“Mamaw,” Carson said cautiously, “I’m sure she does care about Dora. She’s her mother, after all, and entitled to her opinion.”
“I agree with Carson. How can saving their marriage be wrong?” Harper asked, still not convinced.
“But of course it’s not wrong, if the reasons are sincere,” Mamaw replied. “Cal Tupper doesn’t give a hoot about Dora. Or his son.” She straightened in her chair. “He might fool Winnie but he can’t fool me. She really knows nothing about the man. He wants to keep Dora in Summerville, close to that behemoth of a house, so she can supervise the repairs. Chop-chop. That was his motive.”
“Excuse me, but again, what’s wrong with that?” asked Harper. “It’s what she’d be doing if they weren’t having problems in their marriage, isn’t it? She is his wife, after all. And being a homemaker is her job.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” Harper asked.
Carson narrowed her eyes and wagged her finger. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Mamaw glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. “The point is Nate.”
“What about Nate?” Harper asked.
“He’s not included in the invitation to live at the condo.”
Carson was incensed. “Not included? But he’s their son!”
“That’s the point,” Mamaw said, nodding with satisfaction that her side had been vindicated.
“You mean, he wants us to take Nate off his hands?” Carson asked, incredulous.
“Exactly.”
Carson leaned back in her chair. “You’re right. He is a shit. Poor Nate. Poor Dora.”
“I don’t know him from Adam so I’m not defending him,” Harper said. “But do we know both sides of the story?”
“How can you say that?” Carson blustered, turning to face Harper. “He’s a jerk. We all knew that before the divorce.”
“But he’s Dora’s jerk!” Harper argued back heatedly.
She paused, hearing her words, and they all burst out laughing.
Mamaw brought the conversation back on track. “Dora’s made her decision to return here with us, so let’s not waste our time debating the merits and flaws of Calhoun Tupper.” Her tone of voice made it perfectly clear that she’d already wasted enough breath on the man.
“Dora has spent most of her life doing what she was told. And putting others in front of herself—especially Nate. This is the first time she spoke up for herself about what she wanted, by insisting she and Nate would be best off at Sea Breeze. It’s a good start,” she added.
Looking at Harper, Mamaw continued, “You’re quite right that Dora has to make this decision on her own. But we can guide her toward new habits that help her feel good about herself. Inside and out. Little things that you two take for granted—getting manicures and pedicures, taking time to exercise, going out with the girls—these are all foreign to her. She dotes on Nate and his needs, and then Cal’s, and then the house. She puts herself last, over and over. It’s no wonder she let her figure go. She just gave up. Plus, I doubt there’s been much money for such extras.”
“Mamaw,” Carson said, leaning back in the wide chair and tucking her arms around her legs, “Dora wasn’t like that as a girl. During our summers, she made sure she had things her own way. I never thought of Dora as shy and retiring. In fact, she still isn’t. She’s downright bossy.”
“Yes, she is,” Mamaw agreed. “Now think about it for a moment. Dora is a stickler for what?”
“Nate’s schedule,” answered Carson promptly. “Nate’s food, Nate’s clothing . . .”
“Following the rules,” Harper said quickly. “The Southern belle rules, I mean. Like not showing too much bosom or wearing skirts too short.”
“Never wearing white before Easter or after Labor Day,” added Carson.
“Manners, swearing, yelling, churchgoing,” continued Harper.
Carson smirked. “Being a lady.”
In a flash, the girls swung their heads around, pointed at each other, and blurted out, “Death to the ladies!”
Mamaw had to laugh. When Carson and Harper were little girls, they prowled the island pretending they were pirates searching for buried treasure. Mamaw knew full well the two tomboys chafed under her rules and squirmed when she told them to take their sandy feet off the beds and elbows off the table, to spit out the chewing gum and use tissues rather than shirtsleeves for wiping noses. She’d made them clean up for dinner, brush their hair, lower their voices, and always told them to “act like a lady.” So the girls had created a secret mantra that they’d shout as they escaped out the door—Death to the ladies!
“Exactly,” Mamaw replied. “Dora is like some herd dog who barks and nips to keep the sheep in line. She takes pains to follow the rules. To be the good, well-brought-up girl.” She offered a sly grin. “I say she needs to channel a bit more of the pirate in her blood, don’t you?”
Carson and Harper both responded with grins.
“Death to the lady—of course!” Carson exclaimed, catching on.
“Dora needs to break a few rules,” Harper said, obviously enjoying where this was heading. She leaned forward. “What can we do to help?”
Dora didn’t have any idea how long she’d been lying there, immersed and fully relaxed, but the water was cool when Mamaw returned. She held out the thirsty terry-cloth robe like a lady’s maid for Dora to step into, then escorted her into the bedroom.
Mamaw’s vanity was a piece of art. It was a French antique, triple mirrored with a glorious slab of white marble in the brass frame.
Dora remembered when she was a young girl watching Mamaw dress for one of her nights out with Granddaddy Edward.
Dora sat cross-legged on Mamaw’s big bed, transfixed at the sight of her beautiful grandmother sitting at her shiny mirrored vanity. She thought her grandmother looked like a queen in her ruby-colored robe. The silk fell glamorously from her slender shoulders to puddle on the floor. Dora looked at her My Little Kitty pajamas and wished she could be as beautiful as her grandmother, with her long golden hair gathered on her head by jeweled pins. Mamaw lifted a brush and delicately dipped it into one of her pots of color. She leaned closer to the mirror and applied the makeup with deft strokes. Dora sighed when Mamaw brought various pairs of earrings to her ears, turning her head from left to right as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the three mirrors to better decide which to wear. For the coup de grâce, when she carefully applied the ruby red to her lips, Dora almost swooned.