by Ashley Clark
Harper stopped too. “Oh, it is. I love the little pops of red.”
Peter’s eyes were about to roll back into his head. At this rate, the two of them were on track to see every flower in the city by midnight.
Millie bent slightly to take in the perfume of the blooms. She looked very royal, and appropriately so for Queen Street. But then her red cloche fell.
As if on instinct, Millie reached for her hair with both hands and patted to secure her hat, but it was too late. The red cloche Peter remembered her wearing since he was a boy began to roll down the sidewalk toward the street.
“I’ve got it!” Peter yelled over his shoulder, having already closed half the distance between himself and the runaway hat. He scooped it up just before it plopped straight into a pool of water that had, ironically, drained from a window box full of flowers.
Peter pulled a small stick from off the wool exterior as best he could, careful not to damage anything.
That’s when he saw the button.
He brushed a smudge of dirt from it with his thumb, until the image of a butterfly came into view. The design was a perfect match to the button on his mother’s wedding dress. Two halves of the same story.
Peter nearly dropped the hat all over again for the way his shock affected his grip. His heart began to race as he pieced it together.
M.M.
It’s Millie.
All this time, it had always been Millie.
He glanced up toward her and Harper as the two stepped closer. Joy flooded his soul with such force that he could’ve wept in the middle of the street.
Peter had long felt an overwhelming sense of pressure to fill in the blank spaces on his own. He was the one, and had always been the one, who did the looking. No one came looking for him in return.
Or so he’d thought.
But maybe he’d been wrong. His mother’s friend—Aunt Millie, they always called her—had been a steady presence in his life growing up. His stepfather never liked the woman. Said she spoke her mind too freely and lacked the sophistication with which a woman should carry herself. Funny how those two characteristics were precisely why Peter liked her so much.
Sometimes he and his mother would pay a visit to the boardinghouse Millie ran. He hadn’t been there in years. But he’d never forget the solace he found on Millie’s pier in the weeks following his mother’s death.
His fingers trembled around the rim of the cloche and the button that had been there all along, much like Millie. He started to run to her, and hug her, and tell her he knew everything.
The two of them could finally have this conversation, and all the questions would be answered. He started toward her, but stopped himself. Why had they never talked about this before?
For some reason, Millie must not want him to know.
Millie and Harper stepped closer, both smiling about his hat rescue.
He needed to make a decision quickly. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster.
A growing flood of anticipation threatened to overwhelm his good senses. Her blood might flow through his veins, but he was now in his late twenties and in all that time, Millie had never told him the real story.
Why hadn’t she?
Was it his stepfather? He wouldn’t put it past his stepfather for setting limits on what everyone was allowed to say. If it was because of that man, Peter should take the initiative.
And why had she suddenly returned to Charleston . . . even more, to his storefront? Was this all really about the dress shop, or was something else going on behind the scenes?
Millie was in arm’s reach now. Indecision pulled, threatening to rip him in two. At once, he wanted to fold her up in his arms yet also run two blocks ahead before she could see straight through him.
Surely his mother would have told him more about her ancestry eventually, had circumstances been different. How would she handle this if she were here?
“You can’t turn back time, even if you move the dials.”
His mother’s old idiom, so quick in his mind, sobered him. If he did say something, there was no turning back now.
Peter pushed back his nostalgia over his mother and all these years of loving Millie. If he really loved her, he would honor her by waiting until she was ready to tell him herself. It was, after all, Millie’s story.
In the meantime, his focus would be keeping the two of them in that loft rental as long as possible. Maybe the short-term rental could turn into a long-term arrangement, just like the store would be. Because being a landlord gave him a far better excuse to show up unexpectedly than simply owning the storefront property.
And maybe if he bought enough time, Millie would explain.
She and Harper stopped a foot away. Peter gently sat the cloche back on Millie’s head where it belonged, and she dipped down as if being crowned. When he met her gaze, he recognized the same amber flame around her pupils as his mother once had. Why had he never noticed that before?
Millie smiled at him. If she noticed anything out of the ordinary about his reaction, she didn’t show it. “That’s my Peter.” She ruffled his hair. “Always saving something just in the nick of time.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Fairhope, 1952
Millie had been waiting all year for the strawberries to bloom.
In her enthusiasm, she’d chosen to wear a day dress she’d adorned with several little strawberry buttons. Her rounded stomach was becoming harder and harder to hide.
Day and night, Millie tussled with whether she’d made the right decision marrying Franklin—well, really, not in the marrying so much as letting herself love him.
Mostly because of the dreams.
Sometimes she woke with the clearest image of a light-toned baby. And sometimes, with a darker one. Two images of two different futures, representing one singular family she loved so very much.
She loved her Italian father in what she remembered of him and she loved Mama deeply still, and what was more, she was proud of them both. And the people before them too, all the folks whose stories made a space for her own.
But despite her resolve and her love for her heritage, the world wasn’t so simple. And sometimes Millie wondered what life would look like should her child be born white, and what life would look like should the baby be born Black.
Either way, she felt as though only one half of her heritage could win out, and even now she grieved for the other half. Would she always have to choose one or the other? Could she ever publicly claim her mixed blood with the pride she felt inside her heart?
Something had happened the day she realized she carried life within her belly.
Her father’s murder took on a whole new meaning now that she herself was responsible for a new generation. And she loved this invisible baby with every fiber of her being so much that she was terrified, absolutely terrified, of what might happen. She understood now why her own mother sent her away to Alabama, and it wasn’t just to encourage her about the store.
In other words, Millie was becoming a mother.
So the strawberries, they were a big deal because Franklin’s mother had come down for a visit and Millie had been asleep when she got in last night. The strawberry pickin’ would be their first outing, and their first time meeting for that matter.
Franklin was always talking about how his mother loved strawberries, and Millie loved them too, so she supposed they had that to start with at least.
“Millie?” A woman stood several feet away wearing a beautiful but modest day dress, a tentative look, and a smile like Franklin’s. “I’m Hannah.” She reached out her hand.
Millie returned her grin, her nerves immediately settling amid Hannah’s warm presence. She pulled her mind from all her frettin’ and instead focused on the present—the woman standing in front of her. She stepped closer and took Hannah’s hand. “So nice to meet you,” Millie said. “You’ve raised quite the charming son.”
“He’s everything to me.” Hannah’s gaze clouded
, and Millie wondered what memory had come and why. The woman shook her head slightly, and her eyes were clear again. “You’ve made him so happy, Millie. I haven’t seen him this way since he was a child.”
Millie patted Hannah’s hand. “Would you like some tea and a biscuit or two while we wait for the aforementioned party?”
Hannah giggled. “The boy always did take life at his own pace. I see some things haven’t changed.”
“Just as tardy as ever.” Millie grinned, leading Hannah into the kitchen. She took the kettle from the stove and poured her mother-in-law a cup of tea, then offered a biscuit from the pan that’d come fresh out of the oven.
Hannah took one of the biscuits, pulling off a bite then blowing off the steam, and something about the way she did that reminded Millie of Mama. Millie felt both comforted and grieved by the familiarity.
“I’m so happy for you and Franklin,” she said, reaching for her tea. “Raising a child is such a rich experience. It requires sacrifice like nothing else, but oh, how it’s worth it.”
Millie poured her own cup of tea from the kettle. “That’s what my mama always said too. Though I have to admit, I’m not sure I really understood what she meant before.” Millie rested one hand on her ever-widening belly. “Or that I understand even now.”
“You will.” Hannah met her eyes with gentle kindness, and Millie knew then where Franklin got it from. “When the time comes, you’ll find your instincts and trust them, beyond what you want for yourself. You’ll always figure out what’s best for your child. Even when you want nothing more than to keep them fittin’ in your arms for longer than time allows.”
Millie nodded, trying to smile, but all the while wondering what exactly that might look like and whether or not her own heart would really know what’s right.
“Franklin tells me you’ve got a new house. Someplace South of Broad?” Millie took a slow sip from her tea. “He’s really proud of you and all you’ve accomplished despite the hand you were dealt. He said your family disowned you?”
“That’s right. The house used to belong to my brother William and his wife. Really beautiful garden, full of bluebirds, like something from a painting.” Hannah looked down into her teacup. “My family is quite wealthy and when I got pregnant . . . well, I wanted to do things a certain way, and they didn’t like that. So my parents said enough was enough, and they never looked back. I don’t think I could’ve done it without William’s help. I guess that’s one reason why it’s always been so important to me that Franklin knows no matter what, I’ll accept him and never stop loving him.”
Maybe it was the hormones or the conversation or the promise of strawberries, but for that moment, Millie desperately wanted to tell Hannah everything. But she hadn’t even told Franklin. She had promised Mama she’d keep it a secret. And now that Millie was becoming a mother herself, she was only beginning to realize how important it was to her own mother that she stayed safe.
Millie took another sip of her tea.
TWENTY-NINE
Charleston, Modern Day
Peter sat across from Sullivan at a Starbucks that’d been converted from an old bank, complete with an original safe. Sullivan’s idea. Peter would just as soon have taken an old park bench. He jabbed a straw into his iced tea.
“Any update on the code stuff? What are you going to do about the repairs? The clock is ticking on it, right?” Sullivan asked.
Peter groaned and stretched the tension from his neck. “Don’t remind me.”
“Dude. You’ve got a sweet old lady and beautiful young woman moving a store into the place.”
“Yes, I know.” Peter shook his head, slurping his tea. “That’s the problem.”
Sullivan picked up his iced coffee. “I’m not following.”
“If I kick them out to fix it up, they may get spooked about the extent of the repairs and leave town.”
Sullivan watched him for several moments as if trying to figure out what Peter wasn’t saying.
Peter set his cup down on the table between them. He had yet to speak the words out loud and, silly as it seemed, was nervous. What if he was wrong? “Millie is my grandmother.”
The coffee grinder kicked up behind them, and Sullivan turned to look. “Are you sure? It’s not the first time you’ve thought you located—”
“This is different. I found the button.” And as it turned out, Millie had been like a grandmother to him all along. The memories flashed through his mind like an old-fashioned photo reel.
Sullivan stilled. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
“She was at my mother’s funeral. And my college graduation. Even some of my soccer games in high school. I always thought she was a friend of my mom’s. I just . . . well, I never realized the connection.” Never recognized the deep wrinkles that frame her green eyes like a road map of her life experiences—eyes like my mother’s.
“But she has the matching button.”
Slowly, Peter nodded. “On her hat.”
Sullivan exhaled a deep breath, then tapped against the edge of the table. “You think that she came back here to check in on your mom from time to time.” Sullivan’s words were a statement, not a question.
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“Maybe. I guess it’s possible.” Sullivan’s phone beeped with a text, and he set it to silent.
“I just can’t figure out how Harper is connected to all of this.” Did she know about the buttons and artifacts, even now? Or did she simply think she was coming to Charleston to help Millie? Selfishly, he still hoped their first meeting had something to do with Harper’s reasons for returning.
The store buzzed with activity. A woman in a white dress walked by, carrying a drink tray full of coffees, just as a man entered the store with a service dog. The hum of the store blurred into Peter’s periphery as he thought about Millie. He couldn’t risk her leaving. Not this time.
Sullivan slid his phone into his pocket. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to put off the repairs indefinitely. I mean, code enforcement is going to return, right?”
“In ninety days.”
“So you’ve got three months.”
Peter nodded. He didn’t know why Millie was taking so long to admit her identity, but now he’d gotten himself into a predicament. He’d planned to explain all the code problems with the building as soon as she and Harper arrived, but then he realized the gravity of what their arrival meant. He couldn’t very well turn them away.
“Why don’t you just fess up and get the repairs done quickly?”
Peter looked through the window, out onto King Street. A mother clutched her little son’s hand as cars rumbled down the street. “I’ve thought about that.” He shook his head. It was just too much money. “My rental properties are doing well, but a building like this one? The cost of it would decimate my savings. This whole ramshackle building could keep deteriorating. What if it’s a money pit, man?”
Sullivan raised his eyebrow skeptically. “You think I believe you’re going to run away from this thing and give up that building? You, who once hand-pulled antique wallpaper from old walls like it was some kind of sticker sheet? Who saved an entire block of historic homes from demolition by proving the historical building codes protect them?”
“This is different.” This was Millie. The woman he’d been looking for as if she were a ghost in every old house from here to Beaufort. His favorite relative long before he realized they were actually related. The stakes were so much higher now.
Peter’s best hope at this point was that the extra projects he’d planned would provide enough for him to make the repairs little by little, in a way that was mostly undetected by Harper and Millie and would satisfy the folks over at code enforcement.
“You’ll find a way,” Sullivan said.
Peter shook the ice in his tea. “Well, I’d better hurry.”
Sunlight streamed through the window as Peter sat at the foot of his bed and pulled on his socks. M
aybe today would be the day Millie told him she was his grandmother. Now that he thought about it, her reaction to the wedding dress made more sense. . . . It’d been hers, hadn’t it?
Why had she come all this way and not told him the true reason? Was she deliberating whether he was worth claiming as family?
As his mother used to say, beggars can’t be choosers. And in this situation, he was definitely not above begging.
Peter tied the laces of his loafers and combed through his hair before walking the short distance to their loft. He had tried to start each day over breakfast with Millie and Harper, and now that he knew Millie was his grandmother, he had all the more reason to meet with them.
But when Peter climbed the steps and knocked on their door, he only saw Harper. “Good morning!” He straightened the cuffs of his grey button-down. “Where’s Millie?”
Harper held a teakettle. Strange. He didn’t usually keep tea in the pantry. “You startled me.” She was still wearing pajamas. More specifically, a grey sweatshirt and pants with little penguins holding hearts. She held the door open wider so he could step through. “Come inside.”
He decided not to mention that he noticed the pajamas. “Want me to put on a pot of coffee?”
“No thanks,” she said.
“Suit yourself.” He set his wallet and keys down on the coffee table, then went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of the water he’d brought over yesterday.
“Wait.” Harper set her cup down on the kitchen island. “You’re not drinking coffee either.”
“No, I typically only make it for company.”
“But you’re drinking water.”
“What’s wrong with water?” Peter unscrewed the cap and took a gulp.
“Uh . . . it has no caffeine.” Harper stood staring at him, gaping.
Peter shrugged. “Who needs caffeine when you’ve got fresh air outside?”
Harper groaned. “So you’re one of those people.”
“Why don’t you come with me today, and I’ll show you what I mean?” He didn’t know why he said it. He certainly hadn’t planned to invite her. But somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it seemed like a good idea.