Return to Tradd Street

  She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, moving the wand and then typing something on the keyboard. I found myself holding my breath, wondering whether she’d start frowning again, and thinking about how unprepared I was for any of this. I held on to Jack’s hand as if he alone were keeping me earthbound, something I found alarmingly reassuring.

  “Do you want to see your baby?” she asked, turning the screen toward us.

  Jack and I leaned forward as a unit. The baby was so small, yet so incredibly human, with a beating heart and recognizable arms and legs. It was our baby. Mine and Jack’s. My heart seemed to expand, dimming memories and creating a fog around previously made convictions.

  “That’s my boy,” Jack said, a wide grin on his face. “And he already takes after his daddy.”

  His words broke through the fog, shining a bright light into my delirium. I blinked at Jack, seeing again the handsome charmer who’d broken my heart once and who seemed destined to do it again.

  “That’s actually a leg, Mr. Trenholm. It’s too early to determine the sex of the child,” Dr. Wise said gently, while turning the screen back so only she could see it as she began to move the wand to the other side of my abdomen.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, watching as the little pucker again formed between the doctor’s brows.

  “I thought I heard something while listening to the heartbeat, and I just wanted to make sure.”

  “Sure of what?” I asked, my skin suddenly cold under the lubricant, my chest rippling like a sudden freeze had solidified everything inside.

  She didn’t say anything right away, but continued to move the wand up and down over my abdomen. Suddenly she stopped, then typed some more on the keyboard. “Well,” she said, the word drawn out into two syllables.

  “Well what?” Jack asked, his tone unfamiliar to me, recalling the fact that he’d once been a soldier who’d been taught how to deal with a crisis and obliterate the enemy. I closed my eyes, waiting for the doctor to speak, knowing that I could handle it because Jack was there with me.

  “Well,” she said again. “It looks like there’s another baby in here.” She turned the screen while Jack and I stared at another small, perfectly formed baby, its heart beating in its liquid world inside me.

  “What do you mean?” Jack and I demanded in unison.

  Dr. Wise beamed at us. “Congratulations. You’re having twins.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Jack and I sat in the van, staring out the windshield. He’d started the engine so the air conditioner was blowing full blast in our faces, but he hadn’t made a move to actually put the car in gear and drive somewhere. It was as if neither one of us knew what needed to happen next.

  “I’m glad I bought the van,” Jack said finally, his smile a little shaky.

  I nodded, my head already making calculations where everything was multiplied by two: two cribs, two high chairs, two car seats. Two college tuitions. I fought past the knot in my throat. “What are we going to do?”

  “What we were planning on doing before. Just twice as much.”

  “I know. That’s what scares me. I was still struggling with the idea of having just one baby and wondering how I was going to manage that.”

  He reached across the console with the large cup holders and took my hand. “You’re not alone in this, remember. I’m here. We’ll just have to think like an army sergeant—divide and conquer.”

  Despite myself, I laughed. “Who would have thought that being a soldier and being a parent had so many similarities?” I withdrew my hand and placed it on my lap, unable to control my anxiety over the fact that I was going to have two babies, mixed with the flood of emotions that threatened to overtake me every time Jack touched me. I closed my eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache. They popped open as I remembered my mother’s phone call while I’d been in the waiting room.

  I turned on my phone and was startled to see that I had five phone calls from my mother and one voice mail. I held the phone to my ear and listened. Her voice was strained, as if she were forcing herself to sound calm, which of course sent the first alarms of panic through me.

  “Mellie, dear. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I’m at your house, and you need to come home as soon as possible. It’s . . .” She paused, and I pictured her turning toward someone else, because when she spoke again, I could actually hear her brittle smile. “It’s rather urgent.”

  I hit redial and turned to Jack. “Head toward Tradd Street. My mother says I need to meet her there and it’s urgent.”

  He put the van in gear and started to drive, neither of us speaking, as if we were both afraid of voicing our fear that we could only hope that my mother’s news wasn’t as life-altering as our own.

  My mother picked up on the first ring, as if she’d been holding the phone, waiting for my call. “Mellie, thank goodness. Are you on your way?” She was whispering, and I thought I heard voices in the background.

  “Yes. We’re in Mount Pleasant about to go over the bridge. What’s going on, and who’s there?”

  She began speaking in a whisper so low that I couldn’t hear her.

  “Mother, you need to speak louder.”

  After the second attempt I finally interrupted her. “Look, why don’t you text me? Nola showed you how, remember?”

  There was complete silence for a moment. “You know I can’t.”

  I sighed. Fat thumbs and an abhorrence to small letters were inherited traits in my family—just like a fast metabolism and talking to dead people. My own efforts at texting had ended up—thanks to Nola—on an obnoxious Web site called whenparentstext.com.

  “Never mind. I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes. Can you tell me who’s there?”

  After a brief pause, she said, “Mr. Drayton. And a Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert. They’re here to look at the house.”

  I felt my stomach shift, as if analyzing my breakfast and finding it wanting. “What? Why would they think it’s okay to tour my house?”

  My mother whispered more unintelligible words into the phone as my stomach continued its protest against breakfast, the news that we were expecting twins, and the fact that complete strangers and Mr. Vanderhorst’s lawyer were currently traipsing through my house.

  “Never mind. We’re on our way.”

  I dropped my phone into my purse and plastered both hands over my mouth. We were in the middle of the bridge with no place to pull off. I looked around me desperately at the new leather seats, the pristine carpet, the gleaming buttons on the dash.

  “Are you all right?” Jack asked, sparing a look at me from the road. “Not that it’s not a good color for you, but your face is a bit green.”

  I eyed one of the large cup holders by the armrest and, with a mental apology to the engineers and factory workers who designed and built the van—and to Jack—I leaned over and threw up into the perfectly round hole.

  “Poor Mellie.” I felt Jack’s hand gently pulling my hair away from my face as I emptied the contents of my stomach in his brand-new vehicle, and I think I might have fallen in love with him all over again. “I’ll pull over as soon as we get off the bridge.”

  My stomach was empty and I was already leaning against the back of my seat, a cold sweat enveloping my body as I used a tissue from my purse to wipe my mouth. “No. I need to get home. My mother said that Mr. Drayton and some couple are there and it’s urgent I get home as soon as possible. I can enter through the kitchen and clean up there. The cup holder is removable, and I’ll rinse it out with the garden hose before disinfecting it with Lysol or Febreze. Or maybe both.” I dropped the tissue on top of the mess to hide it from view.

  He patted my leg. “I’ll take care of it. I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’ll have to clean vomit out of the van.”

  I sent him a weak grin as he aimed the van toward our exit from the bridge.

  As he pulled into the end of the driveway at my house, he said, “I’ll come in with you.?
??

  If it had been a question, I would have said no. Which was probably the reason it wasn’t. Considering the circumstances, I found it remarkable how sometimes we reminded me of an old married couple.

  A large Mercedes sedan, presumably Mr. Drayton’s, sat at the curb in front of my house directly in front of an older-model baby blue minivan with New York plates. After Jack helped me out, I walked toward the other van while Jack did what he needed to do with the contents of his cup holder.

  I peered into the van’s windows, seeing a box of Kleenex on the front dash, various stains on the cloth seats, two baseball gloves on the rear seat, and what could have been dog snot from a very large dog covering most of the side windows. I was suddenly grateful that General Lee wasn’t large enough to reach one of the windows, much less leave reminders that he’d even been there. Besides, he had a car seat that I kept in the middle of my backseat so that he wouldn’t be tempted to drool on my windows even if he could.

  I glanced across the street, noticing Sophie’s new Prius for the first time. She’d either just arrived for what I was beginning to think of as an intervention or my mother had forgotten to mention that she was there. Either way, if she’d been pulled from her classes in the middle of the day to come to my house, it couldn’t be good.

  The street darkened as heavy clouds elbowed their way in front of the sun, a thick breeze full of moisture stirring up the dead leaves from the sidewalk. It reminded me of the first time I’d seen this house, right before I’d knocked on the front door and met Nevin Vanderhorst. My gaze strayed to the old oak tree, and I almost expected to see Louisa Vanderhorst, Nevin’s mother, pushing the empty swing.

  The swing swayed gently, from the storm-scented wind or from an unseen hand, I couldn’t tell. If Louisa was there, I could no longer see her, or smell her roses. But I imagined I could feel her. Feel her maternal presence watching over me like the tall limbs of the oak tree watched over my house and garden.

  “Are you ready?” Jack stood nearby, holding out his hand.

  I nodded, touching my fingers to his, and allowed him to lead me through the garden gate toward the kitchen door at the back of the house.

  “Any idea why those people are here?” Jack asked.

  I shook my head, then dropped his hand as I continued walking up the path. I didn’t know why those people were in my house, but I knew with certainty that it couldn’t be good news.

  Jack didn’t press me further, but when we reached the kitchen door he turned me to face him. “I’m here, okay? Whatever this is all about, I’m on your side. Don’t forget that.”

  I looked into his vivid blue eyes, my pregnancy hormones firing on all cylinders, and was oddly grateful for the fact that I had just thrown up in his car. Otherwise I would have been tempted to press him up against the door and allow the hormones to take over.

  “Thank you,” I said, ignoring the light in his eyes and the curve of a smile that made me think that he’d just read my mind.

  He opened the door and we quietly entered the empty kitchen. I looked for General Lee, sure my mother would have put him there if strangers were in the house. It took him a while to warm up to new people, and he liked to greet visitors with incessant barking unless I was there to calm him down. I assumed my mother was holding him, keeping him calm until I arrived.

  I opened my purse and pulled out a travel-size toothpaste, toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash, then moved to the sink.

  “You carry all that in your purse?” Jack couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

  “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” I almost said that I should have added condoms to my emergency kit, but after seeing our babies and their heartbeats on the ultrasound monitor, I couldn’t wish them out of existence. They might be the only permanent tie to Jack that I could ever claim.

  When I was finished cleaning up, I put on fresh lipstick, blotted it with a paper towel, then headed toward the kitchen door and stopped, not really sure why.

  “Remember—I’m right behind you,” Jack said quietly.

  I wasn’t strong enough to look up at him, but I was strong enough to nod at the closed door. He opened it for me, allowing me to go first. Sophie’s voice came from the upstairs hallway, trickling down the grand staircase.

  “As you can see, Melanie has spent an absurd amount of money, time, and energy on restoring the house, but it’s been like spitting in the ocean—a bottomless ocean, actually. The windows are an energy nightmare—some with cracks between the sills, and windows so large that palmetto bugs don’t even need to duck to get inside.” I heard her whistle. “And boy howdy, you sure don’t want those critters in your house.”

  Jack and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows, wondering why Sophie was all of a sudden sounding as if she were one of the characters on the reality show Gator Boys.

  She continued. “Might be an improvement, though. Maybe they could eat through all the mildew and rotten plaster that’s all over the house. Can you smell that? Pee-eww! Just about makes me want to toss my grits every time I walk in here. Poor Melanie, being saddled with this pile of lumber. She’s always been one for lost causes, though. Bless her heart.”

  I walked through the foyer to stop at the bottom of the stairs, wanting to see who this person was who sounded exactly like my best friend. I looked up to see a group of five people clustered around the newel post at the top of the stairs. According to Sophie, it had been hand-carved by renowned Charleston cabinetmaker John Bonner. During the Civil War it had apparently suffered more than one saber wound, slicing off bits of the pineapple finial and making it look more like a kumquat. I’d wanted to cut the rest of it off, but Sophie had started swooning at the mere mention.

  Sophie—and it was definitely her, because I recognized the hair with the twenty or so different pigtails held back with plastic pink bows—faced away from me and continued talking. She pointed to the finial. “As you can see, repairs have been delayed or postponed indefinitely because of the prohibitive costs associated with restoration. I’ve told her more than once that it would be an act of mercy if she’d just douse the whole house with gasoline and set a match to it, but she can’t forget her promise to dear Mr. Vanderhorst, rest his soul. Even if it kills her trying.”

  “Sophie?” Jack and I said in unison.

  She looked down at us over the railing. Without skipping a beat, she said, “Here’s the poor girl now. You can see on her face the toll restoring this house has taken.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped when I saw the two strangers standing behind her. They were a middle-aged couple, both pleasantly plump, with curly brown hair. The man wore a Yankees T-shirt with jeans and sneakers, the woman dressed almost identically except for a floral blouse instead of a T-shirt. Both were peering at me quizzically through large round glasses, as if I were the unwelcome visitor.

  My instincts told me to be wary, but the couple appeared to be trying out for roles as sitcom parents. They looked perfect for their parts playing the loving yet goofy mom and dad of a brood of active and raucous children. It was no stretch of the imagination to assume the baby blue van outside was theirs, and I quickly quashed the thought that Jack and I would look just like that after a few years of raising our children. We already had the van, after all.

  And then I noticed my dog. The same dog who, despite his lack of stature, tried to verbally assert his authority and protect his territory from strangers was nestled comfortably in the woman’s arms, his eyes mere slits, as if I had interrupted him from a nap.

  We seemed to be in a standoff or a staring match, with nobody knowing what to say or where to start. We were spared from standing there for the rest of the day by Mr. Drayton, who stepped out from behind my mother. He was tall and thin and wore a dark suit that contrasted with his silver-gray hair. If I hadn’t known who he was, I would have mistaken him for an undertaker.

  “Why don’t we all go downstairs so I can make proper introductions?” He smiled and i
ndicated for the rest of the group to precede him down the stairs.

  Once we were assembled in the foyer, my mother and Sophie moved to stand on either side of Jack and me, the couple and my dog standing opposite. Mr. Drayton stood between us like a referee.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Melanie Middleton, I’d like you to meet Irene and George Gilbert. Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, this is Miss Middleton.”

  At the mention of the word “Miss,” I saw Irene’s gaze dart to my stomach and then over to Jack before returning to my face. She kept her expression neutral.

  “And this is . . .” Mr. Drayton paused, looking pointedly at Jack.

  “Jack Trenholm,” he said, offering his hand to Mr. Drayton.

  “The writer?” Irene almost squealed, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses as she allowed her gaze to travel up and down Jack.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m also—”

  Sophie cut him off. “The baby daddy.” She patted her still flat belly, but one she seemed to be trying to make larger under her tentlike dress. “Yep—something about this house seems to encourage getting knocked up. I hope you’re not thinking you’re through having kids yet!”

  My mother looked up at the ceiling while Jack and I stared at Sophie, wondering whether she’d suddenly become possessed or if her pregnancy hormones were just affecting her in a different way.

  To break the awkward pause, I moved to extend my hand to shake when I again spotted my dog snuggling up in this stranger’s arms, and I froze. Maybe it was because of the news I’d just received at the doctor’s office, or maybe it was because I just wanted to collapse on the floor in a fit of fatigue and despair but couldn’t because these people were in my house, but I snapped.

  I reached for General Lee—who had the audacity to let out a low growl—and pried him from the woman’s arms. “Okay, enough with the pleasantries. Who the hell are you and why are you here?”

  My mother put a calming arm around my shoulder and I noticed that she wasn’t wearing her gloves.