by Lyla Payne
I’ve got plenty of ideas as far as why Aunt Karen isn’t that keen on showing Jack off to her friends, but all of them would make me dislike her more than I already do, so I’ve mostly pushed them to the back of my mind. I sure haven’t mentioned any of them to Amelia.
“I’ve been busy, Amelia Anne.”
“Busy. With what exactly?”
This isn’t why we’re here, but far be it from me to interrupt a family squabble. Especially when I’ve got a killer Bloody Mary to drink while I watch.
The tomato juice is just the right amount of spicy, and instead of an olive or a lime wedge, they’ve garnished it with a piece of bacon and a pickled green bean. Inspired.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe coming to terms with the fact that a bunch of Caribbean negroes knocked us all out and did heaven knows what to us a few weeks ago.” Aunt Karen’s voice is low, almost a whisper, but we can both hear her.
In a different world, I would be tempted to laugh. It’s so Aunt Karen to freak out over a forced association with people who she thinks aren’t on her social plane or whatever. So racist, so Southern, so her. But there’s real fear in my aunt’s eyes, and I doubt it has anything to do with the people who helped us shake the curse on Anne Bonny once and for all.
It’s the fact that she saw a ghost, I think. It might even be the fact that she had to come face-to-face with her own mortality and, despite her cold behavior of late, the idea that she might lose her daughter and her grandson.
I shoot a quick look at her. Yes, she’s definitely freaking out. There’s no color in her face, it’s more than a little out of character that she didn’t order a drink with lunch, and I swear to tits she’s trying not to cry.
The sight of her mother’s almost-silent meltdown shuts down my cousin’s tirade. Her mouth hangs slightly open as she stares at her mother with an expression I haven’t seen on Millie’s face in a very long time—pity.
“Mom…I’m sorry. I know none of that was easy for you to swallow, and then Jack came and I haven’t been focused on much of anything besides taking care of him.” She stares at her drink. Swirls the ice. A frown tugs at her mouth as she shoots a glance at Jack, who is still sleeping. “It was hard for me to accept the whole ghost thing at first, too.”
“Keep your voice down,” my aunt hisses, her eyes darting around the restaurant. She’s clearly terrified someone heard her daughter utter such a dirty word—despite the fact that we’re in Charleston, South Carolina, where at least a hundred people earn an actual living off the idea that the dead still roam the streets.
Actually, the notion that history is alive here in Charleston is what keeps the tourists coming back. They roam the well-preserved streets, thinking about the people who walked the same streets, stared out at the same views, hundreds of years ago. Thinking about the ghost stories that made the city famous.
Which is all to say, if my aunt Karen thinks anyone sitting in this restaurant would stop with a fork halfway to their lips at the mention of a ghost, she’s battier than I thought.
Amelia rolls her eyes, her demeanor shifting back to how she usually deals with her mother—annoyed indifference. There’s really no other way to handle my aunt. She’s ridiculous.
The waiter brings a loaf of bread and asks if we want refills on our drinks. Amelia says no, since she’s breastfeeding, but I ask for one more. I have a feeling I’m going to need some serious lubrication to get through the rest of this lunch.
I’m also hoping it gives me a little liquid courage. Talking about my mother doesn’t rank high on my excitement scale, ever, and discussing her with her disapproving, superior sister is something to be avoided at all costs.
Until now. With Clete missing, there’s no one else to ask about what happened between him and my mother. If my mother’s ghost is behind the garnets, then she’s more interested in playing games than actually communicating.
“Well, since you don’t want to talk about the g-word, I was hoping you might be willing to chat a bit about Felicia instead,” I venture, diving in while the vodka is still warm in my stomach.
Aunt Karen purses her lips. Distaste colors her expression, a trademark response when it comes to any mention of my mother. “What about her?”
Despite her wrinkled nose, curiosity sparks in my aunt’s eyes. She knows that I don’t enjoy the topic of my mother any more than she does. I was never the type to pepper her with questions, even as a curious child. My mother was always a mystery to me—from her habit of flitting in and out of my life, to the way she always fought with my grandparents, to her insistence on sending me to South Carolina every summer despite her own adamant refusal to set foot here again.
“I ran across a newspaper article at the library. It said my mom got lost in the woods when she was a teenager. Sounded like it was right before she left town and had me. Do you remember that?”
“Of course I remember my own sister going missing. I’m not and never have been daft, despite what you might think, Graciela.”
“Okay, well, it said that Clete Raynard found her, and someone I talked to in Heron Creek said the two of them were close. Friends? Maybe more?”
“None of us understood why she would want to run around with the likes of him. I always figured it was to piss off our mother, which it certainly did.” She takes a long drink of her water with hands that have the slightest tremble. “They weren’t lovers, I don’t think.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Your mother always went for bad boys, sure, but Cletus Raynard wasn’t her type. Too old, for one thing, and too country for another. You know your mother, Graciela. She wanted nothing more than to get away from small-town life and move on to something bigger.”
“And Clete’s the opposite of that,” I agree. “How did they even become friends?”
“Couldn’t tell you. Felicia and I didn’t run with the same crowd. The people she hung out with were always having parties out in the woods where they wouldn’t get caught with their dope and their firecrackers.”
I bite back a snicker at her disdainful sniff. Pot and firecrackers; what is the world coming to? I’m pretty sure my mother’s dalliance with Frank Fournier was a worse decision than every kind of minor teenage rebellion rolled into one.
“Where did Clete find my mom when she went missing?”
“Way out east of Asheville. Mama and Daddy were shocked, but I wasn’t. Fe had been sneaking off farther and farther, testing her boundaries.” She glanced at me, giving me an appraising raise of her eyebrow. “Your mother wasn’t as brave as she liked people to think. It took her time to rev up to the big stuff, like running away. If she hadn’t gotten knocked up with you I’m not sure she ever would have worked up the gumption to leave at all.”
It’s hard to say whether Aunt Karen is blaming or thanking me for getting Felicia out of Heron Creek for good. I don’t ask, because my heart isn’t ready to hear the answer.
“How did he find her?” That question has been bothering me ever since I read the article. Now that it leaves my lips, the answer hits me all at once, like a ton of bricks. “He knew where she was already.”
Aunt Karen nods. “His family had a place out there. Abandoned now that the land officially belongs to the state, but his ancestors mined gems. Prospected, I guess is the word.”
Amelia, who has been quiet this whole time, sucks in a quick breath. Jack stirs and cries out, and she starts the process of unbuckling him and covering herself to feed him lunch. Her eyes, though, stay locked on mine.
I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking.
It sounds like we have a way to find Clete. Or whoever is trying to lure me to Nantahala National Forest.
Chapter Fourteen
Jack decides that his car seat is basically a torture device on the way back to Heron Creek, but once Millie crawls back there and sings to him for a few minutes, he calms down. It’s still strange in some ways, to see her killing it as a mother. In other ways, it seems as if this is
the way it’s always been—or maybe just the way it was meant to be.
He dozes off when we’re about ten minutes from home and I meet my cousin’s eye in the rearview mirror. She raises a brow.
“Prospectors, huh?”
“I know. If Clete wants me to find him, like you seem to think, then I’d bet money he’s hiding out in the same place he found my mom in those woods.”
“Or someone else is hiding out there, waiting for you to figure it out and show up.”
The same thought had entered—and then left—my mind. Why would anyone put together such an elaborate ruse to hurt me? What would be the point? Besides, I doubt anyone other than Clete would have all of the necessary puzzle pieces.
There’s the question of why he’s hiding, of course, and why he would want me to trek out to the North Carolina/Tennessee/Georgia border. And if he did it, I don’t know how he managed it. From a purely practical sense, the ghost explanation makes more sense. Even if it means my mother is back in town.
“I don’t think Clete wants to kill me, and I doubt anyone else would know about the place,” I summarize aloud. “Except for Felicia.”
Millie purses her lips. She looks exactly like her mother, a thought I do not voice because I want to continue to live.
At the moment, mostly because Knox and I have plans to meet up again tomorrow night.
“Fair point, although if Felicia is stalking you as a ghost, you might have bigger problems to worry about than finding the cabin. And you’re still not going out there alone.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply. I wouldn’t, not after all the trouble I’ve gotten into going off on my own, but that doesn’t mean Clete will be too keen on anyone showing up with me.
A surge of grief wells up at my mind’s knee-jerk suggestion that I would just take Leo.
“Um, Grace. Your engine is smoking.”
“What?” My gaze falls to the hood of my old Honda, and damn if there isn’t black smoke billowing out from under the hood.
I pull over to the side of the road, starting to panic a bit as the smoke comes faster. “Get Jack out,” I bark at my cousin as I turn off the engine and scramble out myself, grabbing her diaper bag and both of our purses while she frees the baby. By the time we’re all a safe distance away, flames are licking the hood, paint bubbling and peeling as it heats up.
“Further,” Amelia urges, and we’ve gone a couple hundred yards when a muted boom makes her yelp. Jack starts crying.
A rush of heat runs up my back.
Dread pools in my belly as I turn, but there’s no point in pretending that my beloved car is going to be anything other than junk after this. It wasn’t a movie explosion or anything, but the car is definitely on fire.
“Oh, Grace. I’m sorry.”
I sigh, surprised to feel a bit of a sting in my eyes that has nothing to do with the acrid smoke that’s still a good ways off. We’ve been through a lot together, that car and me. And now…well, it sort of feels like a metaphor for my life.
Or maybe it’s a sign that it’s time to burn down everything that came before and start fresh.
I dig out my cell phone and pause with my finger dangling over my “favorites” screen. Leo’s out. Mel is still on maternity leave. After a brief moment of contemplation, I poke Will’s name and prepare myself for a freak out followed by a lecture. It remains unclear whether this is a result of my lazy approach to car ownership or something more nefarious, but either way, I’m in for it. I only told Amelia and Brick about my tire, not Will.
If I’m being honest, though, this seems too coincidental to be…well, a coincidence. I can’t even pretend to discount the possibility that someone is messing with me.
Who? Suspects include the Fourniers and Cade Walters, because he creeps me out. Which isn’t a long list, per se. But it’s also not a short one.
“Gracie? Everything okay?”
“Yes and no. We’re fine, but my car is on fire. Can you pick us up?”
There’s a pause, and I can easily envision what Will’s doing. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, deciding which of his dozens of questions actually needs to be asked.
“Where are you?”
He’s getting better at the whole self-control thing. Maybe Melanie has been working with him on it.
“We’re about ten minutes outside of town, on the highway. We were coming back from lunch in Charleston.”
“Okay. I’ll come with the SUV so there’s a base for Jack’s car seat. You call AAA and get a tow truck for your car.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course. Be safe in the meantime. Stay away from the road.”
He hangs up, his nurturing father shtick leaving a smile on my face.
Amelia has Jack covered with one blanket and another is draped over the top of the car seat to keep the sun out of his eyes. The baby is, miraculously, asleep again. Lunch with his grandmother probably did him in—I know it had that effect on me.
Or maybe that was the Bloody Marys. Their primary effects have worn off, but the residual alcohol, combined with the fatigue of adult responsibilities, makes me hanker for a nap.
“Will coming?”
“Yep.” I shade my eyes, doing a mental inventory of what might have been in the Honda that’s worth rescuing. Nothing.
With that done, I make the call to AAA and go through their rigmarole, asking them to tow the car to Glory Jean’s. There doesn’t seem to be much point in asking her to fix the poor thing, but at least maybe she’ll buy it off me for the parts. After she takes a look and lets me know whether this was any kind of accident.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Amelia after a few minutes of silence.
“Not every shitty thing that happens is your fault, Grace. Sometimes crap just happens.”
“I guess. But maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I drove, like, a grownup car that wasn’t manufactured before we were born.”
She shrugs, sliding an arm around my waist and tugging me in close. Her head falls on my shoulder. “Maybe. But your sentimentality is one of the things that makes you Grace. It’s okay that you have a hard time letting go. If you didn’t, you might have given up on me.”
Millie doesn’t mention that this could be another attempt on my life, but we’re both staring at the elephant in the room. It’s not going away.
By the time Will pulls up twenty minutes later, the fire has almost died out. The AAA truck arrives less than a minute later, so Amelia and I huddle in Will’s SUV while he shoots the shit with the tow truck guys as they poke around under my Honda’s hood.
“It’s so cute how men always think they’re going be able to fix cars,” Amelia comments dryly. She’s sitting with her eyes closed, head resting on the seat. Probably lamenting the fact that Jack has been napping for so long out here that he’s not going to sleep at home.
Which means no nap for her. Or me, I guess, but for once I wasn’t exactly planning on it. Fried car, and all.
“Will has no idea what tools are. Gramps asked him to go grab a lug wrench once and he came back with a ball peen hammer.”
Millie snorts. That makes me laugh, and by the time Will climbs back into the car, there’s no stopping us. He raises an eyebrow at me, which only cracks us up harder. He shakes his head and starts the car, unworried in a way that only a man—and one who has known us a very long time—would be able to pull off.
“If the two of you have calmed down,” he tries a few minutes into the drive, “you might be interested to hear what the AAA guys think started your fire.”
I perk up. “They know already?”
“It’s not official, but they found what looks like the remains of a rats’ nest under the hood. When your engine got hot, it caught.”
“Yuck,” my cousin inserts.
Once I get past my initial stomach turn, questions start to form and a frown tugs my lips downward. “How come it didn’t catch on fire on our way to Charleston? We drove for longer that way, and the rats co
uldn’t have built a nest while we had an hour lunch with Aunt Karen.”
Will’s brow furrows. His fingers curl around the steering wheel and he glances in the rearview mirror at Amelia. I can’t see her face, but it’s likely a reflection of mine—genuine confusion.
“I don’t know, Gracie. I’m not a mechanic. I’m sure Glory Jean will be able to tell you more after she takes a look.” He shoots me a sympathetic look. “Either way, I’m pretty sure you’re going to need to go car shopping sometime soon.”
“Too bad your mom sold Grams’ old Lincoln,” I lament.
Amelia gives an annoyed huff. “She couldn’t wait to get rid of that old boat.”
“I kind of liked it. Smelled like peppermint.”
“To be fair, any smell would be an improvement on your Honda. May it rest in peace.”
We pass the rest of the ride in silence peppered with small talk about Mel and the kids. Amelia eats about a dozen lemon drops from a baggie she finds tucked in the pocket behind the driver’s seat. Will mentions that Mel’s thinking of going back to work a few hours a week as early as next month, because she’s going crazy at home. Daria said she could bring little Mary along.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I tell Will absently as we pull into our driveway. “Daria’s crazy about babies.”
“Daria’s just plain crazy if you ask me,” Will replies as he wrestles Jack’s car seat loose from the base and carries it up to the porch.
Amelia unlocks the door and takes Jack, who’s awake and looking confused at how he got from point A to point B. Or maybe he’s just trying to poop.
“Daria might be crazy, but she’s been a lifesaver. Besides, we don’t like to use ‘crazy’ as a pejorative around here.” She tips her head toward me like I’m not watching, causing Will to laugh again.
I shake my head at them both and head into the house behind Amelia. My fingers and toes are the kind of chilled that won’t be helped by anything but a hot bath, which thankfully, I have time to fit in today. “Thanks, Will. You’re a pal.”
“No problem. Let me know what Glory Jean says after she takes a look. And if you need a ride to the car dealership over the weekend.”