The Summer's End Read Free Page B

thought with a sigh. Nate hated to have his hair cut.
    Poor little guy, she thought as she reached out to gently stroke hair from his forehead. She felt the perspiration at his brow. Cutting his hair was the least of the changes he’d be facing soon. Her obstinate, fretful son who hated any change would soon transition from homeschooling to a classroom. It was a big decision, long and hard in coming. She’d found a private school that specialized in bright children with special needs, like his Asperger’s. The school offered highly individualized instruction and schoolwide positive behavioral support. Dora had to face the reality that Nate was older and needed more than she could offer. He needed to learn to communicate and socialize with his peers.
    Dora sighed. They both did. Isolation had not been good for either of them.
    On the heels of this decision was her intention to move to Mt. Pleasant, closer to the school. A new school . . . a new home . . .
    She bent to gently kiss Nate’s cheek, breathing in the scent of him. When he was awake, he didn’t like to be kissed.
    â€œWe’ll be fine,” she whispered close to his ear. “Mama’s here. I won’t let you down.”

    As Harper pedaled back to Sea Breeze, her mind filled with words that could capture that glorious sunrise: iridescent, shimmering, glittering, ethereal, inspiring  . . . Harper parked the bike in the garage and hurried toward the house, eager to slip quietly back into her bedroom and begin writing. She wanted to describe what she’d seen and her feelings that had swirled like brilliant colors. As she made her way across the back porch, a cough drew her attention. Harper turned her head to the back corner of the porch and was surprised to see her grandmother sitting tall and straight-backed in one of the large, black wicker chairs. In the dim light, wearing her long, white cotton nightgown, Mamaw appeared almost ghostly.
    â€œMamaw!” Harper exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?”
    Mamaw smiled as Harper approached, but it was a tired smile. Her pale blue eyes were sunken and her arms were wrapped around her slender body as though she were chilled.
    â€œI couldn’t sleep. I woke very early and my mind kept wandering.” Mamaw shook her head. “It’s so exhausting when that happens. A curse of old age. I just gave up and came out here to sit a spell. I thought the fresh air might help.”
    On the glass-topped table Harper saw a line of playing cards. Her heart pinged. Mamaw was playing solitaire. The image of Mamaw and Lucille playing endless games of gin rummy together on the porch at all hours of the day and night flashed in Harper’s mind.
    Harper hurried to put her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders. “How long have you been out here?” she asked, alarmed. “You’re chilled to the bone.” She rubbed Mamaw’s arms briskly with her hands, trying to warm her.
    â€œMmm . . . that’s nice. Thank you, dear.”
    Harper pulled up a chair and dropped into it. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees. “What’s got your mind wandering?”
    â€œOh . . . I was thinking of Lucille,” Mamaw said wistfully.
    Of course, Harper thought.
    â€œIt was a nice funeral, wasn’t it?” Mamaw asked.
    â€œIt was. I’d never been to a Gullah funeral before. So much song, tears, and rejoicing.”
    â€œAnd amen s,” Mamaw added wryly.
    Harper smiled in agreement. She’d been moved by the unrestrained calling out at the service, the passion, the strong sense of community.
    Mamaw looked back out over the water. “I was sitting here, looking across the Cove, and it brought to mind what the preacher talked about at Lucille’s service. How their ancestral spirits who came to the lowcountry—those by force and those who came after—lived, thrived, and