by White, Karen
Grace squeezed her hand a little tighter. “Mine, too.”
They sat for a long time without speaking, holding hands and watching the beauty of the marsh unfold. The osprey set sail out of its nest, its wings in the telltale V and its underside a brilliant white. Madly flapping its wings, it soared across the water, then crashed feet first into the creek, lifting its struggling prey in its talons. It settled on a branch of a bald cypress tree and began to eat, allowing the creek to return to its low buzz of insects and the occasional slap of water.
“She and her mate return each March to that nest. They mate for life, you know.”
Jillian and Grace turned at the sound of Linc’s voice. He wore sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her. “What an admirable quality,” she murmured while trying to find the best way to get herself into a standing position.
Linc reached her in two long strides and put his hands in hers to pull her up. Brushing off the seat of her maternity pants, she said, “Thanks. Hope I didn’t throw your back out.”
Black sunglasses stared back at her. “No problem. I once helped haul a beached pilot whale back out to sea. You’re nothing compared to that.”
She scrutinized him for a moment, feeling slightly stunned, but her mouth twitching, anyway.
He frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
Jillian waved a hand at him. “Yes you did, and don’t apologize. That was pretty funny.” She stared closely into his face, trying to see past the dark glasses. “You always had a great sense of humor, and I hate to see it hidden under all that grumpiness.”
“Hi, Linc! We saw an egret,” Grace piped up, sparing him a response.
Jillian grimaced. “That’s Mr. Rising to you, Gracie.”
Linc lifted Grace and set her on her feet. “I don’t mind.”
Gracie looked up, her expression serious. “I know not to call him Linc in front of other people because he doesn’t want them to know his real name. I promise I won’t forget.”
Startled, Linc looked at Jillian, who shrugged. “She hears everything. I’ve long since stopped trying to censor things from her.”
Gracie beamed up at him, and Linc sent her a reluctant grin before returning his attention to Jillian. “Lessie Beaumont’s here with Janie Mulligan. I was about to give them a tour of my house, and Lessie wanted to know if she could get inside yours while she’s here.”
Jillian nodded. “Sure,” she said, as she bent to gather up the towel.
“I was replacing the wooden sill in the front bedroom, and I saw you and Gracie cross the road.”
Jillian squinted at him. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Linc. I didn’t think you were spying on us.”
He looked at her again, as if he didn’t know what to say. Jillian watched as Grace stuck a hand into Linc’s. “Come on. Let’s go find Lessie before somebody sees me and alerts Sea World.”
Jillian slid him a sidelong glance and was sure this time that a full-fledged smile was brewing on his lips. With her own smile she faced the twin houses, each frozen against the horizon as if in a silent shrug, and wondered anew how such structures of timber and mortar could survive for so long with the constant onslaught of ocean winds and time.
A small hand crept into hers, and she looked down at the child beside her. Jillian suddenly thought of the ancient dunes that had sheltered the houses for nearly two centuries, taking the brunt of storms and the ocean’s encroachment upon the shore, protecting the old houses in their solid, sentinel arms. She squeezed her daughter’s hand as the child in her womb kicked again, and for a brief moment Jillian thought she understood something that had been denied her for a lifetime and remained elusive still. But when she looked down into Gracie’s eyes, she felt the first glimmer of hope.
Jillian watched as Linc slowed his pace, waiting for them to catch up. She continued moving forward, toward the old houses, finding an odd comfort in the tall shadows they cast.
Linc waited as Jillian and Grace approached, wondering, from the expressions on their faces, if he had just witnessed something startling. He looked away, not wanting to be more involved than he already was.
“Have you spoken to your husband yet?” His words were hard and clipped, as if constructing a deliberate barrier between the past few moments of companionship and the distance he wanted to keep between them.
Jillian blinked before lowering her head, the brim of her hat hiding her face. “He called again this morning, as a matter of fact. Couldn’t get to the phone in time, so he left a message on the machine. Mentioned something about him and his new wife going to Bali for the week. I sure appreciated him letting me know.”
He started to say something, unable to let Jillian bypass the topic, but felt his hand grabbed by Grace.
“Linc’s a funny name,” she said, swinging her arm.
Linc’s eyes narrowed as he glanced down at her, wondering yet again how she had an adult’s ability to know when to change the subject. Although she apparently hadn’t yet mastered the ability to know which subject would be appropriate to change it to.
“Gracie, why don’t you run ahead and feed Spot? We’re going to be going out this afternoon, and I’d hate for him to starve.”
Grace shot back a knowing glance at her mother before letting go of Linc’s hand and skipping away.
“It is an odd name.” Her eyes held a challenge, as if welcoming the chance to retaliate against his mention of her ex-husband.
He felt his face flush, the embarrassment over the origins of his name flooding through him as if it were the first time he’d heard it. “Right. And Jilly-bean isn’t.”
She stiffened beside him, and he suddenly felt like a small boat navigating a riptide. He heard her take a deep breath before she surprised him by answering his unasked question. “I . . . I didn’t really care what she called me when she first learned to talk. As long as it wasn’t Mama.”
The hurt and pain emanated from her like rippling waves, making him cringe. He hadn’t meant to do that to her. His long-held anger was easily dislodged, its escape effortlessly nudged.
He held her arm, making her stop and face him. “I never knew my father. The only thing my mother remembers about him was that I was conceived in the back of his Lincoln. That’s where my name comes from.”
She didn’t recoil or make excuses. She just regarded him gently with soft brown eyes. “Why are you telling me this now? You would never tell Lauren and me when we asked.”
He tried not to flinch at the mention of Lauren’s name. “To make us even.” He hoped she couldn’t read that for the lie it was. There was something about her that brought out the confessor in him. Maybe it was her maternal shape, or maybe it was that deep understanding between them that hadn’t dissipated in nearly two decades. Whatever it was, it didn’t sit comfortably on his shoulders, but he was powerless to consider her without sympathy.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Hold on to me. It’ll make it easier to walk.”
Evading her probing look, he led her off the pier and across the street toward Lessie and Janie, now standing by Lessie’s parked Buick. Jillian leaned on him slightly, and he promised himself that this would be the last time he’d help her. But before the thought had even been completed, she pulled away, walking away from him, and calling out a greeting to the women who awaited them. She straightened her shoulders and moved slowly, picking her steps carefully.
Linc stopped, watching her. I don’t need you either, Jillian. Slowly, he followed, denying the unsettled feeling that suddenly seemed to clutch at him and propel him after her.
CHAPTER 8
LESSIE CAME FORWARD WITH HER ARMS OUTSTRETCHED. “WHAT ARE you doing wandering out to the creek in your delicate condition? We need to make sure she takes care of herself, don’t we, Mr. Rising?”
Linc coughed. “Call me William.”
Lessie beamed. “I’ll do that, thank you.” Tucking Jillian’s hand into the
crook of her elbow, she looked around with a frown. “Now where did Janie run off to? I’m not sure if she remembers you, but she insisted on coming here with me.”
As they turned to face Jillian’s house, they spotted Janie and Grace sitting on the front-porch steps, playing cats in the cradle with an orange circle of yarn. As Lessie and Jillian approached, Janie and Grace glanced up with remarkably similar expressions. Even their eyes, one pair a deep brown and the other a lighter shade, held the same light.
“Hi, Jilly-bean. This is Janie. She’s teaching me some new moves.” Pulling the yarn free from the older woman’s fingers, Grace stood with her hands held out and the bright orange yarn pulled tight between them, the garish stripes pulled into a pattern. “Look—it’s a witch’s broom!”
Jillian smiled at Grace. “That’s pretty cool. You’ll have to show me how later.” Then she looked down at the woman who still sat on the step, her thin arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, her small feet enclosed in white patent-leather sandals. “You must be Janie. It’s been a long time, but I remember you. I used to come visit with my grandmother.”
Pale blond hair, worn long but held back with a headband, whipped across the surprisingly smooth skin of the older woman’s cheeks. Jillian guessed Janie to be in her late forties or early fifties, but for the slight lines around her mouth and eyes, she more closely resembled an adolescent girl than a woman whose youth was far behind her.
Janie tilted her head, a small smile touching her lips. “I remember you. I let you hold Baby.”
For the first time, Jillian noticed the small bundle lying next to Janie on the step. At first glance it resembled a pile of blankets, but upon closer inspection, she could see it was a papoose-type carrier with an old rag doll peering out the top.
Jillian carefully knelt and laid her hand on the doll, brushing away yellow string hair that had drooped onto the faded cloth forehead. “Yes, I remember Baby.” She smiled into Janie’s eyes, somehow saddened by what she saw there; brown pools of deep loss and old grief. She picked up the bundle and handed it to Janie before standing. “I’m glad you came.”
Turning toward the others, Jillian said, “I’ve made some pecan tarts. Why don’t y’all come sit on the porch while I go get them and a pitcher of iced tea?”
Linc opened his mouth as if to refuse, but Lessie overrode him. “We’d love to. Can I help?”
“Yes, thanks. It’s hard to carry things when I can’t see my feet.”
Lessie followed Jillian into the kitchen while the others found seats on the porch. Before the screen door shut behind her, Jillian caught the flashing image of Grace and Janie sitting next to each other on the porch swing, with Grace holding Baby and singing softly.
Lessie sniffed hard as she entered the kitchen. “Something smells divine in here.”
“It’s probably the tarts—or it could be the shortbread torte I did earlier.” Jillian reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a full container of iced tea.
Lessie lifted a tart off the cooling rack on the stove and held it poised in front of her mouth. “I think I’m going to cry if I don’t try this right now.”
“Go ahead. There’s plenty more.”
Needing no further encouragement, Lessie took a huge bite, almost half of the tart going into her mouth. She chewed for a few moments, then closed her eyes. “Oh. My. God. I think I just died and went to heaven. What did you put in this?” She sighed again, chewing thoughtfully. “And the crust—it just about melts in my mouth.”
Jillian began filling glasses with tea. “I added a little bit of bourbon, which I think enhances the flavor. And the secret to the crust, well, I could tell you—but then I’d have to kill you.”
Lessie choked and took a glass from the tray Jillian had begun filling. As soon as she could speak again she said, “And it would probably be worth it. I have never tasted anything so heavenly. Really. You truly have a gift.”
Jillian felt her face flush with pleasure as she arranged napkins on a tray. “I sometimes wonder, well, this is going to sound silly, but I think everybody is born with one special thing—some gift or talent.” She fiddled with the napkins, studying them and her fingers while she searched for the right words. Looking up, she said, “Most of us know early on what it is, while others never really figure it out. And the rest of us”—she shrugged—“well, the rest of us just kind of muddle around, trying different things until we find that one thing, or at least a close substitution, that makes our hearts sing.” Smiling, she handed the tray to Lessie. “Sometimes I think I’ve found it with my cooking.”
Lessie licked her fingers. “Trust me, Jillian. You’ve found it.”
Flushing again, Jillian began arranging tarts on the tray. “I used to be a caterer back in Atlanta. I was sort of toying with the idea of maybe doing the same thing here on Pawleys.”
Lessie’s eyes opened wide. “That would be wonderful! My hips would hate you forever, but I would happily sacrifice my figure to help you start up your business.” She stuffed the rest of the tart into her mouth, chewing slowly with her eyes closed. “Trust me. You would never hurt for customers.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Feeling inordinately pleased, Jillian picked up the tray with the tarts and motioned Lessie to follow her with the iced tea onto the porch.
Linc watched Grace and Janie join hands and move through the dunes toward the boardwalk. Janie wore the papoose over her stomach, the thin blankets wrapped around the doll and their ends flapping in the wind. They stooped in the sand, the sea oats bowing around them and kissing their bare legs, and Janie reached to pick something up, holding it for Grace to see. Their foreheads nearly touched as the two bent to examine Janie’s find.
Despite the age difference between the child and the woman, there was definitely an affinity there. Linc had never really thought about Janie Mulligan, just acknowledging her on the periphery of life on the island as an unfortunate existence—a handicapped mind in a world that spun too fast for her to latch on.
Now, though, as he watched Janie with Grace, his perception shifted. She was speaking slowly to Gracie, and the little girl was nodding her head as if in comprehension. Then Janie said something that made Gracie throw back her head and laugh out loud, the sound carrying up to him on the porch, reminding him of forgotten words from a favorite song. He noted the smile on Janie’s face matched his own, and he realized that it was the first time he’d heard Grace laugh like a child. Her laugh was high and bright, so much like what her mother’s used to be that Linc was flooded with memories of the young Jillian he had once known—the girl with the laugh that made others smile and the eyes that hid so much from the world.
He looked at Janie again, and she wore a look of satisfaction. It was as if she’d ordered something therapeutic for the child and was reveling in her success. Linc squinted into the sunlight at Janie, feeling his perceptions shift and turn, and wondered if it was everyone else’s outlook on the world that was out of focus instead of the other way around.
Jillian cupped her hands around her mouth. “If you two want a pecan tart, you’d better come up quickly before they’re all gone.” She set about putting tarts on plates as Janie and Grace ran toward the porch, kicking sand and sending it flying into the breeze.
She handed a plate to Janie. “I knew that would get Grace’s attention.”
Janie took the plate and smiled. When she spoke, her voice was light and airy and almost childlike in its directness. “Do you have a baby in there?” She pointed at Jillian’s stomach with her fork.
Jillian’s hands found the mound of her abdomen and smiled. “I think so. I don’t remember swallowing a beach ball.”
Janie took a bite of her tart and chewed it thoughtfully, her eyes focused on Jillian, who was trying to settle herself in the porch swing. She held her tea in one hand and her plate in the other, and every time she tried to back into the swing it moved with her, preventing her from finding purchase on the seat.
“I have a baby, too.”
Jillian paused in her attempts to sit and let her gaze settle on the yellow head of the doll that hung out of the papoose. “I’ve held Baby before. She’s very sweet.”
A deep frown hung over Janie’s face. “They didn’t want me to keep her, so they tried to take her away. But she’s mine. She’ll always be mine.”
Jillian tried another vain attempt at seating herself in the swing. “She has a mother who loves her and will always protect her. She’s very lucky, you know.”
Grace looked up from the porch steps where she’d been sitting. “Like me, Jilly-bean. Right?”
A look of surprise filtered over Jillian’s face. She regarded her daughter and seemed to chew over the thought, as if it were the first time it had ever occurred to either of them. “Yeah, sweetie. Like you.”
Pulling words from around her full mouth, Gracie added, “And just like my baby brother or sister who’s growing in your tummy, right?”
Jillian turned to stare at the swing in mute frustration, her whole body registering defeat. Ignoring the little voices in his head, Linc strode over to her and took the plate and glass from her hands. After placing them on the porch railing, he held the swing steady. “Go ahead and sit, and I’ll bring your food to you.”
With an ungainly move that consisted of hiking her maternity dress above her knees, Jillian managed to seat herself on the swing. When Linc brought her the plate and glass, she looked up at him with grateful eyes.
Gracie stamped her foot with impatience and repeated her question. “Right, Jilly-bean?”
A sigh crept out of Jillian without her noticing, but it seemed to diminish her before his eyes, reducing her to something small and fragile. He walked away from her and sat back down in his chair, putting in a mouthful of tart that seemed to stick in his throat.
With her eyes on her untouched plate, she said, “Yes, Gracie. Like the baby, too.”
Lessie drained her glass of iced tea and interrupted the silence, as if unaware of the tension between the other adults, as she addressed Linc. “Donna Michaels says that you’re moving in next door on a permanent basis. I guess this means I’ll be needing to bring you a Welcome Wagon basket of goodies.”