Return to Tradd Street

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just tell me. I promise not to get mad.”

  He put a hand on my ankle, but I barely felt it through all the padding. “You seem a little . . . puffier than usual. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  I jerked my leg away. “I just saw Dr. Wise last week. She told me to drink more water and I have been—even though it makes me go to the bathroom every five minutes. I haven’t had much to drink today, because I didn’t want to have to get up in the middle of the play. She also told me to get a blood pressure monitor so I can keep track at home, and two days ago it was fine. I kind of forgot the last two days, but I’m sure everything’s still fine.” I sighed. “Jack, I’m over forty and I’m having twins. My body is just freaking out a bit. Kind of like my brain did at the beginning.”

  He hesitated, as if not completely convinced, before shutting the door of the van and moving over to the driver’s side. He was already driving down Tradd Street before he spoke again. “I still find you incredibly sexy, by the way.”

  I rolled my eyes and sighed, even though my heart was doing somersaults as more logs were thrown onto the stove.

  As usual, Jack found a parking spot at the curb barely a block from St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, where the eighty-ninth annual Ashley Hall Christmas play was being held. Two stragglers, small angels in white robes, ran past us, a frazzled mother clutching a toddler with a missing shoe walking quickly behind them. “Speak clearly, and don’t forget to smile!” she called after them.

  It was twenty minutes before showtime, so clusters of parents and attendees stood outside chatting in front of the tall red Gothic doors of the imposing brick church with the tall steeple that towered over this portion of King Street.

  I spotted Cooper and Alston Ravenel as soon as they saw us. Alston came rushing toward us, while Cooper walked more sedately, as befitted his status as a Citadel cadet. Alston hugged me and kissed my cheek, then surprised Jack by doing the same to him.

  “I’m surprised you’re not in the play,” I told her.

  “I get stage fright. I’m helping with the lighting, though, so I’ve got to run. I just wanted to say hi and let Nola know you’re here. I think she’s nervous, but don’t tell her I said that.” She gave us a quick wave, then walked away quickly, her posture still perfect and straight enough to carry a stack of books despite her rapid pace.

  Cooper extended his hand to me and I shook it, and then he did the same to Jack. Jack hesitated for just a second longer than necessary before accepting it. “Cooper,” he said curtly.

  “Sir,” Cooper said.

  I looked down at their clasped hands, wondering whether they were perhaps clasped more tightly than the situation warranted.

  “Are you sitting with your parents?” Jack asked.

  “No, sir. Nola’s grandparents were kind enough to save a seat for me in the front row.”

  “Terrific,” Jack said, unsmiling.

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Cooper said, his smile showing that he was unfazed by Jack’s chilly reception.

  Cooper excused himself to go talk with friends, Jack glaring after him.

  “Jack, he’s a nice kid. Would you prefer some tattooed convict on a motorcycle with a cigarette pack rolled up in his sleeve?”

  “I’d prefer Nola to be in a convent in Ireland for the next ten years.” He snorted, making me want to laugh. “I know what he’s after—all guys are the same. Her money’s just a bonus.”

  “What are you talking about? They’re not even dating. And even if they were, I doubt money would be an issue.”

  “Yeah, well, she just got her first royalty check for ‘My Daughter’s Eyes.’ It’s enough to pay for her college, with a bit left over to invest. And that’s just the first one. They’re still playing it heavily on the radio, and Apple might be interested in using it in one of their iPod commercials.”

  “That’s fabulous! I’m just surprised she hasn’t told me.”

  “She just found out yesterday. She was planning on telling everybody tonight at dinner, after the play.”

  I felt an absurd relief, as if I’d believed that her omission meant that I didn’t rate as high in Nola’s affections as she rated in mine. “Don’t worry—I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

  We stepped through the black iron gates and onto the black-and-white-tiled flooring that led up to steps and the main door. I stared down at the squares, laid down to look like diamonds, and they seemed to float up to me, then swim back and forth as if they were liquid. I stopped, clutching at Jack’s arm.

  “Mellie? Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I think so. I just think my headache is becoming some sort of migraine. It’s messing with my vision.”

  He took hold of both of my elbows and led me to the church steps and made me sit down. Taking his phone from his jacket pocket, he said, “I’m calling Dr. Wise.”

  I wanted to argue, but my head was throbbing and the black and white tiles continued to move around my feet. Without thinking too much about it, I tilted to the side until my cheek was resting against the top step.

  “Mellie!” Jack’s voice sounded as if it were coming from very far away.

  “Thanks for letting me rest my head on your lap,” I mumbled.

  “I’m not.”

  “Hmm?” His words made no sense. I definitely felt a soft lap underneath my head and a hand brushing my hair from my face.

  Jack began speaking into the phone, but his words were no longer registering with me. I saw Cooper within my fading field of vision, and then Jack was saying something to him before Cooper disappeared into the building. A group of people had congregated in front of me, but I ignored them, focusing instead on the gentle hand on my forehead that was easing my headache.

  A siren broke through the fog, and I heard Jack’s voice very close to my ear. “Hang on, Mellie. Hang on, all right? The ambulance is almost here. You’re going to be fine. Just hang on.”

  I heard my mother, and then Amelia, their voices low and soothing, but they were talking to Jack and not me. But I felt Jack’s hands on mine, and then he was cradling my head and I wanted to protest, to ask what had happened to the other gentle hands, but once he touched me nothing else mattered.

  The siren grew louder, but it seemed the shrillness was muted, like somebody had placed their hands over my ears so I wouldn’t be disturbed. I sensed the movement of people as a new person wearing some sort of uniform shirt appeared in front of me. I was suddenly being lifted in the air, then set on something firm. Jack’s hands slid from mine, and I tried to call his name, but my words disintegrated before they’d left my mouth.

  And then I felt Jack’s lips on my forehead. Then, very softly, as if it came from a great distance, I heard, “I love you, Mellie.” The gentle hand returned to my face, stroking softly, and I realized that Jack was gone.

  A needle prick stung my arm, followed by the sound of slamming doors. I opened my mouth to shout Jack’s name, to ask him to repeat what he’d just said, because I wasn’t sure whether I’d imagined it or not. “I love you, too,” I said, but the words dissolved on my tongue like a bitter pill, leaving me hollow and empty as I finally closed my eyes and allowed myself to slip into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 24

  “It’s not fair,” I said, my voice sounding small and scared, just like I felt. “I’ve always been so healthy. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

  My mother sat on the edge of my bed, stroking my hair, the action enveloping me in strong sense of déjà vu. “Nobody ever said life was supposed to be fair, Mellie. You need to look at the bright side: You’re healthy, the babies are healthy, and your doctor isn’t making you stay in the hospital.”

  I sighed. “On one level, I do realize you’re right. But Dr. Wise is making me lie on my left side in my bed for three months. I think she just looked that up in the Journal of Medieval Torture. She probably has a subscription.”

  “Sweetheart, preeclampsia is serious. You’re lucky Jack was there and knew
to call an ambulance. And you’ve got me. Between the two of us and Mrs. Houlihan, we’ll be able to constantly monitor you and the babies until they’re strong enough to be born. We’re in this together, okay?”

  “I know—and I’m so grateful that the babies are okay. But that doesn’t make being a prisoner in my own room any easier to take.”

  She leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Sometimes I am very glad that we didn’t spend your teenage years together. We might not have survived.” Straightening, she said, “Mrs. Houlihan will bring your dinner up in a few moments, and I’ll be back when you’re finished to give you your prenatal vitamins.”

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked, imagining all the comfort foods Mrs. Houlihan usually made for me when I was feeling low.

  “Steamed vegetables, grilled chicken, potatoes with no butter or gravy, and an apple for dessert.”

  I stared at her. “Do you want me to cry now or wait until you leave?”

  “Mellie, please try. Mrs. Houlihan is an excellent cook and I know she’ll make it all very tasty.”

  “Without salt. Or a real dessert.”

  “Think of the babies.” She sent me a pointed look.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the self-pity quickly replaced with shame. “I will—promise. It’s just . . . a lot to take in.” My gaze strayed behind her to the wall by the bathroom door, where somebody had set up a cot and bedding while I’d been in the hospital. “Is that yours?”

  “No. It’s Jack’s. He insisted on sleeping in here. I’m taking over the guest room.”

  A warm flush threaded through my veins as I tried to remember something Jack had said while I’d been floating in and out of consciousness. But all I could recall was the sound of doors slamming and the compulsion to ask him something.

  She opened the bedroom door and a black-and-white ball of fur raced inside before jumping up on the bed and settling himself in his usual spot of honor on top of my pillow.

  “I’m assuming General Lee is allowed?” I asked.

  “Of course. I asked Dr. Wise, and she said that he might actually help to keep your blood pressure down. You should pet him as much as possible.”

  I reached up to stroke his silky fur, but paused as I realized that his ears were at attention, along with his tail, and his eyes were following movement where no movement should have been. It was unnerving because I couldn’t see what it was, but even more unnerving because the little dog wasn’t barking.

  “Mother?” I whispered.

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  “Why isn’t he barking?”

  “Because he doesn’t feel threatened, and he doesn’t feel as if you should be either.”

  General Lee’s head went back as if the unseen visitor were now standing at the bed, looking down at us. And then he tilted his head back and forth as something or someone scratched behind his ears.

  “I smell roses,” my mother said quietly.

  As soon as she’d said the words, General Lee stopped moving his head and whimpered, as if the scratching had suddenly ceased. But not before I’d felt the press of cold fingers being laid gently on my cheek.

  “It was Louisa,” I said with certainty, remembering again a soft lap and gentle hands on my face as sirens screamed in the distance.

  “She’s here to protect you,” my mother said, her tone anything but comforting.

  My eyes met hers. “But from what?”

  Our gazes held for a long moment before she turned away. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  “Mother?”

  She faced me again.

  “Would you mind getting me a few fresh thin-tipped Sharpies and a blank pad to put on my easel? I want to make a flowchart of all the information we’ve gathered so far about the Vanderhorsts.”

  “Sure. Anything else?”

  I nodded. “And if you wouldn’t mind, could you move my easel closer? You can put the new pad and pens at the foot of the bed so I can reach them.”

  My mother lifted the easel and brought it nearer the bed, scrutinizing the chart as if for the first time. “You’re still planning on giving birth on March twenty-third, I see.”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask Dr. Wise if my condition might mean an earlier delivery, but unless I hear otherwise, that’s still what I’m aiming for.”

  She gave me an odd smile before heading out the door, muttering something under her breath, the only two words I could understand being “reality” and “check.” I lay back on my pillow and closed my eyes, imagining for a moment that I could smell the sweet scent of roses.

  I’d just finished losing my fourth game of tic-tac-toe on Nola’s iPad when I looked up at a gentle tapping on the doorframe. Jack stood there in a white T-shirt that outlined his abs, barefoot and wearing plaid pajama bottoms, looking as devastating as he had the first time I’d seen him. In the week I’d been on bed rest, he’d moved his writing desk into the music room, where both he and Nola had found some sort of positive vibe in working together. Nola had explained it as an exchange of creative juices. I considered it a neutral way for them to be in the same room without a reason to shout at each other.

  Since my return from the hospital, I’d hardly seen him alone at all. It was as if he were avoiding any chance to be alone with me. He helped with my blood pressure monitoring and clearing my food trays, and slept on the cot—only after I’d fallen asleep—so that if I needed help at night he was there. I felt his presence in the house like a person in daylight knows there’s a sun shining somewhere in the sky without actually looking up.

  “I thought you’d already be asleep,” he said, sounding almost apologetic.

  I shook my head, then tossed the iPad on my nightstand with disgust. “I was hoping the stupid thing would take pity on me and let me win just once.”

  “I’d be happy to show you some pointers on how to win. Every writer I know is great at online games, because we’re pros at procrastination. I could teach you a thing or two about solitaire and sudoku, too.”

  “Well, there’s something to look forward to, I guess. Maybe I can find other bedridden pregnant women out there in some online-gaming chat room.”

  “It’s probably right next to the one for writers,” he said with a smile. He stepped toward me but didn’t sit on the bed. “You know, if you really don’t want to take those Lamaze classes, there are easier ways to get out of it than preeclampsia. That’s a little extreme, even for you.”

  I pursed my lips. “I wish I’d known there was a choice. Panting in a room with a lot of pregnant women almost sounds fun to me now.”

  He lifted his hand as if to touch me, then let it drop. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in bed for the duration. You know we’re all here to help.”

  I nodded. “I know. It’s just that, well, there’s stuff I need to be doing. Like selling houses. And walking General Lee. And it’s Christmas. Fortunately, I’d finished with my shopping and cataloging everything in my gift closet by November first, but I haven’t wrapped anything yet. I probably won’t even be allowed to go downstairs to decorate the tree, and I know I won’t be allowed near the turkey or ham. Or pecan pie.” I’d started to salivate and stopped.

  Very slowly, he said, “You finished with all of your shopping by November first?”

  I nodded. “That’s my deadline every year, and I’ve never missed it. I usually have it all wrapped by December tenth, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.”

  “You know that’s not normal, right?”

  “It is for me.”

  He just looked at me for a long moment. “I can wrap for you. I used to help out at Trenholm’s Antiques when I was in high school, and I can tie a mean bow, if I do say so myself. Where are the presents?”

  I pointed to the old mahogany armoire that had once been the room’s only clothes storage until I’d knocked down a wall to add the master bath and walk-in closet. “In there.”

  He opened the doors and stood there not saying anything for a full minute
. “All of the shelves are labeled. With one of those labeling-gun things.”

  “Actually, I used five different labeling guns so that I could color-code for specific people without having to reload the tape. My mother is gold, my father silver, Sophie is green, Nola purple, and you’re black.”

  He turned to regard me with one raised eyebrow, then turned back to view my masterpiece again. “This is pretty amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling better than I had in more than a week. “The miscellaneous shelf at the bottom is for people at work and Ruth at the bakery. I just used different-colored Sharpies on masking tape for those.”

  “You should be on one of those TV reality shows.”

  “Like one of the HGTV programs about home improvement?”

  He shook his head. “No, I was thinking about one of the shows about people with weird obsessions.” He leaned down and lifted something from one of the shelves. “What’s this?”

  I struggled to sit upright and then gave up, flopping back on my pillows and General Lee. “That’s one of your presents. You weren’t supposed to look.”

  “What is it?” He held it flat in his hands.

  “It’s a leather expanding file. It has your initials on the other side,” I said shyly.

  He flipped it over and examined the three letters. “It’s very nice.”

  “Your workspace is such a mess that I thought this would help organize all your notes when you’re writing. That way you won’t have paper strewn over every flat surface.”

  His eyes sparkled as he regarded me. “Some people actually work better that way, you know.”

  “I don’t see how. It would drive me nuts.”

  He leaned down again and picked up the small leather box with the words “Croghan’s Jewel Box” embossed on top. “What’s this?”

  I sighed with exasperation. “I bet you were one of those kids who crept downstairs when your parents weren’t looking and opened all the presents before taping them shut again.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  “I wasn’t really given the chance. Christmas was some sort of haphazard thing. My dad and I usually didn’t even have a tree. I think that’s why I go a little crazy with all the decorations and preparations. I don’t mean this to sound shallow, but one of the things I’m most looking forward to as a parent is Christmas mornings. Especially when they’re small.” I paused. “Hopefully we can work it out so that we don’t have to take turns with them on holidays. I figure since Nola is practically mine already, and your parents and my parents are good friends, we could just all be together for holidays and birthdays.”