Stargazey Point

by Shelley Noble

  Abbie squatted down to make herself the same height, and she motioned the two over. When they were in front of her, she said, “This is really heavy, isn’t it?”

  Slow nods.

  “Want me to show you a trick to keep the camera steady?”

  Joe nodded uncertainly, but Dani looked up with a smile so broad that it tightened Abbie’s throat.

  She faced the gazebo and sat down with her knees up in front of her and patted a place on the ground next to her. “Sit down beside me.”

  There was a moment’s tussle and they plopped on the grass, one on each side.

  “To get a good sequence—a good picture—you have to find a way to keep the camera steady. So if you don’t have a tripod or a bench or something, you can use your knees.” Abbie rested the camera on her knees, noticed that her hands were shaking.

  “Now the camera will stop jumping around as much. Do you want to try?”

  Dani’s eyes widened. A nod.

  Abbie transferred the camera to Dani’s knees, positioned her hands to give maximum mobility without blocking the lens with her fingers. Joe crawled over Abbie’s lap to get a closer look.

  “Now look through the eyepiece and pick a subject.”

  Dani’s eyes cut toward Abbie.

  “Pick the people you want to take a picture of.”

  “Oh.” Dani bent over the camera biting her lip in concentration.

  “Now gently press the record button. Easy now.”

  They reviewed the shot. Dani smiled, then Joe took a turn.

  “It works,” he said and gave Abbie a duplicate smile.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said, and there was no trace of the drawl now.

  “You’re welcome.” Abbie cut her attention back to the twins. They were intent and serious, both leaning over the camera and slowly panning across the gazebo.

  “Maybe you’d be willing to help with the postproduction.”

  Abbie stood. “I’m not really an editor.” The shakes had moved from her fingers to her legs, which was stupid. It was just some kids taking pictures. Nothing bad would happen if she helped them.

  She squatted down. “You want to try some close-ups?”

  Two enthusiastic nods.

  “Great.” She took the camera, and Dani and Joe scrambled to their feet.

  When she looked up, Sarah was gone.

  Chapter 14

  Around noon Marnie came down the walk, pulling an old red wagon behind her.

  “Lunch,” she announced. She found a flat place on the lawn and began opening containers and laying them out on the grass. “Jerome, clean up these children and let ’em take a break.”

  Everyone moved at once.

  “Mind your manners,” Jerome ordered in a calm round tenor. The kids stopped where they were.

  “Now you all line up and put down your paintbrushes on that piece of cardboard there. Then you go over to the hose and Grace will make sure you get washed up good. Then you go over and wait your turn for Miss Marnie to hand you somethin’ to eat.”

  There was a minor tussle before they all lined up to deposit their brushes and get their hands washed. Within minutes they were all sitting in the grass eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking red Kool-Aid.

  “Best Millie could do on short notice,” Marnie said, handing Abbie a sandwich.

  “Well, tell her thank you; they’re gobbling it up without a complaint.”

  “I expect they’re glad to get it.”

  “Sarah said most of them are in foster care. That’s a lot of kids for such a small town.”

  “Foster care, ha. Some of them, like Dani and Joe, live with relatives or with a working parent who leaves them with friends. What constitutes family isn’t always cut and dried in these parts. Just suffice it to say, none of them is going to turn down a free meal.”

  Abbie watched the children dig into their sandwiches, some eating from one corner to the other. Some eating a crescent out from top to bottom until the edges flopped over. Joe started in the middle making a big hole that he looked through, then he laughed so hard he fell over onto the grass.

  Abbie smiled, caught herself. She was not ready to get involved with any children. Even though she had to admit she was intrigued by what Marnie had said about how they lived. Had they fallen through the cracks of governmental support systems? Or had they avoided them on purpose.

  Whichever it was, at least they had a nurturing place to go after school and on weekends. Though she did wonder who would take over when Sarah returned to her work in New York. It would be hard to find someone to fill her shoes.

  After lunch, the kids filed by Marnie and dropped their trash into the brown grocery bag she held out. They were less than enthusiastic about returning to painting, and Abbie saw more than one yawn.

  Jerome chose one of the older girls to take the younger ones back to the community center. That left two girls and two boys to finish the job.

  Joe and Dani lay in the grass, the heavy camera held between them, fast asleep. But when Jerome woke them, they clung to the camera and groggily refused to leave.

  In the quieter atmosphere, the gazebo got its final coat of whitewash while Abbie sat on the grass watching. Joe and Dani sat beside her, the camera going on and off as they filmed each other’s feet, a line of ants, and what they swore was an alligator, but which on closer inspection turned out to be a stick that had washed up from the tide.

  One of the older girls began to sing in a contralto, a beautiful melody that Abbie assumed was an old folk tune until she began to pick out the words “ . . . a long and winding road . . .”

  Abbie listened for a while then turned Joe and Dani over to Jerome and made her way back to the house. No one was in the kitchen, but the Kool-Aid containers sat unwashed in the sink.

  She pushed up her sleeves and washed out the two containers, thinking she should make a contribution to the community center in exchange for their help, their very messy help, today. The gazebo was mostly finished though there seemed to be as much paint on the grass as on the structure.

  She dried the Kool-Aid containers and briefly considered going into town for a latte, but she settled for a cup of instant coffee.

  Marnie came in while Abbie sat at the table drinking her less-than-satisfying brew.

  “Instant?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “I only wanted a cup so it didn’t seem like it was worth getting out the percolator.”

  “We actually had a Mr. Coffee, but it gave up the ghost months ago. Can never remember to pick up a new one when I go out.” She poured a cup of water from the kettle and added some instant coffee.

  Abbie made a mental note to buy a coffeepot when she went into town next.

  There was a quiet knock at the back door.

  “I’ll get it,” Marnie said. She returned a second later.

  “Somebody for you,” she said seriously.

  Abbie went to the door, saw no one, and opened the door.

  Dani and Joe stood at the bottom of the steps, both holding the video camera.

  “Miss Sarah said for you to keep this for us,” Dani said. They thrust the camera toward Abbie. She grabbed for it as it wobbled in their small hands.

  “Thank you. Did she say what I was supposed to do with it?”

  They shook their heads, so synchronized to be almost funny. “Jus’ we s’pposed to give it to you,” Joe mumbled.

  “I’ll take care of it for you and bring it by the center tomorrow, okay with you?”

  The heads bobbed up and down simultaneously. Then they broke and ran around the house and out of sight.

  Abbie looked around—no Sarah, no Jerome, just a white gazebo sitting in the sun.

  She would take the camera back, but if Sarah thought she was going to help with the filming, she could think a
gain.

  Abbie fell into bed exhausted that night, which was odd, since she had done very little work during the day, just hung out with the kids. She slept soundly until morning when the slamming of a car door woke her up and she heard Millie greeting the Oakleys, who took her to church every Sunday.

  She showered and dressed and went downstairs, intending to return the camera and walk home again while everyone was at breakfast or in church.

  The town was deserted, and it occurred to her that the community center would probably be locked.

  She crossed the tarmac and tried the door. It opened. She stuck her head through the opening. “Sarah? Are you here?”

  No one answered, and no lights shone from the back. Abbie stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  She carried the camera back to the video room she’d seen the other day. The room was dark since the only window opened onto the narrow walkway that ran between the center and the carousel.

  She put the camera on the work shelf and looked for a piece of paper to leave a note. Smiled when she saw an old cassette recorder that reminded her of one her mother had saved from college. Out of curiosity she pushed the play button.

  “I come here from across the water up from Beaufort. My fambly raised hogs. But my mama brung us boys over this way where her boyfriend ran the motel out on Highway 17. It ain’t there no more.” She pushed stop. No wonder Sarah was having trouble focusing the children.

  She found a tablet and a grease pen. Wrote, Brought your cam back. Got some interesting footage. Abbie.

  She folded the note and tented it on top of the camera.

  “You lookin’ for somethin?”

  Abbie cut back a screech. “Who’s there?”

  Ervina stepped into the doorway.

  “Ervina, you startled me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I was returning the camera. The twins were using it yesterday and left it at the gazebo. I was just leaving a note for Sarah.”

  Ervina cackled a laugh. It sent gooseflesh up Abbie’s arms. Of course from what she’d seen of Ervina and what Sarah had told her, she was pretty sure that’s just what Ervina intended.

  They stood looking each other over. Ervina wasn’t exactly short or tall, not even medium. It was hard to describe her, except her hair was gray and cornrowed close to her head. Her skin also had a grayish tinge. Old age or bad diet. She was dressed in an old housedress that buttoned up the front and was soft and nearly transparent with washing.

  Abbie smiled. “Could you please tell Sarah I came by?”

  “You not gonna get free if you keep acting this way.”

  “What way?” The words escaped before she could stop them.

  “You stuck.”

  “Well. I’ll try harder.” She forced another smile and tried to squeeze past the old woman, who was blocking the doorway.

  “Cain’t get there in a hurry.”

  Abbie sighed. She knew Ervina wasn’t talking about her walk home, but Abbie had no intention of being the subject of her arcane folk wisdom.

  “Good to see you.” And though she hadn’t seen Ervina move, the doorway was clear. “Bye.” Abbie stepped into the hallway and headed for the front door.

  “Girl, you so busy lookin’ behind you, you cain’t see what’s up ahead.”

  Abbie stopped, turned, gave Ervina a steely look. “That’s not what my therapist said.”

  Ervina spit. “Man’s a fool.”

  Abbie couldn’t agree more, but she wasn’t about to say so.

  “The only person fixin’ you is gonna be you.”

  Abbie gave up trying to escape. She sat down on the arm of a sagging easy chair. “I’m not doing such a good job of it.”

  “No, you ain’t.” Ervina shuffled across the floor until she was standing in front of Abbie. She leaned over and squinted into Abbie’s eyes. “You holdin’ down that poor man’s soul with yo’ anger and yo’ grief. You need to let him go.”

  Abbie was so stunned she could barely breathe. “It’s not like that. You can’t hold on to someone when he’s dead.” But he can hold on to you.

  “He don’t want’chu, girl,” Ervina said. “He’s got a better place he needs goin’ to. You’re bein’ selfish. Let him go to where he belongs.”

  God, those betraying tears were building at the back of her eyes, just waiting to spill over.

  “Let him. Go.” Ervina leaned even closer, reached out, and touched Beau’s star with one gnarled finger. “You won’t get lost.” She moved away. “Sarah’s here.” She shuffled to the door and opened it just as Sarah reached for the doorknob.

  “Jeez, Granny E. What are you doing here?”

  “Just came to have a talk. I’m goin’ home now.” And she went out the door.

  Sarah saw Abbie sitting on the edge of the chair. “Oh, shit. Ervina’s been practicing her conjure, hasn’t she?”

  “How—”

  Sarah waved her hand. “I’ve seen that look on the faces of some of her other victims.”

  Abbie ran a hand over her mouth. “I’m afraid she was pretty on target.”

  “Yeah, she tends to be.”

  “But you don’t believe in her . . . whatever you want to call it.”

  “Gift? Powers? Bullshit? Hell, I don’t know. Actually I think it’s fascinating. Worthy of a dissertation; I just wish I wasn’t in line to inherit whatever it is.” She shuddered. “Okay, I just weirded myself out. What do you say we run over to Penny’s and have some lunch. Then we can discuss a proposition I have in mind.”

  “Lunch sounds great. I’m not so sure about the proposition.”

  “Hey, my kids painted your gazebo, you owe us.” Sarah grinned.

  She was as sure of getting Abbie to agree as Ervina was about Abbie’s holding on to Werner. They were both right. It was time Abbie started looking forward.

  “My treat,” Abbie said.

  “Oh, no. Don’t think you can buy me off that easy.”

  Abbie laughed. “Fine. You buy.”

  “Dutch treat. Come on. We want to beat the after-church crowd.” Sarah led the way, stopping only to lock the front door.

  “Your door was unlocked when I came this morning,” Abbie told her. “I left the video cam the twins were using in the media room.”

  Sarah let out an over the top guffaw. “Media room. Love it.”

  “Couldn’t you get a grant or something?”

  Sarah gave her a look. “We’re trying to keep a low profile. Once you ask the government for something, they slap you with a bunch of rules and regulations so that it’s impossible to get anything done. We’d be building a handicap ramp, and hardwiring smoke detectors, filling out forms to get, then keep, our not-for-profit status, get regulated by a bunch of state politicians who never even heard of Stargazey Point much less give two shits about anything but bringing more tourism to South Carolina. And the kids get lost in the shuffle.”

  “Feel strongly about this, do you?”

  Sarah grinned. “Ya think? We’re content just to scratch along.”

  They passed the carousel where sounds of a power saw whined from inside. “The Third is a workaholic. Least he’s doing something useful for a change.”

  “What did he do before?” Abbie asked, hurrying to keep up with Sarah’s long stride. Sarah was a good six inches shorter, but she outdistanced Abbie with every step. “I mean I know he was an architect, but he really didn’t say what he designed. I guessed houses, since he spent the whole day pointing out architectural details on the historic homes of Georgetown.”

  “He did that?” Sarah groaned. “The man’s an animal.”

  “It wasn’t boring, if that’s what you mean.”

  “We were hoping it moved to the more personal. Say maybe you liked him.”

  “I di
d, I do. He’s very nice.” She did like him; it was disconcerting how much she liked him.

  “Oh, gack. The man needs a love interest. We live in constant dread of Bailey having a change of heart and moving here. There’s only room for one witch in this town. And Ervina’s got that sewn up. That only leaves bitch, and we sure as hell don’t need any more of those. But to answer your question . . .”

  Abbie laughed. “Please do.”

  “Convention centers, hotels, shopping complexes, sports arenas.”

  “The Third?”

  Sarah nodded, tightening her mouth, which created dimples in each cheek. “A sad commentary on a bright mind. Fortunately he saw the evil of his ways and dumped it all for no money, no fiancée, and no job security.”

  “That takes guts,” Abbie said. She’d had him pegged all wrong. She’d always prided herself on her ability to see the real person. She’d missed big-time on Cab Reynolds.

  “I guess.”

  “You don’t sound too impressed.”

  “Well, it’s not like he gave up something that could change the world. Just making a bunch of money for cluttering the country with surplus buildings.”

  “Still, it’s something he’d obviously had to spend years training for. And—” Abbie took a breath. “It’s not so easy to change the world.”

  Penny’s was already half filled, but they managed to get a table in the corner. Abbie was surprised to see Bethanne waitressing.

  “She helps Penny out on the weekends in the off-season and during the season, Penny makes the pastry for the inn’s dining room.”

  “A win-win relationship,” Abbie said.

  Bethanne plunked down menus. “The spinach artichoke quiche is to die for.”

  “Works for me,” Abbie said. “And a double latte.”

  “Make it two, but I’ll just have seltzer with lime.” Sarah handed back the two paper menus.

  “I was talking to Penny about the gazebo,” Bethanne said, before scurrying away.

  “What about the gazebo?” Sarah asked. “No. Wait. Let me guess. Weddings by the Sea.”

  “She thought the gazebo would be a perfect venue.”

  “Right. Like Miss Millie would go for—” Sarah took a breath and drawled, “Openin’ the house to the puh-blic. Nev-uh.”