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The Bridge Between

Page 11

by Lindsey Brackett


  “I hope those are happy tears.” Cora Anne pulled her into an embrace and David reluctantly released his own hold to shake Tennessee’s hand.

  He stayed until the boys had been exiled upstairs and Tennessee had gone home for the night. Cora Anne said she’d drive out to the beach house later, and David knew she wanted her mother alone.

  Lou followed him out on the porch as he left. “Thanks again for getting me home, and helping with the van, and dinner …”

  He nodded. “Of course. Almost like old times, huh? Those chaotic t-ball games when they were little.” He quirked a smile at her, hoping she’d focus on how they’d always had pizza, rather than how they’d always fought about how much was too much extracurricular when the boys had barely started school.

  “Almost.” She crossed her arms tight across her chest. “They’re going to be happy, right?”

  He wanted to step closer to her, take her in his arms and reassure her, of course, Cora Anne and Tennessee would be happy. But they had been young and in love once, too, hadn’t they? And their happiness hadn’t lasted.

  He offered her the only words he knew. “I pray so.”

  She studied him, as if trying to see the man he’d been before in the man he was now. “Did you pray for us?”

  “No.” His exhale came out long and slow. “But I wish I had.”

  “Me too.”

  Now he eyed her in return, wondering exactly what she meant. Lou released her arms and lifted her hand in a goodbye gesture.

  He wanted to shout that they could fix this, right here, right now. But she turned and went inside, shutting the door between them.

  Chapter 27

  Grace paid for Caller ID but never looked at it. A decision she regretted when her mother-in-law’s clipped tone—no soft Southern drawl for Charlotte Ravenel Cooper Watson—came through.

  “I trust I’ve caught you at an appropriate time, Grace.” Charlotte never minced words.

  Grace cast her eyes toward the big clock over the mantel. No, this wasn’t a good time. She was late for work, and Hank had decided the porch pillows tasted delicious. What she got for choosing down-filled. Tiny white feathers littered her porch, and her dog whimpered in his crate. “It’s fine, Charlotte. How can I help you?”

  “Tennessee came to see me last week, and he called this morning.”

  Gauging to see if Grace knew what she knew, as usual. “Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t be happier for him and Cora Anne.”

  “I’m sure you can imagine my reservations. They are so young, and of course, were raised so differently.”

  Grace bit her tongue. Tennessee was twenty-seven years old. Charlotte had been barely twenty-one when she married Patrick’s father. As to the being raised …

  “However, as he is my only heir—” Charlotte paused for what Grace supposed was dramatic effect. This was an old chide, that she hadn’t borne more children. Never mind she’d nearly died having the one.

  “I will have to give this event a proper acknowledgement. I’d like you, and her parents, to attend a luncheon next week, so we can discuss the engagement party.”

  “Well, I’m not sure they want an engagement party.” Actually, Grace knew Hannah had already offered to plan one, but Tennessee and Cora Anne didn’t see the need. They wanted to get married sooner, rather than later, and saw no reason to put effort into both.

  “Nonsense. Tennessee understands social obligation.”

  Grace curled her fist. Patrick had disdained an engagement party—and a church wedding. Thirty years later, and his mother still hadn’t forgiven that misstep.

  “We can certainly discuss this over lunch. What day were you thinking?” Better to bite the bullet now than have it fester.

  “I am available on Wednesday.”

  “All right then. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  “If you’ll be so kind as to share with me a contact for her parents, I will call them myself.”

  “Of course.” Grace found David’s number quickly in her recent calls list, but had to hunt for Lou’s. Charlotte made no comment on the delay, though Grace was sure she could hear the woman’s lips purse in displeasure—and disapproval.

  “I will see you on Wednesday, then. Please dress accordingly. After all, this is a somewhat formal event.”

  “Goodbye, Charlotte.” Grace hung up and threw the phone at her couch. There was no person in her life she despised—and wanted to please—more than Charlotte Ravenel Cooper Watson.

  She only hoped her daughter-in-law-to-be wouldn’t feel the same.

  ~~~

  Grace’s last client of the day was a sweet member of the Presbyterian choir who had lived on Edisto for five years and still found every moment of it charming. The older woman had almost softened Grace’s countenance toward Charlotte’s ridiculous social obligations—until Louisa Coultrie came striding across the parking lot.

  The bell jingled over her head as Lou held the door open and bid a good afternoon to the exiting customer. To Grace, she extended no such niceties.

  “I’d say who spit on Charlotte’s grits, but I’m sure she’s simply being herself.” Lou folded her arms and glared. “I need you to tell her we are not interested in an engagement party.”

  Grace swept hair and wished Jeanna hadn’t already gone for the day. She could use a buffer—and a friend. Lou, of course, was neither. “Charlotte doesn’t listen to me. So you might want to have this conversation with Tennessee and Cora Anne.”

  Lou huffed. Her hair had fallen in her eyes, and as she shoved it back behind her ears, her hands trembled. “Cor says keep the peace. Let’s go to lunch and see what she says. Might be small …”

  “Charlotte does nothing small.”

  “Oh, I know.” Lou met her eyes then, and Grace remembered. They had this in common. Charlotte hadn’t approved of Patrick’s first choice anymore than she had his second.

  “You told her y’all would come Wednesday?”

  “David did. I missed her call.” Lou bit her lip. “I’m not sure I can face her. She didn’t even come to my mother’s funeral.”

  Grace looked down at the pile of silver hair she’d swept, giving Lou the chance to collect herself. She filled the dustpan and dumped it. An idea sprang to mind.

  “Sit down.” She jerked her chin toward the chair.

  Lou frowned. “Why?”

  “Because if you’re going to face my mother-in-law, you need a trim. And because if we’re going to be a united front for our children, it’s time we got to know each other.”

  Lou lifted her chin, and Grace figured she might walk right back out the door. Go ahead, she wanted to say. At least she tried.

  But Lou dropped her purse on the waiting bench, and giving Grace a nod, sat. “I haven’t had my hair cut since we moved.”

  Grace snapped a drape around Lou’s neck. “It looks good this length. Just needs a little shaping to be even more flattering.”

  “I think David likes it.” Lou fidgeted. “Not that I care what he thinks or anything.”

  Grace paused, her comb and spray bottle suddenly heavy in her hands. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Lou met her eyes in the mirror. She nodded slightly and set her head straight, chin tipped up, already defiant of what Grace might ask.

  “What happened?”

  The mist of water enveloped Lou’s dark hair and Grace began working the comb through, surprised to discover how thick the woman’s hair remained. Her own had begun to thin with age. Lou sat silent, and Grace didn’t press. She already knew the answer must be complicated.

  “You only see the man he is here, so you must wonder why I let him go.”

  “Seems to me, he hasn’t gone very far.”

  “Oh, but he did.” Lou closed her eyes, and Grace massaged her scalp, as she would for any client in her chair. “He ran all the way down the beach, from Still Waters to the Pavilion, the night I told him to go. I thought, when he came back, he’d refuse … but he packed his bags and
left. Went on home and boxed his things and rented an apartment and fought me on nothing. We were beyond arguing at that point. Everything had turned so cold …” She shivered.

  Grace reached for her scissors. “From what I see, he’s warmed back up.” She set her hands on Lou’s shoulders. “So have you.”

  “He’s different lately. Since Mama died. Since Cora Anne let your and Tennessee’s forgiveness wash over her.” She met Grace’s eyes in the mirror again. “I guess you forgave me, too?”

  Unprepared for the question—and all its implications—Grace fumbled her scissors. The polite answer was that there had never been anything to forgive, but they both knew that wasn’t true. Lou Coultrie had grieved like a widow herself that awful night on the beach when Patrick drowned. For years, Grace had found comfort with the knowledge that Pat chose her, though the thought wedged in the back of her mind remained. Would he have gone in the water for anyone’s child? Or did he go because Cora Anne belonged to Lou?

  The answer would always be tangled as an old shrimp net—and never settled. Patrick wasn’t here to ask.

  And no two ways about it, Lou had borne some of that blame. More so even than the daughter she’d pushed aside and let break.

  Grace pulled breath into her lungs and exhaled the words God had given her long ago. “Forgiveness is the only way to heal, Lou.”

  Lou turned in her chair, no longer letting the mirror be their buffer. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Lou turned back. “That night broke us all, Grace, and I’m so sorry. I should have said that to you then instead of losing myself in my own grief.”

  Grace lifted hair and snipped, the mundane task making this conversation easier. “So you pushed David away?”

  “We were already at an impasse. The boys—well, you had one. So can you imagine what three at the same time was like?”

  “Somewhat hellish, I’m sure.”

  “I wanted to escape, and I’d even floated the idea of moving back here, so we could be closer to Mama and Daddy. Get some help.”

  The loneliness of motherhood. One more thing they had in common.

  “But he said we couldn’t afford to move. Maybe in a few years. Only I needed help right then. I was drowning trying to work and take care of them, so he suggested I quit my job.”

  “Guess that flew all over your somewhat feminist nature.” Grace grinned at Lou, who actually chuckled.

  “Definitely. But it was more. At least when I was teaching, I felt successful—and I wanted to get my doctorate. When I was working, I could finish something. At home, as soon as one was fed, another one had to be. Two would go to sleep and one would wake up.” She pursed her lips. “Still how it is, actually. J.D. hates thunder, Cole’s secretly still afraid of the dark, and Mac’s always hungry.”

  Grace groaned. “I can only imagine.”

  “Daycare was eating us alive financially, we were fighting all the time about everything, and then,” she fumbled over the words, “the accident happened.”

  “And he felt betrayed.” Grace had read that on David’s face more than once when Patrick was mentioned.

  “Yes.” Lou looked down, so Grace took the opportunity to trim the back. “After … it was like living in a fog. Two people co-existing. No spark … of anything.

  “We tried counseling, but I wasn’t ready. And Cora Anne drifted further into herself, the boys got bigger, and Daddy died so Mama gave us some money …”

  Lou had closed her eyes again, so Grace snipped at the locks around her face.

  “Then one day, I decided. I didn’t want to do this anymore. He had kept on trying, all those years, and I was tired of feeling selfish that I couldn’t reciprocate.” She sighed. “Sometimes you have to go, so you know you can come back.”

  “Cora Anne said that to Tennessee.”

  “Where do you think she learned it?”

  Grace turned on the hair dryer, sensing they both needed a moment. When she finished, she smoothed Lou’s hair, marveling again at how the new cut hid much of the gray, making Lou appear younger.

  In the mirror, Lou’s eyes widened. “You’re good.” She sounded awed.

  Grace smiled. “Was just thinking that myself.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  “On the house.”

  Lou shook her head, and the softer cut swung gently against her cheeks. “I can’t do that, Grace.”

  “Fine, then.” Grace glanced at the clock. “It’s dinnertime. You owe me dinner. We still haven’t discussed our Charlotte strategy.”

  Grace expected a rejection. Haircuts and talks were one thing. Breaking bread together would cross another line.

  But the crease between Lou’s brows smoothed as she nodded. “No doubt we’ll need one.”

  Chapter 28

  Charleston, South Carolina, March 1978

  “If I tell you to leave, please do it.”

  Grace smoothed her skirt over her belly, still flat as a pancake, though not for long. “You’re being awfully dramatic. I think you forget I know about difficult mothers.”

  Patrick shook his head. For once, his wavy blond locks were perfectly combed. “Your mother has a mental illness. That’s different than being cruel.”

  Patrick hadn’t lived through cruelty. But if he wanted to protect her from more ugliness in the form of his mother’s snobbery, she’d let him.

  At the mansion Charlotte’s great-grandfather had built during the height of Charleston opulence, they all sat in the parlor and were served drinks. Grace declined the champagne, whispering to the maid to please bring her water.

  “Not celebrating with us? We had assumed that is why Patrick called this conference.” Charlotte perched on her chair. Her skirt’s folds skimmed her ankles, tucked one behind the other. She twitched one foot, and her heel slipped off.

  A small chink in the woman’s armor of propriety.

  “We’re happy to celebrate with you, Mother.” Patrick raised his glass. “Father.” The three sipped, and Patrick reached for Grace’s hand. “We’ve come with news. We’re going to be married. Next week.”

  Charlotte’s expression did not change, but this time her shoe thwacked the floor when it popped off her heel. She recovered quickly, rearranging her ankles, spreading her skirt again, all while corded tendons appeared on her neck.

  At least she tried to maintain composure. “Is there a reason you need to marry without any preliminaries? Not even an engagement party? There hasn’t even been an announcement, Patrick.”

  Pat squeezed Grace’s fingers. “It’s necessary, Mother, and it’s what we want anyway.”

  Spots of color blushed Charlotte’s cheeks. “I see.”

  Grace took a deep breath and straightened her posture. Patrick was their only son, after all. “I’m open to a small wedding, if you’d prefer.”

  “What’s done is done. A white dress won’t change it.” Charlotte’s icy gaze raked over Grace.

  “Well, then.” Temple Watson poured himself another bourbon. “I suppose you need money?”

  Patrick shook his head. “We’re not here for that. We wanted you to know, that’s all.”

  “No, let’s talk about the money. Such a delicate conversation, but under the circumstances …” Charlotte waved her hand, as though Grace were nothing more than a fly flittering around her face.

  “The offer still stands, son. Full partner in my practice. You only have to pass the bar exam.” Temple crossed his knees. “You’ve had your fun, but now that you’re going to be a father yourself, it’s time you faced reality.”

  Patrick pulled Grace to her feet. “Why don’t you go wait outside?”

  She wouldn’t question him, not here. Besides, after this, tolerance was the best she could ever hope for from Charlotte.

  In the garden, she boosted herself up among the thick branches of a live oak. The tree cradled her like her womb held this tiny life. Not a mistake. But not how she’d wanted things to happen either.
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br />   They’d talked of marriage for well over a year. But Patrick wanted his business stable—and without his parents’ investment, the timeline lengthened. Grace offered contributions from her Dockside shifts and her new hours at the beauty parlor, where she learned to style hair and manicure nails.

  Neither job a career, but she enjoyed making people happy whether it was with fried shrimp or bleached highlights.

  Patrick refused her money. She swung her legs like a child as the shadows lengthened over the garden. His stubbornness matched her own. But they stood united in the most important decision.

  Edisto would be their home.

  A door slammed, and a moment later Pat strode across the garden, calling her name.

  “Over here.”

  “Time to go.” He grasped her waist and boosted her down to the ground as though she weighed no more than the pieces of lumber he’d been hauling all afternoon.

  “I’ll just run in and say goodbye.” She turned to the house, but he wrapped his arms around her. Buried his face in her hair, her neck. When he put his lips on hers, all the passion and turmoil he’d built up cascaded down.

  She put her hands on his chest, pushed him gently away. “What’s wrong?”

  “From here on out, it’s just us.” He pressed his forehead against hers, stroked her jaw with his thumbs, let no tears slip down his cheeks. But his eyes shimmered as moonlight filtered through the Spanish moss. “They’re going to cut me off completely. Either I come back to Charleston and work with my father, or we come to them for nothing.”

  “They don’t even want to know their grandchild?”

  He only drew her close again. Grace sucked in a breath, felt the sharp stab of it under her ribs, the swelling of her heart and the breaking of their innocence—all due to one choice.

  She may have been wrong about Charlotte and cruelty.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I would rather live in a shack on that island than stay here and be strangled.”

  Her chin trembled. He’d chosen her. She, who had never been wanted.

 

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