by Lisa Wingate
“Yes. Have to plan my strategy. Laura gave me some good ammunition.” I pat a stack of copies of rental checks and lease contracts from years past.
A worry line curves Luke’s forehead. “Call if you need anything, okay? A little muscle . . . electric cattle prod . . . accomplice. We could kidnap her and lock her in the old granary again.”
The picture makes me laugh, and of course the thread pulls up with several other memories attached. I don’t mention them because I know where we’ll end up if I do. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”
“I mean it. Anything you need.” His eyes meet mine, as compelling and sky-blue as ever. I wonder what he’s seeing. Does he see the girl he used to know?
I want to say the same thing back to him, but I can’t give Luke what he needs. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Tears press unexpectedly and my voice trembles.
He shrugs off the request. “You know me—wherever I end up, I always land on my feet.” Something about the way he says it tells me that whenever I do come back to the Tidewater blackland, he’ll be gone again. His gaze strays down the road as if he’s already thinking about bolting.
“You should stay here. You’re so good with these kids.”
Again he shrugs it off. “I’m feeling the itch. Too hot and sticky here this time of year. Maybe time to head for the mountains . . .”
Without even meaning to, I reach out and lay a hand alongside his face, turn it toward mine. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Luke. Everyone’s okay here.” I indicate the house, where Laura has her sweetly unconventional life under control.
“Yeah, I know.” He lifts a hand and gently slides my fingers away, rubs them between his palms. “Take care of yourself, Tandi. Tell the groom he’s a lucky guy.”
With one last, soft squeeze, he lets go and walks away, and somewhere deep inside me the years since that thirteenth summer turn tissue-thin, then shred and disappear. Luke Townley has come back to life, but I also know I’ll probably never see him again.
CHAPTER 8
I wake up in the motel room, confused at first about why I’m here. I think I’m on a business trip for the museum—another journey to pick up Outer Banks historical items and old documents too valuable or fragile to be shipped through the mail.
Looking at the clock, I remember where I am and why all at once. Heat boils up, and I’m instantly ready for war. I lie there, recounting all of my sister’s sins, not the least of which is that she knew Luke Townley hadn’t died in that car crash and she never told me. Sweet whiffs of yesterday’s memories drift by, but I don’t turn my head to capture the scent. Instead, I focus on how angry I am—on all the wrong that’s been done.
I think through my game plan. Since leaving Mulberry Run Road, I’ve talked to Vince and Paul again. They’ve made some progress on their end. The buyers are skittish of the idea that I could prove I had no knowledge of the sale plans to begin with. It’s really Gina’s portion of the land that they want, anyway—the farm fields. Vince is working to persuade them that it’s best to give up on going after the house and surrounding eighty acres and settle for getting their down payment back on that part. Of course, beyond that, the tax lien has to be satisfied.
I’m fully prepared to threaten my sister with all that can happen if I file a complaint against her. If she doesn’t find a way to make this right. I know how much money is needed to clear my portion of the land and pay to officially divide it. It’s over fifteen thousand dollars. I can’t imagine how Gina will come up with that.
I tell myself again that Gina is resourceful, if nothing else. I silently promise that this time I won’t back down. I’ll send her to jail without a second thought, if that’s what it comes to. But a part of me wonders what will happen when we’re face to face. A part of me remembers the times she dragged me under the bed and held my body against hers while Mama and Daddy waged war. Part of me remembers how she protected me from older boys and the letch next door during our first months in emergency foster care.
Part of me still cries out, But this is your sister. This is not the way things are supposed to be.
Lying in the motel room, still miles away from her, I’m tearing in two.
Finally, I sit up, take the tobacco tin from the nightstand, read Meemaw’s note again, and finger the necklace with its carefully carved bone beads. I sent pictures of it to Paul and to the Seashell Shop girls last night. Nobody has ever seen anything quite like it. They all agree that, based on the motif, it was probably carved by a sailor. How it ended up in Meemaw’s family is a mystery.
Thank goodness Gina didn’t find it before I did. It undoubtedly has value, and it would probably be in a pawnshop somewhere by now. This mysterious inheritance from my ancestors in the Blue Ridge Mountains both intrigues and saddens me. It’s one more thing Gina tried to take away. One more keepsake she cares nothing about.
This treasure was entrusted to me. I’m thankful that it’s safe now.
The worst part of today will be offering Gina the box that Meemaw left for her. The wedding dress. I hate even the idea of it, but I know it’s the right thing. It was what Meemaw wanted.
“No time like the present,” I tell the empty room and get up to make ready for the day. Before turning out the lights and leaving the motel, one last look in the mirror provides a final delay tactic. My sister will no doubt look like a million bucks. She always does. I don’t want to be outgunned.
In the parking lot, I trade texts with Paul, who has called the dealership pretending to be a repeat customer, to make sure Gina is there. She is.
My sister has no idea what’s headed her way, and that leaves a wickedly satisfying taste in my mouth as I drive the five miles to the car lot. Unfortunately, the taste turns bitter and burns going down. Revenge often does. I think of a verse about vengeance being God’s portion, and again I wonder, am I doing the right thing?
Is that God knocking on my conscience right now saying, Stop this. Don’t let her turn you into a mirror of herself?
Or is that just me, being the second-born, the baby, the peacemaker, the wimp?
Maybe I’m supposed to finally stand up for myself. Otherwise why would I have been brought here and bombarded with all the things Gina has kept from me?
Strangely enough, when it’s decision time, I don’t hesitate. I park in front of the dealership, grab the box that’s Gina’s, march right past the reception desk, and follow the directions Paul was given on the phone. She isn’t hard to find. She has a glassed-in office down the hall from the showroom. High-quality digs. Just the kind my sister likes and usually manages to score until the jig is up.
She’s sitting against the corner of the desk in a smooth-fitting miniskirt, her long, tanned legs attractively crossed as she talks to a young guy dressed in a button-up shirt, tie, and khaki pants that look like they’ve been around the car lot too long.
They’re joking about a customer. Gina frowns and examines her gold-manicured fingernails. “Yeah, tell him you came in here and begged me. And then tell him we’ll take $19,599, but his old truck isn’t worth squat to us, so it’s Blue Book or nothing. But hang out in the break room for fifteen or twenty minutes before you go back and talk to him. Let him think you worked really hard trying to get your mean old manager to come down.”
She gives the salesman a perfectly practiced pout lip, then sucks it back in immediately when she sees me in the doorway. Her eyes fly wide and her nostrils flare. “Okay, Ramon, we’re good.” Suddenly she’s turning off the flirt and giving Ramon the bum’s rush. “Don’t come back to me without a deal.”
Her mouth squeezes tight, her chin lifting as the salesman and I brush by each other in the doorway. He slants a curious look over his shoulder, and my sister skirts me to move a wooden wedge out of the way so the door can fall closed.
“What in the world are you doing here?” It’s like Gina to attack first, to act like I’m the one who’s up to no good.
I was prepared for that. “Funny you sho
uld ask. It looks like we have something we need to talk about.”
Her gaze narrows curiously as I set the wedding dress box in a chair. She crosses her arms over her chest, the tank-style dress gaping, showing cleavage. What looks like a nice-size diamond dangles from a chain there, but it’s probably fake, like everything else about my sister. “I hope you’re not here to beg me to be in that stupid wedding of yours. Yeah, I know about that. I saw it on Zoey’s Facebook page. Seriously, just how long do you think you’re going to be happy, married to Mr. Science Teacher Nerd?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about my wedding.”
Something flits across her face, then hides. Disappointment? Trepidation? Has she figured out why I’m here?
“A courier showed up at my door the other day. He had a notice about a lawsuit and the sale of some property. Only I don’t own any property. Nothing I ever knew about, anyway.”
Her jaw clenches and a vein pops in her forehead. Turning her focus to the desk, she makes a show of putting some loose pencils in her pencil can. “Oh, that. I was going to get all that straightened out and surprise you with a check for your wedding, but now you’ve ruined it.”
“I’ll bet.” Did she come up with that on the spur of the moment, or has she been thinking about what she’d tell me if I ever found out about the farm? “That’s why you lied to me all these years? That’s why you never told me Pap-pap and Meemaw left the land to us? That’s why you collected thousands of dollars in rental fees and kept it for yourself?” I snatch the folder off the top of the box and wave it at her.
Her response is a tired eye roll. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, there never really was any money. It was barely ever enough to pay the taxes and fix stuff around the place. I don’t know what you’re carrying on about.”
“You stole from me!” I shriek, and two glass walls away, heads turn in one of the offices.
Gina’s lashes flare. “Be quiet!” she hisses under her breath, her gaze darting around. I can almost see the sweat glands opening on her forehead. “This is a business. I’m at work.”
“Gina, I’m through being quiet. I don’t care if the whole world knows.” I consider stepping out the door and shouting the entire story at the top of my lungs. I want to so badly.
She reads the thought, shifts a bit, like she’ll block the exit path if I try it. Sadly, it wouldn’t be our first wrestling match. “Don’t you dare. If you cause trouble for me here, Tandi, I’ll make sure you’re sorry you ever walked into this place.”
I take a breath and rein myself in. Getting arrested for disorderly conduct in a car dealership won’t help me seem like a sane and completely innocent person if this thing goes to court. It also won’t solve our problem. I hold all the cards here. But I need to play them strategically.
I measure the next words, keep them level and fairly emotionless. “I’ve been to see Laura. I know how much money the place made each year. You never told me we had it because you wanted to keep the checks for yourself.”
An indignant cough answers the accusation. “I did you a favor by not telling you. First, when I found out they’d left us the farm, you were just a kid, and I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. You were living in Niceville on the big horse ranch with your swanky new parents, remember that? You were all settled into your bed of roses. And you didn’t want me in it. You said you just needed to forget Mama and Daddy, forget everything that happened, and make a new life for yourself. What good could the farm have possibly done you? It’s never been anything more than an albatross anyway.”
“I love Pap-pap’s farm. I’ve always loved it. And there were times I could barely feed my kids and keep a roof over our heads, Gina. And still you never told me.”
There’s a hint of emotion again. It looks almost like guilt. It’s quickly gone. Like vapor. “Well, I knew you’d just get desperate and sell the place because you were in a mess. And then later you’d feel all guilty about it. Because that’s what you do, Tandi. You go around obsessing about what’s right and how things are supposed to be. You drive yourself crazy because you can’t ever just accept the way things are.”
There’s a shred of truth in what she says. I want to believe in things. I want to believe in a world where family means more than money. Where sisters love each other and sacrifice for each other.
Gina wants me to believe that world doesn’t exist.
Hatteras Island, Paul’s family, the Seashell Shop girls, and the prayer boxes of Iola Anne Poole have taught me otherwise. A life can be blessed without your ever deserving it. You can be loved by people just because they choose to love you.
I spew out some facts and figures on the rental income, wave invoices in the air, and Gina and I argue back and forth, and I produce Laura’s paperwork, effectively nailing my sister to the wall.
“Oh, for heaven sake, all of that is fake.” She huffs dismissively at the copies on her desk. “Laura and Dale probably made that up for their accountant.”
“Yes, and I suppose she made up the tax lien, and the lawsuit, and the fact that you put together some shady deal to sell the property and then stole their money.”
She huffs again. “That isn’t my fault. I used a guy I met. He had a real estate license, and he said he’d handle the place, cheap. He’s the one who ran off with the up-front money on the deal. Jerk. Anyway, I’ve got it all worked out, so you can just simmer down. I found another buyer, and they’re primed and ready. When the deal goes through, I’ll take care of the stupid lawsuit and the taxes and send you the money for your part. My little wedding gift to you and the nerd. You’re gonna need it. Teachers don’t get paid squat, you know.”
My hands clench tightly enough to drive the fingernails into skin. I want to tag Gina with a hard right cross, but I’m not the type, and if I did it, she’d probably sue me anyway. “And I guess you’re going to bring me a check for the things you stole from inside the house too?”
She slaps a hand to her chest. “I never took anything from inside the house. The place has been sitting there for years. Who knows who’s been in there? It was probably some of those kids they take in down at the Townley house.” She sneers when she says it, as if we were never those kids ourselves.
“And what about Luke Townley? Were you ever going to tell me he actually recovered after the accident? That you’d seen him over the years?”
Gina’s brows shoot skyward. Perfect red lipstick hangs in a lopsided O, framing parted teeth. Slowly, she reels it up, forming a sly smile. “Oh . . . so that’s what’s really behind all of this. You’re still nursing some silly schoolgirl fantasy that you and Luke Townley are star-crossed soul mates. You know what? I did you a favor there too. The last thing you needed in your life was Luke Townley. He’s got issues of his own. Believe whatever you want, but that’s reality, Little Sister.”
I wonder in a brief, stomach-turning way whether Gina and Luke could have had something going on over the years. Just the idea makes me sick, but something about the way Gina reacted to his name seemed personal. Maybe she’s just doing it to get to me. And it’s working.
I feel the cork on my self-restraint slowly wiggling toward the rim of the bottle. If it pops free, something ugly and acidic will flood the entire place. “I’ll tell you what, Gina. Let me give you a dose of reality.” My last bit of ammo comes from the bottom of the folder. I bring out a fax Vince sent to me at the motel. It has his letterhead on top, and basically it says he’s representing me. Slapping it on my sister’s desk, I point a finger at her and go for the jugular, just as Vince has advised me to, whipping out the rather impressive arsenal of legal terminology along with my demands. “Either you find a way to give me the money I need to clear the house and eighty acres that Pap-pap and Meemaw intended to leave to me, or I’m pressing charges. Statutory fraud, breach of fiduciary duty, theft of property—how does that sound for a beginning? You push me on this, Gina, and my lawyer won’t just go after you for the fraud on the land sale. We’ll be taking
you to court for what you’ve stolen from me over the years. Every single cent.”
The sideways tilt of her head says she doesn’t believe me. She probably thinks I typed up the letter myself. “Seriously. You know, if you’ll just wait a couple weeks, I’ll have this all taken care of, and you’ll have a nice, big check to show for it. We’ve got a month before they docket the tax sale on the place, and those lawsuit people know it’ll cost them more to go to court than if they just work with me. In a week, maybe two, the property sale will be signed, sealed, and delivered to the new buyer. The debts and taxes get paid off as part of the sale. They’re giving us a good price on the land, too—something about the government wanting off-site plots for the Tidewater Research Station. See? Win-win. So you can put your little lawyer letter away and get out of my office. I try to do something good for you and this is the thanks I get.”
“I am not selling.”
“That’s what I knew you’d say. That’s why I didn’t even tell you about all this. I knew you’d get some stupid idea about keeping the farm. You can’t afford to, Tandi, and you know it. Even if I take care of the earnest money thing, how are you going to come up with the chunk of change for the taxes? We both know you don’t have that kind of cash lying around.”
My molars grind so hard I’m afraid I’ll need dental work after this. Gina can twist a conversation until it’s like spaghetti on a plate. “You’re going to come up with the money to pay the taxes and return the earnest money on my part of the property. You’re the one who stole the farm rental checks and didn’t pay the taxes in the first place.”
“I got a little behind last year after you kicked me out of your casita there on Hatteras,” she says vaguely, shrugging as if she’s done with me. “Anyway, I don’t have that kind of cash lying around.”
That’s the first truthful thing she’s said, and of course I’m ready for it. “Come up with it, Gina. Now. Or I’m having my lawyer go forward with this.” I look around at Gina’s posh new digs and take in the clothes she’s wearing. “Sell your car. That shouldn’t be too hard, considering.” On the way in, I noticed her tricked-out Jeep—the one she had on the Outer Banks last year—parked around the side of the building.
