It’s like this every time. I never realize how hard I cry until I wake up several hours later with swollen, wet eyes, and a stuffy nose. I drag myself up to bed. At least this time I’m home instead of the lot at Sullivan’s Island, and don’t have to get in a car and drive. I don’t bother changing into pajamas. There’s no one here anyway. Pulling the covers up, I let sleep claim me. Sleep is the only place where I can find solace because that’s where I see Ells. That’s where Ells waits for me with open arms, laughing, with her long curly locks all tangled and salty from the sea. It’s there she tells me how happy she is and not to worry about her anymore. And it’s there I know she’s safe.
Six — Kestrel
It’s seven o’clock when I ring the doorbell. About thirty seconds later, she answers the door. Whoever picks out her clothes needs to be shot. She’s wearing mom jeans. I swear to God. They look like they’re from the early nineties. My mother, who is in her sixties, wouldn’t even wear these things. And don’t even get me started on her shirt. It has ruffles on it. Up to the neck. Puritan style. Who the fuck wears ruffles? They’re so hideous, it’s hard to tear my eyes off of the damn things. She’s a sex repellant. And she notices me staring.
Her hand hovers over her neck. “Okay, so I don’t have the latest in fashionable clothing,” she huffs.
I’m not even sure how to respond to her. Her hair isn’t bad, if she’d only brush it. Unfortunately, the tangled mess looks more like an osprey’s nest than anything else. I wonder what would happen if it escaped from its elasticized prison of a ponytail? It might be a danger to society. And the glasses. I get it. She needs them. But choose a stylish pair for fuck’s sake.
“Right. Do you have any wine by any chance?” I really need to divert the subject here. Hell would freeze over before I could ever sleep with her. Getting a boner would be like resurrecting the dead.
“Oh, sorry. Come to the kitchen.”
I follow her through the house and take a seat at the counter.
“White or red?”
“Your choice.” This is a test. I want to find out what her taste in wine is. And I’m pleasantly surprised as she pours me a fine glass of Shiraz. “Very nice.”
A smile momentarily brightens her face and I’m struck at how it alters her appearance. But it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“What’s for dinner?”
“I thought I’d grill up some freshly caught seafood. I hope you’re a fan?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Great. When I went to the local seafood market, they just got some wahoo in. So we’ll have that, along with some stir fried vegetables and a side of pasta. How does that sound?”
“Excellent. Do you cook much?”
She grimaces and her tone flattens. “No. I, uh, enjoy it, but don’t bother much.”
“At least you know how. I’m hopelessly lost in a kitchen.” There is a bowl of chopped vegetables on the island, which I assume she’ll stir-fry later. A pot is already on the stove and she has the fish on the island, seasoned and ready to be cooked.
“Let me stick the fish back in the fridge and I can show you the furnishings so you can start assessing what you may or may not be interested in.” She walks to a drawer and pulls out a pad and pen.
We meander through each room and she flags what she wants. Then she tells me everything else is open season for me. Her daughter’s room is off limits. I wouldn’t want anything in there anyway; it’s all furniture for a little kid. What the hell would I do with that?
“Jot down what you’re interested in. Everything else will have to be sold at auction.” Her hand massages her forehead and I can’t help but notice her long, graceful fingers. She’s tall for a woman. My guess is she’s close to six feet—maybe five feet ten. I’m about six three and she can almost look me in the eye. Almost. And I hadn’t noticed before because of those damn frumpy clothes of hers, but she’s elegant. It’s the way she glides, and her long, lean lines. It piques my curiosity. I wonder what she would look like made over. Her dark blond hair is long and frizzy, but perhaps with some brushing and styling it could actually look halfway decent. Gray eyes stare at me. They are clear and pale. She’s caught me sizing her up.
“I’ll let you know exactly what I want.”
She leaves the room and I watch her go. God, that outfit. Could it possibly be any uglier? I need to clear my mind and decide what, if anything, I want to buy here. There are a lot of things to choose from. It takes longer than I expect, and I only make it through half of the house when she calls me to eat.
She’s set the table in the kitchen and I seat her.
“I hope this is to your liking.”
“Carter, I’m not picky and it looks delicious.” And it does. The fish is grilled with a dusting of seasonings on it and the vegetables look crisp and fresh. The pasta is served with a basil pesto; my stomach growls in response to the aroma of it all. She laughs a little and when she does, she looks passably attractive. Or maybe it’s only wishful thinking on my part.
My fork pierces the fish and I taste it. “Oh, hell. This is excellent. What did you call this?”
She laughs again and it brightens her whole face. I wasn’t imagining it earlier. There is a hidden gem beneath her distasteful attire and taste in eye glasses. “It’s wahoo. It’s caught locally.”
“I’ve never had it before but this won’t be my last time.”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
Mine too, obviously, as I inhale it.
“Had I known you were going to like it this much, I would’ve bought more.”
I look at my plate and then hers. And I laugh. “Carter, you must think I am deprived of food, the way I wolfed that down.”
“Actually, no. Maybe it’s my exquisite culinary talent that has you so smitten.”
“I’m sure that’s it.” The rest of the meal is equally as good, everything cooked to perfection. Carter knows her way around the kitchen. That’s more than I can say for myself.
“So, Mr. Hart, did you see anything you’re interested in buying?”
“Kestrel. And yes. Quite a lot. There are a few pieces of furniture I don’t need, only because I have a lot of things of my own coming in, such as couches and chairs. Unfortunately, I have some antiques as well so I have to decide if I want to keep those or buy the ones in here. What I may do is use one of the bedrooms as storage since I don’t need a six-bedroom house.”
Her already pale face becomes even more ghostly. The few freckles that are scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks stand out in stark contrast. Her tongue darts out and moistens her lips as she stammers, “U-use one of the b-bedrooms?”
“Yes. As I said, I don’t need all the space right now. It would only be temporary.”
She jumps in and rapidly says, “But did you see all the storage space in the attic? Why, there’s tons of it up there. I’m sure it could house your things with plenty of room to spare.”
“I still haven’t made my decision on the room.”
Her posture folds. It’s like watching someone get punched by an invisible fist. Everything in her deflates, like a tire with a slow leak.
“What happened to your daughter?”
Her hand trembles as she raises her wine glass to her lips and downs the rest of her glass. She doesn’t answer, but stands and clears the plates, her movements wooden.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, I return to look at some more of the furnishings. They really are perfect in here. I’ve taken pictures of the pieces that I’m on the fence over so I can inspect them again later. I probably ought to buy the whole lot of it, but I’ll make up my mind in a few days. When I get back to the kitchen, she’s gone. As I glance out the window, I notice her sitting out by the pool on a chaise. She’s gazing out in the distance at some invisible entity, lost in her own thoughts. It’s dark and chilly out with only one dim light on.
I walk out and say, “I’m finished looking so I’l
l be on my way. I’ve made a list, but I want to think about it. I’ll give you my final decision in a couple of days, if that’s okay.”
She stands and latches onto my hand. “Please. What can I do to change your mind?” Her ironclad grasp surprises me and I flinch.
Tearing my hand away, I say, “My mind isn’t made up yet.”
“I know, but I have a pretty good notion of what it’s going to be.”
“Help me understand about the room, Carter. Why?”
She half-screams. “It’s the only thing of hers I have left.”
“But it won’t bring her back.”
“It preserves her memory. When I walk in there, it’s like she still lives.”
“Don’t you think that makes it harder on you?”
“It makes losing her more tolerable.”
This whole thing is so fucked up to me. She needs to talk about this so I do something that I know she’ll hate.
“Okay, here’s the deal. You have to tell me some things. Where’s the rest of your family, Carter?”
It’s too dark to see the intricacies of her facial expressions, but I can get the gist of them. She recoils when I ask the question.
“They … they’re all gone.”
“What the hell happened? Please, tell me the whole story.”
She turns away from me and walks back to the house, head bowed. I follow. When we get inside, she heads to the bar this time and fixes a vodka and water on the rocks. She asks if I want one but I decline. Her drink doesn’t stand a chance against her. She slugs it down in several gulps.
She faces me and in a steady voice says, “My family perished in the hurricane four years ago. I was away at a seminar at Duke. Ells was with my mom and dad.”
“Jesus Christ. And your husband?”
“Never had one.”
“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” And I am. I can’t imagine having my entire family wiped out at one time.
“Not as sorry as I am.”
No wonder she’s a fucknut. And I thought I had it bad with my abusive SOB of a father.
“Right. I don’t suppose I am. Tell me about her.”
“No.”
My hand automatically reaches for my neck and massages the back of it. Then I shove my sleeves up past my elbows. I make a bit of a growling noise in the back of my throat. “Uh, yeah, so, bottling all this shit up inside of you has worked so well, I see.”
Her head jerks up and pale gray eyes land on my own. I didn’t notice before, but I guess when she was outside, she must’ve been crying. Her cheeks have taken on a sheen that wasn’t there before. Using the back of her hand, she swipes them dry.
“Stop judging me.”
“I’m not judging; only stating the obvious. Take a look for yourself, Carter.”
She’s silent and I am too.
Finally I say, “If you won’t tell me about her, show me her room again.”
She wants to run. It’s in her eyes, on her face. She’s afraid.
“Listen. I want this house. I know your secret. You’ve come this far, you may as well go the rest of the way.”
Suddenly, she stomps out of the room. I guess she’s had enough. Then, to my surprise, she returns, carrying the keys. I follow her up the steps. When we get to the door, she looks at me, blinking rapidly. Sweat beads her upper lip. I know what fear looks like. I’ve lived it for years.
“There’s nothing in there that can hurt you.”
Her features quickly morph into a mask of pain. “You don’t get it, do you? Everything in there hurts me. It shreds me to pieces. She should still be alive today.”
She dangles the keys from one finger and I take them. Unlocking the door, I open it and take Carter’s hand.
“Tell me about her. I want to know about Ells.”
Through a wall of tears, she tells me in a broken voice, “Her name was Ellsworth Carter Simon Drayton. She was born on a sultry day in August—the fourteenth, to be exact. She would be seven now. And she was amazing, beautiful, funny, spirited, happy … everything I’m not. And she was mine. And if I had only stayed home and not gone to that seminar that week, she’d most likely be alive today.”
She moves to the bed, sits, grabs a pillow, and brings it to her face. “She loved pink and purple. Ghastly colors, but she was a little girl, so that’s how we decorated her room. We did it for her birthday that year. Put all this crap up. I found all these pictures with everything that matched at Pottery Barn. It was so much fun and my parents were awesome. When we showed it to her, she said, ‘It’s a woom for a pwincess.’ She couldn’t pronounce her ‘R’s. And I told her that she was a princess, my princess. She was so precocious. Talked way before kids usually do and had an extensive vocabulary, too, for her age. She would pat my back for me when I was studying and I always felt guilty about being away so much.” She threads her hands in her hair and tugs on it. “God, what I wouldn’t do to get back those precious hours I missed with her. Do you have any idea what the half life is of the grief a mother feels for the loss of her child?”
I shake my head, letting her know I do not.
“Eternity, Mr. Hart.”
Carter jumps to her feet and runs out of the room. I hear them pound as they hit the steps. For the first time in as long as I can remember, the block of ice inside my chest, otherwise known as my heart, begins to thaw. No woman has ever touched me in the way that she just has. I’m left alone, staring at all the mementos she has of Ells, trying to understand the true meaning of each of them. I can’t. It’s not possible. I’m completely at a loss. Allowing her to keep this room as a shrine to her beloved daughter won’t let her put the past behind and move forward. But the truth is, how can she? Knowing what happened, I’m not sure I could either. The only person I could discuss this with is Gabby and I already know what her answer would be. I can be an asshole, but even I don’t think I have it in me to say no.
In order to give her more time alone, I wander around, inspecting some of the furniture and other items once more. Then I go and look for Carter. I find her outside again by the pool, drinking vodka. This time, the bottle sits next to her.
“Well, I guess I’m finished. Here’s what I’m interested in right now. I have my eye on some other things that I want to think about for a couple of days. Like I said, I’ll let you know, if that’s okay. I’ve taken some pictures so I want to look at them and then check my own inventory.” I hand her the list I’ve made. “You can store what I don’t want either here in the attic, or in the space under the house.”
Gray eyes seek out mine. “And the room?”
“I’ll keep it as is for an undetermined length of time.”
“What does that mean?”
That’s exactly what I’d like to know.
“I’m not sure, Carter, other than for right now, you can have access to it.”
“And our little arrangement?”
“Look, please don’t be offended, but I can’t take you up on that. I can, however take you up on a part of it.”
She looks at me warily. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain. I recently moved here, and I don’t know a soul. You’re born and raised here, right?”
She nods.
“Occasionally, I’ll need a date. Mainly for business functions. I’d like to call on you for that, because you can introduce me to people. I would assume being raised here that you’re connected to some of the Charleston business people I need to get to know. However, you really need to spruce up your wardrobe.”
Her features scrunch up as she says, “Yeah, I do know a lot of people and I can do that. As far as my wardrobe goes, my funds have been really tight, with the house and all. I haven’t bought any clothes since, well, since the storm. I’ve had to sell my mom’s jewelry and all her things that were worth any money just to keep the place going.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“But now, with the sale, I’ll be able to pay off all the debt so that will clear every
thing up. I’m going to put the lot on Sullivan’s for sale and when that sells I’ll be able to go shopping.”
“The lot on Sullivan’s?”
Her body sagged when she answered, “Yeah.”
“No house?”
“Oh, no. The Atlantic swallowed everything up.”
“Jesus Christ. Everything?”
“Yeah. The driveway and the rubble were all that was left behind. I had to have it all cleared away. But the slab is all that remains. I can show you if you want.”
“You’re selling?”
“That’s what I said. I don’t have a choice. I’m liquidating everything I own in order to stay solvent. If I don’t, I lose it all. Taxes have killed me. And honestly, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Your parents weren’t insured?”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “I loved my parents like crazy. But according to Uncle Foster, my dad was a brilliant attorney and an idiot of a businessman.”
“I see.”
“So, our arrangement. You’ll want me as a date for various functions?”
“Yes.”
She chews on her lips for a second, then says, “Okay, I can do that. And I promise to look presentable as soon as I can afford to go shopping.”
I want to ask her to fix her hair, but I hesitate.
“What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but your hair.”
“What about my hair?”
“Can you brush it?”
“I do brush it. It’s simply unruly.”
“There are things, you know, treatments and such, that can help with that.”
Her expression morphs into one of distaste. “How the hell do you know that?”
The Hart Brothers Series Box Set (Including the bonus book Sabin: A Seven Novel): Freeing Her, Freeing Him, Kestrel, The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart, Sabin: A Seven Novel Page 59