Dora took the advice to heart. She drew in a breath, then began walking at a moderate pace—not so fast that she started to sweat, but quicker than a stroll. Large, drooping oaks provided welcome shade along the side streets. As she passed the few visible houses, she admired the landscape designs, checked out what plants were in bloom. It was a lovely day, with blue skies; she had to ask herself why she’d been so hard-pressed to get out of the house before now. The answer was, she knew, because the black cloud hovering overhead made the world appear dismal.
But she was walking now, pumping her fists with determination. Dora reached the end of the pavement, and then she started down a sand- and rock-strewn beach path bordered on either side by an impenetrable maritime shrub thicket. She paused to study the groundsel, the wax myrtle, the yaupon bushes that survived—even thrived—under the harsh effects of wind-blown salt and sand. Survivors, every one of them. A lesson to be learned, she told herself as she moved on.
Dora followed the narrow path to where it opened up, revealing with a gust of wind the panorama of the Atlantic Ocean. The brilliant sea mirrored the azure skies, sunlight reflecting on its surface like diamonds. Heartened, Dora took off on a quicker pace, keeping to the hard-packed sand. She reflected on the many years she’d walked this same stretch of beach. When they were girls, she and Carson would pretend they were Chincoteague ponies, kicking their knees high and neighing as they galloped along the surf.
Her mama would drop her off at Sea Breeze in early June when school let out and come collect her in early August in time to get her outfitted for school. Carson would cry when Dora had to return with her mother to Charlotte. Dora had always felt for the little girl without a mother. But she was a bit jealous of her, too. Carson got to live full-time with Mamaw in her great house on East Bay, the loveliest street in the world, she thought. And on weekends and holidays, she’d go with them to Sea Breeze. Mamaw tried not to show favoritism when the girls were together, but everyone knew Carson was special to her. As a grown woman, Dora could understand that it was only natural for Mamaw to feel more for the girl she mothered. But as a child, Dora envied Carson for the silliest things, like how Carson got the best bedroom, which, as eldest, Dora thought should have gone to her.
Years later, she gave up girlish games to sit in the sun, coated with baby oil, roasting like a plucked chicken. Carson used to beg her to play, but Dora was three years older and her interests had shifted to the more sedentary scene of sitting on a towel, talking to her girlfriends, flirting with the boys, or reading a book. She had been awash in a sea of hormones, vacillating between laughter and tears, wanting to play the old games with Carson one day and trying to ditch the younger girl the next. It was a confusing summer of budding breasts, boys, and best friends.
That first summer when Dora was on the precipice of womanhood was also Harper’s first summer at Sea Breeze. Carson was eleven and Dora was already fourteen. Then this tiny, doll-like girl of six years of age arrived from Manhattan with expressive blue eyes and ginger hair. She was introduced as their half-sister, Harper. Everyone catered to her, oohing about how pretty she was, how well behaved, how smart. Dora had heard of this younger sibling, of course, but she’d never met her. The age difference was too great for them to really play together, as she had with Carson. At best, they’d find a few activities they could share over the summer; at worst, she’d get stuck babysitting.
When Dora remembered those summer days, however, she always returned to one day during that first summer when all three sisters were at Sea Breeze together. Mamaw had taken them to the beach, as she did many days. Mamaw sat in a folding canvas chair under a large, colorful umbrella. Beside her, three towels were spread out on the sand. While Mamaw read, the girls played—making sand castles, collecting seashells, playing tag in the waves. Mamaw’s strictest rule was that no one was allowed to go into the water unless she was watching.
On this particular sunny day Carson had been pestering Dora to ride the skim board along the shoreline. Dora was getting annoyed. Carson was such a tomboy it could be embarrassing. After all, only boys skim-boarded and Dora wasn’t about to look like a fool in front of people she knew. Harper was building a sand castle in the moist sand at the low-tide mark. Dora lay on her belly on her towel, pulled out Seventeen, and soon got lost in the magazine.
Then she heard Harper scream.
Instantly Dora dropped her magazine and leaped to her feet, scanning the beach for the little redheaded girl in the pink swimsuit. She spotted Harper standing frozen by her sand castle, arms out as though poised to run, staring at the massive cargo ship passing the island. Dora ran to her side and grabbed her hand. Carson had also heard the scream and abandoned her skim board to reach Harper’s side just after Dora. The little girl was trembling with fear as the monstrous ship passed. The enormous, black, rusting hulk coming so close to the shoreline was very frightening for a child, even for Dora. Fully as tall as a high-rise building, it moved at a leviathan’s pace, skimming past the island.
What Dora remembered most was standing on the beach, side by side with Carson and Harper, holding hands, bolstering one another as the behemoth cast its shadow over them. Both she and Carson had come running when Harper cried out. Dora felt a keen sense of solidarity with her sisters at that moment.
When the ship had gone and the sun shone warm on the beach again, the girls dropped hands and each went back to their individual play. But that moment had sealed an unspoken pact between them. They were sisters. They’d be there for one another.
Mamaw, Dora realized now, had never forgotten the sisters’ unspoken promise to one another, though the sisters had in the many years they’d been apart. Mamaw had been standing behind them on the beach, watching. Years later she’d brought them back here, to this same island, to this same beach, to feel that bond again.
Was it possible? Dora wondered. Could anyone recapture the innocence and trust of youth once she had transitioned into the cynicism of adulthood?
She continued walking, lost in her thoughts, before she turned a curve and saw a dozen or more kite surfers gliding across the water, their colorful kites like brightly plumed birds in the sky. She grinned, mesmerized by the sight. Carson had told her about this new sport and, curious, Dora took a spot with others along the shoreline, watching the amusing aerobatics out on the water. Of course, Carson had already learned to kite surf from Blake. Dora smiled and thought, Maybe next year.