Her Sister's Shoes
Page 17
When she entered the kitchen, she heard hushed voices coming from the sitting room—her nephew’s, her sister’s, and a deep pleasant voice she assumed belonged to Moses. She brewed herself a cup of coffee and went about making breakfast.
Faith was piling pancakes onto a serving platter when Sam strolled in.
“How’d it go?” Faith asked.
“Okay, I guess. I will continue to hope for a miracle, but after last night, I’m grateful for baby steps.” She dropped to the bar stool. “For the first time in a long time, Jamie opened up. Not much, but enough to consider it a start.”
Faith brewed her sister a cup of coffee. “Are they going to hospitalize him?”
“Not yet. Jamie convinced Moses to give him more time.” Sam blew on her coffee, then took a tentative sip. “Don’t get me wrong. I firmly believe that putting my son back in the hospital would be the worst thing for him, but as long as he’s under my roof, the burden of keeping him safe falls on me.”
“Where is Jamie now?”
“In the shower.” Sam clasped her hands together and lifted her eyes to the sky. “Which is an answer to one of my prayers in itself.”
Faith pulled a bar stool close to her sister. “I’m here, Sammie. You can share the burden with me.”
Sam let out a deep sigh of relief. “I know. Just having you here helps. And thank you for making breakfast. You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”
Faith had set four places at the island with plates, napkins, silverware, and orange juice, then set a platter mounded with pancakes, sausage, and strawberries in the center.
Sam grabbed a fork and speared a sausage link. “Why are you up so early? After yesterday, I expected you to sleep in.”
“I’ll have you know, I’ve already been to Charleston and back,” Faith said, a smirk playing along her lips.
Sam stopped, the sausage link poised in front of her lips. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t go out alone.”
“I went to the courthouse to file for an order of protection.” When a confused look crossed Sam’s face, she added, “You know, a restraining order.”
Sam set the sausage down on her plate and offered her sister a fist bump. “I’m proud of you for taking control.” She pointed her finger at Faith. “But don’t even think about leaving this house unchaperoned again.”
“Where do you expect me to find a chaperone?”
“I’ll chaperone you, Aunt Faith.” Jamie wheeled up beside his mother. “That’s about the only job I can manage in this chair.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “You shaved.” She ran her hand down her son’s smooth cheek.
He batted his mother’s hand away. “It was starting to itch.”
“You look handsome, Jamie,” Faith said. “More like your old self.” She pushed the platter of food toward her nephew, and he filled his plate with pancakes.
Sam’s eyes met Faith’s. “Baby steps,” Sam mouthed.
“Where’s Bits?” Jamie asked. “Isn’t she going to eat?”
“I assume she’s still asleep.” Faith glanced at her watch. “But it’s almost ten o’clock. I’ll go wake her up.”
Panic gripped Faith’s chest when she discovered the bed in the guest room empty. She searched in the closet and in the corner behind the rocking chair. When she lifted the bed skirt, a pair of green eyes stared back at her. She reached in and dragged her daughter out from beneath the bed. She wrapped her arms around Bitsy’s trembling body and rocked her back and forth while the child wept. “Hush now, baby. You need to calm down and tell me what’s wrong so I can make it all better.”
“I heard a man’s voice, and I thought it was Daddy.”
“No, sweetheart. That was Jamie’s friend Moses. He came by earlier to see him.”
“But you left me here all alone.”
“No, honey.” Faith kissed her daughter’s sweaty head. “I would never leave you alone. Aunt Sam and Jamie were here with you the whole time.”
Bitsy stared up at her mother, her long lashes heavy with tears. “But where’d you go?”
“I had a very important errand to run. I filed some papers so the police can make Daddy stop hurting us.”
“Really?” Lip quivering, Bitsy inhaled an unsteady breath. “Do you think it will work?”
“I hope so, but for the time being, I’m going to stick to you like a piece of chewing gum on the bottom of your shoe.”
Bitsy giggled.
“Let’s go get some pancakes.” Ignoring the pain in her ribs, Faith swept Bitsy up and carried her to the kitchen.
Jamie noticed his cousin’s tears right away. “What’s wrong, Bits?”
“I heard a man’s voice and I thought it was Daddy coming to take me away,” she said, clinging tighter to her mother’s waist.
“We’re not gonna let that happen.” He pointed to the empty seat beside him. “Come here, and sit down next to me.”
Faith set her daughter on the bar stool while Jamie lifted two pancakes onto Bitsy’s plate. He cut one of the pancakes in half and arranged the two pieces on top of the whole one in the shape of a Mickey Mouse face.
“I have to go to the potty before I eat.” Bitsy hopped down and scurried off.
Jamie wheeled off after her, returning less than a minute later with a metal lockbox on his lap. He reached for his mother’s keys on the hook by the back door. One by one, he flipped through all of the keys on the ring.
“Where is it?” he asked his mother.
“I’m not telling you.” She held her hand out to him. “Give me the box.”
He placed his arm protectively over the box. “No.”
“So what’s in the box?” Faith asked.
“My gun.” He darted a glance at Faith, then stared back at his mother. “Give me the key, Mom. It’s my gun.”
“It’s the pistol Daddy gave him,” Sam explained to Faith. “Under the circumstances, I’m not comfortable with it being in his possession.”
No mother in her right mind would put a gun in the hands of a suicidal teenager, Faith thought.
She placed a hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “I agree with your mother, Jamie. Seeing that gun might frighten Bitsy more than she already is.”
“But what if Curtis shows up? Somebody has to protect you,” he said to Faith.
Faith leaned down next to Jamie’s chair. “I appreciate your concern, Jamie. Really I do. But I have think about Bitsy. And I think it’s in her best interest for me to let the police handle the situation.”
“But …” Jamie started, and then backed down.
“We have to trust Faith to handle her crisis in her own way, son. There’s plenty we can do to help that doesn’t involve using a gun.” Sam held her hand out for the box. “I’ll put it back in its safe place. For now.”
Faith drove Jamie to his two o’clock appointment with Moses. They were pulling in the driveway on the way home, when Bitsy asked, “Jamie, will you teach me how to play Xbox?”
He turned around to face her in the backseat. “I’m not sure I have any games you can play.”
Bitsy pouted her lower lip. “Please.”
“Oh, no. Not the lower lip treatment.”
She stuck her lip out even further.
“You can suck the lip back in.” He poked at her lip with his finger, making it flap up and down. “I’m sure we can find something you can play. Maybe Angry Birds.”
Once the kids were settled in front of the television, Faith went out back to her sister’s garage, a freestanding wooden building at the end of the driveway. She wiped the dirt off the window and peeked inside. The garage was a complete mess, packed with tools and recreational items in all shapes and sizes. With a little organizing, there might be just enough room for her truck.
Ignoring the pain in her head and her ribs, Faith carefully lifted the heavy garage door. She started by pushing out the big items—things with wheels like the lawnmower and wheelbarrow and Jamie’s bicycle—and lining them up in the drivew
ay, making enough room to move around inside. She stored the duck decoys, hunting gear, and gardening supplies on the shelves along the sidewalls. She filled a large plastic tub with baseball bats, lacrosse sticks, and fishing rods, then a smaller one with balls of every type. She was organizing the gardening tools on the workbench in the back of the shed when Jamie and Bitsy came out to check on her.
“What’re you doing, Mama?” Bitsy asked.
Faith brushed a lock of hair out of Bitsy’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “I wanted to do something nice for Aunt Sam for letting us stay with her, so I decided to clean out her garage.”
“Can I help?”
Faith surveyed the now semiorderly mess. “I’m not quite ready, but in a little while, you can help me push all the big stuff back inside the garage.”
“Okay. Just let me know when you’re ready.” Bitsy grabbed a hula hoop from the corner and took it out into the yard.
Jamie wheeled up beside Faith. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to be out here alone.”
“I’m not alone anymore, now that you’re here.”
“You know what I mean, Aunt Faith. With Curtis on the loose and all.”
Faith watched her daughter, barefoot in the grass, having fun as she struggled to make the hula hoop stay on her hips. “If I let Curtis control my life, wouldn’t that be just as bad as letting him beat me?”
Jamie spun his chair around in a circle as he inspected the clean garage. “Funny, there’s just enough room in here for your truck.”
“Busted.” Faith popped her hands up. “So maybe I am letting Curtis control my life a little bit.”
“If that bastard tries to come on my property, he won’t live to see the next sunrise.” Jamie beat his palm with his fist.
Faith had witnessed Jamie’s off-and-on anger all day. He’d spent the morning watching a SpongeBob marathon with Bitsy, as though he was six again and it was his favorite show. But then he got frustrated when they couldn’t get his wheelchair in the truck, and annoyed when Faith refused to drop him off at therapy and come back for him later. She understood how his feelings might be confused after everything he’d been through. She only hoped the compassionate, less volatile side of Jamie held true in the end.
“Curtis is a very dangerous man, Jamie. You’ve seen what he did to my face. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, especially if you were protecting me. Promise me you won’t try to be a hero.”
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” He rolled over to the bucket of balls, picked out a basketball, and shot it at the hoop over the garage door. The ball bounced off the rim, hit the backboard, and fell through the net.
Faith caught the rebound and tossed it back to Jamie. “I’m impressed. You still have all your upper body strength. Rumor has it, you might walk again.”
He shot the ball and made it a second time. “My mom’s the one who started the rumor. And here she comes.” He motioned toward his mother’s Jeep turning in the driveway. “Please don’t get her started on that.”
Sam hopped out of the Jeep and grabbed a rectangular cardboard box from the backseat. “What’s all this? Isn’t it a little late for spring cleaning?”
“It’s a surprise for you with an ulterior motive for me,” Faith said.
“Whatever your motive is, it’s fine by me. I haven’t seen the floor of this garage in years.”
“What’s in the box?” Faith asked.
Sam set the box in Jamie’s lap. “Burgers and steaks and ribs. A meat distributor came by today offering samples. What do y’all think about adding a butcher at Sweeney’s?”
“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.” Jamie handed the box back to his mom and wheeled off.
“What’s so dumb about it?” she called after him.
“Because having meat would take the attention away from the seafood,” he responded as he maneuvered his way into the house.
Sam turned to Faith. “What do you think?”
Faith had no opinion one way or another about adding a butcher. She was simply relieved to know she still had a voice in the decisions. “Well, I think the idea is interesting. And we certainly have the space to add a butcher counter. But I can also see what Jamie is saying. We don’t want to diversify too much or we’ll lose our main focus.”
“True. And we’ve already added the wine section and the prepared foods.” Sam set the box down in the wheelbarrow. “I guess we need to start turning a profit before we make any more changes.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t sample the goods.” Faith opened the lid on the box and rummaged through the contents. She held up a large rack of baby back ribs.
Bitsy rolled her hula hoop over to them. “Are we having ribs for dinner?”
“Not unless we cook them in the oven.” Sam pointed at the dark clouds moving in from the west. “Looks like a storm’s coming.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning was followed by a not-so-distant rumble of thunder.
Faith moved her truck into the garage, and then the three of them parked everything else around it.
“I think we better get inside.” Sam lowered the garage door and sprinted across the grass to the back door as the first sprinkles began to fall.
The thunderstorm passed quickly, but the rain set in for the night. At Sam’s suggestion, they built a fire in the fireplace and cooked hotdogs and marshmallows on coat hangers. Jamie helped Bitsy build a blanket tent under the dining room table, and the four of them crawled inside to eat campsite-style.
Faith appreciated her sister’s efforts. Sam claimed it was for Bitsy’s sake, but her impromptu campout lightened everyone’s mood. Faith recognized the faraway look in Sam’s eyes as a sign of exhaustion. She had no doubt Sam would spend another night on the floor beside her son’s bed, holding vigil. Devoted mother and sister and daughter, Sam had always been all things to everyone in their family. But they had never all been in crisis at the same time. And Faith could tell their situation was taking its toll on her sister. Try as she might, Sam would never find answers to any of their problems in a bottle of wine.
Twenty-Three
Jacqueline
Anxious to begin the process that would end her marriage, Jackie arrived thirty minutes early for her first appointment with her attorney. She’d spoken to Barbara Rutledge several times on the phone, but this would be their first face-to-face meeting.
With a sunshine-yellow facade and electric-blue front door, the office building for the law practice of Browning, Rutledge, and Rankin was the biggest and brightest of all the townhouses on Rainbow Row. The receptionist, a young woman dressed in a black pencil skirt and white starched blouse, greeted Jackie from behind a tiny desk in the foyer and ushered her to the adjoining waiting room. Jackie refused her offer of coffee and made herself at home on the leather sofa with the current issue of Garden & Gun magazine. Aside from the constant ringing of the telephone, the office was quiet. The waiting room was handsomely appointed in a masculine way with rich coffee-colored walls and oriental rugs. After twenty minutes and three back issues of Garden & Gun, she heard voices coming down the stairs. A handsome couple appeared in the foyer—Barbara Rutledge, whom Jackie recognized right away from her photographs in the newspaper, and a man who was undoubtedly a client.
Jackie judged the client to be in his mid to late fifties and newly divorced, as evidenced by the absence of a wedding ring and his presence in a divorce attorney’s office. With dark hair graying at the temple …
Jackie caught herself. What was she thinking? She’d vowed never to fall for a good-looking man again, regardless of how nicely his taut body filled out his impeccably tailored suit.
Barbara Rutledge opened the front door for her client and followed him outside.
Jackie thumbed through the rest of the magazine. She was beginning to wonder if her attorney had forgotten about their appointment and taken the handsome man out for a late lunch, when Barbara suddenly reappeared.
“Believe me, Ms. Rutledge, the pleasure is all mine.”
“Please. Let’s dispense with the formalities. I’m Barbara, known to my clients as Barbara the Barracuda, which is a nickname I’m proud of and work hard to maintain. Shall I call you Jackie?”
“Or Jacqueline. Anything but Jack.”
Barbara smiled. “Because that’s what your husband calls you.”
“How very perceptive of you.”
“Shall we go upstairs to my office?” Barbara motioned toward the stairwell.
Jackie gathered her things and followed Barbara’s shapely figure up the steep flight of stairs. Wearing a summer khaki pantsuit, pale-blue silk blouse, and nude Manolo Blahnik pumps, Barbara set a striking example of a classic Southern professional woman.
The attorney’s office was a more feminine version of the waiting room downstairs with soft cream walls and Oushak rugs in neutral shades. Her Queen Anne mahogany desk sat in front of a bank of windows that overlooked East Bay Street below. Bookcases covered one wall while a pair of large contemporary paintings offered splashes of color on another.
With legal pad in hand, Barbara joined Jackie on the sofa. “This first meeting is mostly about you and me getting to know one another. I typically start by asking my clients about their expectations—the obvious being, what do you hope to get out of your divorce?”
“Full custody of my sons and every penny I can possibly extract out of my husband.”
A smile appeared across Barbara’s rosy pink lips. “Then you’ve come to the right place.” She consulted her legal pad. “You mentioned on the phone that your husband has been having an affair. Is there any evidence of that?”
“Plenty. The happy couple is certainly not trying to hide anything. We’ve been separated for less than two weeks and they’re already living together. He’s strutting his new trophy around town. He even had the nerve to show up at a benefit with her on his arm the other night.”
“Did anyone take pictures at the event that we might use as evidence?”