The Summer's End (16 page)

Carson, fanning her cards and smiling, asked Harper, “How's it going with Taylor McClellan?”

Harper shrugged noncommittally and peered at her cards. “He's doing a good job. Moving right along.”

“Interesting that Taylor's doing the project. And not his father,” Carson said.

“Not really,” said Harper. “I suspect he's helping his father this summer.”

Carson moved a few cards around in her hand. “Actually, that's not what I heard.”

Harper's glance darted up from her cards.

Carson's eyes were gleaming. “I heard that he asked his father if he could do the job.”

“That's not unusual. He's doing jobs and picked this one. He's your friend.”

“Except he's not working for his dad. He's in town for job interviews.”

Harper looked up from her cards. “Then why did he ask for this job?”

Carson tapped her cheek in feigned wonder. “I can't imagine.”

Harper sat back in her chair. “Really?”

“And”—Carson laid down a discard—“he asked me if you were seeing anybody.”

Harper's grin widened.

Dora narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure
you
aren't canoodling?”

The women burst out laughing again.

“I just love that word,” Harper said, her mood shooting skyward. “But I'm not even sure what it means.” She discarded.

Mamaw picked up the card. “It means to fondle and kiss.”

Harper balked. “No, ma'am, we are definitely not canoodling. Unfortunately.”

“Yet,” added Carson.

“Well, I just love the blue you chose for the walls.” Dora discarded. “It's just the right shade. Kind of a haint blue. It will be gorgeous against the creamy-white cabinets.”

Harper basked in the compliment. “Thank you, partner.” She picked up a card. “What is haint blue?”

“That's the blue the Gullah-Geechee paint on their porch ceilings to protect it and chase away negativity,” replied Dora. “It's meant to keep the evil spirits out.”

“Amen to that,” muttered Carson.

“More lowcountry lore to learn,” Harper said.

“Why bother doing the kitchen now?” asked Carson.

Mamaw spoke up. “Because this house deserves it.”

“And it'll improve resale,” Dora added.

“Mamaw, that reminds me.” Harper forced her tone light after Carson's comment. “I'd like to get some new knobs and pulls for the cabinets. Do you mind if I change them?”

“Not at all, dear. But before you go shopping, take a look-see up in the attic. I have a bunch of old knobs and door handles and all kinds of whatnots up there. All collected from family houses over the years. God only knows all what's up there.”
Mamaw smiled wryly. “Help yourself to whatever you find. I don't know if they're any good, but—” She was interrupted by the sound of tires skidding to a halt in the gravel driveway, followed by a car door slamming. “What in heaven's name . . . ?”

Mamaw, who sat closest to the window, pushed back the curtain and peered out. “Lord, Carson, here comes Blake. And he's barreling in like a hurricane!”

Carson dropped her cards on the table and stood up, eyes wide.

The doorbell rang, followed by three impatient knocks. While Mamaw and the other two women straightened in their chairs, Carson hurried to the front hall. She opened the door and Blake rushed in, swooping up Carson in his arms. He swung her around a few times, grinning like a fool. Mamaw, Harper, and Dora set down their cards, the game forgotten.

“Blake!” Carson laughed into his face as he swirled her. “Put me down!”

Blake gently set her feet on the floor but kept his hold on her arms. He was grinning from ear to ear in triumph. “We found her!”

Carson stared back, uncomprehending. “Found who?”

“Delphine!”

“What?”

“I found her in the database.”

Carson's heart leaped to her throat. “Oh, Blake!” Impulsively she leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips.

Blake leaned back but kept his arms around Carson. “It was that little hole you found in the tail fluke.” He rushed his words. “I spent the last two days poring over thousands of photographs and I found it. I couldn't believe it.
When I blew the photo up, I saw the scar on her rostrum, too. It's a match. Delphine is definitely from our community. Baby, she's one of ours!”

Carson's voice was choked. “I knew it. So Delphine can be released into the Cove?”

He nodded and lowered his forehead to hers. “Yes.”

Carson wrapped her arms around Blake and buried her face in his neck. Inside, her heart was spinning with joy. She wanted to shout out, dance, jump up and down. But all she could do was weep.

Delphine was coming home.

T
he following morning, Harper sipped coffee in the kitchen and prayed to the gods of caffeine that the liquid she was pouring into her system would soon take hold. She'd spent another long night up writing and was feeling utterly spent. Musing over a chapter she had pounded out at a particularly late hour the night before, Harper didn't even hear Taylor come in. She jumped as he shut the door behind him. A gust of wind sent the papers and droplets of rain flying.

“It's a day for ducks,” she told him as he removed his rain jacket. He wore shorts and a white T-shirt splattered with different colors of paint. The short sleeves were frayed and so worn he'd rolled up the edges over his biceps. She took his jacket, shaking raindrops onto the floor.

“Yep. I don't mind bad weather.” He slipped out of his shoes. “Out on the boat, you learn to deal.”

He looked up and Harper's heart skipped a beat. Rivulets of
water dripped from his hair down his face, making his green eyes shine even brighter against his tan.

Harper rushed to a drawer, pulled out a kitchen towel, and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed when he took it and she felt a rush.

“Thanks.” Taylor wiped his face, then tossed the towel on the counter.

Harper glanced around, as much to take her eyes off him as to take the room's measure. The cabinets had been primed, and the cabinet doors were neatly stacked against the walls. Blue painter's tape bordered the cabinets on the walls and floor. Here and there, sample swatches of different shades of blue paint splattered the walls.

“Everything's so organized.”

“I'm a Marine. We're trained to run a tight ship,” he said, half-serious, half in jest.

Harper was glad they'd broached the subject she was curious about. “When did you leave the Marines?”

“You never leave the Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

“Oh.” She'd heard the pride in his voice. “So, you're still in the Marine Corps?”

“I got out four years ago.”

“Were you in Afghanistan?”

“Yes.”

“Is the war the reason you joined the Marines?”

“That's not so simple to answer. I graduated from the Citadel and the war was escalating. It was a no-brainer to go in with my classmates. I wore the ring.”

“And now you're back.”

“Yes.”
His face went still. “Not all my classmates were so lucky.”

Words fell away and his stillness gave away nothing.

“Okay, then,” he said with finality, prying off the lid of his Styrofoam cup. Steam rose from his coffee. He took a sip, then set the cup on the counter. “Best get started. Can't open the windows with all this rain, but at least this part goes faster.”

“Before you do, I wonder if you'd come with me to the attic?”

“The attic?”

“Uh, yes. I want to change the knobs and pulls on the cabinets. They deserve something better, once they're all freshly painted. Don't you think?”

He shrugged. “I guess that'd be nice. Yeah.”

“Mamaw said there were some vintage ones stored up there that we could use. I want to give them a look first to decide. If we like them, I don't know if I could carry them. I don't know how heavy they'll be.” She looked out the window, indicating the weather. “I thought if we did it now, while it's early, it might be cooler up there. Especially with this cold front in.” She took a breath. God help her, she was rambling.

He gifted her with one of his rare smiles. “Sure.”

“Okay.” She squeezed her hands, then turned. “It's this way.”

She was aware of him walking behind her as she led the way through the living room to the west wing of the house where the girls' bedrooms were. Midway through the hall a trapdoor led to the attic. She reached for the rope handle, but Taylor reached up to grab it first. After a yank he had the wooden stairs pulled down.

“You can go first,” Harper told him, then followed him up the narrow stairs. “There's a light switch at the top.”

In the center of the large attic the steep roof was tall enough for even Taylor to stand up, but it sloped sharply on either side. Two dormers cut through the roof on the front side of the house, and each had a functional window, though they were filthy, and the room smelled musty. She sniffed, then sneezed.

Rain pattered on the roof like a drumbeat, slow and steady.

Taylor stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze traveling the attic with an appreciative expression. “What a great space.”

Harper had only been in the attic once, when she was very young. She and Carson were exploring the forbidden territory one afternoon when Mamaw and Lucille had gone off shopping. She'd found the space dingy and dusty and filled with boxes and furniture, boring to two young girls searching for pirate's booty.

She looked around now with a woman's eyes and saw a treasure trove of vintage furniture and knickknacks. There were old trunks and suitcases and paintings in heavy frames, mostly landscapes, some with cracked glass fronts. In the corner sat a dusty old gramophone. Wrought-iron and brass bed frames were lined against the walls. She recognized the two twin beds that she'd slept on earlier that summer. She smiled when she spied her old wooden dollhouse. Boxes were everywhere, stacked high, tilting, dust laden and spotted with mold.

Her hands itched to open the boxes and discover what lay inside. Who knew what she'd find? Linens, vintage clothing, shawls, jewelry. Letters. Her heart leaped. Maybe even her father's book. She couldn't wait to begin searching. Then, glancing at Taylor, she calmed her excitement. She couldn't keep him tied up here all day searching through boxes.

She stooped to pick up a brown velvet hat with a feather trim. “I can only imagine what's in all those boxes.” She dusted off the hat.
It was actually quite pretty. “I feel like I'm on a treasure hunt.” She put the hat on. “How do I look?”

Taylor scrunched his face.

She laughed. The sound seemed to float in the closed room.

Taylor, it seemed, was interested only in the architecture. “Whoever designed this house intended that this space should be built up. Look”—he pointed—“that roof could easily be raised, making a whole new floor up here.” He walked a few feet, peering at the roof. “In fact, you're due for a new one. Overdue, I'd say.” He pointed to where the roof showed alarming signs of sagging, and where water stains showed on some of the boxes.

“I'll tell Mamaw. She won't be pleased.”

Taylor's eyes gleamed as he studied the roofline. “You could add more dormers in the back. Or”—he was getting caught up in his idea—“what I would do is put doors there with a deck overlooking the Cove.” He crossed the floor to a small window. Bending low, he peered out. “Man, it's a great view from up here.”

Harper walked closer. “Mamaw already has a widow's walk up on the roof.”

“But here you can create two new bedrooms. And a bath. It'd be no problem.”

“Have you done that kind of work?”

“Sure. With my father. Expanding old family houses is steady business in these parts. People don't like to sell. Memories are part of the houses.”

“Well”—Harper began winding her way through the narrow path between boxes to the rear of the attic—“that will be a project for the new owners.”

“You're selling the place?”

“My grandmother is.”

“That's too bad. Hasn't Sea Breeze been in the family for generations?”

“Yes.” She wasn't sure she wanted to get into this subject but she stopped to turn and face him. “Mamaw held on to it as long as she could. It's too much for her now. Plus she's all alone now. She's moving into a retirement community at the end of summer. Putting the house on the market.”

“And no one in the family wants it?”

Harper knew he meant the three sisters. “It's not a question of wanting it. It's being able to afford it.”

“It's a common enough story. Lots of my family members are selling, or have already long sold off, family property. Their kids don't want the burden, the taxes are high, or they've moved off. It's happening all over.”