The Strangers on Montagu Street

by Karen White

  Nola and Alston walked by, both of them furiously texting on their phones—hopefully not to each other—and I called their names. “Nice work, girls,” I said, giving them both a thumbs-up. Their fingers paused long enough to wave, then continued their texting without skipping a beat.

  My smile faded as I spotted Rebecca’s red Audi pulling up to the curb and I realized it was almost time for people to start arriving. I slugged back the rest of the punch and set my cup down before approaching the flower-filled arbor. I watched as Marc got out of the driver’s side of Rebecca’s car and moved to the passenger side and helped her out.

  My heart beat sluggishly with a suspiciously sunken sort of feeling. If Rebecca was bringing Marc, then Jack must have decided not to come after all. I waited under the arbor as they approached, Marc looking handsome in a white dinner jacket and bow tie, and Rebecca as beautiful as ever in a pale pink silk gown with lots of sparkles and a halter top, her blond hair piled high on her head. I grudgingly admitted that they made a very good-looking couple, but I couldn’t understand why they were here together.

  Marc looked up and saw me, then stumbled, making Rebecca frown as she also spotted me underneath the flowering arbor. A smile quickly replaced her frown as she reached me, air-kissing me on both cheeks.

  “You look so cute tonight, Melanie.” Turning to Marc, she said, “Doesn’t she look just adorable?”

  For the first time since I’d met Marc, he seemed to be at a loss for words. His jaw was moving and his mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.

  With a little nudge from her elbow into his ribs, Rebecca continued. “That is just the sweetest dress. I think I saw that exact thing in the Sears window when I was there to buy a part for my washing machine. It’s amazing what you can find in that store!”

  Marc’s eyes remained fixated on the bodice of the dress, to the spot where the plunging neckline ended in a deep vee. “It’s . . . very nice, Melanie. Very nice.” His voice sounded strange, like his bow tie might be too tight.

  “‘One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.’”

  I twirled at the sound of Jack’s voice and found him standing directly behind me. He also wore a white dinner jacket, but instead of a tie, he wore the shirt with an open collar, his tanned chest dark against the bright white of his starched shirt. His chin and cheeks hinted of a shadow, and his hair was a little longer than I was used to seeing it. Marc scored more points on the GQ scale, with his impeccable grooming and outfit, but Jack was off the charts in pure animal sex appeal. He placed his hand on my hip, then drew me closer for a proprietary kiss on my temple. “Happy birthday, Mellie.”

  I was glad my mother had taken my shawl, because even without it I was pretty sure I could feel myself melting. “Thank you,” I said, my voice breathless.

  “Quoting torrid romance novels, Jack?” Marc asked, a smug smirk hugging his lips.

  “Actually, that would be Shakespeare, from Romeo and Juliet. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.” Jack continued to stand where he was with his hand on my hip, my right side pressed up against him. I didn’t think to move away.

  Rebecca looked surprised and a little embarrassed. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Jack.”

  Jack sent her and Marc a languorous perusal. “Apparently. Guess it’s not too hard to find a date replacement who owns a dinner jacket in this town.”

  Rebecca at least had the decency to look repentant. She took a step toward Jack. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  Marc took her arm and gently pulled her back. “Don’t waste your breath, Becca. Come on; let’s go get a drink.” He leaned in and gave me a lingering kiss on my cheek. Pulling back, he said, “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling the wetness on my cheek as he walked away with Rebecca.

  “Want this?”

  I turned to see Jack holding up his pocket square.

  “Thanks,” I said, gently dabbing at the wet spot on my cheek so I wouldn’t mess up the painstakingly applied makeup that had taken nearly two hours. Folding it neatly, I tucked it back into his jacket pocket, then clasped my hands behind my back, not knowing where else to put them. “You came,” I said.

  “Yep. I got tired of fielding calls from my mom, your mom, Sophie, and Nola. I figured it would just be easier to show up. Didn’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the next week, waiting for the dart to hit.” His old smile brightened his face. “Besides, you mentioned there would be lots of food. Didn’t want to miss that.”

  I blushed, remembering that time at his condo when I couldn’t shut myself up. “Yeah, there’s that. And Nola is here, and your parents are coming, too.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind my coming over here to chat instead of just waving from across the canapés, like you suggested.”

  My blush deepened. “There is no need to remember and repeat everything I say, all right? But, yes, I’m glad you interrupted my conversation with Rebecca and Marc. I don’t think I’ve ever met two more annoying people.”

  A dark shadow passed behind his eyes, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something. When it looked like he was about to turn away, I blurted, “Is everything okay?”

  “If you mean between Rebecca and me, it’s over. It has been for a long time. I guess I was just waiting for her to make the first move.”

  “You mean she broke up with you? Has that ever happened to you before?” I tried to keep the giddiness and relief out of my voice.

  “Once or twice.” He smirked, but his eyes remained somber.

  I paused for a moment. “But there’s something else that’s bothering you,” I said, wishing I knew why it was so important that he tell me.

  “I heard from my agent today.”

  My eyes widened. “That’s good news, right?”

  “Depends. If you consider being able to keep a sizable advance without having the book published, I guess you would call it good news.”

  “What do you mean, they’re not going to publish it? Did they have a problem with it? I mean, you’ve got a huge fan following waiting for that book.”

  He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to look nonchalant. “Yes, well, apparently another author beat me to the punch with a very similar story that they thought would sell better.”

  I digested that for a moment. “But they still want your next book, right?”

  He snorted. “What next book? I’ve been so engrossed in finding out what was going on with this book that the next idea isn’t even a twinkle in my eye yet.”

  Our eyes met and I knew we were thinking the same thing. “No,” he said before I could say anything. “I’m not that desperate that I’d write a book that would make your family hate me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. Like my mother could ever hate you.”

  He gave me an odd look. “Just your mother?”

  I was about to retort when I noticed that his gaze was fixated at about the same spot Marc’s had been. “Did you really get your dress at Sears?” he asked.

  I raised my eyebrows. “No.” I cleared my throat, not sure whether I was supposed to block his view or offer to twirl to give him a better look. Instead, I reverted to what I’d always relied on and what I prided myself at being good at—the business at hand. “Did you see today’s paper?”

  He raised his eyes to mine, an amused smile on his lips. “About the bodies found on the Manigault property? Yeah, I did. I was thinking I needed to go down there and have a look. For curiosity’s sake. And then go back to Julia and ask her to come clean with everything she’s not telling us.”

  “Can I go with you?” I said the words without thinking, but was rewarded with his Jack smile, the one he used on the back cover of his books that made the female population think crazy thoughts.

  The air between us lay heavy with the scents of flowers and his cologne and something else, too. Something I couldn’t name, but something prime
val that saturated the earth and the space between us. I imagined the air trembling around us, wrapping us in its cocoon, where the past was forgotten and all that mattered was Jack and me. And I could have sworn that somewhere behind the tall, spindly cedars, where the sun’s rays had begun their first retreat, I heard my grandmother’s voice saying my name. Not as a scold, but more as a reassurance.

  “Has anyone told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  I focused my attention on Jack again and thought for a moment. “Not in those exact words. But somebody did quote Shakespeare to me.”

  He smiled again, his face very close to mine, and I was pretty sure it was the punch that made me close my eyes and lean forward.

  “Mellie!” My mother’s voice carried from across the garden as she and my father approached. “Your guests are beginning to arrive. Let’s go welcome them.”

  My parents greeted Jack before placing me between them as we turned in unison to greet the first arrivals, my boss, Dave Henderson, and his wife, Robin. I glanced over my shoulder to see whether Jack was calculating what almost-kiss number that had been, but he’d disappeared into the garden, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his cologne and an unsettled feeling somewhere inside me at about the same spot where my plunging neckline ended.

  CHAPTER 24

  Darkness crept unannounced into my garden. Thousands of twinkling lights had been strung through the crape myrtles and their garnet-hued blooms, around the thick trunk of the large oak, and through all the hedges, creating the illusion of stars in a sky of green. The garden sparkled like a Ferris wheel, my head spinning accordingly as I chatted and laughed and danced, all the while aware of Jack nearby but never close enough.

  The band, dressed like members of the Rat Pack, kept dancers on the dance floor all night long, playing standards from just about every decade, representing the wide disparity in ages of the partygoers. Chad was a surprisingly good dancer and happily moonwalked to Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” and danced a superb shag with me to the Tams’ “Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy.” The only time the band began to lose dancers was when Nola and Alston put in a request for “Why We Thugs” by Ice Cube. I was the only person over fourteen to actually recognize the song, because I’d heard it played so many times blaring from Nola’s room. To save the day, I suggested ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” and sent a triumphant look in Nola’s direction as dancers returned to the dance floor. She responded by rolling her eyes.

  Marc asked me to dance twice. His moves were more practiced than natural, but he was an adequate dance partner and certainly nice to look at while I was facing him in close proximity. Both times, Rebecca sought Jack out and brought him to the dance floor. I found I couldn’t look at them, and not because I was afraid of a dance-off between the two couples, but because seeing the two of them was too painful despite the fact that I knew they were no longer a couple. I did look long enough to notice that Jack was a great dancer, with none of the awkward moves most white guys felt compelled to display on a dance floor, and I found myself wishing, just for a moment, that I were the one being twirled under his arm, that it was my waist his hands touched.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t eat any more or drink any more punch, the band began playing the familiar and cringe-worthy strains of “Happy Birthday” as an enormous cake lit with an alarming amount of burning candles was brought out on a large tray by two of the caterers and placed on an empty table festooned with Louisa roses from my garden.

  I stood before the cake as everyone sang to me, and I looked around at the array of familiar and beloved faces, feeling as truly close to happiness as I’d ever felt. Even the backdrop of my old house with its wounded foundation couldn’t put a ding in that emotion and might, if I’d admit it to myself, actually be contributing to my overall sense of satisfaction.

  But as I thanked the people around me and hugged my mother and father, I became acutely aware that despite all that I had to be thankful for, a void hovered somewhere on the periphery of my awareness, like a vague scent that, no matter where I turned, continued to elude me. I’d always known it was there, but had always assumed that once my mother and father were reconciled into my life, it would go away. And although it didn’t seem so dark and deep anymore, it was still there—the thing in the closet I didn’t want to see.

  “Are you all right?”

  I turned and found myself looking up into Jack’s very blue eyes, and like puzzle pieces my world suddenly slid into focus, with all the lines and curves fitting into their proper grooves. I took a step toward him, and instead of my falling into the abyss, as I’d always imagined, my foot met solid ground as my hands gripped his arms. “I’m fine.” I smiled like a giddy teenager. “I’m great, actually.”

  He looked at me strangely. “Because it looked like you were having an out-of-body experience.”

  I threw back my head and laughed, bursting with knowledge but unsure what to do with it. “I think I was.”

  Reluctantly, I let go of Jack to face the bandleader, who was asking for everyone’s attention again.

  “Without further ado, I’d like to introduce Miss Nola Pettigrew and Mrs. Ginnette Prioleau Middleton in a duet to honor Miss Middleton’s fortieth birthday.”

  I winced at the public announcement of my age before being propelled forward by the crowd to stand in front of the stage. Nola sat with Bonnie’s guitar across her lap, and my mother stood next to her holding a microphone. A soft breeze in my hair and the distant strums of the now-familiar tune told me Bonnie was near, but I didn’t see her. It was as if she knew this was Nola’s moment to shine in the spotlight, and was content to remain in the shadows. With a hesitant smile in my direction, Nola held the guitar closer and began strumming.

  When I recognized “Fernando,” one of my favorite ABBA songs, the tears welled in my eyes. I knew what it cost Nola emotionally to play her mother’s guitar, but to play an ABBA song in public must have been devastating to her.

  And then Nola and my mother began to sing, their harmonizing so tight the notes seemed to come from a single voice. The garden quieted as everyone focused on the stage as the music and singers became as much a part of the night as the sky and the moon and the lights that twinkled above us in the trees. A soft hush fell over the crowd as the last note drifted into the darkness and then was followed by a deafening roar of applause and shouts of “Brava, brava.”

  I turned to say something to Jack, but he was gone. I looked back to where Nola and my mother were leaving the stage and spotted Nola allowing her father to hug her and kiss her cheek. They gave each other identical smiles and my heart did that squishy thing in my chest again. I tried to walk toward them, but too many people were stopping me to wish me happy birthday and ask about Nola. I could only watch from the corner of my eye as Jack kissed my mother’s cheek and shook my father’s hand before heading out of the garden gate. By the time I finally reached Nola and my mother, he was gone.

  I stifled my disappointment as I hugged them. “That was amazing—both of you. And, Nola, wow. I know how hard that must have been for you, which makes your gift that much more special. Your mother would be very, very proud.”

  She looked at me and her eyes were wet. “Do you think she’ll move on now? That’s why I did it. I figured if she could see that I was okay, she could move on. I didn’t want to be the reason she’s hanging on.”

  I looked into the eyes of this brave and beautiful girl with the unique name and purple sneakers and wondered how Jack had gotten so lucky. “I hope so.”

  I stepped back to make room for other guests to congratulate the singers and found myself bumping into Marc Longo. He grabbed my elbow to steady me, and then didn’t bother letting go. He took a sip of amber liquid from a glass and looked down at me. “I saw our friend Jack leave. He must have gotten the news.”

  “News?”

  “Yeah, about why his publisher is pulling out of his contract.”

  Something inside me stilled. “H
ow would you know about that?”

  He gave a short laugh, then took another swallow from his drink before giving me a considering look. “Who do you think wrote the book that got his booted out? Think about it—I’m a direct descendant of Joseph Longo. My publisher recognized that I was more bankable, since I have the insider’s take on the whole sordid tale. And it’s got it all—lust, greed, and murder. That’s the title, by the way. Kind of catchy, don’t you think?”

  I stared at him for a long moment, the sounds of the crowds around us oddly muted. “You wrote a book about my house and what happened in it, even though you knew Jack was writing one, too.”

  His smile was all smugness and self-satisfaction. “Hey, he got the girl. I figured it was a fair trade.”

  I was shaking my head, trying to negate everything he was telling me, and thinking he should add the words “deceit” and “prevarication” to the title. “Does he know it’s you?”

  Marc finished his drink, then shrugged. “Not yet. But after his conversation with his editor today it should click pretty soon. I don’t think our Jack is going to be very happy with me.” He winked. “Or you.”

  “Me?”

  With a smirk, he said, “He’s going to think you knew it all along. Seriously, Melanie. I can understand how Jack didn’t figure it out. But you’re a pretty smart cookie. Even he won’t believe that you didn’t know, or at least suspect.”

  I wanted to slap the smug smile right off of his face, but I didn’t want to waste another minute. All the pieces were going to fall into place for Jack, and I needed to be there when they did. If he wasn’t drinking already, I had little doubt that this would be the one thing that could send him over the edge.

  I turned on my heel, in search of my mother, but the sound of Marc’s laughter made me retrace my steps. “You know why I didn’t want to go out with you again? Because you make love like you dance—like you’ve been practicing by yourself too long, so a partner’s just superfluous.”

  He stopped laughing as I rushed past him, spotting my mother by the tree swing and reaching her before she could head toward a cluster of people who were calling out to her. “Mother, I have to leave now.”