The Summer's End

She’d prowled every square foot of this island both alone and on scavenging hunts with Carson. The beaches, the historic forts and monuments, the mysterious wetlands. The wind gusted, rippling the water. Harper sucked in her breath.

In truth Harper felt more at home at Sea Breeze than she did in any of the other houses she’d lived and grown up in. This place had set deep roots in her heart. Her biorhythms were linked to the tides. Sea Breeze was not for her some way station, a place to rest and refuel before moving on.

Yes, Carson had lived here as a little girl. Yes, Dora had grown up in the South. But Muir blood coursed through Harper’s veins, too. She belonged here every bit as much as her sisters did. The waters of the Cove had baptized her a lowcountry girl.

And she was in love with a lowcountry boy.

Carson had been right, she realized with a short, abrupt laugh. There was no way she was ever going to get Taylor to pack up and leave for New York. He’d gone through too much soul-searching to ever leave the lowcountry again. And, she realized, so had she.

Harper felt her shoulders lower and a small smile of knowing ease across her face as everything fell into place in her heart. She’d spent the summer paying attention to all things great and small, seeking solitude for reflection, preparing herself for the change she could feel was coming. For months she didn’t know what she was waiting for but persevered with patience and faith. Then, when she’d met Taylor, she’d thought that he was her answer. And he was, in part. But not all. Not nearly all.

Taylor had said that a house didn’t make a home. It was the people. He was so right. Dora and Carson and, of course, Mamaw were the foundation that made Sea Breeze the home she’d been searching for.

Yet even her sisters were not the key to her answer.

It was so deceptively simple she had to laugh at herself for taking so long to come to it. Like Dorothy, she’d had the answer all along. The magic of the ruby slippers lay inside herself. She’d discovered her own strengths and talents. She embraced that she was a writer, whether or not she ever sold a book.

Through it all, Sea Breeze had been her sanctuary. This place—the smells, the tastes, the weather, the wildlife—was where she belonged. Sea Breeze was her home.

Harper felt a rush of excitement as she reached out and took Dora’s hand in one of hers and Carson’s in the other and squeezed. They looked at her, eyes wide at her impulsive gesture. They could sense something was up, in that way people can when some decision of import has been made.

“I know what to do.” Harper turned to look into Carson’s eyes, then Dora’s, then squeezed their hands again. “I’m going to buy Sea Breeze.”

Chapter Fifteen

Harper paused at the entry of Mamaw’s bedroom and peeked in.

Mamaw was sitting on an oversize, plump chintz-upholstered chair, her feet resting on the matching ottoman. Her head was bent over a book and she was deep in her story.

Harper turned to her sisters, standing beside her. Their faces were flushed with excitement. “Wait here. I want to talk to Mamaw alone first.”

Dora and Carson grumbled but complied.

Harper knocked lightly on the door. “Am I interrupting?”

Mamaw looked up from her book. “Goodness, no. Come in, Harper,” she called, reaching out her hand in welcome. “I had to retreat from the porch. The heat is beastly today. But mind you, I’m not complaining. The Atlantic is quiet with nary a whisper of a hurricane. Like everyone else in the lowcountry, I’m grateful for small blessings.” She adjusted her legs to make room for Harper and closed her book.

Harper closed the door behind her, then crossed the soft carpet to sit on the ottoman beside Mamaw’s legs.

“What can I help you with, dear? You look troubled.”

Harper leaned forward. “I’m going to ask you something, and please, I want you to be perfectly honest with me.”

“Oh, goodness, this sounds serious,” Mamaw said in jest.

“It is.”

Mamaw sensed Harper’s mood and all the joviality left her face. Her blue eyes shone with alertness. “All right. I’m all ears.”

“Mamaw . . .” Harper found her mouth was dry. She licked her lips and began again in earnest. “I’d like to buy Sea Breeze. Is it too late?”

Mamaw’s mouth slipped open in a gasp. For a moment she was speechless. Then she reached out to take Harper’s hands in hers. “Thank God!”

Mamaw, Carson, and Dora were overjoyed at the possibility of Harper’s keeping Sea Breeze in the family. Mamaw patted Harper’s hand and assured her that she’d sharpen her pencil and give her the “family discount.” They’d laughed over that one and knew that she’d be calling her banker and lawyer for more realistic arrangements. Harper insisted that the sales price take into consideration what Mamaw would need to pay off the mortgages and the bills and still leave enough for her to live comfortably.

While the family was talking, Harper retreated to do serious planning. She had a great deal to both understand and undertake to make the purchase happen. After resting all summer she felt the old surge of energy return. Her brain was clicking on all cylinders. Harper was ashamed at how little she understood about her trust fund, much less how to get the money out of it. She’d been lax on the details concerning her wealth, blithely cashing without question the checks that came to her. Lazy was a better word. Time to put your big-girl panties on, she told herself. Her first task was her most fearsome: facing her mother. Georgiana was the gatekeeper of Harper’s inheritance.

Harper sat at her desk and did some research on trust funds in general. Then she assembled her checks and tried to figure out the sums. When she was finished, she realized just how lax she’d been. She’d been spending money freely all summer, without serious thought to what would happen when her bank account went dry. There was nothing left but to face the music. She sat at the edge of her bed and, trying to feel like her mother’s daughter and not her assistant, dialed her number on the phone.

“Georgiana James.”

“Hello, Mother. It’s me, Harper.”

“Yes?” Her tone was curt, indicating she was annoyed with Harper either for taking so long to respond to her offer, or for not returning sooner to New York, or both.

“How are you?”

“Well enough. I’ve only just returned from the Hamptons. Traffic was beastly.” She skipped a beat. “I rather thought I’d see you here when I returned.”