The Summer Wind (9 page)

Dora tugged the thin blanket higher around her neck as she felt a sudden chill. She looked at her nails. They were short and unpainted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a manicure. On her left finger she was still wearing the slim channel-set diamond wedding band. Cal had not once, in all his arguments, declared that he loved her. He’d not told her that he’d missed her, or missed their son.

Dora took a breath that exhaled all the angst, anger, and worry that she’d harbored in her chest for too long. A change of address was not going to change Cal. He didn’t want her back because he loved her. That was what she
wanted
to hear. What Cal wanted was for her to monitor the house renovations. He wanted to soften her up to get the better deal with the divorce.

She deserved better. Nate deserved better. It was not enough.

“You don’t have to come by the hospital, then, since you’re such a busy man,” Dora said flatly. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for the offer that I move into your condo. But it’s too soon. I need time alone to think—about our marriage, about me . . . about so many things before I’m ready to talk.”

Cal cleared his throat to speak but she pushed on, not giving him the chance to interrupt.

“As soon as I’m released, I’m going back to Sullivan’s Island. You’re right. Nate is happy there. And you know what? I’m happy there, too. I think we all deserve some happiness. We can talk again in a few weeks. Maybe a month.” She ventured a small smile on reiterating his words. “As for watching over the house improvements . . .” She shrugged. “Good luck with that.”

M
amaw loved holidays. Christmas was her favorite, of course. Then Valentine’s Day, with its hearts and chocolate, and Easter, with the brightly colored eggs and pastel flowers. And now it was time to celebrate the Fourth of July. On the island, crowds of tourists thronged the flag-strewn streets.

She and Lucille were crawling through traffic to pick up Dora at the hospital and bring her home to Sea Breeze. Lucille drove her old Camry across the Ben Sawyer Bridge to Mt. Pleasant. It was a faithful car—ten years old with low mileage and nary a dent or scratch. Since Mamaw had given Carson her vintage Cadillac, she was without a car of her own. Just as well, she thought as she gazed out the window of the passenger seat. Her vision wasn’t what it used to be, nor was her reaction time. She sighed. For that matter, neither was Lucille’s.

Mamaw looked out the window as they rolled past the vast lowcountry wetlands. The tide was high, covering the
oyster beds. Only the tips of the grasses were visible now, bright green from the recent heavy rain. This was the busiest week of the year on the island and even at midday the traffic was heavy and slow on the narrow road that crossed the marshes from island to mainland. Mamaw noticed, however, that there was a great deal of space between their car and the one in front.

“You drive as slow as a turtle,” she said to Lucille.

“I’m not slow,” Lucille replied with a scoff. “I’m careful.”

Mamaw looked in the rearview mirror. A long line of cars trailed behind them. This was a no-passing zone on a two-lane stretch. She could imagine the drivers of the cars behind them cursing the two old women who were leisurely leading the pack. She chuckled. Every time she used to drive she’d get at least one honk. Likely from a tourist, she thought. No one from Charleston would be so rude as to honk at an old lady. Once they were on the mainland the road opened to four lanes and cars zoomed past them, some of the young ones scowling as they roared by.

“Let ’em go,” Lucille muttered, her chin thrust forward and her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. “I ain’t rushing on their account. I never got a ticket and I’m not going to start now, not after all these years. Them folks keep driving like that, they won’t reach my age. That’s for true.”

“The young are immortal, Lucille. Didn’t you know that?”

“Humph,” she said with a frown.

“Speaking of the young, I wonder what time Carson will arrive home today. I’m so proud that as soon as she heard about Dora’s broken heart syndrome she headed right home.”

“Told you she would.”

“With Dora coming home, there are changes to be made at Sea Breeze. We must follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.”

“
More
changes, you mean,” Lucille added. “I already never get to cook pork or grits no more.”

“If I have to forgo my little rum drink at night . . .”

Lucille guffawed. “Not exactly every night, are you?”

Mamaw swung her head to stare at Lucille. So . . . she knew about the hidden flask!

“I can’t see the harm of a small libation when I read my book at night. I’m alone in my room, after all.”

“If I have to give up my chitlins for Dora, then you’ve got to give up the rum for Carson. And Harper . . .” Lucille made a face. “Not eatin’ anything white. Who ever heard of such a thing? I’d of starved coming up!”

“It’s a different world. We have to support them.” She lowered her voice. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t cheat once in a while and have our little treats, does it?”

“No ma’am,” Lucille agreed with gusto. “Maybe I’ll start cookin’ more in my cottage.”

Mamaw’s eyes gleamed. “Yes! I’ll stop by there for our tête-à-tête. Often.”

Lucille chuckled, eyes on the road. “Uh-huh.”

“But back at the main house, we must remain vigilant,” Mamaw said. “Heart-healthy diet only!”

“Doctor said it weren’t no heart attack. What they call it?”

“Stress cardiomyopathy.”

“Mm-mmm.” Lucille ruefully shook her head. “Imagine that. Now them doctors have this fancy name for something we all knew happened all along.
Broken heart syndrome,” she said with a firm nod of her head. “That’s the right name for it.
My grandparents were sweet on each other from the moment they met. Married more than sixty years when my grandmother Etta passed. My grandfather died only a few months after. No matter what the doctors said, we all knew Daddy Earl died of a broken heart.”

“I had an aunt who had the same thing happen. She just up and died after her husband did.” Mamaw sighed.
“We should never underestimate how important our loved ones are to us. Or how powerful one’s grief can be.”

She turned to look at the woman beside her. Lucille’s lips were a thin, clenched line of concentration; she was barely able to see over the wheel. Today she wore a plain, light blue cotton shirt-dress; this had been her favorite dress style for as long as she’d worked for the Muir family. Mamaw had seen the waistband expand over the past fifty years, same as hers. Now Lucille’s hair was more salt than pepper and she wore wire-rim glasses when she drove. But her skin was still as smooth as a baby’s butt. It irked Mamaw no end that Lucille steadfastly refused to give her the recipe of the face lotion she’d concocted. It was a long-standing feud between them.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life,” Mamaw said suddenly, overcome with a wave of affection.

Lucille swung her head, surprised. “Oh, you’re just being silly. You’d get along fine without me.”

“Why, Lucille,” Mamaw said, a bit hurt at having her sentiment brushed off. “You know how much you mean to me. You’re my dearest friend. Of course I wouldn’t be just fine if you left.”

Lucille frowned but kept her gaze on the road ahead. “Yes’m, we are good friends, that’s for true. But you wouldn’t pine away if I should die, now, would you?”

“The things you say. No, I probably wouldn’t. After all, I didn’t pine away after my husband died. Though, I think I might depend on you more than I ever did Edward.”

“That’s just nonsense talking.”

“It isn’t. We’re like salt and pepper, the two of us.”

Lucille kept her eyes on the road.

“Do you realize this will be the last holiday we’ll celebrate at Sea Breeze?” Mamaw said in a wistful tone, as they continued along Coleman Boulevard.

“I reckon that’s true.” Then she added with a grunt, “If the house sells.”

“It’ll sell,” Mamaw said conclusively. “There’s already a list of people who’d like to get their hands on my property.” She sighed again. “I truly wish I could leave it to the girls, so that they could continue to come here in the summers, to see one another, their children. But, it just might not be meant to be.”

“You might get more than you think for it,” Lucille said.

“I hope I do, of course. But the house is so heavily mortgaged, and the cost of the retirement home so high, after they do all the subtractions, there’ll be much less than you think left over. There hasn’t been an income in this family for a very long time.” She sighed. “I’ve been advised to prepare for ever-increasing medical costs, living expenses . . .”

Mamaw paused to glance at Lucille. “You know, of course, that you will be taken care of. Mr. Edward had the arrangements made before he passed. You’ll have the money from the sale of the cottage, free and clear.”

“Yes’m. I know.”

Mamaw sighed. “I’m resigned to it. The house must be sold, and the sooner the better.”

Lucille didn’t respond, but a heavy pall slipped over them.

“Let’s not be gloomy,” Mamaw said in a cheerful tone. “Let’s make this Fourth of July a real firecracker! The best party ever. All the girls will be at Sea Breeze again and we’ll gather a few rosebuds while we may.”

Lucille glanced quickly her way. “What’s that about rosebuds?”

Mamaw laughed at her frivolity. “It’s from an old poem I once memorized as a schoolgirl.” She brought to mind the stanza she could recall. “ ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, / Old Time is still a-flying: / And this same flower that smiles to-day / To-morrow will be dying.’ There’s more, but I don’t remember it. I’m pretty pleased I remembered that much.”

“Don’t seem too cheerful,” Lucille said. “All that talk of dying.”

“It’s about enjoying the present. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. We’ve had a few bumps in our summer plans, what with the Delphine debacle and Dora’s health. But we still have the rest of the summer, right? Let’s gather our sweet rosebuds—Dora, Harper, and Carson—at Sea Breeze and be happy. No more bad news!”

“No more bad news,” Lucille agreed, and laughed under her breath. “Just rosebuds.”

Later that afternoon, as she sat in the rear of Lucille’s car on the drive home from the hospital, Dora thought Sullivan’s Island had never looked more beautiful. American flags hung from every street lamp, houses—and even the golf carts—were festooned with red, white, and blue. Everywhere she looked
people were on foot, most with a beach bag and folding chair underarm, heading to and from the beach.

She’d been so ready to leave the hospital. The two days felt like two years, what with nurses waking her up at all hours of the night to draw blood or conduct a test of some sort. And the food . . . Dora couldn’t wait to bite into some of Lucille’s home cooking. But these complaints were trivial compared to the constant barrage of cajoling and urging from both her mother and Cal to change her mind about returning to Sea Breeze. It was silly, really. Aside from the fact that Dora wanted to be at Sea Breeze with her sisters, Nate was the best he’d ever been after just a month on the island. Imagine how much he’d improve after an entire summer in the sunshine.

Dora was exhausted from her mother’s not-so-subtle arguments for her to take Cal up on his offer to stay with him at the condo in Summerville. But she and Nate were a package deal and she’d made up her mind. At the end of her hospital stay she felt physically and emotionally drained, and her final good-byes with both of them had been cool.

The car turned off Middle Street onto the curved back island road and all went quiet. Lucille slowed as she guided the wheels off the pavement to bump along the dirt road. Large oaks and palms created a tunnel of shade and shadows, shielding the houses from view. Dora leaned forward, feeling excitement bubble as they approached the familiar tall green hedge. “Sea Breeze,” Dora murmured.

She opened the car door and stepped out into the sultry air. The shade of the ancient oak was a welcome shield from the harsh midday sun. She’d half expected the front door to swing open at the sound of slamming car doors. But no one appeared.