by Myra Johnson
~~~
Two hours later, after a lunch of homemade seafood gumbo and cornbread, I left Geneva’s with a shoebox full of old photographs she’d culled from her scrapbooks and albums. “Take your time going through those,” she told me as I laid the box on the floor of the VW. She leaned in the open door to give me a hug. “If you have any questions, call or come over. You’re always welcome.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected to glean from a bunch of pictures of people I didn’t know. Notice more family resemblances? Get a glimpse into the family that might have been mine if things had turned out differently? At home later, with the bedroom door closed and the photos fanned out across my chenille spread, I studied them, gazing into each face as if the flat, faded images could speak to me.
Unlike my own stash of photos, unorganized and unlabeled, Geneva’s collection had been carefully notated, names and dates penned neatly on the backs. I came across shots of the Pearl family at Renata’s various birthday parties, at Jenny’s dedication ceremony, at Christmases and Thanksgivings and school programs. There were grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins of all ages. A few looked a little like me—tall, fair, curly-haired.
And equally as many did not.
At the bottom of the shoebox I found one of those fold-out photographer’s displays, the kind containing several different poses from one sitting. The subject was Jennifer Susan Pearl, age eighteen months, according to a penciled caption on the back flap. I sat on the edge of the bed, letting the lamp on my nightstand illuminate the photos as I spread the folder open. A dainty toddler in a pink checked dress sat cross-legged on a fuzzy white rug. She wore a fluffy bow in her golden hair, and her jade-green eyes glimmered under the studio lights.
I ran my finger along the edge of the first portrait, and a smile crept across my lips. Was I looking into my own face from over twenty-six years ago?
Brynna stirred from her nap on the braided rug and gave a whimper. A second later a tap-tap sounded on my door, then Grandpa’s voice. “Julie Pearl? You up?”
“Come in, Grandpa.”
He ambled into the room, thumbs hooked in his belt. His gaze swept across the bed. “This what Miz Nelson sent home with you?”
I pushed the photos into a pile and invited him to sit beside me. “Look here, Grandpa.” I stretched out the folder across both our laps. “Can you see anything of me in these pictures?”
He tilted his head up and down, getting the best angle on his bifocals, then rubbed his chin. “Got your eyes and dimples, that’s for sure. But I don’t know. Somethin’ just don’t seem right.”
Pressing my lips together, I looked closer at the little girl in the portraits, examining each minute feature.
And then I saw what Grandpa saw. And I knew.
CHAPTER 37
March, 26 years earlier
Hot Springs, Arkansas
“Jennifer Susan Pearl! Hold still, for pity’s sake. Rennie, can’t you help at all, you lazy girl?”
“I’m trying, Mama, I’m—ouch!” Four sharp baby teeth clamped down on Rennie’s finger. She yanked her hand back. The toddler clapped her hands and giggled.
Mama eyed Rennie in the dresser mirror as she spoke over a mouthful of bobby pins. “Oh, she didn’t hurt you. Now keep her hands down or I’ll never get all these pin curls done. You want your baby sister to look pretty for her portrait, don’t you?”
Rennie sucked in a sharp breath and wrapped her arms around the squirming child. “Sit still, sweetie. Please won’t you, for your big sister?”
Jenny would look just as pretty without the Shirley Temple ringlets Mama insisted upon, but try telling Mama that. A shudder crawled up Rennie’s spine as she recalled the semiannual torture her mother used to put her through—her hair pulled taut around tiny permanent rods, ammonia solution stinging her scalp and sliding into her eyes. Then the stiff brush slashing through knots of frizzy curls. Those were actually the good days, compared to Mama’s harrumph of displeasure when the process went wrong and Rennie ended up with a random mass of limp waves. She’d thanked her lucky stars when Mama finally gave up on the permanents and settled for chopping off Rennie’s hair pixie-style.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Jenny wriggled one arm free of Rennie’s grasp and slapped at her mother’s hand. A bobby pin skittered across the floor.
Mama staggered back, arms beating the air like the wings of an angry vulture. “I give up, I just give up!” With a choked sob, she mumbled something about needing her “nerve pills” and stumbled from the room.
“Hurt me, hurt me.” Jenny tugged at the two messy pin curls Mama had managed to complete.
“Here, honey, let me.” Rennie turned the toddler’s chair to face the mirror and gently slipped out the pins. Taking the brush, she smoothed the soft strands off Jenny’s temples and then fastened them with a lacy white bow at the crown.
Jenny reached up to hug Rennie’s neck. “Aw pwetty.”
“Yes, all pretty.” Rennie smiled over her sister’s head at their reflection in the mirror. She fingered the straight, baby-fine locks and prayed her mother would leave them be awhile longer.
CHAPTER 38
Present Day
I knew it was late, but I had to call anyway. An unfamiliar voice answered Renata’s private phone number. I hesitated. “Felicia?”
“Ms. Beaufort is no longer employed here. This is Alice Fitzhugh. May I ask who is calling, please?”
Just like I’d thought, Felicia’s days at Channing Castle were numbered. “This is Julie Stiles. I need to speak with Renata.”
Renata’s new watchdog (and no doubt Larry’s latest distraction) tried to give me the runaround, but I wasn’t having it. “Just tell her who this is. Tell her it’s important. Tell her I know.”
Alice’s tone became suspicious. “I beg your pardon?”
“She’ll understand, believe me.” I drummed my fingers on the cool surface of the kitchen table. “Go on, get her. I’ll wait.”
Without so much as a thank-you-ma’am, the line went dead, and I could only hope she’d put me on hold. I watched the seconds tick by on the chrome-framed stove clock.
Exactly three minutes and forty-eight seconds later, Renata picked up. “What do you want, Julie?” Her voice rang cold, impatient, bitter.
I’d promised myself I’d remain calm and controlled, but the first words out of my mouth cracked on a stifled sob. “You knew. All this time, you knew I wasn’t Jenny. Why? Why did you lead me on like you did? Me and everyone else?”
She didn’t reply right away, but I could hear her measured breathing. I clenched one fist, my eyes squeezed shut, as Grandpa stood behind me patting my shoulders.
“What difference does it make?” she finally blurted. “You got a new wardrobe out of the deal, didn’t you? And a rich, handsome boyfriend, to boot.”
“So what was I, just another of your rescued orphans? Another deprived little girl you could play dress-up with? Charm with your elegant mansion and fancy parties?”
“You could have had it all, Jenny, everything I own—”
My fist hammered the wall. “It’s Julie. Julie Pearl Stiles. I am not your sister, never was, never will be. You need help, Renata. Serious psychiatric help. I hope you get it.” I took two giant strides across the kitchen and slammed the receiver onto the hook. My hand remained on the telephone, my whole body trembling.
Grandpa wrapped me in his arms. “Come on now, Julie Pearl, it’s over. It’s gonna be okay.” He led me to the sofa, and I rested my head in the hollow of his shoulder. The fuzzy warmth of his plaid flannel shirt caressed my damp cheek. “I think we should say a prayer for her,” he whispered against my hair.
“I don’t think I can pray for Renata right now. I’m too angry.”
“All the more reason.” He wove the fingers of his free hand through mine. “Oh Lord, finder of lost souls, you alone know what’s in the heart of Renata Channing. Help her come to grips with her boatload of pain and regrets. And help my Julie Pearl to
let go of her anger and to forgive this woman for the hurt she has inflicted, intentionally or otherwise.”
With Grandpa’s whispered “Amen,” a small measure of peace settled over me. I knew in my heart that what Geneva had told me earlier today was right. It wasn’t up to me—it had never been up to me—to “save” Renata and Micah from their childhood mistake.
But that didn’t stop me from questioning why. Why let me believe I was Jennifer Susan Pearl? Why lead me down this rabbit trail of lies, deception, and broken hearts? What role had I been meant to play in the lives of two people I’d otherwise never have met?
Those were my last troubled thoughts as I crawled beneath the blankets and snuggled into my pillow, Sneezy kneading my arm through the covers and Brynna snoring in her doggy basket beside the bed.
So when Grandpa jostled me awake in the darkest part of the night, it took me a full minute to shake off the grogginess and make sense of what he was saying.
“Julie Pearl, you gotta wake up, girl.” He flicked on the bedside lamp.
I flinched and covered my eyes. Peering through my fingers, I glimpsed his bent form clad in striped pajamas. “What’s going on? What time is it?”
He threw the covers off me, then pulled me up with one hand while tossing my robe around my shoulders with the other. “Miz Nelson is on the phone. Hurry up. She sounds real scared.”
“Aunt Geneva?” Fumbling to stuff my arms into the sleeves of the robe, I groped toward the kitchen, where the overhead light glared against the blackness outside the windows. The phone receiver lay on the counter. Still in a daze, I reached for it. “Hello?”
“Oh, Julie—I can’t—” Her words came out in choked sobs, and I could barely understand her. “Please help!”
My skin prickled. I came instantly alert. “Aunt Geneva, where are you? What’s going on?”
“It’s Renata. I’m afraid she’s—oh, Julie, we have to stop her!”
I gripped the receiver with both hands. “Please, slow down and tell me what’s happening. Is Renata with you now?”
“No.” She sniffled hard and long, and then a ragged breath shuddered out. “I don’t know where she is, but she telephoned me a few minutes ago and I’m afraid—” Geneva’s voice broke. “God help us, Julie, I’m afraid she’s going to do something terrible.” Her next words came out in a hoarse whisper, as if even speaking the thought aloud could make it come true. “I think she intends to kill herself.”
The stone-cold grip of fear tightened around my chest. I could hear my own shallow breaths rasping in and out. Shooting Grandpa a desperate stare, I tried to focus, tried to think what to do. His comforting pat on my shoulder reassured me but did little to steady my screaming nerves.
“Okay,” I said, forcing a calm I didn’t feel, “the first thing we have to do is figure out where Renata is. Did you try to reach Larry?”
“Larry is away on business.” The harshness in Geneva’s tone left no doubt about her feelings toward the man.
“Then how about her personal assistant?” What was her name—Anita, Alexis? For Pete’s sake, I’d just spoken to the woman a few hours ago.
Sudden sick remorse nearly doubled me over. This was my fault! My stupid, selfish, ill-timed phone call earlier, chewing out Renata for her deception—had I pushed her over the edge?
I collapsed into a chair, one hand covering my eyes, barely aware I’d dropped the phone. Grandpa rescued it, and when I heard Geneva’s tinny voice calling my name, I dredged up the fortitude to reach for the receiver and press it to my ear. There’d be time later for self-recrimination—maybe more than I bargained for if we didn’t find Renata soon. “I’m here, Aunt Geneva. What were you saying?”
“I said I’ve already talked to Alice.” Alice Fitzhugh, the personal assistant whose name I’d so conveniently forgotten. “She’s worried, too. She told me Renata hasn’t been herself at all lately and became extremely depressed after she took a phone call sometime yesterday.”
Another tsunami of guilt swamped me.
“Then around nine p.m. she sent for her car and left without telling anyone where she was going. Alice said she thought Renata had been drinking. She didn’t want to let her leave like that, but Renata wouldn’t be stopped.” Geneva whimpered softly. “Julie, she could be anywhere! She might already be—”
“We don’t know that. We just have to find—” Instantly, I knew exactly where Renata had gone. I surged to my feet. “I’m hanging up now, Aunt Geneva. I’ll call you back as soon as I know something.”
Slamming the phone on the hook, I spun around, almost colliding with Grandpa.
He grabbed me by the arms. “Slow down, Julie Pearl. It’s the middle of the night. What’re you plannin’ to do?”
“I have to stop Renata. She’s at the resort, I just know it.” I ripped out of his grasp and raced to the bedroom. In seconds I was out of my pajamas and yanking on yesterday’s jeans and sweater. I fumbled under the bed for my brown suede Birkenstocks and jammed bare feet into them while grabbing my shoulder bag and car keys.
Grandpa planted himself in the doorway. “Julie Pearl, it’s foolishness to rush out like this. Even if you do find her out there at them cabins, you can’t mess with a crazy woman. What if she has a gun? Call the police. Let them handle it.”
“She called Aunt Geneva for a reason, a cry for help. If I can get to her in time, I think she’ll listen to me—if it’s not too late already.” I gave him a quick hug that also served to shift him to one side. “I have to do this. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”
~~~
My headlights ricocheted off wisps of fog as I sped along the winding back road toward the resort. As I steered into a sharp curve, what looked like a raccoon scurried across the pavement into the woods, and I slammed on the brakes. The VW careened onto the shoulder, tires spinning and clutching at gravel, but the near-miss served to jolt some sense back into my frazzled brain. Continuing with more caution, I rounded the final bend before arriving at Pearls Along the Lake.
When I pulled into the circle drive in front of the main house, I glimpsed an amber glow in an upstairs window. Then I recognized Renata’s Mercedes parked at a haphazard angle, rear wheels on the driveway and front wheels sinking into Micah’s recently sodded lawn. My suspicions confirmed, I whooshed out a grateful breath. If Renata did intend to take her own life, she’d do it right here, where all this craziness began.
Shutting off the engine, I climbed from the car and stood there for a moment leaning on the open door. My insides quivered like a pan of cold gravy as I imagined what I might find inside the house. Maybe Grandpa was right and we should have just called the police. What if it was already too late?
And it was only getting later with every second that passed. Praying for strength, I started for the front door. Then as an afterthought, I doubled back and snatched my cell phone from my purse. I did promise Aunt Geneva I’d call as soon as I had some answers.
Heaven forbid I’d need to call an ambulance. Or worse.
Phone tucked into my jeans pocket and hugging myself against the damp chill, I tiptoed up the porch steps. Easing open the screen door, I thumbed the big brass door latch and felt the bolt slide open. Quietly I slipped inside, my eyes straining against the darkness shrouding the lobby. I passed through a doorway to where a staircase rose to the second story. Pale light crept across the landing. I stood silent, listening for any sound from above.
Then I heard it, a soft, childlike mewling. “I didn’t mean anything to happen to her, Mama. I swear it was an accident, Mama. Please-please-please don’t hate me!”
My eyelids fluttered closed, relief draining a measure of tension from my limbs. Renata was alive. I still had time to help her.
But even as I crept up the stairs, heart thudding in my chest, I wondered what I could possibly say to the woman who’d destroyed so many lives—including her own. Renata, you’re a total screw-up, but don’t kill yourself, okay? There’s always hope.
Reachin
g the landing, I edged toward the patch of light in the doorway to my left. One hand braced against the wall, I peered around the doorframe. Renata sat cross-legged with her back to me in the center of the empty room. She looked to be wearing one of those modish, psychedelic-print caftans from the ’70s, and her beautiful mahogany mane was gone. Hunks of it lay strewn all around her, a pair of long-bladed scissors nearby. The vicious hack job she’d done on her hair brought a muted cry to my throat.
Keening softly, Renata hunched over, and it took me a moment to realize she was meticulously lining up a row of tiny pills along a seam in the hardwood floor. Amidst the scattered tresses, three empty pill vials rolled on their sides, and I could only wonder how many—and what kind—she might already have taken.
My cell phone suddenly belted out “Call Me Maybe,” and I nearly clawed a hole in the plaster. While I fumbled to silence the annoying ring tone, Renata whirled around to stare at me in numb surprise. “Jenny?”
“Hey, Renata,” One hand extended in a calming gesture, I sidled into the room. “I’m here now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Yes, it will be. After tonight.” She nodded solemnly and picked up a pill. Pinching it between her thumb and index finger, she lifted it toward the ceiling light and studied it for a moment. “I like the yellow ones best,” she said before popping it into her mouth.
I lunged forward then caught myself when she recoiled. “Renata,” I said, forcing a shaky smile, “can we just talk for a bit? How about I come over there and sit beside you?”
She picked up another pill, and my heart rolled over with a thud.
“Don’t, Renata. Please don’t.” I kicked off my Birkies and dropped to my knees. The cold, bare wood against my toes made me shiver.
“This is my room. Mama hardly ever comes up here, so we’re safe.” Her gaze swept the bare walls before she cast me a conspiratorial grin. “I sneak into Mama’s room sometimes and look at her jewelry and clothes and stuff. This is her dress. Don’t tell her I borrowed it.”
