how many books and magazine articles had been written on the topics. She’d always been an excellent student and felt up to the challenge. People had to be consulted, lists made, files kept.

What she had been unprepared for, however, was the emotional challenge of wedding planning.

Harper sighed and closed her laptop screen, then leaned back in her chair. It was no use pretending she was working. She’d spent the past hour searching the Internet for still more
ideas for her wedding bouquet. Her wedding was only two months away and she hadn’t yet selected her flowers.

Harper’s venue was decided on, thank heaven. Charleston was the number one destination-wedding location in the country, an accolade that had venues booked two years in advance. This made it frustrating for local girls such as herself hoping to plan their wedding within a year’s time. Harper’s wedding was scheduled for late May—peak wedding season. She’d gotten lucky and scored a prime venue even though she was late booking. Some bride had canceled a May date at Wild Dunes Resort for a Grand Pavilion wedding the very day Harper’s grandmother had called. So Granny James immediately booked it and laid down her deposit—without consulting Harper. Harper’s fingers drummed the desk. Most of the wedding was being planned by Granny James, all the way from England. Harper sighed again. It was rather like studying for the exam and having someone else take the test.

Harper let her gaze wander across the room to the bookshelves. Dozens of wedding books lined them. Burgeoning manila folders were stored in the pale Tiffany Blue boxes, each neatly labeled and filled with clippings and photos. Her sisters teased her about her passion for organization and the pretty boxes she was always buying. Harper owned this was true. But what good were all those carefully filed ideas when no one was paying attention to them?

Granny James had been over the moon at the prospect of planning the wedding for her only grandchild. Harper’s mother, Georgiana, was Imogene James’s only child. Georgiana’s wedding to Parker Muir had been a hasty, impromptu affair in New York that had marked the marriage a disaster from the
start. They divorced five months later, before Harper was born. Granny James had tucked away her visions of a formal wedding at the family estate, Greenfields Park in England, to save for her granddaughter.

Harper, however, became engaged to a lowcountry boy, moved into Sea Breeze as her home, and intended to live out her life on Sullivan’s Island rather than in England. She wanted to be married here, too. On that point she would not budge.

Granny James took Harper’s decision with disciplined good nature. Georgiana had prepared Granny James well for disappointment. With her dreams of staging a formal wedding unrealized, she had rallied and launched herself into the task of a beach wedding.

“We love the beach, don’t we, darling? Just think. It will be a destination wedding for all the family in England,” she’d exclaimed. “So different. We have to have it in the spring so they can escape all the rain. They’ll all come. You’ll see. What fun!”

A beach wedding was not what Harper had envisioned for herself. Still, knowing how important planning a wedding was to Granny James, she’d bitten her tongue and tried to remember all that Granny James had done for her. Her mother had distanced herself from Harper ever since the engagement. She strongly disapproved not only of the match but of Harper’s moving to the lowcountry. Georgiana had always been angry whenever Harper didn’t meekly obey her wishes, but when she’d revealed to her editor mother that she was releasing a book with another publisher, the line had been drawn in the sand, and it seemed neither woman was yet willing to cross it.

In contrast to Georgiana, Granny James had been there to wipe Harper’s tears all throughout her youth and, after a testy
period of interrogation, finally welcomed Taylor into the family. And most significant, Granny James had adroitly engineered Harper’s inheritance so that she could purchase Sea Breeze when Mamaw had put the house on the market.

After all that, Harper didn’t have the heart to tell Granny James that what she really wanted was a small lowcountry-style wedding at one of the southern plantations in the Charleston area. She’d envisioned ancient oaks dripping moss, winding creeks, a long flowing dress and veil, flower-draped verandas.

The wedding that Carson was having, basically.

Her older sister had also gotten engaged at summer’s end. After a tumultuous love affair, the capricious Carson had finally said yes to Blake Legare. Just before she took off for a job as a stills photographer on a film being shot all the way over in New Zealand. Carson was supposed to have returned at the end of January. Yet here it was March, and her feet hadn’t touched the lowcountry. Not everyone was surprised. Money had changed hands with friends betting whether Carson would return at all. Not that Harper had placed a bet, but she had to admit that at almost two months late in returning, Carson had everyone’s teeth on edge. All except Blake, who’d maintained a stoic faith in his fiancée.

Oh, Carson, Harper thought with a shake of her head. Her heart pumped with affection. She adored her freewheeling sister. Envied her enthusiasm, her lust for life and fearlessness. Carson had taught Harper how to swim, to row a boat, to run wild along the coast of Sullivan’s Island playing pirates. But that very independence carried a streak of recklessness that could be annoying, too. Their weddings were to be a means to play
new games together—choosing wedding gowns and bridesmaid dresses, bouquets and goodie-bag items,
together
.

In typical Carson fashion, however, she found herself too busy and had blithely left her wedding plans to Mamaw and her future mother-in-law. In an e-mail from New Zealand, Carson wrote, “Do whatever you think best. I know it will be beautiful!”

What normal young woman would hand over her wedding plans to someone else? Harper thought. Then, with chagrin, Harper realized she had done virtually the same thing.

But all that was the past. Carson was coming home now at last, and the wedding plans would kick into high gear.

Harper felt a fluttering in her stomach. Placing her palm there, she wasn’t sure if it was nerves, anticipation, or anxiety over what all was left to be done. Truth was, Carson’s return home after nearly six months signaled more than just the beginning of a blitz of wedding plans. Tomorrow night Harper was hosting the first family gathering at Sea Breeze since that mass departure last September.