by Lyla Payne
“Isn’t it obvious? We have to find the second journal.”
“Why? Why do I care about Anne and Jack’s descendants? I don’t have time for this shit.” And why does he keep saying we?
“Because you’re a historian, Gracie. Don’t try to tell me your brain hasn’t been working a mile a minute, wondering if you can hunt down Mary Read’s daughter’s progeny or the kids running around with Anne Bonny and Calico Jack blood in their veins. It’s the kind of unique contribution to history that comes around once in a lifetime, and you know it.” The expression on his face dares me to disagree. “You still work at the library, right?”
“I doubt it. Mrs. LaBadie can’t wait to fire me, and I haven’t shown up for two days.”
“You are terrible to that poor woman. I stopped by this morning and spoke with her, but the Freedmans had already informed her of Gramps’s situation.”
He talked to Mrs. LaBadie for me? I didn’t ask him to do that, and besides, maybe I wanted to get fired.
The frown on his face says he can tell he’s done something wrong, but he can’t figure out exactly what. “I didn’t mean to step on any toes, but it seemed like you had your hands full and I was stopping by to speak with Ralph anyway.”
“Job or not, she’s not going to let me anywhere near those archives.” I ignore his explanation. “She guards them like a rat with a chunk of cheese.” I bite my lip, mind reeling. “It would probably be as easy to track down Mary Read’s family online, with all the genealogy records available now.”
“You’d better do something,” he comments as he wheels me inside. I don’t have to turn around to know there’s some kind of jab he finds amusing coming next—the smile in his voice gives it away. “I doubt Anne’s going to leave you alone until you do what she wants.
The memory of her in my room last night, her focus not only undeterred but increased, tells me he’s not wrong. Aside from the draw of the historical contribution, getting that pushy, reeking ghost to leave me alone might be prize enough.
“Why do you think she chose me, though? Am I just gullible? Did she know I’m a loser with no life who had time to spare? Did she think I drank enough to not question the appearance of a dead pirate in my life?”
“Can’t say. Maybe she knew you’d care enough to follow her, or there’s some other reason that’s still a mystery—something we might learn later.”
“You know, that’s the second time you’ve used the word we.” I angle my neck around but still can’t quite see him. A cramp seizes my muscle and forces my face forward again.
There’s something about having another person on my side without having to ask them to be there that makes my heart feel squishy. It’s a strange feeling, one that hasn’t been around since my romance ended with Will. That light hope that accompanies a brand-new friendship-maybe-more. I’d never realized David and I missed that stage until things were over. Our relationship was heavy from the start.
“I have to admit, my curiosity is piqued over this whole thing. Not to mention that, even though you don’t need anyone looking out for you, I don’t mind volunteering.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m trying to decide whether looking from the front or behind is more preferable.”
That makes me laugh, and some of my depression and lethargy might have dried up had the sound of Melanie’s tinkling laugh not squirmed underneath Gramps’s door. It reminds me that now is not the time for laughing or letting my guard down.
It does also remind me that Beau may not be the only person on my side.
Mayor Beau spins me around so he can look into my face and gathers my hands in his to haul me to my feet. I end up pressed against his chest, strong arms helping support me and my bum foot. My mouth goes dry, and my heart tries its best to crack its way out of my ribs.
His fingers slip under my chin and tip my face up, where my lips meet his. They’re as soft as they were last night but taste like hash browns instead of syrup. The kiss doesn’t last as long, but that doesn’t make it any less exciting, and by the time we pull away I have to lay my head on his chest to catch my breath.
“Graciela, when things get back to normal I really hope you’ll find time in your ghost-chasing schedule to let me cook you dinner at my place.”
I manage a nod and then stand on my own two feet. He’s halfway down the hall before I find my tongue. “Beau?”
He turns, and the flash of dimples almost dumps me onto the linoleum. “Yes?”
“Could you come back after work tonight and drive me home to get some things?”
“It would be my pleasure. I’ll be back around six.”
His smile encourages my own and gives me the strength to keep it in place as I open the door to face my past. And also my family.
Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally left right after I returned from breakfast. She wanted to get some rest, and probably go back and hit the antique store she’d missed that morning. It’s good news, and the serenity of last night returns to Gramps’s hospital room. The fact that she’s going to see the hot mess that is my bedroom, and also the laundry room, gives me slight anxiety. Then again, it’ll drive her nuts, so maybe it’s a win.
Mel and Will are still here, and her parents are watching Grant so they don’t have to leave. It surprises me to find that hours have passed without me wishing that they would go, even though a nap wouldn’t kill me. It’s late afternoon now, the sun bleeding red through the flimsy curtains and Gramps awake for the first time since lunch. We’ve set up a game of euchre on his tray table, and as usual, Melanie’s getting the brunt of everyone’s frustration because she is the slowest card player in the history of the universe.
“For heaven’s sake, Mel, you’ve only got three cards in your hand. Pick one and play it before I die waiting.”
“Gramps, don’t say things like that. And be nice,” I chastise, hiding my smile behind my own three cards. If Gramps says no to the feeding tube, it’s going to be a blessing and a curse, these last days. Knowing they’re the last days.
Mel ignores us both, like she’s been doing for over half her life now, and after another thirty or forty-five seconds grabs a ten of spades and tosses it on my ace of hearts. Her gaze turns to Gramps, lit with a typical Melanie challenge, but even I recognize her mistake.
Mel’s not only the slowest but also the worst card player in the history of the universe.
“Melanie, Melanie, Melanie. How many years have we been playing cards? Ten? Twenty? I can’t remember how old y’all are anymore, and you still seem to be fifteen to these old eyes. They’re not too old to miss the trick you just laid out for me, though, sending a boy to do a man’s job.”
He tosses a queen of spades on top of her ten, which is what’s known as out-trumping. Will, her partner, gives an exaggerated sigh and throws a low heart, which gives Gramps and I the trick.
Melanie turns a glare on her husband, one that we’ve all had years of practice avoiding. “I didn’t have another spade, William.”
“And now they know that, too.” He grins and shakes his head, giving her a wink. “It’s okay. I didn’t marry you because you’d be a good euchre partner. Or a good spades partner, or hearts, or—”
“I think we get the point,” she snaps, but there’s no hiding the fact that her glare has turned into a smile before it could slice him open.
Will and Mel are spared the embarrassment of losing when a nurse—a new one—comes in to check Gramps’s vitals and give him another round of antibiotics and painkillers. They stand up and pull their chairs out of the way, then Will reaches down to help me up and onto the still-unoccupied second bed.
“We should get going, Martin. I promised my mom we’d be back before dinner—Grant’s a messy eater, and you know she’s always had a touch of the OCD when it comes to her kitchen.” Will shakes Gramps’s hand, holding on for a couple extra seconds. His blue eyes shine when he turns away, but he blinks them clear in half a heartbeat.
Our gazes meet,
and his sadness meshes with mine. We share a melancholy smile, and doing things with Will hurts a little bit less than it did the last time. Maybe it will continue to lessen if we keep practicing being friends again. Melanie kisses Gramps’s cheek before they leave and squeezes my hand on the way out the door.
Despite the shitty nature of the news over the past day, my heart is full and warm. There are people who care about me, even when I’ve done my best to make sure they shouldn’t.
When the nurse leaves, Gramps turns a tired but satisfied gaze my direction. “That William’s a nice boy. Always has been, but he’s not the one for you, Gracie-baby. Don’t go wasting your time regretting your decision there. It was a good one. Can’t take back the choices we done made, anyhow.”
“I know that, Gramps.”
“You’ve got to be patient. It’s not one of your strongest qualities, so you’ll have to work on it.”
I shake my head and give him the smile he wants. “I’ll do that. No more Davids.”
“Good girl. I’m not worried about you, you know. You’ll figure it out.” He looks me up and down, wild eyebrows knitting into a single caterpillar before he finishes. “You need to get home and shower. Get some fresh clothes and such.”
“Thanks, Gramps. I’m planning on it. Mayor Drayton will be back soon to grab me.”
“Never doubted he’d be back around, sweet girl.”
I ignore the implications of his statement. “Aunt Karen and Uncle Wally should be here anytime. I thought they’d be back already or I would’ve told Beau later. Make sure to ring the call button if you need anything.”
He avoids my stern look, because we both know he has a problem asking for help. “Bothering” people, he claims, even if he’s uncomfortable or sick. It’s the reason he didn’t complain about how bad his cough hurt until he collapsed on the living room floor, and I should have realized it days ago. I was too focused on my own dissolving life, my attraction to Beau, even Anne and her problems.
Which are my problems now, apparently.
“Seriously, Gramps,” I follow up when he finally meets my eye. “It’s their job to take care of you. Whatever else they’re doing to kill time in between rings isn’t more important.”
“Okay, yes. You’ve always been such a pushy girl. Like your grandmother.”
I kiss him on the cheek and take off, wanting to be outside and ready to go when Beau gets here. It’s weird, but a shower actually sounds amazing, and I’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days now.
I realize before we even leave the parking lot that Beau’s concentration on driving gives me a good opportunity to get the jump on learning more about him, instead of the other way around.
After the third question, about what he studied in college and whether or not he always aspired to political office, he shoots me a bemused glance. “Are you pumping me for information? You’re about as subtle as the Spanish during the Inquisition.”
“That wasn’t actually a questioning so much as an excuse to burn heretics at the stake.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Do you not want to reveal your secrets, Mr. Mayor?” The intention behind the question is innocent, but it sounds accusatory when it falls from my lips. It gives me a start, to realize that I’ve become the kind of person who assumes other people have secrets they’d rather keep—especially men.
“I’ll answer anything you’d like.” His response feels cool, like a brush of Iowa winter in this Southern summer.
“I’m sure you don’t have anything good and juicy hidden in your closets. People with the bad kind of secrets don’t get elected to political office.”
“Gracie, for Pete’s sake. Just because there are things you don’t know about me doesn’t mean I have secrets. The things you’re embarrassed about in your past aren’t dirty secrets, either, no matter what you’ve somehow started to believe in that maddening, pretty head. Everyone has a past.” His tone warms during the speech, which irritates me with its accuracy. “Even me.”
“Fine.”
“No more questions?” he queries after a couple blocks of silence.
We’re going to be at Gramps’s house inside of a minute, and all of a sudden I’m too tired to think. Too exhausted to come up with anything interesting, or even coherent. “Not today.”
“Would you like me to take you for dinner before we go back to the hospital?”
I shake my head, pushing the door of his SUV open and landing on the familiar, cracked concrete of their driveway. “No. I don’t…there’s not much time left, before. I just want to be with Gramps.”
It’s probably not healthy that I can’t say that Gramps is going to die. Then I decide it doesn’t matter one way or another. Soon, I’ll be face-to-face with the reality.
Chapter Seventeen
Gramps has been home a week and a half, and since he refused the feeding tube and therapy, time is running out. He sleeps away most of every day, and hardly anything but loose skin covers his bones. He’s eaten, of course, when he gets too hungry, but his cough is terrible afterward and he does it only when the pain in his gut becomes unbearable.
Not that he’s shared any of this, or complained much at all, but I’m not blind. Aunt Karen sees, and so do Will and Melanie when they stop by once a day to say hi. There’s a hospice nurse living in the main floor guest suite, a sweet old black woman named Lynette, and she says it won’t be much longer.
I’m lying in bed, trying to sleep even though the first streaks of dawn lighten the sky. Amelia hasn’t come, but Aunt Karen swears every day that she’ll be here soon. Each one that passes without her pulling into the driveway increases my anxiety over what’s happening in her life, because she can’t have changed that much. We both love Gramps with such endless ferocity that she wouldn’t miss this, not by her own choice.
If she is willingly missing the last couple of days with Gramps, then she’s no longer the girl I knew. She’s someone else entirely, and it’s going to turn my world upside down all over again to realize that not only have I lost her, I’ll never get her back. Not the way she was. The way we were.
Anne has been a daily visitor, and though it’s not exactly a comfort when she shows up, the day has started to feel incomplete, somehow, without her. She’s an anchor, a constant, which is a pretty weird thing to say considering she shouldn’t be here at all. She still wears her impatience like a second set of clothes but pulls it tight around herself now instead of trying to fling it onto me.
Gramps’s hospital stay sobered Anne, too. I’m not silly enough to think she’s worried, or cares about how I feel, but she might realize that she’s not going to budge me from Gramps’s side again. I’m not sure how much dead people know, but it doesn’t take a trained eye to know she won’t have to wait long.
The thought fills me with self-pity, so I sit up, grabbing my laptop from beside my bed in an attempt to do something other than think about myself. The clock on my phone says it’s only six in the morning, and no one’s arriving for the picnic until eleven. Lynette and I made all of the food last night, so there’s plenty of time to poke around the genealogy site I signed up for the other day.
Beau has been around as often as Will and Melanie, quiet but supportive. In the background. There haven’t been any more kisses, but the mayor’s ever-present sexiness manages to distract me anyhow. He’s doing exactly what I asked him to the first time we went out to dinner—be my friend. It’s making me love him.
The way family history websites are set up is giving me trouble, since they’re designed to work from the present generation backward, not the other way around. It’s harder, even, since Mary was a woman. Her last name wouldn’t have survived, and there’s a good chance Read wasn’t the surname of the cousin that took in the baby girl, since Anne’s diary suggests it was a woman, and she was probably married.
I give up after another unsuccessful hour and a half of scouring birth and death records in the state of Virginia during the appr
opriate time frame. There are simply too many to make it a simple task, but slow and steady wins the race, I suppose. Anne Bonny’s not going anywhere.
The dead joke only plays in my mind, but it makes me snicker at the old pirate’s expense. I’m still too chicken to be a smart-ass to her face.
In the shower, which I’ve been visiting at least every other day now, I decide it might behoove me to reach out to a professional, since genealogical research isn’t my forte. There are several professors at the University of Iowa who might be able to help, but it’s best to go local when the history is region-specific. There might be someone at the College of Charleston, or maybe one of the big North Carolina schools that specializes in this sort of thing.
By the time I’ve toweled off and picked out a comfortable pair of shorts and long tank top to wear out to the docks, the search for Mary Read’s family has fallen to the back of my mind. It’s after nine, and the smell of sizzling breakfast announced Aunt Karen’s presence an hour and a half ago. It took all of my willpower to not succumb to the siren call of bacon, but sitting down at a table with my aunt kills my appetite anyway. It’s strange, but as relieved as it makes me to not be doing this alone, I miss my mornings and evenings on the couch, just me and Gramps.
We’re easy together. Quiet, but companionable. Now, it seems as though someone’s always shouting, and underneath all of the noise, Gramps fades further and further away.
Today is my idea, because there was a time when Gramps loved nothing better than taking the boat out fishing in the morning and coming home to a picnic and his girls on the docks. Aunt Karen bitched about the logistics at first but settled down once Gramps said he’d like to at least try. Will’s coming a little early and bringing his parents’ Smart car, which should get us close enough to help Gramps the rest of the way.
Beau will be here, and so will Melanie and Grant. My aunt and uncle, of course. It’s going to be as happy as we can all make it, around the Amelia-sized hole. I never noticed it before, because when we were kids it was always the four of us, never one less, but our group feels incomplete without my cousin. Would it be the same without any one of us, such as a square that’s missing a side, or does Amelia’s specific energy form some kind of adhesive?