by Karen White
I smirked. “Very funny. It was pretty—intense. But it’s over. And hopefully, after we get her house ‘cleansed,’ I shouldn’t have to run into her at all.” I ignored their shared glance and moved to where the doors lay patiently waiting. “How’s it going?”
Chad shook his head. “Too early to tell, really. I’m going to try to find some matching hardwood to make a wedge for both doors to see if that’ll work. Maybe shim the bottoms, too. The tracks and all the hardware need to be replaced, which isn’t going to be cheap.” He smiled brightly. “But Sophie and I agree that it’ll look beautiful when we’re all done.”
I examined the offending doors for a moment. “Or maybe we could just close up the opening and forget it was ever here.”
Both Sophie and Chad looked at me with identical expressions of horror and it was hard not to laugh. “Fine, fine. Do what needs to be done.” I sighed.The discovery in the house of a hidden cache of diamonds had certainly helped finance the restoration, but sometimes I began to believe that the entire contents of Fort Knox wouldn’t be sufficient to fund the job. I envisioned myself working at selling houses well into my nineties just to support myself and this house. I occasionally even had the odd thought that I actually enjoyed restoring the house, but usually only before I received one of the receipts Sophie gave me for materials or labor from the horde of workmen she commissioned for various jobs. Then my thoughts tended to stray more to a flaming match and some kind of accelerant.
I looked around, realizing I hadn’t heard the dog barking when I came in. “Where’s General Lee?”
Sophie watched my face carefully. “Jack and Rebecca took him for a walk.”
“Who?” I wasn’t sure if I was more surprised by the fact that Rebecca was walking my dog or that Chad and Sophie would be on a first-name basis with her already.
Chad explained. “The little guy has been locked up in the kitchen all afternoon because Sophie’s been here and I guess they felt he could use the exercise.”
“They?” I said, still not able to wrap my mind around the fact that Jack and Rebecca might be out walking my dog.
Chad tightened his braid. “Well, it was just Jack at first but when he went to leave, Rebecca came, so she went with him.”
I nodded, slightly mollified. “What else is going on?” I asked hesitantly, afraid of Sophie’s answer. Her answers always managed to cost me at least a thousand dollars and as many hours in sweat equity.
Again I noticed an exchange of glances. Sophie smiled her brightest smile, the one that reminded me of a nurse’s right after she tells you it won’t hurt a bit but before she jabs the large needle into your arm.
“It’s time to talk about redoing the floors. I know I mentioned to you that we could do it room by room to cause you the least amount of inconvenience. But after thinking about it and discussing it with Chad, we realized that doing it that way would probably take two to three times longer and it would be best to just do them all at once.”
I looked at them both, waiting for the big needle jab. “Okay. That sounds fine. Just let me know when and I’ll take a couple of days off from work to help.”
Again, the shared glance and I inadvertently flinched, knowing that the needle was poised and ready.
Chad intervened. “That’s totally cool that you can help. Soph here wants everything done by hand so it will take as many people as we can get. But it’s, um, going to take more than a couple of days.”
“Like three or four?” I suggested helpfully.
“Um, not exactly. We’re thinking maybe closer to a month. Or more. It’s a big job. We’ll have to remove all the existing furniture that’s not already in storage because of the mess from the sanding. And then there’ll be a couple of coats of stain on top of that and then the wax. The smell can be pretty noxious. . . .” His voice trailed off.
I’d stopped listening after hearing the word “month.” “You’re saying I need to move out of my house for an entire month, or maybe more.”
They both nodded, uncannily resembling matching bobbleheads. “Bingo,” they said in unison. Looking at each other, they both said, “Jinx!” and started to laugh.
I was spared from throwing up by the voice behind me. “You can stay with me.”
Recognizing Jack’s voice, I turned around to see him and Rebecca, with General Lee in her arms. I noticed how he didn’t squirm to be released when he saw me.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jack. I’ll be moving into my house in a week or so. Since I need Melanie’s help with some of the renovations, it would make sense for her to just move into her old room.”
I hadn’t noticed my mother at first; she must have come in right after Jack and Rebecca but early enough to hear Jack’s offer.
“I don’t . . .” I started.
Sophie practically leapt with enthusiasm. “That’s a great idea! That way you’ll be on hand to assist me and your mother with all the—work that needs to be done on the house.”
I knew her pause before the word “work” was intentional, and I appreciated her caution in front of Rebecca. I frowned, knowing that what she said made sense. But I was more than leery about moving into that house—and not just because my mother would be living there, too.
“I really don’t think . . .” Again I was interrupted, but this time it was by Jack.
“She’s right. It makes perfect sense. You’d be close enough to home to check on the progress here, plus you’d be on-site to help your mother with all the, um, work on her house.”
Appalled, I searched for my voice and any words strong enough to dissuade the mob. “I don’t want to impose on my mother. A hotel would be fine. Really.”
I felt four sets of accusatory eyes on me. Five, if you included General Lee.
“You wouldn’t be imposing, Mellie.You’d be helping me.” My mother schooled her face into an appropriately groveling yet not-too-pathetic expression. “I’m not as young as I used to be, you know, and moving all of my belongings from a different state plus all the upheaval of a renovation just might do me in. And,” she added with a note of triumph, “it would give us time to plan your fortieth-birthday party.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “I had no idea you were that old.” Her long lashes fluttered as her cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t look that old.” She closed her eyes, her face reddening further, but she remained silent, unwilling or unable to dig a deeper hole.
Seeing a chance to change the subject, I said, “Mother, I don’t believe you’ve met Rebecca Edgerton. She’s writing a story about you for the Post & Courier. Rebecca, this is my mother, Ginnette Prioleau.”
My mother held out her gloved hand, her brow raised in true diva fashion. “Oh, yes. I believe we spoke briefly once. And you’ve left several messages for me since. How nice to meet you in person.” She didn’t apologize for not returning the messages.
“Likewise,” said Rebecca, gingerly taking the proffered hand and looking miserable, considering she’d somehow orchestrated meeting her prey in person.
My mother turned back to me. “Melanie may be turning forty, but she just keeps getting more and more beautiful each year, doesn’t she, Jack?” She beamed at Jack.
“Just like the finish on an antique piece of furniture,” he said, grinning. “More lovely, and with a little bit of shine.”
I scowled at him, not liking being compared to an armoire, and faced my mother. If the comment had come from anybody else besides my mother, I would have hugged her for it. Instead I looked away, but felt all eyes staring at me—waiting for an answer—and I began to feel like someone who’d just told a little kid the truth about Santa Claus.
Jack’s arm went around my shoulder and he bent close to my ear, his breath racing like little pinpricks up my bare neck. “Come on, Mellie. It’s just for a short time. And I’ll be there to rescue you if you need me.”
My gaze traveled from my mother to Jack and then back again. Mrs. Trenholm had once tol
d me she thought Jack could charm the blue out of the sky. I wasn’t sure if she’d been complimenting her son or warning me. Either way, I believed she was right. Jack Trenholm had an alarming way of getting me to do things I didn’t want to do.
I let out a slow breath through clenched teeth. “Fine,” I said. “Whatever. I guess I can survive anything for a month.”
Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her Birkenstocks and exchanged a surreptitious glance with Chad. “Um, a month is only a guesstimate. There’s always the possibility it could take longer. For instance, if it rains a lot the high humidity will delay the drying of the floors between layers of stain and sealant. That’s totally out of our control, of course, but it could add to the total time.”
“You can stay as long as you need, Mellie. My house is always open to you.” My mother smiled gently and I looked away.
I had a sudden vision of me in a barrel heading toward a large waterfall, and there was nothing I could do about it.
I was spared a response by a small squeak from General Lee, and then he came racing in to me from the foyer. I picked him up, checking his small body to make sure he was intact, then walked out of the room toward the foyer where Rebecca had wandered while I’d been strong-armed into moving in with my mother.
She was staring at the portrait of the two girls. I’d brought it to my house for temporary safekeeping while the previous occupants of the Legare Street house moved their belongings. It was leaning against the recently replastered wall of the foyer, and more than once I’d wanted to face it toward the wall to avoid the following gaze of the painting’s subjects.
Rebecca looked up as we approached. “Sorry. I must have squeezed him too tightly. It’s just . . .” She indicated the painting. “It’s—it’s just like what I remembered from my dream.”
“What is it?” Jack walked closer and put a hand on her arm, and I was annoyed at myself for letting that little bit of contact between them bother me.
Keeping the dog in my arms as a sort of screen between me and the painting, I stepped closer and turned to Jack. “I didn’t have a chance to show you what my mother and I found in the attic in the Legare Street house. We don’t know who the girls are, but the setting seems familiar and I wanted to see if you recognized either the subjects or the setting.”
He shook his head slowly, studying the painting closely. “I definitely see a family resemblance. But then again . . .” He looked up at me and narrowed his eyes and was silent for a moment. “I’m not so sure.”
“Look,” said Rebecca, pointing to the hidden locket on the taller girl’s chest. Her index finger shook and she quickly folded it into her fist as if she didn’t want anybody to see.
“They each have one,” I said, regarding her closely. “Do you see anything you recognize? Maybe the house?”
It took her a moment to answer. “No. Not at all. It’s just that it’s so—striking.” She squatted to get a better look just as I’d done before, but I doubted it was because her eyesight was deteriorating with age. I guessed that she was about five years younger than I was, and I couldn’t help but look down at her hair part to see if she had any grays yet. She didn’t.
Jack held up his cell phone and snapped a picture. “I’m going to show this to Yvonne Craig at the historical society. I don’t recognize anything in this painting but she might.”
I remembered meeting Yvonne when Jack and I had been researching part of my Tradd Street house’s past. I’ll admit to being a little jealous of her because of the fondness in Jack’s voice whenever he said her name and the inordinate amount of time he seemed to spend with her. It wasn’t until I’d met her—complete with support hose and walker—that I realized Jack had been leading me on purposely and that Ms. Craig was old enough to be his grandmother.
“Can I go with you?” Rebecca asked, her blue eyes wide.
I’d just been about to ask the same thing but remained silent now. Tagging along with them as a third wheel was about as appealing to me as spending a month living with my mother.
Jack put his phone back into his pocket and glanced at me. I was already preparing a gentle way to decline his offer to accompany them when he said, “You should probably stay here and start packing up your things to take to your mother’s. I’ll be happy to help you cart it all over when you’re ready.”
I felt like a balloon that had lost all of its air and then been run over by a truck. Twice. I forced a smile. “I was just about to say the same thing.”
Chad and Sophie excused themselves and returned to contemplating the pocket doors as I herded the rest of the group to the front door. “Call me if you find out anything,” I said to Jack.
Rebecca handed my mother her business card and after a brief pause my mother accepted it. “Just in case you accidentally deleted my messages on your answering machine,” Rebecca said, her eyes not giving anything away. “I’d like to set up a time to interview you.”
Ginnette gave an elegant shrug. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible anytime soon. I have to fly back to New York to supervise the listing of my apartment and then pack up everything. I’ll be sure to call you when everything has settled.”
Rebecca’s expression grew cool. “I understand. I’ll call from time to time just to check your availability.”
“Yes, certainly,” my mother replied, and it was hard for me not to lift my palms in the air to double high-five her.
Jack and Rebecca left while my mother lingered inside the door.
“I’m not so sure about that Rebecca,” she said after they were out of earshot.
“Mother, I really don’t care about her and Jack. He’s completely free to pursue whomever he wants.”
She glanced over to the portrait again. “I wasn’t really referring to her and Jack, but I suppose the warning would bode well there, too.” She gave me a pointed glance. “I was referring to her interest in our family. She reminds me of a vulture hovering over a foundering ship.”
“I think she’s harmless. She can dredge up whatever she wants because it has no bearing on me. I have nothing to hide.”
Her eyebrow crept up. “Don’t you?”
The way she said it, full of resonance and innuendo, I could understand her success on a stage. I faced her fully. “What are you holding back? What is it that you don’t want me to know? Do you know something about my past or our family—like whoever that might be they found on the sailboat—that Rebecca could find out? Because if you do, let me know now so I’m prepared.”
She shook her head slowly but her eyes never left my face. “I know only as much as you do.Truly. I suppose we’ll just have to muddle through and figure this out together.”
She looked so convincing, and I might have been convinced if I didn’t remind myself of what a brilliant actor she was. What most people don’t realize about opera singers is that not only do they have to have a good voice, but they also need to know how to act—if only to translate into actions whatever they happen to be singing in Italian or German or whatever. I wasn’t a fan of opera for obvious reasons, but I knew enough about it to be wary when my mother looked me in the eye and denied something.
I remembered the baby’s crying from the day before echoing in the empty rooms of the old house and knew there’d been at least one thing she’d kept from me. “Rebecca told me about your miscarriage. I would have thought you’d have mentioned it. I don’t want to be taken unawares again.”
She lifted her chin but didn’t say anything right away. Finally, she said, “There was no opportunity to tell you. You were too young to understand when it happened and I didn’t want to upset you.”
I felt the rush of hurt and disappointment like spilled milk and broken glass; both were irretrievably gone and much too late to cry over. “Hurt me? And leaving me without as much as a reason why or a good-bye was much less hurtful?”
She looked at me for a long time, and I found I was holding my breath, hoping she would finally tell me what I wanted to hear. Instea
d, she turned away and breezed through the open door, her fur coat close enough to tickle my nose. She paused but kept her back to me. “We will have to do this together, you know. Even with the help of others, it will come down to just the two of us.” She pulled her collar close to her neck. “I’ll be gone about a week or so.You can move into my house at any time but I suspect you’ll want to wait until I return.”
I remained silent as she walked down the steps. She turned her head slightly and looked back at me. “Good-bye,” she said.
I didn’t answer, knowing that her one word was thirty-three years too late.
CHAPTER 9
I was staring at the computer screen in my office, checking new listings and making notes, when Nancy Flaherty buzzed me on my intercom.
“You have a visitor, Melanie.”
I could tell she was smiling and her consonants had gone soft as if they’d fallen out of slack lips onto a pillow. Sighing, I pressed the button to respond. “Jack doesn’t have an appointment so he’s going to have to wait. Tell him to cool his heels for a while and I’ll be out as soon as I’m done here.”
“I didn’t think I needed an appointment, Mellie, since the two of us are practically living together.”
I jerked out of my seat at the sound of Jack’s voice in the doorway, flinging my glasses across the room at the same time. Struggling to regain my composure, I said, “You startled me.”
With his trademark grin, he sauntered across the office and retrieved my glasses. “I noticed.” Returning the glasses to me, he said, “I believe these are yours.”
I stared at them as if I’d never seen them before and as if they hadn’t been perched on my nose merely seconds before. “Yes. I believe they are.” I took them from his outstretched hand and tossed them into my drawer. “They’re more of a fashion statement than anything, really. Somebody told me they made me look more professional.”
He looked at me with that annoying smirk that was at the same time achingly familiar. “You’re a beautiful woman, Mellie. With or without the glasses.”
