At that moment the man turned his head her way and their gazes met and held. Her toes curled in the sand. Blake. She felt a rush of embarrassment course through her veins at being caught staring. His lips turned into a confident smile, full of a rogue’s tease, and he lifted his hand in a brief wave before the kite surged in the wind and his attention was riveted back on it. She watched as Blake deftly maneuvered the broncolike kite in the air, steering it as he advanced toward the water, carrying his board under his arm. At the shoreline he dropped the board and mounted it. Then he released the kite to the wind and was off, slicing through the ocean with a ruffled wake.
He was good. Or he was showing off for her, she thought with a smile. Blake took air time frequently, soaring high and doing aerial stunts that had many on the beach pointing to him. Carson looked from left to right, smiling smugly because she knew him, even in such a distant way. She spread her towel out on the sand, claiming a spot. It was a beautiful afternoon with a fine breeze. She enjoyed watching the people and, farther off, closer to the inlet, a flock of peeps running along the shore, hunting for food in their straight-legged fashion.
At last she spotted Blake returning to the coast in a diagonal line, his muscles straining as he dragged the kite in from the water. She felt her stomach flutter as she rose to shake the sand from her towel. She was actually looking forward to talking with him again. Her interest was piqued, now that she’d seen his skill on the water. Athleticism had always been a major turn-on for her. Carson tossed the towel into her bag with the water bottle, her book, and her lotion, then hastily slipped a T-shirt on over her bikini. She began walking to where Blake was rolling up his kite, though not so fast as to appear anxious. Halfway there she stopped abruptly when she saw a young, curvy blonde prance to his side and begin talking in that flirtatious way young women do, twisting on her heel and playing with her hair. The three tiny rainbow triangles that made up her bikini exposed her taut, tanned body. Blake, as any other male would have, was enjoying the flirtation. Carson’s lips tightened in annoyance when the girl slipped an arm over his shoulder and leaned into him, laughing.
Without a second thought, Carson turned on her heel and detoured to the beach path. She was like a horse with blinders and couldn’t get out of the area fast enough. They were supposed to meet today and though she might have been late, she’d waited patiently while he kiteboarded. As she walked away, she grimaced. To think she’d almost embarrassed herself by going to talk to him. She made it back to the Beast, her name for the car, unlocked the door, and tossed her bag on the passenger side. It was as hot as an oven inside the car and as filled with sand as the beach. Empty water bottles littered the floor, and CDs, crumpled paper, gum wrappers, and hats covered the seats. She rolled down the windows and got behind the wheel. Her thighs stuck to the burning leather.
The engine strained and churned, but it didn’t fire. “Come on, Beast,” she muttered, and tried twice more. Each time the engine sounded weaker and weaker, like a beast giving up the ghost. Carson hit the wheel with the palm of her hand, then rested her head against it. At that moment, she didn’t know which was the bigger loser—the car or herself.
Carson felt sweaty and covered with sand when she finally returned to Sea Breeze. She quickly showered and changed into yoga pants and a clean cotton T-shirt. The bad taste of her ruined meeting with Blake and the final insult of the death of her car made her thirsty. She opened the fridge and stared at the opened bottle of Pinot Grigio. She yearned for it. Then, bolstering her resolve, she pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea and filled a large glass. Feeling slightly more confident after resisting the wine, she went in search of Mamaw. She found her sitting with Lucille in the shade of the back porch playing gin rummy. The fans were whirring above them, stirring up a pleasant breeze. Carson pulled up a black wicker chair to join them.
“Are you two at it again?” Carson asked.
“Every day, whether we need to or not,” Lucille replied with her cackling laugh.
“That’s the plan,” Mamaw said, and slapped down a discard. “Gin!”
Lucille grumbled, and after carefully checking to make sure Mamaw was right, she counted up points.
Carson cleared her throat. “Mamaw, I’d like to talk to you about something,” she began.
“Yes, dear?” Mamaw asked, looking her way with a smile of interest.
“Do you want me to go?” asked Lucille.
“No, please stay. Actually, I need you here, too.”
Mamaw and Lucille shared a curious glance, then focused on her.
“Well, see . . .” She licked her lips and dove in. “Harper and I were talking about Dad and his drinking. And about, well, about how we might carry the gene for the disease.”
“Oh,” Mamaw exclaimed with combined surprise and interest. “Do you think you might?”
“I don’t know,” Carson replied honestly. “It frightens me that I might. I drank a little too much in L.A. and may have done a few things I’m not proud of. But I don’t think I’m an alcoholic,” she added quickly. “I don’t need a drink to start the day or anything like that. I drink socially, with friends. And at dinner.”
Mamaw sat still, attentive to every word.
“Anyway,” Carson said in a deliberately easy manner, “Harper and I came up with this idea. We’d like to try and not drink for a while. At least not for a week. We want to see if we can stop. Kind of a bet,” she added, trying to make light of it.
“Oh, precious, that’s so wise,” Mamaw said. “If you only knew how many times I’d begged your father to stop, just for a while. He never would. He said he didn’t have a problem. That he could stop whenever he wanted to.”
“He couldn’t stop,” Lucille said. “He just couldn’t admit it.”
Mamaw leaned forward, cocking her head like a curious bird. “Sweet child, what can we do to help you?”
“Ditch the booze,” Carson said bluntly. Mamaw’s eyes widened, more from the vulgarity of her words. Carson smiled plaintively. “If you could please take away all the alcohol, hide it, do anything you like with it so I—we—can’t find it, I’d appreciate it. Just for a week, maybe more if all goes well. That goes for wine, too. If you serve wine at dinner, I’ll cave. I know I will. But if I eat my meals here and I don’t have alcohol around to tempt me, I’ll be able to really see if I can quit.” She rubbed her palms together between her knees, feeling clammy. “It’s not going to be easy. Just thinking about not drinking tonight makes me want a drink.”