“That’s not a movie we can watch with our children,” I said primly.
He looked so shocked I had to laugh. “No, silly. I’m not pregnant. Not yet, anyway. I’m just thinking about the future. When we watch happy, cheerful holiday movies with our pink-cheeked cherubs.”
“As they knock over the tree and spill hot chocolate on the sofa and whine about having to watch your sappy black-and-white stuff.”
“Probably,” I said, unfazed by his cynicism. “So what’s it gonna be?”
He gave a huge, martyred sigh. “How ’bout Home Alone?”
“Perfect.”
* * *
After Daniel left for work, I got dressed and walked downstairs and peered out the front window of the town house. The sky was the color of the carpet in our junior studio—dull gray. Melting snow was piled along the curb outside, and I watched as a stylishly dressed woman walked past in fur-lined boots, pushing a bundled-up toddler in a baby carriage. Why couldn’t I be the one out walking, seeing the sights of the big city at Christmas?
My suitcase still hadn’t arrived, but I wasn’t about to hang around waiting on them all day. I dug through Daniel’s meager wardrobe and outfitted myself for the weather. I pulled on his ancient black leather bomber jacket, rolling up the cuffs three times, and knotted a red wool scarf around my neck. I took the key he’d given me that morning, slipped an extra ten-dollar bill in my bra—just in case of an emergency—and went out to experience the city all on my own.
* * *
The subway entrance was at 8th and Broadway. I’d studied the New York City Transit Authority’s maps before leaving the apartment, and memorized my route, so I knew that if I took the R line and got off at Fifth Avenue, I would arrive at my destination.
I had the correct fare in the pocket of Daniel’s jacket, but I stood there, in a fear-induced trance, for at least fifteen minutes, trying to get up the courage to descend the stairs to the subway. People rushed by me, some of them deliberately bumping me or brushing me aside in annoyance. It was as though my feet were frozen in place. Finally, I turned to leave, my cheeks flushed with shame over being such a chicken-shit.
And then I saw them—a pair of girls no older than ten or twelve, in their parochial school plaid skirts and sweaters, swiping their MetroCards into the readers. “If they can do it, so can I,” I thought.
I followed the girls through the turnstile and we swam upstream through a stream of urban fishes until I reached the train platform. I took another deep breath and climbed aboard my train.
Chapter 15
Weezie
When I emerged from the dim recess of the subway station I found myself squinting in the sunlight and under a now crystal clear blue sky. The sidewalk was jammed with people, and it was all I could do to merge myself into the throng and hope that I was moving in the right direction.
But when I saw the tree line of Central Park and the granite walls looming ahead, I knew, without looking at the signs, that I’d arrived.
Everything about the scene there delighted me. I strolled the lineup of horse-drawn carriages, snapping photos of the drivers in top hats and mufflers and the horses, their coats gleaming in the sunlight, their harnesses and the carriages themselves arrayed with red ribbons, tinsel, and holiday wreaths. I shopped the street vendors, picking out an inexpensive pencil sketch of St. Patrick’s Cathedral for Uncle James, a sparkly holiday brooch for Mama, and a silly “I ♥ New York” onesie for BeBe’s baby.
For myself I picked up a pair of stretchy one-size-fits-all synthetic red gloves and a pair of obviously bootleg Chanel sunglasses with the interlocking C logo on the side picked out in large tacky rhinestones.
Suddenly ravenous, I bought a hot dog dripping with all the trimmings and a cup of hot chocolate from a cart, and headed into the park. Passing runners, Rollerbladers, and brigades of nannies and young mothers pushing strollers, I made my way to the Wollman Rink, found a seat on a bench, and sat down to enjoy my alfresco lunch and the ice show.
I stayed for what seemed like hours, watching the skaters twirling and circling, racing and swooping across the ice. The cold air left my nose red and runny and my toes, in their inadequate fake wool socks, numb. But I didn’t care. The prerecorded music floated out over the treetops and people drifted on and off the ice. Teenagers did crazy loops and improvised break dances to “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” and then the music and tempo changed.
I recognized the melancholy strains of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” just as an elderly couple made their way onto the ice rink.
He was tall and thin, even in a thick quilted black jacket, and quite bald, with a beaklike nose and an erect bearing. His partner was short and round, with a lime green beret parked at a jaunty angle on her silver curls. Her fancy white figure skates had red-and-green pom-poms and she was dressed in a red sweater, red tights, and an old-fashioned-looking calf-length green skirt that flared in the breeze. They twined their arms around each other’s waists and began a slow but purposeful dance around the rink, seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of other skaters who shared the ice.
As they built up speed, he gave her a gentle push-off, and she spun away, executing a creaky arabesque, and now the other skaters slowed or stopped to watch the show.
When they were together again, they were in waltz position, and I marveled as she glided backward around and around the rink, her eyes never leaving his face as they slid easily into a choreography they obviously knew by heart.
As the song drew to a close, he gave her another push-off, and now she did an abbreviated slow-motion spin, with him doing the same, twirling in the opposite direction. Finally their spins wound down, and at the exact last note of the song, she dug the toe of her skate into the ice, and still panting from the exertion, she slid into a low curtsy while he bowed and grinned and doffed an imaginary hat in tribute.
The other skaters clapped and whistled and cheered. Without thinking, I stood up, pounding my gloved hands together in noiseless applause. I found myself blinking back silly sentimental tears, picturing Daniel and me as that couple, our own arms intertwined, years and years from now, in this same magical scene.
The music segued into “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” and the spell was broken. Reluctantly I moved on.
I found the Plaza Hotel with no trouble, but as I approached the entrance, I noticed cabs and limos drawn up on the street outside, spilling out elegantly dressed women in full-length furs, clutching the hands of equally dressed-up little girls.
Obviously, I thought, they were going to some kind of special holiday tea party at The Plaza. Just as obviously, dressed as I was, I would have been glaringly out of place.
I was paused at the corner of Fifty-seventh and Fifth when Daniel texted me.
Stuck @ work. So sorry. What r u doing?
It was nearly three, but I found myself not minding nearly as much as I expected. I’d successfully navigated the subway, ticked off two items on my New York City bucket list, and I still had lots of Manhattan to explore.
I had to remove my gloves to tap out a reply.
Out on the town. See u 2nite.
Chapter 16
BeBe
“BeBe? James Foley here. I hope it’s not too early to be calling you?”
I yawned and glanced over at the clock radio on Harry’s empty side of the bed. It was nearly eight o’clock on Tuesday morning.
“Not too early,” I said, struggling to sit up. “Especially if you have good news for me. Did you find out anything about Richard?”
“No news about him,” James said. “But I think Janet might have tracked down that sister of his.”
“Cindy? Have you talked to her?”
“Not exactly. We can’t find a phone number for her, but with cell phones these days, that’s not unusual. We did track down an address for a Cindy Patterson who could be your ex’s sister, though.”
“That’s great. Is she local? Can you go talk to her and as
k her about Richard?”
There was a long pause from the other end of the phone, which I didn’t quite know how to interpret.
“The Cindy Patterson we found has an address way out in the county, on the Little Ogeechee River.”
“Great,” I said, yawning. “Practically in my own backyard.”
“The thing is, neither Janet nor I can possibly get away to go speak to this woman, not this week, anyway. I’ve got all these court documents to file before the Christmas break.”
“No apologies necessary,” I said. “I’ll go see her myself. Cindy and I were never what you could call friends, but it’s probably best if I show up at her door, instead of a lawyer.”
“I’ll text the address as soon as we hang up,” James said. “But I hate to think about you doing this by yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to take Harry into your confidence about this?”
I put the palms of my hands across my stomach and breathed in and out, and as I looked down, I could see the distinct rise and fall of my belly, beneath which a tiny foot was rhythmically kicking away. The prospect of visiting my hostile sister-in-law wasn’t a pleasant one. But I had no choice. I had to get myself disentangled from Richard Hodges, once and for all.
“I know you don’t approve, James. But no, I just can’t tell Harry about any of this right now. I can’t let him know his baby might not legally be his. You understand, don’t you?”
James let out a long sigh. “I guess I do,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”
* * *
The address James texted meant nothing to me. But after I plugged it into the GPS in my car and found myself on Ogeechee Highway, it struck me that I actually did know where I was going.
By the time I met Richard, his grandparents were long dead. But I knew he’d spent his childhood summers at Oak Point, their farm on the Little Ogeechee River.
I’d actually been to Oak Point a couple of times for family picnics, but when I pulled up to the weather-beaten structure at the end of the long oak-lined driveway that led off Ogeechee Road, the house I found there bore only a faint resemblance to the neat white-painted frame farmhouse I remembered.
Just the faintest remnants of white paint still clung to the farmhouse’s now-gray clapboard siding, and the sagging porch roof appeared to be held up by a pair of unpainted two-by-fours. A white van was parked in the shade of a denuded dogwood tree. Three mismatched wooden rocking chairs lined the porch, and as I got out of the car and approached the house, I saw that a huge calico cat was slumbering quietly in the chair nearest the door.
The previous day’s sunny weather was gone, and now it really felt like December, with low clouds gathered in the gray winter sky, and a cold wind whipping through the pine saplings and scattered weeds that marked what had once been Richard’s grandmother’s old-fashioned flower beds.
I tugged at my sweater to try to ward off the chill, and as I stepped onto the porch, the cat rose and stretched, and I could see by her distended belly that she was probably expecting, with a due date not far from mine.
Bright blue paint blistered on the wooden front door, and as I was about to knock, the door was jerked open, leaving my hand fluttering ridiculously in midair.
A woman with pale blond hair scraped back from her high forehead by a plastic headband stood in the doorway scowling at me. She was dressed in faded blue jeans and a new-looking Atlanta Falcons red sweatshirt, white socks, but no shoes.
“What?”
Apparently, my absence had not made my former sister-in-law any fonder of me.
“Hi, Cindy,” I said. “It’s me, BeBe.”
“I saw you pull up. I know who you are, but what I don’t know is what the hell you’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to track down Richard.”
Her laugh was short and nasty and ended in a racking cough. Her eyes watered and her face was pink when the coughing fit ended.
I glanced around the porch. “Do you happen to know where he’s living these days?”
“What do you care where he’s staying? You walked out on him, didn’t you?”
“That’s between Richard and me,” I said, trying to keep my voice pleasant. “I’ve got a legal matter I need to discuss with him. So, Cindy? I’m asking nicely. Do you happen to have an address, or maybe a phone number for your brother?”
She leaned forward and grinned, exposing a pair of freakishly short incisors, so small they were like baby teeth. Her eyes were a pale brown, with light green rings around the irises, the exact same shade as Richard’s eyes. I felt a chill run down my spine at the sudden family resemblance. I took a half step backwards.
Her breath on my face was hot and smelled like burned coffee. “Listen, BeBe Loudermilk. I don’t like you. I never liked you, and I never knew what my little brother saw in you. Richard, he got in some trouble, and you walked out on him, the minute things got a little dicey. Right? All that stuff about ‘in sickness and in health’—you forgot about all that, didn’t you? Just left him flat.”
Before I could try to answer her rant, a quavery voice called from inside the house.
“Cindy? Who are you talkin’ to? Who’s that at the door?”
Cindy rolled her eyes and turned sideways. “It’s nobody, Opal. Just somebody sellin’ crap we don’t want.”
“How do you know what I do or don’t want?” I heard a muffled clumping sound, and it was coming toward us now.
“She was just leaving, Opal,” Cindy said, and she moved to close the door, but a pale gnarled hand jerked the door inward.
The old lady wore a stiffly starched housedress with a pattern of bright red poinsettias. Her frizzy silver hair hung down to her shoulders in a pair of plaits. She had a green handkerchief pinned to the bosom of the dress, and her spaghetti-thin legs were encased in white anklets and scuffed brown leather loafers. She was pushing an aluminum walker.
Bright blue eyes peered out at me through thick-lensed glasses. “I know you,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “You’re that Loudermilk girl that married our Richie.”
* * *
“Hello, Aunt Opal,” I said, smiling widely. “Yes, it’s me. BeBe. How’ve you been?”
Richard’s father had died when he was only twelve. Was that when he’d gone bad? His mother, along with her two maiden aunts and Richard’s two older sisters, had coddled and spoiled him and spared him the trouble of ever having any real-life responsibilities—or suffering the consequences of any of his actions. Wasn’t that how it worked? When a son turned out badly, wasn’t it always the mother’s fault?
Richard had been the apple of his great-aunt Opal’s eye, and when he’d brought me home to introduce me to the rest of the family, she’d instantly welcomed me into the family. She’d be in her late eighties now, and I’d just assumed she was deceased.
“Bet you thought I was dead, didn’t you?” she said now, with a cackle.
I laughed. “Obviously, I underestimated you.”
She looked me up and down, and I already knew what she was going to say.
“About nine months gone, aren’t you?”
“A little less than that,” I said, feeling myself blush.
“Ain’t that something,” Aunt Opal said. “I always wished Richie’d had children. He was the sweetest baby in the world. Wadn’t he, Cindy? Wadn’t Richie a sweet baby?”
Cindy’s face hardened. “He was a handful. That’s what I remember. BeBe was just leaving, Opal.” She gently pushed the older woman’s walker out of the doorway.
“Aunt Opal? I’m looking for Richard. I need to see him about something important.” I blurted the words out. “Can you tell me where to find him? Or let him know I’m looking for him?”
“Richie?” Momentarily confused, she glanced at Cindy for direction.
Her niece’s reaction was swift and cold. “I already told her, we don’t know where Richard is. And if we did know, we sure as hell wouldn’t tell that bitch.”
“Cindy Lynn Hodges!
” Opal looked shocked.
Cindy maneuvered her aunt sideways a few more inches. “I was just talking to BeBe, Cindy,” Opal protested. “We were going to have a nice visit.”
“Not with her we’re not,” Cindy snapped. She caught the old lady under the arm. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing, Opal. Go on back in your room now. If you keep getting yourself all wound up like this, you’ll be too tired for church tomorrow night.”
Opal looked stricken. “I can’t miss service tomorrow night. It’s my turn to read scripture.”
Before she could say anything more, Cindy managed to move her aunt clear of the doorway. The next moment she slammed the door in my face.
So much for happy reunions.
Chapter 17
BeBe
Driving back to Tybee, I had just enough time to puzzle over my encounter with Richard’s sister Cindy. I hadn’t seen her in close to six years, and she clearly hadn’t gotten any fonder of me. But her behavior this time around was different.
In the past she’d chosen to ignore me, which is how well-bred Southern ladies deal with life’s little unpleasantries. But this time around, she’d been hostile, even rude. And I wasn’t convinced it was just because I’d walked out on her slime-ball brother. There was something else at work here. I was certain she was operating out of fear as well as good old-fashioned loathing. But fear of what? Me?
There was definitely something afoot at Oak Point. Something that would bear closer examination, and soon. I was determined to get some answers out of Cindy—or maybe dear old Aunt Opal.
* * *
The roofers were just clambering down off their ladders and the floor guys were loading equipment in their vans when I pulled up outside the Breeze Inn.
So the day hadn’t been a total loss—even without me there to supervise and issue dire threats.
Miles, the flooring contractor, walked over to meet me at the foot of the deck stairs at the new house. “We got all the floors stained and a first coat of poly down today,” he said. “We’ve got fans running in all the rooms, and if it sets up like it should, we can sand and do another coat tomorrow.”
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