by Rachel Hauck
“Made some spaghetti. Hungry?” Mama said.
Susanna wandered through the kitchen, lifted the skillet lid, sniffed, then reached for a plate. “Who’s watching the Shack?”
“Daddy, Catfish, and Bristol. How was surfing?” Mama moved in gently behind her. “Go sit, let me fix this for you.”
Pulling out the counter stool, Susanna perched on the edge, chin propped in her hands, eyes drifting to half-mast.
“I’m sorry, Susanna. For what it’s worth.” Mama set the plate in front of her, then passed over a fork. “I have some Italian bread warming.”
“Sounds good.” She picked up the fork and stabbed at her pile of spaghetti. “I knew the score when I went over. Nate is king. He’s married to a nation.”
“I didn’t mean about Nate, Suz, though I am sorry about him too.” Mama set a glass of tea in front of her, then took a long loaf of bread from the oven. “I meant I’m sorry for how you had to grow up.”
“Mama, please—”
“Your daddy and I were so young, thought we knew each other, but we didn’t.”
“Okay, fine. It’s in the past.” Susanna gulped down her tea. Didn’t she have enough on her heart without digging up her past to find a place to bury Mama’s burden?
“I know it’s in the past, but it doesn’t release me from saying I’m sorry. Asking your forgiveness.” Mama cut a thick slice of bread and passed it to Susanna along with the butter. “We did you wrong. Never did make up for it. Then Miss Thing over there on the couch arrived, and we felt like we had a chance to start over.”
Susanna rubbed her hand over her face. Surfing had drained the last ounce of her energy. “Do we have to talk about this now?” Or ever?
“I know that’s why you stayed with Adam for so long. A steady guy, good-looking, smart, caring, dependable. One of the few good men.”
“Mama, what started all this introspection?” Susanna twisted the thin spaghetti around her fork and shoved it into her mouth.
“Because … well, I did me some thinking while you girls were gone. I never told you I was sorry, Susanna. My pride, I guess. Hard to look at your child and admit you done them wrong, but I’m saying it now. I done you wrong. I wasn’t a good mama when my girl needed me the most, and it breaks my heart.”
The salty burn in Susanna’s eyes was even more annoying sitting in Mama’s kitchen than on the surfboard. “It’s okay.”
“I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. So did your daddy. Our problems were never about you.”
“I know.” She did. Honest. But the walls she’d built while hiding in the closet were set in time-proven, emotional cement.
“So, you can let go now. Hear me?”
“Let go?” Susanna cut a pat of butter and spread it over the warm bread. “Of what? Adam? My one-legged business?” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Poof, be gone.”
“Let go of you. You’re safe. Stop holding back.”
“What are you talking about?” She was too exhausted to deal with Mama-come-clean. Not to mention it was a bit freaky.
“Did you tell that prince you love him?”
“The king? No. Nor did I tell him when he was a prince. Why would I do that?”
“Because you do love him.”
“He lives four thousand miles away, and he can’t legally … oh, forget it. Mama, Nathaniel’s a nice memory from the past. Over. Done. Can we not talk about it for a while. For like … twenty, thirty years. And please”—Susanna sighed as she looked up at her mama—“don’t go creating family lore out of this. Or hang a sign in the restaurant, ‘King Nathaniel II cleaned toilets here.’”
“Oh, please, I’d never. Not about toilets anyway.” Mama perched on the stool next to Susanna. “Does he love you?”
“Can we go back to how you wronged me as a kid? What happened to that conversation?”
“This is the same conversation. You shut your heart up good when you were little and now I’m asking you to open it up.”
“I loved Adam. What do you call that?”
“Safety, the high-school-quarterback syndrome. You loved the first boy who looked your way, and by George”—Mama gripped the air and shook her fists—“you were going to hang on. Come what may.”
“So I let go.” Susanna held up her open palm. “I think I recovered nicely from ‘I found the right ring but not the right girl.’”
“You did and I’m proud. Just make sure you’re opening your heart all the way.” Mama reached for Susanna’s other hand and uncurled her fingers. “You still feel so tense to me. If you love Nate, you got to confess it to yourself before you can ever move on or heal.”
Tears splashed her cheeks. Oh, Mama.
“You’re beautiful, Susanna. Before you can lay hold of all God’s got for you, you must forgive your ol’ mama and daddy, and confess to yourself you love Nate. Even more, that Jesus loves you.”
“Mama—”
“You sure are beautiful to your daddy and me. We used to get you out of your crib at night and put you in the bed between us just so we could stare at you.” Mama brushed her hand over Susanna’s hair. Something Susanna watched her do to Avery a thousand times but had no memory of Mama ever doing it to her. “I sure saw how Nate looked at you. He loves you.”
Susanna fell against her and broke, letting the forgiveness out and the truth in.
“I–I forgive you, Mama. And Daddy. Did a long time ago.”
“I needed to hear it. You needed to say it.” Mama’s voice weakened with her own weepy confession.
“And Jesus loves me.”
“That he does. And Nathaniel.”
“Yes, I love him.” Susanna wrapped tight around Mama and buried her burden in her mama’s bosom for the first time in her life. “I do love him. I do. It just hurts so much.”
Locked. Susanna twisted her office doorknob and tried the key again. But it no longer fit. She banged the door with her fist. “Hello?”
Down the outside stairs, she rounded the bottom step to the back door. The kitchen smelled of fresh-brewed coffee and something cinnamon. In the hall toward Jessup’s office, Bonnie, his assistant, intercepted her.
“He’s in a meeting.”
“I just saw him walk in from the parking lot, Bonnie.”
“What can I help you with, Susanna?”
“I’m locked out of my office.” She held up her key. “What’s going on?”
“The lock has been changed.”
“Because?”
“You were sixty days late on your rent.”
“Impossible. I paid a week before Christmas.” A last-minute contract had come in, along with a deposit check.
Bonnie opened her middle desk drawer. “Your payment bounced.” She passed Susanna an envelope. “The notice is inside with a copy of the check.”
“Bounced?” Susanna’s gumption sank like an anchored bolder. “How could it bounce?”
“Susanna, I don’t know how you run your business, but we pay our bills on time around here, and we expect others to do likewise.” Bonnie sat at her desk, a haughty expression on her skinny, overly made-up face. “We work on integrity and honor.” She shuffled her pencil can to the other side of her vase of faux flowers.
“Integrity and honor? Ah, I see.” Susanna tapped the rubber check notification against her fingertips. “Is that what you and Jessup are working on late at night? Honor and integrity? When his wife thinks he’s burning the midnight oil on a case?”
A bomb exploded behind Bonnie’s eyes. She bounded to her feet, her lean, prissy face a red ball of fire. “Get out.” She pointed toward the door, her lips pressed into a tight, red line.
“I need my office equipment, my computer.” Maybe she should’ve kept her observation to herself. “Bonnie, um, I shouldn’t have said what I said.” She had no truth or facts, just suspicions and her own bitterness to sweeten it. “I’m just … Look, sorry.”
“It’s all right. Guess everyone has a bad day.” Bonnie’s
tight-lipped expression eased up.
“Or a bad year.”
“Your stuff is in the storeroom by the kitchen.”
Sure enough, her entire office was crammed into the triangle-shaped closet. Susanna found her desk folded up, her chair rammed into a narrow space, perching precariously over her new, not-yet-paid-for iMac.
A lifetime had passed in the five days she’d been away, and suddenly she was back to the broken days of running on ice, trying to figure out how the Lord planned to use a girl who had nothing.
Dropping to the floor, Susanna pulled her keyboard from a box jammed with other stuff, muttering to herself.
She logged into her bank account. Sure enough, there were red flags all over the place. What happened to the check she deposited? Susanna launched email to see if JacDel Homes sent word of what happened on their end.
The stale storeroom air clung to her damp cheeks. Stretching out her foot, Susanna shoved the door the rest of the way open, letting light in and the hot air out.
The explanation came a few emails down the list. From JacDel Homes.
Susanna, we decided to go in a different direction. We’re canceling our contract and stopping payment. We’ll send another check with the kill fee.
She cracked her head against the back of the wall. A different direction? It made no sense. JacDel came to her. Offered her the job with a set price, and she accepted.
“Hey, Jesus, your girl down here doesn’t understand what’s going on.”
Climbing off the floor, she headed back down the hall to Jessup’s office, once again stopped by Bonnie. “If I have the money to him by tonight, can I have my office back?” She’d have to break down and ask Mama and Daddy.
“I’m afraid not.” Bonnie could trademark her smirk. Best in all of St. Simons Island. “He’s already rented it to his nephew. Also a landscape architect.”
Perfect. Susanna started back down the hall. All this day needed was—
“Adam?”
He stood in the foyer, neat and pristine in his fatigues, cap in his hands.
“Hey, Suz.” He smiled shy and tentative. “Your mama said I’d find you here.”
“How are you?”
“Good, good. Can we talk?” He motioned toward the exit. “Maybe grab a coffee?”
“I’m in the middle of something.” She pointed toward the storage closet. “Got to get to work.” On the floor. Of a closet.
“Can I help?” Adam stepped forward, leaning for a look. His woodsy-spicy fragrance wafted up from his olive skin, coloring in her fading memories of him. Of them.
“I think I fell in love with you because you always smelled so good.” She laughed low.
Adam stepped back, made a face, then broke into a grin. “You should’ve been with me in the trenches of Afghanistan.”
She leaned against the wall, arms folded. “I heard you’re engaged.”
“Yeah, Sheree.” He studied the hardwood, nodding. “Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? No.” She started to her closet and he followed. “But you do have twelve years of my life.” Stopping at the storage closet, she pointed at him. “Treat them kind.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Suz. I should’ve called after you left the beach. But you always liked your space.”
“Help me carry this stuff out to my car, will you?” She swung wide the door.
“You moving out?”
“Something like that.” Susanna picked up the box of supplies and whatnot and peered at Adam, who reached for the chair. “You look happy.”
He bobbed his head. “I am.” A red blush stained his cheeks.
“It’s okay, bubba, you can be happy about the woman you’re going to marry.” Susanna kicked open the kitchen door. Know what? She was happy for him. Really.
They loaded her car with her office equipment, wrangling the desk chair into the backseat somehow. Then she leaned with him against the green driver’s side door and let the breeze tangle her hair and unwind her heart.
“You will always be special to me. Always,” he said.
“Adam, when you broke up with me, I knew you were right. I just didn’t want to admit it.” She peered into his eyes. “I know it was hard for you to tell me.”
“I felt sick for a month.”
“But free.”
“Yeah, free.” He kicked a clump of sandy soil. “Who told you I was getting married?”
“Gage and Gracie.”
“Ah, of course.” Adam laughed, his perfect skin pulling taut over his perfect features. “Can’t keep a secret with those two.”
“I met someone too.”
“Really?” Adam regarded her for a moment. “He’s a lucky son-of-a-gun.”
“But he lives in Europe and—” She inhaled, fortifying her heart. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
“You always wanted to work in Europe’s gardens. There’s nothing holding you here.” Adam nudged her with his words, with a sharp jab of his elbow to her ribs. “Why not go?”
“Yeah, true.” She sighed, tears rising and burning. She always believed she’d lift her wings and fly away.
“Mom and Dad are throwing a little party for Sheree and me tonight. I’d love it if you’d come by the house. Say hi. Meet Sheree.”
Susanna peered up at him. “Sounds lovely. I’d love to meet her.” Honest. She would.
“Good, good.” He took a step back, hesitated, then strode forward and kissed her on the cheek. “You look good.”
“So do you. S–see you, Adam.” Susanna headed back inside, rounded the kitchen corner toward the storeroom, and pulled the door closed behind her.
Sinking down to the floor, she drew her legs to her chest and let her sobs push her forehead to her knees. For the past, the present, the unknown future.
For Adam. For Nate. For losing her office. For letting go and admitting the truth—she loved Nathaniel. For the courage to discover a part of herself she never knew before.
A light tap on the door stirred her to look up. “Yeah?” She dabbed her face with the back of her hand. “Who is it?”
When no one answered, Susanna twisted the knob, cracking open the door. A cold Diet Coke, a glass of ice, and a chocolate bar sat on a small tray. With a laugh, she pulled in the comfort and closed the door.
“You’re all right, Bonnie,” she whispered, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig. “You’re all right.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Two Months Later, March
Did you see this morning’s paper?” Jon tossed a copy of the LibP onto the desk, the colorful newsprint slicing through the nine o’clock sun beaming through the windows.
Nathaniel looked up from his dailies. The headline speculated, “Lady Genevieve Hawthorn, a Duchess of the People,” over a crisp, beautiful image of Ginny in a tailored blue suit, wooing schoolchildren in Hessenberg’s capital city, Strauberg.
“I’ve got to give her credit. She’s working this like a champ.”
“She’s on with Madeline & Hyacinth Live! today at four.”
“If I were so inclined to marry her, doesn’t she realize how difficult all this campaigning makes it?” Nathaniel pushed away from his desk.
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not planning to marry her.”
“You were pushing for it a few months back.”
“Before she showed her dark underbelly.”
Nathaniel regarded his aide. “We’ve known of her dark, controlling, manipulative side since university. Don’t act surprised.”
“But she never used her evil against us, Nathaniel.”
“By the way, we found out how the LibP got a picture of you and Susanna.” Jon took a seat and shoved a brown dossier toward Nathaniel. “You were tagged on Facebook.”
“I have a Facebook?” Nathaniel asked, surprised.
“You have a fan page. We follow it just to see what people are posting. You’re quite popular. The owner is a Brighton woman. Married with kids. It’s all innocent eno
ugh. But a woman at the Butler benefit found the page and posted the picture of you and Susanna. She and her family were at the Rib Shack the night you two sat on the deck.”
“Where can I see this page?” Nathaniel sat at his computer and launched a browser.
“Nathaniel, I have news.” He glanced around to see Jon leaning forward, tapping the dossier. “There’s a Hessenberg heir.”
“There’s a—” Nathaniel snapped up the dossier. “Really, chap? There’s an heir? Who?” He flipped through the pages, weighing the revelation.
A few months ago he had hope after reading the initial interview Jonathan and Tanner did with Yardley Prather, but finding an heir proved to be tedious and tangled with international red tape.
Yardley’s older brother had been in attendance at the entail signing. Prince Francis was more given to parties than military strategy, but the crafty grand duke knew enough about entails to require his own heir, whoever he or she may be, to inherit back the land at the expiration of the entail.
“Jon, there’s nothing new here,” Nathaniel said, scanning the old information, searching for the new.
“Keep reading.”
Prince Francis fled to Sweden where he died in 1944 at the age of seventy-six.
Yardley Prather believed he died of a broken heart.
What remained of the House of Augustine-Saxon crumbled under the weight of two world wars. Artifacts and records had been destroyed by World War II German surface-to-surface missiles.
“So where is this heir?” Nathaniel skimmed the report pages.
Jonathan took the dossier, leafed to the last page, and set it in front of him. “Here.” He handed the dossier back to Nathaniel. “Lady Alice Stephanie Regina.”
“Moved to New York after the war. British flyer she married … killed in ‘45.” Nathaniel shook his head. “This family certainly knew tragedy.”
“Alice had enough of war and skipped the pond to America.”
For the first time in two months, Nathaniel allowed his heart to hope. Really hope. “How sure are we about all of this?”
“I’ve had the staff rooting around in files locked in rooms we’d forgotten about, calling over to London, checking marriage certificates and birth notices, death notices in London and New York. The American law firm we hired found record of an Alice Edmunds arriving in New York, August 13, 1946, but that’s where the trail ends.”
