Relative Silence

by Carrie Stuart Parks

“Why don’t you ask her?” a male voice answered.

  “Ask her? I’d like to shoot her!” a second male voice said.

  Piper shut the door to the elevator loudly. The voices stopped.

  Tucker planted his crutches under his arms with suddenly sweaty palms. He really hadn’t thought this through. These people moved in a different stratosphere with power, wealth, family breeding. He was raised by a single mother in a nondescript town and had made a catastrophe of his life. What was he even doing here?

  “Come on, Tucker.” Piper held out her hand. “They won’t bite.” Under her breath she muttered, “Much.”

  A hallway angled to his left, formal dining room on the right, and ahead, the source of the voices, was the living room. He wanted to fall behind her, but she determinedly took his elbow and guided him forward.

  He recognized Senator Boone, facing him on the far wall, although the politician was even more imposing in person. Tern, wearing impeccably pressed chinos and a striped shirt, lounged against a six-foot flickering gas fireplace. On his right, a movable glass wall had been folded open to an outdoor deck, which overlooked the sand dunes and ocean. A woman stood in the center of the opening, watching the water. She turned as they entered.

  “Tucker, may I introduce my mother, Caroline Boone. Mother, meet Tucker Landry.”

  Caroline Boone came forward, both hands extended. “Mr. Landry, welcome to Curlew Island. You saved my daughter, which makes you our special guest.” Her rich voice held just a slight Southern accent. She had short-cropped white hair perfectly sculpted to her head. Her face was lean and smooth. She wore an off-white, raw silk jacket and slacks with a coffee-colored shell blouse. She reminded him of Glenn Close. “Come, sit down. I’m sure being on your feet must be difficult with those crutches.” She led him to the sofa facing the ocean. “I think you’ll find our little island very healing. The ocean air, wildlife, sounds of the birds and breezes through the palmettos.” She took a deep breath. “Mmm, just smell that air.”

  Tucker took an obligatory breath. It did smell good.

  Before taking a chair, Caroline removed the throw pillow and placed it on the sofa, aligning it perfectly with the armrest.

  Piper sat down next to Tucker.

  A dark-haired man with intense, deep-set eyes stood near a grand piano. He wore khaki cargo slacks and an open-collared white dress shirt. Without waiting for an introduction, the man stepped forward holding out a hand. “I’m Ashlee Yates.”

  The ex-husband. “Mr. Yates, nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

  “Please, call me Ashlee. You have amazing reaction time to have saved Piper like that.” He gave Tucker a once-over. “You look like an athlete. What’s your sport?”

  “Not much right now. I used to compete a bit in the Ironman.”

  “That explains it!” Ashlee grinned at Tucker, then looked over at Piper. “A 2.4-mile swim, followed by a 112-mile bicycle race, followed by a 26.2-mile marathon. Toughest one-day sport competition in the world. It’s on my bucket list.” He looked back at Tucker. “Once you’ve recovered, maybe we could do some jogging. Better yet, have you tried windsurfing?”

  Tucker tried not to wince. “I’m currently not much for water sports.”

  Tern approached him, also with an outstretched hand. “Ah, the hero of the hour, and forever in our gratitude for saving our Piper. Welcome, welcome!” They shook. “What can I bring you? Bourbon? Scotch? We have a wonderful Macallan single malt.”

  He could feel the rocks in his pocket pressing against his leg. “No, just a glass of water if it’s not too much trouble.” He adjusted his slacks.

  “Ice? Lemon?” Piper asked.

  “Sure.”

  An older, chunky woman wearing a sky-blue housedress and apron appeared, gave Tern a nod, then returned shortly with Tucker’s drink.

  “Thank you.” Piper jumped up and took the glass from the woman. “And, Tucker, this is Mildred. She keeps us all sane and running smoothly. You met her husband, Joel.”

  “Ma’am.” Tucker nodded at the woman.

  Mildred gave him a brief smile, then left. Tucker sipped his water and checked out the surroundings. The off-white walls featured original oil paintings of the lowlands. White furniture with matching oyster-colored throw pillows surrounded a hand-knotted area rug. The light-colored wood floor rippled with dappled light, and a slight breeze off the ocean kept the temperature comfortable.

  “Have the police—”

  “The tropical storm—”

  “Go ahead,” Ashlee said.

  Tern laughed. “I was just noting that the tropical storm’s been upgraded to a category two hurricane and named Marco.”

  “Hurricane!” Tucker glanced outside.

  “Don’t let Tern alarm you, Mr. Landry.” Caroline stood and returned to the open side of the room. She examined a painting, touched the bottom corner to straighten it, then turned and looked at him. “We keep track of such things as a precaution while we’re here. I’m sure this hurricane is quite far away, and should anything change, there’s a thirty-six-hour advance warning that’s issued. We’ll have plenty of notice if we are in any danger.”

  “As long as the hurricane doesn’t take an unexpected turn and make a run for us.” Tern had moved outside to the edge of the deck to light a pipe. He raised his voice slightly to be heard. “Like Sandy, Katrina, and Florence. A good storm surge would pretty much scour this little island clean.”

  Chapter 12

  Mother made sure she had my attention, then shifted her eyes to indicate I was to follow her. As we entered the hall, Mildred was standing in the kitchen doorway. “Miss Caroline, dinner is almost ready.”

  “I’ll just be a moment.” Mother took my arm and steered me to the side of the hall overlooking the foyer below. Mildred returned to her dinner preparations. “Piper, I read that awful piece in the paper about the curse. Our family is getting all kinds of attention—the wrong kind. What do you know about it?”

  “The reporter who wrote it is stalking us, or at least stalking Tucker and me.”

  “You know how I hate this kind of thing. Especially now.”

  I looked away. My brother and mother had worked so hard to craft a wetlands conservation bill that was coming up for a vote. If Tern could garner good press, that would help sway the undecided in the state senate. And he had plans for a higher office. “You’ll need to maintain an extremely low profile.”

  “I understand.”

  “You need to stay off the press’s radar.”

  “Yes, Mother.” What would she say if she knew how much family history I’d shared with Mandy and Tucker? What if they talked to the press?

  Mildred leaned around the door and cleared her throat. “Dinner is served.”

  Returning to the living room, I kept my face down until I figured my color was close to normal. I helped Tucker stand, then followed the family as we passed through the entry to the formal dining room. Mother moved to her usual place at the head of the table, where Tern was holding her chair. She waved her hand for Tucker to sit on her right. I snagged the seat next to Tucker, with Ashlee across from me and Tern opposite Mother. Once Tucker was seated, Mildred took his crutches and leaned them against the wall.

  No one spoke as Mildred and BettyJo served the first course and Joel came around the table with a bottle of white wine. Tucker declined. Joel discreetly avoided offering me any. Booze, along with the scars on my wrist, belonged to a past I never wanted to revisit.

  Tucker looked down and closed his eyes for a moment while his lips moved.

  The man must be religious. The first tiny smudge appeared on his otherwise spotless superhero persona. The rudeness of the thought made my face burn. I bent over the watermelon gazpacho and let my hair curtain my face.

  “So, Piper.” Ashlee’s voice broke into my thoughts. “How did you keep yourself busy today? I mean, outside of throwing cash at a bunch of homeless animals and bailing Tucker here out of the hospital.”

&
nbsp; “You’re not still involved with that dirty animal shelter, are you?” Mother asked. “I do wish you’d find a . . . tidier charity. Like a wildlife refuge.”

  I clenched my teeth for a moment. I didn’t need Ashlee’s condescension nor my mother’s disdain.

  “Many of the animals at the shelter are wild. Does that count?” I smiled, exposing my gritted teeth.

  Mother tightened her lips before hiding them behind a delicately dabbed napkin.

  Ashlee smirked at me.

  Maybe I could shake him up. I picked up my water glass. “I did have an interesting day. Tucker and I went to Mount Pleasant and tried to locate Raven—”

  Someone gasped.

  I looked up. Everyone was staring at me.

  “Why did you want to find our sister?” Tern asked.

  “That silly article in the paper.” I put down my glass and glanced at Mother. She’d carefully placed her spoon on the table. My heart rate increased. I wished I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want, or need, the family to be upset with me.

  “Go on,” Ashlee said.

  “Um, I figured it came from the old journal that Raven had. I wanted to ask her about it. I found out she left her condo a long time ago and—”

  “You drove to her condo?” Mother cleared her throat. “Did it occur to you that you could have just asked me? I would have told you she wasn’t living there.”

  “No.” My gaze went between Mother and Tern. I dried my sweaty palms on the linen napkin in my lap. I knew what would come next. Mother would glance at Tucker, then Ashlee, then me. It would be her unspoken signal that nothing relating to the family, certainly nothing of an unpleasant nature, was discussed in front of guests. I’d broken our family’s unwritten, unspoken code of silence.

  “Never mind.” Mother smiled slightly at Ashlee as she arranged her wine glass above her knife. “I do hope we’ll have a good report from you tomorrow on that market you’ve been researching.”

  I balled up my napkin.

  Tucker reached over and lightly touched my hand. “‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner,’” he whispered.

  Warmth radiated up my arm. “Dirty Dancing, 1987,” I whispered back and took a deep breath. “Tucker and I went to the condo to see Raven and to ask about the journal. An older woman, apparently a longtime neighbor, said Raven moved out around ten years ago. She said she saw Raven’s husband—”

  Tern leaned forward. “Was she watching the place?”

  “No. Just out walking her weird-looking dog. She saw us on the front steps.”

  “How interesting.” Mother looked at Tern. “I have an invitation to speak at the Audubon’s Eastern Carolina Center and Sanctuary next month.”

  Normally I would have slunk down in my seat and concentrated on the soup, but Tucker’s light touch still lingered on my hand. What is so wrong with asking about my sister? “I was just wondering what you knew about her.”

  Mother’s eyes glinted. “Well—”

  “It’s okay, Mother.” Tern gave me a sympathetic smile. “You’ve not exactly sought out Raven before now. She stays in touch.”

  Ashlee started coughing. He covered his mouth and waved at his wineglass. “Wrong pipe,” he managed to sputter.

  I waited until Ashlee stopped coughing before I asked Tern, “Raven stays in touch with you?”

  “And me,” Mother said. “She emails me on occasion. And of course she votes on company business by email. Now can we drop the subject?”

  Feeling like a chastised five-year-old, I made a point of smoothing out the napkin in my lap. Tern was right. I hadn’t even thought about my sister for a long time, certainly not until Mandy had asked me about her. I should have just asked Tern.

  “Your daughter Raven sounds like quite a character,” Tucker said smoothly. “Maybe even a bit mysterious.”

  I looked over at my mother. She wouldn’t be outwardly impolite and would pass his comments off as Yankee ignorance.

  “Yes, bless your heart, you’re a peach for asking about her.”

  Oh boy. “Bless your heart” and calling him a peach in Southern parlance often meant very much the opposite.

  “Raven’s been . . . finding herself,” Tern said. “I believe she’s at an ashram in India right now.”

  “Interesting,” Tucker said.

  “Thank you for sharing, Tern.” Mother’s voice oozed syrup.

  Mildred placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently as she filled my iced-tea glass. Another subtle reminder to keep the peace. And silent.

  I looked around the table at their smooth expressions. Suddenly I felt like a guest surrounded by strangers at a formal dinner party. Maybe it was the annoying pain in my ankle from the shooting. Maybe it was the shock of seeing someone lying dead beside me just yesterday. Maybe it was even the strength of Tucker’s presence that made me blurt out, “Tucker has agreed to age-progress Dove’s photograph for me.”

  You could have heard the soft scuffing of the pampas grass outside.

  “Piper, I’d like to see you in my room later tonight.” Mother turned to Ashlee. “Did you get a chance to read that book I recommended?” She, Ashlee, and Tern spent the remainder of dinner dissecting a recent bestseller.

  I wanted to go on and tell them about Hannah and find out if anyone had heard from Joyce, but I knew I’d already committed the major faux pas by talking about the family in front of strangers.

  Mother finally addressed our guest. “Tucker, won’t you join us in the living room for a digestif?”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but if you will excuse me, I think I’ll lie down and get a few painkillers in me.”

  Joel quietly moved toward Tucker’s crutches.

  “Of course. I’ll send a few naturopathic pain relievers with Mildred, who will show you to your room. I believe your things are already there.”

  “I’ll do it, Mother.” I pushed back my chair. “And if you’ll excuse me as well, I’ll be going for a walk before going to bed.” I stood and moved out of the room with Tucker following.

  The dining room opened to both the kitchen and the hall. Tucker looked around, then at me. “Okay, I admit I’m lost.”

  “Not to worry. You recognize the door over there to the elevator, and the stairs leading to the ground-floor entry.”

  He nodded.

  “So basically the house sprawls out two directions—two wings—from this central living area. Most of the bedrooms are in the north wing”—I pointed left—“along with the gym and media center. The southern wing has my room, the blue room—where you are—the game room, study, and Mother’s suite.”

  “You mentioned a media room that used to be the sewing room. Did someone sew?”

  “No.” I slowed. “That was originally Sparrow’s room. My oldest sister. She sewed a bit and had a machine in her room. When she passed, the sewing stuff stayed for a while, and I guess it was less painful to call it a sewing room than to refer to Sparrow. Later the room was redone into a media center.”

  “What about your father’s sculpture studio? Was that changed into another room as well?”

  “No.” I stopped. “Funny—not like ha-ha, but strange—but I have to admit I haven’t thought about his studio in a long time. Do you have enough energy to see it? It’s pretty close.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Take the elevator to the ground floor. I’ll meet you there.” I took the stairs two at a time and beat him to the foyer. We walked out of the front door and I turned right, passing under the house through an opening in the lattice. It was getting dark, but lights illuminated the walkways. Katydids chattered from the palms, and the ocean crashed and hissed in the distance. The air still carried the warmth from the day. Father’s studio was a building originally intended to be a garage in which to store carts and other equipment. Joel and Mildred’s apartment was above the garage and accessible by an enclosed walkway leading to the north wing. When the garage was converted to a studio, the garage door had been left in place a
nd proved to be useful when Father needed to move larger pieces. The smaller door had a combination lock on it. “Let’s see if I remember the numbers.” I tried several sets. No luck. “I tried his wedding anniversary, birthday, and Mother’s birthday.”

  “When did he move to the island?”

  “Good suggestion.” I bent over the lock. This time it sprang open. The door screeched a protest when I pushed it, and we were greeted with the odors of dust, grease, and stale air. I flipped on the light and the overhead fluorescents flickered on.

  Worktables lined the walls, and dusty tools—hammers, calipers, metal rods, gloves, a welding helmet—were scattered across the surface, but the welding equipment had long since been removed. All that remained in the center of the room was a hydraulic table on casters, built by my father to raise and lower sculptures.

  Across the open space was an interior door with a window. Yellowed blinds blocked our view of the room beyond. “Father called that his office.” A brief memory, my father working over a chunk of metal, flashed across my brain. I was left with a heavy feeling in my stomach and a tightening ache in my throat. I’d been talking about Dove, then Raven and Sparrow. Now I was looking at my father’s studio. Both Tucker and Mandy had a way of reaching into memories, challenging me to think about things I’d avoided for years. “We should go back to the house. All the exterior lights will be going off soon.”

  He followed me out and waited while I closed the studio. “And you turn off the lights because . . . ?”

  “They’re on timers. We don’t want to confuse any hatching sea turtles.” We retraced our steps to the main living area, then turned right to go to the south wing. I left him by a table in the hall.

  “Wait here.” In my bedroom, I opened my purse, found what I was looking for, and walked back to Tucker. I held out a lumpy piece of fabric.

  He gingerly took it and examined it. “And this is . . . ?”

  “You were asking about different members of the family. This is a pencil holder.” I took it from him. “Sparrow made it for me. Of course, it never was able to actually hold any pencils. She accidentally sewed it completely shut.”