The Color of Light

by White, Karen

  “No—nobody left. Just me. Tragic, really. Bill drowned right after high school—he was trying to save a swimmer and they were both lost. Barbara and Tom were never the same after that. And then they were killed in a car accident a few years later. Janie was already a legal adult, living in her parents’ house when it happened, and she just stayed there. The house was paid for and they’d left her enough money to get by, and that’s where she’s been ever since. She’s lived there her whole life—except for one year she spent in Charleston when she was fifteen.”

  Jillian tried to picture a younger version of Janie on her own in a big city, but couldn’t. “Did they send her to school there?”

  “Sort of. It was a convent—but they boarded troubled teens and taught them practical things. I think that’s where she learned so much about cultivating flowers.” She sent Jillian a wry smile. “Not that there’s a lot of cultivating involved with silk flowers.”

  Jillian thought of all the hard work it took to keep the silk flowers clean and dry, with the constant hauling in and out of the house, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  “I don’t know if it was such a good idea, though. She seemed so much more withdrawn, more fragile even, when she came back.”

  They had returned to the parking lot just as Ford had started to stir. Martha smiled brightly as Jillian unlocked the car and began strapping Ford into the infant seat. “But she seems happy now and mostly able to take care of herself, so we let her be. I see that she’s become good friends with Gracie.”

  They both turned to see the little girl skipping toward them, her hands and clothes smeared with dirt and sand. She stopped near the car and smiled hesitantly up at Jillian. A large rock fell out of her overstuffed pocket and rolled at her feet. “I think I got a little bit of dirt on my fingers. Are you mad, Jilly-bean?”

  Jillian bit back a laugh. “No, sweetie. I’m not mad.” She made sure Grace was buckled in securely, then slid behind the steering wheel to drive the short distance to Martha’s house. When they arrived, Jillian turned to her daughter. “You’ll have to wait outside for a minute while I go in with Mrs. Weber to get my dishes. I know she doesn’t want little dirty footprints all over her floors.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Jillian.” Martha turned to Grace. “There’s a faucet right over there, by the side of the house, and a towel on a peg right next to it. Just rinse off your hands and face and come on in. I’ve got fresh-baked cookies waiting for somebody to enjoy them. They’re probably not as good as your mama’s, but I think they’re pretty close.” She winked at Jillian as Gracie threw open her car door and skipped toward the side of the house. Jillian climbed out of the car and lifted Ford back into his pouch.

  Martha held open the screen door but stopped Jillian with a hand on her arm, her eyes kind as she regarded Jillian. “You should let her call you Mama. She wants to, you know. She’s just waiting for you to ask.”

  Jillian looked down at the baby, feeling his warm body cuddled up against her own. “Did she tell you that?”

  Martha shook her head slowly. “No, dear. She didn’t have to.” She reached up a sun-spotted hand and smoothed down Ford’s wispy hair. “Motherhood is a mixed bag. You make of it what you can. And nobody expects you to be perfect—most of the time all you have to do is just show up.”

  The baby started to fret, as if he knew he should be part of the conversation. Jillian met Martha’s gaze. “It’s . . . it’s not easy for me.”

  Martha held the door open wider, placing her hand gently on Jillian’s back to propel her forward. “I know, dear. The best things in life are always the hardest won.”

  Jillian rubbed Ford’s back, soothing him, and felt a small surge of hope. She stepped forward into the house, hearing the snap of the screen door close behind her.

  CHAPTER 14

  JILLIAN SLID THE LAST SHEET OF CRAB CANAPÉS OUT OF THE OVEN, wiping her fingers on her apron before turning off the timer. She heard the creaking of Grace’s rocker on the back porch, and walked over to the open window to call out to her.

  “Why don’t you go play in the yard, Gracie? It’s too pretty for you to be sitting out here on the porch.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m fine right here.” She craned her head toward the side of the house, as if she were expecting to see somebody come around the corner.

  “I’m almost done in here. Do you want to go down to the beach when I’m through?”

  “No!” The answer was almost a shout, but Jillian let it go. Gracie hadn’t been down to the beach since the day after the storm, when she and Linc had found the collapsed dune.

  Jillian paused for a minute. “Okay. Then maybe we’ll go visit Miss Janie and see if she needs any help with her flowers.”

  Grace’s voice sounded distant. “Maybe.” The creaking continued as Jillian went back to work.

  A car door slammed, and as Jillian walked toward the front of the house, Gracie opened up the back door and called, “Tell him we’ve got plans, Jilly-bean.” The screen door snapped shut before Jillian could question her.

  She spotted the police Jeep through the sidelights by the door and had opened it before Mason had a chance to knock. “Hi, Mason. You’re just in time. You’re not allergic to seafood, are you?”

  He came inside, taking off his hat. “No, ma’am. Definitely not. Couldn’t call myself a native islander if I were, I don’t think.” He grinned his grin that had once made her want to kiss him. Now it just made her heart go soft at the memory of how impossibly young she had once been.

  “Great. Donna Michaels wanted me to make a few things for a little faculty party she’s throwing next week, so I’ve been doing some experimenting. I need a new taster—Gracie swears she’s going to start growing a shell if I stuff another seafood canapé into her.”

  “And I’d hate to see that happen. I will gladly sacrifice myself so that she won’t suffer.” He smiled again and she warmed to him, much as she might warm to flannel sheets on a cold winter night. They had seemed to find their way back to the easy companionship they had shared before Ford’s birth, even though she still found Mason looking at her every once in a while with remorse.

  She led him into the kitchen. “I’m assuming this is a social call since I can’t remember parking illegally or getting a speeding ticket.”

  He sat down at the table, and Jillian busied herself with fixing him a plate. “No, nothing official. I’m actually running an errand for Mama. She and Daddy are having an oyster boil on the fifteenth, and they wanted me to stop by and see if you could come. The invitation’s coming in the mail, but she wanted to make sure that you put it on your calendar now.”

  She slid a plate and a glass of water in front of him, then sat down across from him. “I’d love to. Tell her I’ll call her later and find out what I can bring.”

  He put a canapé in his mouth, and she eagerly watched his expression. He closed his eyes for a moment and then said with a half-full mouth, “Bring these.”

  Jillian laughed. “Good, huh? I think I finally got it right.”

  He looked behind her to the tray on top of the stove. “Are you saving those for anybody?”

  “You really do know how to flatter a girl.” Grinning, she jumped out of her chair and got a plate and plastic wrap. “Just for that, I’m fixing you a plate to take home. And don’t feel the need to share it with anybody—I won’t tell.”

  He watched her with a soft smile on his face as she busied herself preparing his plate. “If you like, I could stop by and pick you up before the party.”

  She fumbled with the wrap, not sure how to respond, but was spared a reply by a voice in the threshold. “Hello, Officer Weber. Aren’t they missing you at the doughnut shop?”

  Mason stood quickly. “Rising,” he said in greeting, nodding his head in Linc’s direction. “Shouldn’t you be digging in the sand?”

  “Believe me, I wish I were. I’ve got my lawyer arguing with the SCDHEC about allowing some heavy digging equipment on th
e dunes. They’re afraid I might harm a sea oat and ruin life on the island as we know it. Can’t do anything until they give me the go-ahead.”

  Mason silently regarded Linc for a moment before speaking. “Us native islanders are a little particular about those dunes. They’re all that stand between us and erosion. That’s something most people not raised near the ocean can’t appreciate.”

  The two faced each other, sizing the other up, and Jillian thought for a moment that Linc might tell Mason a thing or two about being a native and knowing things like the schedules of the tides like the back of his hand. She watched his jaw tighten, and noticed absently that he wore jeans and a T-shirt, both of which fit very nicely over his various body parts. She felt confused for a moment, trying to remind herself that this was Linc. He’d been in Charleston for more than a week, and maybe her reaction was simply because she’d missed the security of having him next door.

  Trying to release the tension that had built in the room, she walked forward with the plate for Mason. She saw that Linc carried a small pair of rubber boots and an equally small pair of gloves.

  Her suspicions were answered when Grace bounded into the room. “Mr. Rising’s taking us oyster catching!”

  “He is?” She looked accusingly at Linc.

  Linc slid his gaze to Jillian as a look of realization filtered through his eyes. “Something tells me that when a little girl calls me at the office to make plans, I should probably ask her to put her mother on the phone.” He dropped the boots and gloves on the kitchen floor. “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?”

  Mason rolled the brim of his hat and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than where he was.

  Gracie interrupted. “She does now! Can we go, Jilly-bean? Please?”

  Jillian felt the strong need to teach her daughter a lesson or two about subterfuge, and to refuse. But her gaze caught sight of the sand dollar necklace under Linc’s shirt, and something shifted inside her chest. Whatever motivation might lie in Grace’s mind, it had to be somehow connected to her daughter’s large, generous heart. It was a precious thing, and Jillian knew from experience how easily it could be bruised.

  She faced her daughter, leveling her with a steady gaze. “I’ll say yes under two conditions: one, that you apologize to Mr. Rising, and two, that you will expect and accept whatever punishment I think necessary.”

  With just a glimmer of contrition, she tugged on Jillian’s hand. “Okay, okay! Can we go now?”

  Jillian raised her eyebrows. “No, not quite. I’ve got to find somebody who can watch Ford for me. I don’t think he’d enjoy getting oysters as much as we might.”

  Mason slid his chair under the table. “I can see you’re busy, so I’ll just be going. But call Mama if you want her to watch the little one. She hasn’t had a new grandbaby in a few years, and she’s itching to get her hands on a baby again.”

  Jillian smiled up at him. “Thanks, Mason. I’ll give her a call. And thanks for stopping by.” She picked up his wrapped plate from the table and handed it to him again.

  He slid his hat on. “I’ll see myself out.” Facing Linc, he said, “And remember, oyster season’s over May first, so don’t let me see you out after today. I’d hate to write you a ticket.” His expression made a liar out of him, but Linc simply nodded. Mason said his good-byes and left.

  Absently, Jillian wiped her hands on her shorts. “Well, then, I’ll go get Ford up from his nap and nurse him before we leave. . . .” Her words trailed off as her gaze met Linc’s, and she knew they were both thinking of the scene he’d witnessed up in the baby’s room. Something had changed between them then—a specific moment in time that forever marked their before and after. Nothing between them would ever be the same again.

  Without another word, Jillian turned and headed upstairs, wondering if it was a good thing or a bad thing before deciding not to wonder at all.

  As Linc returned to the dock after parking his truck and trailer, he tried to keep his gaze off Jillian, but failed. She wore white shorts and a blue button-down blouse that was tied at the waist and had the sleeves rolled up. She had long legs, still pale from being out of the sun, but beautiful and slim. He noticed her hips and waist, more rounded than he remembered, but he knew without a doubt that she certainly didn’t look like anybody’s mother. His gaze slid lower and he saw that her feet were clad in bright yellow patent-leather flip-flops with huge daisies on top. He noted Gracie wore a matching pair.

  He looked away, busying himself with untying the rope that anchored the boat to the dock. He had been in Charleston for a week. He told himself it was to catch up on all the work that he’d missed while working at the beach house. But some part of his mind kept calling him a liar, and said that the reason he’d gone away was to get this woman out of his system. Either way, he’d failed.

  Jillian eyed the craft appreciatively. “Nice boat, Linc.”

  “Thanks,” he said, stepping into it. Jillian handed Grace to him and he swung her into the boat.

  Putting her foot on the running board, Jillian said, “I think you’ll find I’m a better sailor than I am a dancer.”

  He reached up for her and kept his face straight. “That’s a relief.”

  Gracie peered around Linc. “He’s only teasing you because he likes you, Jilly-bean.”

  Jillian colored, but he pretended not to notice. Effortlessly, he lifted her by the waist and brought her into the boat, his hands lingering on her a little longer than they needed to. He turned away quickly and dragged out three life jackets from under the seat. Handing two of them to Jillian and Grace, he said, “Put these on.”

  Linc maneuvered the boat out into the marsh, heading toward Midway Creek. The motor rumbled at low speed as he turned his head over his shoulder to speak. “We’re at midtide now, so the oyster rakes should be easy to spot between the tide lines. If you see one, just holler.”

  Gracie, on surprisingly sturdy sea legs, made her way closer to where he was and stuck her chin out into the wind as the boat gained speed. He looked back at Jillian, who had struck the same pose, and for the first time saw the resemblance between mother and daughter. It wasn’t so much their physical looks, but more of how they saw the world: chin first, facing life and ignoring the strong wind hitting them head-on.

  Jillian moved forward on the bench seat near Gracie, lifting the child to sit in her lap and holding back the long blond braids that snapped in the wind. They laughed together as he passed over the wake of another boat, making them bounce and their teeth chatter. The briny splash of the marsh, of seawater mixing with decaying plants and new life, settled on them like holy water, making him think of baptisms. Mother and daughter smiled into the rainbow-colored spray, holding out their fingers to touch the life-giving water.

  Jillian spotted the oyster rake first, in the small bend of the creek in front of the old church that had long lost its steeple. “Over there!” she shouted, putting her face close to Grace’s and pointing out the gravelly colony of knobby white shells. Gracie bounced in her seat as she spotted it, too.

  Linc slowed the engine and circled back to where the colony clung to the creek bed, abandoned by the retreating tide and awaiting the life-renewing surge of seawater. As he anchored the boat, Jillian slipped on the boots he’d brought her and then helped Gracie put on the ones he’d borrowed from his partner’s daughter. He slid on his own pair, and then handed out gloves, small mallets and pails. “Those shells are really sharp and can slice open your hand, so keep these gloves on at all times.”

  He jumped out first, then helped them, almost laughing at Gracie in her too-big boots and gloves, carrying a mallet and a pail and looking serious. Guiding Gracie over to the edge of the water, he bent down and showed her how to grab hold of the edge of a shell and use the mallet to set it free.

  With grim determination, she squatted down, soaking her shorts, and began pounding. He smiled down at her. “And if you’re really brave, I’ll show you how to eat them raw
.”

  “Eww,” mother and daughter chimed in unison.

  Jillian started banging with her mallet. “Damn!” She cradled her thumb on her left hand. “I hit it with the damned mallet.” Wincing, she stretched out the thumb and bent it again.

  Gracie put her fist on her hip. “Jilly-bean, you’re not supposed to swear around me.”

  Looking chagrined, Jillian faced her daughter. “Sorry.” As she bent back down, she mumbled, “Although it’s not like you’ve never heard it before.”

  The stern look on Gracie’s face almost made Linc laugh out loud, but he kept it to himself as he began pounding away again at the oyster rake.

  They worked for nearly an hour, keeping in mind the legal limit of oysters allowed per household. Gracie kept up a nonending stream of chatter that didn’t require any response from either him or Jillian, and he bent to his work, enjoying the cadences and lilts of her voice. Occasionally, he’d steal a glance over at Jillian and notice that she was smiling to herself, as if also enjoying the music of her daughter’s voice. On the few occasions when Grace stopped to catch a breath, the marsh settled to the sounds of the mallets, the clink of shells against the metal pails and the water bumping into the sides of the boat.

  Jillian took a break, straightening and dumping her mallet in the bucket. Looking around, she said, “You know this place well.”

  Linc straightened, stretching his back muscles. “I came here a lot as a kid. Not many people seemed to know about it, so I always had the oysters to myself.” He looked up at the deserted church, with its missing roof and hollow windows that gaped at the brightness of the day. “A long time ago, they used to have baptisms here. They’d dip them into the water right here at ebb tide.” His gaze met hers. “They say it’s the best tide for washing away sins.”