Free The Summer Wind by Mary Alice Monroe Page B

of July. On the island, crowds of tourists thronged the flag-strewn streets.
    She and Lucille were crawling through traffic to pick up Dora at the hospital and bring her home to Sea Breeze. Lucille drove her old Camry across the Ben Sawyer Bridge to Mt. Pleasant. It was a faithful car—ten years old with low mileage and nary a dent or scratch. Since Mamaw had given Carson her vintage Cadillac, she was without a car of her own. Just as well, she thought as she gazed out the window of the passenger seat. Her vision wasn’t what it used to be, nor was her reaction time. She sighed. For that matter, neither was Lucille’s.
    Mamaw looked out the window as they rolled past the vast lowcountry wetlands. The tide was high, covering theoyster beds. Only the tips of the grasses were visible now, bright green from the recent heavy rain. This was the busiest week of the year on the island and even at midday the traffic was heavy and slow on the narrow road that crossed the marshes from island to mainland. Mamaw noticed, however, that there was a great deal of space between their car and the one in front.
    “You drive as slow as a turtle,” she said to Lucille.
    “I’m not slow,” Lucille replied with a scoff. “I’m careful.”
    Mamaw looked in the rearview mirror. A long line of cars trailed behind them. This was a no-passing zone on a two-lane stretch. She could imagine the drivers of the cars behind them cursing the two old women who were leisurely leading the pack. She chuckled. Every time she used to drive she’d get at least one honk. Likely from a tourist, she thought. No one from Charleston would be so rude as to honk at an old lady. Once they were on the mainland the road opened to four lanes and cars zoomed past them, some of the young ones scowling as they roared by.
    “Let ’em go,” Lucille muttered, her chin thrust forward and her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. “I ain’t rushing on their account. I never got a ticket and I’m not going to start now, not after all these years. Them folks keep driving like that, they won’t reach my age. That’s for true.”
    “The young are immortal, Lucille. Didn’t you know that?”
    “Humph,” she said with a frown.
    “Speaking of the young, I wonder what time Carson will arrive home today. I’m so proud that as soon as she heard about Dora’s broken heart syndrome she headed right home.”
    “Told you she would.”
    “With Dora coming home, there are changes to be made at Sea Breeze. We must follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.”
    “ More changes, you mean,” Lucille added. “I already never get to cook pork or grits no more.”
    “If I have to forgo my little rum drink at night . . .”
    Lucille guffawed. “Not exactly every night, are you?”
    Mamaw swung her head to stare at Lucille. So . . . she knew about the hidden flask!
    “I can’t see the harm of a small libation when I read my book at night. I’m alone in my room, after all.”
    “If I have to give up my chitlins for Dora, then you’ve got to give up the rum for Carson. And Harper . . .” Lucille made a face. “Not eatin’ anything white. Who ever heard of such a thing? I’d of starved coming up!”
    “It’s a different world. We have to support them.” She lowered her voice. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t cheat once in a while and have our little treats, does it?”
    “No ma’am,” Lucille agreed with gusto. “Maybe I’ll start cookin’ more in my cottage.”
    Mamaw’s eyes gleamed. “Yes! I’ll stop by there for our tête-à-tête. Often.”
    Lucille chuckled, eyes on the road. “Uh-huh.”
    “But back at the main house, we must remain vigilant,” Mamaw said. “Heart-healthy diet only!”
    “Doctor said it weren’t no heart attack. What they call it?”
    “Stress cardiomyopathy.”
    “Mm-mmm.” Lucille ruefully shook her head. “Imagine that. Now them doctors have this fancy name for something we all knew happened all