The Strangers on Montagu Street

by Karen White

My smile didn’t falter, but I was surprised my teeth didn’t rattle. Living with a teenage girl for three days had left me feeling as if I’d been run over by a truck and then left in the middle of the road. We’d moved past the point of polite strangers and were now testing boundaries like a pin to a balloon. “That’s Emmaline Amelia Pettigrew. Otherwise known as Nola, Jack’s daughter.”

  Her left eyebrow rose, Scarlett style. “I see. Amelia’s been telling me about her. And she’s living with you because . . .”

  “Because she and Jack keep butting heads. Apparently Nola’s mother told her that Jack abandoned them both and she believed her.” I glanced toward the foyer, afraid that Nola would sneak up and overhear. “I’ll tell you everything later. But for now Nola’s with me, and where I go, she goes.” I perked up. “Besides, you always say how you regret not being there for my teenage years. Here’s your chance.”

  My mother dabbed at the corners of her mouth with one of the linen napkins and stood. “You and I have dealt with evil spirits and vengeful ghosts. Surely we can handle one teenage girl.”

  We heard doors open again and the sound of a hair dryer turning on. I quickly walked to the foyer and called up the stairs. Raising my voice, I called out, “The fuses are a little delicate. You might want to turn off the stereo. . . .”

  The lights flickered once, then went out completely, along with, fortunately, the noise that had been coming from the stereo. Even though I’d just purchased it for Nola, I had a small spark of hope that it had been ruined beyond repair.

  “Shit! What the . . .”

  “Nola!” I shouted back. “We have company.”

  My mother, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Instead she moved past me and stood on the bottom step. “Nola? Hello. This is Mrs. Middleton, Melanie’s mother. I’m looking forward to meeting you when you’re in a better mood. In the meantime, why don’t you make yourself decent and come on down so Melanie can show you how to change a fuse. I have a feeling it will be a skill you’ll come to appreciate.”

  With a satisfied smile, she stepped down into the foyer as Mrs. Houlihan stuck her head out of the kitchen door. “Somebody blew a fuse and I lost my power. Do you want me to change it?”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but I’ve got it covered.”

  “Just make it quick,” the old housekeeper said. “These baked beans won’t bake on their own.”

  I faced my mother again, but her attention was focused on something behind me. I turned, too, and saw Nola’s guitar case leaning against the newel post, where I could have sworn it hadn’t been earlier.

  “What’s that?”

  I spotted the N’awlins sticker on the case, not like I needed further ID. “It used to be Bonnie’s—Nola’s mother—but it’s now Nola’s. Although according to Jack, she won’t play a note.”

  Two furrows formed between her eyebrows. “Then what’s it doing here?”

  “Nola and I would like to know the same thing. Sometimes she wakes up with it in her bed; other times it just appears at random locations throughout the house, as if it wants to be seen.”

  “Maybe Bonnie is trying to tell you something.”

  “Could be,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “I haven’t tried to contact her so I’m not sure, but it seems likely.” Unlike my mother, I preferred to let sleeping spirits lie. I wasn’t one to jostle them awake and ask them to move to the light already. I’d spent a childhood being ridiculed for my particular “gift” and an adulthood trying to hide it. And at the age of thirty-nine, I saw no reason to change my MO. Changing it just made life messy.

  My mother’s eyes were understanding as she met mine. “You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

  I sighed. “About her mother possibly still being here or my ability to have a conversation with her?” I shook my head. “I don’t think she’s ready to hear either. She already has trust issues, and I can’t see her believing anything else I say if I started out with, ‘Hi, Nola. I see dead people.’”

  “You’re probably right, but eventually you’re going to have to tell her. And you’ll have to find a way to talk with Bonnie—or whoever it is—to figure out why she’s still here.” She took a step closer to the guitar case. “I could place my hands on it if you think it would help.”

  I gripped her forearm, holding her back. My mother had the ability to communicate with spirits by touching objects associated with them, sometimes with disastrous results. I liked to think of it as only a last-ditch measure. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Bonnie could just be hanging around to make sure Nola gets settled. Why don’t we wait and see?”

  She gave me her knowing look, the look mothers most likely acquire during the birthing process, and I tried very hard not to squirm in my Valentino heels.

  “After the barbecue tonight, I’m heading over to Caroline Lane’s. Her sister passed last fall and left some unfinished business that Mrs. Lane would like to settle so her sister can rest in peace. You’re welcome to come along.”

  “Mother, please. You know how I feel about performing like a circus seal. And what would my clients think if it got out? I’d never be taken seriously again.”

  A shriek sounded from upstairs, rapidly followed by stomping footsteps and a door being thrown open. Again. “Stop moving my damned guitar! Where’d you put it?”

  Hating to shout in my own house, I moved to the base of the stairs again. “I’ll give it to you after you help me change the fuse.”

  The door slammed in response.

  “Somebody needs to talk with her about that language.”

  “I know, Mother. I just can’t do it yet—she’s still too raw from the trauma of the last month. We’ll figure it out.”

  I walked with my mother to the front door, and she paused on the threshold. “I’ve got a few errands to run, and I know you’ve probably got something to organize, so why don’t we plan on your picking me up at my house at one?”

  I frowned. “What for?”

  “To take you shopping for a nice pair of jeans. Bring Nola, too. Amelia told me she’d purchased some things for her at Palm Avenue, and it doesn’t take any psychic powers to guess that Nola wouldn’t wear most of it. We can return what doesn’t work and hopefully find something else we can all agree on. Amelia will understand.”

  Knowing it was futile to argue, I said, “Whatever.” I cringed at how much I was starting to sound like Nola after only three days. I wondered whether, after three months of living with her, I’d be cursing and admiring Sophie’s fashion sense. I shuddered at the thought.

  “Great. I’ll see you both at one.” She kissed me on both cheeks, then walked down the piazza, her heels clicking across the black-and-white marble tiles.

  I was in the process of walking with a pot of real baked beans toward one of the tables set up in the garden when a low wolf whistle came from behind me. I turned to see Jack lounging in a chair with a nonalcoholic beer resting beside him on the wrought-iron table. Turning my back on him, I set the pot down and began to arrange the flowers my father had provided for the occasion. “What? You’ve never seen baked beans before?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not escorted by such a fine pair of blue jeans, that’s for sure.”

  His expression sobered quickly as the kitchen door opened behind me and Rebecca Edgerton appeared, a vision in pink shorts, a matching pink sweater set, and a pink headband resting on her blond head, a mutinous-looking Nola following close behind.

  Jack stood and smiled warily at his daughter and Rebecca, no doubt wondering whether he should gird his loins. I stared at Nola for a moment, trying to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew of the girl. She wore her Converse sneakers with green neon laces, and matching socks that went to almost midcalf on her long, gangly legs. Her skirt was denim, one I recognized from our shopping trip that afternoon, but with a shredded hem that I was sure hadn’t been on it when it was purchased. Her new, crisp white Lilly Pulitzer blouse looked like it had been mistaken for a subway wall by a
graffiti artist with a penchant for peace signs, and although her eyeliner had been applied with a lighter touch, the red lipstick had not been. But the most notable part of it all was the pink headband, remarkably like Rebecca’s, that pushed back her dark hair, showing off her beautiful bone structure and features, and highlighting the scowl on her face.

  Sophie turned from where she’d been working on displaying her eggless, sugarless, and tasteless lemon bars on a tray. “That’s just wrong,” she said under her breath.

  Nola stopped in front of her father, crossed her arms over her chest, and glowered in his direction. Rebecca put an arm around Jack’s waist. “Doesn’t she look precious? Pink is really her color—don’t you agree?”

  “Just precious,” Jack answered as he avoided Rebecca’s kiss by offering his cheek instead. “Is that a gift from you?”

  Nola shot him a “you’re the most oblivious man on the planet” look, and I was starting to prepare for violence when Sophie walked toward them. “Hey, Nola. You’ve got to try one of my lemon bars. They’re completely vegan, and very tasty, if I may say so myself.” She gently put her arm across Nola’s shoulders. As she passed me I heard her add, “As soon as she’s not looking, you can toss that thing into the fountain.”

  A real smile erupted on Nola’s face. I was mouthing the words “thank you” to Sophie when I caught sight of her left hand on Nola’s shoulder. The little sparkling diamond on her fourth finger, to be more specific.

  “Sophie? What’s that ring?” My voice was a lot louder than I’d intended, effectively ending all conversation.

  Chad, Sophie’s colleague at the College of Charleston and what I thought of as her platonic roommate, looked up from where he’d been tossing a tennis ball with General Lee, his eyes wide and innocent. Not so platonic after all, I guessed.

  Sophie clasped her hands behind her back but it was too late. My mother rushed forward and past me, her hands reaching for Sophie’s. “Let me see it; let me see it!”

  “You’re engaged?” I asked, surprised and not a little hurt that she hadn’t confided in me. I considered Sophie Wallen to be my best friend, and as such I would have expected her to tell me first.

  She shot me an apologetic look as she held up her left hand to show my mother the round diamond in an antique platinum setting. It was a little more traditional than I thought Sophie would have wanted, but it was lovely. And sparkly. And completely and totally unexpected. I was happy for her—I was. It was only that I couldn’t yet wrap my mind around the fact that it would be Sophie and Chad from now on, and not just Sophie and me.

  Chad joined his fiancée as everyone crowded around the happy couple, and I found myself being forced back as I listened to how he’d proposed while they were sharing a shift checking the loggerhead turtle nests on Isle of Palms.

  “It’s like they were made for each other,” a voice said beside me.

  Startled, I looked up to see the dark and handsome face of Marc Longo. We had dated for a short while the year before, until I’d learned that he’d lied to me to gain access to Confederate diamonds hidden in my inherited house on Tradd Street. Although he’d since apologized and made attempts to amend our relationship—no doubt helped along by a single blow to the jaw offered by Jack—I doubted that I could ever really trust him again, regardless of how sincere he seemed. It didn’t help that Jack loathed him and used every opportunity to let Marc know it. The feeling was mutual.

  “Marc,” I said, offering my cheek for a kiss. “It’s so good to see you.” I stared up at him, wondering how to ask him why he was there. He’d definitely not been on my small family-only invite list.

  As if reading my mind, he offered, “Your mother invited me. Said something about there being too many females and she needed me to even things out.”

  I shot a look over at my mother, who was pretending not to notice Marc or me and instead was making a good show of listening as Sophie and Chad told everyone about their ideas for the wedding. I caught the words “barefoot” and “hemp,” but was too distracted by Marc’s hand, which was now squeezing mine in an earnest grip.

  “So does that sound like something you’d like to do?”

  I glanced back at Marc, realizing he’d been talking to me. “I’m sorry; what did you say?”

  “I said that I’m planning on having a party at my beach house to celebrate Carolina Day. I was hoping you’d come and play hostess.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s busy that night,” Jack said, coming up behind me. “Or she will be, seeing as her birthday is the same day.” He offered a big smile and a hand toward Marc. “Matthew, right?”

  To my surprise, Marc took the offered hand and shook it. “Ah, the famous Jack Trenholm. A pleasure, as always.”

  I studied Marc’s face, confused by the look I saw there. It was similar to the look I imagined a cat wore while standing next to the empty bowl of cream.

  “Why, thank you, Matt. Can’t say I feel likewise, but the sentiment’s appreciated just the same.” He glanced down at Marc’s impeccably tailored shirt and pants, the dark brown Italian loafers. “Just stopping by on the way to the opera? We don’t want to make you late.”

  “Actually, no. I’m here for the duration. I was invited by Mrs. Middleton, although I’d like to think Melanie and I are good enough friends that I wouldn’t need an invitation.” He squeezed my hand, doing nothing to make the situation less awkward.

  I was thankful when Marc let go of my hand. “So when’s the next international bestseller coming out, Jack, or is that a closely guarded secret?”

  Again, I couldn’t decipher Marc’s expression. Usually I felt the need to stand in between Marc and Jack to prevent any blows, but Marc actually seemed genuinely interested in Jack’s answer. Surely he couldn’t know what a sore subject it was for Jack. Although originally enthusiastic about Jack’s book about the hidden Confederate diamonds and the disappearance of a former resident of my house on Tradd Street, his editor and agent had suddenly stopped taking his phone calls.

  “Thanks for asking, Matt. But I rarely mix business with pleasure, so I’m going to spare Melanie the boring details and instead escort her over to Nola, who wants to know whether the cake is vegan and when she can have a piece.”

  Jack tugged on my arm, leaving me no choice but to follow. I waved, and from the corner of my eye I watched Rebecca approach Marc, her gaze directed at Jack and me.

  “Remind me to have a word with your mother,” Jack said in my ear. “My daughter’s here and I don’t want her to be exposed to lower lifeforms like that.”

  We both looked over to where Nola was standing between Sophie and Chad. The pink headband was long since discarded—most likely in the fountain behind her—and Sophie and Chad were wearing matching quilted vests and single braids, a collection of hemp necklaces around their necks. If I hadn’t known the three of them and happened to come across them in a dark alley, I’d probably head the other way. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, but the sarcasm, for once, seemed lost on Jack.

  I looked around the small gathering. “Where are your parents? They said they’d be here.”

  It took Jack a moment to register that I was speaking to him. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’re on their way. My mother mentioned something about a gift for Nola. Maybe that’s what’s holding them up.”

  A cold breeze swept across my back like icy fingers, making me shiver despite the heat. I looked up at Jack to see whether he’d noticed it, but he was too busy staring at Marc and Rebecca with a concentrated frown. Marc looked up and saw us, then smiled an unnatural smile again. Jack tensed beside me.

  “Melanie?” I turned at Sophie’s voice.

  I faced her, a smile plastered on my face. “Congratulations on your engagement,” I said, trying very hard to keep the ice out of my voice. “When were you planning on telling me? After the third baby was born?”

  “Look, Melanie, I’m really sorry about that. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,
so I was working on a way to tell you when I was sort of found out tonight.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t have worn your ring.”

  “Why not?” piped up Nola, who seemed to have appeared beside Sophie like a new appendage. They even wore matching braids now.

  “Because,” I explained, “best friends tell each other stuff first.”

  Nola looked up at the sky as if seeking guidance on how to address incredibly stupid adults. “Yeah, but she probably felt bad about telling you that she was going to get married, seeing as how you’re old and not married and don’t even have a boyfriend.”

  It took me a moment to mentally chip the ice from my lips. “Thank you, Nola, for that observation. I’m only thirty-nine, for your information. That’s hardly nursing home material.”

  Nola screeched and threw her hands over her mouth. “OMG! I didn’t know you were that old! You’re practically dead.”

  Unable to find a response that wouldn’t require my getting physical, I abruptly turned around, only to run into my mother. “Mellie, just the person I was looking for. What do you say we do your fortieth birthday party here? Your garden is just perfect for entertaining, and your father said he can start working on plans right away.”

  I felt the embarrassing and completely unexpected prickle of tears behind my eyelids. I wasn’t sure whether it was from what Nola had said—which I somehow thought might have a glimmer of truth—or the fact that my mother seemed to be in collaboration with Sophie, Nola, and apparently the rest of the world on making me feel old and permanently single. I wanted to tell her that it was all her fault, that abandoning me was what had sent me down this path of approaching spinsterhood, but I held back, afraid that if I opened my mouth I’d start crying.

  A commotion at the garden gate made me turn away, and I stared in surprise as two men wearing Trenholm Antiques hats and matching uniform shirts slowly stepped their way down the brick path through the gate, carrying a pallet with something tall and bulky hidden under a quilted tarp.

  Behind them came Amelia and John Trenholm, Jack’s parents, both grinning broadly. I approached and gave them each a kiss on the cheek. “Wow—I can’t imagine what that could be.”