by that's me
"That's not true," Charlotte protests, fighting the urge to cross her fingers against her own white lie. "He can come here anytime he wants. Nobody's stopping him."
"You are."
"Lianna, I never said-"
"Maybe you didn't say it, but he can tell you hate him. Everyone can tell."
Charlotte shrugs, not quite sure who "everyone" is, but not about to argue, either.
"This room is a mess," she tells her daughter, "so you can get busy cleaning it now."
"I'm still sleeping." Lianna's voice is muffled by her coverlet as she rolls over, toward the far end of the bed.
"You sound wide-awake to me," Charlotte says, looking at her watch. It's getting late. She still has to change out of the gray jersey shorts and white Nike T-shirt she threw on this morning after her shower, and it would be nice if she had an extra few seconds to do something with her hair. She's had it stuck in a careless ponytail the last few days.
Royce should be back any minute now from his tennis game at the club, and then they're planning on heading to Savannah. The contractor has been nagging them for the last few days to pick out paint shades for their new master bedroom and the trim in the walk-in pantry off the remodeled kitchen.
"It's past noon. You need to get out of bed. Now." She pulls the coverlet off Lianna. "And be sure to make it this time."
"Isn't that Nydia's job?"
"No, it isn't Nydia's job. It's yours."
"She's the housekeeper."
"She's your grandfather's housekeeper, not yours. You can make your bed here just like you do at home. Got it?"
"Got it," Lianna grumbles, swinging her long, bare legs around to the floor. "What about Dad?"
"I'll call him and tell him to come here."
"He won't."
"He will if I tell him that's the only way he gets to see you," Charlotte says with more conviction than she feels.
She'd be willing to bet Vince isn't just here to see Lianna this weekend. He probably has some kind of real estate business in the area. He's been involved the last couple of years in flipping houses down in Florida- another of his get-rich-quick schemes, no doubt, but one that might actually have some merit "Can I call him instead?" Lianna asks, and adds, "Since talking to you won't put him in a good mood."
You just had to get in another dig, didn't you? Charlotte thinks wearily.
"You can call him, but remember what I told you. You aren't to leave this house, Lianna. Not for any reason."
"I know." Lianna seems to choke on her next words: "And you don't care if that means I don't get to see my dad."
Struck by a sudden hint of vulnerability in her daughter's tone, Charlotte longs to take Lianna into her arms and rock her, the way she used to. She can't help but notice that she looks like a little girl again, sitting there in shorty pink pajamas, her hair tousled and her face puffy with sleep.
It's almost enough to make her relent, just this once, about the grounding.
Then Lianna sees her mother looking at her, her expression hardens, and the moment is gone.
Charlotte turns to leave the room, stepping over several magazines, a pair of sneakers, and one pink flip-flop.
"Nydia will be around if you need anything," she tells Lianna. "And she knows you're grounded, so don't try to pull anything."
Her cousins might be around, too, but she wouldn't know their plans, and she wouldn't expect them to keep an eye on her daughter. They've given her a wide berth, and vice versa, ever since the confrontation in the lawyer's office.
Royce is incredulous when he comes home at night, asks whether she's had any contact with them, and is told that she hasn't "They're living under this roof, for God's sake, Charlotte. How can you not interact with them?"
"It's a big house," she pointed out "Aunt Jeanne lives here, too… How often do we see her?"
"That's different. She's an invalid. But your cousins- I just can't believe y'all have managed to avoid each other completely."
"Considering that we all share the same goal-stay the hell out of each other's way-it isn't all that difficult Royce."
Plus, they're all on completely different schedules. Phyllida and her family are still on West Coast time, so they sleep late and stay up late, while Charlotte tends to do the opposite. Gib might live in the same time zone, but he seems to be on his own laid-back inner clock. Anyway, he's gone a lot doing God knows what Probably out in the clubs, prowling for women, if history serves.
Charlotte has made little headway in figuring out why Grandaddy disinherited them-in part because of what's gone on with Lianna.
But it will be her first priority just as soon as things settle down enough so that she can think straight and start looking more closely into Grandaddy's papers.
"Where are you going?" Lianna calls after her as she opens the door to the hall.
To Savannah with Royce, to take care of some things with the house. We'll be back later tonight And make sure you clean up this mess."
"I said I will."
"And Lianna?" Charlotte pauses with her hand still on the knob, one foot in the hallway.
"Yeah?"
"If your dad does come over today, have a good time with him."
Silence from Lianna.
Then, "He won't come."
No. He won't.
I'm sorry, Charlotte silently tells her daughter, and closes die door quietly behind her.
Alone at her third-floor window, Jeanne watches Melanie drive away, just as Charlotte and Royce did earlier, following the separate departures of Gib, and Phyllida's husband and son.
Earlier, Jeanne strategically complained of an upset stomach and asked if there was any ginger ale in the house.
Melanie checked. Surprise, surprise: there wasn't.
"Do you want me to go out and buy some for you, Jeanne?"
"No, don't go to all that trouble. If I still don't feel good tomorrow, you can bring some then."
"It's no trouble. And I won't be here tomorrow, so here's your big chance." She smiles cheerfully.
"You won't be here tomorrow?"
"It's a Sunday," Melanie reminds her gently. "I don't come on Sundays, remember?"
"Oh. Well, it's all right. I don't want to make you go out in the heat."
"Come on, Jeanne… Your wish is my command."
"Really?" Jeanne asked.
"Really. You know I'd do anything for you, hon."
If Jeanne had any doubt about that, it's been erased.
And if ever she needed that crucial assurance, it's now.
So Melanie left, leaving Jeanne alone in the house with just Nydia, Lianna, and Phyllida-and she hasn't heard any of them stirring below for quite a while.
Now is the time.
She rolls her wheelchair over to the door, expertly steering around the obstacle course of furniture that has found its way up here over the years, just as if it was still an attic.
Which it isn't.
<
br /> It's her room now, and has been for years. Gilbert had it finished off nicely for her: whitewashed walls, carpeting, a slight drop ceiling to conceal the rafters.
Most of the family's unused junk-household clutter, dusty photograph albums, vintage clothing heaped in steamer trunks, forgotten correspondence from forgotten people-is relegated to one windowless, unfinished storage room beneath the eaves.
She really should ask somebody to move some of this extra furniture in there-if there's room. Which there probably isn't She expertly steers her chair around a cafe table and chairs that once stood in the first-floor atrium, before Charlotte's husband moved in with his exercise equipment.
"Isn't this nice, Aunt Jeanne?" Charlotte asked, when Royce carried the table and chairs up to the third floor. "Now you'll have a place for people to sit and eat lunch with you."
Yes, but nobody, except Melanie, ever does.
I'd do anything for you, hon…
God bless Melanie.
Having reached the door at last, Jeanne stops rolling and listens intently for some movement below.
All is silent.
Still, maybe it's too risky.
What if she gets caught?
She weighs the chances of being seen by each of the three current occupants of the second floor.
There's Nydia, whom Jeanne has never liked, not from the very start. She has a feeling the sentiment is mutual. The housekeeper comes and goes like a cat, as if she's sneaking around the place, whether she is or not For all Jeanne knows, she's lying in wait at the foot of the stairs, hoping to catch Jeanne up to something illicit.
Then there's Lianna. Charlotte's daughter leaves her room almost as infrequently as Jeanne leaves hers. At least, Lianna doesn't come and go by traditional means. So, odds are against Jeanne running into her in the second-floor hall.
As for Phyllida, there's no telling what she's doing with herself now that her husband and son have abandoned her at Oakgate, without a car. But she's the least aware of the household's normal rhythms, and the least likely to realize that Jeanne doesn't belong where she's about to venture.
The elevator is out of the question-it's so creaky it would alert the entire household to Jeanne's movements.
She opens the door and pauses once more, the wheelchair's tires aligned with the threshold.
Silence below.
Aware of the danger if she goes too far, she inches painstakingly forward to the head of the steep flight of stairs before setting the brake.
Then she stands and makes her way quickly down the steps to the second floor… and her late brother's private quarters.
CHAPTER 7
Jed has been sleeping ever since Mimi got home around lunchtime. Now, as she sits on the couch reading Are You My Mother? to Cameron for at least the tenth time in a row, she hears a movement in the doorway.
Looking up, she sees her husband standing there.
"Hey…" She lowers the book. "How are you feeling?"
"Great," he says, either out of sarcasm, or a valiant effort to put up a good act in front of Cam.
Mimi can't tell which, as the inflection is contorted by a flinch of pain.
"Here, sit down." She tosses the book aside, to Cameron's immediate protest, and rises to help him.
But Jed shakes off her supportive hand beneath his elbow, grunting, "I'm fine," as he makes his way toward the nearest chair.
Mimi gazes helplessly at him. He isn't fine.
"You need to take a Hydrocodone, Jed."
"I took one earlier."
"It wore off."
"How do you know? Are you psychic?"
Ignoring the definite sarcasm that time, she says, "I can tell you're in pain, and you don't have to be. That's why the doctor gave you the drugs." 'They mess with my head, and they knock me out" Jed eases himself into the chair. "Plus, we can't afford them. You know that. They're costing us a fortune."
So that's why he's taking the prescription pain pills so sparingly. Tears spring to her eyes as she says, "Jed, you have to take your medicine. Please… I can't stand seeing you tossing and turning in bed all night long."
He looks up, studies her face for a moment. Then he says simply, "I'm not taking it during the day. Just at night, so I won't keep you awake."
"Jed, that's not what I-"
"I know, Mimi. Come on, let's drop it." He tilts his head meaningfully in their son's direction. "I'll be all right. Cam, buddy, come over here."
Swiping a hand across her moist cheeks, Mimi watches the little boy reluctantly climb off the couch and cross the carpet to his father's side.
"Hi, Daddy," Cam says warily.
Gone is the exuberant child who once wrestled in his father's arms and showered him with kisses. Gone is the big, strong Daddy who carried his son effortlessly on strong shoulders and made him feel safe.
They haven't told Cameron about Jed's disease, but it's obvious, even to a toddler, that something has changed.
In the past few days alone, Jed has lost even more weight, and his face has taken on a gaunt look Mimi's seen before. She saw it settle over her father's features not long before he died of lung cancer.
That look scares her.
It scares her to death, but she hasn't given up. Not by a long shot.
"How's it going?" Jed asks Cam in an effort to be cheerful. "Are you reading books with Mommy?"
"One book."
"It's his favorite," Mimi says softly, going to kneel beside Cam, hoping to ease the stilted conversation between father and son.
"I thought Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel was his favorite."
"That was last month," Mimi says, and belatedly realizes she shouldn't have.
Jed was the one who got that book for Cam from the library; the one who read it to him nonstop, pausing to answer Cam's questions about construction machinery he uses in his own job.
Now Jed hasn't worked in days and the book sits, untouched and overdue, collecting fines and dust on a shelf in Cam's room.
"Do you want me to go get Mike Mulligan so you can read it to him, Jed?"
The question hangs in the air.
Jed's face is contorted in pain once again-physical pain, but the emotional pain lurks, too, just beneath the surface. She can sense it.
Mimi turns fervently to Cam. "Honey? Do you want Daddy to read Mike Mulligan to you?"
Cam's only response is a blank stare.
He's forgotten, she realizes in despair. He's forgotten all about the book.
But how could he? It was his favorite. He spent every day carrying it around…
He's so young. They forget so quickly at this age.
Cam has forgotten the book his father shared with him, and one day, he might forget…
No, Mimi thinks fiercely, he won't. I won't let him. He'll never forget his father any more than I've forgotten mine. Not even if J
ed…
Once again, she refuses to allow the unthinkable into her head.
Today, difficult as it was, she set things into motion with Gib.
His reaction wasn't quite what she had hoped for… but there's still time. Not a lot, but time enough.
