The Summer Girls by Mary Alice Monroe

that the library was the room Nate was accustomed to sleeping in, with his favorite books and the Nintendo he adored. How he had already been frazzled by the move to Mamaw’s house.
    Then the sudden sound of a crash and glass breaking forced her to her feet.

    Mamaw’s eyes sprang open when she heard the crash. She’d fallen asleep with her book half-open across her lap. She simply couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting shut—nofault of the story line. She was simply tired so much of the time now that the lure of sleep and dreams proved overpowering.
    She tilted her head, listening intently. The child’s scream could only have come from Nate. She heard the rustle of feet on the stairs, then the voices over Nate’s screams. Lord, that boy could holler. Mamaw sat in a tense silence listening to the uproar across the hall. In time the screaming subsided and she heard again the retreating footfalls in the hall. There was a knock on the door and the crack of light as it opened.
    “Mamaw? Are you awake?”
    “Carson? Lord, yes, I’m awake. No one could sleep through that racket.”
    She heard Carson’s throaty chuckle as she walked across the bedroom in her long-legged gait, pausing to flick on a small lamp. Warm light flooded the room, revealing Carson in a long summer shift of fiery oranges and yellows. Carson had inherited Mamaw’s long, lean body. Mamaw smiled and reached her arms out to her.
    Carson drew near and bent to kiss her cheek.
    “Mmm . . . I love your perfume,” Carson said, closing her eyes. “I feel like I’ve always known this scent. Kind of musky. I always think of you and this scent as inseparable.”
    Mamaw felt a twinge in her heart and stroked Carson’s long hair. “It’s Bal à Versailles. Actually, my dear, it was your mother’s scent. She gave me my first bottle and I’ve worn it ever since.”
    Carson’s tanned face paled a shade and she slunk down to her knees beside Mamaw’s chair.
    “It was my mother’s scent?” she asked with wonder. “How did I never know that?”
    Mamaw shrugged lightly. “I can’t say. We speak so seldom of Sophie. She always wore this perfume. She was French, of course,” she added, as though that explained it.
    “There’s so much I don’t know about her,” Carson said in a soft voice.
    Mamaw patted Carson’s hand. Oh, child, she wanted to tell her. There is so very much you don’t know about your mother.
    “The bottle is on my bathroom counter. Why don’t you try it? The scent is very particular about who can wear it. It must be the patchouli or the musk. It might smell very different on you. But if you like it, I’ll give you the bottle. I’d like to think we share a scent, chérie .”
    Another shout of “ No! ” pierced the air.
    “What is all that ruckus about?” Mamaw cried.
    Carson rose to her feet. “Nate’s freaking out because we told Dora he had to sleep in one of the twin beds in her room. He was in the library.”
    “Harper is meant to sleep there.”
    “That’s what I told her.”
    “Dora does have her hands full, doesn’t she? She ought to get more help with Nate, especially now that Cal has left. Poor dear, she’s exhausted.”
    “I hardly recognized her. I thought she looked older.”
    “Yes, well, it’s her weight, too. Nothing adds years to your looks like letting your figure go. Perhaps you could encourage her to go on a diet. Exercise more. You’re her sister, after all.”
    “Oh no, I’m not going there.”
    “Well, you could try,” Mamaw said persistently. “It’s that big house that’s weighing her down.”
    Carson rolled her eyes. “And Cal . . .”
    “Hush now. You mustn’t mention the divorce while she’s here. She’s very sensitive. She needs our support now, more than ever.”
    From the hall, the screaming took on the rising crescendo of a supersonic jet taking off. Mamaw felt her heart skip a beat. She threw up her hands and said in a shaky voice, “Hurry and tell Dora to let