The Summer Wind by Mary Alice Monroe

liquid.
    “What is it?”
    “Rum. Neat. It’s aged and as smooth as a baby’s butt, so enjoy it. But don’t whisper a word of this to Lucille. She’ll have my butt if she finds out I’ve still got a bottle hidden.” She giggled and her eyes shone with triumph. “Behind the toiletries. The small bottle blends right in!”
    “But Mamaw, I shouldn’t drink this.” She moved to hand the glass back. “We all agreed. No alcohol.”
    Mamaw gently pushed Dora’s hand back. “Precious, this is one thing I’m not worried about with you. None of us are perfect. We don’t need perfection. Balance will do.”
    Dora sipped from the glass. The rum was smooth and burned only slightly on the way down, warming her chest. It felt utterly lovely, and, this early in the day, decadent.
    She removed the nightgown with lace trim that always made her feel like an old lady. Kicking it across the room, she swore she’d never wear it again. She slipped into Mamaw’s thick terry robe.
    Mamaw stepped from the bathroom and called her name.
    “Dora! Come, child.”
    Dora stepped into a room filled with steam and scent. Mamaw helped remove Dora’s robe and guided her into the steaming tub. It was so hot Dora lowered herself into the water by fractions of an inch, giving her body time to acclimate. Gradually she stretched out and let her body ease fully into the perfumed, bubbly water. She leaned back and let her head rest against a pillow at the edge of the tub. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the steam and felt the tension flow from her body to vanish into the water. She sighed, feeling as though somehow she’d been rescued. The drops on her face were not tears but perspiration.

    Mamaw served sweet tea on the back porch while Lucille passed blueberry scones from the Village Bakery. She’d called together this impromptu family meeting while Dora was soaking in the tub. It was a lovely afternoon in the shade of the black-and-white-striped awning. Large, white cumulus cloudsdrifted over the sweeping view of the Cove. Pots of colorful flowers set about the porch added punches of color and the air was heady with their scent.
    Mamaw tapped her spoon against her glass to silence the chatter. Carson and Harper stopped talking and Harper closed the lid on her laptop.
    “Where’s Dora?” asked Carson.
    “Still sleeping in her room?” asked Harper.
    “No,” Mamaw said with a reprimanding glance at Harper’s thinly veiled criticism. “But that’s precisely the reason I called us together. Dora is not herself.”
    “I’ll say,” Carson said. “I’ve never seen her so low.”
    “The way she flew off the handle . . .” Harper added with a shake of her head.
    Mamaw corrected Harper. “She wasn’t upset as much as she had a breakdown. There’s a difference. The important point is that Dora asked for help.”
    “I can’t ever recall her asking for help before,” Lucille mused.
    “Exactly. We need to put our heads together and come up with ways that we can help Dora through this difficult time. Thank the Lord, she did not have a heart attack. But this definitely was a warning. A shot over the bow. The doctor was clear that Dora must make serious changes in her eating habits, exercise patterns . . .” She sighed. “Or lack thereof.” She paused to glance toward the porch door to make certain it was closed. She didn’t want Dora to overhear and have her feelings be hurt.
    “Unfortunately, instead of trying to make changes, she’s holing up in her room. She says she’s still too tired, but . . .”Mamaw sighed dramatically to indicate there was much more involved than fatigue. “I thought we might find ways to be her cheerleaders. Rally around her. Show we care.”
    “Get her out of bed,” Lucille added drily.
    The sisters were silent for a moment. Then Harper spoke up.
    “That’s all good . . .” she began, her tone hesitant.
    Mamaw tilted her head, waiting. Harper, for all that she didn’t gab much, was a