by Debby Giusti
A sense of optimism settled over her. Maybe it was the sunshine or the new buds bursting forth on the trees. Flowering Bradford pear trees, cherry blossoms and redbuds heralded spring and filled her with hope.
That’s what Pete had provided. Hope that things would get better.
Despite Ben’s murder. Despite the men who continued to surface. Despite a disease she may have inherited.
Grabbing her bag, she walked downstairs, the smooth mahogany banister cool to her touch.
She left her tote by the door, then wove her way through the perfectly decorated home until she found the open French doors that led to the well-manicured backyard.
“I’m afraid I overslept,” she said, stepping into the sunlight.
Pete looked up. A smile spread across his face, causing a warm glow of acceptance to swell within her. How long had it been since anyone had greeted her with such a sincere look of welcome?
“I hope you slept well.” Sheila rose from her chair. “There’s juice and fresh fruit on the table. Sit next to Pete, and I’ll bring out a plate of cold cuts and cheese, along with some French bread and condiments.” She reached for Pete’s cup. “Can I pour you a refill?”
“Thanks, Sheila, but I can get it. And don’t feel you need to feed us. Meredith and I can grab lunch at one of the local restaurants.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sheila said. “In fact, why don’t you stay another night?”
Brow raised, he looked at Meredith. “Do you need more time to rest?”
“Actually, I feel great.” She smiled at Sheila. “I deeply appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
“Nonsense, it’s nothing. Besides, I’m thrilled to be able to meet you at long last. You two chat while I get lunch ready.”
Meredith poured juice and placed two slices of melon on a plate.
Pete helped her with her chair, then waited as she bowed her head and offered thanks. At the conclusion of the prayer, she raised her eyes to find him staring at her.
Her cheeks warmed, and she reached for her glass of orange juice to cover the unexpected flip-flop of her heart.
Pete sat back in his chair. “You look like you got a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s because I did. You and Sheila have been so kind.”
“I think Sheila enjoys having someone in the house. If we take her up on another night, we could tour the city and the surrounding area.”
His eyes twinkled, revealing his deep appreciation for the city’s history. “I’ve met so many good people here who are proud of their heritage. Many of them talk about ancestors who were slaves, often hidden in dank basements and whisked through secret tunnels just to be free.”
Meredith had grown up in slavery. Not the type Pete talked about, but a slavery of control and manipulation.
She would have done anything to gain her freedom. Except crawl through a narrow underground tunnel.
Death paled in comparison to the terror confined places still held for her.
Thanks to Sam Collins.
Sheila appeared, carrying a large tray of food. “Lunch is ready,” she sang out, arranging the assortment of cold cuts and cheese on the table where Meredith and Pete sat.
Throughout the meal, their conversation focused on Savannah and the charm of the historic district. Meredith ate heartily, surprising herself with her appetite. She was equally surprised at how comfortable she felt sitting next to Pete, as if she’d known him for a lifetime.
After they finished, Sheila scooted her chair back from the table and patted Meredith’s arm. “I may be butting in where I shouldn’t, but as I told you, Eve and I are friends.”
Sheila pursed her lips. “You know about her medical condition, and I’m sure Pete mentioned the importance of being tested for VHL. If you feel up to it, he could draw your blood today and send it out to the lab we use so you can have the results that much sooner.”
Before Meredith could comment, Sheila turned to Pete. “You can get everything you need at the Institute. It’s not far from here. Barbara McSwain is on duty today. I can call ahead and let her know you’re coming.”
Much as Meredith wasn’t ready to be tested, if Pete left the house, she could bid goodbye to Sheila and disappear into the city while he was gone.
Last night she had spied a number of ROOM-TO-RENT signs in the older section. She also recalled seeing a public health clinic where she could get prenatal care.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Meredith said, hoping her enthusiasm didn’t seem forced.
Sheila stepped inside to make the phone call while Pete leaned across the table and reached for her hand.
“You’re making the right decision,” he said. “Adrenal tumors could come into play during delivery. If your doctor knows what to expect, you’ll be in less danger.”
She pulled her hand back. “Danger?”
“High blood pressure is the main complication.”
“Could it affect the baby?”
The way he shrugged off the question was more telling than if he’d used medical jargon to define the problem. More good news.
“It’s not something to worry about at this point,” he assured her. “You may not even have the disease. That’s why testing is important.”
He glanced at his watch. “If I go to the Institute now, I can have your samples ready for pickup this afternoon. The sooner you know the results, the better.”
Pete hurried across the stone patio and entered the house. A few seconds later, he stuck his head through the open French doors and said something to her.
But she was still trying to process this new glitch: that high blood pressure could place her baby at risk. “Pardon?”
“I said I’ll put your bag in my car.” He disappeared again.
Dropping her napkin on the table, she pushed her chair back and hurried after him.
“Pete?” she called out as she threw open the front door.
His Jeep was already at the end of the block. He turned left and drove out of sight.
Her plan to leave while he was at the Institute wouldn’t work. Not when he had the bag that contained the baby quilt she’d made, each stitch filled with love for her unborn child.
Hopefully, she’d find another opportunity to get away later in the day.
Then, for an instant, she wondered why she’d want to leave a man who had done so much to help her.
EIGHT
The VHL Institute occupied a three-story stucco building at the western edge of the historic district. Initially, Sheila’s ex-husband had owned the building and leased the property to the Institute at a reduced cost.
Four years later, the influential businessman and pillar of Savannah society had dropped dead of cardiac arrest.
Under Sheila’s direction, the Institute had grown and flourished and had recently started funding research that held the promise of unlocking the secrets of VHL.
Progress had been made in understanding the disease, but more work was still needed. All too often, medical advancement came in small increments, sometimes hard to measure. The compilation of data spread over a period of years from various researchers could be the catalyst for uncovering the missing piece that would eventually lead to a breakthrough.
Pete had refused to accept Eve’s help in the form of grant money from the Institute, but he appreciated the excellent work they did and the breakthroughs that had been made.
A middle-aged woman approached Pete as he stepped through the massive double doors. “Mr. Worth?”
He nodded and extended his hand. “That’s right. Pete Worth.”
“I’m Barbara McSwain. Sheila called and said to expect you. I’ll take you to the specimen collection room where you should be able to find everything you need.”
Pete appreciated Sheila calling ahead. He followed Ms. McSwain down a long corridor lined with photos of major contributors to the Institute.
Eve’s picture hung in a section reserved for Lifetime Benefactors. The photo had been tak
en a number of years before. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was warm. She seemed like the picture of health, exuding encouragement and hope.
How different from two days ago when Pete had seen her at the lab.
The collection room held three phlebotomy stations and a stainless-steel cabinet containing the supplies Pete needed. He accepted the plastic biohazard bag Ms. McSwain provided and filled it with the appropriate specimen collection supplies as well as the paperwork for VHL testing.
Task completed, he thanked Ms. McSwain and headed outside.
Eve’s face continued to float through his thoughts. With Meredith agreeing to be tested, surely it was time to let Eve in on the good news.
Pulling his BlackBerry from his pocket, Pete punched in her private number.
Eve answered on the fourth ring.
“I found your daughter,” he said in greeting.
“Pete?”
“The woman in the photo isn’t your child. Your real daughter’s name is Meredith Lassiter. Right now she’s with Sheila.”
“You’re in Savannah?”
“That’s right. You know Sheila, the queen of Southern hospitality.”
“But what about Dixie?”
“It’s a long story. Just don’t do anything until we get to Atlanta.”
“You’re bringing Meredith here?”
Pete didn’t understand Eve’s hesitation. “You wanted to find your daughter.”
“That’s why I hired a private investigator. He assured me Dixie Collins is my daughter.”
“What about DNA testing?”
“She’s traveling and can’t be reached. The P.I. said Dixie would provide a specimen as soon as she gets home.”
Pete drew the BlackBerry closer to his ear. Eve was being duped by the woman, and the private investigator could be in on the scam as well.
“The P.I.’s lying. I saw Dixie Friday night. She and her boyfriend led me to Meredith. The P.I. must be involved with them. They’re trying to con you, Eve.”
“The private investigator was well recommended,” she insisted.
“Just as Sam and Hazel Collins were?”
He heard her quick intake of breath, then silence. Pete had hit a nerve, but Eve needed to know the truth. She and her parents had trusted a lawyer to find a good home for her daughter long ago. Meredith’s reaction when Pete had mentioned Sam and Hazel Collins proved that the wealthy family had made a mistake then.
Pete couldn’t let Eve make another mistake now.
“You’ve got to believe me, Eve. Meredith is your daughter.”
When Eve failed to respond, the memory of all that had happened so long ago threatened to explode.
Ever since the first time he’d seen Eve at Magnolia Medical, Pete had tried to contain the frustration that bubbled close to the surface.
“You don’t believe me and worse than that, you don’t trust me. That’s it, isn’t it, Eve?”
“Pete, please.”
“Your parents said I wouldn’t amount to anything. The apple never falls far from the tree. Wasn’t that the phrase they used?”
“They were upset.”
“Upset? They kicked my father and me off the estate. I was twelve years old.”
He glanced around at the lazy street with the regal homes. Wealth and prestige. What Eve’s family had and his father always wanted.
Pete shook his head. Why was he opening himself up to relive the pain of the past after he’d kept it buried for so long? This wasn’t the time or the place.
But one question haunted him. “Why didn’t you try to see me again?”
“Oh, Pete, I tried. It took me a few weeks, but when I found your father, he forbade me to have contact with you.”
“So you did nothing?”
“I…I gave him money each month.”
Pete couldn’t believe what he heard. “My father accepted your money?”
“There were things you needed that he couldn’t provide. I knew times were tough.”
An understatement. They’d gone from a comfortable lifestyle on the estate to a hand-to-mouth existence that had taken every ounce of determination to survive. His father had chosen the easy way out. He’d turned to the bottle for relief.
Now Pete realized where he had gotten the money to buy the booze.
“You didn’t help me. Don’t you see, Eve, you made it worse. Your money enabled my father to become consumed by a disease that eventually killed him. All the while, I was studying to research a cure for yours.”
He pressed the disconnect button, his insides churning with anger and frustration.
His father had accepted money from Eve, all the while continuing to fill his only son with hate for the wealthy family who had cast them out from their home.
Pete had known his father had a warped sense of right and wrong, but he hadn’t thought the old man had been so far off base. Now the reality of what and who his father had been hit him in the gut.
He wanted to scream to the heavens and ask the God Eve claimed was so merciful why people twisted love and made it so destructive? Why children were innately programmed to believe they were loved, despite the outward signs that smacked of manipulation and control.
If his father were still alive, Pete would demand to know the truth. Could Eve be right?
All these years, Pete had harbored resentment against her and her parents. Now he realized that he should have reserved some of that anger and resentment for his own dad.
Pete jerked open the door of his Jeep and slid behind the wheel. Too many emotions swirled through his mind.
He needed to push them aside for now. Bury them, as he had done for so long.
Someday he would try to make sense of what Eve had just told him.
But, right now, he had a woman waiting for him. A wonderful woman who needed his help, despite Eve’s hesitation to accept Meredith as her daughter.
He wouldn’t let Meredith down. Not like his father, who seemed to have let everyone down. Not like the Townsends, who had banished a little boy and his father from their home. Not like Eve, who had failed to follow him and now failed to accept that Meredith might be her legal heir.
Eve had given his father money. Wasn’t that the answer the rich always provided? Fix a problem with their wallets.
At least she’d done something, his voice of reason whispered.
But it hadn’t been enough then, and it wasn’t enough now to right the wrongs of the past.
Meredith stood on the front porch looking for a glimpse of Pete’s car. So much for her plans to leave while he was at the Institute. The baby quilt she’d painstakingly stitched over the last few months was too precious to leave behind.
She’d abandoned so much already.
Abandoned. The word hit her with force.
Destructive. Intimidating. Extracting every shred of self-worth she’d worked so hard to build, like a powerful tsunami when the waters pulled back from the shoreline. She grasped the door, waiting for the incoming wave that always followed. With it would flow the fear and memory of her cries for help as, once again, she was that little girl locked in the darkness.
The baby moved in her womb, forcing her back to the present.
Meredith looked through the doorway into the house and saw the sunlight filtering through the large Palladian windows.
Light not darkness.
God is the light of the world.
The infant she carried—her child—was her hope for the future.
She had to move forward.
Setting her jaw with determination, Meredith stepped over the threshold and walked toward the light.
She found Sheila clearing the lunch dishes and hastened to gather the rest of the plates and silverware off the table. “The least I can do is help. You’ve been so kind.”
The older woman’s smile stretched across her oval face. “This house is far too large and too lonely for one woman. Having you here has brightened my day to say the least.”
The
y carried the dishes into the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. Once the task was completed, Sheila rinsed her hands in the sink and wiped them on a paper towel.
“It’s been good reconnecting with Pete. I haven’t seen him in a number of years.”
“He said he knew your son.”
Sheila nodded. Her smile turned poignant. “Brice and I visited the estate often. Eve seemed so happy back then, despite the disease.”
“When did you first learn Brice had VHL?”
“We were at the beach.” Sheila leaned against the counter. “I noticed a knot on his back. The doctor said it was probably nothing, but he sent us to a specialist just to be sure.”
Sheila stared out the large windows that lined one wall of the kitchen. A hummingbird fluttered outside, its narrow beak drawing sugary nectar from a feeder.
“When he was little, Brice was as energetic as that hummingbird. Turns out he was just as fragile. Eventually, his eyes were affected. Slowly, progressively, his vision faded until he could see nothing except the very brightest light.”
A squirrel skittered down a giant oak, frightening the hummingbird, which drew back from the feeder and flew away.
“I called Brice my shining star.” Sheila rubbed her hands over her crossed arms. “Funny the names we mothers call our children.”
Meredith thought of the words she used for her child: precious one, buttercup, sweet pea.
“I never thought the light of my life would be extinguished so early.”
Sheila shook her head as if shaking free of the memories. “But we were talking about Pete.” She forced a smile. “Eve always considered him the son she never had.”
“I didn’t know their relationship was that close.”
“Was is the key word.” The older woman pulled in a breath. “Pete should be the one to tell you, but of course he won’t. He’s too private. Probably too proud. But I’ve seen the way he cares for you, Meredith.”
Her hand grasped the countertop. She hadn’t expected Sheila’s comment or the warmth that fluttered through her body.
“Pete’s dad worked as caretaker on Eve’s parents’ estate,” Sheila said. “He was a surly man, and the Townsends eventually asked him to leave.”
