“Tell me, Mr. Taylor, what did you have in mind?”
The older man thought carefully before he spoke. “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. Stuart. I am not sure what to do with this old house. It doesn’t seem practical to me to restore it. My wife and the Historical Society seem to think differently, but then again my wife is a sentimental old gal.” He chuckled and continued, “I don’t have a bottomless pocketbook, but I do have a heart to restore Idlewood, if that’s possible. From what I hear about your work at Seven Sisters, you really put that home back on the map. Maybe we can do that here. I don’t know. Believe it or not, I’ve been offered a substantial grant to begin the restoration. But I’m not a foolish man. I’ve been in business all my life, and I know this kind of project isn’t something to take too lightly. We could be looking at a very long project, and I have a construction business to run. I don’t have time to manage all this. Not to mention I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I chewed my lip and looked around the room at the dusty walls and cracked floors. He was right, of course. Restoration was hard work. It took hundreds of hours of research, and then there were acquisitions. Then there was the reconstruction of the property and meeting all the requirements of the local historical society, which could be a major task in itself. I felt sad thinking about working on a new project without Terrence Dale—and probably without Ashland. Still, this was what I did. What I had always wanted to do. Maybe getting the Seven Sisters job had been just a fluke—I’m sure Hollis Matthews knew about my dream catching from Mia, and that’s why they wanted me in Mobile—but this…this was an opportunity to prove my abilities as a researcher.
“You are right. It is a commitment, Mr. Taylor. Here’s how we’ll start. Let me ask you a few questions.”
After another thirty minutes I got the bottom line. Mr. Taylor didn’t want to be involved in the daily decisions, but he did want monthly updates. He would use his construction company to do the work under my team’s supervision. Before anything began or any plans were finalized, we would undertake a lengthy appraisal process. He had a dollar figure in mind, and he wouldn’t pursue the restoration if the cost exceeded that amount. His ultimate goal was for the home to turn enough profit so all future maintenance would be self-supported. He didn’t want to be stuck managing a “money pit,” and I couldn’t blame him there.
And one more caveat. He had no idea how to collect antiques, but his wife was eager to help. In fact, he wanted her to help. I agreed to his terms, and we ended the meeting with a handshake. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were going out of town on an extended cruise in a few days, and he wanted to have a detailed project proposal before he left. Which meant I’d have to work day and night for the next forty-eight hours to pull something together. I agreed to do that but reminded him this was just a preliminary proposal. When it came to restoration, there was always that one thing you hadn’t considered—like the cost of taking care of any bodies you uncovered.
I left the meeting so excited that my hands were shaking as I dug my cell phone out of my purse. Ashland should have been the first person I called, but after last night, I still couldn’t face him. I thought about calling Rachel and then just frowned in the rearview mirror and tossed the phone back in my purse.
You are being a total jerk, Carrie Jo! You can’t get mad about some dreams.
Oh, yeah? Well, why is he dreaming about other women? Is he seeing other women?
Sick of my own drama, I flipped on the radio. Bob Marley sang “Three Little Birds,” and for the next fifteen minutes I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I sang loudly and completely off-key. By the time I made it to my office at Oak Plaza, I felt more like my old self again.
The first thing I saw when I stepped inside was a ridiculously large vase full of pink roses. There had to have been at least a hundred buds crammed into the white ceramic vase. It smelled glorious, but it did seem a bit much. Unless you were at a funeral. As I slid my coat off, I smiled at Rachel. “Gee, who died? Those can’t be from Chip.”
“Uh, no. Those are for you, actually.” She handed me a card and smiled. “Happy anniversary!”
“Oh.” I took the card and smiled sheepishly. “Thank you so much.”
“You hit the flower jackpot, I think. I’d be lucky if Chip bought me just a half dozen. He’s a sweetie but not big on sentimentalism. Me either, I guess. What should I do with these? Put them in your office? I can’t leave them here. I don’t think the visitors will be able to see my desk.”
“I’ll take them. I have a table in my office. Let me put my purse and coat away first. Then I’ll tell you the awesome news!”
“No bother. I think I can handle this monster.” Rachel wrapped her arms around the massive vase. “So what did you get Ashland?”
I felt a bit woozy for a second but caught my balance easily. I wished I could tell Rachel my secret, but I had to tell Ashland first. If I ever got around to speaking to him again. Just a few weeks ago I thought telling Ashland that we were having a baby would be the perfect anniversary present. Now I didn’t know when I would tell him. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been so busy with our new office that I haven’t even thought about it.”
“Carrie Jo! Are you kidding me? It’s your second anniversary—you have to do something.” As if she could fix my problem, she asked, “What did you give him last year?”
“Okay, now who’s being sentimental?” I helped her position the white ceramic vase on the table and arranged the flowers. Touching the soft petals, I remembered our first kiss. I would never forget that night. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Let’s see…last year I got him a first-edition copy of The Jungle Book, believe it or not. He’s a huge Kipling fan.”
Shoot! I must be the worst wife on the planet. Spying on his dreams and forgetting our anniversary. Yep, I’m batting a thousand.
Before she could ask me anything else, I told her the good news about Idlewood. Immediately we fired up our computers and began grabbing the research we needed for the proposal. Of course, we had the Seven Sisters model to go by, but each job had its own challenges. Ashland called me sometime around lunch, but I let it go to voicemail. Rachel’s eyes widened, but she didn’t ask any more questions. We ordered Chinese and kept working. By the time five o’clock came around, I needed a break from numbers and plans and debated on whether or not to head home.
Just then, Chip arrived to pick up Rachel. I’d already asked her to work on a Saturday, and I couldn’t very well insist she work past five. She had a life—it wasn’t her fault I was trying to avoid mine. “Have fun, you two.”
Chip waved goodbye and walked out the door, but Rachel lingered behind. “Carrie Jo, it’s your anniversary. Go home, for goodness’ sake. Whatever you two are going through, you can work it out. I just know it. We’ve got a handle on this now. Go home. I’ll come and help you tomorrow.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll go home soon, I promise.”
“No need, apparently…your husband is here! Have a nice night! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Which is what?” I asked with a laugh.
Ashland walked in, his expensive cologne filling the room before his arrival. God, that man always smelled so good. And he looked great, of course. I could see he’d bought a new shirt, light blue like his eyes, and he had taken the time to get a haircut. My emotions surged again—on one hand I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, but on the other hand I wanted to slap the smile off his face. This was indeed a dilemma.
Where had even-tempered, reasonable Carrie Jo gone? When would she be back?
“Hey, I tried to call you. Did you get my messages?”
“Were there more than one?” I picked up my cell and saw he’d called three times. “Oh yeah, I’ve been slammed here. It’s been kind of crazy. Sorry about that.” I shuffled the papers around on my desk and avoided eye contact.
“You haven’t been in business for more than a week. You’re slammed already? What do
you have going on?” He sounded a little irritated, as if he didn’t quite believe me. He picked up the sheaf of papers on my desk and scanned them. A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “You got Idlewood? That’s amazing, Carrie Jo.”
Snatching the papers away from him I answered hotly, “I haven’t got anything yet. I’m working on the proposal, and I have less than forty eight hours to get it to Desmond Taylor. This might be my only chance to work on the Idlewood restoration. I don’t want to blow it.”
“Oh, I see.” He noticed the flowers on the side table and pointed to them. “You like the flowers?”
“Yes, they are very nice. Thank you, and happy anniversary. Your gift isn’t here yet. It might be a few days late.”
“Carrie Jo, what is going on? You’ve hardly talked to me all week. I get the feeling you’re mad about something, but I don’t know what. Please just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I don’t have time for this right now, Ashland.” I added more gently, “When I finish this proposal I swear we’ll talk all you want. Okay?”
“Fine, Why not let me help you? I’ll cancel the dinner reservations I made, and we’ll work on this together. Who else, besides you, knows more about restoration projects than me? What are you in the mood for? Chinese? Italian? I could call Mama’s and go pick up something.”
The idea of food made my stomach feel queasy. All I wanted was a bottle of water and some oranges. I’d always heard that pregnant women had strange cravings—I didn’t want much of anything except oranges. I couldn’t get enough citrus fruit lately.
“Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just been staring at these computer screens all day. You don’t have to stay, Ashland. I am sure you’re just as tired as I am. Go home—I’ll be there in a couple of hours.” I sat behind my desk and didn’t wait for an answer.
“Damn it, CJ! It’s our anniversary! Can’t you at least pretend you want to spend it with me?”
Leaping out of the chair I yelled back at him, “Can’t you give me some space?”
“Tell me what’s going on!” His voice grew louder and I could tell by his body language that he was none too happy with me. I couldn’t deny he’d been patient about the proposal, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal.
“Alright! You want to know so much.” I flew to my feet. “You’ve been dreaming about women—lots and lots of women! You don’t even care that I am lying right beside you! Every night it’s someone new, Ash. I can’t remember the last time I got to sleep without being forced to watch my husband make love to someone else! You tell me what the hell is going on!”
“Are you seriously mad about some dream? Like I get to pick what I dream about? Is this really what you’re mad about, Carrie Jo?” He laughed bitterly and put his hands on his hips. “All this time I thought I’d done something wrong, and this is why you’re pissed? I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”
“You better believe it!” Fat, salty tears welled up in my eyes. I felt another wave of nausea. “Why are you all of a sudden dreaming about other women? Are you having an affair? With that brunette you’re fantasizing about?”
“Who? What the heck are you talking about—I don’t even know how to answer that. You know…” He raised his hands and walked toward the door. “When you’re done being crazy, call me.”
I stared in shock as he walked out the door, making sure to slam it behind him. I fell back in my seat and cried my eyes out. He was right, I was acting crazy. What the heck was wrong with me? I suddenly missed Bette. I needed someone to talk to, someone who could help me navigate this ball of confusion that I’d wound myself up in. Detra Ann had quietly stepped out of my life, and Rachel and I didn’t have the kind of relationship that I felt comfortable sharing my problems with her. Most people had a mother to talk to. Not me.
Ugh, I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I wiped my face with a tissue and continued to work on my project. Work was probably the best thing for me right now. If I were home, I would just wallow in my misery. At least at work I could focus on something else. I struggled with the spreadsheets for about an hour and then gave up. My mind wasn’t here, and neither was my heart. I wasn’t going to get anything done tonight except cry all over my paperwork. I grabbed my purse, hoping Ashland had gone home. He was right, we did need to talk, and I would have to start with an apology. I got behind the wheel of my BMW, slid the key in the ignition and turned it.
Click, click.
And that made me cry too. After a few minutes, I rubbed my red face with my now soppy tissue and decided to walk home. At least I’d get some fresh air and have time to rehearse what I would say. It was only four blocks from the office, and I hadn’t worn heels. A light winter wind blew, but the temperatures were only in the fifties. It had been a long time since I’d gone for a walk through the streets of downtown Mobile. I thought about Seven Sisters and how hard it would be to get there. No, you’ve got enough problems, Carrie Jo. I kept my eye on the broken sidewalks and tried to enjoy the scenery. This was a particularly nice block, with lovely old homes and cast-iron fences with fleur de lis perching atop the occasional posts. I walked past a house with thumping music and excited young people. When was the last time I’d been to a party?
Halfway there now. Just ahead I saw the low-hanging sign that marked one of Mobile’s most significant landmarks, the Magnolia Cemetery. Often referred to by locals as the City of the Dead, some of the city’s earliest citizens were buried here, along with hundreds of Civil War soldiers. There were even huge mausoleums that housed the bones of entire generations of families. I approached the open gate and slowed my walk. I had always meant to explore this place but had never gotten around to it. I tugged my purse up on my shoulder as if some nefarious purse-snatcher hovered near me in the shadows of the great oak trees.
A flash of light caught my eye. Must be the night watchman making rounds. I paused at the open gate. Hmm…that’s odd. I thought they closed this place at dusk. Well, I was here, and there was a good chance that Ashland would need some time to cool off. Shoving the squeaking gate open the rest of the way, I headed toward the light. I’d let the security guard know I was here, have a quick peek around and then head home. No harm done, right?
The light bounced through the trees, and it was difficult to keep up with it as I navigated the maze of graves. I hoped to avoid tripping over the roots of the massive oak and magnolia trees that littered the cemetery. I couldn’t help but squint at the grave markers of some of the cemetery’s older residents. Some of the tombstones were so old that the names were hard to read. Since the beginnings of Mobile, bodies had been laid to rest here—neatly at first, and then much more haphazardly as the centuries passed and space became an issue. Everywhere I looked I could see sentimental stonework like weeping angels and broken columns. Besides the children’s markers, I found the broken columns the saddest. They represented the last person in a family line. During the Civil War there were a lot of broken columns installed in the Magnolia Cemetery. How many sons had died during that horrendous war?
This was no time to be distracted. Shaking myself out of my reverie, I called out to the security guard. “Hello! Excuse me!” The cemetery was getting darker by the second, and there were no lights besides the bouncing light I had chased from one side of the grounds to the other. Peering through the dim light, I tried to discern a figure. I stepped out from under an old oak covered in Spanish moss into a clearing and watched the light. The air suddenly felt thick and, for lack of a better word, sparkly. It occurred to me that what I was seeing was not normal at all. That wasn’t a flashlight! What had appeared to be the beam of a flashlight suddenly changed color to a soft amber glow that bounced ever so softly off the ground about three feet.
“What in the world?” I thought perhaps it could be children or teenagers playing in the cemetery, but that didn’t make sense either. I leaned against the oak and called one more time. I had
to be imagining things. “Hello?” The light stopped bouncing, expanded and then shrank to half its original size. “Oh my God!”
Yep. This was something supernatural.
Suddenly the light shot across the cemetery toward the gate to the left. Without thinking, I took off after it. It didn’t move as I got closer to the gate; it just hung in midair, still bouncing a little. I’d heard of orbs before but had never actually seen one. If that was what this was. Many people thought these were some type of ghost, but I had no idea. Most of the ghosts I saw were in dreams. Well, before Seven Sisters.
It was completely dark now and a chill crept into the air, a chill that had not been there before. Another warning sign. Clutching my purse, I ran ahead, stopping to hide behind a moldy mausoleum wall. I held my breath and silently counted to ten before slowly peering around the corner to take a peek at the light. The reasonable part of my brain told me to call someone, but who would that be? I watched as the light hovered in midair just this side of the gate. Maybe it wanted me to follow? Why else would it hang around?
I looked around the cemetery and saw no one else—no one living, anyway. I was by myself except for whatever entity this was I was chasing. Terrified, I leaned flush against the marble, the cold creeping through my clothing. I heard a noise I couldn’t identify—it started as a low moan and quickly became a screech. A small, dark shadow launched itself from the top of the mausoleum and landed on the ground beside me. It was a damn cat! A gray cat with an attitude, upset at the invader who had appeared in his playground. After my heart stopped pounding in my chest, I peeked around the corner again and took a deep breath. It was now or never.
I stepped out quickly, as if I could surprise it. As I did, the light flared and passed through the closed gate, disappearing into the dark Alabama night. I decided to follow it—I’d come this far. The gate was stubborn and didn’t give way without a fight. I gripped the cold cast-iron bars with both hands and pushed as hard as I could, and the gate swung open. I felt the chill again, and the hairs on my arms stood up.
The Stars We Walked Upon (Seven Sisters Series Book 5) Page 4
