Dora’s face shifted as she burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny,” Harper fired back, sourly eyeing Dora in her perky running outfit with her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Ironically, Harper had been the runner out of the three sisters at the beginning of the summer, but since Dora had taken up regular exercise, she’d been—literally—on Harper’s heels.
Her older sister only leaned against the doorframe and laughed harder.
Carson rushed into the room looking as if she’d leaped from her bed. She was in her pajamas and her long, dark hair was loose down her back. “What happened?” Her eyes were wide with alarm. “Is anyone hurt?”
Dora muffled her laugh and waved her arm in a calming gesture. “No cause for alarm.” She caught Carson’s eye and added with a smirk, “Harper saw a palmetto bug.”
“Not just a bug,” Harper said in self-defense. “It was as big as a rat.”
A smile of genuine amusement spread across Carson’s face. “Ah, so our little sister’s met our state bird?”
The laughter erupted again.
Harper didn’t enjoy being the butt of their lowcountry jokes. Though the three half sisters shared the same father, each had a different mother and they’d thus grown up in different parts of the country. Dora and Carson were both raised in the Carolinas; Harper in New York. They loved to tease their Yankee sister about her city ways and her unfamiliarity with all things southern.
“If you’re so familiar with them, go catch it,” she challenged sullenly.
“I’m not going after that thing.” Dora shook her head. “I always send a man after that. They’re the hunters, right? My job is to jump on a chair and scream.”
“Don’t look at me,” Carson said.
“I thought you were nature girl,” Harper said.
“I’ll take a shark any day over one of those critters. But I think Mamaw has one of Papa Edward’s hunting guns. You could shoot the thing.”
Dora joined Carson in a renewed bout of laughter.
Over the past months working in the garden, Harper had become all too familiar with the wildlife that teemed in the lowcountry—insects, anoles, frogs, snakes. She’d learned to deal with them, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to their jumping out at her. Once, she was pulling weeds from the grasses in her garden when a snake shot straight out from the grass. Lucille had told her the grasses were a favorite hiding place for snakes, which is why the basket weavers always had their men go fetch the sweetgrass for them.
“I think I’d rather face a poisonous snake than a palmetto bug,” Harper said. “But I’m not about to be made a laughingstock by no friggin’ roach.” She grabbed a thick wad of paper towels, set her jaw, and marched with purpose to the sink, where she thought she’d seen the bug land.
“What are you doing?” Dora asked.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
Her sisters watched as she went to the sink and, with an outstretched arm, poised to leap back, nudged the dirty pot. Then the sponge. Suddenly the bug bolted. But not fast enough. Harper pounced and heard a gross pop that had her stomach reeling. In a rush she dispatched the bug to the trash. When she turned back to her sisters, she saw with great satisfaction the look of shock mixed with awe on their faces.
“Don’t throw it out,” Carson said. “You should cut off its head and wings and stake them around the perimeter of the house as a warning to all the other bugs out there to what happens if they come inside.”
Dora laughed. “Good one.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not funny”—Harper frowned—“the state of this kitchen.” She waved her arm, indicating the dishes and food scraps on the table, then the sink overflowing with dishes. “Dirty dishes left in the sink, crumbs on the table. No wonder we have bugs.” She shook her head. “Lucille must be rolling over in her grave.”
Dora and Carson were immediately chastened. They gazed around the kitchen with somber expressions.
“It’s not only the kitchen,” Harper said. “There’s a film of dust on all the furniture. Dust bunnies on the floor.”
“Mamaw had to cancel the cleaning crew,” Dora said. “She said she had to cut back. All of us living here, eating her food, using her hot water, has really upped her monthly expenses.”
“Not to mention the bedrooms she created for us,” Harper added.
Dora shook her head. “We’re still acting like those little girls who used to come here in the summer. All we did was play and eat and fight and think of ourselves. We didn’t do a lick of work, not really. And here we are, doing the same thing. Only we aren’t little girls anymore, are we?”
Harper walked to the table and lifted the nearly empty carton of cookies. “Okay, who ate all the cookies and just left the package out, crumbs and all?”
With her long hair flying Carson looked like an Amazon princess on the warpath as she stomped to Harper to snatch the carton from her hands. She took out the final fig cookie and popped it into her mouth. “I’m sorry,” Carson snapped. “I was hungry. Hey, I’m pregnant. Didn’t you ever hear of midnight cravings? It happens.”
Harper looked at Carson’s abdomen and wondered again how a baby could be growing inside that flat, taut belly.
Dora said, “We don’t care about you eating the cookies. Eat as many as you want. Just clean up after yourself! We’re not your maids. Besides, it’s not just Carson making a mess. It’s all of us.”
Carson looked at her older sister. “You’re right, of course. We can’t expect Mamaw to take care of us. Nor should she. We should be taking care of her.”
“Amen,” Dora said.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Harper said, warming to the topic. “I’m worried about her. Want to guess where I found her this morning?” She paused, watching them shake their heads with curiosity. “Sitting on the porch. Playing solitaire.”
Dora’s mouth opened in a silent gasp.
Carson looked stricken. “Playing solitaire? That’s just too sad.”
“She even asked me if I believed in an afterlife.”
“No . . . ,” Carson breathed.
“Bless her heart,” Dora said with a sorry shake of her head.