by Karen White
There were no closets in the room but a large wardrobe, almost as tall as the ceiling, sat between the two windows, a tassel—matching the draperies—hanging from a key in the front keyhole. I tugged the enormous door open, wondering too late whether Matthew had left any of Adrienne’s clothes inside. I let out my breath as I saw only neatly hung dress shirts, golf shirts, various pants, and shoes—all decidedly masculine. His scent was there, the enticing aroma of his shower-fresh skin mixed with his cologne. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, my heart tightening in my chest as I felt the same visceral pull that I’d felt the first time I’d seen him. Then I remembered the closet door at the far end of the bathroom addition that in my anger I hadn’t bothered to open, and my doubts resurfaced.
Not yet willing to face the possibility of another woman’s clothes in the unexplored closet, I slid one of Matthew’s dress shirts off a hanger and buttoned it over the tiny silk nightgown I’d been relegated to wear the previous night. I nudged open the bedroom door and was met with the enticing aroma of brewed coffee and something sweet and oven-warmed. My stomach grumbled, propelling me downstairs and to the inevitable confrontation.
I stood in the bright kitchen, all stainless steel and granite, but with beadboard cabinetry with glass fronts and a large farmhouse sink to make the modern touches look less incongruous in a two-hundred-year-old house. Beadboard wainscoting, rising three-quarters of the way up the walls, was capped with a small shelf holding antique plates. Freshly finished heart-of-pine floors gleamed beneath the antique plank table and bench seats, while cast-iron chandeliers, obviously very old and most likely originally created for candles, hung above the eating area and the large island by the sink. The Viking stove with six burners along with the heavy-duty double ovens made me think the kitchen had been designed by a chef, somebody who knew how to roll out dough, or make soufflés and puff pastries. Somebody who wasn’t me.
I looked at the stove where a nut-covered bread loaf sat in a pan, a single slice missing, but my appetite had suddenly disappeared. I spotted the coffeemaker, where somebody—presumably Matthew—had set out a mug, a container of sweetener packets, and creamer. An ornate silver teaspoon sat on a ceramic spoon rest in the shape of a cotton boll, and the flowers Tish had brought the previous evening sat behind the mug inside another crystal vase of unknown vintage, their aroma adding to the enticing smells of the kitchen. The sweetener and creamer were the brands I used, and my heart squeezed again as I thought of Matthew calling Tish before we arrived and instructing her to make sure I had what I needed.
I had to see him, to work this out between us. I fixed a cup of coffee and went in search of my husband. I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hearing only the sound of a ticking clock. I’d always found the noise unnerving, reminders of the inevitable passage of time. I didn’t call out, knowing he wasn’t there.
I turned toward the door at the back of the kitchen that led outside and headed toward it. The backyard was similar to the front, with scrubby grass and sand eventually giving way to the thick trees and brush. The small tabby structure I’d seen the night before sat to my right, looking as alone and forlorn as before.
Mosquitoes buzzed around me, darting around my exposed skin but not landing. I wasn’t worried. I was one of the lucky few whom mosquitoes didn’t bother with. I took a sip of my coffee, seeing the outlines of another garden, large stones marking rectangular plots. The humidity sat in the air like a wet veil, and I could feel my carefully straightened hair crimping into tight curls.
A path led from the garden area toward the woods, and I followed it as if a string were pulling me into the right direction in the way I imagined migrating birds fly south. I saw the sun reflecting off of water between the trees before I saw the creek and the dock that stretched from wooden steps built into the bank, an extension of the path where I stood. Two long benches facing each other had been built into the railings at the end of the dock. I could picture Matthew as a small boy sitting there with a fishing rod and staring at the sun-rippled waves the way he was doing now. His dark hair, burnished red in places by the sun, gleamed, and my throat tightened as I watched him dip his head as if in heavy thought.
I didn’t move but he turned, our eyes meeting across the distance. He stood as I walked quickly down the steps to the edge of the dock and stopped, feeling slightly queasy as it swayed. Then, moving very slowly down the center of the boards and keeping my eyes averted from the water on either side, I moved forward until I stopped in front of him. I held my mug between us, holding myself back from forgiving him before I had a reason to.
My coffee returned a distorted reflection of my face as I took another sip, the liquid now almost too cool to drink. Still holding the cup between us, I said, “I don’t want to be a hypocrite, so I’m going to tell you something I’ve been afraid to.”
He didn’t say anything, but I imagined his eyes darkening as I’d learned they did when he was deep in thought.
I swallowed. “I’m afraid of water.” I kept my eyes focused on the coffee in my mug, trying very hard to ignore the sound of water lapping against the dock’s pilings or the small snaps of water as fish and birds disturbed the surface searching for food. “The ocean mostly, but I’m generally uneasy near any large body of water.”
I heard his intake of breath but I continued. “It’s the kind of fear that gives me nightmares. Like the one I had in the car yesterday.” I looked up, afraid of what I might see.
Matthew’s expression softened. “And I’ve brought you to an island to live. I didn’t even give you a choice.”
My eyes met his. “I made my choice. I wanted to be with you. That’s all that mattered. I hope with time I can…get over it.”
He took the mug from my hand and set it on the bench behind me, then pulled me against him, holding me loosely, as if he expected me to pull away. “With my job I deal with a lot of childhood fears, so I know something like what you feel about water isn’t something you’ll ‘get over’ on your own. And I don’t expect you to. But I can help you, if you’ll let me.”
“You already have,” I said, then stopped, not yet ready to tell him that I’d known that from the moment I’d met him. Or that the first time he’d kissed me, I’d tasted the salt of the ocean, as if he carried this place within him.
The hum of a motor, no louder than the buzzing of a bee, approached and gradually grew louder until I could see a small boat navigating its way from the creek to deeper water. I tried not to think of the Atlantic that lay beyond, or that the salt water that moved beneath my feet was the same water that swelled against the island’s shores. The waves around us increased, causing the dock to rise and fall. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Matthew’s chest, locking my arms around him.
“Let’s get off the dock,” he said, trying to move me forward.
I stayed where I was and shook my head, still feeling the movement of the waves but feeling anchored, too, by Matthew’s arms. “I want to know about Adrienne.”
The muscles in his back tensed but I didn’t step away. I took his hands and led him to the bench, where I carefully sat on the edge, away from the water, and held his hands tightly in mine.
“What would you like to know?”
I cleared my throat, trying to look at this situation in the same way I would a breech birth or any circumstance where I couldn’t let my emotions lead me. It’s what made me a good midwife. “How long were you married?”
“Five years. Five years, three months, and six days.”
I hadn’t expected an answer so specific, as if each day had been treasured enough to be counted. But he’d married Adrienne and loved her. Having known what it was like to be loved by Matthew Frazier, I knew with my troubled heart that he had cherished her and their time together. Once.
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “What happened?”
“She died.”
Whatever it was that I’d been expecting to hear, it hadn’t been that. My gaze jerked b
ack to his. “How?”
He looked down at our entwined hands, his thumb gently tracing the birthmark at the base of my thumb. “In a car accident four years ago. She was by herself, and I didn’t even know she was dead until the next day.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, realizing too late how stupidly inadequate my words were. And how insincere. It was through Adrienne’s dying that Matthew was mine now. I clung to that selfish thought, unable to stop myself from holding on to it like some hot burning ember that gave light in the darkness, but also threatened to consume everything with fire.
“We were very young when we married. I was just out of grad school and celebrating, and she was working in a bar in Savannah—she wasn’t a midwife yet. But her older brother and I had been friends, so I recognized her and we started talking.” He shrugged as if that single movement explained the rest of what happens after a couple meets in a bar.
“Was she from Savannah?”
He shook his head. “From here, actually, although Adrienne was sent to Atlanta for high school. Her parents are older. They adopted Adrienne and John—from different families—when they were in their forties. They still live on St. Simons, although her brother lives nearby on Jekyll Island. I don’t see a lot of them.” He set his mouth in a firm line.
Never one to resist picking a scab, I pressed on. “Why not?”
A large elegant bird with blue-white feathers and spindly legs landed in the marsh grass on the bank by the dock. It stood completely still, its gaze seeming to measure our proximity as well as that of its prey.
“Because they think I killed her.”
I felt the water move beneath me in slow motion, my equilibrium unsettled like it had been stirred with a spoon. As if sensing a change of mood the great bird took flight, leaving behind only a memory of a splash as I faced my husband.
“It’s not true, of course,” I said before he could. If we were to salvage anything from this conversation, I had to say it first.
“Of course not,” he said, but the first unwelcome tinge of unease had already found its way to the base of my neck, the way a pebble slides into a shoe. “It was an accident, but, as many people do when they’re grieving, they tried to find a reason, or somebody to blame for something that couldn’t have been avoided.”
“Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
His thumb found my lone wedding band. “Mostly,” he answered slowly, before lifting his face to meet my eyes. “But also because it’s a part of my past that I don’t like to revisit.”
In the bright sunlight I could see gold flecks in his dark eyes. They weren’t the eyes I recognized. They were different somehow, like those of a stranger. “Do you still love her?”
My voice shook as I said it, and he must have heard. He held my head between his hands, his stranger’s eyes searching mine. “I love you, Ava. It’s almost as if I always have, even before I met you. Can you understand that?”
Forever. The word touched the back of my mind like a dapple of sunlight on the water, floating precariously until obliterated by a cloud across the sun. “Yes,” I said instead. “I feel it, too.”
He pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want any secrets between us.”
I kissed him in response, unable to speak words that might reveal my unease at how carelessly we’d kept part of ourselves from each other, or how secrets could cast their shadows long after the truth was spoken.
I looked around the mess that was my new kitchen. Pans, pots, mixing bowls, utensils, and various powdery ingredients coated every flat surface. I was in the middle of wondering whether I could salvage the burned banana bread by scraping off the charred edges when I heard a knock on the front door.
Relieved to have an excuse to leave the kitchen, I quickly rinsed my hands in the sink, then eagerly answered the door. Tish stood there with her arms brimming with plastic grocery bags, a bright smile on her face. “I brought you groceries. I was at the store and realized that Matthew was working today and you didn’t have a car. I hope you don’t mind.”
I took several of the bags from her before stepping back to let her inside. “Of course not, and I really appreciate it. We’re not expecting my car until next week. That’s when the friend I’m paying to drive it could do it without missing work, so I’m a bit housebound. Matthew did say he wouldn’t be staying overnight in Savannah like he usually does so he can come home, but I feel kind of guilty. It’s a long commute for just one day.”
Tish followed me back to the kitchen. “I don’t think Matthew will mind coming back to see his new bride. He’d probably walk back if he didn’t have a car.”
I blushed as I began emptying the bags of milk, lettuce, chicken legs, a couple of steaks, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables. I was a little dismayed to discover that none of the bags contained even a single frozen dinner.
Tish began balling up the plastic shopping bags. “As soon as you start your job, you can commute together and even stay at the Savannah apartment if you can work out the same hours.”
I laughed. “I see you’ve got my next career move all figured out along with my dinners.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be helpful without meddling, but it’s a bit hard for me—especially since you’re practically family. It’s just that…” She bit her lower lip as if arguing with herself about how much she should say. “Well,” she continued, “it’s just that Adrienne worked in the same family health services clinic as Matthew, so I assumed…”
I leaned against the table, feeling suddenly tired. “They worked together?”
“Yes. He was the child psychologist on staff, and she was one of the midwives. The clinic has a pediatrician and two ob-gyns, too—for all stages in a child’s life. It made sense for them to work together, so I figured since you’re a midwife, too…”
She was too busy staring at me to finish her sentence. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
My fingers felt sticky from the flour and butter I hadn’t rinsed off completely. “Don’t you think it’s odd that…well, that Matthew would marry two midwives? It’s not like it’s the most common occupation.”
“It is odd, if you think about it. He actually was the one who encouraged Adrienne to go to school to become a midwife. She was sort of at loose ends after she graduated from high school, and Matthew helped her focus. And she was a good and competent midwife.”
She stopped, as if realizing she’d already said too much.
“Just good and competent?” I prompted.
Tish shook her head, as if excusing herself from a personal promise not to meddle. Quickly, she said, “I just don’t think it was her passion.”
Our eyes met, and I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. Straightening, I said, “I don’t think I’ll be applying there. I’m sure there are other opportunities elsewhere, in Savannah or not. We’ll figure it out.” I forced a smile. “Would you like some tea? I was about to get myself a cup to steel myself for the cleanup.”
“I’d love one,” she said as she moved to the refrigerator and began placing groceries inside. “Then you can tell me what other talents you have, since apparently it’s not cooking.”
I laughed as I swiped hair off of my sweaty forehead, remembering too late that my hand still had remnants of banana bread ingredients. “I might not know my way around the kitchen, but I do know something about gardening.” Lightly, I added, “I figure Adrienne had to be a remarkable cook, judging from her kitchen. Please don’t tell me she was a master gardener, too.”
Tish’s face softened as she regarded me. “She did love her flowers. The brighter, the better.”
My smile dimmed. “I’m a different kind of gardener. I like growing useful things—fruits and vegetables. That sort of thing.” I belatedly realized that what I’d said, considering she was a florist, could probably have been taken as an insult.
She smiled good-humoredly. “Good. We’ll get along just fine then—I’l
l bring you flowers and you can bring me tomatoes.”
“Deal,” I said, moving the bread pan to the sink, where I hoped Tish wouldn’t notice it.
Tish’s voice was muffled as she rearranged a shelf in the refrigerator. “You should probably know that Adrienne was a very good artist—sketched the island a lot and had made quite a name for herself.” She closed the refrigerator. “The charcoal sketch of the house hanging in the parlor is hers.”
I turned off the taps, feeling suddenly deflated.
She must have seen something in my expression, because she took my arm and led me back to the table. “Why don’t you sit down and let me fix us tea? I know where everything is, and you look like you need a break.”
I watched her fill the kettle and put it on the stove while unwanted questions kept pecking at my brain like a persistent bird. I accepted the steaming mug and focused on adding sugar from a bowl on the table—a light blue ceramic bowl I didn’t like and vowed to replace—then took a slow sip before finding the right words.
“Last night you mentioned something about the area’s history and Matthew’s family tree, and that it had a lot of skeletons hanging from it. Is that what you were referring to? Adrienne’s death?”
Tish took a sip from her own mug and shook her head. “No. Of course not. Adrienne’s death was an accident—a tragedy, sure, but not a skeleton. I was referring to an old ancestor—somebody who lived here more than two hundred years ago. It’s become almost an island legend.”
My family, being in the business of death, rarely spoke of our own family tree, as if to punctuate the finality of each generation’s passing. Both of my parents were only children, and besides my maternal grandmother I knew of no other relatives who came before. It seemed as if the Whalen family extinguished itself after each generation, leaving a blank slate for the next. To hear that my new husband had a family tree blooming with full limbs that went back generations sent a little stir of excitement through me.
