“I’ll be fine,” I said, standing. “If the rain starts before I make it back to the house, a little water won’t kill me.”
“I’m not worried about the water. I just don’t want you to get struck by lightning. It would be a darn shame to find you and lose you all in the same day.”
He was kidding, but something about his concern was very touching. I hesitated, feeling utterly torn; I wanted to leave, but I wanted to stay.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine if you hurry,” he added. “But I hope you’ll come back real soon. Maybe even tomorrow?”
Hearing the earnestness in his voice, I actually felt a little choked up. He was my uncle, and he wanted me to come back. He wanted to know me, to spend time with me.
“I would love that,” I said, meaning it.
Impulsively I leaned down and gave him a hug.
Then I took off for home, running down the ramp and around the back of house and through the training area and up the path to Twin Oaks. The rain started when I was about halfway there, the drops fat and cold on my warm arms and face. By the time I reached the stone bench, the skies had opened and let loose with a downpour so intense that I was fully soaked to the skin within seconds.
My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, impressions, feelings—and a strange sort of joy. Relishing the moment, I felt the sudden, irresistible urge to explore the house—the whole giant place from top to bottom. I wanted to open every closet, every drawer, search through trunks in the attic and boxes in the basement and everything else in between. I was ready to see what was hidden in the shadows. I wanted answers—answers about Willy, my mother, my life, my tattoo, myself.
Nearly laughing as I ran through the torrent to the house, I wasn’t even worried when I saw that Lisa’s car was gone and I was here alone. So intent was I on my mission that I didn’t see the man standing at the back door until I was almost on top of him.
I froze just a few steps away, a sheet of rain forming a wall of water between us, pouring from the gutter over our heads.
TWENTY-ONE
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit,
She would commence again her endless search and endeavor.
I did not recognize this man, but he was tall and muscular and could easily have fit the description of one of my attackers in New York. Heart in my throat, I glanced wildly around, trying to decide which way to run.
“I’m Aaron West. Livvy Kroft’s brother,” the guy called out loudly to be heard over the noise. “Are you Miranda Fairmont?”
Relief flooded through my veins. This man wasn’t a danger; he was only here to help. With trembling hands, I pulled out the set of house keys, moving to join him in the tight space underneath the overhang.
“Miranda Miller,” I corrected as I fumbled through the keys. “My married name is Miller.”
“Got it. I’m sorry if I scared you. I walked over on the path, so I guess you didn’t realize I was here because my truck is not in your driveway.”
It took a few tries to find the right key, and as we stood there huddled together just protected from the rain, I could smell wood shavings mixed with sweat, hear the rat-tat-tat and whoosh of the water above and around us, and feel the heat radiating from his body. By the time I got the door unlocked, my senses were in overdrive—and not in a good way. Simply by virtue of the fact that he was a big strong guy, his presence behind me brought back the terror of my attack.
Once I opened the door and we stepped inside, my fear receded significantly. Continuing around the counter to the kitchen, I grabbed an entire roll of paper towels, tugged off a giant wad, and then tossed the roll to him.
“I came here to give you some estimates,” he told me as he pulled off a wad for himself, “but I’d say job number one ought to be those rain gutters.”
I dabbed at my hair, making sure the clip was intact and hiding the bald spot, and then I ran the paper towels down each arm while a puddle collected at my feet.
“I’m so sorry no one was here,” I said. “I was taking a walk and just happened to run into my uncle, who lives next door.”
“That’s okay. I meant to come sooner, but I got busy in the workshop doing a project for my sister.”
We chatted as we continued to dry off, and I was glad to see that he was obviously knowledgeable about woodworking and home repair.
“I can’t believe that much rain can fall that fast,” I said, giving up on trying to dry my outer shirt and peeling it away from the tank top I had on underneath. Carrying the button-down top to the sink, I wrung it out. I set my shirt in a wad on the empty dish drainer so it could drip there for a few minutes and turned my attention to my guest, suggesting that he take advantage of the rains to go up and explore the attic for leaks before doing anything else.
“I have no idea where the attic access is,” I added, “but I’m sure if we look around we can find it.”
He finished wiping the mud from his shoes and turned to me, his face suddenly bright red.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find it,” he said, his eyes quickly moving to the ceiling. “In fact, I’ll do that right now.”
Without another word, he moved from the kitchen and down the hall. Startled by his abrupt departure, I could hear the sound of doors opening and closing in the distance and then feet pounding up a flight of stairs. I was about to call up to him to wait for me when I caught my reflection in the mirror, and at a glance I understood what was going on: Both my white top and the lace bra I was wearing underneath were soaked through and almost completely transparent. Considering all this guy had seen, I might as well have charged admission and called it a show!
Blushing furiously, I made a dash for my bedroom. I was mortified, and I hoped that Aaron had reason to stay in the attic for several hours—or at least until the blush faded from my cheeks.
I stripped off all my wet clothes and pulled on a whole new outfit of jeans and my baggiest, loosest top. After hanging my wet clothes over the chair rod to dry, I took down my hair, brushed it out, and neatly put it back up again. I was getting so tired of this hairdo, but when I touched the shaved place on my head, all I could feel was a little bit of stubble and a whole lot of bare skin.
When I finally emerged from the bedroom, I was mortified to find that Aaron was back in the kitchen and hovering near the door, cell phone in hand. I knew he knew I knew what he’d seen, and for a moment I debated whether to say anything or just let it pass.
“I can’t find the attic access anywhere,” he said, all business. “If you don’t mind, I need to run right now. I think I’ll come back in the morning when it’s not raining to look around outside and see if it’s there somewhere. We can talk then about whatever other jobs you want done.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “Whatever you think.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He opened the door and ventured on to the stoop. Moving toward him, I could see that the rain was still pouring down outside in the gathering darkness. I asked if he wanted to wait until there was a break in the weather—or at least borrow an umbrella if I could find one.
“Um, nah, rain won’t kill me. And anyway,” he said, flashing me a shy grin, “I could use a cold shower. Evening, ma’am.”
With that, he ran out into the storm, past the row of garages and the shed, disappearing from view as he neared the path that would lead him home. Relieved to see him go, I closed the door, my mind moving to the realization that I was here alone for the first time.
Alone.
In my own home.
By myself, free to explore to my heart’s content without another soul around to watch or distract or pass judgment.
Feeling my earlier enthusiasm resurge, I decided not to waste another minute. Retracing the steps that Lisa and I had taken when we sought out the Bible for swearing our oath, I made my way to the front room where we had found it, flipping on light switches as I went. From there I continued on around the corner an
d forward a few steps to the main entranceway inside the front door. I turned on the lights there too, but many bulbs were either missing or burned out in the main fixture.
Despite the dust and the boarded up windows and the sheet-covered furniture, as I turned around and took my first real look at the interior of Twin Oaks, I was overcome with a deep sense of awe and connection—connection to my family, to my past. In its prime, the house had obviously been beautiful and gracious and grand, with a massive, curving staircase as the focal point of the entrance hall. To my right was an open doorway that led to a living and dining room. To my left was a large, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall. I paused to look in that mirror, knowing my mother had probably stood here and done the same. Slowly, I raised one hand, and for a moment what I saw looking back at me was not myself as I was now, but myself as a child. Startled, I stepped back and lowered my hand.
I could see it.
I could remember it—as clearly as I remembered events from last month, last week even. Closing my eyes, I focused, remembering that I was young, maybe four, and I was standing at this very mirror, slowly raising my right hand up and down. Nearby, people were laughing, a happy laugh that for some reason made me feel proud. The memory faded, but this time I wasn’t left grasping for some wisp of a feeling. I opened my eyes, knowing I had finally retrieved a real moment from my past, a moment from what was supposedly that blank slate inside my mind.
Feeling suddenly euphoric, I ran from room to room, flipping on more lights as I went.
“I’m home!” I called out to the air as I made my way up the stairs, opening my mind to whatever memories might choose to come flooding back.
At the top of the stairs, I moved forward to one bedroom and then another, each with its door that led to the second story balcony. Also on that level, flanking the hallway, were two sitting rooms, another bedroom, a bathroom, and a screened-in back balcony. Every room held furniture, some more than others, the finer pieces covered with sheets. I tried to decide where my bedroom had been, but nothing here seemed to have been set up for children. Feeling disappointed at first and then a little dumb, I reminded myself that my grandparents had continued to live in this house for many years after I was gone. It was no surprise that at some point they had done away with the child-sized bed and the little bureau or whatever I had had and better utilized the space for themselves.
Finally, I just stood there in the hallway at the top of the stairs, marveling that I had once lived here, that I had moved among these wooden floors in my bare feet, laughing as I ran a stick along the spindles of the staircase to make a clack-clack-clacking sound against the wood. I gasped, realizing that that was yet another memory. In this memory, as with the other, was the sound of laughter, and I hoped that meant that my childhood had been a happy one, despite the tragic way it had been cut short.
Sobering at the thought, I wondered where my mother had chosen to kill herself. With a shudder, I felt the air around me grow clammy, and in the distance, somewhere downstairs, I thought I detected the sound of doors opening and closing.
“Miranda?” a woman’s voice called.
For a flash, I thought it was my mother, calling to me from the grave. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, saw a dark head moving upward, and I realized that it was just Lisa.
“Miranda, girl, what are you doing up here?” she said, reaching the top step and turning toward me.
“Just looking around.”
Regretfully, I decided to end my explorations for now. I turned off all of the lights and went with Lisa back down the stairs.
“I brought you some supper,” Lisa said as we made our way toward the kitchen, my euphoric mood shrinking back down to size as we went. “Deena and I decided to eat an early dinner in town. The two of us have been tag-teaming Willy’s care for so long now, it was weird to both be out and away from the house at the same time—even if we were there to finish planning out the funeral.”
In the kitchen Deena was puttering around, straightening up, and musing aloud how I could have used up half a roll of paper towels in an afternoon.
“Our new handyman got caught in the rain and had to dry off,” I said, biting my lip. “Don’t worry, I’ll be happy to replace it with a new roll.”
“Good. See that you do.”
“Handyman?” Lisa asked, and I explained to them that our neighbor’s brother was a carpenter and fix-it man and that I had asked him to give me estimates on some general repairs.
“Not that I’m trying to rush you out or anything,” I said quickly to her and Deena. “I just need to get some estimates while I’m here in town.”
“Hey, like I told you, it’s your house now. Have at it. Doesn’t bother me.”
Lisa pointed out my meal in a bag on the counter and then bid us both good night. At not quite nine o’clock, it was a little early for sleep, she said, but she wanted to dry off and get into her pajamas before Junior’s scheduled phone call.
“You going into the library to talk, like you did this afternoon?” Deena asked her, almost sweetly.
“No, I won’t do that again. I’m allergic to dust. With all of those old books in there, I was sneezing for an hour, and I still have a terrible headache.”
I hadn’t even realized the house had a library, I said, but when Deena explained where it was, I understood why I hadn’t noticed it; to get there, you had to walk through the stuffy little sitting area that was down the hall on the way to Willy’s room.
I needed to make some calls myself, so I told them I wanted to take a look and would be back in a few minutes. As I walked down the hall, I dialed the number of Nathan’s parents, trying to ignore the closed door to Willy’s room at the end of the hall.
Nathan’s mom answered cheerily, but our conversation was quick because Quinn and Tess had literally just arrived. I spoke briefly to Quinn, who said the trip had been uneventful and that Tess’s fire ant bites were no longer hurting, just itchy. I thanked my sister-in-law again for helping out, and repeated those thanks to my mother-in-law when Quinn gave her back the phone. She assured me I was doing them a favor by letting Tess come and visit.
“She’s gotten so big since Christmas,” she said, “and she talks nonstop.”
“No kidding.”
I hung up, pausing to take in the sight of the cozy little library. The room was small, no bigger than the average bedroom, but the walls were lined with shelves of books, top to bottom. In the center was a grouping of comfortable chairs around a coffee table. On the far wall was a big window with a padded window seat in front, with luxurious pillows lining the cushions and the whole thing framed with maroon velvet curtains.
As lovely as it was, however, Lisa had been right in saying that it smelled dusty. Breathing through my mouth as I skimmed the book titles on the shelves, I was going to give Nathan a quick call as well, to pass along the news that Tess had been safely spirited away. But I saw that he had left a message for me earlier, just to touch base, saying that he would be tied up for a few hours and he’d try to call me later tonight. He said that in case we didn’t connect, I’d probably want to know that the security company had done the bug sweep and that it had come up empty. They had found the receiving device for the phone bug, but there were no other bugs present. Apparently, we were free and clear. Also, he said that his ceremony at the church this morning had gone fine, though from the sound of his voice, there was more there than he was telling me. Knowing I would hear all about it eventually, I called back and left a message for him, just saying that I was sorry about all of this phone tag, but I appreciated the news. I told him Tess was doing great at his parents’ house and not to worry about things down here.
When I returned to the kitchen, Deena was wiping the counter. I sat at the table and pulled the Styrofoam box from the bag, eager to see what they had brought me that smelled so good. When I opened it, however, I was disappointed and not at all sure if I was going to eat it.
“What’s wrong?” Deena dem
anded harshly. “Don’t you like red beans and rice?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, eyeing a giant sausage that lay atop a pile of saucy maroon-colored beans. “I’ve never had it before.”
Her scornful grunt was just enough of a challenge to make me give it a try. I unwrapped the plastic fork and took a bite, finding much to my surprise that it tasted even better than it smelled. I dug in, my hunger suddenly awakening with an embarrassing growl from my stomach. Deena continued to busy herself in the kitchen, and I wished she would simply head to bed too.
“You want something to drink with that?” she asked gruffly, and before I could reply she had plopped a glass of milk down on the table in front of me.
“Thanks,” I said, glancing at her scowling face.
It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered where she had been today: to the funeral home, to make the final arrangements for her husband. A surge of guilt and sympathy rose up in me, and I put down my fork and dabbed at my mouth with the paper napkin. Shame on me for being so self-centered, even if this woman was a bit of a pill.
“How are you doing, Deena? I know today’s errand couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“Ain’t like it was a surprise or nothing.”
I didn’t quite know how to reply, but before I could form the right words, she came and sat across from me at the table. Gruff or not, I had a feeling she needed to talk about it. That she did, just giving the basic details at first—viewing Tuesday evening, funeral Wednesday at noon—and then going on to describe the order of service, the flowers, even the outfit she had picked for the casket.
“Willy and I went over his last wishes a hundred times,” she said, folding and refolding a paper towel in her gnarled hands, “but I don’t know why I never thought to ask him what clothes he wanted to be buried in. I hope I brought the right choice. He didn’t own no suits.”
“You know what?” I told her. “If it were all that important to him, I’m sure he would’ve brought it up before he died.”
Whispers of the Bayou Page 18