Nowhere, Carolina

by Tamara Leigh

  Bridget snorts. “You went to an opera?”

  “I did. Unfortunately, Gary saw me before I saw him. But when he wasn’t looking, I swiped a few hairs from his head.”

  “How?” Piper holds up a hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  Good. “Anyway, the test came back negative. Thankfully.”

  “What about Chase?” Bridget asks.

  “I still need a sample from him, but first I have to find him. If I decide to eliminate him.”

  Piper takes a step toward me. “What do you mean?”

  “Since Reece is certain Devyn is his, and there seems a greater chance she’s his than Chase’s, I’m thinkin’, why muddy the water? Why spit in the wind? Why rock the boat?”

  Piper makes a snorty sound I doubt she ever let slip when she was working her fancy PR job in Los Angeles. “Well, at least you and I have one cliché in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The rockin’ of the boat. About this time last year, that was my excuse for not owning up to my Lady Godiva ride. But think about this: If I hadn’t, everyone would still be pointing fingers at Trinity, and I don’t know if Bart could have held up under the pressure. Trinity might not be at Bart’s side now, a ring on her finger. And who knows what Bart would be up to?”

  I sigh. “You did the right thing, but this is more complicated than riding nearly naked down Main Street as a teenager.”

  Piper lays a hand on my forearm. “I know, but I also know you’re no longer the seventeen-year-old girl who got pregnant our senior year. You made a mistake, but you took responsibility for it. You had Devyn, found a way to support yourself and her, and you’re a great mom.”

  My throat tightens. “I appreciate that, but you’re forgetting that when Reece confronted me back in high school about sleepin’ around, I lied to him in hopes he would take me back. It turns out, he believed me, ’cause when I admitted there’s a possibility he isn’t Devyn’s daddy and suggested he be tested, he preferred to believe I’m lying now in order to keep her from him.”

  “You could show him Gary’s test results.”

  “I could, but then I’d have to tell him about Chase, and I—” I shake my head. “It’s bad enough it could have been Gary, but Chase too? It about makes me sick to think how Reece will look at me…how he’ll judge me even though I’m no longer the girl who made those bad choices.”

  “Maybe it’ll be like that in the beginning, but in time he’ll come around, and the two of you will work out a satisfactory arrangement with Devyn.”

  How cold that sounds. And far away. I shouldn’t admit this, but out it comes. “But I don’t just want a satisfactory arrangement with Reece. I want more.”

  Silence, only to be torn top to bottom by Bridget’s low whistle. “Well, howdy, our cousin is still in love with her artist.”

  Is that what this is? This ache to be with Reece, to have him think well of me, to want him to want to be with me? Love?

  Piper’s grip on my arm tightens. “If that’s true, Maggie, you’d better get off the ride you’re on or—”

  I pull away from her. “I already blew my chance. I should have told him on Tuesday when he found out how old Devyn is, but I let him believe what he wanted.”

  “Okay, just don’t blow it again. Tell him the truth now.”

  Piper makes it sound easy. I turn from her to the telescope, but Bridget gets there first, bends over the eyepiece, and begins hmming, as if this was her reason for coming up to the observation deck. And maybe it was, although I’d like to think she was concerned about me.

  “If you let Reece go on believing Devyn is his,” Piper continues, “and it turns out she isn’t—say, she needs a blood transfusion or a genetic blueprint or some such—he may never forgive you.”

  I grit my teeth. “That’s why I need Chase’s DNA. If she’s Reece’s, I can leave it be. If she’s Chase’s, then I’ll show Reece the test results, and he can go his way and Devyn and I can go ours.”

  She groans. “Tangled web, Maggie, tangled web.”

  I know, Piper, I know.

  “Bridget,” she says, “you think she should be straight with Reece, don’t you?”

  Though my back is turned to my stargazing cousin, I feel her shrug. “Sure. Of course, I’m not in her shoes, am I?”

  I almost smile at Piper’s grumbling. Nobody pins Bridget down—at least, not for very long. Just when you start getting smug sitting there on her chest, she twists everything around and leaves you thrashing like a turtle on its back.

  “Maggie,” Piper says, “you know I’m not much for quoting Scripture—”

  “Then don’t.” Bridget frowns.

  “Hush, you,” Piper hisses, and I can’t help but smile at how much the South has crept back into her speech and vocabulary. “Here’s somethin’ to think on: ‘For, whoever would love life and see good days must keep his tongue from evil and his lips from deceitful speech.’ Uh…First or Second Peter, I don’t remember which.”

  Neither do I. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like me to pray with you? I’m not very good at it, but—”

  “Ick! Nasty!”

  I swing around. “Bridget!”

  She peers over her shoulder and grins white in the night. “Oh, just inhaled some petals. They taste about as bad as they smell, you know.”

  I don’t know. What I do know is that she’d as soon listen to a person pray over another as lop off her dreads, those constant companions of hers since her husband up and died—and I do mean up and died.

  Speaking of those ropy locks, she swipes at them. “Ants pants! Those petals are all over me. I probably smell like an old dishrag.” She gives her head a hard shake, causing several dreads to thump my shoulder. And then with a yelp like a pup whose tail has been trodden, she stumbles against the telescope. “It’s got me!”

  “What?” Piper and I ask in unison.

  “My dreads!” She whacks the side of the telescope that, if it weren’t bolted to the deck, would crash over. “The contraption’s got hold of my dreads.”

  Five minutes later, Piper and I are still struggling to free the hair that is wound and wedged between two knobs.

  “Well…,” Piper says with a sigh, “we could cut it.”

  Bridget jerks where she’s bent over the telescope. “No, you are not cuttin’ my hair.” As if in fear one of us has a pocketknife, she yanks hard at the dread only to yelp again.

  “It would be just a little shorter than the others,” I say, trying to calm her. “No one would notice.”

  “I would notice, and Easton—” She draws a sharp breath.

  I understand, as I haven’t heard her speak her husband’s name since…Is it possible that the last time I heard it pass her lips was the day of his funeral when she told God and His Son to scat?

  “Bridget,” I relax into my drawl, all the more to soothe. “I am sorry about Easton, but I don’t know how else we’re gonna get you loose.”

  “Axel.” Piper starts for the stairs. “He might have to take the telescope apart, but if anyone—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Bridget gives the dread another yank that makes her whimper. “I’m not a freak show.” More tugging, grunting, and whimpering while Piper and I stand by, as if our shoes are nailed down.

  “All right,” Bridget finally croaks, “but I’ll do it.” Bent over the telescope, she digs in her jeans pocket. A moment later, moonlight slides across the blade she unhinges. “I’ll cut it loose.”

  But she doesn’t. Despite the dimness, I can see her shoulders rise wide and fall deep as if she’s steeling herself. And anyone who believes as I do the reason she wears dreadlocks knows that’s exactly what she’s doing. Easton is in every breath, and when she finally grasps the lock and puts the blade near the knobs, I have the sense she’s about to cut him loose. Only the one lock, but surely it’s a start.

  Regaining her full height, she jumps back as if afraid the telescope will reach out and grab
another dread. “All right, then.” She peers at the severed end, then gently smoothes it among its dreadful companions. “I do believe I’ve had enough of this foolishness.” She tosses her head to the side. “Maggie, you just do what you gotta do to protect our Devyn.”

  I warm at her genuine affection for my daughter.

  “If that means marching downstairs and confessin’ your promiscuity to Reece Thorpe, so be it.”

  I cool at her choice of words. Not that there’s a syllable of untruth in promiscuity.

  “If it means huntin’ down that other knockhead—Chase whatever his name is—for his DNA, so be it.”

  I quietly groan at the thought of rooting him out.

  “Even if it means yakkin’ at the big guy up there and asking Him to fix up everything nice and tidy, so be that.” She turns her head aside and says under her breath, “As if He cares one whit about us mere mortals.”

  “He does care,” Piper inserts.

  An unladylike sound issues from Bridget’s nose. “I’ve seen how much He cares, thank you very much, little cuz.” Back to me. “Just know I’m behind you, Maggie.”

  “Little? You’re not much taller than I am, Bridget.”

  She angles toward Piper. “A good three inches taller. By my measure, that’s plenty much.”

  Piper doesn’t immediately retort, and my guess is she’s shifted into PR mode. “Not by Maggie’s measure,” she finally says.

  Ooh, decided not to take the advice of her “inner image consultant.”

  “Okay.” I lay a hand on each of their shoulders, a friendly gesture with the added benefit of keeping space between them. My cousins may be moving in the direction of the friendship I enjoy with each of them, but they still rub each other wrong. “Thank you both. Though I’m not sure what I’m going to do, I appreciate your concern and advice. Now, let’s rejoin the party before we’re missed.”

  Shortly, we approach the library. Devyn is sitting across the chessboard table from Reece. My first instinct is to rush in and break up their game; however, not only would it cause a scene but Reece has a right to know his daughter—

  Ah! Why am I so willing to accept she is his daughter?

  Because that’s what you want him to be…and you did say you want more from him.

  Yes, but it’s a dangerous mind-set without conclusive proof. Thus, as much as I long to blindly accept as Reece accepts, I can’t risk being mistaken. Truth is truth, and though I know I’m getting at it wrong, it has to be found out. And once it is, I’ll decide what to do with it then.

  As Bridget enters the library ahead of Piper and me, I see my “little” cousin finger the chain at her neck.

  I touch her arm, and Piper looks up. “Hmm?”

  “Congratulations.”

  She halts, blinks away her surprise, and whispers, “How did you know?”

  “Axel’s smile.”

  Her face brightens, and then she’s pulling me from the library doorway and around the corner toward the grand staircase. Once we’re out of earshot, she lifts the chain from beneath her blouse. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  The light tickles the gold prongs and jumps diamond facet to diamond facet. Her engagement ring isn’t anything fancy like I expect U.S. Congressman Grant Spangler would have put on her finger if they had ever gotten past the “engaged to be engaged” stage. In fact, its simplicity seems to make the point “I am only a symbol of something bigger, brighter, and more intricate.”

  “Yes, it’s beautiful.” I hug her. “I’m happy for you.”

  She returns the hug without hesitation, which makes me thank God we have each found the cousin—and friend—we never had growing up. Piper has put my past behind me. Now if only I could. But soon…

  She pulls back. “Thank you, Maggie.”

  I smile. “So, when will a wedding band be taking up residence alongside that lovely engagement ring?”

  “We haven’t set a date, but within a year. We’d like to marry before Uncle Obe…” She sighs. “Well, while he can still revel in his role as matchmaker. His lapses are becoming more frequent, he’s wandering some, and he’s had a few anxiety attacks.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. “Thank you for being here for him and sorting out his estate so he can stay in his home.”

  She averts her gaze.

  “What is it, Piper?”

  Her top lip worries her bottom lip. “There’s something we need to discuss. Could we have lunch together next week?”

  Dread drops through me. Considering what caused this about-face, I can guess what the discussion is about. I stand taller, the better to support the weight of worry. “The theater has to be sold.”

  She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, they’re full of apology. “It looks that way, and still Uncle Obe will fall short of making restitution. But if we can find a buyer for the theater, it may be possible to hold on to the mansion until”—she draws a deep breath—“he doesn’t know any different.”

  I nod. “It’s the Calhoun land, isn’t it?” The land he believes our great-grandfather underhandedly won in a poker game, which he probably did. His son, Uncle Obe’s father and my grandfather, may have been deeply committed to his faith, but he didn’t get it from his daddy.

  “That’s a big part of it.” Piper tucks the ring back inside her blouse. “Since Pickwick became so desirable, the land around here has appreciated dramatically, especially large tracts with the potential for single-family developments. We discussed the possibility of deedin’ the land back to the Calhoun heirs, but since the last of the family left the area over twenty-five years ago, monetary restitution will likely be better received. Too, since the Calhoun land is situated near the middle of the estate, if it were broken off, it would almost guarantee the rest would have to be divided. Not that it isn’t an option, but a buyer might find the intact estate more attractive. Say, for the development of a golf course—”

  “A golf course?” Bridget’s voice makes us both jump.

  Why, oh why couldn’t I wait to discuss this over lunch?

  She steps nearer, and we quickly pull apart like a couple of gossips. “The Pickwick estate is going to be turned into a golf course?”

  For all of her diminutive size, Piper squares up nicely to face our tree-huggin’, animal-lovin’, ever-grievin’ cousin. “That’s just one possibility, and not a bad one, believe me. A couple months ago, I was approached by a theme park developer—”

  “Theme park!”

  Piper’s gaze slides past Bridget toward the library. “Nobody wants that, but if Uncle Obe is to make restitution and provide an inheritance for his kin, the estate will have to be sold.”

  Bridget snaps her fingers inches from Piper’s face. “Just like that, hmm?”

  “No, not just like that.” Piper’s jaw shifts. “A lot of work has gone into liquidating the estate, and there’s plenty more to do, but it’s my responsibility to obtain the highest possible price—”

  “A theme park!”

  Piper draws a deep breath. “Theme park, golf course, housing development. With rezoning, the Pickwick estate could become any of those.” She turns her palms up. “Yes, if I had my druthers, some wealthy person would swoop in and buy the entire estate for his personal home, but it’s not for me to say. It’s for me to follow Uncle Obe’s instructions and liquidate.”

  Bridget’s flushed face tightens. She was among Uncle Obe’s earliest supporters, believing that regardless of his early onset dementia, he ought to be able to dispense with his assets however he saw fit, but I doubt she foresaw the loss of the estate to commercial development. Thus, though I regret that the relationship between Bridget and Piper is floundering, I’m grateful I’m not being dragged into the middle of—

  “You’re okay with this, Maggie?”

  Grateful too soon. “Uh…” Movement in the library doorway draws my attention to where Reece has settled into our little scene by putting his shoulder to the doorjamb.

  “After al
l,” Bridget says, “with all this liquidation, you’re bound to lose your auction house.”

  She’s right, and having momentarily forgotten about that, I was kiss-the-ground grateful not to be in the middle of this mess. “I know.” Just as I know that even though my lease is good for another eight months, I’d give it up to accommodate a buyer if it keeps Uncle Obe in his home awhile longer. And then…

  There are some good buys on High Holler Road where Fate and Connie’s Metalworks is among the last holdouts, but the location is hardly ideal, not to mention the money required to renovate one of those dilapidated buildings.

  I shrug. “I suppose that means Serendipity will once more conduct business entirely on site.” Ouch. Not that I didn’t make a decent living before I took over the old theater, but I’ll surely lose ground to Puck & Sons.

  Pride, Maggie. Let it go, or it’ll bite you!

  “So”—Bridget cants her head to the side and narrows her lids—“it’s okay with you that our family estate—?”

  “What’s up?” Devyn asks, and I peer past Bridget to where my daughter now stands alongside Reece. And coming up behind them is…

  “Uncle Obe,” I whisper, which makes Bridget blink and Piper suck air.

  I summon a smile to put Devyn and my uncle off the scent. “Girl chat,” then check my watch. “Unfortunately, Dev, I have an early morning, so we’d better—”

  “But I’m going to show Mr. Reece how to work a Sudoku puzzle. He tried it once but got frustrated, so I promised to explain the strategy to him.” She steps forward. “Would it be all right if I spend the night?”

  I feel Reece’s stare and know he expects me to refuse her—to continue to block the path between them—and I probably should in light of Chase Elliot, but I hesitate.

  “That is,” Devyn adds, “if it’s okay with you, Miss Piper?”

  “I’d love to have you stay the night, but it’s up to your mom.”

  “Please, Mom?”

  “All right.” I look at Reece and am strangely satisfied with the surprise in his eyes. There. Happy?

  She smiles up at him. “I hope you’re not an early bird like my mom.”