At the same moment as the operator answered, the sound of one of the French doors opening caused Olivia to glance around.
‘‘What number, please?’’ came the tinny inquiry over the wire.
‘‘There’s nothing we can do.’’ Seth’s voice, sounding the faintest bit testy, was clearly audible through the open door, although Olivia could not yet see him. Callie walked into the kitchen accompanied by a wave of humid air scented with honeysuckle, her face as pale as skim milk. She looked really old, far older than she had outside in the torch-lit darkness, and Olivia once again chided herself for staying away too long. She should have at least visited once or twice over the years—but then, how could she have done so without revealing how far down in the world she had fallen? If the family had learned what a struggle her daily life had become, she would have been humiliated beyond bearing.
On her last night at home, when she had screamed at Seth that she was going to marry Newall Morrison whether he liked it or not, he had warned her that if she did, the family would wash its collective hands of her. She would be on her own.
She hadn’t listened, of course, to his threats or his warnings. She’d been so sure she knew everything about everything.
She’d been so young. Just thinking about how young she had been made her throat tighten and ache.
And dumb, too. Definitely dumb. Eloping with a man she had known just four months was about as dumb as it got. Add to that the fact that she had run off three weeks before she was due to start her freshman year at Tulane, and dumb turned into downright stupid.
She knew better now, but of course now was too late.
In inviting her and Sara to visit LaAngelle Plantation, Callie had written that she was ill, without specifying the exact nature of the illness. Looking at her for the first time under a bright light, Olivia wondered just how serious that illness was. At the thought, she felt another icy pang of fear.
Had she found them again, this family that she had so foolishly spurned, only to begin losing them one by one? The thought chilled her.
Behind Callie came a man Olivia did not know. He was about Callie’s age, just a few inches taller than she, bald except for the short white fringe circling his head just above his ears, paunchy, and dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt tucked into a pair of neatly pressed and belted brown slacks. His face was jowly and flushed from the heat, and beads of sweat glinted on his temples and forehead. His left hand, square and stubby-fingered, rested possessively on Callie’s thin shoulder. He was followed into the kitchen by Seth’s fiancée, Mallory, who was saying something over her shoulder as she entered. Despite the humidity, Mallory’s blond hair was as smooth and sleek as if she had just stepped out of a beauty parlor, and her skin was perfectly matte. Her black linen sheath was unwrinkled, the big diamond on her ring finger and the smaller ones linked around her wrist sparkled, and even her crimson lipstick looked fresh. As the other woman walked by her without becoming aware of her presence, Olivia spared her an envious glance. Reed-slender, elegant, self-assured, and obviously affluent, Mallory was everything Olivia was not but wished she was. Only after Mallory appeared did Seth come into view, closing the back door behind him and locking it with a click.
CHAPTER 9
WHAT WAS IT SETH HAD SAID TO HER? HAVE you ever in your life done anything but cause trouble?
A dial tone buzzed in Olivia’s ear, telling her that her call had been cut off. Of course, she had never said so much as a word to the operator. Well, the information she had sought was obviously at hand now.
‘‘Oh, Seth, we should have stayed,’’ Callie said reproachfully to her son as the party walked across the kitchen. The bald man pulled out a chair. Callie sank into it as if her legs had suddenly given out, resting her arms on the table and leaning forward on them. The others sat, too, except for Seth, who stopped beside his mother to look down at her. He was frowning, and his hand closed tensely around the curved top rail of the Windsor chair.
‘‘Mother, they only let one person at a time into the Intensive Care Unit, and Belinda was there. She’s his daughter, remember? And Charlie was in the unit, too, as his personal physician. Phillip was in the waiting room. Carl was on his way. There is nothing you or I or any of the rest of us can do for Big John tonight that they cannot.’’
‘‘You would have stayed if I hadn’t been there. You just came away to bring me home. I know you, Seth Archer.’’ Straightening in her chair as if to deny the weakness she obviously felt, Callie tilted her head back to look up at him.
‘‘Mother . . .’’ Seth’s frown deepened. He, too, looked older in the bright kitchen light, Olivia saw. Time had etched fine lines around his eyes and deeper ones that ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth. His face was angular, with prominent cheekbones and a strong chin. His nose—the Archer nose—was long and straight with a faint bump on the high bridge. His lips were well-shaped but thin, and looked as if they scarcely ever smiled anymore. He was, as he had always been, deeply tanned, but there were glints of silver in the short blond hair above his ears, and his hairline was higher around the temples than it had once been. Tall, broad-shouldered, and lean, he exuded restless energy even at this late hour. There was an air about him of one born to command, as, indeed, he had been.
‘‘You do need to rest, Callie, you know you do.’’ This came from the bald man, who was seated beside Callie and who looked at her with undisguised concern.
‘‘You stay out of this, Ira! I’m not an invalid yet.’’ Callie glared at the speaker.
Seth made an impatient sound. ‘‘The fact remains that it would be stupid to stay there and exhaust yourself, when Big John is getting the best possible care and has absolutely no need of any of us. You need to take care of yourself now, Mother, not everybody else.’’
‘‘Just what I keep telling her.’’ Ira nodded in vigorous agreement, his gaze on Callie’s face. She narrowed her eyes at him warningly.
‘‘How’s Mr. Archer?’’ This subdued question came from Martha, who stood near the counter with the caterers. In her flowered robe and slippers, she looked as at home in the kitchen as a loaf of bread.
‘‘He’s had a heart attack, Martha,’’ Callie said, as though she could scarcely believe it herself. ‘‘They’ve got him in intensive care. I never even got to see him at the hospital. They let Seth in for a minute, then chased him out. Visitors aren’t allowed, although they will let one person sit with him.’’
‘‘Is it bad?’’ The words, instantly regretted, came out of Olivia’s mouth before she could stop them. Mentally kicking herself, she stood just inside the butler’s pantry, peeking like a guilty child around the doorjamb. As the eyes of everyone in the room focused on her, her greatest wish was to sink straight through the floor. Instead, she gathered her composure and stepped out into plain sight. Not for anything would she let them—Seth—see how intimidated she felt.
‘‘Bad enough,’’ Seth said shortly, his gaze raking her from head to toe. More than ever conscious of the deficiencies of her appearance, Olivia just managed not to flinch beneath that weighing look. She would be greatly changed from his memories of her, of course, and the knowledge was humiliating. Nine years ago she had been a headstrong teenager, convinced that the world was her oyster, sexy and flaunting it and head over heels in love with love. Now—what was she now? A twenty-six-year-old single mother, with five dollars and change in her purse and a lifetime’s worth of hard lessons under her belt: the very antithesis of the girl she had been.
Callie looked at her, her face softening. ‘‘Oh, Olivia, come and sit down, honey. What a homecoming for you! But we’re so glad to have you with us again!’’ Then, with a glance at the wide-eyed help, she added more severely, ‘‘Amy, you and Laura can go on home if you’re finished. Martha, is there any coffee? I think we could all use a cup.’’
The caterers, routed from their positions as interested observers of this family drama, loaded up their arms with Tupperware dishes
and headed for the door with murmured good-byes and plenty to prattle about the next day. Martha turned to the coffeemaker with a great show of getting busy. Olivia, meanwhile, reluctantly approached the table, all too conscious of her borrowed pink bathrobe, bare feet and legs, scrubbed face, and brushed straight hair pushed haphazardly behind her ears. Seth, Callie, Ira, and Mallory looked her over with very different expressions: Seth’s was borderline hostile, Mallory’s just barely interested, Ira’s curious, and Callie’s—dear Aunt Callie’s!—was warmly affectionate. Olivia smiled at Callie alone, and sat down at the far end of the table.
‘‘Is your little girl—Sara—asleep?’’ Callie asked kindly. ‘‘She’s adorable.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’ Praising Sara was the way to Olivia’s heart. ‘‘She’s a sweetie. And yes, she’s asleep.’’
‘‘She’s eight, isn’t she?’’
‘‘Mmm-hmm.’’
‘‘Like Chloe.’’
Seth ruthlessly interrupted this cozy exchange. ‘‘You and Olivia can visit tomorrow, Mother. It’s late, and you need to go to bed.’’
‘‘Were you always this bossy, son, or is it a recent development?’’ Callie asked with dry humor, flicking a glance up at him.
‘‘Somebody’s got to look out for you, since you won’t look out for yourself.’’ Right hand still closed over the top rail of Callie’s chair, Seth shifted his frowning gaze to Olivia, who could have answered Callie’s question about Seth’s bossiness but refrained in the interests of keeping the peace. ‘‘Olivia will still be here in the morning—unless she intends to run off in the middle of the night again?’’
This barb, and the look that accompanied it, brought Olivia’s chin up. For a moment she was seventeen again and under attack, and her gaze clashed with Seth’s. Then she remembered that she was all grown up now, for better or worse, and Seth had no power over her any longer. Her gaze dropped, and she smiled at Callie without deigning to answer Seth. Callie returned her smile with a gentle but humorously commiserating one of her own.
‘‘Mallory, are you ready to go? I’ll drive you home,’’ Seth said abruptly, his attention moving to his fiancée.
‘‘Anytime you’re ready, darling.’’ Mallory looked up at Seth in a melting way that told Olivia where he would most likely be spending the balance of the night.
‘‘Don’t you want coffee before you go, Mallory?’’ Callie asked. The welcome aroma was just beginning to fill the air.
‘‘Not tonight, Mother,’’ Seth answered for her, and pulled back Mallory’s chair. Mallory made a comical face at Callie, and stood up. Clearly she was more than willing to put up with Seth’s managing ways in return for his ring on her finger.
‘‘I’m going, too. Seth’s right, Callie: You need to go to bed.’’ Ira pushed back his chair and got to his feet.
‘‘If you two don’t quit mollycoddling me . . .’’ Callie glanced from Ira to her son in exasperation. Then she looked at Olivia. ‘‘Olivia, by the way, this is Ira Hayes, our local sheriff. I don’t believe you’ve met him. He moved here about a year after you left home. Ira, this is our own Olivia, about whom I’ve told you, come back to us.’’
‘‘Pleased to meet you, young lady,’’ Ira said with a smile and a nod. Olivia realized now that the white shirt and brown pants he was wearing were part of a uniform. The only thing missing was his badge.
‘‘I’m pleased to meet you, too.’’ Olivia returned his smile. From the look of it, Callie had found a boyfriend, and Olivia was glad for her. She hadn’t dated much while Olivia had been growing up. Her husband Michael had been killed in an accident at the Boatworks twenty-seven years before. She had married again, briefly, when Olivia was nine and Seth was in college, but that marriage had ended in divorce two years later. When it did, she had moved back to LaAngelle Plantation to make a home for Big John, whose wife was dying, and for Olivia, who had just lost her stepfather, Michael’s brother James. Olivia had always been fond of Callie, and Callie had tried her best to do right by her niece-by-marriage, but at going on twelve, Olivia already had the bit between her teeth. It was too late for any kind of real mother-daughter bonding between them, and Callie had finally had to settle for being an affectionate if occasionally disapproving friend.
‘‘Mallory . . .’’ Seth’s hand curled around Mallory’s arm above the elbow. As it did, his gaze just brushed Olivia’s face. Its coldness was enough to wither her smile. As clearly as if he’d said the words aloud, his eyes told her that regardless of what his mother said, he, at least, did not welcome her return to the bosom of her family.
‘‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’’ Mallory said with a laugh, and then smiled at Callie and Olivia. ‘‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Callie. It was nice meeting you, Olive.’’
‘‘Olivia,’’ Olivia and Seth corrected in practically the same breath. For an instant their gazes locked in surprise, and then Seth looked away.
‘‘Go to bed, Mother,’’ he said brusquely over his shoulder as he ushered Mallory toward the door. Ira dropped a quick kiss on Callie’s cheek, and followed. They exited, and Olivia, Callie, and Martha were left alone in the kitchen.
Callie sighed, then flashed Olivia a quick smile that did nothing to conceal her exhaustion.
‘‘Olivia, dear, we should have brought you home years ago,’’ she said, as Martha set a cup of freshly brewed coffee before her. ‘‘I wanted to, but Big John and Seth said that you’d made your choice, and we had to let you live your own life. I let them overrule my better judgment. You haven’t had it easy, though, have you? I can tell just by looking at you that you’ve had some hard times.’’
CHAPTER 10
‘‘HARD TIMES ARE PART OF GROWING UP,’’ Olivia said lightly, unwilling to admit even to Callie how salutary were the lessons she had learned since leaving home. Martha set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, and with a quick smile of thanks Olivia took a sip. The brew was faintly flavored with chicory and strong enough to melt the bowl off a spoon, just to Olivia’s taste. If that didn’t keep her awake, she thought, nothing would.
‘‘But we hate for our children to suffer them.’’ Callie’s hands were folded around her own coffee cup as if relishing the warmth. She reached for the sugar bowl, added a spoonful, and then glanced up at Olivia. ‘‘And I have always considered you in some fashion my child, dear. Now more than ever.’’
‘‘Aunt Callie . . .’’ Olivia began, then broke off as Callie abruptly rested her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. Alarmed, Olivia leaned forward, reaching for Callie’s hand and repeating on a more urgent note: ‘‘Aunt Callie?’’
Martha came swiftly forward even as Callie’s eyes opened and she focused with apparent difficulty on Olivia. Her eyes had a sunken look about them now, and her face seemed suddenly ashen. Her fingers felt cold to Olivia’s touch.
‘‘Aunt Callie, are you all right?’’
‘‘Can I fetch you something?’’ Martha asked quietly from beside Callie’s chair.
‘‘I’m all right,’’ Callie said, straightening and lifting her head away from the back of the chair. Olivia was still concerned: Callie’s face was even paler than before and her voice was weak. ‘‘I get to feeling bad sometimes now. I just need a second to catch my breath.’’
The three of them were quiet for a few moments as Callie took a series of deep breaths. Soon some of the color returned to her face.
‘‘Martha, would you go get my pain pills, please? They’re in my bathroom in the cabinet. I forgot to take the last one, what with everything, and I’m paying for it now.’’
Martha glanced from Callie to Olivia and nodded. ‘‘I won’t be a minute.’’ She left the room.
‘‘When you wrote to me, you told me you were ill,’’ Olivia said, still clasping Callie’s hand, gripped by a terrible fear that was quickly crystallizing into a near certainty. ‘‘What kind of illness? What’s wrong with you?’’
Callie’s gaze met hers
. Her color was almost back to normal, and the blue-gray eyes, although still sunken-looking, were calm and steady. ‘‘I wish there was some easy way to say this, but there’s not. I have cancer, dear. Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. I was diagnosed two years ago. The doctors said it was slow growing, and recommended that I simply be monitored, so I didn’t think it was anything to get too excited about. At the end of this past July, I went in for a routine checkup, and they told me that the disease had become aggressive. That’s when I wrote to you to come home. I should have done it sooner, I know. All these years that you’ve stayed away, I’ve thought of you often, but I always thought that there would be plenty of time to get you back here and mend things between us all. Now time has started to seem a little precious to me, and I didn’t want to wait any longer. I’m glad you came.’’
‘‘Oh, Aunt Callie.’’ Olivia’s fingers tightened around the older woman’s, and she felt breathless, as if she had just had the wind knocked out of her. ‘‘Are they treating you? What . . .?’’ Olivia’s voice trailed off.
‘‘I started chemotherapy the first week in August,’’ Callie said. She smiled a little. ‘‘The regimen is three weeks on, one week off, for six months. I actually felt fine until then, except for being tired. Now I feel like I have cancer. But it’s working, they tell me, so I can’t complain.’’
For a moment Olivia stared at the older woman in appalled silence. Then she burst out with: ‘‘I’m so sorry! I’m sorry you’re sick, and I’m sorry I stayed away so long. As soon as I saw LaAngelle Plantation—and Big John—and you—and, and everyone again, I realized how much I had missed you all. But . . . but . . .’’
‘‘But you were too proud to come scooting home with your tail between your legs. I know.’’ Callie squeezed her fingers. ‘‘It’s all right, Olivia. But it’s time to put all that behind us. There’s a good chance that I’ll live a long time yet, the doctor says. I’m going to do everything I can to still be around for Chloe’s wedding, and some great-grandchildren. But no more family rift! That nonsense has gone on long enough! I asked you to visit because I missed you and wanted to see you, of course, but also so that you could make up with Seth and Big John—and the rest of the family while I’m around to make sure it happens. I didn’t even tell them you were coming, because they’ve been so ridiculous about the way you left. But whatever happens with Big John—and I pray to God that he’ll be fine—we’re all going to be a family again now. And I expect you to do your part to make that happen.’’
Ghost Moon Page 6