by Hope Ramsay
“Now, y’all just pipe down,” he said in a broad drawl, waving at the people to sit. “Most of y’all aren’t from around here, but I do appreciate your interest in saving our island. My name is Bobby Don Ayers, and I’m in real estate.”
The man had a commanding way about him that said ex-military. The shouting crowd paused in their chant long enough for him to speak again.
“I make my living managing vacation properties. And here’s the thing. I agree with y’all that we don’t want too much development in our town. We’re not like Hilton Head, thank goodness.” He turned his gaze on Caleb when he said this. The politician seemed stunned that anyone would try to take his soapbox away.
“And that’s the funny thing, y’all,” he said, turning back to the crowd. “Because there’s a consortium of investors that have been trying to buy up a lot of sensitive land around here. They’re trying to do a deal to build some kind of big golf course with a huge hotel and a gated community, you know. Like they have down in Hilton Head.”
“Steve, call security,” Caleb said, pointing to the guy who’d ripped the drawings out of Jessica’s hands a minute ago. Steve whipped out a phone and started to dial.
“Let me cut to the point,” Bobby Don said. “I looked into this consortium, and it appears that Representative Tate is one of the investors. Imagine that, our own representative, who’s been up here crying crocodile tears about development, is himself trying to change our little community.
“And y’all know what? There’s one person who’s single-handedly trying to stop Representative Tate.”
The crowd hushed, and Bobby Don gestured in Topher’s direction. “That would be Mr. Martin over there, who’s been buying up every parcel of environmentally sensitive land for the last couple of weeks and paying an exorbitant amount of money to do it. So much, in fact, that it makes no economic sense, unless he’s on a mission to stop development in this town.”
Another somewhat louder murmur spread through the crowd. “So I’m just wondering if maybe this meeting is some kind of personal vendetta aimed at the one man standing in the way of all this development our representative says he’s so opposed to.”
Bobby Don turned to glare at Caleb and then turned back to the crowd, which was starting to buzz. “Now, y’all, I wouldn’t judge a book by its cover. So if y’all are looking for the hero in this room, it would be Mr. Martin over there.” Bobby Don shifted his gaze, pinning Topher where he stood. “And, Topher, those of us who actually live here still remember that time you took the Rutledge Raiders to the state championship. We’ve always been with you foursquare.” Bobby Don put down the microphone, and the meeting erupted into confusion.
Topher, his emotions pushed beyond his capacity to name them, left the room, walking as fast as he could.
He hadn’t wanted anyone to know what he and Erik had been doing over the last week, jumping in and snapping up land just to keep it out of the hands of Caleb and his people. Damn. He’d wanted to bring Caleb down in stealth mode.
He limped down the hall, his leg complaining as he contemplated the long walk back to the car. If the crowd came after him with torches and pitchforks, he’d be overrun.
But one glance back told him that Bobby Don Ayers was running interference for him. No one was getting out of that room, except for the one person who’d stood up in his defense.
Jessica.
Dammit, couldn’t she just go away? Couldn’t she just leave him alone? He didn’t want to talk to her right now. He’d never wanted her to know what he was up to.
“Wait,” she called after him. “Is what Bobby Don said true?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“No.”
“Why the heck not?”
Her words penetrated his chest like a bullet. “Because I wanted you to have your moment.”
“You what?”
“Your moment. Confronting Caleb. Standing up to him for the whole town to see.”
“You orchestrated this?”
“Hardly. But—”
“I quit,” she said. “I don’t want to design your house.”
“What?” Panic rushed through him. “Why?”
“Because I’m fed up with people who lie to me. All I’ve ever done is tell the truth.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t a lie. It was—”
“It was a lie. You didn’t tell me what you were doing. You let me go in there blind and uninformed.” Her voice broke. “I’m done with you. Hell, I’m done with everyone in this town.”
She turned and ran down the hall faster than he could ever hope to catch her.
She had finally walked away from him. It was inevitable, but now that it had happened, he didn’t think he would ever recover.
* * *
As Jessica walked away, her cousin Ethan Cuthbert, a deputy with the Magnolia Harbor Police, came running toward her.
“Representative Tate’s people just called. Where’s the problem?” he asked.
Ethan was a third-generation policeman and Uncle Joe’s grandson. As Jessica walked past him, she said, “Don’t run. The problem is leaving the building.”
She continued on, half running while her breath caught in her throat. By the time she found her VW and hit the road, numbness had overtaken her.
Fifteen minutes later, she arrived home and wearily climbed the steps to her front door, and then up to MeeMaw’s bedroom on the second story.
And that’s when the full weight of the evening’s revelations descended upon her. All those years of guilt and remorse and regret. All the self-recriminations because of what had happened to Colton when Uncle Joe had arrested him.
All of that old anger tangled together with a new fury over Topher’s dishonesty about his plans for Caleb Tate. The maelstrom swept her away into a rage. She picked up one of MeeMaw’s ugly porcelain figurines and smashed it against the wall. Then another. And another. Until there weren’t any porcelain figurines left on the bureau.
And then she stood there staring down at the mess she’d made, breathing hard until the tears came. They came like a raging storm, and it was all she could do to throw herself onto MeeMaw’s bed and sob until she couldn’t sob anymore.
She felt so utterly alone, lying there hugging her grandmother’s pillow. MeeMaw would be furious about what she’d just done. Those figurines were her beloved grandmother’s most prized possessions. And Jessica had just destroyed all of them.
She’d be bawled out. She’d be called names. She’d be sent to her room and locked in. She’d be…
No.
MeeMaw and PopPop had never punished her like that. MeeMaw would have pulled her into a hug and asked her why she was so angry.
She had reasons to be furious. So many reasons. And they all started with Daddy. She’d always been angry at him, even before he’d called her a liar and sent her away. In Granny’s house, where she’d lived with Momma and Daddy, approval came only if she followed the rules.
When she turned sixteen, she’d started to challenge those rules. When she’d turned seventeen, she’d simply defied them and made friends with Colton St. Pierre.
So maybe Daddy had a reason to send her away. In his perfect world, she’d been a big problem, a troubled teenager, even though she wasn’t doing drugs or having sex. But she mouthed off and she told him exactly what she thought about his politics and his intolerance.
And the sad part was that all she’d ever wanted was his attention and approval. He could have changed everything if he’d just given her a hug.
She squeezed her grandmother’s pillow and cried her heart out. There was no one left in this world who loved her the way MeeMaw and PopPop had. And she wished, with all her heart, that MeeMaw was here right now, to rock her to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Topher hardly slept a wink on Saturday night. His mind kept replaying the moment when Jessica had realized that he’d failed to tell her the truth.
He
could understand why she might be annoyed at him. But her reaction had seemed oddly over the top. He kept wondering if he could have done things differently. If he could have changed the outcome.
Sadly, he knew the answer. Nothing he could have done would have changed things. And now she’d abandoned his house. He wondered if he could call her and ask for her plans. Maybe he could find someone…
No.
He sat out on the porch in the early morning. It was shaping up to be another beautiful summer day, even though the calendar had turned to September. It was only 7:00 a.m., but up at the big house, he could see the activity through the kitchen windows.
The faint scent of bacon wafted from that general direction. Maybe he should go scarf down some breakfast. He was hungry.
But he didn’t have the energy. He just wanted to sit here and be miserable. Ironically, he was miserable about feeling miserable. The sun shone down, but inside it was raining buckets, and he tried to tell himself that he liked it that way.
But, in truth he was tired of the rain.
He closed his eyes, the bacon tickling his nose. He might have dozed for a minute because when he came back to consciousness, Jackie was sitting up on the porch rail, wearing a nice pair of blue slacks and a clean white golf shirt. It was Sunday; the kid was dressed for church.
“You were snoring,” the kid said.
Good thing he hadn’t been drooling too, because Jackie always called it the way he saw it. Topher sat up in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. He was exhausted.
“You want to tell me why you ran away yesterday?” Topher asked.
“I was on a mission from the cap’n.”
Topher stared at the kid for a long moment. Maybe Ashley was right to be concerned about Jackie’s obsession with Captain Teal. It was one thing to pretend there was a benign presence haunting the inn and another for an eight-year-old to leave home on a mission that took him miles away from safety.
Topher decided not to bawl the kid out. That wouldn’t help him understand the problem. So he asked, “What kind of mission?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
Oh, the kid was good. Either that or the captain was coaching him. Now, that was a creepy thought, but Topher chose to employ reverse psychology. “Okay. Don’t tell me,” he said.
Jackie hopped down from the porch rail and leaned back on it. “The truth is that the cap’n needs us to right a wrong.”
“Oh really? What wrong?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s his unfinished business.”
“Oh, so he can go into the light?”
“Right.”
“So, what? Do you think he wants everyone to know that Rose and Henri were in love?”
“Maybe.”
“So why did you have to go to Gullah Town for that?”
“I needed to find Henri St. Pierre’s grave.”
“What? Why?” Topher almost grabbed the kid by the shoulders.
“Don’t yell at me. I knew you wouldn’t understand. But it’s okay; the Rev does.” The kid turned and scampered away, back toward the main house.
Damn. Topher needed to tell Ashley about this, but she was going to freak out. Hell, she’d probably blame him for this turn of events. Maybe he should consult Micah first, just to see what Jackie had told the minister.
Topher stepped down from the porch and let himself out the side gate. He hobbled across the street and up to the rectory’s door.
The minister, also dressed for church in a somber gray suit and cleric’s collar, answered the door.
“I’m sure Sunday mornings are busy for you, but have you got five minutes?” Topher asked.
The minister checked his watch. “I’ve got fifteen. What’s up?” He opened the door and ushered Topher into his living room. The place was oddly empty, as if the man didn’t have much in the way of possessions or maybe hadn’t fully unpacked.
Topher sat down on the sofa and told the minister about his conversation with Jackie.
Micah nodded. “Jackie told me much the same thing last night. And I had to explain to him that Henri’s final resting place is probably in the black cemetery up at Oak Hall. The family story is that Henri was captured and enslaved. I don’t think that’s the truth. I think he followed Rose and Abimael when John Howland forced them to return to Oak Hall.”
“Okay. But what about Jackie walking all the way to your brother’s property? How did he even know where it was?”
“I have no explanation for how or why the child turned up there.”
“What should we do about this?”
The minister shrugged. “I don’t know. Ashley is determined to treat this as a psychological issue.”
“And you agree?”
“Jackie isn’t my child.”
“So you don’t agree. Do you believe in the ghost?” Topher asked, surprising even himself.
Micah shrugged. “I believe there are many things in this world that can’t be explained. And not just ghosts. There are miracles around us every day.”
“Yeah.” Topher stood up.
“You sound as if you don’t believe in miracles.”
“No. I think I might be more inclined to believe in ghosts.” He limped toward the door.
“That’s sad, you know.”
Topher turned and stared. “Being realistic about things is better.”
Micah shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“But I’ve never been religious.”
“I’m not talking about religion. I’m talking about faith.”
“Same thing.”
“I heard about what happened last night at the meeting,” the minister said as Topher reached the door.
He turned. “I’m not surprised given the way gossip runs in this town.”
“You did a good thing,” the minister said.
“So what?”
“More than one, actually. I know you’re worried about Jackie, but he’s going to be okay. And you’re part of the reason. In addition to listening to him, you gave him something to believe in for a while. But what do you believe in?”
Topher blinked. This was why he shied away from conversations with holy men. They always asked existential questions.
“I’m sure you’re busy, and I—”
“Did you run into Colton at the meeting?” Micah asked abruptly.
“No. I didn’t see him there.”
“Well, maybe he left early. But I know he planned to be up there. He was going to talk to Jessica because of all the gossip about you.”
“About me?”
Micah nodded. “About you and Jessica. Colton thought it might be a good time for him to tell the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
“That he’s the one who started the rumors about Jessica all those years ago. He didn’t want the lie to get in the way of…you know…things.”
Holy crap. Colton? All this time it had been Colton? Jessica must have been furious. Of course, that explained a lot about last night. “I don’t believe it.”
“I know. It’s hard to fathom. But he was really messed up at the time, and I guess he wanted to build himself up. So he made up a story involving a white girl. Not the smartest thing in the world to do.”
“So that’s why she was so angry last night.”
“Probably so. What do you plan to do about it?”
“Uh. Nothing.”
“Why not?”
Topher had nothing to say.
“Come on, Topher. You’re talking to a minister here. And I’ve been watching you for some time now. Any fool can see that Jessica Blackwood has gotten under your skin. Have you told her how you feel?”
“Why would she even want someone like me?”
“Well, I could think of a few reasons, but maybe you should ask her. It’s usually the best way to find stuff out. Now, I really do have to go. I’ve got a sermon to give. And wouldn’t you know, it’s on the topic of forgiveness. Sometimes the Lord is
so sneaky-mysterious it blows my mind.”
* * *
Jessica awakened on Sunday morning with her head pounding and her eyes puffy. She crawled out of bed and stood over the broken shards of her grandmother’s figurines, feeling empty and guilty at the same time.
She needed to hide the evidence of her crime, so she went down to the kitchen and brought back a broom and dustpan. When she’d swept up the mess and deposited it in the trash can, she stood in the middle of the kitchen trying to figure out what came next.
Obviously, she was going to tell Damon Brant that she’d take the job in Miami. But just as obviously, she didn’t want to let go of this house.
Even though it was falling down and as empty as her heart, it still represented the best years of her life. She truly did understand Topher’s wish to resurrect his grandfather by building his house out on the island.
She was luckier because she didn’t have to build anything. She could live inside this memory. All she had to do was stay in Magnolia Harbor.
But maybe it was time to go. There wasn’t anything left here but this one good thing. Maybe it was time to say goodbye to the house and MeeMaw and PopPop.
That’s what she’d do next. She’d go visit them for the last time. So she dragged herself into the bathroom and took a long shower before putting on a Sunday dress. Then she headed out to Heavenly Rest Church, where her grandparents had worshipped all their lives.
MeeMaw and PopPop had been laid to rest in the little graveyard beside the church. Jessica arrived well before the ten o’clock services and stood staring down at her grandparents’ shared headstone for a long time, remembering them. PopPop had shown her how to sail. MeeMaw had always had time to build sandcastles. She couldn’t think of one time either of them had ever said an angry word to her.
“I’m sorry about the figurines,” she whispered out loud, just as the organ music swelled from the little church in the grove of live oaks.
Members of the congregation had been streaming into the sanctuary for a while, and the music drew her up the steps and into one of the pews in the back.