Mamaw drew back and grasped Carson’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. Carson smiled shyly, expecting one of Mamaw’s platitudes to buck up her spirits.
“Now, you listen to me, young lady,” Mamaw said, looking directly into Carson’s eyes. “Enough of this moping and feeling sorry for yourself, hear? No more talk of being afraid. That’s not who you are. You’re a Muir and don’t you forget it. I admit, you’ve had a difficult time of it with your father. I indulged Parker at such times as this and I daresay I may have made mistakes there. But I won’t make the same mistakes with you, my precious.”
Mamaw released Carson and sat back in her chair.
“You may not want to find a husband, and that’s all right. You’re a big girl now and capable of making your own decisions. But, darling, you can’t lie around here feeling sorry for yourself and licking your wounds. There’s no fight in that. No honor. Listen to your grandmother. Tomorrow you need to get up early and face the new day. Get back out in the water.”
Mamaw pinned Carson with her gaze. “And find a job!”
The following morning, the alarm on Carson’s phone sounded like bell chimes. She shot her arm out to turn it off before anyone else woke up. When she rose, she looked at herself in the mirror, saw her blue eyes bright in her reflection, and realized she felt sharp, rested . . . and good. She wasn’t bogged down with the grogginess that came from her usual night of drinking. She’d gone to bed early to catch up on her sleep and this morning her head was clear and she felt a tingling of energy running in her veins. Spurred on by Mamaw’s advice to stop sulking around, Carson was determined to take the first baby step and get back into the water.
She stepped outside and was greeted by the moist, fragrant morning air. It felt warmer than the day before. She could trace the advent of summer as they moved closer to June. Soon, the water would be warmer, too, she thought with a smile. Inside the house, everyone still slept soundly. She went directly to the back porch, where her paddleboard was resting. Hoisting it under her arm, she carried it to the end of the dock, attuned to the creaking of the wood beneath her feet and the lapping of water against wood. The dawn still hovered at the waterline. Carson smiled. She hadn’t missed it.
Walking down the long wooden dock, Carson held her tall paddleboard with fidgety fingers, feeling the panic slowly rising in her chest at the prospect of entering the sea. It might have been just the cove, not the waves along the front of the ocean, but there was still wildlife coming and going from either place.
She cleared her throat as she faced the sea, opening her heart. “I don’t know how to fight this. I depend on you to help me.” She took a deep breath. “So here I am.”
There was nothing left but to get wet. Carson lowered her paddleboard onto the water as she had countless times before. Her hands shook and her feet felt clumsy on the familiar board but she pushed forward. Once she found her balance on the sweet spot, she took a deep breath and lowered her paddle. Just one stroke after another, she told herself as she made her way away from the dock out into the current.
There was a peace and solitude in these early-morning paddling trips that was akin to meditation. She was just another creature making her solitary path along the waterway. The water level was low. White egrets stood along the grassy edges with enviable poise on their sleek black legs. A little farther up the creek, she spotted a great blue heron, majestic and haughty.
It was after six A.M. and still most of the windows of the houses along the creek were dark. Their occupants were sleeping away the best show of the day, she thought to herself. But she was glad for the isolation. It was a good idea to have a buddy watching your back when you were out on the surf. Here on the quiet waterway, however, she felt safe cruising along with only her thoughts for company. She focused on the steady rhythm of her strokes, left to right, left to right, and the rippling sound the paddle made.
She was making steady progress along the creek when to her left she heard a loud splash. Carson’s rhythm broke as she swung her head toward the sound in time to spot the tip of a dorsal fin before it disappeared underwater. She felt her heart race as her body froze, paddle in midair. Then she saw the gray dorsal fin reemerge a few yards ahead of her board.
Carson sighed in relief when she saw that it was a dolphin, and chuckled at herself for being so jumpy. Atlantic bottlenose dolphins roamed these waters. These estuaries were their home. She loved these whimsical creatures, never more than since one had saved her life. Carson dunked her paddle back into the water and pushed hard, hoping to see the dolphin again. Turning her head, she scanned the flat water until she spotted the dolphin emerging with a percussive pfoosh to breathe. She followed the graceful swimmer as it traveled farther down the creek; then it surprised her by turning again and coming back.
Carson stopped paddling and let the current drag her along like it would any piece of driftwood. The sleek gray dolphin eased alongside the board, this time tilting its body slightly so it could peer up at her, curious. Carson looked into the large, dark almond eye and had the distinct impression that this dolphin was checking her out. Not in idle curiosity, either. She’d experienced dolphins coming close to her paddleboard many times before. But this moment was surreal. Carson sensed—she knew—that there was a thinking presence behind that gaze.
“Well, good morning,” she said to the dolphin.
At the sound of her voice, the dolphin jerked its head away and dunked under the water.
Carson laughed at its capriciousness. How different looking into these eyes was compared to the shark’s. In the dolphin’s gaze she sensed a curious mind, not her doom. She couldn’t deny that she was as curious about this unusually friendly dolphin as the dolphin seemed to be about her.
The water level was slowly rising as the tide came in. The sun rose higher, too, and she was getting close to the end of the boundaries of the cove behind Sullivan’s Island. If she didn’t turn around, the tide would carry her out into the choppy waters of Charleston Harbor. She put her back into her strokes and pushed her paddle against the current toward home. It was hard work but good for that flat belly that seemed to spark Dora’s jealousy.
She was focused on the task when in her peripheral vision she spotted the curious dolphin again. It was discreetly keeping abreast of her, then shot ahead several yards before turning back. Carson smiled. The dolphin clearly was following her. Carson wondered if it was actually playing with her or just curious about the gangly creature who made such pathetic progress in the water while the dolphin was so streamlined and graceful.