The Summer Girls (31 page)

Harper swayed on her feet as drops of rain splattered, cold and wet. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She let the rain wash away the dust of the city, the grime of travel, and the stench of disillusionment. As she stood and stared at Sea Breeze, she felt the ice she’d formed around her heart begin to crack. She could almost hear the crackle as it splintered and melted to form tears that overflowed from her eyes and mingled with rain.

T
he windshield wipers clicked at a steady rhythm as Blake and Carson headed back across the rivers, this time over the bridges in Blake’s jeep. It had been a long, full day and Carson was exhausted, but exhilarated, too. Skimming the waterways in a boat, she’d felt like a visitor in the dolphins’ world. The estuaries were their kingdom, where their families thrived. Blake had explained how a single pod could extend for miles and how they communicated by sonar across long distances and called to each other through a language of whistles and clicks. The resident dolphins were also intricately connected by elaborate social rituals.

All this made her wonder about one dolphin in particular and why she would part from her dolphin community to befriend a lonely human.

“I’m curious about something,” she said, turning in the front seat to look from the road to Blake. The interior was
dimly lit by the lights on the dashboard. “What about the dolphins that come close to humans? To the boats or docks. What makes them seek out human company?” She was glad he was driving so he couldn’t meet her gaze, fearful that he’d read more into her question.

Blake groaned and shook his head. “Don’t get me started.”

“I’m just wondering,” she said, persisting. “Is it normal for some dolphins to be friendlier than others?”

“If you can call it friendly. I call it begging. Dolphins aren’t different than most other animals. If someone offers them food, they’ll take the easy way out. When it happens over and over, they learn to beg for a living and lose their fear of humans. Think of the bears at Yosemite. It’s no different here. They can become full-time moochers.”

“Is it so bad to feed them? Even a little bit?”

He swung his head from the wheel and she saw fury flash in his eyes. “Yes, it’s bad,” he said with heat. He turned back to the road. “Feeding wild dolphins disrupts their social groups, which threatens their ability to survive in the wild. You saw those mothers with their young calves today?”

Carson nodded. It was a tender sight she’d never forget.

“They were teaching their young how to forage and hunt. If they beg, their calves grow up as beggars and never learn those skills. How well do you think they’ll fare on a diet of hot dogs, pretzels, cookies, and candy? The calves won’t survive. Not only that, going near the boats and docks puts the dolphins in danger of getting hurt by propellers, or entangled with fishing hooks and line. It’s damned dangerous for the dolphins and heartless of the humans.”

Carson didn’t respond.

Blake tapped his fingers on the wheel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get so hot under the collar.”

“It’s okay . . . It’s just, I don’t think the people who feed the dolphins mean to hurt them.”

“Maybe not. They think they’re being kind. ‘Just this one little bit.’ ” His face hardened. “We put signs up all over the place stating in bold letters, ‘Do Not Feed the Dolphins.’ We have educational pamphlets, ads on TV explaining how it hurts the dolphins. But if one person thinks it’s okay if she does it, add that to a thousand others and you get the picture of how much feeding is going on.”

“Right,” Carson said, feeling deeply uncomfortable and not wanting to discuss this any longer.

Blake took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked at her. “I see the other side of the picture,” he said in a calmer tone. “I have to necropsy the dolphins that wash ashore. The calves are dying at an alarming rate. Maybe if we put those pictures out, people would see just how those ‘treats’ are hurting them. No, Carson, feeding dolphins is not kind. It’s self-indulgent. Selfish. People are thinking of themselves, not the dolphin.”

Carson shrank back in her seat, silenced. She was one of
those people
. While she didn’t feed Delphine, she looked the other way if Nate tossed her a fish that he’d caught. She saw in her mind’s eye Delphine swimming gracefully in the water, the picture of health. Blake made her wonder if, in fact, Delphine was healthy. Was Carson drawing her away from her pod? Was Delphine becoming one of the dolphins increasingly dependent on human interaction and handouts from the dock?

“You look tired,” Blake said, glancing at her.

“I am tired,” she admitted. She felt flat, like a balloon that had deflated.

Blake turned on the radio and they listened to music the remaining distance to Sea Breeze. When Blake pulled into the drive the rain had dissipated to a soft drizzle.

“Would you like to go out again?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “When will you go next?”

“Next month.”

So far away,
she thought. “I’d love to. If I’m here next month.”

“Where might you be?”

“Hopefully L.A. Or wherever I get a job.”

He nodded his head but didn’t reply.

“Or I may be here for months,” she tossed into the mix. “I don’t know.”

“I see.” He opened the door but she reached out to grab his arm, stalling him.

“Don’t get out. It’s raining. I’ll just jump out.” She offered a parting smile, but inside, she was cringing. She couldn’t wait to flee the interior of the jeep and the guilt trip she’d just taken. “Thanks again.”

“Bye,” he said, and smiled, but his face appeared crestfallen.

The house felt strangely dark and empty. She heard the tinny voices from a television coming from Mamaw’s room. The kitchen was tidy but the scents of a fish dinner lingered.
She looked at the fridge and thoughts of a glass of chilled white wine caused a physical ache in her body. She opened the door and peered inside. It was with a mixture of relief and regret that she saw that Lucille had been true to her word and had scoured the house to dispose of all alcohol. Damn her efficiency. Carson stood in front of the open fridge and just stared in, hungry but not knowing what for. She was beyond tired and her eyes felt gritty; she wondered if she wasn’t coming down with something. She reached for the filtered water and poured herself a glass.

Her sandy heels slapped on the wood floors as she made her way down the narrow hall to the west wing of the house. As she approached the bedrooms she heard soft music and the sound of fingers tapping a keyboard. Peering in, she saw Harper sitting on a twin bed, head bent over a computer. Delighted her sister was home, Carson pushed open the door.

“Harper?” she exclaimed, bursting into the room.

Harper swung her head around and her face lit up with genuine happiness at seeing her sister. “Carson!”

They leaped into each other’s arms, Carson spilling water from her glass. She set the glass on a dresser and they commenced hugging and laughing, then moving to the bed to curl their legs close and bubble over with news.

“How’s the battle of the booze going?” Harper asked.

“Pretty well, actually. Still resisting.”

“Really?” Harper asked, instantly intrigued. “The bet was to give up booze for a week.”

“I know, but I’ve managed to push on. I’m kind of testing my will. I can’t say I still don’t want a glass of wine or a margarita, but I can resist. Good to know.”

“Maybe then you’re not an alcoholic after all?”

“Maybe. And just maybe the slower pace and my general sense of well-being doesn’t demand the alcohol the way my life—and my lifestyle—in L.A. did.”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m proud of you. Really. And by the way, you won the bet. I drank my weight in wine dealing with my mother in New York.”

The girls erupted in laughter.

Down the hall, Mamaw heard the commotion and crept on slippered feet from her room toward the west wing. Her hand rested on the wall and she leaned forward, tilting her head so her ear was closer to the noise. Mamaw heard the high-pitched voices rise and fall in conversation, punctuated with laughter. Her face softened as images from the past flitted across her mind. She didn’t mean to pry but she couldn’t help lingering a little while longer. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She wasn’t able to comprehend the words but listened to the cadence of the sweet music of reconciliation and reconnection. Mamaw’s lips curved in a smile of deep satisfaction.

Carson was roused from a restless sleep by the ding of her telephone, signaling that a message had been received. She stirred and reached out to the bedside table to retrieve her phone, blinking to adjust her vision. The text was from Blake.

Dinner tonight?

Carson fell back against her pillow and looked out the
plantation shutters to the first gray light of dawn. Of course he’d already be awake . . . She lifted her phone and punched in her reply.

Yes.

“Want to go to Dunleavy’s?” Blake asked later that evening.

Carson winced. “No, let’s not.”

Blake grinned. “How does barbecue sound?”

“I never say no to a good barbecue.”

They were lucky to find a parking space in front of the restaurant. People of all ages overflowed from the restaurants, filling the night with the low murmur of conversation and the occasional piercing laugh.

The Home Team restaurant had tables outside under the awning that were open. Blake hustled to claim one. The waitress was a perky young woman with enormous blue eyes and red hair that made Carson think of Harper. They’d spent hours the night before talking, mixing giggles with tears. Her sister had turned out be a deeply emotional girl. This surprised her. As a woman, Harper struck Carson as the kind of person who preferred to keep her distance. A watcher instead of a player. Her style of dress enhanced that impression. She was as sleek and refined as a Siamese cat. There was almost a tangible chill around her that kept others from invading her space. Other than when she drank, Carson remembered with a smile. Then it was as if she let down her barriers and became a girly girl.

Last night, however, there had been no alcohol. She’d been animated and forthcoming, and funny as hell. Who knew the girl had such a wit? And she was observant. When they talked about their childhood summers together, Harper remembered so many more vivid, telling details than Carson did. She had the memory of a scribe.