by Tara Cowan
“Well, I talked to my dad. They’re off in Wisconsin or some place for a conference this week, but they’ll be back Tuesday. He couldn’t shed much light on the situation, but he said there’s a box of old family documents in the basement at their house if Adrian wants to drive you to get it.”
Her heart sped. “That sounds absolutely perfect,” she said, thoughts jumping with the possibilities of what might be in that box.
“But it’ll have to be next week,” he said. “Listen, I’m coming to Charleston to see Jude—my nephew—this weekend. I have a folder full of stuff here that might be helpful. Something I kept when we were going through my grandparents’ estate.”
“Oh, wow. That would be awesome. I thought you were local..?”
“No, we’re Georgia folk,” he said, humor in his voice. “Adrian’s the weirdo.”
She pursed her lips, trying not to smile. She didn’t think his brother would thank him for that.
“I live in Savannah,” he explained.
“Oh.” That was about a two-hour drive. That would be super-fun with Sir Ravenel. “Are your parents there, too, then?”
“No, they’re over in Statesboro,” he said. Perfect. She didn’t know where that was, but it was bound to be a longer drive than Savannah.
“Okay, great,” she said, trying to infuse enthusiasm into her voice.
“I was going to be there around two—want to meet at Kudu around 12:30? Or I could just bring it to you there if you can’t get away…”
“No, I need to get out. That’ll be perfect.” She was pretty sure Kudu (Coodoo?) was a coffee shop. She was more into juicing herself, but she wasn’t going to complain. There was a folder heading her way.
Adeline drove back through Charleston, her car loaded with groceries. It had taken her awhile to get to the store. It was tough having to pull off every three seconds to see a house, and maybe snap a few pictures. She regretted even more that she hadn’t been able to explore the city, but surely she would be able to sometime? She was like a kid at a fair as she turned back onto Battery Street, the houses rolling by grandly, the smell of salt thick in the air.
“Okay, let’s see if I can turn in without hitting anything,” she said softly to herself as the narrow driveway rose in her future. She really hoped she could have some fridge space. And a little pantry space. She’d be more likely to be granted it by Jane, she thought. That was why she had gone shopping while Dr. Ravenel was at work.
She opened the hatch and looped as many bags as she could over her arms and walked up the brick stairs and onto the little side porch, smelling the smell of old brick. She was really wishing she had thought to bring her hippy eco-friendly cloth bags by the time she got to the kitchen. The plastic was leaving marks on her arms.
She found Jane at the counter, filling bags with Cheerios, presumably for future lunches. “Hi, hon,” she said, glancing at the grocery bags. “Need some help, there?”
“No, I got it,” she said. “Do you mind if I…” She nodded toward the fridge.
“I don’t,” she said, eyes twinkling a little. “And I don’t see how you’re to live here if you don’t have some food. So expensive buying all your meals.” She went to open the fridge and freezer for her, looking around. Both were surprisingly full for an industrial size. She saw baggies of carefully washed fruit, fresh vegetables awaiting his pleasure, Smart water for days, and a crisper full of fresh fish. Almond milk—gross. Avocados—hey, she could live with that—corn so fresh it hadn’t been shucked, and every kind of juice imaginable. Okay, she’d just put her slab of meat for tacos here, her two percent there, and the butter up in that little tray. The green tea could sit next to his austere water bottles.
“The pantry’s over there, hon,” Jane said with a tilt of her head. She laid down her baggies and walked over. “Let’s see if we can make you some space…” She shifted some pasta and whole grain tortilla chips, saying, “He won’t mind, I think, giving you a little space. There—is that enough?”
Adeline looked at her box of Special K, her pasta sides, and the taco shells. “Yeah,” she said affirmatively, quickly realizing she was still living like a college student. Oh, well. “Was Jude feeling better today?” she asked, placing her items.
“He was a little fussy this morning. I expect a phone call any minute,” she said. “You’re from North Carolina?”
“Yep,” she said, wondering if there was a band-aid around. Her Birkenstocks weren’t broken in yet. She’d realized it as she was walking by the ‘sparagus.
“Your mama and daddy are there now?”
She nodded. “And my brother and sister.”
“Oh!” She smiled. “Are you close?”
“Oh, you know…we live here and there now, lead different lives. We were really close as kids, though.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “Jude’s too much of a loner. I wish he could’ve had a brother or sister before…”
“Poor little guy,” she said.
Jane pressed her lips together, silent for a moment. “Adrian never talks about it, poor boy. But he has a good family, on both sides, though I don’t think the Thomases come around enough. It’s probably too hard for them. That’s her family,” she explained.
“He has you, too,” Adeline said, realizing the woman assumed she knew by now, but touched by the tender affection she saw for the father and son duo.
“Yes,” she said, laughing slightly. “Wrapped me around his finger completely from day one.” She looked up. “I know you won’t see them much, but don’t mention Mrs. Ravenel when you’re around the little one. He used to have bad dreams, and his father thinks he has them less when he isn’t reminded of her. Which may sound a little cold, but I have to admit it’s true.” She smiled. “And I let him deal with matters of the head—that’s his business. Even if he’s rather less adept with matters of the heart…” Adeline thought she heard her mumble.
“Got it,” she said, studying her. “Well, I’m going to go back to work. Have a nice afternoon.”
“You, too, hon.”
Adrian opened the pantry, immediately sensing the difference. He was just trying to figure out dinner, but new items snagged his attention. He looked them over, his lip curling, and said over his shoulder, “Jude?”
“Yup?” he said from his barstool where he was sucking his juice box.
“Don’t eat anything on this shelf,” he said, pointing.
Jude leaned up, looking. “Why, Daddy?”
“Just don’t.” He was considering take out for supper. He could feel weariness from the day in his shoulders, and he was just about drained. Two of his most difficult clients had had two-hour sessions, and that was just the start. He glanced up at the windows, the rain pelting them, the palms blowing, and sighed. “What do you want for supper, Jude?”
“Ice cream.”
Okay, so much for that. He pulled some spinach noodles out and started on a tomato sauce. Jude hovered, glancing at the window from time to time. He eventually got up and attached himself to Adrian’s leg. Adrian brushed his hair back. “It’s not a bad storm, Jude. It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I think it’s a hurricane.”
“No, we’d know way in advance,” he said, moving to get a new spoon, which was difficult with a forty-pound attachment to his left leg.
There was a bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder. Jude pressed harder. Adrian sighed, putting the spoon down, kneeling, and detaching him with a little difficulty. He cradled him close and kissed the top of his hair. He went over in his mind methods of calming children during storms, starting with the root of the problem, which was usually them picking up on a parent’s anxiety. In that case, it was best to communicate with them about the exact nature of the storm and keep calm. It was something else with Jude, so that left only physical contact. Jude pressed his face into his shirt.
>
Another thunder roll sounded, this one rattling the shutters, and Ms. Miller materialized in the door. “Whoa, it’s really coming down out…” She caught herself up, catching his quelling glance. She winced apologetically, and he stood, bringing Jude with him. He picked up the spoon and gave the sauce a stir, and she glanced out the window. After a hesitation, she went to the table and sat, laying her phone in front of her. It was hard to remember she lived here now, and that she had a right to do that. He studied her for a long moment before refocusing his attention on Jude and the sauce.
But she kept distracting him. She glanced out the windows from time to time, obviously a little skittish in storms herself. And she would look at him periodically as though assessing whether he knew the serious nature.
She picked up her phone and looked at the screen, sliding her thumb. She pressed her lips together and looked back up at him, and then at Jude. After a moment, she walked over to him softly, holding the phone out. Jude had his back to her and likely didn’t even know she was there. His face was buried in Adrian’s neck. He met her eyes and then took her phone. She had a radar map of Charleston pulled up. Tornado watch was splayed across the top in bold red.
He raised and lowered his brows. It must’ve gotten worse than predicted. But probably still nothing to worry about. He nodded, handing it back to her. She went back to the table and sat, asking, “Need help with anything?”
Great. Now she was going to be attached to him, too. He knew he should say something to soothe her, but he didn’t want Jude to know she was scared. Best to give her a job.
“You could get plates.”
“Sure,” she said cheerfully. She stood, and found them almost instantly. Either she’d been snooping or it was a woman’s intuition. Probably would’ve taken him five minutes in a strange kitchen. “Do you, uh, have a S-A-F-E room?”
“I can spell.”
“He can spell,” Adrian affirmed. “Might as well get three plates.”
Pressing her lips together in a way he personally thought a little cattish, she shrugged and got another plate down. After filling the plates, she opened the refrigerator. He watched her for a moment. She was obviously looking for a canister of parmesan. He didn’t know whether to tell her there was a block of fresh waiting to be grated or that he thought cheese that would last in a canister for two years was gross. But she located the block, and held it up, looking at him, and saying levelly, “Really?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue with her. She located the grater and made a fine dash on all of their plates after he had filled them. “I’ll get the plates,” she said softly, looking with sympathy at the ball of tension in his arms. She walked across the stone floor, balancing the plates like the waitress she must have been in college. “Here you go, Jude, it smells so good,” she said, setting two plates in front of Adrian.
“Don’t want to eat, Daddy,” Jude mumbled miserably. Adrian kissed his head and pried him off his chest. “You have to eat a little. Don’t be rude: we have a guest.”
Jude looked measuringly at Miss Miller and then took the bite Adrian was offering.
“Good boy,” he said, forcing a few bites down him while he could, but not too many. He wouldn’t put it past his son to throw up during a storm.
The wind seemed to pick up, and he looked up at the preservationist, who was again on her phone. “I think we’ve been upgraded,” she said cryptically, trying to sound light-hearted. Jude looked between them, trying to figure out what that meant.
Crap. He sighed, just as the electricity went off. Food abandoned, Jude pressed himself into him again. “Come on,” he said, standing, glancing over his shoulder. “Will you grab some water?”
“Sure,” she said.
He waited at the door until she caught up and took them to the closet beneath the stairs. They sat across from one another, her legs tucked to the side to make room for his long ones. She was looking a little pale and pressing her hand against her stomach. Great. Maybe Jude would pick up on her energy and have a full-blown panic attack.
“At least we got to eat a little,” she said, looking like she wished she’d done anything but.
“It should pass soon,” he answered.
She met his eyes, shaking her head. She handed him her phone. They were under warning until 11:30. He glanced at Ms. Miller. They were going to be stuck here for a while.
Charleston, South Carolina
Chapter Seven
Two hours had passed, and Jude had long since gone to sleep against his father’s chest. It had been a real mind-blower when Adeline had walked into the kitchen and seen the man holding and stroking his son like that. She’d never seen anything so hot in her life. She’d figured the little guy had to get all of his affection from Jane, and maybe his uncle, who sounded a lot warmer.
Now, Dr. Ravenel was leaning his head against the wall, the boy resting comfortably against him, his head on his chest. They hadn’t talked much: it was a little hard to think of anything but the driving rain and hail, which was loud even in here. They were still under a warning, but it seemed to have slacked a little.
The closet was kind of cozy—wood floors, the bottom of the stairs visible, a pipe just outside audible. She felt a little like Harry Potter, but she wasn’t too claustrophobic. She wondered vaguely about the engineering of the house, whether any of it was original. She would bet it was: they’d been built tough back then. It would be interesting to dig into.
She looked at her phone, but it had long since gone dead, probably a good thing since her grandma was sending her panicked texts about the tornado in Charleston. She looked again at the two across from her. “He’s out,” she said.
“Hopefully for the night,” he agreed, turning his head. “It’s getting late.”
She looked at her watch. 10:15. She quirked a brow.
“Late for a six-year-old,” he amended. He seemed about to say something else and then didn’t. After a minute, he finally said, “My wife—his mother—was killed in a car accident about two years ago. It was storming like this. He was in the car.”
It was said coldly, almost with clinical detachment. Adeline studied him carefully. He looked younger than his thirty-four years (yeah, she’d looked at the date on his undergrad diploma). He had a good neck, and he’d changed into exercise clothes when he got home. Jane, apparently having a house of her own, usually stayed long enough for him to go for a run. He looked good in them. His face was a blank slate. But she’d be a fool not to see how carefully he was concealing any emotions his words might bring. A muscle in his jaw had hardened. She thought of the scar on the boy’s neck, and the way his father, not the cuddly type, had held him so protectively. She wondered what it would be like to have lost the love of your life, the mother of your child, like that, the agony, the soul-searching it would bring. Had it thrown his life completely off balance and sucked him down into a vortex of grief? He seemed to be well-adjusted, but she was catching him two years after the fact.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “No wonder he’s so scared.”
There was a long pause. “He’ll eventually not be afraid,” he said. “I had hoped he would be there by now, but it may take a few more years.” He studied her. “Why are you afraid of storms?”
“I’m not,” she said, straightening. No one knew that, not even her family.
“All of the signs are there,” he said calmly, eyes searching her face. “Almost nothing ever comes of a storm, so there’s no rational reason to be afraid. Your fear, therefore, is rooted in something emotional.”
She swallowed. “Oh, you know… My mom and grandma were always panickers about it. My grandma would always come over to our house during storms because our house was brick, and I guess they’d get me worked up.”
“That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for a childhood fear. But I’d put you at thirty now–”
“Alright, twenty-eight. And the justification for childhood fear has long since passed. Either you need to turn that switch off in your brain or talk with someone about something that happened, which caused this later in life.”
She pressed her lips together, looking at her Toms. She drew her finger along the seam of her pants. Okay, he was freaky. She was silent for a long time, not wanting to talk about it really, about the shame and fear that had come from one of her few irresponsible moments. There had been a party in college. A stupid boating party. There was drinking and a storm, and one of the boys had died. Everyone at school and in that half of the state knew. They were all devastated. She knew she wasn’t at fault for his death—none of them were—but it had taken awhile to recover. And they had barely made it back themselves.
“Yeah, I guess it was this really scary boating party.”
He studied her. He knew, obviously, that there was more to the story.
“Remember that you’re in control now. You’re able to take precautions now, as you weren’t then. One situation has nothing to do with the other. And simultaneously that you’re not in control at all, that doing all you can is enough.”
She swallowed, holding his eyes. She looked away, a little thrown off. Moistening her lips, she sat quietly for a few moments, surprised. She brushed back a ringlet. “Will that be for your usual rate, or..?”
He cracked a slight smile for the first time she had seen. “Free of charge. But don’t count on it next time.”
Adeline bolted out of bed the next morning at 6:00. She’d had a nightmarish night, surprisingly indifferent to the continuing storm, but terrified about her balconies. Dr. Ravenel had seemed completely unconcerned, as if he hadn’t even thought of it when he had asked her, as they finally went up the stairs, why she was twittery now. It was enough to induce an apoplexy, worrying that they would give.
