“She and I come from generations of seers, mediums, fortune-tellers, whatever words you want to use. Glory read palms and cards, foretold futures, advised clients and entertained her gentlemen friends. The woo-woo part she did here. The gentlemen she met elsewhere. It was how she supported us.”
Wow. Nev tried to imagine telling someone she’d just met that her mother had been—what exactly? A prostitute? A mistress? The image wasn’t just hard to form; it was impossible. Lima was one of the most dispassionate people ever. Have sex with multiple men to take care of her family? Heavens, Nev believed her mother had had sex with her father only because of Marieka’s and her own existence.
Anamaria’s gaze was steady, her smile gentle. “Have I shocked you?”
“Oh, no, not at—” Exhaling, Nev went for honesty. “Yes.”
“I’m good at shocking people. You should have seen my husband’s family when they learned he was not only marrying a woman of color but one who was also illegitimate and of questionable repute and whose mother was, politely put, a kept woman who generated scandal.”
“Did they eventually accept you?”
“Some of them. The important ones.” Anamaria finished her meal, wiped her hands and then fished a couple of cookies from her pocket. “You’ve been a good boy, Frank. Here’s your treat.”
The dog crunched the cookies in one bite each, sniffed the empty wrappers and then let himself out the screen door. For a moment, they watched him circle madly before lifting his leg at the base of the oak. Same place every time, Nev thought.
Then it struck her: she liked knowing that. It was a silly thing, a dog’s favorite place to urinate, but knowing it made her feel as if she belonged. As did learning that Ty hugged his pillow rather than rested his head on it. That he drank his coffee with milk but no sugar. That he had a scar on his leg from a gunshot wound he’d gotten in a battle with corrupt police officers.
As the fan blades turned with a soft whoosh, whoosh, Frank explored more of the yard and then froze, ears and nose quivering, tail high above his back. Though he didn’t make a sound, if he’d been on alert when he’d barked earlier, he was on high alert now, and the sight made Nev stiffen. Her stomach tightened, her palms growing sweaty, as she stared down the street in the direction the dog faced.
“It’s all right.”
Anamaria’s quiet reassurance came the instant before a police car turned onto Easy Street at the other end. The officer drove slowly down the block, stopping at the edge of the driveway, rolling down the window and sending the dog into frenzied excitement. “Hey, Frank, how you doing, big guy?”
“That’s Pete Petrovski. He’s a friend of Ty’s,” Anamaria said and then raised her voice. “You’re a sucker for the four-footed ones, aren’t you, Pete?”
He squinted to focus through the dark porch screening and then grinned. “Hey, Anamaria, Ms. Wilson. I didn’t see you there.”
“Only because we don’t want to be seen,” she replied with a laugh.
“That’s a shame, women as pretty as you two. Everything okay here?”
“We’re fine,” Nev said. She decided she liked Pete for no other reason than he liked Frank.
“Detective Isaacs asked us to check by periodically, so don’t worry if you see us again.” Pete lifted his hand in a wave, rolled the window up and drove on down the street, where he made a U-turn at the end and came past again. Nev found comfort that the officer on patrol was Ty’s friend and not Kiki or the officer with her the other night—Benson, Benton. He hadn’t been the warm-and-fuzzy type.
“Glory was a beautiful woman,” Anamaria went on after a time. “We’ve got a little bit of everything in us—Caucasian, African, Asian, Latino, Haitian, Dutch. She was the most exotic looking of us all. She was always happy, singing, smiling. She loved life, loved people, loved men.” Bending to pull a photo from her bag, she added drily, “She really loved men. She had four daughters with different fathers.”
She offered the picture to Nev. She recognized the scene immediately: the church she’d gone to Sunday morning, Ty and Mr. Obadiah’s church. Front and center in the shot were a young woman and a child, one in bright pink that popped against the grass and pines—the kind of dress that Nev preferred—and the other in a much paler hue. They both wore straw hats and were holding hands, each clutching a Bible in her free hand.
Some people put on smiles, like Lima, without really feeling the emotion behind the gesture. Not these two. They were happy, with capital letters and fireworks bursting all around. Honestly, genuinely, no-shadows, no-regrets happy. Someplace deep inside Nev ached to have had one smile like that from her mother, one moment holding hands and both so happy they shone with it.
“In the diner, I said you reminded me of someone, someplace, another time.” Anamaria nodded at the picture. “That’s it. You remind me of Glory. That place. That time.”
“I’m flattered, but...” Nev studied the woman’s face again. “I don’t look anything like her.”
“Maybe not, but you share her sense of joy. Life might not be perfect, but you love it and expect the best from it.”
It was a lovely compliment. Nev hoped she lived up to it. Last night, lying on the sidewalk in the rain, she hadn’t been very joyful...but she had expected the best ending for the situation. Though Ty and the others clearly considered the graffiti in the motel room a threat, she tried hard to believe it was a tasteless prank. Maybe she was clueless, or maybe she really did just expect the best from every situation.
Nev returned the photo as she asked, “What about your sisters? Are they in Savannah?”
“No. Lillie and Jass were both raised by their fathers. Lil’s in South Carolina, and Jass lives in Texas.”
“And the other? You said four daughters.”
The sadness that entered Anamaria’s expression was palpable, intense and so clearly deeply held. “She was taken on the night Glory died. We’ve been searching five years, but we haven’t found her.”
“Taken. You mean she was placed in foster care?”
“No. Her father’s family took her.” After a long drink of pop, Anamaria added, “My husband’s family. One of Glory’s gentlemen friends was Robbie’s uncle Cyrus. Yes, my baby sister is my husband’s cousin. Cyrus’s son Kent was the one who actually took her, and he died without telling anyone what he did with her.”
“Oh, my God.” The newspaper story Nev had searched out at the library popped into her head: Anamaria and Robbie going to see the cousin at his cabin, the cousin killing himself. She had such an imagination that she could visualize the scene: a rainy night, heavy trees hiding all but glimpses of the cabin that sat on the bank of the Gullah. Logs, dimly illuminated windows, a long front porch, a back deck over the water.
Not imagined, she realized with a jolt. Seen. In Monday night’s dream. When the river had spoken to her.
She was more certain than ever that these dreams had to do with Glory and Anamaria. Should she tell her? And say what? I dream of a tree by the river. I’ve found myself in another woman’s clothes, a woman who was threatened by someone. I’ve seen someone I think might have been you in my dreams, or at least that person’s legs and curls. I’ve been drawn to the house where you lived, following that girl’s laughter.
But what did she know? Nothing. The dreams could just as easily be about someone else. Around here, a lot of life happened on or near the river. They could be about another time. Or they could just be dreams. Weird, repetitive dreams summoned from Nev’s psyche, meaning nothing to anyone, not even her.
Better not to say anything at all about the dreams. Instead, she cleared her throat. “How old was your sister when she disappeared?”
The sorrow returned to Anamaria’s features. “A few minutes. Mama was dying as she gave birth.”
Chapter 10
After work,
Ty made a quick check-in on Sophy and the girls and then headed home. He was planning an evening out tonight, something to take Nev’s mind off the past few days and maybe get it centered firmly back on the activities of last night. He figured Chantal’s was the best place for that—quiet, on the river, romantic, excellent food, the most decadent desserts in three counties. If one of their sculpted white chocolate mousse liqueur things didn’t banish the ugly thoughts, nothing would.
He passed Bonnie DeLong in her patrol car, turning off Tillman Avenue and onto River Road. She raised her fingers from the steering wheel in acknowledgment as she passed, and relief filtered through him. No more trouble.
After he pulled into the driveway, he was out of the car and halfway up the steps before Frank’s snuffle alerted him that he and Nev were on the porch. One of these days, he intended to replace that old-fashioned wire screen that had been rusted and painted until it was as good as any camouflage material out there. After things were settled with Nev.
She was sitting in the chair that rocked with a little rhythmic creak, gazing into the distance. When Frank stood and stretched before trotting to Ty’s side, she slowly shifted her attention that way, too, and smiled. “Are you all done with protecting and serving for the day?”
“Nah. A cop’s work is never done. But I’m off the clock. Unless murder or mayhem strikes the city, I’m yours for the night.”
“I thought I was the mayhem.”
“You do apparently inspire strong passions. What kept you and Frank busy today?”
“Besides counting the number of times the police cars drove by? Anamaria brought lunch over, and we talked. I like her.”
“Most people do.”
“Did you know her half sister disappeared when she was born? That her husband’s cousin took her away and gave her to somebody else to raise?”
He sat in the other chair, reaching out to clasp her hand. “That’s part of what the cousin’s suicide was about, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Anamaria was five years old, lost her mother, lost her sister, had to leave her home. Tough.”
All that had happened before Ty had come to Copper Lake to live. Even though Anamaria’s return five years ago had raised questions about Glory Duquesne’s death, he didn’t know the details beyond what little had been made public: a few incidents meant to scare Anamaria away, the assumption that the baby had washed away in the river where Glory died, and Kent Calloway’s word, his respectable aunt’s and uncle’s word, twenty-three years later that the baby hadn’t died, as well. Glory had died from injuries suffered in a fall, and Kent had taken his own life. With no clues to lead them to the baby, the case had been pretty much closed.
“You’re a soft-hearted woman, Nevaeh. You weren’t even born back then.”
“I know. It’s just sad that Anamaria and her family have wondered all these years. That Glory didn’t live to see her baby born. That somewhere out there a woman is going about her life without any clue whom she really is. She doesn’t know she’s got a whole family that loves her even though they’ve never met her.”
“She probably has another whole family who loves her. If Kent Calloway hadn’t wanted her to survive, he would have just left her there in the river with her mama. I imagine the family influence guaranteed that she went to a good home.” Good for the child, he acknowledged, but hard for Anamaria’s family. First more than twenty years of believing the baby had died at birth; now five years of knowing she hadn’t, but no clue where she was, if her life had, in fact, had been good.
“Do you ever wonder whether you’ve got any half brothers or sisters out there?”
“Nah.” Of course she was surprised. Even without a wife and kids of his own, he was definitely a family man. She probably assumed he’d never had the chance to have a relationship with his father or certainly he would have.
He sprawled back in his chair. “My father was out of the picture as far as raising me, but I’ve always known who he was. I used to see him from time to time, even after I moved here. He had a lot of personal problems—alcohol, drugs. He suffered from depression and preferred to self-medicate. Having kids was never part of his plans, so during a relatively sober period, he took steps to make sure it didn’t happen again.”
“I’m sorry.” Leaning across the small table, she gave his hand a quick squeeze.
“Don’t be. There are fathers, and there are sperm donors. I’ve had plenty of male role models in my life. All he could have done was screw it up.” Pushing out of his chair, he pulled her to her feet and against his body. Between them, they smelled of sun and soap and sweat and heat. “I’m going to take you to the fanciest restaurant in town for dinner tonight. You wanna wrestle me for first crack at the shower?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned back, bringing her hips and thighs in contact with his. “I’ve never wrestled with anyone in my life except the time Marieka got tired of me whining when Mama flatironed my hair and she pinned me down with a pair of scissors, threatening to cut it all off. I rolled her over and sat on her until Mama yanked me off and sent us both to our rooms for the rest of the day.”
“Man, I’m glad I was an only child.” He meant the kiss he gave her to be short, but she tasted so sweet and his body reacted so quickly. It was early. They could entertain each other in bed for a while and still have plenty of time to clean up, go out and eat at a reasonable hour.
But she ended the kiss with a shiver, stepped back and opened the door. “I’ll be quick.” Her smile was sweet and just a little wicked, and there was an extra sway to her hips as she walked away from him.
He could join her in the shower. The two of them in that confined space, naked, wet, slick with soap...he wouldn’t even have to touch her. Just looking at her would be enough...to start. But it would go beyond that, and shower sex was never as good an idea in action as it sounded when a man still had his clothes on.
Since a cold shower was out of the question, he needed a few deep breaths, maybe a little physical labor. There was always work to do around the house. Surely he could find something to distract him for a while.
Frank barked, the sound echoing in the living room. Ty hadn’t even noticed him following Nev inside, and now the mutt was giving him a you’re-letting-out-the-cold-air look very much like Granddad’s.
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, walking inside and closing the door. Satisfied, Frank climbed onto the couch and dozed off.
Ty changed into shorts and a T-shirt, but once he got into the kitchen, he decided not to start anything. Why bother laying the glass tile for the backsplash when, if things worked out, he’d just be replacing it in the near future? Though she’d tried to hide it, even Frank could have seen that it wasn’t Nev’s style. She needed warm colors and textures, nothing that would overpower her, but definitely not something so cool and modern that it leached the life out of the room.
Grabbing a glass of water, he settled on the couch beside Frank, turned on the TV and tried to concentrate on anything besides the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. He’d halfway succeeded when he realized the sound had stopped. Nev was out of the shower. Dripping wet. Naked. Rubbing one of those thick white towels Aunt Hazel had given him over her body. Her naked body.
He raised the glass to his forehead, letting the condensation from the ice cool his skin. It didn’t help much.
“Man, you had to suggest going out to dinner,” he muttered. “If you hadn’t opened your mouth, you could be taking the quickest shower of your life and be in bed in five minutes.” Scowling down at Frank, he snorted. “And Granddad says you’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer. If he only knew.”
* * *
Every woman deserved to feel pretty and special at least once a day, Nev decided at the restaurant, and this was her time. Heavens, she felt pretty and special enough for a month’s worth of days
. The look on Ty’s face when she’d finally come out of the bathroom, wearing her favorite, most feminine dress, with her makeup applied, perfume drifting around her and her curls loose and soft, just couldn’t have gotten any better. She’d felt like a fairy-tale princess, supermodel and romance-novel heroine all wrapped up in one.
Still felt that way.
But turnabout was fair play. She’d been darn near speechless when Ty came into the living room twenty minutes later, showered, shaved, wearing a navy blue button-down shirt and dove-gray trousers. He looked as if he belonged on a stage or the cover of a fashion magazine with the world’s latest beauty sensation on his arm. But for tonight he’d chosen her.
Lord, that was a tantalizing thought.
Chantal’s was downtown on the river, with a patio reaching out over the water. They’d requested a table inside, though. She wasn’t about to waste all this effort sitting in the muggy rays of the setting sun. The table was beside a window, heavily tinted to block the sun, with linens, a flickering candle and fresh flowers. A tall-stemmed glass half-filled with red wine, a rarity for her, sat to the side of her salad plate, and the warm, yeasty fragrance of fresh bread wafted from the basket in the center of the table.
“Tell me about your mother.”
Ty took a drink of wine, a distant look on his face. He’d had only seven years with his mom, and his memories likely covered only half that time. Important, but too short.
Finally he shrugged. “She always smelled like vanilla. Her voice was a clear, sweet soprano, and she loved old gospel songs. She taught me to play baseball and poker and to read before I started kindergarten. She loved flowers and grew huge tomatoes and could fry okra better than any I’ve ever had.” His smile was faint, wistful. “She wanted to be a nurse. That was what she was studying when she got pregnant. I never felt like she resented having to give it up, though. She told me regularly that I was the best thing in her life.”
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