by Karen White
Turning to Deborah, she said, “I have something I need to see to—would you mind taking the serving dishes from the refrigerator and placing them on the dining room table and then starting the percolator? I’ll be right back.”
She trudged up the stairs, but instead of turning toward her room, she headed up to the attic. It was chilly in the unheated space, and she was glad she’d left on her coat. She went immediately to the corner where she kept the plane hidden from Cal, who sometimes joined her in the attic to watch her work on the nutshell studies. He enjoyed the attention to detail, and hearing the stories of how the crimes were committed and what mistakes the perpetrators had made that led to their being caught. It appeased his sense of rightness.
But she would not let him know about the plane, and what she’d discovered. She had the knowledge to point the finger of blame at the person responsible, but she could not condemn her, could not pass judgment. Because Edith understood her motives, understood that desperation was sometimes all that was left.
Maybe that was why, during the funeral service, she’d kept thinking about the anonymous woman and the suitcase she most likely believed to have been destroyed in the crash along with her letter. How all these years she believed her secret safe. And how Edith wished she’d told Cecelia what she knew, that she wasn’t alone. That some women were sometimes pushed to the point of desperate acts if they didn’t seek help. Maybe that would have changed things. But hindsight was as useless now as Cal’s fists against the stalwart trunk of a tree.
It had been while Edith was thinking about that suitcase that she remembered the missing dopp kit, and that empty space where one might have been. It was the last part of the puzzle she hadn’t figured out, the how. And suddenly the answer had clarified itself so finely in Edith’s mind that she was afraid she might smile in the middle of the service.
She quickly found the bag where she stored the passenger dolls who’d been found outside the fuselage and all of her notes, as well as the passenger list. She placed them on the table next to her sea glass, then lifted her reading glasses to her nose before running her finger down the names. She missed it the first time and so went more slowly the second, her unvarnished nail sliding down the list until it stopped on the name she remembered seeing written in bold, black ink on a luggage tag. Henry P. Holden. And then, in very small writing, she wrote down the address she still remembered from memory, and imagined the faceless woman now against the backdrop of a cold Maine winter.
chapter 25
LORALEE
Loralee opened her eyes, watching the shadows of the oak leaves shimmy against the wall of her room. The buttery yellow of the sun told her it was later than it probably should be for her to still be in bed, but it seemed her eyelids were the only part of her she could willingly move.
She remembered vague snippets from the night before: of Merritt driving them back to the house and Gibbes being there, handing her medicine and water and talking quietly to her, and then a smaller hand brushing her hair from her forehead. Gibbes knew her secret now, of course. She didn’t remember telling him, but he was a doctor and would have figured it out. Loralee knew that with as much certainty as she knew he wouldn’t tell Merritt, even if he could. She also knew that he would expect her to do it as soon as possible. Soon. She would tell Merritt soon. She just needed a little more time.
She closed her eyes, assessing how she felt. Her doctor in Georgia had told her to rate her pain level from one to ten, with ten being the worst. Loralee figured the day before had been a six, and that scared her. Because six was almost eight, and eight was the number to dread, the number where Loralee would have to make plans.
Without moving too much, she reached out her hand for her Tums and instead felt a warm hand holding hers and placing the Tums in her palm. She opened her eyes and saw Merritt, in her hideous gray nightshirt, staring down at her.
“Gibbes said you might need this when you woke up.”
Loralee nodded gratefully and took two. She studied Merritt as she chewed, trying to pull in her thoughts. “What time is it?”
Merritt looked at the bedside clock. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”
Loralee blinked. “Why are you still in your . . . um . . .” She waved her hand in front of Merritt.
Her stepdaughter looked down at her chest as if to make sure she knew what Loralee was referring to. “I fell asleep in the armchair in the corner. Owen was worried about you, so I promised I’d sleep in your room to make sure you were all right. I just woke up, too.”
Loralee felt her eyes fill, so she turned to the side to put the roll of Tums back on her nightstand. “Thank you. Although I told Gibbes I would be right as rain this morning and making breakfast for everybody. I must have been more tired than I thought.”
Merritt sat down on the edge of the bed. “You were very sick. Gibbes told us that you have some stomach problems that you need to take medicine for, and you forgot your medicine when we went to the church ruins. I wish you’d told me—we could have come right back.”
Loralee managed to smile. “It was stupid of me, and I’m sorry if I made you worry.” Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed herself up to a sitting position, then waited a moment for her stomach to settle. “It’s too late for breakfast, but I can make us up a brunch.”
Merritt stood. “Don’t be silly. You should stay in bed and let Owen and me bring you something to eat.” A half smile crossed her face. “Gibbes and I both think you’re too thin and we need to fatten you up. My dad taught me how to make his famous French toast, and I think we have all the ingredients. . . .”
Merritt must have sensed the nausea rising in Loralee’s throat, because she stopped.
“Or I can just make you some plain toast. You should have some food in your stomach. And I’ve heard chicken soup is good for you, too—that it’s not just an old wives’ tale.”
“You know how to make chicken soup?” Loralee asked, her stomach threatening another protest.
“No. But I know we have some cans in the pantry. It just takes a minute to heat up.”
“Just toast is fine. But I can go get it. . . .”
She was saved from the effort of standing by Owen bursting into the room, holding up a spiral notebook. “Mama!” he cried, rushing over to the bed and throwing his arms around her. She ached everywhere, it seemed, and her stomach was less than settled, but she wouldn’t complain. He smelled of soap and baby shampoo—something he hated but continued to use because that was all she bought, since she loved the smell of it—and his shoulders seemed broader than the last time she’d hugged him. The greatest moments in life are usually the smallest. Her mama had told her that once, and in hugging her son, Loralee knew she was right.
Owen pulled back and put the spiral notebook on the bed next to her. “There’s my report on William Bull. Merritt told me that if I woke up first, I should work on it. I found a lot of information online, so you don’t have to take me to the library.”
Loralee hid her smile as she flipped through the pages. “This looks real good, sweetie. I’ll grade it later, all right? I’m still a little tired.”
Merritt took the notebook and put it on the dresser. “Let’s let your mother rest a bit while we go make her some toast. Have you eaten, Rocky? I could probably figure out how to scramble some eggs.”
“Dr. Heyward made me pancakes with blueberries. And he let me drink a Coke with it, seeing how it’s Saturday.”
Loralee wasn’t sure whether she was more shocked that a pediatrician would allow a child to drink Coke first thing in the morning or by the fact that Gibbes had come over to make breakfast.
“He made you breakfast?” Merritt asked.
“The refrigerator wasn’t running again, and the ice in the freezer was melting down the sides. You left your phone in the kitchen, so I used it to call him,” he said, looking at Merritt. “You shouldn’t leave it lying around all the time—that’s how things get lost. Anyways, Dr. Heyward
already took the food out and put it in coolers, but he said the fridge is a dead duck. And then he made me breakfast.”
The sound of pans clattering in the sink came from downstairs.
“He’s still here?”
Owen shrugged. “Somebody had to clean the dishes.”
Merritt looked down at her sweatshirt again, and apparently didn’t like what she saw. “I’ll be right back.”
Just as she reached the door, there was a light tapping on the other side. “Is everybody decent?”
“Hang on a second,” Loralee said as she pulled herself out of the bed and made it to her dresser. She grabbed the first tube of lipstick she could find and turned to Merritt. “Hike,” she said, tossing it and hoping Merritt knew enough about football to know she was supposed to catch it. And if she didn’t, then Loralee made a mental note to give her a crash course. Owen would need his sister to know these things.
Merritt caught it cleanly in her right hand, and then Loralee pantomimed putting it on her lips, just in case she wasn’t sure.
What? Merritt mouthed.
She wants you to put it on, Owen mouthed back, imitating his mother.
Merritt rolled her eyes, then yanked off the top and brushed the tube against her upper and lower lips in a straight line instead of following the curve of her mouth.
“Come in,” Owen shouted before Loralee had a chance to throw Merritt the tissue box.
“How is everybody this morning?” Gibbes asked as he approached Loralee. She was leaning heavily on the dresser and didn’t argue when he led her back to the bed.
“I’m much better, thank you.” She slid her legs under the covers, noticing for the first time the bathrobe she was wearing. “Good heavens. I must have really been sick if I let somebody put this on me.” She grinned up at Merritt and then stopped when she saw the pink slashes on her lips.
Gibbes pulled the covers up. It was probably too warm in the room for a flannel robe and a blanket, but Loralee was cold all the time now, as if her body lacked the insulation she needed.
Gibbes rubbed his hands together. “I put some pancakes in the oven on warm, in case anybody would like any—and I just put some bread in the toaster, if Owen would like to run down and bring it up on a plate with a glass of water for his mother.”
Gibbes smiled at Owen’s departing back and then appeared to notice Merritt for the first time. He hesitated only a moment. “Good morning,” he said, doing a really good job of not focusing on the lipstick. “Owen tells me you kept an eye on Loralee last night.” His gaze fell to the sweatshirt and his expression changed. “You still sleep in Cal’s shirt?”
She pressed her lips together. “I need to get changed. Excuse me.” She stepped toward the door, but he didn’t move out of her way.
“Before you change, I thought I’d ask if you and Owen and maybe Maris wanted to go out on the boat again today. I thought we’d head out to the sandbar, soak up a little sun, maybe even see what we can catch in a net. Loralee should probably rest, and I thought it would be a good way to give her some peace and quiet.”
Merritt couldn’t quite hide the panic in her voice. “I’ll stay with Loralee, just in case she needs something.”
“I’ll be fine, Merritt. Really. Probably sleeping most of the day so I can regain my strength. Besides, the sandbar is in the middle of the river—not in the ocean. And you’ll be with Gibbes and wearing a life jacket.”
Owen reappeared in the doorway with a plate of toast and a glass of water and put them down on the nightstand after Gibbes slid the pill bottles out of the way.
Owen must have overheard Gibbes, because he shouted, “I want to go to the sandbar! Maris said it’s the coolest place on earth. It’s in the middle of the river and you can see all sorts of fish and sometimes shrimp, too.”
“Shrimp?” Merritt asked, not as excited at the prospect as Owen seemed to be.
“Yes!” he said. “And dolphins, too. Maris says you can usually see them by the marina, but they’re everywhere.”
Merritt looked like a little girl, with her smeared lipstick, oversize shirt, and wide eyes. Gibbes must have thought the same thing, because he was trying very hard to hold back a smile.
“I really would like to stay here. If Loralee doesn’t need me, then I have to run out to an appliance store and buy a refrigerator—hopefully one that can be delivered tomorrow—and have the old one hauled away.”
“I already called Sears and they’re open until six,” Gibbes said. “I can take you when we get back.”
“Yay! I’m going to put my bathing suit on and call Maris,” Owen announced as he raced from the room.
“Thank you,” Merritt said stiffly. “I appreciate it, but I’ve already been out on the water once. The creeks and marshes are lovely, and I’m glad I had a chance to see a part of my new home. But I will never like or be comfortable near the water, and I wish you’d just stop trying to force me to do something I don’t want to do.”
Loralee spotted her pink journal just out of reach on the nightstand. She was filling a page a day now, as if she were in some kind of contest, or maybe a race, but without a marked finish line. At least, that was what she’d thought before, but now she felt like the finish line might be right around the corner. She closed her eyes, committing to memory the words that she wanted to put down on paper. Forget what hurt you in the past. But never forget what it taught you.
Very softly, Gibbes asked, “Did Cal know you were afraid of the water?”
Merritt looked like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a hunter’s rifle, her feet primed and ready to bolt. The Merritt whom Loralee and Owen had first met when they’d come to Beaufort probably would have. But in the short time they’d known her, Merritt had changed. Maybe it was the South Carolina heat or the scent of the pluff mud that had slowed her gait and widened her smile. It was like a loosening of bones, an opening up of spaces inside of her that weren’t empty and dark but instead simply pieces of her heart waiting to be filled. It could be, Loralee thought, this beautiful place of water and bridges and islands that had changed her. Or maybe Merritt was simply responding to being with people who cared about her. It hurt Loralee to think about how long it might have been since Merritt had felt that way.
Merritt didn’t drop her gaze, and Loralee wanted to clap. It was a glimmer of the Merritt from the past, the girl Robert had remembered. “Yes. He knew.”
Gibbes didn’t say anything, his silence meant for her to continue. Loralee could see how he was a good pediatrician, knowing when not saying anything was the best way to listen to children telling him about the bogeymen who lived under their beds.
Merritt continued, her look defiant, as if she expected Gibbes to contradict her. “He even got some kind of warped satisfaction from my fear, like it was a well-deserved punishment for something I wasn’t even aware I’d done. He was like that, wasn’t he? Always looking for justification or retribution no matter how convoluted his reasoning.”
A muscle ticked in Gibbes’s jaw. “Did he ever take you swimming, or try to help you in any way to get over it, or at least manage it?”
Merritt went very still. “Once.” She jutted out her chin and looked like she was about to say more, but a shudder ran through her, and for a moment Loralee thought that Merritt might need the garbage can on the side of the bed. Instead she took a deep breath. “It didn’t cure me, but it gave him a reason to call me a coward, which I guess I am, since I’m still afraid of the water.”
They stared at each other, as if daring the other to break contact, to admit defeat.
“Then why don’t you prove him wrong?” Gibbes asked, his words slow and deliberate.
She looked at him as if he’d just suggested she stand on her head and make up a rap song. Her jaw worked as she tried to form the word no, but Gibbes was faster.
“Whatever Cal did to try to help you manage your fear, I promise you this will be a lot more fun. And I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Lor
alee nestled back into her pillow, feeling warm and tingly, just like she got when watching her favorite soaps.
Merritt searched the room as if it might offer a reason to say no, but her gaze settled back on Gibbes. She gave a heavy sigh. “As long as we’re home in time to go buy a refrigerator.”
He smiled, and Loralee hoped that Merritt noticed how knee-weakening it was. “Deal.”
Looking as if she were headed for a firing squad, Merritt turned toward the door again, but Loralee stopped her.
“Take that shopping bag from Belk’s with you.” She pointed to the bulging bag by the door. “I had to return some things I’d bought in Georgia that still had the tags on them, but they were old so I could only exchange them. I don’t need anything, so I got some things I thought you might like instead. There’s a cute red one-piece bathing suit—in a forties style that I think will look really fine on you.”
Loralee was glad she’d waited until all of Merritt’s energy for arguing had been used up. Otherwise her stepdaughter probably wouldn’t have picked up the bag and exited the room without a word.
She and Gibbes listened as the bag bumped against Merritt’s legs as she walked down the hall and closed her door. And then, five seconds later, a loud groan.
“She must have just seen her reflection,” Gibbes said with a guilty smile.
Loralee laughed, wondering whether laughter really was the best medicine, because she already felt much better. “Could you please hand me that pink journal and the pen?”
Gibbes did as she asked, and before she could forget, she wrote, Never give a lady a tube of lipstick without a mirror.
chapter 26
MERRITT
I stared at my reflection in my dressing-table mirror and frowned. The red bathing suit fit perfectly, with its retro-style sweetheart neckline and boy-shorts bottom. Despite how relatively covered up I was, I still felt, well, sexy. It was an unfamiliar feeling, like wearing somebody else’s broken-in shoes. But I couldn’t quite talk myself into taking the suit off and wearing the shorts and T-shirt I’d had on before.
