The Summer Girls Page 57

She almost shouted out a warning but the expression on Nate’s face silenced her. Her son was laughing. Nate burst forward and swam after the ball again, grinning from ear to ear. Carson wasn’t far from his side, calling out encouragement. This time Nate grabbed the ball and held on to it, beaming, while Carson whooped and the dolphin made nasal sounds that she’d have sworn sounded like laughter.

Dora leaned against the railing. From below, Carson spied her up on the dock.

“Dora!” she cried out, raising one arm from the water and waving. “Nate, look. Your mom’s here!”

Nate swung his head to peer up and saw his mother on the dock. Dora waved her arm and grinned. “Hi, honey! I’m here!”

Nate frowned and held the ball closer to his body. “Go away!” he shouted.

“Nate!” Carson scolded him. “That’s not nice. Say hello to your mother.”

“I’m not getting out!” he shouted angrily.

Dora stared at her son glaring at her. She cringed, as though she could physically feel the delicate string that bound her to her son being ripped from her heart. It hurt, so badly.

Out in the water, she saw Carson with her head bent close to Nate’s, coaxing him to come out of the water to greet his mother. She saw the way Nate listened to her, then begrudgingly acquiesced. He swam with strong strokes beside Carson, their pace evenly synchronized. Like she’d always wished her son would swim with her.

Dora stood alone in the shade of the dock staring at the fast current in the water rushing past her. She had spent a dreadful week in appointments with her lawyers to begin divorce proceedings. She’d made temporary settlements and arrangements with the bank, and cried, desolate and alone in that empty Victorian house, packing up her and Nate’s things for the summer in anticipation of selling it. Her whole life seemed to be rushing past her. Calhoun had left her. They were selling her house. All she had left in the world was her son. And now he wanted nothing to do with her, either.

She watched Carson climb from the water onto the dock. The water streamed from her taut, beautiful body. She leaned over to help Nate climb up, he allowing her to touch his hand, his arm. He looked so much stronger, healthier. He had blossomed without her.

Dora wrapped her arms around herself, trying to contain the emotions spilling over. Carson . . . she had so much. She could have anyone. Dora tightened her fingers around her arms. Why was Carson trying to steal her son’s affection?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Blake picked up Carson in a green four-wheel-drive jeep. Mud splattered the sides and wheels, and the rear was plastered with stickers from NOAA and the South Carolina Aquarium, and one that said DON’T FEED THE DOLPHINS.

It was only eight A.M. and she’d hoped to sneak out of the house without notice, but Mamaw had seen Carson peeking out the front window and her antennae were up. When the doorbell rang Mamaw was on her feet and at the door faster than a tick leaping on a dog.

“Why, aren’t you the nice young man who is teaching Carson to kite surf?” she asked in her hostess voice, ushering Blake into the house.

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he replied, smiling politely. Blake was a well-brought-up Southern boy and Carson knew he would give Mamaw his full attention. He was wearing nylon fishing pants, the kind with pockets and zippers everywhere, and the ubiquitous T-shirt, this one a Guy Harvey. Most notably, and to Carson, regrettably, he’d cut his hair. The curls had been shorn like a sheep’s wool and his hair was close cropped around his head.

“Now, where are you two off to, so early in the morning?” Mamaw asked him.

“I thought I’d take Carson on a boat ride,” he replied.

“How thrilling!” Mamaw exclaimed. “Where?”

“We’re going to cruise all through the local rivers—the Ashley, the Cooper, the Wando, the Stono—checking out the resident dolphins. That’s a lot of water to cover, so we’ll be out the whole day. Don’t forget a hat,” he reminded Carson. She responded by lifting her hand, already carrying a cap. “I’ve packed us a lunch,” Blake told her. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Carson replied. She moved to kiss Mamaw on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Did you pack a rain jacket?” Mamaw asked. “It looks a little cloudy.”

“I’ll be all right. Bye, Mamaw.”

Blake stepped forward. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Muir.”

“Now, you children have a good day, hear?”

Blake leaned closer to Carson as they walked to the car. “I see where you get your charm from.”

“Mamaw was quite the socialite in her day. She’s active in conservation, too. She’s a terrier with a bone when it comes to preserving the wild landscape of Sullivan’s Island. She attends every meeting. I hope I’m so involved when I’m her age.”

Blake opened the car door. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

They didn’t talk much as they drove over the bridges crossing the Cooper and the Ashley Rivers on their way to Fort Johnson on James Island. Harbor View Road curved along the water, revealing vast expanses of verdant wetlands, and wound under huge live oak trees dripping with moss. When they passed through the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources gate onto the grounds of Fort Johnson, Blake asked, “Have you ever been to Fort Johnson?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

“It’s a pretty cool spot with a long and illustrious history. The first fort was built in 1708 and named for the proprietary governor, Johnson. That fort’s long gone now. A later fort was built and used by the British in the Revolutionary War. That one is gone, too. Then, years later, in 1861, South Carolina state troops erected two batteries here and it was from this spot that they opened fire on Fort Sumter, the shots that began the Civil War.”

Carson looked out at the vast expanse of land on which clustered a number of modern, government-style buildings nestled between ancient live oaks and countless palmetto palms.

“When did it become all this?” she asked, indicating the development.

“Well, not a lot happened here after that until around 1970, when the bulk of the property was transferred to the DNR. It’s become a major marine research area for several organizations.” He pointed. “Over there is the Marine Resources Research Institute. Then there’s the Hollings Marine Laboratory. Another portion belongs to the Grice Marine Laboratory, and the Medical University has a marine science department.”