The Summer's End

“Mary Alice Monroe has become the premier nature writer among southern novelists.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Pat Conroy

Praise for the Lowcountry Summer Trilogy

The Summer Wind

“Monroe reveals a variety of insights . . . with perception, wit and intelligence . . . [and] imbues her setting with such color and chemistry that any reader will be pining to visit after only a few pages into this book. Her characters soak up the atmosphere and so do the readers. . . . Monroe captures the essence and spreads it on her pages, and she does it with stories that touch the mind and the heart of her readers.
The Summer Wind
may be part of a trilogy, but it is also a stand-alone story of depth and compassion. It is the perfect beach read, and a whole lot more.”

—
The Huffington Post

“Distinct, complex, and endearing characters . . . Mary Alice Monroe continues to make Charleston proud with her authentic and purposeful writings.”

—
Charleston Magazine

“Monroe's vivid imagery of the Lowcountry's smells, tastes and sights brings you up to the door of the Sea Breeze, so even if you're at home far from the ocean, you can imagine yourself there.”

—
The Herald-Sun

“Monroe deftly explores the unique problems each woman faces. . . . These are modern women addressing the prickly questions of identity and purpose in today's world, a world very different from the one their grandmother knew as a young bride. . . . Written with convincing Southern charm and thoughtfulness,
The Summer Wind
explores the bonds of sisterhood and the challenges of modern womanhood with warmth and genuine affection.”

—
BookPage

“A series I urge everyone to get into, it makes the perfect beach read and I know you will be fully invested in this family as much as I am.”

—
A Southern Girls Bookshelf

“The second book in the Lowcountry Summer Trilogy,
The Summer Wind
 . . . pulls at your heart strings even more than the first.”

—
Posting for Now

“The perfect summertime beach read. And even after the summer season is long gone, you can pick it up and be back at the beach in no time flat.”

—
Maurice on Books

The Summer Girls

“Monroe knows her characters like no one else could, and her portrayals of the summer girls are subtle, realistic, carefully crafted, and pitch-perfect.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“More than just a beautifully written, moving portrayal of three sisters finding themselves and each other after years of separation . . . [
The Summer Girls
] deals head-on with significant issues so skillfully woven into the narrative that I often stopped to consider the import of what I'd just read. If you're a dedicated environmentalist, this book is a must-read. If you're just someone who enjoys a good story, you'll get that, too, and much more.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Cassandra King

“This book contains drama, humor, and romance which any good summer read does. Plus it has the message about the care and treatment of dolphins. Monroe is an expert at making this blend and
The Summer Girls
is one of her most successful efforts.”

—
The Huffington Post

“Mary Alice Monroe sings a song of praise to the bottle-nosed dolphins that bring so much joy to the men and women who gaze at the creeks and rivers of the lowcountry each evening. Like all her books,
The Summer Girls
is a call to arms.”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Pat Conroy

“Mary Alice Monroe at her best . . .
The Summer Girls
reminded me of what I love about Southern fiction.”

—
Heroes and Heartbreakers

“A captivating story of how the ocean and a charismatic dolphin reunite sisters in the alluring ecological setting of the lowcountry of South Carolina. The story resonates on a personal level and, moreover, delivers a powerful reminder of the importance of protecting dolphins and the environment in which they live.”

—Patricia Fair, Director, Marine Mammal Program, NOAA

Dedicated to my daughters—

Claire Dwyer, Gretta Kruesi, and Caitlin Kruesi.

You are my heroines.

ISLAND TIME

By Marjory Wentworth

Piercing the layers of night with flames

that melt the long hours before dawn,

the sun gently peels a shroud of fog

from the misted island. She embraces

the ripening surface of the earth,

where houses wrapped in sleep emerge from darkness

like hundreds of seeds scattered along roadsides.

Streetlights are still burning. Beneath them,

cars pass. Weary ships with passengers

given time to rearrange the memories of night,

as the day spreads itself before them

like an unwanted offering.

Each unfilled hour, ticking

ahead on the clock in their minds.

A woman rises from bed to sit

at her window and wait for daylight

to take hold of the world

spinning into place. She is

searching for a child, the ghost

of a child, a scrap, his small voice

in the wind, a carved smile

on the face of the moon—

just any familiar sign

from one of a billion stars.

And while shrimp boats glide out to sea

on the rows of first light, she watches

a dolphin caught in the marsh

swimming an endless circle

Excerpt from
Noticing Eden,
Hub City Writers Project, 2003. Printed with permission.

T
he dawn of another summer day. Mamaw tightened the soft cashmere throw around her thin shoulders. Slivers of light pierced the velvety blackness over the Cove, and pewter-colored shadows danced on the spiky marsh grass like ethereal ghosts.

Mamaw sat huddled on an oversize, black wicker chair on her back porch, her legs tucked beneath her. The fog was moist on her face and the predawn chill seemed to penetrate straight to her bones. She couldn't seem to get warm with Lucille gone. Since her dear friend's death, many nights she'd awakened from a fitful sleep and come outdoors hoping the fresh air would settle her. She'd found scant warmth or peace in the chill of predawn. In the distance, the Atlantic Ocean, her mercurial friend, roared like a hungry beast. The waves were devouring the dunes in a relentless rhythm. Echoes reverberated over Sullivan's Island.

Over a week had passed since Lucille's death. Yet she still felt her old friend's presence around her, hovering in death as she had in life. Dear Lucille. Death came to us all. She knew that. Mamaw was no stranger to death. At eighty years of age, she could hardly have been spared the loss of loved ones. She'd buried her parents, and, too early, her son and husband. Tonight she felt the past was more alive than the present. Memories of her loved ones played vividly in her mind.

Mamaw drew a long, ragged breath. From far away, she heard the mournful bellowing of a ship's foghorn. From a nearby tree, a bird began calling out his strident dawn whistles . . . a cardinal, she thought.

She listened, stirred from her lethargy by the dawn song. She watched as the morning light, in degrees, brightened the skyline, revealing the ragged tips of green sea grass, palm trees clustered on a hammock, and the towering Ravenel Bridge, appearing as two great sailing vessels, in the distance. Slowly, the rising sun illuminated the darkness, peeling away the shroud from her heart. She felt her despair dissipate with the mist. Mamaw said a prayer of thanks to the rising sun and took a deep breath of the cool, mud-scented air.

Another day was dawning. The worst was over.

Foolish old woman,
she chided herself as the gray sky shifted to blue.
Look at yourself, sitting in the dark, mourning your friend. Wouldn't Lucille give you what for if she spied you moping like this outdoors in the damp chill, still in your nightclothes?
Who had time to lollygag? Their plan for the summer was not finished! She'd invited her three nearly estranged granddaughters to Sea Breeze in May—and they'd come. The first time they'd been together in over a decade. True, it had so far been a tumultuous
summer of change and growth, ups and downs, joys and heartaches. But it was her triumph that they'd weathered the vicissitudes
together.
Eudora, Carson, and Harper had rediscovered the sisterly love they'd shared as children when they played together during the summers here on Sullivan's Island. Howling at the moon? She should be crowing like a rooster!

Yet, much was still to be done and she was running out of time. It was already August. The sea turtles were finishing another season, the children would be heading back to school, the ospreys would soon head south with the other migrating birds and butterflies. Summer's end was fast approaching. Soon, too, her Summer Girls would be leaving.

Mamaw felt a twinge of loss at just the thought. She would miss them—their sweet faces, their chatter, tears, laughter. The footfalls in the house, the drama, the hugs and kisses liberally offered. What a summer it had been!

Her smile slipped. Not only would her granddaughters leave in the fall. She, too, would be leaving Sea Breeze. Moving to a retirement home when Sea Breeze was sold. With her granddaughters and Lucille gone, she would, she thought with a shudder, be utterly alone.

Mamaw lowered her cheek to her palm. She at least knew where she would go at summer's end, but where would her girls go? Each of the women was unsure of what her next step would be when she left the safe embrace of Sea Breeze. Dora's divorce was pending, Carson was pregnant, and Harper was, for lack of a better term, completely adrift.

“Ah, Lucille,” she said aloud to the presence she felt hovering in the pearly light. “You were the one who always rallied me in my dark moments. We lured them here. And there is still
much yet to do to finish our plan.” She sighed. “I don't know if I can do it alone. But I must try.”

Mamaw's eyes rose to the sky, where great shafts of pink and blue continued to break through the horizon. A smile eased across her face. The moon might be gone, she thought. But the sun was rising on another day.