On the other hand, how else could she support herself in Stargazey Point? She wasn’t ready to leave. And it wasn’t just because she had no place else to go. She liked it here and was becoming attached to the people who lived here.
She was tired of the nomadic life. Always moving on, never putting down deep roots. She was raised that way, moving from one town to another as her parents moved from one project to another.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” her mother would ask when any of them wanted to stay in the same school for another year, when they longed for a room that was just theirs and not shared with siblings, stray animals, or stray children who needed to be fostered.
And look at them now. All of them still moving, still living project to project.
Abbie didn’t want to be a citizen of the world. She wanted to be a citizen of one spot on earth. One little town. Maybe one like this town. Maybe this town.
The sound of hammering brought her back to reality. She needed to get online and look for real work instead of thinking about working for Bethanne and kissing Cab.
“Watch out!” A sheet of roofing slid off the carousel roof. Abbie jumped back, just managing to get out of the way as it crashed to the ground. And she realized she was standing amid the rubble of the previous carousel roof.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” the workman called from the roof.
“My fault,” Abbie yelled back. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Because she was fantasizing about a life that was clearly not meant for her. She readjusted her bag and picked her way through the detritus.
She met Cab coming through the carousel door. “Is everything okay? I heard yelling.”
“I wandered too close to the roofers.” She blew a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. “New roof. It looks nice.”
Cab pulled his gaze away from hers. “Yep, and a new coat of paint day after tomorrow. Then we’ll reinstall the animals . . . if I can ever figure out the order.” He shot his fingers through his hair, which was looking a little longer than usual.
“Does there have to be a specific order?”
“Yes.”
“Besides aesthetic reasons?”
He laughed slightly. “Well, besides my stubborn desire to bring it back the way it was, it would make the rejoining a lot smoother without having to stoop to trial and error that can damage the horses and the rods. The standers are larger than the jumpers and since the circumference of the circle diminishes as you move inside, it’s pretty important to get it right.”
“Are there photos of the original?”
“A few. Do you want to see them?”
“I would love to see them, and I still have some time before the horde arrives.”
He took her inside to where three flatscreen computers were set up near the carousel. One screen showed a grainy black-and-white photo of a close-up of the carousel. The next was a wider color shot of an entire horse. Abbie could see the nose of the horse behind it. She looked back at the first screen. It could be the same horse.
“See? A pretty frustrating endeavor.”
“Yes.” She was sympathetic, but mainly she was thinking what she’d be able to teach the kids at the center if she had a setup like this. But that wasn’t the point. “What about Silas and Beau and some of the older people in town? They might remember.”
“I’ve already asked. This is pretty much what we’ve come up with.” He clicked on a file and a schematic of the carousel appeared. Abbie moved closer to look at the circles that represented the rods. Some of them had a letter inside. Some were blank, and others had two letters separated by a slash.
“This represents the leader.” Cab pointed to a circle in red. “I remember he came behind the Neptune chariot.”
“Neptune chariot?”
He opened a picture file. “I took these as I unwrapped it.”
It looked like a chariot, only instead of wheels, it rode on aqua-painted waves that curled along the sides. In front, Neptune arched like the prow of a ship, wild haired, golden crowned, trident raised in his hand. And in back an enormous tail curved above the heads of the riders.
“It’s magnificent,” Abbie said.
“It is. And this is the leader.”
Another photo, this one of a large palomino decked out in full regalia, a red-and-gold bridle studded with jewels, plated armor, and festooned saddle. Even in a computer image he appeared larger than life.
“I can’t wait to see it. It’s strange, but I just felt that thrill that I used to get as a child. When will you have it up and running?”
She turned from the computer to look at Cab.
He was looking at her, not the images, and he hadn’t seemed to hear her.
“Cab?”
“Huh? Soon I hope. I just need to find the right setup.”
“Maybe the kids can ask their parents.”
“Good luck. I’ve already asked everybody in town. One person remembers one way and the other something entirely different. I guess when you’re enjoying yourself, you don’t pay much attention to what’s around you.” He paused, shrugged. Smiled. “I don’t.”
Cab stood staring at the computer screen long after Abbie left to go to the center. She’d been excited, really excited. Evidently it was easier to relate to his carousel than it was to him. But he couldn’t complain. She was about the first person besides Beau who didn’t question his rationale or his sanity.
She was genuinely excited about what he was doing. More excited than she was about him.
And so what if she was. She was obviously not ready for any kind of relationship. And neither was he. They would just keep having dinner and talking about carousels until she decided it was time to go.
And that could be any time at all. She was just a bit unpredictable. Okay, a lot unpredictable and he didn’t need that kind of woman in his life. And what the hell was he thinking anyway? If it were summer and they were two different people, they might have had a vacation fling. But not the way things were now. Was he crazy?
She was carrying way too much baggage. Emotionally fragile. Intriguing but unstable. In need of saving? He was no savior, and the only white horse around here would soon be circling the carousel.
Then he thought of her yesterday, a fierce tigress who took on an out-of-control drunk to protect those two kids. Not so fragile.
He pulled over a stool and sat down peering at the computer but not really seeing anything but Abbie’s face when they’d rushed into the center last night. How her taut lean body was poised for a fight. And how his body had responded.
Did she feel anything like that toward him? Could she?
“Making any headway?” Beau asked, coming up beside him.
“Huh? Not really.” Especially since his concentration had just followed a line of inappropriate thoughts about Beau’s houseguest.
“Well, you’ll figure it out. Be patient.” Beau braced his hand on the worktable and leaned over the computer. “Neptune. I remember him. Kissed a few girls under that tail.” He chuckled, placed a reassuring hand on Cab’s shoulder, and wandered back into the workshop.
Abbie was testing broken equipment and disposing of most of it, when Sarah arrived, carrying a tote bag half her size. She walked right past the open door without looking or slowing down.
“Hey,” Abbie called and followed her down the hall.
She found Sarah leaning into the fridge.
“What’s up?” Abbie asked, coming into the kitchen.
“Nothing but my blood pressure.” Sarah brought out two bottles of water.
Tossed one to Abbie and they both sat down at the table.
“Want to talk about it?”
Sarah snorted. “Sure. Why not. I woke up to a call from the university; my paper for the Review is late. They want me to come back and start structur
ing a minor in cultural anthro, which we were supposed to work on this past spring, but they got busy.
“That was followed by a trip to the police station, where I filed a complaint for destruction of property, harassment, and a bunch of other stuff, which took hours and won’t keep the bastard in jail any longer than drunk and disorderly.
“After that I had to go deal with social services. Ervina insisted on going along. She wanted temporary custody of the twins. They took one look at that crazy old woman, and I thought it was over. Then their supervisor comes over. Says, ‘you give her custody.’ There was no hearing, not even an interview.”
Sarah smiled for the first time. “She knew Ervina from some ungodly group and was afraid Ervina would put the conjure on them. They signed those papers so fast we were out on the sidewalk before I knew what was happening. First time I’ve ever been glad to have a crazy-as-a-loon great-grandmother.”
“Is it legal?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t think anyone will contest it. Eddie’s already scared she gave him the scabies from the last time he tried to hurt those kids.
“Looks like my old granny is a new mama.”
She scrubbed her face with her hands then took a long drink of water.
Abbie jumped in. “I was thinking. What if while we’re filming the carousel, we interview the parents who remember the old one? We might even get a bit of family history along the way.
“We can set up an interview room here at the center and nab them when they come to pick up their kids.”
“And you think they’ll do it?”
“Yes. We just need to give them a little incentive.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said, her normal glint back in her eye. “We do have a not-so-secret weapon.”
“Ervina,” said Abbie. “But will she help?”
“Are you kidding? Right up her alley. It might just work.”
“We’ll use the carousel as an anchoring point, and I bet you money we’ll get a lot more details about their family histories than asking them where they came from.”
“You were good at this, weren’t you?”
“Interviewing people?” Abbie considered. “Yeah. I think maybe I was.”
“There’s only one thing.”
“What?”
“We don’t have any equipment. Damn Eddie Price.”
“There is that. But I’m working on it.”
Chapter 21
Change of plans,” Abbie said when the afternoon crowd had eaten a snack and were sitting around her in the front room.
“Yeah, old Eddie Price broke all the equipment,” Pauli said.
So they already knew about that.
“Guess we won’t be making no pictures of the carousel,” Kyle said.
Dani and Joe looked like they might cry.
“Well, that’s not necessarily so,” Abbie told them.
“It was a dumb idea anyway,” said one of the older girls, clearly disappointed, but trying to hide it.
“Does this mean we don’t get a ride when it opens?”
“No, not at all, and don’t be so quick to give up.” She couldn’t stand to see their disappointment.
“How? We don’t have no camera.” Abbie lifted her shoulder bag to her lap. Let it sit there. Here was the moment of reckoning. If she encouraged them, she’d be obligated to see it through. She swallowed, felt a flutter of nerves. And realized they weren’t nerves from fear, but from anticipation.
“Yeah, we do. I have a surprise.” She reached inside the bag, pulled out the camera she had sworn she would never use again, and held it in one hand for all of them to see.
They all looked, some frowning, some scratching their heads.
“What is it?” Kyle asked, peering through overlong bangs.
“A video camera.”
“Don’t look like ours.”
“That’s because this one is a digital camera.”
They moved as one, closing in on her. She passed it around and gave each one a chance to hold it, then she took them outside to practice shooting with it.
And they were sold. Everyone wanted to use it, but Abbie told them that in order to do that, they had to sign up an adult for an interview time. There was a rush toward the table with the sign-up sheet.
Abbie breathed a sigh of relief. Now if they actually showed up for their interviews, they’d be in business.
“Great,” Sarah said, sidling up to her when the children had moved to the tables to finish homework and read. “Only thing is, we don’t have a way to edit digital.”
“But I do,” said Abbie.
Ervina picked up the twins at six o’clock, and after they excitedly told her about the new camera, Sarah and Abbie explained what they needed her to do.
She pointed her finger at Abbie. “You take their picture, you steal their hearts.”
“Souls,” Abbie corrected. “Some tribes believe if you take their pictures, you’ll steal their souls.”
“You know so much. You wait and see. Ervina knows.” She nodded portentously.
Abbie stepped back in surprise. Ervina led her two charges out the front door.
“She does that sometimes,” Sarah said, coming up beside her. “I like to think it’s all an act. But sometimes . . . well, sometimes, I just don’t know.”
Abbie met Beau as she walked out of the center on her way home that night. It was the first time they’d left at the same time, and they walked in silence for a while.
“I asked the children to ask their families what they remember about the carousel. Maybe that will help Cab figure out the order he’s so insistent on reproducing.”
Beau nodded. “He wants to get it right. It’s his homage.”
“To his uncle?”
“Yes, ma’am, and to a way of life.”
“I thought we could help. The children are all anxious to film the carousel. I really appreciate him letting them film. I’ll make sure they don’t pester him.”
“I don’t imagine he’ll mind as long as you come along to supervise.”
Abbie looked sideways at Beau, and he winked at her. She felt the heat spread over her cheeks.
“Do you think anyone will remember anything specific that will help?”
Beau had taken a piece of wood out of his pocket and was fingering it like worry beads. “Somebody’s bound to.”
“Do you remember anything about it?”
“Oh, I remember lots of things.” He smiled, but it was at something Abbie couldn’t see.
“It’s too bad there aren’t more pictures of it. I saw the ones on the computer, but there were only a few.”
Beau didn’t reply. She glanced over at him. He seemed far away.
“Beau?”
“Yes, it’s too bad.” He took her hand and hooked it into the crook of his arm, and they walked down the drive into the dying light.
Dinner was strained. Marnie looked every one of her eighty-four years. Millie was tight-lipped but looked more like a sulky child than an adult. Beau placidly ate his dinner, but he got up with a mumbled excuse as soon as he finished eating. He gathered his dishes and took them into the kitchen. He didn’t return.
When he was gone, Millie stood up and began clearing her and Abbie’s plates. When Abbie tried to help, she brushed her aside with, “You just sit and relax.”
Abbie didn’t insist but let her go.
Marnie waited until the door closed behind her then turned to Abbie. “I told her I’m taking the silver in tomorrow to sell it. They will forgo the penalties we owe if I pay up tomorrow.” She sighed, snorted. “It won’t hurt for her to come into twenty-first-century reality for a change. Do you want coffee?”
“Thanks, no,” Abbie said. “I’ve taken on a project for Sarah, and I want to get organized so it doesn’t turn into a dis
aster. Unless you need help with anything.”
“No, go ahead. And Abbie, don’t let this upset you. She always pouts when she doesn’t get her own way. Been like that since she was a baby. Always worked, too. Until now.”
Abbie climbed the stairs thinking about what she should do, if anything, about the Crispins’ plight. She had tried not to be nosy or judgmental. She’d just met them, but she knew Celeste and she knew she had an obligation to inform her of what was going on. Then if Celeste said stay out of it, she would.
She called Chicago.
“Hey. How’s your vacation going?”
“That’s what I’m calling about.”
“You don’t sound happy. Is something wrong?”
“No, no. Everyone’s healthy as far as I know. And I’m fine, but we have a situation.”
There was silence on the other end, the sound of the fridge opening. Celeste rummaged around for a few seconds then said. “Okay, I’m fortified with a glass of wine; hit me with the worst.”
“The upshot is they can’t pay their real estate taxes.” She told Celeste about Millie giving the payment to a family to pay for medicine.
Celeste groaned. “How much do they owe?”
“I haven’t asked. I am a guest. But I did mistakenly overhear Millie and Marnie talking when I first got here. I guess they’ve been paying quarterly. Marnie said they needed to come up with three thousand by this week.
“I don’t have a clue to how much more they owe. But the assessor has been here several times from what I’ve heard, and he was here again the other day. They’re delinquent and the property will have to be auctioned if they can’t make a payment by tomorrow.”
“The hell it will. You’ll have to ask Marnie how much it is.”
“Me? Why don’t you?”
“Here’s something about the South. They still see me as a child. The idea of me offering to give them money would be embarrassing at best and humiliating for sure.”
“And it won’t be coming from a virtual stranger?”
Stargazey Point Page 25
