Chapter Twenty #2
“If you hit me with one more colloquialism”—Imogene’s eyes flamed—“I’m . . . I’m going to slap you from here to Sunday!”
Marietta caught her breath, then tilted her head, recognizing what Imogene had said as yet another southern expression.
Imogene’s eyes were bright with amusement.
Once again, they burst out laughing. Marietta hadn’t laughed so hard since the last time they’d had a good drink together the previous summer.
“I could really get to like you, you old hag,” Imogene said.
“Ditto, you crone.”
They rocked a bit, wiping their eyes, then sat listening to the blessed peace now that Taylor had stopped hammering.
“Marietta, of course I wouldn’t interfere between Devlin and Dora.
Do you think I’m that dodgy? But you’re right.
” Imogene sounded down in the mouth. “I do seem to be a source of squabbles, as you call them, among the young lovers. Truly, dear friend, I don’t mean to be a bother to you or anyone.
And I’m a good loser.” She looked fondly at the cottage.
“I’ll stay for the wedding, then say my farewells. ”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know,” Imogene replied honestly. “Georgiana’s I suppose.”
Marietta suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate for anyone.
The hammering commenced again, more vigorous than ever.
Imogene tilted her head to listen. She turned to Marietta and smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You don’t suppose he’s building a mother-in-law suite?”
Across the driveway in the main house, Carson was sitting at her desk wearing thick earphones as she worked, not for music but to mute the sound of Taylor’s incessant hammering.
On the computer was the long list she and Blake had compiled of nonprofits and companies with possible jobs for her.
Over the past four days Carson had gone out on two in-person interviews and talked on the phone to another two groups that had responded favorably to their query blitz.
This morning she’d had a second interview with Charleston Waterkeepers.
They’d e-mailed her that they would call before the end of the working day.
Blake had been right when he’d told her she’d find the company in sync with all she’d hoped to work on with water quality.
The people were smart, informed, aggressive, hardworking, and friendly.
This small group believed they could make a difference.
Carson saw rather than heard her phone light up with an incoming call, and she quickly took off the earphones and pressed accept, feeling a churning in her stomach. “Carson Muir.”
“Hi, Carson, it’s Cyrus from Charleston Waterkeepers.”
“Yes, hello, Cyrus. I was expecting your call.”
“I have to say, you’ve really impressed all of us.”
“Thank you. The feeling is mutual.”
“We followed up on your résumé and the recommendations were glowing. There was one from Jason Kowalski. Between you and me, I was wired to get his e-mail. I’m a big fan of his movies.
Thought you’d like to know what he wrote.
After he sang your praises, he said . . .
” Cyrus paused, then read, “ ‘I don’t want you to offer Carson a job because I’m hoping to hire her myself.
But that said, you should fight for her. She’s worth it.’ ”
Carson clutched her phone tighter, stunned by the generous praise.
“You’ve got the credentials. But more than that we all thought you were a great fit. Your enthusiasm, your personal story. We’re a small group. Like a family. And we all agreed you’d be a great addition. I hope you’ll join us.”
Carson sat still as a stone, dazed. “You’re offering me the job?”
Cyrus laughed. “Yes, Carson. We’re offering you the job.”
Carson couldn’t talk to anyone quite yet.
Not even Blake. She had to hold this news close, to slowly digest it before she could share it.
She slipped out of her dress and into yoga pants and a fleece jacket.
The soft fabric felt like a security blanket around her.
She tucked her hands into her pockets and walked out the back door to the dock.
Dusk was just setting in, lending a lavender cast to sky that was reflected in the water.
It was a mystical time, those fleetingly brief moments before day ended and night began.
She sat looking at the racing water below the dock, struggling to find the words she’d need to tell Blake of her decision.
To thank him. He’d never lost hope. He’d worked tirelessly by her side, leaving no stone unturned.
His faith in her—in the two of them working together—had convinced her they needed to be together.
More than she needed any job. She would stay in the lowcountry and marry her lowcountry boy.
Her mind was at last in sync with her heart.
From below the dock came the unmistakable sound of air pushing out from a blowhole. Startled, Carson gripped the dock railing and bent over to see Delphine swimming below. There was no question it was her. Even in the lavender light, the sorry scars were visible.
Carson hurried to the lower floating dock.
Delphine spotted her and immediately brought her large gray head out from the dark water, revealing her limpid dark eyes.
Her mouth was open, revealing rows of pointed teeth.
Carson stood at the edge of the dock, close to Delphine, staring down at her.
But she didn’t speak. Did not call out her name.
Delphine tilted on her side and swam leisurely alongside the dock, exposing her belly.
Carson chuckled to herself, amazed at how bloated Delphine had become.
Blake had confirmed that the neonate Carson had been called to on the shore last week was, in fact, not Delphine’s baby, and Carson was thrilled to see that Delphine looked happy and pregnant as ever.
She was likely to give birth soon, which was a risky business in the wild.
There were sharks, for one thing, and other threats.
Carson wished she could be there for the birth, to witness and to support her friend.
But Carson knew there was one way she could help Delphine. As with her decision with Blake, her heart was in sync with her mind. With a final look at Delphine’s beguiling face, Carson turned and, without a word, walked away.
Delphine made a series of clicking noises and whistles.
She splashed the water with her rostrum to show her displeasure.
Carson couldn’t understand the language of the whistles.
No human could. She only knew that dolphins were smart and excelled at communication.
Underwater they released myriad vocalizations with meaning, such as a signature whistle for a newborn calf that was akin to a name.
Throughout the waterway, the dolphins maintained family and community bonds through sound.
Yet, in her own humble way, Carson could understand the emotion of Delphine’s sounds.
Her eh eh eh noises when she was happy; the clicks and guttural growls when she was not.
And the whistles—high-pitched queries, short bursts of surprise, and now the plaintive calls of beckoning.
Oh, yes, Carson heard and understood the heartbreak. Tears ran down her cheeks.
This was the moment of truth for Carson.
There was no going back on the decisions she’d made today.
She’d given her word that she would help Delphine remain wild.
She’d also given her word to Blake that she would be his wife and settle here in the lowcountry.
And, too, she’d promised herself that she would stay sober, true to herself.
A lot of promises, she realized. These promises would be the foundation upon which she’d build her new life.
With her heart filled with lavender light, she walked toward Sea Breeze.
Her footfalls reverberated on the dock with the force of her steps.
She loved Delphine enough to keep walking away.
Only when she reached the door of the house did Carson dare to turn and look back.
Delphine was cloaked in the silvery shadows, but Carson could still hear the dolphin’s mournful whistles and clicks.
Inside the house, sounds of dinner preparations and conversation sang out from the kitchen. Carson remained standing at the door, listening, chilled to the bone, until, at last, the whistles stopped. A deep quiet descended in the purple sky.
Only then did Carson walk to the center of the porch and peer out over the water of the Cove. In the dim light she could barely make out the sight of a dolphin’s silvery dorsal fin far out in the purpling water. A single dolphin, swimming farther away down the creek toward home.
“Good-bye, Delphine.”
In another house on Sullivan’s Island, Mamaw stood at the window staring out at the moonlit Cove.
Her long white gown appeared gauzy in the filtered light.
One hand lay against the window glass, cool to the touch.
Tonight, however, instead of being drawn to the water, her attention was on the opposite shore where the deep shadows appeared looming and unfathomable, like the thoughts running through her head.
“Marietta, you seem troubled.” Girard came up behind her to rest his hands on her shoulders. “Care to talk about it?”
She felt his hand, so strong and so comforting, and leaned back against him. He rested his chin on top of her head.
“It’s Imogene. We played cards today and you’ll never guess what the prize was.”
“I give up.”
“The cottage.”
“The cottage? Your cottage?”
“Yep.” She laughed lightly at the reality of how high the stakes had truly been.
“Save me from the suspense. Who won?”
She turned in his arms, slipping hers around Girard’s neck. “You had to ask? Me, of course.”
Girard chuckled and his gaze was admiring. “I never should have doubted you.”