by JoAnn Durgin
“Don’t think too hard about that one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s say he had an ulterior motive, and I’m not talking about drawing closer to the Almighty.” When she gave her friend a blank stare, Deidre sighed. “Come on, honey. Spencer only showed up because he thought you might be there.”
Serenity narrowed her eyes. “Tell me what you know.”
“Okay, don’t get mad, but my hubby ran into Spencer at McHenry’s last Saturday and they got to reminiscing. Your name came up. At some point, I’d told Wes about your...faith, and I might have said something about you going to church. My husband apparently passed on that little tidbit to Spencer. Sorry if Wes sent the octopus your way, but you know Spencer always took advantage of every opportunity. How’d you manage to get rid of him, anyway? I hope you didn’t have to call the authorities.”
The corners of Serenity’s mouth twitched. “Mrs. Marciano, my self-proclaimed bodyguard, stomped across the yard wielding a cast iron skillet. I don’t know how she even lifts that thing, and I hope she doesn’t hurt herself. She threatened Spencer and he took off like a scared rabbit. It did the trick. I don’t think I have to worry about him coming around again.”
“Good thing,” Deidre said. “By the way, I heard Jackson was at that new Asian place Wes’s cousin opened the other night.” She raised a perfectly-arched brow. “With Hayley Foster. Word is they’re working together on some project, but she wants it to be more.”
Serenity tried to ignore the sudden pang of jealousy. She stared out the window at the gathering dark, low-hanging clouds, ripe with the promise of rain. Jackson had explained his working relationship with Hayley, and she had no reason to doubt him.
“Isn’t that what Jackson’s doing with you, working on a...project?”
“Deidre, you know very well we’re working together.” Serenity didn’t bother masking her annoyance. “Not to sound like a whiner, but I’m tired of everyone in this town knowing what I’m doing, where I am at any given moment, who I’m with, what I order for dinner, what time I get home. The looks, the insinuations I get at the bank, the store, and pretty much everywhere. If Jackson wants to work on a project with a different woman every night of the week, that’s his prerogative and none of my business.”
Deidre gave her a penetrating look, the corners of her exquisitely-painted red lips threatening another impending smile, this one much too smug. “I didn’t say that to make you jealous, but somehow I think I hit my mark. Look, here’s the thing. I know you’re scared, but you can’t let one bad date”—she raised her hand—“okay, technically not a date, but don’t let it spoil the chance for a relationship with anyone else. So, you went out with Spencer hoping to clear up some old baggage from high school. Bad move, girlfriend, but you learned your lesson and now it’s time to move on. All I’m saying is, you might want to play nice with yummy Dr. Ross and see what happens.”
“Deidre, this insatiable desire to know everything about my personal life is starting to border on harassment. I have to tell you, it’s a little scary sometimes.”
“Oh, it’s not harassment.” Deidre sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, appearing pleased.
Serenity met Deidre’s gaze. “What would you call it then?”
A smile creased her friend’s face. “Love.”
Ever since Jackson had pulled out that old black and white photo from the box he unpacked in her office, Serenity couldn’t stop thinking about her mother. She sat at the kitchen table with her dad as they shared a simple meal of chicken salad sandwiches and fresh fruit salad later that evening. After bowing her head for a quick prayer, she began eating and observed how his appetite seemed improved. The color in his cheeks was better and he’d been getting out for some fresh air every day.
He asked about her business and seemed pleased to hear she’d gained a few more clients. When she told him their names, he nodded. “Watch out for old Bing Warren,” he said with a chuckle. “That guy tried to date your mama when she first moved here to Croisette Shores. He spurred me on to put a ring on Elise’s finger to let him know she was taken.”
“I’m sure Mama made it perfectly clear. And I don’t think he’ll be coming after me. At least I hope not.” She cringed at the thought. He was her father’s age.
Clinton shook his head. “The old codger’s still single. If he’d clean himself up a bit and mind his manners, he might have half a chance.”
“Karen Gorham might be interested,” she said, giving him a sly glance.
Chewing a bite of apple from the fruit salad, he grinned. “You might be right. She keeps trying, bless her heart.”
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes as she tried to formulate questions in her mind. Questions she needed to ask even though she risked upsetting him. “Dad, why do you think Mama left?” she said. “Or do you even believe that’s what she did?” She pushed aside her empty plate. “I guess what I’m trying to say is...do you think Mama even had a choice whether to leave?”
Clinton fiddled with his spoon and tapped it against the ceramic bowl. Finally, he put it down and ran a hand over his grizzled chin. He needed a good shave and a haircut. “Too much sadness, I think.”
“So, you’re saying you think she left voluntarily?” She let out a low groan. Thinking such a thing was bad enough, but hearing it from her father somehow made it worse. More like a reality she hadn’t wanted to face. Still, it was the first time she’d been able to broach the subject with him since moving back home. “She was my mom, and I needed her. Running away was the easy thing, the selfish thing. Leaving didn’t solve anything.” Tears stung the back of her eyes.
Clinton snapped up his head and curled his fist on the table. “Your mama’s not selfish, Serenity. You don’t know what you’re talking about. She gave up everything for you.”
“How can you defend her, even now? After all she’s done?” She could see the muscles in his jaws flexing. Good. If he unleashed his anger, yelled, stomped, screamed or whatever, at least it’d be raw, honest emotion. Then they could deal with it and try to move past it.
“She hated like anything to see you hurt. When Danny was murdered, your mother wished she could have traded places with him.” His eyes flashed. “Don’t think she wouldn’t have done it in a heartbeat if she could. Me, too.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. When he dug the ever-present hanky from his pants, she took it from him without hesitation. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face. “I know I sound selfish to you, but especially when Liam died, I needed Mama more than ever before in my life.” A sob escaped. “I still do.”
Reaching across the table, Clinton grabbed her hand and held on tight. “One of these days, you’ll have your answers. These things always have a way of working themselves out one way or the other.”
Serenity withdrew her hand, her eyes wide. “What do you mean? What about your answers? You lost your wife. Don’t you want to know what happened?” She stared at him, wide-eyed and dabbed beneath her eyes. He seemed too calm, too accepting. “Dad, do you think Mama’s alive?”
Slumping back in his chair, he remained silent. He also avoided her eyes. She waited him out. A couple of times he seemed ready to say something, opening his mouth but then closing it again. “I’m not sure what to think anymore, girl.”
For now, she’d accept those words. But something still didn’t ring quite right. “Do you know anything about the note someone from Croisette Shores mailed to me in Atlanta?”
“What note?” The obvious surprise in his expression told her he knew nothing.
“Hang on. I’ll show you.” Opening her purse, she retrieved the paper, unfolded it and handed it to him as she sat in her chair again. The letters were starting to fade, but it was still legible. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”
Clinton shook his head. “Can’t say as I do. When did you get this?”
“Six weeks before I moved back home.”
His eyes met her
s. “This note is why you came back?”
“No, but it was the catalyst. Getting it confirmed in my mind it was time to finally come back home. I’d been thinking about it, anyway.”
“What do you make of it?” Letting the note fall to the table, he stared at it.
“I don’t know any more now than I did when I first got it. At first, I thought maybe you’d sent it, but then I figured out pretty quickly you didn’t. Then I thought Charlie sent it. As you can see, it’s plain paper without a watermark or anything distinguishing to go on other than the handwriting. I even smelled it, thinking it might hold the scent of its sender, but nothing. Based on the timing, I can’t help but wonder if the person who sent it might have known I’d just finished my studies and might be contemplating coming back home. Truthfully? Other than gossiping about me, there’s only a handful of people who might know or care where I was in the world or what I was doing.”
“You really believe that, girl?” He snorted and shook his head.
“More or less…yes.”
Returning his gaze to her, her father stared her down. “You broke hearts when you left town. And I’m not just talking about mine.” His eyes grew moist, and it surprised her. “When you left, you took away the sunshine. My sunshine. And now, I can’t help thinking you might pick up and leave again.” He glanced away again and sniffed.
She sat stunned, staring at her father. “Dad, look at me.” Crossing both arms on the table, Serenity waited until he moved his gaze back to hers. The vulnerability in his dark eyes could have blown her over. “I told you this is my home,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. No matter what happened here in the past, I don’t hold it against this town. I don’t belong anywhere else. Croisette Shores is part of me, and it’s in my blood. I needed to get away for a while. It was a good move for me personally, and I’ll never regret coming back. But I can’t help but wonder—if Mama’s still out there somewhere—if she feels the same way. Do you think she’ll ever come back?”
Serenity couldn’t stand it when her father avoided her questions, and she liked it less when he wouldn’t look her in the eye, like now. Avoidance in general seemed second nature with him since she’d moved back home. Somehow she’d break through the fortress he’d built around his emotions if she had to drag him to see Jackson for counseling sessions.
Finally, he grunted. “Elise loves you more than anything, Serenity. If nothing else, believe that.”
Why did he always speak about her in present tense? Not to mention he hadn’t answered her direct question. “If that’s true, then how could she leave us? Answer that one, please.”
Shaking his head, Clinton pushed his chair away from the table and rose to his feet. He carried the coffee cup and plate to the sink. Planting both hands on the counter, he lowered his head.
“Fine,” she said, following suit. “If you won’t answer, then I’ll leave. After all, it’s the thing to do in this family.” She put her plate on the counter beside him and grabbed her purse. Pausing at the door, she turned and walked back to where he still stood by the sink, staring out the window. “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Do me a favor, though.”
“What’s that?”
Serenity placed her hand on his arm. It lacked the muscle definition he used to have, and he was much too thin. “Do you ever pray? Prayer and belief in God isn’t a crutch, and it’s helped me get through the not knowing whether Mama’s alive or dead.”
“Is that a fact? Has God given you any answers, girl?” He shook his head. “You sound like Elise with all your talk of God.” His voice held more resignation than scorn.
“I don’t have any answers yet, Dad, but I’ve learned one truth. He’s your God every bit as He’s mine. You just have to believe that and reach out to Him. Meet Him halfway. My faith in His mercy and grace has given me the strength to face every single day the last few years. Days when I didn’t want to get out of bed and go on any more. He’s helped me face my fears and stare them down.” Planting a soft kiss on his cheek, she whispered against his weathered cheek, “I came home for you, too, you know. We need each other. Now more than ever, Dad.”
Grabbing her hand, he held on tight. “Yeah, we do, girl. We do.”
~CHAPTER 15~
Twenty minutes into their tour of The Summer Palace on Friday morning, Serenity heard a phone ringing. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Charlie mouthed to her that it was Maya’s school. He covered his ear with his hand and walked to a quiet corner and listened, nodding his head every few seconds and speaking in low tones. Coming back a few minutes later, he spoke with Jackson. With a small wave and a nod, he departed.
Jackson stared at the ceiling and crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you look at those moldings?”
Her laughter prompted several tourists in the immediate vicinity to glance their way. “Now, see what you’ve done, troublemaker? Where’d Charlie go?”
“Hey, you’re the one causing the disruption,” Jackson said under his breath, steering her toward a large painting. “I’m your client, so be nice to me, please. In case you’re thinking this morning was a set-up and this was some elaborate scheme to get you here under false pretenses, that really was a call from Maya’s school.” He slanted his gaze to hers as if issuing a nonverbal challenge to prove him wrong.
Her smile sobered. “In that case, I hope everything’s okay.”
“Charlie said Maya has a stomach ache. Since her mom and dad both work, he’s the emergency contact.” Sounded like he knew the family pretty well already. They lagged behind the others, a tour group sporting Swiss Air tote bags strapped across their chests. Jackson faced her with an indefinable expression. “Did Charlie ever tell you what your dad did for his son?”
Serenity turned from her study of the layout of the sitting room. “My dad? For Ray?”
“Ray used to work part-time at a local elementary school as a janitor after hours to help pay his way through college and to make extra money so his wife could stay home with Maya. I don’t know all the details, but the school fired him for allegedly stealing a computer. From what Charlie said, Clinton found out who the real culprit was and hauled him into the police.”
That revelation stopped her in her tracks. She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and shook her head. “When did this happen? I wonder why no one told me.”
“About three years ago, I think. From what I know of your dad, he didn’t think it was anything extraordinary. He made such a stink about the firing that it ended up going all the way to the school board. They offered Ray his job back, but he said no. He’d won the victory. My point being your dad is a hero to Charlie and his family.”
“Mama and Dad always believed in fighting for equality, racial and otherwise,” she said. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Do you know how Dad found out who the true culprit was?”
“Charlie said Clinton overheard some guys talking at McHenry’s right after Ray was fired. They were joking around and one of the kids was bragging about what he’d gotten away with. Not to change the subject, but I’m growing rather fond of that light fixture,” Jackson said, pointing to a hurricane-style lamp. “Do you think we can find one?”
“I’m sure we can find a reproduction. It’s a fairly popular design.” Taking out her phone, Serenity snapped a photo, hoping it wasn’t against the rules. They talked about a few more fixtures in the room and she made notes about Jackson’s preferences for rugs. If all her clients were as forthcoming as Jackson about what they liked and didn’t like, it’d make her job much easier. Trying to second guess or not having much to go on could make for a difficult assignment. She’d already found that with a couple more new clients, but each and every client was a blessing, and no doubt they’d all teach her something valuable.
“What made you decide to go into interior decorating?” Jackson asked as she tucked her phone back in her purse.
“I’ve always been fascinated by colors, textures
and designs. How they work solo or blended.” She smiled. “When you think about it, I’m sort of a salesperson, but in the nicest sense of the word. I make recommendations and tell people what I believe works or doesn’t. Based on my study of design techniques and applications, of course. Then it’s up to them to make their own decision and either accept or reject my ideas.”
“You’re selling me on it all right now,” he said, returning her smile.
“Stop flirting.”
“Can’t help it,” he said. “Seriously, you do a great job. I guess we’d better go rejoin Swiss Air. Thanks for all the good suggestions, though. Next field trip, we’ll go to one of the art galleries down by the shore to look at some of the watercolors. See if we can’t find some nice scenes of Croisette Shores for the walls.”
A young, attractive woman who looked to be of Spanish descent stood on the peripheral of the tour group as they rejoined them in a hallway leading to the bedroom wing. “You two, um, how do you say...make a...beautiful couple.” Her eyes lingered on Jackson a bit too long.
“Oh, we’re not a couple,” Jackson said, his offhand manner irritating her. “She’s just my interior decorator and we’re here to look at chair rails and moldings.” He nodded in approval at the ornate ceiling. “Those French royals had the right idea. Overstated opulence. Write that down,” he said to Serenity, waving his hand at her in a dismissive way. If he hadn’t winked when he said it, she might have swatted him. Just my interior decorator? She bristled.
Danny had been handsome in a charming, bad boy way, yet a part of her always wondered if she could trust him. But Jackson? Well, he was solid and good with that hint of naughtiness she found irresistible. Like the little boy you couldn’t stay mad at for long because you knew beneath the mischievousness was a decent and honorable soul.
