by White, Karen
Jillian surreptitiously studied Linc as he drove the short distance down Myrtle Avenue to the Webers’. The promise of his youthful good looks had been fully realized, even though he appeared not to be aware of it. She watched the long fingers grasp the steering wheel, remembering those same fingers brushing back Lauren’s hair as they’d watched the sun set over the marsh. She saw the newly acquired tight, unforgiving lines around his mouth, and the hard set of his eyes, and couldn’t imagine this man and his fingers doing anything gently.
Linc broke the silence. “They don’t know who I am, by the way, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t enlighten them. They know me as William Rising, architect from Charleston who’s renovating the old Mills house, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Don’t you think they already recognize you?”
He shrugged but kept his voice low. “I guess the long-haired son of a Myrtle Beach prostitute doesn’t grow up to drive a nice car, wear suits, and restore expensive houses. It would never occur to them to look deeper.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and glanced back at Gracie, who was pretending to study the salt marsh creek on the other side of the road but was listening to every word. She lowered her voice. “Why the secrecy? The Webers seem to be understanding people. Besides, you were never charged with anything.”
He slowed the car and stared hard at her. “But that doesn’t make me an innocent man, does it, Jillian?”
She stared back at him, unblinking. “No, it doesn’t. But there were those who believed your innocence, regardless of what other people said.”
With a jerk of the steering wheel, he parked on the side of the road in front of a crisply painted white cedar house. A wide porch criss-crossed by hammocks surrounded the house on three sides, the main floor raised by brick pillars. Four dormers capped the front of the house under a tin roof, with white lace curtains waving at them through the open windows. Martha Weber opened the front screen door and left the porch to greet them, wiping her hands on a bright yellow apron. Jillian smiled when she read the words on the apron: MARTHA STEWART IN TRAINING.
Before Linc could open his door, Jillian grabbed his arm. “Your secret is safe with me—although I think you should tell them. But it won’t come from me.”
His gaze flickered, as if torn between trusting her or not. When he pulled away from her and opened the door, she wasn’t sure what he’d decided.
Martha approached and opened Gracie’s car door. “Come on in, y’all. Hope you’re hungry, because we’ve got a mess of food.” She clucked her tongue when she saw the plate of pound cake in Jillian’s hand. “Aw, now, you didn’t have to do that. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
Jillian tried to juggle the plate and her purse and make it out of the car without dropping anything. She was relieved when Linc reached in to hoist her out. She noticed how quickly he let go of her hand as soon as she was on steady ground, and how closely he stayed by her elbow as they walked toward the house.
“It was no trouble at all. I love to cook, and I especially love to cook for other people.”
“Well, you’re a real dear. And so are you, William, for bringing Jillian and Grace. I know it’s a short distance, but I didn’t think Jillian should be walking it in her condition.”
“It was my pleasure, Martha.”
Jillian cast him a sidelong glance, surprised not to see a sarcastic smirk. His hand grasped her elbow as she reached the porch steps, guiding her as she made her way to the door.
A young woman in a bright red floral jumpsuit, with heels and lipstick to match, appeared at the screen door with a girl about Grace’s age. She smiled brightly at Jillian as she held open the door.
“I bet you don’t recognize me—I look a little different now than the last time you saw me. I’m Lessie Beaumont—your Realtor. My husband, Ken, is around here somewhere.” She checked behind her to see if her elusive husband or anybody else might be in hearing distance, and lowered her voice. “I’m so glad I was able to help you get your grandmother’s house—and at such a steal!”
Jillian remembered Lessie as a little girl about four years younger than her, and who walked around the island wearing a rhinestone tiara and her mother’s high heels. Jillian held out her hand with a smile. “Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to see you ditched the crown, and you are a bit taller, but I think I’d still recognize you. And I can’t thank you enough for everything you did to get the house ready for us. I felt as if I were home the minute I stepped foot through the door.”
Lessie smiled warmly. “It was the least I could do. You were always so nice to me when I was a little girl—never laughing at my crown the way that other kids did—and when you told me you were expecting and bringing your little girl here all by yourself, well, I figured you could use a little taking care of.”
Jillian remembered her grandmother reburying turtle eggs, and something she had once said about relying on the kindness of others to put us back in our nests. She hid the sting of tears in her eyes with a bright smile. “Well, you did that and more, and I owe you a wonderful dinner.”
Lessie laughed. “And I’ll hold you to that.” She pulled the skinny blond girl to her side. “And this here is my Mary Ellen. I think Mama said that she and your Grace were about the same age.”
The two girls eyed each other warily before Mary Ellen spoke. “My brother found a busted alligator egg. Wanna come see it?”
Grace widened her eyes at her mother, and when Jillian nodded, she followed Mary Ellen and disappeared into the back of the house. Lessie winked. “She’ll be fine. Mary Ellen’s brothers always look out for her and her little friends.”
Jillian felt herself being led with Linc into the crowded house, where the shouts of children blended in with the adults’ chatter, and the enticing aromas of baking ham and stewing oysters drifted in the air. A hand touched her shoulder, and she found herself face-to-face with Mason Weber. He was a few years older, his skin weathered from constant exposure to the sun, making his shock of blond hair bright against his forehead. She smiled broadly, remembering how she had once had a huge crush on him.
“Mason Weber. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on his cheek and watched as his dark cheeks turned redder.
“Hey, Jillian. It’s good to see you. I was wondering if you’d ever come back.”
Tilting her head, she noted his uniform for the first time. “Yeah, I thought it was time. So, are you working with your dad?”
“Sure am. He’s still chief—although he swears every year that he’s going to retire—but I’m an officer. Never could find it in myself to leave the island. Pretty boring, huh?”
He smiled shyly, then looked over at Linc and offered his hand. “You must be the famed architect I’ve been hearing so much about from Lessie and my mama. I’m Mason Weber.”
With a hint of wariness, Linc took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.” Not waiting for the inevitable pleasantries, he excused himself and left the small group.
Jillian stared after him until she realized Mason was watching her closely. “I think he’s shy,” she said, wondering at the same time why she was coming to his defense.
Mason just nodded. “Maybe I can come by some time and we can catch up on old times.”
“I’d like that,” she said, meaning it.
“I’ll call you.” He turned away, not quite hiding another blush, and allowed the swarm of people to crowd around Jillian.
After introductions were made, she gravitated toward the kitchen, where most of the women seemed to be, and turned to see Linc standing in the family room with the men, watching television. He stood slightly to one side, a cold beer pressed into his hand, a part of the group but separate, too. She noticed he stood on the opposite side of the room from Chief Weber, and wondered if it was intentional. As an impartial observer, she could agree that he looked good—real good—leaning against the wall with a leg crossed casually over the
other, his button-down shirt rolled up over tanned forearms, his expression one of mild aloofness as he studied the room.
As if sensing somebody was watching him, he turned his face and caught her staring. Before his eyes could meet hers, she ducked into the kitchen, the swinging door vibrating behind her.
Nobody asked her about Rick, and she reminded herself to thank Martha and Joe later for prepping everybody. She found herself in her element in the kitchen, and was soon pressed into service by a grateful Martha. She welcomed the busyness, thankful that she could take her mind off of Linc for a little while. Home is where the ghosts are. His words haunted her more than any filmy specter could. And so did his eyes. Despite his outwardly show of success, they told her that he was as lost and alone as she was.
Pushing aside a pan to make room for another, she burned her finger. “Crap.”
Martha looked over and went to the freezer for a piece of ice, and handed it to her without saying anything. Jillian stood by the sink, watching the ice drip, and thought of Linc again. Crap. She wanted to dismiss him as much as he evidently wanted to dismiss her, but couldn’t. Lauren’s presence seemed to hover over them, between them, near them. Eventually, she’d have to confront Linc. Until then, she’d try to ignore him as much as possible. She’d returned to Pawleys to heal and to start over. Resurrecting old ghosts had never been part of the plan.
“I hear you bought your grandmother’s old place for a song. You know, the Nesbit-Norburn house went for more than two million. Sure, it’s a bit bigger, but still. You really lucked out.”
Jillian turned to face Donna Michaels, a teacher at Low Country Day School who lived in another old Pawleys house. “I had no idea. Lessie says my offer was accepted right away without negotiations. I was . . . eager to leave Atlanta, and didn’t give it much thought.”
Donna’s next comment was drowned out by Martha’s announcement that the ham was ready to be carved. In the bustle of getting the serving plates onto the dining room table, Jillian forgot all about the conversation.
She found herself in the living room with Lessie, Donna and several more women, all settled like roosting hens on chairs placed about the room and their plates perched on knees. Grace and Mary Ellen, already inseparable, found spots on the floor. Linc came in, too, but leaned against the doorframe to eat, as if making it clear he was just a bystander.
Lessie set her iced tea glass on the floor by her chair and turned to Jillian. “I don’t know if Mama mentioned this to you or not, but I’m taking a correspondence class in historical preservation. One of my assignments is to do research on some of these old houses here on Pawleys, and I was wondering if you’d let me come over some time to study your house.”
“Sure. I don’t know anything about it, but you’re welcome to come in and look around.”
Donna Michaels spoke up. “I know there’s a hidden room at Tamarisk—that’s the old Lachicotte place—that was used to hide from Indians and pirates. Maybe you’ve got something like that at your house.” She looked up at Linc and batted her eyelashes. “We’ve got a bona fide architect right here. I bet he’d know.”
Linc casually placed his plate on a side table, and Jillian wondered if she was the only one who sensed his cool disdain. “I have the blueprints to Jillian’s house, as well as the one next door, and I’ve seen nothing on either one of them that would indicate hidden rooms or anything like that.” He took a swig of his beer as if signaling that his part in the conversation was over.
Lessie turned her brilliant smile on Linc. “Well, then, maybe you’re the man I should be talking with. Can I call you some time this week for a more in-depth discussion?”
Casually wiping his hand on a napkin and placing it on top of his plate, he gave her a perfunctory smile. It looked at first as if he’d refuse. Then he reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card to hand to her. “Sure. Page me and leave a message at the number on top. I’ll get back to you when I can.”
Lessie settled back in her seat, looking like a pleased and well-satisfied tomato. “Thanks, William. I’ll do that.”
“You know, Lessie, the one person I’ve found who seems to know a lot about everything on Pawleys is Janie Mulligan.” Donna primly tucked her bleached blond hair behind her ears.
There was an odd silence as everyone stared at Donna.
A small stir of memory brushed through Jillian. “Who’s Janie?”
“She’s that crazy woman who lives in the pink cottage facing the marsh on Morrison Avenue. She carries a rag doll around and calls it Baby. I can’t see why you’d think she knows so much, Donna. She’s barely coherent.” Lessie shook her head and stabbed a piece of ham.
Jillian remembered Janie, a woman whose beauty seemed to be as frail as her mind. She would be about in her late forties or early fifties now, and Jillian couldn’t imagine how age could have benefited her in any way. Her grandmother had taken Jillian to bring her food or just to visit on many occasions, and the one thing she remembered about Janie was the doll.
“Is it the same rag doll? She used to wear it in one of those infant carriers over her chest. I think she had a crib in her bedroom where it would sleep.”
Lessie nodded. “Same one. And she still uses the carrier, too. Mama and I still visit every week to help with paying her bills and such, and she still cradles that doll. It’s really sad, but she seems happy.”
Martha, who had crept in to sneak a bite to eat before her hostessing duties claimed her again, spoke in a firm voice. “Janie Mulligan has her strange ways, but I sometimes think she’s the sharpest woman I know. And she’s definitely the person to talk to about our old houses and their history. She’s like a walking encyclopedia. People just need to learn how to be patient with her, that’s all.”
Lessie placed her empty plate at her feet. “Maybe you’re right, Mama. Maybe I will talk with her about it next time I’m there.” She beamed up at Linc again. “But I still think a walk-through and chat with William will just about make my paper write itself.”
Linc just smiled and took a long swallow of his beer without comment, as the room quieted and people turned back to their food.
Mary Ellen took a sip of her lemonade, slurping a bit as she got to the end. “Miz Parrish, are you going to have a little boy or a little girl?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out in about a month, though.”
Gracie announced to the room, “I know where babies come from.”
Sweet corn bread stuck in Jillian’s throat as she tried to signal with her eyes to her daughter to stop. But Gracie, for the first time in her life, seemed to have found the courage to speak before a crowd.
“The mommy and daddy have to get naked in bed together, and then the daddy gives the mommy a sunflower seed and it becomes a baby inside her.”
The adults sat in stunned silence as Mary Ellen enthusiastically piped in, “And the mommy and daddy have to be in love for it to work.”
Grace glanced over at her mother, and her little face flushed. Lowering her head, she said, “That’s not true, Mary Ellen. My daddy didn’t love Jilly-bean, but she’s going to have a baby, anyway.”
Jillian noted how everyone pretended to eat, focusing on their plates instead of on her reddening face, and felt her stomach turn.
Linc crossed the room in two long strides and squatted in front of the two young girls. “I spotted a chocolate cake on the kitchen counter, but I don’t know if it’s good or not. I’d appreciate it if you two would taste it first and let me know if I should have some.”
The girls jumped up and ran out of the room toward the kitchen. Linc faced Jillian and took her plate from her knees, setting it aside on a table. Stretching out a hand toward her, he said, “Come on, you look ill. I’ll either take you outside or lead you to the bathroom—your choice.”
Gratefully, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the powder room. She’d barely managed to close the door before her lunch came back up and left her wonderi
ng how much more humiliation she could take. She suddenly and desperately wanted anonymity, her grandmother and peace. Instead, all she had to show for her troubles was a bitter divorce, a troubled daughter, a belly big enough that she couldn’t see her feet and a man waiting outside the bathroom door who seemed to want to have nothing to do with her and probably didn’t even like her all that much.
She rinsed her mouth and face with cold water. With a heavy sigh, she unlocked the door and left the bathroom, and found Linc waiting for her, leaning against the hallway wall with his legs crossed at the ankles.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue. As much as you’d like to pretend you’re not, you’re a pretty nice guy.”
He straightened and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I just didn’t want you throwing up in my car.”
Stifling a grin, she walked past him with as much dignity as a lumbering elephant could muster.
Linc took a last swig from his beer bottle and stared at the bobbing light from a flashlight next door. He’d been sitting on the second-floor porch, watching as the ocean shifted from blue to gray and the sun drowned in the waves far on the horizon, casting the island in the buttery light of sunset.
And now the first stars were appearing in the purple-hued sky as darkness descended, and his new neighbor was struggling with a flashlight and what appeared to be a telescope. He watched as Jillian wobbled down the boardwalk and paused at the edge, staring out into the thick sand of the dunes. She took two hesitant steps before she stumbled, dropping the flashlight.
“Damn.” The word drifted over the dune toward him.
Gritting his teeth, Linc stood and headed toward the stairs. She’s going to kill herself if I don’t help her. By the time he’d reached her, she was still in the same spot, staring out at the sand as if negotiating her passage.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t look back, as if she’d been expecting him. “I’m trying to get my telescope to the beach so I can watch the sky. I’ve missed a few nights, and I can’t miss another one.”