by Karen White
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”
With a defiant flick of my wrist, I downed the rest of the beer, waiting until I could feel the beginning of a buzz as it traveled through my bloodstream and hit my brain.
I squinted my eyes out toward the river, where the bridge connected downtown Beaufort with Lady’s Island, and people crossed it by the hundreds every day without even thinking about how high they were, or what would happen if their car slipped off the side.
My tongue felt heavy and slurred my words. “He filled a bathtub full of ice-cold water, and then held my face under until I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. And then he let me up just long enough for me to grab a single breath before he did it again.”
“Bastard.” Gibbes dropped his beer in the sand and leaned forward on his knees. When he looked at me, the sun turned his eyes to gold so that they didn’t look like Cal’s anymore. “If I had known, I would have stopped him. I would have done something so that he never laid a hand on you.” He paused. “Even if it meant killing him with my own bare hands.”
“I didn’t need you to kill him.” I blinked, my eyelids languid in the heat, my brain waves slowed by the alcohol and the rhythm of the waves caused by a passing boat. “Because I did.” The empty beer can slid from my hand and hit his with a tinny clink.
He reached up and cupped my cheek, his thumb rubbing away a tear I hadn’t wanted to shed. I’d long ago stopped shedding tears over Cal. But maybe this time I was shedding it for me.
“The night he died, he apologized for hurting me again, and said how he hated himself for not being able to stop. And he told me he loved me.”
I dug my feet under the sand, feeling the coolness there, wondering how it would feel to bury my whole body beneath it, how each grain was so small, yet how heavy it would be to be buried alive in it. “I told him that to save us both he should walk into that fire and never come out.” I shrugged. “And he did.”
He slid his hand behind the base of my skull and brought me toward him, then gently pressed his lips to mine. His face was serious when he pulled back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that you lived through that, and that there was nobody to help you. And I’m sorry that you feel guilt over his death.” He sat back, still looking at me. “You are so much stronger and braver than you think you are. I just wish you could see you as I see you.”
“Dr. Heyward?” Maris’s voice piped up behind him. “Can we stay to watch the sunset? I always do when I’m here with my family.”
Gibbes stood. “Not tonight. We have a refrigerator to go buy. But the sandbar isn’t going away anytime soon, so we’ll come back, okay?”
He took my hand and pulled me up from my chair. “I won’t let go, okay? When you’re ready to swim, just let me know.”
I nodded numbly, then pulled away and began to pack up our things and help Gibbes bring them to the boat.
The sun was still high in the sky as we pulled away, and I watched as the water widened then narrowed into the creeks and marshes of Cal’s boyhood, searching for him behind every live oak and cluster of sea oats. I wanted to see him, to remember that boy. And then maybe I could forget the man he’d become.
I turned my face toward the sun again and smiled up at the expanse of sky. You are so much stronger and braver than you think you are. I wasn’t sure I believed it, but at least I was beginning to feel the world twitching outside my self-made boundaries, burning with possibilities.
chapter 28
LORALEE
Loralee gripped the banister tightly, following the sound of the sewing machine in the dining room. It was midafternoon on Sunday, and Owen was back at the sandbar with Maris and her family. The house seemed sad without the noise children usually made, and she was glad for the staccato drill of the sewing machine to fill the silence.
She took two steps, then paused to rest. She’d managed to put on her favorite sundress that fell in an A-line and didn’t cinch it in at the waist like she was used to doing. She comforted herself with the knowledge that A-lines never went out of style and were flattering for everybody. She’d already written that in her Journal of Truths.
She’d left her high heels in her closet, and wore Merritt’s slippers instead. It had taken her a full half hour to convince herself that she couldn’t walk in her favorite shoes without losing her balance. She’d been surprised after she’d made the decision how little she cared. It seemed as if her body had already begun shedding its skin, unburdening her of things she wouldn’t need.
Loralee paused under the archway that led to the dining room. The walls glowed as light spilled into the room through the freshly cleaned tall windows from where Merritt had taken off the heavy silk draperies and dusty sheer coverings. She’d been removing all the drapes in the house, and had begun rearranging furniture and making lists of things that needed to be done, reminding Loralee of a mother bird preparing its nest.
“What are you making?” she asked as she approached Merritt, her head bent over a long strip of pale blue fabric.
Merritt lifted her foot from the pedal and looked up. “I’m restyling the curtains for the front parlor. This raw silk is old, but still in really good condition, and it’s too beautiful to get rid of. I guess the New Englander in me convinced me that I had the skills to redo them.”
Loralee leaned over to get a better look. “I kind of liked the heavy Gone with the Wind velvet look with the thick fringe, but it’s not my house.” She smiled at Merritt to show that she was joking—although not entirely.
“I’ve never seen the movie, but I’ve heard about it. If you’d like, I could make you a dress with what’s left over. Otherwise I’m just going to make some simple long panels with some kind of edging I haven’t decided on yet. Although I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be fringe. But I’m definitely getting rid of the big balloon swags that were at the top.”
“You’ve never seen Gone with the Wind? That’s like saying you’ve never been to a baseball game. Or eaten apple pie.”
“I have never seen the movie. Or read the book. And don’t look at me like I’m the only one.”
“Um-hmm,” Loralee said, making it clear that she was sure Merritt was the only person on the planet who’d never seen the best movie ever made. “As soon as you get your new TV and DVD player, I’m going to buy you a DVD so we can watch it together. I’d really hate for you to miss out.”
The sound of digging brought Loralee’s attention to the window. Gibbes was outside, his shirt discarded on the top of the bench, his drenched undershirt clinging nicely to his chest. He’d paused long enough from his work to lift the bottom edge of his undershirt to wipe his face, allowing her to see an impressive set of abs.
She looked down at her stepdaughter. “That man is fine.”
Merritt’s cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, which meant she’d probably been thinking the same thing. Although it was at least a step in the right direction, Loralee hoped she’d stick around long enough to hear Merritt say it out loud.
“What’s he doing?” Loralee asked.
“He’s trying to make sure you don’t do any heavy lifting outside. We were both rather alarmed that you’d moved the bench by yourself and then tried to level the dirt.” She glanced out the window again. “We found a disintegrating luggage tag in the little hole you dug, so Gibbes wanted to see if there was anything else under there before he filled it all in and leveled it.”
“He looks thirsty. Maybe you should bring him some sweet tea,” Loralee suggested.
“I would if we had any. The refrigerator I wanted is back-ordered, so all we have is the small refrigerator Gibbes is loaning us from his office. I guess I could settle for another model so I’d have something sooner, but the one I selected had every single feature we wanted—including the ice dispenser in the door for Owen—so I’m willing to wait. Anyway, the one we’re using isn’t big enough for a pitcher of anything.”
Loralee kept her sigh of exasperation to
herself. “Then how about a tall glass of tap water?” She looked pointedly at Merritt.
After a quick glance toward the window, Merritt flipped off the sewing machine, then pushed back her chair. “All right. I guess that would be the right thing to do.”
Loralee followed Merritt into the kitchen, unable to resist rolling her eyes. She waited while Merritt took a glass from the cabinet, then held it under the cold tap while Loralee admired the cute yellow skirt and pale blue blouse that had been in the Belk bag. Merritt even wore Loralee’s sandals since, luckily, Loralee had on the slippers. The old loafers had mysteriously vanished, “accidentally” taken out with the trash.
“I like the outfit you’re wearing,” Loralee said, leaning heavily on the kitchen table and averting her eyes from the bowl of fruit in the center. Today even the thought of food was making her ill.
Merritt turned around so suddenly she sloshed some of the water from the glass. “Thank you. And thanks for picking it out for me. Although . . .” She paused, chewing on her lower lip.
“Although what?”
“I don’t like wearing things that show my scar.”
Loralee considered her words for a long moment, realizing how easy it would be to say the wrong thing. “We earn our scars, Merritt, and I think it’s only right that we show them off, because it proves where we’ve been. They’re something to be proud of.” When Merritt didn’t walk away or immediately change the subject, Loralee was encouraged enough to continue. “Besides, you’ve got a gorgeous pair of legs, and I think it’s a downright sin to hide them.”
Merritt’s lips twitched. “But don’t you think the skirt’s a little too tight in the bottom, and the top maybe a little snug around my chest?”
Loralee crossed her arms and gave Merritt the look she’d always reserved for those inebriated passengers who wanted to order another drink. “Sugar, your clothes should always be tight enough to show that you’re a woman, but loose enough to show that you’re a lady.” She made a mental note to add that one to her journal. “I’d say you can check both those boxes with that outfit.”
Merritt didn’t look completely convinced and began plucking and tugging on the fabric of the top and skirt while she headed out the back door, Loralee following close behind.
She watched as Merritt handed the glass to Gibbes, avoiding looking into his eyes, while Gibbes never took his gaze from Merritt’s face. There was something different between them today, like electrified air during a summer storm. If it were less humid, Loralee was pretty sure Merritt’s hair would be floating around her head like somebody had just rubbed a balloon up and down on it.
Gibbes drank all the water in big, long gulps while both Loralee and Merritt took the opportunity to admire the clinging T-shirt up close.
“Thank you,” he said, handing the glass back to Merritt.
Their fingers must have touched, or else Merritt had been bitten by a red ant, because she jerked away, dropping the glass. It hit a pile of dirt and didn’t shatter, but Merritt stared at it for a moment as if expecting it to. Then they both bent to pick it up and bumped heads, until finally Loralee stepped forward to get it and end their misery.
“I’m glad you came out,” Gibbes said. “I found something inside the hole and I’ve been trying to dig around it to make the opening wider so I can pull it up.”
Merritt stepped closer and looked down. “It looks like the side of a suitcase.” She stepped back and this time met Gibbes’s eyes.
“Yeah. I thought so, too.”
Loralee moved over to the bench and gratefully lowered herself onto it. “Maybe it’s from that plane that exploded and rained wreckage all over Beaufort. Maybe it’s somehow connected to that plane model Edith made that’s up in the attic. They’re both so bizarre that they’ve got to be related. It’s like that time Owen’s guinea pig disappeared and the neighbor’s dog stopped barking at Owen when he rode his bike in the driveway. I knew it had to be because the dog felt guilty about what he’d done to Owen’s pet.”
Both Merritt and Gibbes looked at her for a moment before Gibbes cleared his throat. “Anyway, it looks like it’s leather and has probably been down there for a while. If the whole thing doesn’t disintegrate when I pick it up, I’m not sure there will be anything inside that’s still recognizable or not covered in mildew.”
“Can I help?” Merritt asked.
Gibbes gave her an appraising look that Loralee felt sitting all the way over on the bench. “Sure. Just be careful you don’t ruin your outfit. I’d hate not to see it again.”
Merritt began tugging on the bottom of the skirt. “You don’t think it’s too short?”
He grinned. “Trust me, if I thought it was too short, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Merritt struggled to respond, then just turned her back on Gibbes and marched toward Loralee. Reaching for the glass that Loralee held, she said, “I’m going to go put this in the sink.”
Gibbes was still grinning as he watched Merritt walk away.
“Why do you do that?” Loralee asked softly.
Gibbes didn’t seem startled by her question. “Because I don’t believe anybody has made her feel beautiful or desirable in a very long time.”
“Is that the only reason?” she asked, the scent of the moist dirt stinging her nostrils.
The light sparked in his eyes again. “The more I scratch the surface to see what’s beneath that crusty exterior, the more I see the person I think she was before she met Cal. And there’s a lot there to like.”
Loralee beamed. “Y’all had a good time at the sandbar yesterday, I’m guessing.”
“We did. Especially the kids. But I learned a lot about Merritt, too.”
Loralee sat up straighter, even though it made her stomach hurt. “Like what?”
“Well, she doesn’t resent your marrying her father anymore—which I think we both agree is about time. And I learned that my brother wasn’t a very nice man.”
“I’m sorry,” Loralee said. “It’s not easy to find out that people aren’t who we thought they were, or who we wanted them to be.” She shifted on the bench, wondering whether there was a better position that wouldn’t hurt so much. “After Mama died, I tracked down my daddy, thinking he must’ve had a good reason to leave us when I was a baby, and that maybe he’d been trying to find me all those years.
“I found him in a bar in Birmingham, hustling people at the pool table, just living from drink to drink. He spit at me, then told me to go to hell.” Loralee pressed her hands against her abdomen, willing the nausea to go away. “That’s when I realized that his leaving me and Mama had nothing to do with us at all. He was just born with inner demons that were always stronger than he was. Even my mama’s love and a baby daughter weren’t enough ammunition to help him fight. I felt better when I left the bar, like I’d just been released from prison, and I finally found my own strength to forgive him.”
Gibbes’s eyes were full of shadows, like the creek beds at dusk. “You’re saying that I should forgive Cal for being a brute and terrorizing his wife?”
“I’m not telling you anything. But it seems to me that you and Merritt have been brought together because of Cal, and maybe in that you can find your own peace.”
Merritt came through the back door then, and Loralee was relieved, because she knew that Gibbes’s next question would have probably been to ask her whether she’d told Merritt how sick she really was. It was still too early, the cement between the blocks of their new relationship still too wet to withstand any pressure. Her pain level had risen to a seven, but it still wasn’t an eight, and to Loralee that meant she still had time.
Gibbes jumped into the shallow hole. “You ready?” he asked Merritt.
“Sure.” She knelt in the dirt and put her hands on her thighs. “Ready when you are.”
Loralee moved to stand behind Merritt and watched as Gibbes carefully guided the shovel around the suitcase, loosening the dirt to make it easier for him to lift it out. Then,
using the shovel like a spatula, he carefully stuck it under one of the shorter ends and gently lifted it. With the shovel handle lying on the ground and the suitcase propped up, Gibbes reached down and grabbed it around the two exposed sides. With an impressive display of biceps, he lifted it to the lip of the hole while Merritt grabbed it and slid it until it was flat against the ground.
“It didn’t fall apart, which is a good thing, although it feels pretty soggy.” Gibbes stepped out of the hole and brushed his hands together.
The leather of the suitcase might have once been a light brown, but moisture and years of being buried had darkened it to a deep mahogany. There was a large dent in the bottom corner, as if it had fallen from a great height and hit something on its way down. Loralee spotted something beneath a dusting of soil by the handle and brushed the dirt away with her finger. It was a gold-embossed monogram: HPH.
Merritt made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “Those are my grandfather’s initials,” she whispered, the words garbled as if spoken through dirt.
Gibbes touched her hand. “We’re doing this together, all right?”
Merritt gave him a grateful glance and nodded before the three of them returned their attention to the battered suitcase.
The latch by the monogram was already opened, leaving the two on each side. “If these are too corroded to open, I’ll get a saw,” Gibbes said as he reached around to the undamaged side. After a brief pause, he twisted the latch. It stuck at first and then, with a grinding pop, stood in the open position.
Merritt held down the unlatched side as Gibbes moved to the other end of the suitcase. The latch on the damaged side was harder, and Gibbes was about to resort to a saw when they heard the pop for the second time.
Merritt moved her hands from the top, letting them hover above the front and side latches like an indecisive bee.
“Ready?” Gibbes asked.
She nodded and together they lifted the lid.
Loralee coughed and held her hand over her face. The smell of rot was strong, reminding her of the cellar of the house she and her mama had lived in during their brief stay in Tuscaloosa. The discarded lives of previous tenants had littered the space that flooded each spring and fall, the forgotten boxes and piles of clothing slowly turning to mush.
