Mamaw knew that time would heal her hurt, as she knew that there was nothing she could do to alleviate the heartbreak now but to be there for her, to hold her hand. She would wait until she could see Carson. She would remain at her side.
She’d lost her baby.
Carson lay on her back, staring out the window of the sterile hospital room, not quite able to accept her new reality. She’d only just gotten used to the idea of being a mother. To trust her instincts and let nature take its course. Was this nature taking its course? Or was she the butt of some great cosmic joke?
She put her hands on her abdomen and let her fingers delicately tap on her tender belly. Only yesterday she had had a baby in there. Now she felt a great emptiness. A great sadness. She shivered in her thin hospital gown and reached down to grab the blanket she’d kicked off earlier. Bending, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and gasped with the effort.
A nurse walking in caught the movement and hurried to her side. “Let me help you.” She guided Carson back against her pillows. “No sit-ups quite yet,” the nurse joked.
“I’m just trying to reach the blanket.”
The nurse covered Carson with the blanket, then quickly added a fresh bag of fluid to her IV. “You’re dehydrated. Have to keep up your fluids.”
Carson almost smiled, remembering Mamaw’s constant admonition to the girls to always stay hydrated and moisturize.
“Are you up to a visitor?”
“Who?”
“A young man. Blake Legare.”
“Blake is here?”
“Poor fellow, he’s been out there wringing his hands ever since you came in. He your boyfriend?”
“Yes.” Carson paused, confused. “Or, he was.”
“If you don’t want to see him, I’ll send him packing.”
“Wait.” Carson’s heart ached to see Blake. To share this incomprehensibly sad moment with the only other person who felt the same pain and loss. “Please, send him in.”
A short while later there was a knock on her hospital door and it opened.
An exceedingly disheveled Blake stood hesitantly gripping the door. His eyes were rimmed red and his dark hair stood awry as if he’d been raking his fingers through it.
“Carson . . .”
She opened her arms to him.
The following morning, Harper lay on her stomach across her bed, feet kicking the air, staring at her phone. It had been two days since her night with Taylor. Forty-eight hours of waiting for the phone to ring or a text message to chime in. Nothing. She knew because she checked her phone a hundred times a day.
She’d tried to work on her book but was too distracted. Frustrated, she climbed from the bed and walked through Sea Breeze, looking for Carson. She found her on the porch, sitting in the shade, reading a magazine with her feet up on the ottoman. She was dressed in a loose, long dress in a blue island print, and her long, black hair was wound in a braid that fell over her shoulder.
“Good morning.” Harper leaned over to place a kiss on Carson’s cheek.
Carson frowned. “What’s so good about it?”
Harper’s stomach twisted in sympathy for her sister as she slid down onto one of the big wicker chairs in the shade beside her. “Aw, honey. Bad night?”
“I have a backache and cramps. Yeah, it’s been a bad night.”
Harper didn’t reply. Carson had been prickly since she’d returned from the hospital. The women at Sea Breeze had decided to give her time to work through the depression that was natural after a miscarriage.
Harper patted her hand. “Anything I can do? Get for you?”
Carson shook her head and closed her magazine. “I’m sorry. I’m just hot and achy and I can’t even go in the water. I’m feeling bitchy but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Aw, go ahead. I can handle it. And you have good reason to feel sad. If it’s any consolation, I’m grumpy myself.”
“What’s the matter? You were all smiles the other day. You went on and on how wonderful your date with Taylor was. The boat, the moonlight . . . what happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Harper replied with frustration, lifting her legs to the ottoman with a flop. “He didn’t call.”
Carson turned her head sharply. “He didn’t call? Not once?”
“Nope.”
“Did you two . . . ?”
“Yep.”
Carson bridled. “That’s shabby. But I don’t understand. I thought you two were like long-lost lovers or something.”
“Apparently it was all one-sided.” Harper shook her head and looked off. “Forget it. You have enough on your mind right now. I don’t need to bore you with tales of my love life.”
“Please do. Anything’s better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself.”
Taking heart, Harper sat up, tucking her legs up on the ottoman as she turned to face her sister. “I’ve had a one-night stand before. But this didn’t feel like that. I know he felt something for me.” Her shoulders slumped. “Or I thought he did. I’m hurt. Bewildered. So why wouldn’t he call me?”
Carson removed her sunglasses and leaned closer to Harper. “Honey, do you know Taylor had PTSD?”
“He told me. So?”
“That could be why he’s not calling you. Avoidance is classic.” Carson tilted her head in thought. “I thought he’d overcome it, but . . . maybe not.”
Carson had named Harper’s biggest fear. She licked her lips. “Do you know how bad it was for him?”
Carson shook her head. “We didn’t talk about it. We really don’t know each other that well. He’s definitely on guard, and getting words out of him sometimes feels like pulling teeth. But, he seems solid. The dolphins are good judges of character, better than humans. And they love him. But”—she sighed—“some guys never really get over it.” She put her sunglasses back on and picked up her magazine. “I hate to say it, but maybe you’re better off that he didn’t call.”
Harper murmured, “Why do you say that?”
“Because, honey, are you sure you can deal with his problems if he still has PTSD?”
Harper drew back. Carson was firing with both barrels, her depression making her caustic, which was unlike her. She was usually so positive about life.