by Karen White
She shook her head, agitated. “But I have the note from William. My father couldn’t have killed him.” Her voice was desperate, as if she wanted me to agree with her truth. I remembered her brother’s words to me, and chose to allow the truth to be what she wanted it to be. She believes it is proof of innocence where there is none. Let her believe it.
“If it is William’s body buried at the old plantation, do you have any idea who the other male might be?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Please. Stop.” Her hand reached out for mine and I took it.
I patted her hand, hoping to offer reassurance. “I’ll do what I can.
They’re both very angry right now—I don’t know whether they’ll talk to me, but I’ll try.”
She squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
She dropped my hand, then reached for Nola’s. Nola stood and came to grasp it.
“I’m sorry if my family is giving you trouble. You’re young and strong. Fight them.”
Nola nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Julia studied her closely. “How was your performance at the party? I wish I could have been there.”
“I think I did okay. People seemed to like it.”
“She was amazing,” I interjected. “People were astounded that someone so young could have that much talent.”
Julia’s forehead creased. “And that ‘Fernando’ song, did people like that?”
Nola grinned. “Yeah. They actually did, believe it or not.”
I glanced at my watch. “We should go. Jack should be home any minute now.”
To my surprise, Nola leaned down and kissed the old lady’s cheek. “Thank you, Miss Julia. And when you’re feeling better, can we continue our lessons?”
“Of course,” she said.
My eyes met Julia’s, her expression one of pleading and something else, too. “It’s my fault William can’t rest in peace,” she said. “Please, please find a way to give him rest.”
I nodded, then led Nola to the door. It wasn’t until we’d reached the porch that I realized what the other look in Julia’s eyes had been; she was saying good-bye.
CHAPTER 26
The first thing I noticed when I drove up to my mother’s house on Legare was Jack’s car parked across the street. The second thing I noticed was Rebecca’s red Audi parked behind it. The third was Rich Kobylt, my contractor, and his exposed posterior standing at the front door and getting ready to knock. His truck was in the driveway, blocking my way.
I parked in front of Jack, calling to Rich as I exited the car and approached with Nola.
“Hello, Miz Middleton, Miss Nola,” he said, hoisting up his pants.
“Hi, Rich. What’s wrong?”
He scrunched up his face at me. “Why do you always ask me that?”
“Because it’s usually true. I hope the house didn’t topple over after the party.” I looked closely at his face to see whether I’d come anywhere near the truth.
“No, ma’am. The house is fine and we’re already back at work. However . . .” He scratched his head. “I just thought you should know that there’s been a photographer and a video guy out there all morning. They said it was for a book cover and promotional video. I thought it was for Mr. Trenholm’s book, so I didn’t think it was a problem, but then when Mr. Trenholm showed up . . .”
Dread clenched my throat. “Jack was there?”
“Yes, ma’am. Asked them why they were there, and when they told him he got real mad and told them to leave. Caused a real scene. I tried to call you, but your phone must be off, ’cause it kept going right to voice mail.”
I’d turned it off when we’d gone to speak to Miss Julia and forgotten to turn it back on. I tried to keep my voice calm. “Did he say anything to you?”
“No, ma’am. And I was mighty happy about that, too. I’m glad it wasn’t me he was angry at.” He hiked up his pants again. “I figured you might be here and I wanted to let you know.”
I forced a smile. “Yes, thank you, Rich. I appreciate it.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Well, then, I’d better get back to work. Foundation won’t fix itself.”
I said good-bye, then averted my eyes so I wouldn’t have to watch him walk away.
“Why would Jack be so uptight about people taking pictures of your house?” Nola asked.
“Oh, Nola. I didn’t want him to find out like this.”
“Find out about what?”
My eyes met hers. “You’re going to find out eventually, so I guess it’s better that I tell you now.” I paused. “Marc Longo wrote a book about the mysteries surrounding my house—the same subject as your dad’s—except since Marc’s related to one of the families involved, the publisher decided they’d rather publish his book.”
Her eyes widened, reminding me so much of Jack’s that I had to look away. “And you knew this and didn’t tell him?”
“I was going to. But I didn’t have time, and I wanted to wait so I could tell him in person.”
She crossed her arms. “When?”
“Today,” I said softly, realizing how lame and stupid all my reasons for waiting suddenly seemed. Having that pointed out by a thirteen-year-old was both humbling and humiliating.
She sat down on the front steps. “I don’t think I want to see this, so I’m just going to hang out here for a while until the coast is clear and I can run up to my room. I don’t think I can handle an angry Jack and Princess Pink at the same time without hurling.” She squinted up at me. “I don’t think he’ll hit you, but if he does I wouldn’t blame him.”
“Thanks, Nola.” I looked down at the steps, tempted to sit next to her, or jump in my car and drive anywhere, maybe cross-country, rather than go into that house and confront him.
Nola must have seen my hesitation. “If you can face mean dead people, you can do this, Mellie. He might even forgive you.”
“Or not,” I said as I took a deep breath and climbed the rest of the steps before opening the front door. The house was silent, making me think that maybe the cars outside weren’t Jack’s and Rebecca’s, and I could go upstairs to my room, turn on my phone and call Jack, and tell him everything. I’d almost made it across the foyer to the steps when I heard my name called.
I turned to see Rebecca in the doorway leading into the parlor, wearing a soft pink linen suit, her blond hair loose on her shoulders. Her pale eyes were wide. “I hope you don’t mind, but I had another dream last night that I needed to tell you about in person, and I ran into Jack. We thought we’d wait until you got back.”
She leaned forward as if to get a better look at me, and her eyes widened further. “Oh,” she said, raising her hand to her mouth. I was about to ask her what she thought she was seeing when Jack appeared in the doorway behind her, his eyes dark and cool.
“Mellie,” he said, his voice doing nothing to thaw the coolness of his eyes. “How nice to see you again.”
My heart lurched in my chest as I recalled the last time I’d seen him: when he’d kissed me good-bye and his eyes held so many promises. The eyes I saw now seemed to belong to a different man.
“Welcome back, Jack.” I wanted to add, I missed you, or, I’m finding it difficult to get through my days without you, but held back, and not just because of Rebecca’s presence. The unspoken truth hovered close, negating anything else I could have said.
Rebecca looked between Jack and me before returning to scrutinize me again. “I guess what I wanted to tell you can wait—I see you two need to talk.” She disappeared into the parlor and returned with her purse. “I already explained to Jack that you didn’t know about Marc until the night of the party—that Marc deliberately kept you in the dark.”
I had to hand it to Rebecca. Regardless of how she actually felt about me, I was still family, and she was trying to do her part to smooth things over. As if they could be. “I’ll call you later.” She gave me another odd glance before tapping her way across the foyer to the front door
.
I faced Jack, blushing as images of our night together flashed through my head. “Can I get you something to drink?” This wasn’t how I’d imagined his homecoming.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Tell me that you haven’t known about Marc for almost a week without telling me. At least tell me that you didn’t know before we slept together. I’ve been waiting here for over an hour to hear it from your lips.”
I took a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t evade the truth any longer. “I did know. He told me right before I left the party. It was one of the reasons I came to see you that night.”
He stared at me for a long time, as if trying to translate what I was saying into a language he could understand. “For a pity party? Is that why you came? To make me feel better?” He laughed bitterly. “I did say that to you once, though, didn’t I? That going to bed with you would make me feel better. I never expected you to take me up on the offer.”
I took a step toward him, then stopped. “No, Jack. That’s not it at all. I wanted to tell you, but then things between us . . . progressed. And then you left, and I kept telling myself it could wait until you got back.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and began walking toward the door.
I took a step toward him. “Please, Jack. Don’t go. I know what I did was stupid—I’ve been beating myself up about it every day. I just . . . Please let me explain. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He faced me, his eyes hard. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it. Knowing you, you were probably waiting for me to figure it all out by myself so you wouldn’t have to be involved at all. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I almost lied. But even I was beginning to understand how the truth served warm was a lot easier to digest than a lie served cold. “I’m sorry, Jack. Please believe how sorry I am. Just give me another chance. I know now how important the truth would have been, and I was going to tell you. . . .” Even I cringed at how clichéd and pathetic my words were. I closed my mouth, certain that anything I said wouldn’t bring him back. I had lost him the moment I’d entered his apartment that night with the secret I wasn’t convinced I would share.
“I’m done with you, Mellie. With all the craziness you put me through. I thought the other night was the start of something new between us, but I guess I was wrong. There’s a level of trust that’s not there, and I just can’t get past it. Life is way too short.” He opened the door, then paused, looking back.
“You said telling me about Marc was one of the reasons you came over that night. What was the other?”
I bit my lower lip, tasting tears I wasn’t aware I was shedding. I looked down at the floor in front of his feet. Very quietly, I said, “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”
He didn’t move for a long moment, and I closed my eyes, waiting for him to answer. Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t open my eyes again until I heard the door close behind him.
I stared at the two unnamed goldfish making their endless laps around their glass bowl. I hadn’t found the energy to figure out what to do with them, or even to name them. I thought one looked a little thin, so I dropped an extra pinch of food into the top of the bowl, watching as the plumper one snatched the first gulp before swimming away in victory. The smaller one sidled up to the last flake and was opening its little fish mouth before the bossy one swam by and snatched it up, too. I couldn’t even find the energy to scold it.
For three weeks I’d been walking through life as if in a coma. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and couldn’t focus on anything. For the first time in my career, my name slipped from the top seller’s chart in Dave Henderson’s office and I couldn’t even care. My parents, Nola, and even General Lee handled me with care, not jostling me too much with questions or speculations or the need for walks. Nola even brought me doughnuts at all hours of the day, concerned that the same box had languished in the pantry for more than a week. I’d taken a bite for her benefit, then thrown the rest of it out after she left. It was odd to feel hungry but have no appetite, something with which I’d had no previous experience.
The only bright spot was that Jack wasn’t asking for Nola to move back with him. I assumed the reason was because the dollhouse was now parked in his spare bedroom. Regardless, I was glad. I’d miss her— even her wild music and eye rolling—when she was gone, and I didn’t think I could take another loss so soon.
A knock sounded on the door and I leaned back in my chair. “I’m not here.”
Sophie walked into my office and stopped when she saw me by the fishbowl. “You look awful.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, rolling my chair back to my desk, then laying my head on top.
“Really, Melanie, I’ve never seen you look this way. You’re . . . puffy.”
I turned my head away. “Maybe I’ve been crying.”
“Yeah, well, I can see that. But it’s more than your face. Check out your feet.”
I’d figured the heat of summer coupled with my now advanced age had been making my shoes tighter. I lifted my head and looked down at my swollen feet, where my ankles were definitely approaching cankle territory.
“Who cares?” I said, my voice sounding almost as pathetic as I felt. “It’s probably from all the salt tears I’ve been swallowing.”
“I think you’re probably dehydrated. Have you been drinking your water?”
I moaned in answer.
Sophie plopped herself down in one of the chairs on the other side of my desk and scooted it over so I had a better view of her and her hair, which was beribboned in about fifty or so plastic bow-shaped barrettes. I realized how bad I was feeling when I caught myself thinking that her hair looked cute. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls, and Charlene swears she’s been giving you my messages.”
I sat back in my chair and yawned. All I wanted to do was sleep and cry, and sometimes I even managed to do both simultaneously. “Sorry. But I’ve already told you everything, and there just isn’t anything else to talk about.”
“Actually, there is. But first, I’m going to kidnap you and do something fun.”
I closed my eyes. “Does it involve sleeping?”
“Not necessarily, but it does involve things that as my maid of honor you’re supposed to be taking care of.”
One eye popped open. “Like what?”
“We’re going to Charleston Place and having a spa day.”
I sat up, trying to picture Sophie in a white robe and spa slippers. “Really?”
“Really. And trust me—after seeing you, I realize a spa day will be as much for you as it is for me.”
I looked at my desktop computer and BlackBerry—neither of which I’d turned on yet, even though I’d been in the office for nearly two hours—and weighed the misery of staying at the office and ignoring calls against lying in a dimly lit room with soft music while somebody slathered my face with cream. With a heavy sigh, I said, “Whatever.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm.” She stood and grasped my arms to help pull me up. “I’ve invited Nola, and she’s waiting outside in my car. I invited your mom, too, but they called her this morning to fill in as docent at the Nathaniel Russell House.”
I blinked at her. “My mother’s a docent?”
“Since last month. I told her she’d be a shoo-in, and tourists love her. I’m sure she’s mentioned it to you.”
I searched my fuzzy memory of the last month in vain as I followed Sophie out of the office like a lemming, too tired to tell her I’d figured out that she’d decided I was going even before she’d asked.
I loved Charleston Place, the venerable stately hotel and upscale retail mecca on the corner of Meeting and Market streets. In my life before Jack, I’d loved to come shop at the Anne Fontaine store and the other beautiful boutiques that lined the marbled halls, and I frequently brought clients for breakfast or lunch at the elegant Palmetto Café. I’d even sha
red a few celebratory dinners at the four-diamond Charleston Grill, with its amazing dessert menu.
Today the aromas of the restaurants made me wrinkle my nose, despite the persistent hunger pangs, and I barely paused before the glass windows of my favorite shops. I even took off my shoes before we reached the elevators to take us up to the spa. It was either that or force Sophie and Nola to carry me. I thought halfheartedly about heading down to Bob Ellis afterward and demanding they fix the shoes that seemed to be shrinking daily.
I allowed Sophie to arrange my treatments—including a heavenly Ultimate Bliss, where two therapists worked their magic on a simultaneous facial and foot reflexology—and a manicure-pedicure. My spa aesthetician, Leah, was young, trim, and perky, and tried to be diplomatic about the deplorable condition of my skin and feet. I hadn’t so much as touched a bottle of lotion or pumice stone since my birthday party. But despite her gentle manner and assurance that forty was the new thirty, I burst into tears as I tried to explain that I’d always taken care of myself and had prided myself on my good skin until just recently, when I’d found my heart shattered with nobody to blame but myself.
Leah was very comforting and reassuring—making me think that aestheticians probably had to take psychology classes, too—and told me she’d have a bag of free samples waiting for me when I left, to make me feel a little better. She handed me a tissue as I thanked her, then escorted me to what I referred to as the decompression room, where robe-clad ladies waited between treatments.
Sophie and Nola were already there, their toenails and fingernails painted in matching neon purple. I sat down in a wicker chair across from them, my skin and feet feeling great, but my heart still bruised and shrunken. I blinked twice at Sophie’s feet. She wore the brown rubber spa flip-flops, giving me the first non-Birkenstock view of her feet since I’d met her. Her feet were small and slender, with straight, even toes. She could have been a foot model. I had known her for so long, yet had never realized how pretty her feet were. For some reason, the thought brought a fresh wave of new tears, and I had to press the tissue to my eyes.