Fifteen minutes later she had a small stack of drawings. She carried them and a roll of tape to the bathroom, where Nate was idly letting water pour over his toothbrush. He seemed to be self-soothing so she didn’t interrupt him. She reached up to tape a picture to the left side of the mirror. It was a rudimentary, stick-man drawing of a boy brushing his teeth under the sun. Next she taped up a similar drawing of a boy brushing his teeth under the moon and stars. Nate studied the drawings.

“This is to remind you to brush your teeth in the morning. And this one is for the evening,” she told him.

She went directly into the bedroom, pleased that he followed her. She taped a drawing of a woman sleeping in a bed under where she’d written her name. The nondescript woman had long, black hair, which was the best she could do to indicate it represented her.

“This is where I sleep.”

In similar fashion, Carson went to the bureau that Nate had claimed and put his name on it. She put her name on the closet, a drawing of a boy in bed with Nate’s name over the futon, and on the fridge she taped up a large meal chart. The drawing of a spoon and sun rose over the drawing of a clock at seven a.m. for breakfast. A plate, fork, and a moon were over six p.m. for dinner.

“This is our schedule,” she said, pointing to the drawings. “We have new rules. Starting tomorrow, every morning we will get up at seven, get dressed, and eat breakfast. At eight thirty we will go to the Dolphin Research Center. And every night we will eat dinner at six. You will go to bed at the same time you do at home, eight o’clock, and you can watch your television or play games for an hour.” She could see the tension in his body relax as he studied the chart on the fridge. “It’s already after nine, so hop into your bed, but because it’s our first night and special, if you like you can watch a little TV until nine thirty. Or you can go right to sleep. Which would you like to do?”

Nate’s wide eyes studied her and she could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the choice put before him. Dora was right; the pictures had provided him with a map to his world.

“I’ll watch TV. Please,” he added.

“You got it.”

She placed his pillow from home on the bed and he climbed onto the futon. He looked at her drawing of the boy on the bed and giggled. “You’re a bad drawer, Aunt Carson!” he exclaimed.

Carson burst out laughing. “You’re right! I’m a terrible drawer. Look at the feet. They’re huge!”

Nate looked at her, eyes wide with both astonishment and pleasure that she’d laughed. “It’s a very bad drawing!” he exclaimed, catching the gist. He pointed. “You gave the boy six toes.”

This made Carson laugh all the harder. It was infectious. The more one laughed the harder the other laughed. Not that any of it was all that funny, but they were both laughing together at the same thing and it felt good. As she laughed she could feel the stress flowing from her body. Seeing Nate holding his belly and howling with laughter, she knew he felt the same. She hadn’t seen him laugh like this since they were in the Cove together, before Delphine’s accident. This was the first sharing since then of something that was good and fun. A wave of peace swept over her, knowing she’d done the right thing to bring Nate here.

She could do this, she realized as she wiped her eyes and leaned back against the lumpy futon beside Nate, enjoying his company.

Chapter Nine

Sullivan’s Island

The following morning Dora awoke to pounding in her temples. Blinking in the morning light, she realized the pounding was coming from outdoors. She dragged herself from her bed, padded to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, and followed the sound of voices to the back porch.

Stepping outdoors, she paused, catching a waft of the sultry air. The pungent scent of pluff mud was strong this morning, tingling in her nose. She breathed deep. This brown, sucking, rich mud redolent with the scent of spartina grass and tidal flats was the perfume of the lowcountry. It was the scent of home.

As she sipped her coffee, her thoughts quickly shifted to Nate. She wondered how he would enjoy his first day at the Dolphin Research Center. Last night she’d talked on the phone with Carson until late. Dora had already been second-guessing her decision to let Carson take Nate to Florida without her; she still had a hard time believing she’d agreed. So when Carson had called to ask for her help with Nate, Dora was a breath away from hopping in her car and driving south to rescue them. But she forced herself to make light of the situation, for her own benefit as much as to keep Carson calm. And it had seemed to work. For the first time, she’d let go and let Carson have a chance at resolving the problem. She was as proud of herself as she was of Carson. Dora had learned to trust someone else—to trust Nate.

She’d also learned that she was not indispensable. This realization was as humbling as it was freeing.

The morning sky over the ocean was brilliant with puffs of white clouds dotting the blue. Dora took a deep breath and blew out slowly. The thought that she was free to do whatever she pleased that day came unbidden, surprising her with possibilities.

Under the shade of the large black-and-white-striped awning, Mamaw was sitting in her favorite oversized black wicker chair with her feet propped on the ottoman, a glass of iced tea on the table beside her, reading a book. She looked like a queen in a white linen tunic and scarlet pants. The morning’s peace was abruptly rent by a sudden pounding and the high-pitched hum of power tools.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is all that noise?” Dora asked, setting her coffee mug on the glass-topped wicker table.

Harper emerged from the garden, holding clippers and a clump of sorry-looking roses in her hand. “Top secret,” she said, climbing up the steps to join them on the porch. She smiled under her broad-brimmed straw hat. “Mamaw’s having some remodeling done in her bedroom, but she won’t divulge the details.”

Dora greeted her sister and strolled over to place a kiss on Mamaw’s cheek. “Do tell, Mamaw. What you got cooking over there?”

“Can’t a woman have a few surprises, even in her own boudoir?” Mamaw said archly.

“No,” both girls answered at the same time.

Dora lowered into a wicker chair beside Mamaw and stretched out her long legs with a soft moan. “What time did they get here? I thought the pounding was in my head when I woke up.”