A Sparkle of Silver

by Liz Johnson

  She didn’t have to say it aloud. She knew he knew.

  “She doesn’t like to be alone.” Millie didn’t direct her statement toward him exactly, and he didn’t seem to think he needed to respond, so she kept going. “She gets scared when she doesn’t see a familiar face or the doorbell rings. I tried to keep her with me, but I couldn’t be there all the time.”

  Even she thought she sounded like she was trying to rationalize her decision, although Ben had said exactly nothing accusatory. It didn’t matter.

  “Sure. I mean, you have to work.” As he stepped back to hold the door open for her, the side of his foot caught on a crack that stretched the width of the cement porch, and he nearly took a tumble.

  Millie scrambled for his arm. “I’m sorry!”

  Before she could even reach him, he’d righted himself and laughed. “I never was light on my feet. My ballet teacher yelled at me about it all the time.”

  Her chuckle came out as half surprise and half humor. “You took ballet?”

  Shrugging one shoulder, he followed her. “I could have.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I didn’t really get to participate in extracurriculars.”

  This was maybe the first time he’d ever spoken about his childhood. Or at least opened more than a window. She wanted to dig in. He’d learned more about her life in the last two weeks than she’d ever wanted to share with anyone.

  But there wasn’t time. Not as they approached the front desk under the watchful eye of a new attendant. Her brown eyes followed their every move, and Millie tried to ease into their visit with a gentle smile.

  “We’re here to see Joy Sullivan.”

  Without a word, the woman slapped a clipboard against the Formica countertop, her gaze never leaving Ben.

  “Is that Millie?” The disembodied voice from the back room flew out to them, clear and confident.

  “Yes,” Millie said, but it sounded more like a question than she’d like.

  The front desk attendant checked the clipboard, then called out her agreement like Millie needed to be verified.

  “Hold on a sec!” It could only be Virginia Baker. What more bad news could she have? When she appeared at the door to her office, her short brown hair was sleek and flowy, like she didn’t even know the definition of humidity. Millie ran a hand over her own curls, which had taken on a life of their own in the misty morning air.

  “Millie, I need to speak with you.”

  She looked at Ben, who nodded quickly and said, “I’ll wait right here with my new friend.”

  The attendant looked like she’d never had a friend in her life and she wasn’t currently shopping for one. Ben was undeterred, his smile nearly blinding.

  Millie slipped behind the counter and followed Virginia into her cramped office. Stacks of files filled every corner of her desk, and a computer screen was barely visible behind the central pile. The only chair for guests was also covered in red folders, so she stood at the doorway and smoothed her hands down the front of her cotton Bermuda shorts.

  “Have you had any luck finding a new place for your grandmother to stay?”

  Millie pressed a hand to her stomach as it gave a sharp twist, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d considered every other possibility within driving distance when choosing this facility. But without an influx of money, she was still without options. “Have you found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?”

  Virginia clucked her tongue. “I know this is difficult, but we have another resident waiting for the space.”

  Her eyes flew open, and she stared at Virginia. The woman looked unassuming, but her words had the power to blow up Millie’s entire life.

  “What are you saying?” Millie tried to keep her voice down, but it rose with each word.

  Virginia made a motion with her hands to indicate they should stay calm, but Millie didn’t feel calm. Her insides were a hurricane of uncertainty, every piece of her tossed about at the whim of the administrator.

  “We’re going to need your grandmother’s room in thirty days.” With a sad smile, Virginia held out a single sheet of paper, but the black print on it blurred as Millie stared.

  Her spine tingled, and she fisted her hands at her sides, unable to accept whatever document Virginia had prepared—probably a notice of eviction. “You said we had ninety days. It’s only been forty.”

  “Well, technically, it’s been forty-four. But we need her to move out by the end of the month.” She turned and picked up a few fliers from her desk, the colorful brochures featuring enormous estates and pictures of smiling seniors. “Maybe one of these will help.”

  Virginia thrust them at her, and Millie had no choice but to take them and stuff them in her purse. She’d seen these before. And seen the hefty price tags placed on the rooms. Still not an option. And now the clock on the bomb had sped up. She’d lost more than two weeks. And she was no closer to finding a connection to the Devereaux family.

  She’d never wanted to crawl into the pages of her books more than she did in that instant. Deep in those stories the heroines never faced more than they could handle. This was so much more than Millie could handle.

  Unless . . . Unless Grandma Joy had been telling the truth. Unless she was from the wealthiest family in the South. Unless she was heir to something so grand she couldn’t even imagine.

  Unless that was all a pipe dream, a wish too good to be true. Heroes swooped in to save the day in the fairy tales. But her life was all cinders and none of the belle of the ball. Not that she was going to complain about it. It was her lot. Just don’t expect her to say it was well with her soul in the midst of it.

  “I really am sorry,” Virginia said.

  Not sorry enough. Millie trudged out of the office, her eyes burning and her hands still shaking. This had to work. It just had to, because sorry didn’t give Grandma Joy a safe place to stay with staff who actually cared about her.

  She didn’t even motion to Ben as she slipped out from behind the counter and shuffled down the hall. Natural light seemed to have been banned, but she didn’t mind. Not when she’d much rather cover her face and hide the red tip of her nose that she knew was already there.

  “Hey.” Running footfalls behind her drew closer. “What was that all about?”

  “Nothing. Just . . . nothing.” She shook her head and stared at the wallpaper that might have been white at some point in the distant past. But the curling edges had lost their brilliance a few decades before.

  This was all she could provide for her grandmother. And not for much longer.

  A fist squeezed around her heart, and she slowed her walk just to catch her breath. It was broken by a silent sob, and she pinched her eyes closed, turning away from Ben’s inquisitive gaze. Hunching her shoulders, she tried to create a wall between them. But he was so much taller than her that it was useless.

  He said nothing, but he didn’t walk away. There was a strength radiating from him. It was subtle but stable, low-key and constant.

  She hated how much she wanted to turn into his embrace and enjoy the warmth she knew was there. She couldn’t. Not here. Not now. She scrubbed her hands over her face and tried to find that steel backbone that Grandma Joy had always modeled. It was in her, somewhere deep. She needed only to find the courage to use it.

  Letting out a slow breath, she lowered her shoulders from where they nearly reached her ears and forced her hands to her sides. She shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I need to find that treasure.”

  His dark brows lowered over his eyes, but he nodded slowly, following her down the hall to room 22. The nondescript wooden door was like every other one in the building, but she knew it as if it had a giant X marking the spot. The door was open a crack, but all was silent inside.

  Until it wasn’t.

  Suddenly a loud bang sounded against the door, shaking it hard. “Blasted shoes!”

  “Grandma Joy!” The
re was no time to even consider Ben as she flung open the door, scooped up the sneaker that had clearly been thrown across the width of the room, and raced toward the purple recliner.

  The petite woman sitting in the seat had a face redder than a beet, and she glared at the other shoe on her foot. Bending lower, she gripped the white laces between trembling fingers, her hoarse mutters filling the room and certainly spilling out the open door into the hallway.

  “Over, then under. No. No.” She shook her head hard, her fluff of white curls bouncing with agitation. “Under, then over, then loop and loop and . . .” Her voice petered out, and she looked up, confusion filling the wrinkles of her face. “You changed it on me again. I could tie them this morning. I could.”

  Millie’s mouth went dry, her fingers forgetting how to function. She could only hold the shoe by its laces as understanding dawned. And with it an ache so deep that it threatened to tear her in half.

  “It goes over first, right?”

  Dropping to her knees, Millie gave her grandmother a soft smile. “Yes. It goes over first. Then loops.”

  Grandma Joy gave a firm nod and followed the motions with her knobby hands, stiff and uncertain. “I could do it this morning.”

  “I know.” Millie tried to find some other words of comfort but knew they’d be quickly forgotten too, so she let herself off the hook and simply reached for her grandmother’s hand. She pressed the paper-thin skin firmly but gently until Grandma Joy looked at her, really looked at her. “Let me help you.”

  “Camilla?”

  Dear Lord.

  It was the only prayer she could muster as the hope she so desperately needed was washed away.

  How did she not remember? How could she have forgotten the thirteen years they’d spent together with Grandpa Zeke? How had she forgotten the little kitchen table where they’d eaten their meals and put together puzzles? How had she forgotten teaching Millie to drive in the back pasture and the little tree Millie had run over? It never did recover. But they’d been a family, the only one Millie had.

  And now Grandma Joy didn’t even know her.

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  The gold in her grandma’s eyes became less fire and more relief as a gentle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, her pink lipstick seeping into the deep crevices of her skin. “Camilla.” This time it wasn’t a question as much as the simple enjoyment of saying a familiar name, and Millie tried to let that be enough. “Why—why are you here? How long have you been here?”

  “I just got here. I’m going to help you tie your shoes.”

  “Oh.” Grandma Joy patted her bent head. “You’re such a good girl. You always take such good care of me.”

  She had to close her eyes as tears once again threatened to break loose.

  Ben clutched at his chest, trying to reel in the top that spun somewhere deep inside. It didn’t help.

  Watching Millie slide her grandmother’s foot into the shoe that she’d thrown across the room and tie it snugly made him want to laugh and cry. It was so sweet and utterly painful at the same time.

  But he mostly wanted to run.

  This little woman could hold the answers to everything they were hunting for. Yet getting to those answers wouldn’t be easy.

  “See?” Millie patted the top of the shoes. “All set now.”

  Despite her perky tone, there was a hesitancy in Joy’s responding smile. It seemed to be searching for the true emotion inside, like she was sure the smile was required but not sure why.

  Oh, Lord, why do some people have to suffer through this? It wasn’t fair.

  Then again, life wasn’t fair.

  It wasn’t fair for people who lost their memories. It wasn’t fair for people who lost their loved ones. It wasn’t fair for people who lost their money. And it sure wasn’t fair that someone he loved had caused at least two of those three.

  The reminder was enough to turn the pulsing in his sinuses into a full-blown throbbing, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stem the headache where it started. Useless.

  So he pushed through, trying to focus on the exchange between grandmother and granddaughter and whatever that might reveal. Despite Millie’s assurance to Joy, she wasn’t there to help her tie her shoes. This visit was about a book with a map that was still missing. No one was going to hand it to them. They’d have to find it themselves with whatever help was available.

  “Camilla?” Joy patted Millie’s shoulder, seeming to need a third confirmation.

  Millie nodded, and Joy looked across the room. “Do I know you?”

  She was obviously speaking to him, but he still pressed a finger to his chest in an unspoken question before barreling on. “No, ma’am. I’m Ben Thornton.”

  Joy’s gaze meandered from him to Millie and back again before settling on her granddaughter. “You know him?” Her Southern drawl became more pronounced, and the blank stare in her eyes was replaced by something that resembled humor. “Or did he follow you in?”

  Millie laughed. It was almost sweet enough to overpower the weighty smell of cleaning products and confinement.

  “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Friend?” There was a lingering undertone in the word that danced with romantic suggestion. It was only missing waggling eyebrows to be the stereotypical setup. Meanwhile Ben was still wondering if what they shared could really be called friendship.

  Acquaintances. Co-workers. Treasure sharers. Yes to all. But friends?

  Maybe.

  He had hugged her. No, that wasn’t right. He’d held her. He’d let her cry all over his shirt as he’d tried to comfort her. He’d done an extra load of laundry for her. He didn’t do that for just anyone. And he hadn’t minded a bit.

  She’d become a staple in his life. Someone he looked forward to seeing. Someone he wanted to . . .

  Well, he’d stick with friend. She was definitely a friend.

  “My, but you are a handsome man.” She motioned for him to step farther into the room. “Like my Zeke. He’s tall too.”

  “My grandpa,” Millie said.

  He nodded as he took another couple steps into the studio apartment. He’d figured as much. He also had a feeling that Zeke was long gone. If he was still around, the responsibility for Joy wouldn’t have been solely on her granddaughter’s shoulders. Or Millie would have been taking care of him too.

  “Zeke. He’s a handsome man.”

  “You said that already, Grandma.”

  Those blue eyes laser-focused on Millie. “Some things are worth repeating.”

  Millie chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Are you from these parts?”

  Ben almost missed that Joy’s focus was back on him, and he scrambled for the right answer. The one that was true but not too true. “Um . . . no, ma’am. I’m . . . I moved here for graduate school.” And to get away from a town where everyone knew his name and what his mother had done. Technically they had lived in Brunswick—just on the other side of the bridge—for a short time years before. But St. Simons had felt like a safe place to mostly disappear. A safe place to forget.

  “An academic, then?”

  “Ben is a history professor.”

  “Adjunct professor,” he quickly amended. It might not mean much to Millie, but it was the difference between working one job and three.

  “At the college?” Joy didn’t wait for anyone to confirm. “You know, we all said that Millie could have gone to college. She was smart enough. She just never liked going to class.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millie’s cheeks go bright red. He tried to catch her eye with an encouraging grin, but her gaze had fallen to the floor, intently focused anywhere but on him.

  “She’s smart as a whip, really. Loves those books. She was always up until the wee hours of the morning. I couldn’t get her to go to bed, bless her heart.”

  “That’s okay, Grandma. Ben doesn’t—”

  He held up a hand. “Of course I want
to know.”

  When Millie did finally look in his direction, it was accompanied by pursed lips and a cute little wrinkled nose. He could barely keep in a burst of laughter. Grandma Joy’s memories of Millie’s childhood seemed more than adequate to annoy her granddaughter. But would she remember the things they really needed to know?

  “She insisted on being called Millie.” Joy harrumphed, folding her arms, which were only just long enough to cross her body. As she leaned back in the chair, Ben suddenly realized just how petite she was. Her feet dangled above the floor, and he decided she might not even be five feet tall. But spitfire didn’t require a size.

  “She wanted everyone to call her Millie, even though her mama named her Camilla.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve always preferred Millie. Not that you ever called me that.”

  “And she back talked like no child I’d ever seen.” But there was a lilt in Joy’s tone that revealed even she didn’t believe what she was saying.

  Millie swatted at Joy’s arm with a laugh. “I did not. I was perfect.”

  “If you call staying up until all hours of the morning perfect.” Turning back to him, Joy whispered, “She wouldn’t close those books. Stayed up all night reading them. I couldn’t get her to stop. And if I couldn’t find her, I knew where she was.”

  She didn’t have to say it. Somehow he just knew. “The library.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m reading something else interesting right now,” Millie said.

  Joy pushed herself to the edge of her seat and rested her arms on her knees. “The journal? You found it?” With a tilt of her head, she motioned to him. “He knows about it?”

  “I had to tell him. He caught me snooping around.”

  “So, what’s it say? Does it have the map?”

  Millie dug into her bag—the substitute suitcase always hanging over her shoulder—and retrieved the carefully wrapped book. Unwinding it from the cloth protector, she slowly shook her head. “There’s nothing in here about a treasure. There’s no map.”

  Joy had been reaching for the journal but dropped her hand as soon as Millie confirmed the worst. “No map? But there has to be. She said. She always said.” The clouds in her eyes that had blown away flew back in on the winds of a hurricane.