Carson shut her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “I’m not sure I deserve that,” Carson said in a stumbling manner. “And as for my drinking, I’m just taking it day by day.”
“That’s all any of us can do, my dear. We wake up, bolster our resolve, and rise to face the new day. Or else lie in bed and waste our lives.”
Carson nodded her head, listening. “Now you sound like Blake,” she said. “He’s very, shall we say, optimistic.”
“Oh?” Mamaw said, her ears instantly perked to any mention of a young gentleman caller. “How is that nice young man?”
Carson’s smile was all knowing. “He’s fine, Mamaw.”
She waited but nothing more was forthcoming. Mamaw couldn’t help herself from continuing. “You’re still seeing him, then? After the incident with the dolphin?”
“I think I’m on probation,” Carson replied with a light laugh.
“How does he feel about you leaving?”
“He’s not happy about it,” Carson replied honestly. “But he understands why I have to do this. He arranged for me to see Delphine. I could never have gained access if he hadn’t.”
“I see. Well, he’s a very nice young man.”
“You’ve already told me that, Mamaw,” Carson said with a gentle nudge. “Seriously, I do care for him. A great deal. More than I’ve cared for anyone before. And I’m quite certain he feels the same way. It’s like you said. We’re taking it day by day. Okay?”
Mamaw tried to disguise her pleasure in this revelation by looking down at the package in her lap. “So,” Mamaw said in an upbeat tone, straightening in her chair and taking hold of the box. “I have a little gift for you.”
“A gift? It’s not my birthday.”
“I know very well it’s not your birthday, silly girl. And it’s not Christmas, Fourth of July, or Arbor Day.” She reached out to hand Carson the small box wrapped in shiny blue paper and a white ribbon. “Can’t a grandmother give her granddaughter a gift if she wants to? Open it!”
Carson’s face eased into a smile of anticipation as she bent over the box and tidily unwrapped the ribbon, rolling it in a ball, then slowly undid the tape, careful not to tear the paper. Mamaw enjoyed watching her open the gift delicately, recalling once again Carson as a little girl. So unlike Harper, who ripped through the paper, shredding it and letting the bits scatter around her.
Before opening the lid, Carson shook the box by her ear, eyes skyward in mock appraisal. “A bracelet, maybe? Or a brooch?”
Mamaw didn’t reply and only lifted her brows, her hands tightening together as her own anticipation at Carson’s response mounted.
Carson opened the box, then lifted the corners of the yellowed, fragile cotton handkerchief, one that Mamaw had tucked in her sleeve on her wedding day, delicately embroidered with the initials MCM. Then she went still. Wrapped in the cotton was a key attached to a silver key ring in the shape of a dolphin. Carson looked at her grandmother with an expression of disbelief.
“Are you kidding me? Is this . . . is this the key to the Blue Bomber?” Carson cried.
“The same.”
“But . . . I thought you said . . . I don’t understand,” Carson stammered.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Mamaw said with a light laugh. “It’s my gift to you! That Cadillac might be old, but she’s in perfect condition. She’ll take you to Florida and back safely. And anywhere else you might want to go. It’s yours now. I want you to have it. You’ve earned it.”
Speechless, Carson leaned in to wrap her arms around Mamaw’s shoulders and squeezed tight. Mamaw caught the scent of her own perfume on Carson’s skin—their scent now—and felt the age-old bond she’d always felt with Carson.
“I don’t know what to say,” Carson said, sliding back in her chair. She stared at the key in disbelief.
“ ‘Thank you’ is usually appropriate.” Mamaw winked.
Carson laughed, then smiled at her. “Thank you.”
Mamaw felt a rush of emotion mist her eyes. “Oh, I do hate to see you go. Well, kiss me good-bye now, my precious girl,” she said with false bluster. “Then off to bed. You’ll need your sleep for the long drive.”
“I’ll kiss you good night now, and kiss you good-bye tomorrow.”
Mamaw shook her head. “No, all now. I hate good-byes.” She sighed. “There have been too many in my life.”
Carson kissed her grandmother’s cheek, lingering at her ear. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
It was a fitting morning for travel. The sky was cloudless and the air was clear, free from the heavy Southern humidity that made one feel drenched by nine A.M. Mamaw stood on the widow’s porch, her hands clutching the railing, looking at the scene unfolding below.
“You sure you don’t want to go down and join them?” Lucille asked by her side. “We’re like a couple of old hens roosting up here.”
“Quite sure,” Mamaw said, feeling again the twinge in her heart that she always felt at partings. She rallied, straightening her shoulders, and said archly, “We’ve said our good-byes, and you know how I despise melodrama.”
“Uh-huh,” Lucille said with heavy sarcasm. “You sure do hate any drama.”
Mamaw had the grace to chuckle. She directed her gaze to the cluster of young women gathered around the blue Cadillac. The car was packed; the top was down. For a moment she recalled herself as a young woman standing in that very driveway, laughing, hugging, kissing when she’d said numerous good-byes to Parker as he followed his wanderlust, and the forced smiles that belied her heartbreak each time her Summer Girls returned to their distant homes at summer’s end. And, too, the dreadful, final farewells to her husband and son. Such was the burden of a long life. There were too many good-byes, so many sunrises and sunsets, memories joyous and painful.
Carson was the tallest, dressed in faded jeans and a pale blue linen shirt. Her dark hair was bound in a braid that fell down her back like a long rope. Over this she wore a straw fedora-like hat with a bright blue band. She was leaning against the big car with a proprietor’s air, dangling the keys in front of her sisters’ faces. Dora stood beside her in pink Bermuda shorts and a floral T-shirt, her blond hair flowing loose to her shoulders. She sipped from the mug in her hands as they talked. Harper was as sleek as a little black bird in ankle-length pants and a shirt, her coppery hair pulled back in a ponytail. How she could stand in those high-heeled sandals, Mamaw didn’t know.