The Wedding Season has arrived! Not one but two of the Muir sisters, Harper and Carson are being married in two months on the same weekend in May. The setting is Sullivan Island, in South Carolina's Lowcountry. Plans are buzzing. Both grandmother's are planning their perfect weddings. How could they not be perfect? Grandmother, Marietta "Mamaw", never stops quoting from Emily Post's Book of Etiquette, while British visitor Granny James does the same from Debrett's Social Manners. The story overflows with Southern charm, customs, elegance and a touch of history. A sweet and interesting look at Dolphins and their environment was an additional delight.
Harper Muir owns Sea Breeze. which she inherited from Granny James. She loves the house with the Atlantic Ocean in her front yard and the Cove in her backyard. It is filled with memories of her childhood but her fiance, Taylor, does not feel at home there. And when he is asked to sign a pre- nuptial agreement to protect Harper, there is trouble in their paradise and decisions must be faced and made. Is their love for each other strong enough to do this?
Carson is unhappy because she can not find a job on Sullivan Island and wants to accept the job offered to her in her chosen field of film photography but it involves travel and six months away again from her betrothed, Blake. She made him a promise she would not accept any more assignments like that but she is restless and is having trouble giving up her independence. Trouble is brewing in that quarter too and both have to find a solution or part ways.
Every once in awhile a book comes along that captivates my imagination from the first page. It becomes difficult for me to put that book down until I reach the final page. A LOWCOUNTRY WEDDING warmed my heart, introducing me to a new favorite author, Mary Alice Monroe. This is the 4th in her Lowcountry series and I am in pursuit of the first three. Her writing style is lovely, her imagery so real I could almost smell the salty sea air and feel the soft breezes. I loved all the characters.
I watched as the girls faced old endings that brought them new beginnings. I rooted for them to find the right path for them before their wedding day and rejoiced in their joy when they did. This one is a keeper to be re-read again. Bravo Ms. Monroe!
Wedding season has arrived in New York Times
bestselling author Mary Alice Monroe’s next novel in the
“distinct, complex, and endearing” (Charleston
Magazine) Lowcountry Summer series, set against the
romantic, charming Charleston Lowcountry.
Nothing
could be more enchanting than a summer wedding—or two!—in
Charleston’s fabled lowcountry. A centuries-old plantation,
an avenue of ancient oaks dripping moss, a storied ballroom,
a sand dune at sunset…
Yet when a stranger arrives,
a long held family secret could silence the bells ringing
for the Muir sisters. Scandals surface, family bonds are
questioned, and promises are broken and renewed. In A
Lowcountry Wedding Monroe delves into the heart of
marriage, commitment, and family ties. Huffington Post
calls the Lowcountry Summer series “the perfect beach
read and a whole lot more.”
Excerpt
Save the date! Celebrate the weddings of
Carson Colson Muir
to
Blake Waring Legare
Saturday, May 28th
and
Harper Muir-James
to
Taylor Archibald McClellan
Sunday May 29th
Charleston, South Carolina
Prologue
Be kind, my darling girl. And be happy!
Spring was in the air--ripe, verdant, full of promise. And
with the spring came the rush and clamor of weddings.
Marietta Muir stood on the porch of her cottage in her
nightgown and robe. Across the gravel drive was the main
house--her Sea Breeze. The old white wooden house with its
black shutters and gabled windows was dark and quiet in
these early hours. It was a handsome house, she thought,
taking in the gracious staircase that curved out like a
smile of welcome. To the left was the unsightly, leaning
wood garage. In the center of the courtyard an immense,
ancient live oak tree spread low drooping boughs that to her
appeared as a great hand protecting them all from harm. The
tree and the house had survived generations of Muir
ancestors and countless storms and hurricanes. That it
could weather them all, scarred and bent perhaps, yet
endure, was testament to the strength of the family.
Marietta lived in the small white cottage that had once been
the home of her longtime maid and companion, Lucille. To
her mind, it would always be ‘Lucille’s cottage.’ Marietta
had moved to the cottage when her granddaughter, Harper, had
purchased the house from her, thus keeping Sea Breeze in the
family. It was a good decision. Living in the quaint guest
cottage, Marietta was free of the hassles and distractions
of caring for that big house and all those possessions.
She'd spent a lifetime tending the house, closing shutters
for rooms filled with antiques, cooking meals, presiding
over parties or going to parties, decorating for holidays,
and celebrating the milestones of her family's lives. She no
longer had the energy, or in truth, the desire to do all
that. Running a household and raising children were tasks
for the young!
She held a cup of coffee in hands and sipped slowly,
enjoying the warmth. Now she could enjoy the peace of a
lowcountry morning such as this when the air was heady with
scents. She lowered her cup from her nose and breathed deep.
Coffee still lingered in the air, but there was the
pervasive scent of pluff mud this morning and the cloying
sweetness of jasmine and other spring flowers that tickled
her nose. Salt tinged the moist breezes from the ocean.
Smacking her lips, she could almost taste it. And, too,
there was that delightful freshness of mist and dewy grass
that lingered like spirits at dawn.
Marietta awoke with the sun most mornings now. Nights were
restless and she was eager to rise from her bed and greet
the new day. At eighty- one years of age, each day granted
was a blessing. And today was especially exciting. Carson
was arriving home. Harper and Dora were positively spinning
with anticipation. Now they could begin the wedding
festivities in earnest, for in only two months’ time, both
Carson and Harper would be celebrating their weddings.
Just the thought gave Marietta palpitations. There was so
much that had to be done. So much that she wanted to say to
the girls before they took this important step in their lives.
But what? What wise words could she share with
them that would inspire? What words could she say that they
could pull from their memories when times were tough and
they needed reassurance and guidance to persevere?
When Marietta was soon to be married her mother, Barbara,
had taken her to tea for a private, mother-daughter tete a
tete. Marietta's wedding day was only a week away and there
was a flurry of parties given by friends and family.
Barbara had set aside this time alone with her daughter, to
share with her the advice that only a mother could. That
afternoon over Darjeeling tea, her mother had presented
Marietta with a book of etiquette by Emily Post. Now that
Marietta was setting up a home of her own, her mother said,
she wanted her to have guidance at her fingertips for any
question she might have regarding the correct deportment of
a lady with a well appointed house. Marietta had already
been thoroughly instructed on the rules of conduct, customs
and expectations of Charleston society. "Yet," her mother
had told her, "refinement and charm were more elusive."
She had placed the book in Marietta's hands and said, "My
dear girl, remember that this book only outlines for you the
thousands of detailed instructions and protocol of polite
society. But at the root of all etiquette and manners is
kindness. These rules were not contrived to make one feel
important or better than another. Rules can be learned by
anyone. Every human being—unless dwelling alone in a
cave—is a member of society of one sort or another.
"Rather, think of etiquette as a philosophy of living and
enjoying life with grace, compassion and respect for others.
If, say, someone at your dinner table uses your bread plate,
do you make a fuss? Of course not. You must be gracious
and make no mention of it. Why? Because you would not want
to embarrass the other guest. To do otherwise is the gravest
breach of etiquette. You see, while etiquette provides the
rules for socially accepted behavior, good manners are how
we apply those rules. Being a gentleman or a lady is a code
of behavior that draws on decency, integrity, and loyalty--
not only to friends and family, but to principals. So be
kind, my darling girl. And be happy."
Marietta had held her mother's words close to her heart
throughout her long marriage. Emily Post's Etiquette had
guided her through thank you notes, birth announcements, the
introductions of dignitaries, baptisms, weddings and
funerals. But her mother's words were the spirit behind them.
Mamaw smiled and snapped to action. With two weddings
approaching, she knew exactly what she had to do.
She closed her robe tight and hurried back into the cottage.
Inside the walls and sparse furniture were all white.
Splashes of color brightened the room in the lowcountry art
and the blue linen drapes at the windows. She went directly
to the one wall lined with bookshelves. This was the only
change she'd made to the cottage after her granddaughters
had redecorated it following Lucille’s death. Marietta
loved her books and had a difficult time choosing which to
keep from her vast library. The furniture she had no
difficulty parting with. But the books were like old friends.
Marietta knew the book was here somewhere. She'd never
throw it out. Her fingertips slid over the spines of dozens
of books packed side by side on the shelf. At last she
found it. Emily Post's Etiquette. She pulled it out and
caressed the well-worn blue binding with satisfaction.
Opening it, she found the folded book cover and the
inscription on the opening page, With best wishes! Emily
Post.
She went to the sofa, flicked on the lamp, crossed her legs
and, after slipping on her reading glasses, began to read,
going through the chapters: Introductions, The Art of
Conversation, Entertaining at a Restaurant, Balls and Dances
Preparations for a Wedding, Table Manners, Protocol in
Washington, and so on. The tone was encouraging and concise,
the instructions thorough and direct. She felt again the
same awe and wonder--and trepidation-- at reading the
countless rules for specific situations that she had
experienced as that young bride fifty some years earlier.
Marietta had to admit she'd forgotten some--like calling
cards-- but for the most part, the rules of etiquette were
as ingrained in her as her DNA. She read until the sun
brightened the sky, her coffee cup was empty, and eyes grew
weary. She paused, slipped off her glasses and let her hand
rest on the book.
Were these rules relevant to a young bride today? she
wondered Would Harper and Carson find them daunting? Would
Dora have utilized these in her marriage to Cal?
They were not her daughters, but her granddaughters. They
affectionately called her Mamaw and their bond was strong,
indeed. She had done her best to instruct the girls in
proper manners when they'd spent summers with her at Sea
Breeze, but she didn't oversee their upbringing or guide
them on a day to day basis. Harper she had no worries knew
her etiquette. In England, her family was in Debrett's.
Dora's mother, Winifred, bless her heart, did her best.
Even if Winnie knew the letter of the law and not the
spirit. Carson, however, was her wild card. Raised by her
son, she might as well have been raised by wolves. Looking
back, she saw that she'd failed Carson by not insisting that
the young girl live with her in Charleston rather than with
her father in Los Angeles. Yet the girl had a natural grace
and a passion for living that no amount of education could
teach. Carson knew enough manners to get by. Marietta
sighed. How to set a table, at the very least. The rest,
Marietta knew, she could learn.
Mamaw tapped her lips, considering. Certainly for the
parties, and the wedding ceremonies protocol played an
important role. Especially in the church. Goodness,
without them they'd all be walking around utterly clueless
what to do next. Protocol was reassuring in such times and
Mamaw was confident that she could guide the fledglings in
the proper procedures for the ceremonies. With a slight
lift of her chin she thought that sometimes there was an
advantage to being old.
As for the rest...It may be true that some of the rules of
etiquette from the past were outdated. Yet didn't
etiquette, like language and customs, evolve and adapt to
current times? Treating others with kindness, consideration,
and respect was timeless. They should all be aware of how
their actions affect others in their daily lives.
Marriage was hard work. Like the vows the young brides and
grooms were going to say, there was indeed sickness and
health, poverty and wealth, 'til death do us part.
Only in the wisdom of experience could one hear those words
and understand the depth of their meaning.
Marietta had lived a charmed life in many ways. Yet she'd
also endured the sadness of miscarriages and the crushing
blow of the deaths of her only child. Edward had been her
support during those trials, but when he died, it was her
dear friend, Lucille who had seen her through the darkness
to the light. Then Lucille, too, had passed and Marietta
was alone again. Her granddaughters were a solace, true,
but she'd also discovered a different sort of comfort and
companionship in an old friend, Girard.
So perhaps, marriage wasn't the only answer for a compatible
relationship? she wondered. Partnership and friendship were
important ingredients. Still, she believed marriage was an
institution set up by society to protect the concept of
family. Marriage offered security and stability in a world
quickly losing values, customs and traditions. This she
wanted for her granddaughters.
And yet, in the end, her mother had only wanted Marietta to
be happy. Happy with her husband, happy in her society,
happy in her home. Isn't that what every mother wished for
her daughter? Shouldn’t she wish only that for her Summer Girls?
She sighed and cupped her chin in her palm. So what to say?
Lord, she prayed, help me find the words. Then she smiled
again and the answer came readily. She would tell each
young bride the same words her mother had told her so many
years ago. Simple words that had withstood the test of
time. Be kind, my darling girl. And be happy.
Chapter One
It's never too late. Not to begin again. Not for happy
ever after.
If the lowcountry was her heart, then the saltwater that
pumped through all the mysterious and sultry creeks and
rivers were her life's blood.
Carson sat in a window seat of the small jet staring out at
her first glimpse of the lowcountry in six months. From the
sky she stared out the portal window at the estuarine waters
snaking through the wetlands looking every bit like veins
and major arteries. Carson was heading back home. Back to
Sullivan's Island, South Carolina, like so many migrating
birds and butterflies journeying along the coast. She was
so close she could almost smell the pluff mud.
Carson had been traveling for over fifty hours from New
Zealand to Los Angeles, then from there to Atlanta, and now,
at long last, on the final puddle jumper to Charleston. The
past days had been one long blur of plane changes, long
lines, endless waiting and hours cramped in crowded
airplanes. She thought she might sleep on the red-eye from
Los Angeles but she'd reached that odd point of being too
exhausted to sleep. She couldn't turn off her brain.
She was drained after four months of film photography in the
wild forests of New Zealand followed by extended post
production work. Her life had been a series of breakfast,
lunch, and dinner meetings where the powers-that-be debated
over the best shots for the film's press and publicity. The
film's star was a major A-list actor with a high "kill shot"
allowance, which meant he could select those photographs he
liked and reject those he did not. This prima donna had
killed 75% of Carson's best work because he had an issue
with his nose. In all that time Carson didn't have a free
moment to surf, kite, or even stick a toe in the Pacific
Ocean. Not even during her two day stop-over in Los Angeles.
She'd packed up her few belongings from storage, had them
shipped them to Sullivan's Island, knocked on a few doors to
bid farewell to friends, then called a cab and headed to LAX
. Too long a time away from the water put her in a dismal
state of mind. She felt fried. She couldn't wait to get
home to the good ol' Atlantic.
Home.
Carson tried to stretch her impossibly long legs in the
cramped space of economy seating, wondering again if she'd
really been so clever to exchange her first class seats and
pocket the money. Resting her chin in her palm, she stared
out the small oval window, marveling how, after years on the
road, she'd actually been homesick. Carson was lucky to
have had a successful run of gigs involving shooting on
location and long flights back to LA. She'd been very good
at her job, cooperative, indefatigable on the set. Her
personal life consisted of long term friends and countless
short term suitors. By the time she hit thirty-four,
however, the long hours and endless partying, the ever
present alcohol and drugs began to take its toll. Her work
got sloppy, she was drinking too much, and her work ethic
grew lazy. When she'd overslept and missed a major scene,
it was the last straw for the director and he fired her on
the spot. Word got out and her reputation was ruined. No
one would hire her.
It had been a long dry spell until that same director,
Kowalski, himself a recovering alcoholic, learned Carson had
joined AA and offered her a second chance. Carson had given
this film her best work and, despite the frustration of the
many setbacks and the prima donna actor, she'd stayed clean.
Kowalski noticed. At the film's closing he shook her hand,
then offered her another film job. That offer had meant the
world to Carson. Not only had her reputation had been
restored, but she'd proved to herself she could stop
drinking under pressure. She'd felt validated and
proud--and hopeful.
Carson blew out a stream of air. Now she was in a quandary.
She'd promised Blake that this would be her last film gig.
The she would end her wandering, return in four short
months to settle down with him in Charleston to marry and
start a new and different life. A life that meant she'd
have to begin the dreaded task of searching for any work she
could get in a tight job market. That was the plan. Yet
when Kowalski offered her another film job, she couldn't
flat-out refuse. Instead, she'd asked him for time to
consider the offer.
She shuddered at the thought of once again joining the ranks
of the unemployed. She'd been out of work so long she'd
lost her self esteem. This time, rather than spend
recklessly, Carson had saved money from this gig to tide her
over until she got another job. Whatever and whenever that
was. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She had to
land a job soon. Carson was too proud to enter a marriage
penniless, jobless, and completely dependent on Blake.
Carson looked down at the small diamond bordered on either
side with two sapphires resting on her ring finger. Her
engagement ring had been Blake's mother's ring and her
mother's before her, thus all the more meaningful to her.
This symbol of his love, of continuance and commitment, had
been her touchstone during the six months they'd been apart.
She'd held tight to the ring and all the promises it held
whenever she’d been tempted to drink--and she'd remained
sober. It had been hard, there was no denying it. There
were times she'd almost slipped. But she'd held onto the
promise of the ring.
She covered her hand with her other palm, squeezing tight as
she took a deep breath. Was love enough to calm her fears?
Could she maintain her independence, her sense of self, if
she relinquished her career? She couldn't bear falling back
into the wallowing self pity of the previous summer.
Her racing thoughts were jarred by the grinding noise of the
wheels lowering beneath her. Her heart quickened as
touchdown approached. Almost there. Across the aisle a
young couple sat, shoulders touching, holding hands. She
recognized them as a couple that had boarded the plane with
her in Atlanta. The young man's hair had been shorn by an
energetic barber. He wore a crisp blue gingham shirt under
his navy blazer and a sweet smile as he looked into the
woman's eyes. Her blonde hair was long and curled ,and she
wore the classic pink Lily Pulitzer dress and matching
sweater, and the ubiquitous pearls at the ears and neck.
Looking up at him, she beamed. They had to be newlyweds,
Carson thought. Or another in a long line of couples who
came to Charleston to get married.
Like me, she thought and the notion surprised her. This was
more than a return home to Sea Breeze. She, too, was a
young bride to be flying in to get married. Carson studied
the young woman. She was very young, in her early twenties,
and fresh as a dewdrop. Utterly enamored by her beau. Is
that what I should look like, Carson wondered? Brimming
over with dew and sunshine?
She glanced down at her California chic style of clothing.
Faded jeans torn at the knees, a long boyfriend shirt, rows
of bracelets on an arm and strands of beads at the neck.
Turquoise and silver hoops at the ears and cowboy boots on
her feet. Her long dark hair was twined into a thick braid
that fell over her shoulder. She hardly thought that ‘dew
and sunshine’ was a description anyone would use to describe
her. To begin with, she was at least a decade older than
that sweet Georgia peach. Studying her dewy eyed
expression, Carson couldn't help but wonder if the young
woman shouldn't wait a few years before getting married.
Experience more of life before settling.
After all, girls were getting married later now. She'd read
that twenty-seven was the average age of today's bride,
closer to Harper's age. In bigger cities like New York,
Washington DC, and Los Angeles women were disinclined to tie
the knot before they are well into their thirties. At
thirty four, Carson wasn't completely sure she was ready
even yet.
With a great thump and screeching of brakes the plane landed
at Charleston International Airport, jolting Carson's
thoughts. Soon the plane was filled with the sounds of seat
belts clicking and rustling as restless passengers stood and
anticipated an escape from confinement and to continue their
journeys. She felt herself awakening at the prospect of
seeing Blake again. She needed to freshen up before she
faced him after so long a time.
In the ladies room Carson stood in front of the industrial
mirror under the harsh light. She saw the ravages of long
hours of travel and exhaustion in the chalkiness of her
skin. Her blue eyes, usually brilliant, appeared dull and
bruised by the dark circles. After rinsing her face with
cold water and patting it dry with paper towels, she dug
into her large leather bag and pulled out her makeup. She
added just enough blush to look healthy, a smattering of
shadow and lip gloss. Then she untwined her braid and
brushed it until it fell like dark, glossy silk down her
back. Blake loved her hair, liked to wrap his fist in it
when he kissed her.
She stuffed everything back into her bag and straightened
her shoulders.
"Dew and sunshine," she said, feeling the bride to be at
last. She grabbed her suitcase and strode into corridor.
When she reached the exit guard to the terminal she heard
Blake's voice.
"Carson!"
She swung her head toward the sound, surprised. She’d
expected him to pick her up at baggage claim. But there he
stood at the exit, looking very much the same tall, slender
and tanned man she'd left last fall. Over the winter his
dark hair had grown longer. Thick curls amassed on his head,
not yet shorn for the summer. His eyes were the color of
chocolate and they were warm now, bubbling over with
anticipation. When their gazes met he lifted his hand in a
boisterous wave, revealing an enormous bouquet of white roses.
All her nervousness, worries and fatigue fled the moment she
saw him. Like a light at the end of the tunnel, his gaze
called to her.
"Blake!"
Suddenly she was grinning wide, face flushed, trotting in
her boots to close the distance between them. In a rush his
arms were around her, holding her tight, her lips smashed
against his in a devouring kiss that was filled with
discovery, reconnection, and promise.
"Baby, you're home," he said against her cheek.
Hearing the words, she felt the truth in them. She was home.
He grabbed her bags, eyes only on her, oblivious to the
glances they were gathering, mostly from young girls and
older women with smiles on their faces.
The drive from the airport in Blake's pick-up truck was
filled with catch-up conversation, questions fired and
answered mixed with laughter. Outside the day was dreary.
Rain whipped the windshield while the wipers clicked like a
metronome. They crept along Coleman Boulevard, past shops
lit up like night, though it was barely one o'clock in the
afternoon. Blake kept a firm grip on her hand, releasing it
briefly only to shift gears, then clasped it again, as
though afraid the bird would fly off again. As they left the
mainland and headed over the wetlands she looked out to see
that the tide was so high only the tips of grass were
visible, like some great green lawn seemingly ready to
overflow with the rain. She knew that in twelve hours the
powerful tides would turn and the water would recede again,
exposing mounds of mudflats with glistening black,
sharp-tipped oyster shells, an army of fiddler crabs and, if
the storm was over, regal snowy egrets. These, she thought,
were the seaside sentinels welcoming her home to the lowcountry.
They went directly to Blake's apartment on Sullivan's
Island. Once a military barracks, the long, white wood
building had been converted to apartments. The history of a
military presence on the island went back to the
Revolutionary War. Passing Fort Moultrie, Stella Maris
church, her hand went to the window, as though to caress
these touchstones. If she turned here toward the back of the
island, she'd head toward Sea Breeze, she thought. But
Blake drove straight down Middle Street.
They held hands as they climbed the stairs to Blake's
apartment, then paused at the door and smiled. They both
knew what awaited them on the other side. Once the key
entered the lock, Hobbs began barking his deep throated huff
of warning. They heard the dog's nails clicking on the
hardwood, then the exploratory deep sniffs at the door.
"Are you ready for your welcome?" Blake asked, inserting the
key.
Carson smiled and nodded, bracing herself. When the door
opened the giant golden Labrador licked Blake's hand then
immediately went to sniff the new person--Carson's boots,
her jeans, her extended hand. Then, with a high yelp of
recognition, Hobbs began barking and whining with
excitement, his tail waving back and forth. Carson couldn't
have asked for a warmer homecoming. She bent low to scratch
behind his ears and pet his fur.
After Blake settled his dog and they entered the small two
bedroom apartment there was a moment of tension between
them, the first since she'd seen him. The air around them
felt charged with energy and want.
"I'll put the flowers in water," Blake said, taking the
roses from her.
She brought them to her nose, inhaling their heady scent
once more before relinquishing them to Blake. He was
watching her, his pupils pulsing. He stood motionless for a
second, then in a sweep tossed the roses to the nearby sofa
and stepped forward to place his long hands on her cheeks
and draw her lips to his.
His drank from her lips like a man parched. His tongue
probed, separating her lips and plunging into the moisture
he'd not tasted for months. She welcomed him, clasping
herself tighter to him with a soft moan in her throat. It
was always like this with them. A kiss was like spontaneous
combustion. Neither of them could stop now, nor would they
want to. Outside lightning flashed and seconds later,
thunder rumbled closer, louder. The lights flickered.
Hobbs whined and curled up in his bed.
Blake pulled back from Carson's lips and let his hands slide
down her arms to her hands.
"I've missed you," he said.
"I've missed you, too."
He took her hand and without another word spoken, led her to
his room and to his bed. The cold front gusted at the
windows, rattling the frames as rain sluiced the air. But
inside, the small apartment welcomed the lovers and
protected them from the storm.
# #
#
"It's still raining," Carson said.
She lay on her back, her long dark hair spilling over the
pillows, one arm flung over her forehead. Her breathing has
calmed and, spent, she felt suddenly very tired, like she
could sleep for hours listening to the rain pattering
outdoors. Lovemaking often had this effect on her. Wound
like a tight coil, the passion gave her a great release.
"It's supposed to rain all day, then move on tonight.
Tomorrow should be sunny. Today..." Blake rolled to his
side and propped his head on his palm. He reached out to
shift the sheet up over her naked breasts. "You must have
jet lag. Rest."
"I am tired," she confessed.
"It was a good idea to stop here first, before going to Sea
Breeze. Give you time to decompress. Besides, I want my
time first, before I have to share you with everyone else."
Carson lifted her arm to gently slide her hand along the
side of his head. "True, though I miss them. Especially
Mamaw. But, yes, we need this time alone. To talk."
"And sleep. It's a good day for sleep."
"Yes." Her lids blinked slowly, listening to the patter of
rain on the roof. She felt safe here, with Blake, protected
from whatever ill winds blew outside this apartment.
"Oh Blake," she said in a choked whisper. "I'd forgotten
what it was like here with you."
He smiled. "Then don't go away again."
He gathered her closer to him so she could rest her head on
his shoulder. They lay entwined in each others arms,
listening to the softer roll of thunder compete with Hobbs'
snores.
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 in four
months. 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," she added "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 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,
unconcerned about her nakedness. "Yes I have! Last summer.
All summer. I had to take pity donations from Harper." She
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, ghost writing, 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 that 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," Blake said. "I come from a
long line of steady, hardworking stock. Secondly," he 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 very
difficult for her. She didn't like long time leases, jobs
that kept her tied to one city, one place. In the past,
whenever a boyfriend started getting serious or mentioned
the word ring, she ran. Only with Blake had she
found herself able to consider a pledge of commitment. For
better or worse, through sickness and heath, till death to
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?" he prompted.
"But as for my independence, I'm worried." She twisted the
sheet in her hands then, 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?"
Chapter Two
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.
To Harper's mind, planning a wedding was not much different
from studying for an end of term exam. There was
considerable research to do-- 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. There were people to consult, lists to make,
files to keep.
What she had been unprepared for, however, was the emotional
challenge involved with wedding plans.
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.
And now there was a problem with her dress. She'd fallen
impetuously in love with a traditional gown in a lovely
bisque color. It was rather princess like, true, but that's
how she'd dreamed of looking like on her wedding day since
she was a little girl. Dora and Mamaw, who had accompanied
her shopping, loved the dress. Carson had never replied to
the photo she'd sent. But Granny James, who was paying for
the dress, didn't care for it, saying it was far too formal
for a beach wedding.
Her 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 like 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 cancelled a May date at Wild
Dunes Resort for a Grand Pavilion wedding the very day her
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.
She 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 the shelf.
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. Her
wedding to Parker Muir was 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 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 her well for disappointment.
With her dreams of a 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 to 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. Georgiana,
her mother, had distanced herself from Harper ever since the
engagement. She strongly disapproved not only of the match
but of Harper 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 her mother, Granny James had been there to
wipe her tears all throughout Harper's youth and, after a
testy period of interrogation, finally welcomed Taylor into
the family. And most significantly, Granny James had
adroitly engineered Harper's inheritance so that she could
purchase Sea Breeze when Mamaw 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,
the first of March, and her feet hadn't touched the
lowcountry. Not everyone was surprised. Money had exchanged
hands with friends betting whether or not Carson would
return in time for the wedding. Not that Harper 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 fiancé.
Oh, Carson, Harper thought with a shake of her head. Her
heart pumped with affection. She adored her free wheeling
sister. Envied her enthusiasm, her lust for life and
fearlessness. It was Carson who taught her 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 email 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 virtually done 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.
She glanced at her watch, and with some alarm saw that it
was nearing five. Her mind stopped dallying and sharpened
on the immediate. Taylor would be home soon and there was
still so much to be done for the party. She rose quickly
and strode across the thick carpet to the door. Harper took
a final sweep of her office. The hearty pine paneled
floors, the walls of bookshelves, the Oriental rug, a
painting of the sea. This had once been the house's library,
the male bastion of her grandfather Edward and her father,
Parker, complete with hunting paintings, mounted rifles, and
the air redolent with pipe smoke. When she and her half
sisters began spending summers at Sea Breeze, the feminine
accoutrement of dollhouses and pink colored toys chased the
men from their cave. Soon after it became Harper's
makeshift bedroom. As years passed the west wing of the
house became known as "the girls'" wing. Mamaw kept the
paneling and books and the room was still referred to as the
Library, but everyone knew it was de facto Harper's room.
Harper made her way down the west hall her gaze sweeping the
rooms she passed to make certain all was in the ready. At
the end of the hall was Carson's bedroom, the largest of the
girls' rooms with a spectacular view of the Cove. This had
been Carson's bedroom since she was four years old. Carson's
mother had died in a tragic fire and Mamaw had stepped in to
take care of the motherless girl. Mamaw had been more than
a grandmother to Carson. She'd been the only mother Carson
had ever known. Their relationship was uniquely special and
neither she nor Dora resented their special bond...much.
During the summers when the three young girls gathered at
Sea Breeze, Carson naturally claimed her childhood room as
her own. Harper had every intention of reassuring her sister
that this hadn't changed now that she owned Sea Breeze. Her
sister would always have a place here.
She and everyone else was excited to welcome Carson home.
But the elephant in the room that no one was mentioning was
how Carson resented that her wealthy half sister could
afford to purchase Sea Breeze-- the only house that Carson
had ever considered home.
Harper didn't want any arguments or resentments to mar what
she hoped would be a happy time for the family as the
weddings approached. Satisfied that everything in the room
was just as Carson had left it the previous September,
Harper closed the door, reminding herself to add fresh
flowers to the room before Carson arrived.
The second bedroom was smaller and faced the front of the
house and the ancient live oak tree that shaded the house
under its protective foliage. This was Dora's room, one
Harper had shared with her sister for a time. Pink and
French in design, it suited their oldest sister. Now
living in her own cottage on Sullivan's island, Dora didn't
need a bedroom at Sea Breeze. So Harper had decided this
was where she'd put Granny James when she arrived in a few
short weeks.
She entered the living room and paused. Carson would notice
the changes here. A large, airy space with lots of large
windows facing the front courtyard, Harper had freshened up
the room a bit, making it younger in appeal with an icy blue
and white trim palette. Mamaw's early American antiques
were placed into storage for Dora and Carson. Having
assumed ownership of the house, Harper felt it only fair
that her sisters receive the furniture. Besides, she was
inheriting a boat load of antiques from her grandmother's
estate in England. More than she could ever use. Harper
had selected a few favorites for Sea Breeze-- the gorgeous
secretary, several side tables, a dining room table and
chairs and paintings. She'd purchased two new down filled
sofas. She'd spent a lifetime growing up with hard, creaky
antiques and she was determined to have a comfortable place
to sit in her own home.
Home.
The thought never failed to take her breath away. Growing
up she'd been carted from one home to another depending on
the season, complete with an assortment of faceless nannies.
She'd never felt that any one of them was home.
Except for Sea Breeze. The historic house was so named
because it sat perfectly situated, high and proud on the
southern tip of the island, facing onshore Atlantic breezes
from the front and the racing currents of The Cove in back.
This house felt like home because of Mamaw's consistent
love and her sisters. And her ancestors. There were memories
embedded in each nook and cranny of the house that went back
more than a hundred years. Harper often felt the
whisperings of the past when she wandered the halls, her
fingertips delicately stroking the walls, the furniture, the
glass.
This house-- this place --had planted the seeds of
her love for the lowcountry. A stirring passion that had
bloomed with her love of Taylor. And, herself. Harper felt
she belonged here. Here at Sea Breeze she'd discovered the
strength of family. Continuity. Security. Harper was a
wordsmith. And, as of last month, a soon to be published
novelist. She wanted to write books that shared her love of
these words, their profound influences, and of course, the
lowcountry.
She caught her reflection in the large Venetian mirror. She
saw the same, slender, fair skinned woman who had returned
to the lowcountry the previous May. A clever but timid girl
without direction. An obedient daughter seeking love. Her
red hair was longer now, pulled loosely up in a clasp. Her
eyes the same brilliant blue she shared with her sisters.
But staring at herself Harper knew that she was not the same
girl at all. She had grown up. She'd found her voice. And
regardless of what Carson or Dora or anyone else might want
or say or think, she was the mistress of Sea Breeze now.
Soon to be a wife.
# #
#
A short while later Harper was standing in the kitchen
before the great Viking stove. A storm had blown in,
coloring the sky a gunmetal gray. Looking out at the Cove,
the choppy gray water mirrored the sky. A gusty wind
whistled, rattling the windows. A cold front was moving
fast over the island bringing with it icy rain. She
shivered, feeling the damp to her bones. She looked in the
nearby corner where Thor, Taylor's behemoth of a black dog,
lay curled on his cushion. Part Labrador, mostly Great
Dane, the dog curled up by the warmth of the oven in
inclement weather.
"Don't you worry, boy. The weather promises to be all blue
skies tomorrow," she told him. Thor raised his eyes to look
at her with deep brown eyes and his tail thumped the floor
in a heavy staccato. "At least I hope so," she muttered to
herself. Carson couldn't abide cold weather, either, and
Harper wanted her sister to be in the best spirits possible.
Harper's small hands moved quickly, efficiently, to add the
sautéed okra, celery, bell pepper, garlic, onion and chicken
to the roux. She lowered her head and inhaled the heady
scents, tracing a finger over the gumbo recipe on the
counter. It was an old recipe, one of dozens created by the
family's former housekeeper, Lucille. The recipes were hand
written on index cards and assorted sheets of paper. They
were yellowed and stained and some of the pencil lettering
was so faint she could barely read them. Harper had spent
months attempting to recreate the recipes as a gift to her
sisters.
Thor's head shot up, ears alert. In a leap he was on his
feet trotting to the door, his nails clicking on the
hardwood floors. A moment later the door swung open and
gust of cold, wet air swept through the room.
"It's colder than a witches' tit out there."
Harper turned at the sound of Taylor's voice, a wide smile
on her face. His tall, large frame filled the entryway. He
carried a large green cooler in his arms. Thor whined with
joy at his side, torn between greeting his master and
sniffing the shellfish inside the cooler.
"You're home late."
"Crazy day. My meeting finished early, so I headed up to
McClellanville and got that shrimp you asked for." He set
down the large cooler on the floor, stretched, then slipped
off his rain jacket. He stood a moment, shaking off water
that splattered the floor. "Mama and Dad send their love."
Again she felt fortunate that Taylor’s father was once a
shrimper. Like many others, Capt. McClellan had tied his
boat up at the dock and looked for work on land. He
couldn't afford to stay in the business. Imported shrimp was
priced too low and diesel fuel was priced too high.
Shrimping was a vanishing southern industry. But he still
knew the few shrimpers left and could always get his hands
on fresh shrimp right off the boat.
Taylor hung his jacket on the peg and immediately crossed
the room, slipping his arms around Harper's waist. "How's
my girl?"
Harper leaned back against him, relishing the feel of his
strong arms around her. Over six feet, his broad frame
dwarfed her slender five foot two inches. From the moment
she'd met him, Taylor had made her feel safe. It was a new
sensation for a girl who'd never known security. She ducked
away when he nestled his lips at his neck.
"Stop," she protested. "I'm cooking!"
"I'm starved." He leaned over her shoulder her shoulder and
sniffed loudly. "Smells good."
"This isn't for tonight," she said, turning in his arms to
slip her own around his neck. "It's for tomorrow night.
For Carson's welcome home party. I thought..." she laughed
when he dove in for another nibble at her neck.
"I told you I was starved."
She laughed again and pushed him, this time more firmly,
away. "Bide your time, man. You’re going to make me burn
my gumbo." She turned again, this time successful in being
released. "I thought tonight we'd have chicken salad."
"Nope," Taylor said, walking to the fridge. He tugged it
open, pulled out a beer and flipped off the top. "Salad
isn't going to do it. I need something that'll stick to my
ribs."
"How about you order a pizza?"
"Done."
While she stirred at the stove she watched as he moved with
easy familiarity to the kitchen drawer and drew out a wine
cork, then walked to the pantry where bottles of wine were
stacked. Such a domestic scene, she thought contentedly.
They could already be husband and wife. Taylor had moved in
to Sea Breeze last September after the papers were signed
and Granny James returned to England, Carson flew off to LA
and Dora moved to her own cottage on Sullivan's Island.
Mamaw had promptly declared that she didn't want to be a
third wheel in the main house and had taken up residence in
the guest cottage. Taylor had felt awkward at first,
tiptoeing around as though he were a guest. She enjoyed
seeing him comfortable at Sea Breeze now, accepting that
this was his home.
Pulling out an Italian red, Taylor's large hands moved with
smooth experience to uncork the wine.
"Don't pour me any wine," Harper told him. She reached out
to lift her mug. "I'm drinking hot tea. It's so chilly."
Taylor set the bottle down then returned to the stove. He
reached for the spoon and dipped it into the gumbo. He blew
on the sauce then tasted it, eyes closed. After a second he
said, "Tastes good, baby, but it needs something. Not spicy
enough."
Harper trusted his palate when it came to lowcountry dishes.
She picked up a pen and bent over the recipe.
“I'm still making adjustments on Lucille’s recipe. It's
trial and error. She was, shall we say, creative in her
measurements.” She lifted the recipe and read aloud, “Toss
in some oregano, basil, onions, garlic.”
Taylor laughed as he walked to the wood kitchen table where
a pile of mail sat.
“Lucille probably learned these recipes at her mother’s or
grandmother’s knee. Watching them toss things in.
She wrote those directions for herself. There was no need
for her to be specific."
"I, however, have to make an educated guess. Thus lots of
tasting.” She brought the spoon to her lips, tasted, then
reached out to add a generous pinch of oregano. “I want
everything to be perfect for tomorrow’s party.”
“It will be,” Taylor assured her, “You’ve been planning for
weeks.”
“It’s the first time there’s been a gathering here at Sea
Breeze since we’ve bought it.”
“Dora’s been here plenty of times.”
“Well Dora, yes. Of course. She lives so close. But not
Carson. She’s the one who’s most attached. And the one who
had an issue with me buying it." Harper stirred more rapidly
as she felt the nervousness tighten her stomach. "She’ll
want everything to have stayed the same." Including Mamaw
still owning it, she thought.
"Hey, it's done. All water under the bridge now."
"She can’t help but resent the fact that I own the house she
loves. Me, the least likely candidate.”
"Why the least likely?"
"I was the least connected to the house. To the South for
that matter. I only came here as a child for a few summers.
I was the sister from "off." The Yankee from New York.
Then I come barreling in last summer and buy the place right
from under their noses."
Taylor scoffed. "Hardly the scenario. You were the only
one who could afford to rescue it. I figure they're all
thinking you came riding in on your white charger to save
the day. Otherwise strangers would be living in this house
right now. Carson has to accept that fact and be grateful."
Harper didn't reply. In her experience, emotions ran high
in family matters and clouded judgment. "She'll resent any
changes I made. Think that it’s not my place, especially
while Mamaw is still alive."
"Maybe at first. It’d be only natural. But she’ll get over
it." He reached in for a second taste. "Better," he
announced. "But it still needs a little more heat." He put
the spoon on the counter and reached for the mail. "She's
getting married, too, don't forget," he continued. "She'll
be moving into her own place with Blake. He was talking
about buying a house. She’ll have enough on her mind.”
“Blake’s not moving. He’s keeping his apartment on Sullivan's.”
Taylor stopped sifting through the mail and set the pile
back on the table. He and Blake had become close friends
since the engagement. Their shared interest in dolphins
cemented a natural affinity.
“Not moving? I thought he was heading out to James Island.
Closer to NOAA.”
“Carson doesn't want to leave Sullivan’s Island. At least
she’s firm about something.”
Taylor kept silent but his brows gathered.
Harper turned off the stove and lay the wooden spoon on the
counter. She knew Taylor's silences held back a lot of
words. As quick as Harper had been to imply one of Carson’s
faults, her defense of her sister came naturally. “It’s not
like Blake doesn’t want to live on the island, too. It's
his apartment.”
He took a long swallow from his beer. “When’s Carson
arriving, anyway?”
"Tomorrow afternoon. Blake is picking her up from the
airport, then bringing her here." Harper chew her lip.
"Her room is all freshened up. I'll put fresh flowers in
tomorrow and some lowcountry snacks... benne wafers,
pralines. And I have champagne chilling."
"You're doing a lot, honey. Is it really all necessary?"
Her face lit up as she caught his gaze. "I want to.
Taylor, it's beginning. The weddings."
Taylor's eyes kindled. "I only care about the one wedding.
Ours."
He went to collect his beer from the table, and after
downing it, he leaned against the table and rubbed the back
of his neck. Harper knew this as a signal that something
was on his mind. She leaned against the counter, crossed
her arms and waited for him to speak.
"I was talking to my parents," he began.
Harper said nothing.
"We were getting our ducks in a row. Your grandmother's
coming when again?"
"March 15th."
Taylor nodded with a wry grin. "Beware the ides of March."
Harper ignored that.
"Do you know how long she'll be staying here?"
Something in his voice made Harper glance up sharply. There
wasn't love lost between the two when she and Taylor were
dating, but peace had been made.
"She'll stay until the wedding for sure. After that, as long
as she cares to." Her voice sounded more unyielding than
she'd intended.
"Of course," Taylor hastened to reply. He looked down, his
fingers drumming the table behind him. "The reason why I
was talking about dates with my parents is that my mother
thought it might be nice for me to return home for awhile.
Before the wedding. Sort of a last chance to be with her
boy again before I become your husband."
Harper relaxed again and moved closer to Taylor to slip her
arms around his waist. "I've always assumed you go back
home for a while before the wedding. It'll be a flurry of
estrogen and lace here. But I'll miss you. How long would
you guess? About a week?"
He looked down and his eyes caught hers. "Actually, I was
thinking of leaving soon. Before Granny James arrives."
"What? But that's next week!"
Taylor nodded.
Harper was stymied. "But...but why? There's no need for
you to leave that early. It's insane. Getting to work
every morning all the way from McClellanville will add hours
to your commute."
"It'll only be for a short while."
Harper released him and strode across the room for her tea,
feeling a sudden need for its warmth. She closed her hands
around the heated ceramic and stared at the dark brew . "I
don't understand," she said softly.
"You remember how things were between your grandmother and
me," he began to explain.
"That was last year. She loves you now."
"Love?" he said dubiously. "Tolerates, maybe. Accept,
possibly. She raked me over the coals."
"Granny James was just being protective. She didn't know
you and wanted to be sure...well..."
"That I deserved you."
"Yes." Her lips twitched.
"And that I wasn't after you just for your money."
Harper shrugged. "That, too. And you passed with flying
colors. So what's the problem?"
"I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay here, living
in this house, sleeping in your bed, before we're married."
"It's no secret. She knows you're living here."
His eyebrows shot up. "She does?"
"Oh for heaven's sake. She's no prude."
"She is when it comes to you. I don't want to be on the
receiving end of her cool glances. That woman could kill a
charging rhino with one look. I'd rather deal with hours of
traffic. Or rent a room for a few months."
Harper put her cup on the counter and crossed her arms
against an irrational panic growing inside her chest. She
felt her heart beating faster and it felt like all the
worries she'd squelched deep inside were pounding to get out.
"I can't be left alone here! They'll all be here-- Carson,
Blake, Granny James, Mamaw, Girard, Devlin, Dora,
Nate...They'll be constantly in and out, asking for things,
meals to prepare, laundry. Not to mention the wedding
plans. How will I ever cope?"
"You don't have to take care of everyone. They can take
care of themselves. It'll be the same as last summer."
"But it won't! This is my home now. It'll be expected that
I make the decisions. Plan the meals. Be the one in charge.
I can't, Taylor," she blurted, tears springing to her eyes.
Taylor came forward to put his arms around her. As
always, she felt safe in his arms. She needed him now more
than ever.
Taylor smoothed the hair from her face, damp with tears.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know why I got so
emotional. I'm actually very happy they're all going to be
here. I just feel a bit overwhelmed. It’s just, I can't do
it without you here. I need you. Especially now."
Taylor's hand stilled. He slid back, holding her arms in
his hands and studying her face. There was a brief silence
and he said faintly, "Why especially now?"
Harper drew a breath and wiped her face with her fingertips.
Her face broke into a smile.
"Because," she said with a gleam in her eyes. "We're going
to have a baby."
Chapter Three
Like any young Southern bride, she had visions of being
the perfect wife, the best mother, and a creative hostess
worthy of the pages of Southern Living magazine.
The streets were collecting water on Sullivan's Island by
the time Dora made her way home. It had been raining like
the Lord's flood all afternoon without sign of stopping. It
didn't make her life any easier on a day Dora had to rush
all morning arranging after school care for Nate and
squeezing in a few extra, much needed final minutes of
study. Now the day was done, the test taken, and she was on
her way home. It felt as though all the energy she'd
bottled up had spilled out on the test, leaving her feeling
empty. All she wanted to do on this chilly, wet night was to
change out of this constricting dress into comfortable
clothes and slippers, drink a glass or two of wine, curl up
on the sofa, and watch mindless television.
The cold rain splattered the windshield of her car so hard
she could barely see the little house nestled among clusters
of palms, oleanders and old oaks. She turned off the engine
and sighed in the sudden silence, eyes closed. The rain beat
the roof of her aging Lexus like a drum. This was the first
moment of peace she'd had since she'd opened her eyes this
morning. She felt weary, like she'd run a marathon-- only,
she thought with chagrin, without having lost an ounce.
Her brief moment of peace concluded, Dora began to revisit
in her mind the questions on the exam, second guessing her
answers. Dora had never been a great student. Not like
Harper with her razor sharp intellect and Ivy League
education. Dora had to study, hard, for a test. And yet no
matter how much she studied, when the test was put before
her she felt a panic build in her chest and a pounding in
her ears that made it difficult to think clearly. Her
teachers had called her a "poor test taker." Because of
this her grades had suffered in school, but that was a
lifetime ago and she'd never been all that worried about her
ranking in academics. She was bright but preferred the arts.
Sh
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