Not Quite Clear (A Lowcountry Mystery)

by Lyla Payne

  Philosophers have put forth the greater-good theory for hundreds of years, one that says the right thing to do is whatever will result in the most amount of good for the most people. Which is to say, if someone had a gun pointed at your child and their finger on a bomb that would wipe out Germany, and asked you to choose who to shoot, you should choose your child’s death.

  It’s a theory that makes ethical sense, but one that runs contrary to human nature. We’re tribal. We might know that the life of our child doesn’t mean more than millions of others, but we don’t feel that way.

  There’s no way for me to know how the ripples from this event will erode the future. Will Jack living do more good? Will the fall of the Drayton family from prominence and grace, if that’s what really happens, destroy things I can’t fathom?

  I don’t know. I don’t know what the right thing is, but I feel it. I have to protect my tribe, no matter what it means.

  There are twelve hours left before Mama Lottie’s deadline. I have a little more information now. There’s a desperate, foolish part of me that hopes it might be long enough to come up with a way to convince her that vengeance isn’t the answer, after all.

  The plan to bury myself in work on my computer goes down the drain when I come home to Beau sitting alone on the front porch swing. The sight of him punches me in the stomach, makes it hard to breathe and think and walk. There’s only one reason he could be here.

  I know it. I don’t want to face it, but I don’t have a choice.

  “Hey,” I whisper from the bottom step.

  “Hi.” He runs a hand through his hair. By the looks of it, this isn’t the first time. Light brown chunks stick up this way and that, very un-Beau-like in its disarray.

  Neither of us says anything else. He’s here to see me so it seems as though he should be the one to talk, but in the end I’m the one who cracks. It’s the weight of the moment. It’s pressing in on me like a thousand tons of dirt, and the only way one of those magic-sniffing dogs is going to find me is if I keep yelling.

  “Are you here to break up with me?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  My heart dissolves. Floats away. I’m losing something I didn’t know I wanted. Could have guessed existed, but now that it’s been mine, no matter for how short of a time, the idea of letting it go rips me apart.

  “Maybe…” I repeat.

  “I can’t believe you would lie to me, Gracie. After everything. All the talks, all the times I proved you could tell me anything and I’d stay right by your side. I just…I don’t know how to get past it. How to stop feeling betrayed.”

  “And I’m helping the ghost of a witch put a curse on your family.”

  “The funny thing is, that part is secondary. For me.” His troubled gaze meets mine, hangs on. What hurts the most is how hard this is for him, too.

  This is what it looks like when two people part while they’re still in love. This is what it feels like to let go of your heart while it’s still beating.

  I put out my hand, grab on to one of the pillars holding up the porch. Pray it can do the same for me. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you, you’re right. I guess I have some issues in that department. They’re not yours. You’ve been perfect.”

  “Not perfect, but I have tried. I’ve done everything I could think of to put you at ease.”

  Something inside me snaps. He’s putting this all on me, and maybe most of it’s my fault, but it’s not entirely fair.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you imagined in your head. I’m sorry that I can’t shift that fast, from breaking off an engagement with a controlling, manipulative, cheating man less than six months ago to a girl who easily trusts someone new.” Tears fill my eyes, falling no matter how hard I blink. “I can’t. I’m not there, Beau. Not to a place where I can expect you to be good, instead of expect to be berated and judged, made to feel unworthy. I’m sorry.”

  “Gracie…”

  “No, seriously. My bad for being a little behind the curve.” Anger rises up from nowhere, not pushing away my sorrow but sort of enveloping it. “You know what might have helped? If you would have told me the truth about everything.”

  “Pardon me? When haven’t I told you the truth?”

  I put my hands on my hips, glaring. This is easier. It feels better, to lash out. Even if I want to be hurting myself and not him. “Who’s Lucy?”

  He jerks as if I’ve smacked him, slumping back against the swing. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “When you were in the hospital. Birdie said she couldn’t believe we’d gotten as close as we had and you hadn’t mentioned her.” My hands clench, my determination to not let him off the hook flagging at his shell-shocked expression.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  I shrugged. “I figured you were so good about Will, about him still being in my life…if you had some kind of issue with an ex, you would tell me when you were ready. Or if I needed to know.”

  “You don’t need to know. It has nothing to do with us.”

  “I’m guessing it does, if your sister thought I should know,” I manage through clenched teeth.

  It’s an impasse, a staring contest, and this time I’m the one who waits him out. He puts his head in his hands, twisting to stare out over the marshy land that separates our yard from the river.

  “We dated when I came back here, after law school,” he starts, softly. “I was tired of being a Drayton, tired of being handed things I didn’t deserve. Looking back, it was when I first realized I wanted to make it on my own merits but hadn’t figured out how to put that into words yet. I met Lucy at a charity event my parents were throwing.”

  He stops, but the story is clearly getting started. I don’t interrupt, don’t comment, and eventually he heaves a sigh and continues.

  “She was there with the nonprofit, finishing up an internship year. Different from me, from anyone I’d ever met in any of my circles. She was passionate and dedicated and had a worldview that expanded to the whole planet, not the social structure of one tiny town.” He looks at me now, his expression closed off. Like he’s talking about someone other than himself. Someone else’s life. “I lied to her about who I was. Why I was there. She had such…contempt for my world, the same kind that had begun to infect me, and together we were a force. For a while.”

  “She found out the truth.”

  He nods. “It devastated her. Me, too. She took off, grabbed the first opportunity that came along, as far away as she could get. The Middle East.”

  His voice cracks, and my stomach convulses. Darkness descends over his face. It tells me this is no common breakup story and what’s coming is why he doesn’t talk about it.

  Why I never should have asked.

  “She was kidnapped, along with several young girls she was teaching at a school in Iran. No ransom demands, nothing. Not a peep for nearly three years now.”

  “Oh my god. That’s awful.” For him to lose her is one thing. For him and her family and other people who love her to never know what happened? Unbelievable. Unfathomable. “I’m so sorry, Beau.”

  “It’s my fault, of course. I chased her away. But I swore, Gracie—swore—the next time I fell in love with a woman there would be no secrets between us.” He gives me a thin smile. “So, you see, you’re not the only one with issues. It seems ours intersect at a very unfortunate place.”

  The frogs croak in the grasses, and bees buzz in the wind, the sound of someone mowing their lawn droning under the sound of our breath. I’m not mad anymore, but I’m more than sad. I’m something that’s such a tangled mess that I’m the one who’s going to need the name of that shrink Amelia’s been seeing, and soon.

  “What do we do now?” I ask, quietly. My feet want so bad to move me across the porch, to sit next to him. Hold him, tell him more lies, like how this is all going to work out.

  I stay put. So does he.

  Our eyes meet, and I know it’s over. Emotions c
log my throat, and I nod.

  “Okay, Beau.”

  “I’m not saying there’s not a way, but I need some time to think. Sort all this out in my head before you and I go making rash decisions.” He stands up, grabbing his suit coat in his hand. It’s going to be wrinkled all to hell. “We have something, you know. We’re not going to find it waiting around another corner, and then another. I don’t know how to make myself trust you again, is all.”

  He pauses beside me, leans over. Presses a warm kiss to my cheek. “I love you, Gracie Anne. That’s what makes this so damn hard.”

  I throw an arm around his neck, pull him close. “I love you, too, Beauregard Drayton. I want to beg you to stay but I won’t. Maybe we both need a little time.”

  He untangles from me. Nods. Takes a few more steps away, then more. Then so many that he’s gone.

  Gone. Maybe for good, maybe not. But for now.

  I want to cry out, to chase him down. Make all sorts of promises there’s no way to guarantee I can keep, but I don’t. I stay where I am, rooted to the porch, because if and when I go after him, beg him to forgive me and take another chance on the two of us, it’s going to be as a woman who really truly knows she can be the woman he deserves.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’m wasted from crying. It’s been a couple of hours since Beau left, based on the fading sunlight outside my bedroom window. Amelia should be home from work, but she hasn’t woken me. Or if she did I don’t remember.

  I fell into an exhausted sleep for a while, it seems. I need to get up, to find my laptop, and start trying to find something that will convince Mama Lottie to leave the Draytons alone, but moving across the room might as well be a trek across the Sahara. I don’t want to do it.

  It’s Beau that forces me into motion finally. If I can go back to him with the news that Mama Lottie gave up on the curse, that his family and mine are going to be fine, well…it would be better than going back with nothing at all.

  I grab my laptop but can’t concentrate. My head pounds from the hours of crying, and my stomach, though not hungry, craves some sort of comfort. Maybe all of me does, because I want to hug Amelia and let her hug me back so at least I remember why all this is worth it.

  Only if she doesn’t ask me what happened, though, because being able to talk about it without breaking down and throwing shit is probably a few days or weeks away.

  Henry’s tapping on the wall, ignoring me, when I wander out into the hallway and down the stairs. My knees feel wobbly but they get me into the living room. The scene there isn’t exactly the picture of normalcy and comfort I’m craving, however, and all the emotions rattling around inside me, rumbling like thunder announcing a storm, break loose.

  Because goddamn Brick Drayton is here. Again.

  “Are you kidding me? What in the hell, Brick?”

  He and Amelia look up, both surprised at the rage in my voice and probably on my face. Speaking of which, I’m sure it’s splotchy and red and pale and puffy and any other possible negative description of a woman’s skin.

  Amelia gets up, putting out a hand. “Grace, are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m dandy. Never been fucking better.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But that doesn’t answer my question. The hearing is over. We won. What. Is. Brick. Doing. Here?”

  I don’t say what I want to, which is that she is so not allowed to form an attachment to a Drayton when I just gave one up for her.

  The thought isn’t fair. It’s not nice and it’s not true, but rational thought isn’t my strong suit on a day when I haven’t been broken up with by a wonderful man.

  “Grace, calm down. He’s here with news. For both of us.” Amelia’s lips press together, a sure sign she’s pissed off at me but whatever.

  “He always has an excuse,” I mutter.

  “She’s right, Amy. I’ll go.”

  “Amy?”

  “Good night.”

  A look passes between them that makes me feel like a voyeur or someone accidentally witnessing a private moment had in public.

  He brushes past me on his way out, pausing at my side. “My intentions are sound.”

  I don’t respond because I definitely don’t have anything nice to say, and I don’t want to disappoint my Gramps any more than I probably already have lately. My heart hurts. He loved Beau so much; the two of them had been fast friends.

  Once he’s gone, I sink down into the chair my grandfather favored, breathing in the lingering scent of him. If it ever goes away, I’ll throw the damn thing out.

  “Grace, what is going on with you? Why do you insist on being so rude to Brick?”

  “Uh, maybe because he’s an asshole? And he’s not on our side.”

  “He is on our side,” she says, softly. “Can’t you see that by now?”

  I don’t answer. “What’s this supposed news he brought over with him?”

  “It’s not good. He tried every which way to get my lovely ex-in-laws to drop the charges against Mel and Leo, but they’re too pissed. They want some kind of vengeance on me, or whoever, so they’re going through with prosecuting.”

  The news, while terrible, hits my numb skin like rubber bullets. They bounce off, stinging but not enough of a surprise to penetrate. “You’d think they’d be tired of paying lawyers by now.”

  “They are lawyers, so probably not.”

  “Fair point.”

  “The good news is, Leo and Mel are both out on bail and at home. That gives us some time to figure out how to help them.” She grimaces. “Don’t freak out, but Brick wants to help. Kind of a double-agent thing.”

  “Why? Why would he do that, and how do you know he’s not trying to double agent us?”

  “I know, Grace. I do. He’s through with them. They’re awful people.” She swallows, finds the courage to look in my face. “Brick and I have a lot in common, and you’ve obviously noticed that a sort of friendship has started between us. Like a depression club.”

  “A friendship.”

  “Yes. A friendship. I don’t know if you can understand, but it’s such a weight off my shoulders to have someone to talk to who knows what I’m going through. Who’s been there and gotten out.” She reaches out, grabbing my hands. “You’ve been wonderful. Perfect. But it’s like I could actually see the future again once Brick started to share his experiences.”

  She’s been happier. More herself. As though she’s starting to believe she can conquer the world again. There’s no way I can sit here, look her in the face, and say anything that’s going to stall her upswing, no matter what my feelings are on Brick Drayton.

  “Okay. I’ll try to be nicer.”

  “Thank you.” She frowns. “But you’re avoiding my question about you. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just stressed about going to see Mama Lottie again, that’s all.” I’m lying, the very action that ruined everything else in my life, but I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.

  Not yet.

  “I’m going to eat the rest of that ice cream in the freezer and then try to find something on this James and his descendants that might change her mind about the curse. If not everyone knew about them, maybe she didn’t, either.”

  “Why would that make a difference?”

  I shrug, frustration rising like a tide. “I don’t know. Maybe she knew him? The boy was a slave, she might feel some sort of kinship? Not want to take out her anger on one of her own?”

  “It’s worth a shot. Do you want help?”

  “Sure, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

  I go upstairs and get my laptop, then come back down and grab the half gallon of ice cream and two clean spoons. We’re quiet. With only hours to go until Mama Lottie’s deadline, tension tightens into knots in my neck and back. As hard as I look, there’s very little information about any of the slaves’ lives during or after their time at Drayton Hall. There’s more than one James listed among their property in every accounting, too.

  N
othing on the Internet even speculates about Charlotta’s decision not to marry being a result of an affair and an illegitimate, mulatto child. Time is running out. It’s time for me to leave, to face the music, and I know there’s no point in this. She’s a ghost. Doesn’t she already know everything there is to know about the Hall, about her life there, about the people she spent it with?

  “I better go.”

  Amelia nods, bites her lip, but doesn’t look up. She’s still typing when I drag myself back up the stairs to change clothes.

  A storm is brewing out over the ocean, the clouds a deep ochre and a wet, salty smell on the wind. There’s a crispness to it that leads me to snag a long-sleeved shirt and jeans out of my closet, then throw on rain boots and a jacket for good measure. I’ll have to walk through the marshland, the way I did the other night, since Jenna’s not answering her phone, and doing it when the ground is wet, in tennis shoes, holds little appeal.

  I tell myself, over and over, that this is the way it has to be. I have to give her the final piece of the puzzle, let her do with it what she will.

  I am planning to tell her why the amulet wasn’t working at first, try to gauge whether she knows about the illegitimate line or can tell me any more about it.

  Amelia’s not in the living room and doesn’t answer when I yell good-bye. She’s probably in the bathroom, where she spends at least 80 percent of her time these days.

  The temperature outside makes me glad for my wardrobe choice. I climb behind the wheel, double-check that the Raven family’s DNA sample is in my bag, then put the car into reverse without thinking too hard. I’m sitting at a stoplight on the edge of town when my phone dings with an e-mail notification. The light’s still red so I glance down, then use my thumbprint to swipe it open.

  Surprise filters through me at the sight of the sender’s e-mail address—it’s from Travis’s parents. They never answered me, but with Clete striking out on his end of the bargain it’s slipped my mind. It feels as though a year has passed since I sent out the shot in the dark, hoping for…I don’t even know what. It’s only been a week or so, though.