Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4)

by Vicki Wilkerson

  She looked to her left, toward the huge French doors behind the stage, but that would mean that she’d actually have to walk across the low stage all by herself, in front of everyone. That certainly wasn’t an option. Jenna preferred to keep her status low key tonight.

  The only thing to do was to sit tight and hope no one saw her with the crew from Custom Motormullets.

  Just then Hogan got back. He was nearly breathless. She briefly noted the racy depth in the dimple on his strong chin. “Sorry. I got here as quickly as I could.” He sat down beside her. “These guys didn’t get too rowdy for you, did they?”

  She shook her head—out of politeness—and looked behind her. Hogan whispered, “He still there?”

  She nodded, appreciating the way he was trying to take care of her. Darn the mullet. Darn the motorcycles. And darn her…unexplained fascination with him.

  Felicity Faye stopped by and told them that they could go to the buffet line next.

  That was not going to work for Jenna. The last thing she could think about was food. She glanced over at the tables covered in white linen and silver serving platters, manned by neatly dressed staff in white shirts and black cummerbunds. And she hadn’t eaten a thing all day.

  “Hickey…Sam, could you two make plates for me and Jenna?”

  Hickey said, “Sure, boss. If I can keep McMullet here out of the dessert line long enough. Last time we went to Carolina Cow and ate at buffet steak night, all he had was banana pudding, Krispy Kreme bread pudding and dirt cake.”

  McMullet pushed Hickey’s shoulder a bit. “I just have me a sweet tooth, that’s all.”

  “Won’t be long till you won’t have no teeth at all. Wish I’d become a dentist ’cause I could get rich off just you,” Hickey said.

  “Not to worry there, Hickey. You barely was a high school graduate. I think dentistry was definitely out,” McMullet said.

  They all laughed and continued the banter as they walked toward the buffet tables.

  She’d never been around that level of teasing and repartee before. The people she hung around were conservative and…boring.

  Hogan smiled at her. “Yes, before you even ask, they’re always that way. Keeps work interesting, though. Kind of laid back and casual…and fun.”

  Jenna’s life was definitely not laid back or casual. And especially not fun. Un, deux, trois, quarte. Just hang on, she told herself. She’d be out of there soon, and her life would go back to the controlled environment she’d created for herself. Right now, it was definitely out of control. The only thing she’d controlled so far was keeping Dudley at bay.

  “Hey, cousin,” said a voice from behind.

  She didn’t need to turn around to know.

  It was Dudley.

  “Jenna?” Oh, fudge. It was Mr. Slithers, too.

  So much for control.

  And probably her family’s plantation, too.

  She glanced over at Hogan.

  So much for him, as well. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d have been home, straightening her refrigerator. Or organizing her closet. Or…handling snakes.

  Chapter Four

  “Our houses are such unwieldy property that we are often imprisoned rather than housed by them.”

  ~ Henry David Thoreau

  Jenna stood and air kissed both sides of Dudley’s overly large head.

  “Have you met my fiancé, Scarlet?” He pulled the too-thin little wannabe close to him. She smiled so hard her teeth glittered.

  Mr. Smithers narrowed his eyes, looking from above his round tortoise-shell frame glasses. He adjusted his blue and yellow bow tie.

  Un, deux, trois, quatre. She turned her attention back to Dudley and his skin-deep fiancé. “Hi, Scarlet. Yes, we met at a Ladies League function a while back.” She grabbed Scarlet’s hand. “You’ll have to let me see that gi-normous ring of yours again.” She sized it up. “Yep. Big as I remember.” There. That ought to spare them the trouble of figuring out a way to show it to her for a fourth time.

  Neither her grandmother nor Amberlee would be proud of her for sinking that low and making such an improper and uncalled for gesture. But these were desperate times, and as they say…desperate times called for…well. But her grandmother was dead, and Amberlee was so old now that she was stuck in that old rocking chair on the front porch of her and Jasper’s comfortable cabin on the plantation—for the time being. It made her heart sick to think that the sweet woman could end up in one of those old folk’s homes run by the county that housed people like the big box stores housed canned beans.

  She glanced at Hogan who probably didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. The social positioning dance…as it were. This was the part of her upbringing she hated most. Posturing and pretending.

  “So, Jenna. Who are your friends?” Dudley asked in his overly-practiced Charleston prep-school accent.

  “Yes, Jenna,” Mr. Smithers said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen them around any of your family’s functions before.” He eyed Hogan with suspicion through his spectacles. Yep, he pretty much was a spectacle in them. Who told those yuppie lawyers that rocking bowties and tortoise shell glasses was cool? It was funny now that she was precariously perched on the precipice of proper society, poised to lose her position, she saw everything so clearly. Her grandmother had been wrong, and Jenna had been sheltered.

  “Well, Mr. Smithers. That’s because I’ve just met them tonight.” She gazed at Hogan. He just didn’t know about the rules he was breaking in her circles.

  She turned her attention to Mr. Slithers again. “I just came here to support April.”

  “That girl from the motorcycle accident?” Mr. Slithers cleared his throat.” Who just won a motorcycle?” He adjusted his round frames. She wouldn’t put it past the esteemed Summerbrook attorney to have clear glass in them. Just to look more intelligent. And more pretentious, like his upscale counterparts in downtown Charleston.

  “Yes, you’ve met her before.” She hated that the family mafia had always looked down upon April. Because her family wasn’t just like Jenna’s. They were middle class and hard working. And because the entire zip code still associated April’s family with that stupid motorcycle fiasco that changed the town. From twenty years ago. Nobody had secrets in a small town.

  “Mmmm,” he said as curtly as possible. She hated the way he—in particular—judged everyone and everything. It was obvious that he thought April wasn’t worthy of her friendship…and Jenna wasn’t worthy of her own inheritance. She’d seen the judgment in his eyes ever since he’d watched her on the front porch of the plantation house, counting her My Little Ponies again and again. When she was five.

  “Yes,” Mr. Smithers said. “She’s the one who plays that… odd instrument.”

  “It’s an accordion.” More judgment.

  “Ah, yes. I remember now,” Mr. Smithers said. “Believe I heard her play it at some charity function I was roped into attending some time ago.”

  “Probably. April volunteers with the Humanity Project.” She glanced at her watch. “Look at the time. I hadn’t planned to stay so late. Please excuse me,” she said as she worked to get through the blockade of unspoken edicts and verdicts, judgments and proclamations.

  “Wait one minute, Jenna,” Mr. Smithers said.

  She paused and turned to him. Almost a clean getaway.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. We have some pressing business with you. The board wants to see your Letter of Intention within two weeks.”

  “I know. I know. Just not right now. I’ll call you on Monday and will explain everything,” she said as she eyed Dudley and maneuvered her way through the social gauntlet that nearly blocked her table and through the field of people dressed in their finery.

  In moments she was out the front door of the country club and past the portico. She looked back at the huge mansion turned country club and felt suddenly free. She continued her escape under the heavy canopy of trees which had provided shade for the Civi
l War and before.

  She lifted her head and let out a breath. Fireflies twinkled amongst the dark, crooked branches all around her. She needed to get away from that place, so she nearly trotted toward her car in her heels, even with her aching ankles.

  Though she was free from the confines of the building, and the mullets, and the motorcycle people, she wasn’t free from the confines of her own family’s predicament and that will.

  Or from the distraction of fireflies.

  ⸙

  Hey, hold on,” Hogan shouted at Jenna as she sprinted through the parking lot. Her soft hair swung with each step.

  She stopped and turned. The pinkish gold light from the lamps above made her look even softer. Dainty. Classy. And a lot more. He stared at her for what was probably a moment too long.

  “Are you going to be all right? I don’t know what that was all about, but I get that it wasn’t pleasant.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  She looked up toward the Spanish moss, hanging thick like impenetrable spider webs that could trap a person. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get out of here before they decide to corner me again.” She looked worriedly toward the front door of the country club.

  “Let me see you to your car at least. Where are you parked?”

  She pointed to the back of the lot, near the heavy iron gate that had been molded into elaborate scrolls and twists over a century and a half ago.

  He touched her elbow, caught a puff of some expensive perfume, and started walking with her. “Look. I know this wasn’t a very good night for you—with your friend getting all shook up…and your cousin being here and all. But since we both want to do what we can for Ben, I thought we might exchange numbers—in case we may be able to help one another out.”

  She stopped at her car, a little red BMW, and opened her fancy little purse and pulled out her keys. He glanced inside. Everything was perfectly ordered. Not jumbled like some other ladies’ bags he’d seen.

  She looked up and caught him staring. “Mr. Thorpe—”

  Okay. She was going to be all polite and formal now, was she? His chances at getting her number—and perhaps her help—were diminishing quickly.

  He looked away. Fireflies twinkled in the distance under the branches of elderly trees by the edge of the thick woods. He loved fireflies because they reminded him of his carefree days of childhood, spent catching them on the edges of his family’s farm by a narrow creek. And for another little reason.

  But he hated what he knew he was about to hear.

  “I came here to simply drop off some items from the dress shop and to be with April. I have some extremely pressing family business that should take precedence over all else. I really don’t need to get involved in any more undertakings than I’m already involved with, so I’ll have to decline.”

  Well, that was a polite way of saying get lost. He’d have expected nothing less from a proper Southern belle like her. She didn’t know him, and the night hadn’t gone well for her.

  But she obviously hadn’t had an opportunity to encounter a man like him who wouldn’t back away when it was imperative.

  “I understand. Let me give you my business card. I really do want to speak with you about something important.” He couldn’t possibly give her the gift he had worked so hard to win at the silent auction tonight. Maybe later, though.

  She politely took the card, placed it into some compartment in her purse, and slipped into her car.

  He tried to rub away the tension from his neck again and shook his head. What a night.

  He stood, watching her pull away, not sure if he’d ever have the opportunity to see her again. Just before her BMW passed through the massive lichen-covered brick pillars at the gate, she paused and glanced back toward him.

  The flickering light from the gas lamps atop the pillars and the fireflies that luminesced around her vehicle made the moment seem…dreamlike. Made Jenna seem…enchanting…like a firefly princess.

  He watched as she drove away, taking a little piece of him with her. He had the patience to wait. For more magic.

  Chapter Five

  “Property has its duties as well as its rights.”

  ~ Thomas Drummond

  Jenna pulled through the elaborately scrolled gates of DeBordieu Plantation and slowly drove her car over the undulating dirt road that led to the main house. She parked near her parents’ cars and called April. Again. No answer. Though Jenna was worried, she believed her friend was in good hands. And safe. Safety had always been their big thing. It was the bond that had knitted them together in the school yard when some of the mean girls made fun of them for being so…girly. Until then, who would have thought that wearing hand-smocked bishop dresses with matching bows and shiny patent leather shoes would get any negative attention? Neither she nor April did. Back then, their love of cardigan sweaters and frilly socks just cemented their relationship—made them a force of two to be reckoned with at school—until Jenna was sent away.

  She grabbed her bag with one hand, took off her shoes and carried them in the other, and started toward the carriage house. She liked her little walks, safely secured behind the gates, walled off from the world. But she realized now, the world wasn’t really walled off. Outsiders still determined what went on behind those gates. Her seven times great grandfather’s controlling will—in the hands of the lawyers and a governing board—still reached her—and all who sought to live behind those fences and gates.

  As she strolled, she made the effort to drag her feet through the sand a little longer than she needed to. One of her favorite things was the way the Carolina sun warmed the silky powder that cradled her feet, and she loved how the grains retained the temperature well past the sun’s golden disappearance behind the horizon in the bend in the Ashley River behind the plantation.

  The air had a faint smell of the rich mud that seemed to decay under the dock that reached far into the river. It was a low tide night. The plantation was barely lit by a sliver of the palmetto moon that hung in the sky. The fireflies had also found refuge for the evening, their golden hour over, their magic and mayhem hidden until the next transitioning of evening into night. She appreciated the day, and she found solace in the night, but the gloaming—when the fireflies danced—still unsettled her sometimes. Because it was then that her life had become unsettled. That particular time—when the day waned and the darkness was about to rule over everything—still persisted in its relentless pursuit of her peace.

  She walked on, taking notice of the shadows and how they moved on the sandy road before her, like giants reaching for her. The plantation was devouring her, the world sucking at her empty soul. There was little comfort anywhere. Though she worked hard at finding a solution, it seemed God had abandoned her. She paused and looked heavenward. Stars and darkness. Don’t you even care, God?

  She and God hadn’t had many heart-to-hearts lately. He must have been busy with the rest of the world. Hers obviously didn’t matter to Him. And she didn’t blame Him. How could she pray for her privileged life to continue on as it always had—pristinely preserved behind the security of DeBordieu Plantation’s gates…when awful things were happening in the world? When little Ben had leukemia? When April was confronting her worst fears? And, of course, when people were starving and suffering all over the world?

  But if God truly cared, like Amberlee had taught her all those many years ago, then wouldn’t he care about the things that mattered to her? To her parents? To Jasper and Amberlee?

  She saw down the narrow lane behind the cozy little place she called home; the lights were on in the old cabin where Jasper and Amberlee lived. It was late, but they never seemed to mind her visits. She decided to stop by.

  She knocked twice on the old screen door; the wood was loose and reverberated in the frame. The warm light from the lamp inside spilled onto the unpainted planks on the porch through the latticework. She caught a faint whiff of pie crust in the air.

  “Hey, honey, come on in!” Jasper’
s voice was welcoming as he held open the old door with his dark hand, turned darker and more wrinkled by his years in the sun on the plantation. His age had begun to manifest itself as hoarseness in his voice—a voice she had grown to love—and a limp that he occasionally aided with a cane. He set down the book in his other hand on the old table by the door.

  Nearly the whole cabin was visible when one stepped inside—all but the two bedrooms and the addition of the bathroom that had been built off the back when plumbing became all the rage.

  “Hey, darlin’,” Amberlee said as she struggled to sit straighter in her worn rocker. The red and green cushions that she’d bought the old woman for Christmas the year she’d returned from France were still in place underneath her. Amberlee appeared to have appreciated each and every little gift Jenna had given her over the years. The sweet old couple were never blessed with children, and it seemed to Jenna that they looked to her as a kind of…granddaughter. A granddaughter who was about to let them down in the most terrible way.

  “How about you let Amberlee fix you a piece of peach pie?” Amberlee asked. Jenna loved the way she talked about herself in the third person.

  Jenna thought about the offer for a moment. “That would be lovely. I went to this fancy party at The Oaks tonight, and things went disturbingly wrong. Anyway, I never got the chance to eat.”

  Amberlee attempted to get out of her chair that looked like it had molded to her body.

  Jenna couldn’t let the old woman who’d cooked and cleaned and cared for her for her entire life continue to try to do things for her in her old age. “I’ll get it. Did you forget that I know my way around your house?” She put down her purse and shoes beside the old coffee table that had once been in the main house, solid and sound, but used and scratched.