Page 37 of That Last Carolina Summer

“People tend to think of a nest as a home, but to the birds a nest is simply a cradle to hold the eggs and chicks until they are old enough to fly. The farther away from home baby birds fly after leaving the nest, the safer they are. I think this is true of humans, too, but not because of the danger from predators. Rather, it is the danger of having our wings clipped so that eventually we lose the will and the ability to fly away.”

Excerpt from the blog The Thing with Feathers

Phoebe

THE SNAKELIKE HEAD of an anhinga bird slipped stealthily through the dark water near the dock, unseen by Addie, who remained by her easel, her jaw jutting forward in an inadvertent impression of the bird.

Anhingas are rarely found outside of their freshwater habitat except when building a nest, yet I wasn’t surprised to see one here.

Nothing in my world was behaving as it should.

The heady smells of the star jasmine clusters that lay draped over the side fence like lazy cats tangled with that of the wax myrtles, sending a stab of nostalgia straight into my heart.

Even the heavy shroud of humidity added to the allure of my memories of this place that was as much a member of my family as the people were. And just as complicated.

Two dragonflies hovered around me, seeming to dance to the rhythm of the Carolina wren’s chirping from Ophelia’s new bird feeder hanging from the cedar tree. I walked down to the dock, slipping in the mud from the recent rain.

Addie, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, had moved her easel out from the shade of the tall red cedar to the far end of the dock, protected from the heat of the sun by the cloud cover.

It had been so long since I’d seen Addie paint that I’d forgotten about her fleeting passion when she was in high school, fueled by winning first place in a local store’s art contest. Mother had tolerated it until Addie started talking about going to art school and becoming an artist. By the time Addie was a senior in high school, her paintbrushes and easels had been packed away and stored in the attic alongside the high chair and other relics from our childhoods.

I stopped in front of her, but she didn’t look up, her eyes focused on the easel.

Her movements were nearly frantic, her brush like a weapon punishing the painting.

Celeste painted with thoughtful, gentle strokes, as she created the delicate feathers of birds or showed my mother how to paint the sky.

But Addie’s strokes were different, almost violent, the brush an extension of her unspoken emotions.

I waited for her to notice me, my ire growing as she continued to ignore me.

Without glancing up, she said, “You look like Mr. Morton when I didn’t turn in my math homework. And it’s no more flattering on you than it was on him.”

“Since he was probably also expressing intense disappointment, then I suppose you’re right.

I’ve been waiting patiently all week for you to go see Dale.

Mother has a follow-up appointment with Liam coming up, and I also need to take her to the eye doctor.

Whoever is her POA will need to take her, since legally they can’t talk to either one of us about Mother without it. ”

Addie dipped her brush into a plastic cup of ochre-colored water. “You weren’t really all that patient, Phoebe. I heard your little snorts of fury every time I walked into a room.”

“I don’t snort.”

“Right.” Addie picked up another brush and continued dabbing paint on her picture while my anger grew.

I was getting ready to yank the brush from her hand when she said, “You can stop glowering.” She lifted her eyes to meet my gaze. “I met with Dale on Wednesday.”

A flush of pink stained her cheek, and I was sure it wasn’t from the heat. “And you’re just mentioning this to me now? What did he say?”

“You’re the POA for both financial and health care for Mother. Apparently, Daddy had you sign the forms at some point, but it was years ago so I’m guessing you don’t remember.”

I stared at her, stunned. “Are you sure? I don’t remember any of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I’m sure. Go see for yourself.”

“But why? You’re the eldest.”

“Because you’re the smartest, remember?” Addie swirled gray and green paint together on her palette, creating the color of a dusk sky over the marsh. I stepped behind the easel to see what she was painting. She tried to block me, but I was quicker.

Darkness crept from the corners of the painting, an ominous reminder of an approaching storm. It was incomplete, but the intensity of the colors and movement of the brush sent shivers through me. It was evocative and mysterious, and beautiful in the way of a rose with hidden thorns.

“It’s not done,” she said, sounding defensive.

“I didn’t know you still painted,” I said.

“Neither did I. But having the easels and paints here... I figured why not.”

She returned to the dusky paint, creating furious whorls of color on the paper, stopping only when the brush ran dry. Then she dropped her brush and abruptly sat down on the dock. Not knowing what else to do, I sat down next to her.

After a moment, I said, “Do you remember Celeste’s granddaughter, Julie Fitch? She was the girl in your year at Wando who went missing your senior year. I think you were in choir with her.”

She shrugged. “I knew who she was, but we weren’t friends. Did Celeste ask you to ask me?”

“Yes. She thinks you don’t like her.”

Addie grunted in response.

We sat without speaking, our breaths settling into the same rhythm. After a while, she said, “I read something interesting on Reddit today. Grandparents who are actively involved in their grandchildren’s lives were parents who loved parenting so much that they relish doing it again.”

I frowned. “Maybe you should be getting your information from a more reliable source. I think Mother spends so much time with Ophelia because she doesn’t have a choice. You’re not around much.”

“Ouch. Thanks for that, Phoebe. The truth really does hurt. But, yeah. You’re probably right. In any case, it’s better this way. I don’t think I’d be a very good mother.”

“Why on earth would you say that? Ophelia is... wonderful and so eager to please. She looks up to you, you know. She just wants some of your attention.”

“But Mother is doing such a good job of it. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Our eyes met, and I wondered if the devastation I saw in her eyes mirrored my own. “Addie...”

“I know. I know Mother isn’t going to get better. I just don’t want to think about it.”

“But you have to. You’re going to have to take over when I leave, regardless of whether you and Celeste come to an agreement. Ophelia needs you.”

Addie shook her head. “I don’t think I have the motherhood gene. Sometimes I wonder...” She stopped, her attention drifting as a soft breeze blew across the marsh, bending the smooth cordgrass in alternating swaths like the sweep of a divine hand.

“Wonder about what?”

“Maybe I’m being punished.”

I turned to look at her. “Punished? For what?”

It took Addie a long time to respond, leaving me to wonder if she was searching for an alternate answer from the first one she thought of. “I don’t know. For not meeting expectations, I guess. For allowing stupid mistakes to take over.”

“Ophelia isn’t a stupid mistake, Addie.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “Of course not. My daughter is the best thing I’ve ever accomplished in my life. I’m trying my best not to ruin her.” She put her head in her hands while I waited for her to explain what mistakes she thought deserved punishment.

Our gazes met briefly. “Maybe it’s payback time for throwing away all my opportunities.” She dipped her head so I could no longer see her eyes beneath the brim of her hat.

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Addie.

Besides, if your idea of swift reward and retribution for our actions were true, I’d be a weather girl on TV and you’d be a troll living under the Ravenel Bridge—according to my childhood fantasies, anyway.

But we’re not birds, born with the genetics to know how to build a nest and care for our offspring.

It’s honestly a surprise to me that we survive at all. ”

Addie frowned. “Why is it always about the birds for you?”

“Because bird behavior, when it’s not mimicking human behavior, makes a lot more sense to me.”

A sticky breeze blew the scent of jasmine around us, and I was little again, having a tea party on the dock with Addie, our mother allowing us to use her good Limoges because I had asked politely, bringing it down from the house herself on a prized silver tray.

“I think you managed to steal all the good mother genes,” she said.

“You know, Addie, to be a good mother you have to show up. I know that from being a teacher. Even Mother showed up, except when I asked her not to because I knew she’d be bored or disappointed when I didn’t win. But at least she tried.”

Addie watched the long rivulets of water searching fingerlike through the marsh toward Jeannette Creek in the distance. “Right. So that’s all I have to do, huh? Show up?”

“That’s a start. But I’m not an expert, either. It’s not like we got the best parenting instructions.”

She stood and brushed off the dust from her white jeans now dotted with splashes of paint. “Yeah, well, you’re the brilliant sister. Of course you could figure everything out on your own.”

I stood, too. “Actually, I think I’ve figured out very little. I’m lost, too.”

Just for a moment, our eyes met, and our pain and loss mingled, lessening the weight each of us carried like a basket full of tarnished memories. And then it was gone, and Addie was a stranger again. She shoved her hands into her back pockets. “ Lost . Yeah, that’s a good word for it.”

Her gaze took in what I was wearing. “Aren’t you going out tonight?”

“Yeah. So, I won’t be here for Ophelia.”