The Summer Girls (21 page)

“What about all the projects I’m working on?” she asked. She was very excited about the editorial work she had outlined for the summer.

“I’ll give them to Nina.”

“Nina?” Harper felt immediately defensive. “She doesn’t do editorial.”

“She’s ready for a promotion and I think she’ll do well. I’ve had my eye on her for a while now. This would be a good opportunity for her.”

Nina was a bright and attractive woman about the same age as Harper. She made no secret of the fact that she was hungry to be an editor and took any morsel tossed her way. Harper was already envious of the number of editing jobs Georgiana had given to Nina lately, despite Harper’s begging for more. Harper was tired of being relegated to duties more fitting for her mother’s personal assistant—doing errands, making appointments, drafting letters.

“Why don’t you send Nina to be Grandmother’s nurse?”

“Don’t be smart,” her mother scolded. “I can see that even a few days in that company has made you snippy. I hate the effect they have on you down there. You always used to come home from Sullivan’s Island all full of yourself and silly. It would take me weeks to get you back to normal again.”

“That’s not true,” Harper protested, but in her heart,
she did remember feeling bold after her stays with Mamaw. Her heart was full of running wild across the island playing pirate, making up stories, seeking out wildlife and, of course, the sea. Summers where skinned knees went unnoticed, schedules were abandoned, and they could talk at night till they fell asleep.

“I think a good stay in England with your grandmother James will do you a world of good,” Georgiana added.

“I’m not a child, Mother,” Harper said testily. “I don’t need to be taught my manners.”

“That’s debatable,” Georgiana replied. “But I don’t have the time for that now. I want you to book your flight direct from Charleston. Use my travel agent. Don’t worry about clothes. You can pick up what you need in London. Mummy is due home day after tomorrow.”

Harper swallowed again, then said, “No.”

There was a pause. “I beg your pardon?”

Harper felt her body go cold. She took a breath, then repeated, “No. I’m not going to England. I think you should go. She’s your mother.”

There was another, longer pause. “Harper, I want you on a plane for London tomorrow, is that clear?”

“No.” She felt like the mutinous child again, crossing her arms and pouting. Only she wasn’t a child and the stakes were so much higher.

“You’re being ridiculous. I won’t stand for it. I’m your boss and I’m giving you an order.”

The words floated in space between them, igniting unanswered questions. Harper took a moment to swallow them, digest them, and let them settle. She reached out to
lower the computer screen. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly calm.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be my boss. Maybe you should just be my mother.”

There was another long silence.

“You can give my job to Nina,” Harper said. “She’ll be good at it.”

“You’re resigning?”

“As your assistant, yes.” Harper laughed lightly. “Not as your daughter.”

“I don’t find that the least amusing.”

Harper would’ve been more surprised if her mother had seen the sad humor in this situation.

“Don’t think you can come back to my apartment and lollygag,” Georgiana said in a flare of temper.

“Well, then I can just stay in the Hamptons.”

“No, you can’t. It’s booked for most of the summer.”

“I see,” Harper replied.

And she did. Clearly. At long last.

Carson had no idea what time it was. It was late, that was all she knew. She could tell by the high position of the crescent moon in the sky. She was sitting at the edge of the dock with her legs dangling in the water.

“Well played, Mamaw,” she muttered. Inside the house Harper was cussing like a sailor, throwing her clothing in her fancy suitcase, declaring she was never stepping foot back into this Faulkner novel. She didn’t know where Dora
had gone, and Mamaw was hiding out in her room. She raised the bottle of vodka she’d swiped from Mamaw’s bar up toward the moon. “Death to . . . No.” She shook her head, thinking again. “To hell with the ladies!” She weaved, almost tipping over into the water.

From somewhere in the dark water she heard the loud, percussive exhale of a dolphin. The sound was close. She instantly smiled and lifted her head from her arms to gaze out into the water. Delphine’s large head came up out of the water, silvery in the moonlight.

Carson slowly reached out to let her hand lie palm up in supplication mere inches in front of Delphine. Delphine gracefully nudged Carson’s palm as she swam past. One small touch, but it was a profound moment of connection and Carson knew they both felt it.

From behind her, Carson heard footfalls coming up the dock. Delphine disappeared under the water, leaving only a rippled pattern on the surface.

“Talking to your dolphin again?” Harper called from the upper dock. She stepped down to the floating dock and stood beside Carson. Then, bending down to peer into her sister’s face, she asked more tenderly, “Are you crying?”

“No,” Carson blurted. She wished Harper would just go away and leave her to her misery.

Harper moved to sit beside Carson on the dock, slipping her legs into the water. She kicked them lazily for a while. “And you’re drinking,” she observed gently, sensing Carson’s distress.

“What if I am?”

“Nothing. I’m just thinking we all said some pretty
emotional things tonight, and I find you out here on your lonesome with a bottle of vodka, and I’m wondering what demon you’re wrestling.”

“What do you care? You’re leaving.” Carson lifted the bottle and tipped the fluid down her throat in an
in your face
gesture. “Everyone leaves.”

Harper didn’t respond. She reached out to let her fingers splash the water. The floating dock creaked as wood hit wood and seawater splashed up alongside the pier.

“Do you have the family illness?” Harper asked.

Carson felt her body tense. “Illness? What illness are you talking about?”

Harper smiled ruefully. “The miracle of genetics. We all carry the gene for alcoholism. It’s a loaded gun in Russian roulette. One gets it and another doesn’t. Do you have it?”

“Nah,” Carson replied with a wave, dismissing the possibility. “Do
you
?” she asked, her question coming more from anger than real curiosity.

“I don’t think so,” Harper answered in an honest tone.

Her willingness to discuss it openly, without judgment, changed Carson’s attitude. “Me neither,” she answered with a one-shouldered shrug. “I like to have a drink now and then. Who doesn’t? It’s purely social.”

Harper moved her hand, indicating the vodka bottle. “Since when is drinking alone in the dark social?”

Carson pinched her lips. “Tonight’s different,” she replied sullenly. “A lot of bad memories were dredged up tonight.”

“Yeah,” Harper agreed with emphasis.

Carson looked down at the bottle, as though she could see her fortune in it. “I’m sorry I brought up all that garbage about
Dad,” Carson said. “Being with you again, here at Sea Breeze, all that”—she made a futile gesture—“
whatever
is bubbling back up. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t be. It wasn’t fair that you had to carry the burden of Daddy’s crazy life all alone,” Harper told her. The dock rocked and creaked beneath them. “I only wish I’d known.”

Carson shook her head remembering her father’s pride in his family heritage. Despite his financial woes, he’d carried his birthright like a badge of honor. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted to be shamed in front of your mother.”

“Why? Do you think your daddy’s better than my daddy?” Harper quipped.

Carson released a short laugh, appreciating again Harper’s wit.

“Why are you always protecting him?” Harper asked, prodding.

“Habit.”

Harper looked at her as though for the first time. “I can understand that.”

“I took care of him. It’s not something I did consciously. I was a kid. It was survival. And he had a good side, too. It’s like Mamaw said: he could be so charming, so funny, even thoughtful. I loved him, you know. So much. Even when I left, it was more an act of survival than anger. He was a sick puppy. You can’t hate a puppy; you hate the illness.”

“So what about you?” Harper asked again, smoothing back the dark hair from Carson’s tear-dampened cheeks. “Do you have the illness?”

Carson heard the question this time and rather than dismissing it angrily, she dared herself to consider it. She looked at the murky water, feeling her old fears sucking her into a horrifying vortex.

“I don’t know,” Carson said in a voice so low Harper had to lean closer to hear her. “Maybe it’s possible that . . .” But she couldn’t finish the thought.

Harper went on all fours and crawled around Carson to grab the bottle of vodka. She unscrewed the top and began pouring it into the water.

“Mamaw’s going to be put out,” Carson warned her.

Harper shook out the last drops and screwed the top back on. “So what’s it going to take for you to stop?” she asked Carson.

“Who said I’m going to stop? You stop.”

“All right. I will. Starting right now.” Harper delivered a challenging stare to Carson.

Carson stuck out her jaw belligerently. “Good for you.”

“Just try for a week,” Harper urged her. “I do that every once in a while just to be sure I can. Like I said, it’s in our genetics. If you can’t quit for a week, then you have to admit you have a problem.”

“You forget, I work at a pub.”

“Quit!”

“I need the money.”

“Oh, please,” Harper interjected. “How much money can you be earning as a lunchtime waitress? You don’t need that job.”

Carson wiped her face with her hands, feeling the waves of sobriety wash over her. “First of all, I don’t have a trust
fund waiting in the wings, like you do. When I say I’m broke, I’m really broke. Second,” she said with hesitation, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“I don’t know if I can take any more secrets,” Harper groaned.

“When I told you that I was taking time off of work to spend time with Mamaw . . .” Carson took a breath and realized it was time to stop looking for exits and to just tell the truth. “The truth is I don’t have a job. My television show was canceled. Before that, I was laid off from a gig because of my drinking. It was the only time,” she hurried to add, “but I’m worried that word got out and I’m blackballed or something, because I haven’t been able to land another job.” She looked away, remembering the parties she and the rest of the crew had after shooting that got out of hand. “So I’m staying here because I don’t have anywhere else to go. Pretty pitiful at my age, huh?”

Harper shifted her weight to sit up and tuck her legs in. “In keeping with the spirit of transparency,” she began, nodding toward Carson in acknowledgment, “I have to admit I’ve not been completely honest myself.”

Carson was grateful to her sister for not making her the only one to expose her underbelly tonight. “Do tell, sister mine,” said Carson. “Is the royal James family in fact”—she made a face—“penniless? Are you not princes at all, but paupers?”

Harper chuckled and shook her head. “No. I’m afraid not. No worries in that corner. It’s my mother . . .” She lifted the empty bottle of vodka and shook it, making a dismayed face because it was empty. “Now I’m sorry I poured it all out.”

“What about your mother?”

“Did you ever see the movie
The Devil Wears Prada
?”

Carson nodded.

“Remember the editor? The one played by Meryl Streep? That would be my mother.”

“So does that make you the secretary girl?”

“Not anymore. I quit my job.”

This was met by shocked silence. “Wait, wait, wait, I don’t understand,” Carson said at length. “You told Mamaw you were going home.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I quit. I’m staying here, if she’ll let me. I have to apologize first,” Harper said, ducking her head. “Big-time.”

“What about her ultimatum?”

“You mean her bribery?” Harper said with a short laugh.

“That whole thing about the will,” Carson interjected, feeling the need to defend Mamaw. “It wasn’t bribery as much as desperation. She was only trying to get us all to stay. She’s old. She’s not got that much time left. And we’re all she’s leaving behind.”

“I thought about that tonight,” Harper said in a darker tone. “I may have learned the difference between an ultimatum based on love and one based on selfishness.” She plucked at her shirt. “Damn my mother,” she said, her heat gaining fuel. “She treats me more like a lackey than a daughter. A lackey with no talent. She doesn’t have any faith in me. Sometimes, when she looks at me and she gets this look of distaste in her eyes, I know she sees my . . . our father.” Harper laughed bitterly. “And we all know what she thought about him.”

Carson said nothing.

“I can’t work for her anymore,” Harper declared, her eyes flashing. Then, as though the ramifications of that statement had just hit her, her shoulders slumped and her face fell. “The problem is, I don’t know what I want to do instead. I’ve always been the good little girl who did what she was told.” She tossed a pebble into the water.