Return to Tradd Street
He looked down at the box in his hands, but not before I’d seen the look in his eyes. I figured it was a trick of the light that made them seem angry.
“You’ve already worked it all out, I see. You and your planning. You should have been a five-star general.”
There was a hard edge to his voice, but before I could ask him about it, he said, “Can I go ahead and open this one? That way I won’t have to wrap it.”
“Go ahead. But I’m still going to make you wrap it so you can open it again on Christmas morning.”
He moved toward the bed and this time he did sit down, but was very careful not to touch me. He took the lid off the box and placed it on the folded-down bedspread, then parted the tissue so he could see the sterling-silver three-part frame. I’d already put Nola’s freshman-year photo in the center, and the sonogram pictures of the twins on either side. He regarded them intently, not saying a single word.
“I figure after the twins are born you can replace those with real photos. I’m assuming it will be hard to narrow it down to two good ones, because it seems the Trenholm family trait is to be highly photogenic. I mean, even the sonogram photos are cute—in one of them I swear the baby is smiling for the camera. And Nola’s photo looks like it belongs on the cover of Vogue. I’m not even going to mention your author photo on the backs of your books, or your driver’s license photo. I mean, who takes good pictures at the DMV?”
He was staring hard at the frames without saying anything, so I’d started to babble to fill the silence and maybe to block out whatever it was he would say.
Jack’s lips lifted, but his smile was sad. “Just when I’m beginning to think that you have no heart at all, you do something like this.”
I didn’t know how to respond. I was hurt and touched at the same time, and anything I wanted to say would have just come out wrong, so I remained silent.
Jack stood and replaced the box with the frame back in the armoire and closed the doors.
“I’m assuming you have another closet somewhere in the house for just wrapping paper and supplies?” He held his finger to his lips, silencing me. “Don’t tell me now—wait until tomorrow. I don’t think I could handle two Mellie-isms in one night. It might overwhelm me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he’d already walked to the cot and lain down.
“Jack?”
“Um?”
“Can you turn out the light? It’s hard for me to get out of bed.”
He stood and walked across the room to flip the switch, giving me a nice view of his T-shirt-clad torso. Maybe I’d get lucky and dream about it.
He crawled back onto the cot and I lay very still, listening to him breathe.
“Jack?”
“Yes, Mellie?”
“Remember before, how you slept with me in my bed so we could both be more comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“You could do that again. If you like. I don’t think that cot’s easy on your back. And you’ll need your back for all the baby lifting.”
He didn’t say anything, but I heard him leave the cot, and then felt movement from the other side of the mattress.
I barely breathed while I waited for him to get closer.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“No,” I said, finding it easier to be honest with him in the dark.
Without a word he moved closer until he was curled up behind me like a spoon. He snagged one of the small pillows that were now a permanent fixture on my bed and began to arrange them right where I needed them without my having to tell him.
“How about now?”
“That’ll do,” I said, relaxing into him.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
Did you really say that you loved me or was I just dreaming? But all the darkness in the world could not force that question past my lips. “Can we do this again tomorrow night?”
“Um-hmm.”
“And the next?”
“Um-hmm.”
“But don’t tell Nola or my mother, okay? We’ll mess up the sheets on the cot every morning so no one will know.”
His chest rumbled against my back. “Mellie?”
“Yes?”
“Go to sleep. I can’t take any more.”
I stayed awake long after Jack’s breathing slowed into a heavy sleep rhythm, wondering what he’d meant. Then I closed my eyes, pressing myself against him, and fell asleep to the sound of little feet running up and down the halls of the old house.
CHAPTER 25
I picked at my plate of black-eyed peas and collard greens, unable to find the enthusiasm needed to place a bite on my fork and lift it to my mouth. “It tastes a lot better with lots of salt and fatback.”
Nola sat on a chair beside my bed, her own plate perched on her lap. “I don’t think I want to know exactly what ‘fatback’ is.” She put a bite of the peas into her mouth and chewed. “It’s not bad at all—you should try it.” She smiled encouragingly.
“I figured you’d like it, because you’ve never eaten it the way it should be. It’s kind of like eating chocolate that doesn’t have any sugar in it.”
She looked up with wide eyes. “I’ve had that—and it’s pretty good.”
“Never mind,” I muttered, putting a small bite of unseasoned black-eyed peas into my mouth. I hadn’t minded the bland diet I’d been on for almost a month because I knew it was best for my babies. But this was New Year’s Day, and the plate in front of me was just a glaring reminder of everything I’d willingly given up and forgotten to miss. Until now.
Nola put a mouthful of collard greens into her mouth and almost choked. She quickly took a drink of water and shook her head, as if trying to negate the taste that was probably still lingering. “Ugh. How can people eat that?”
“Like I said, it’s a lot better cooked in fatback. You have to finish it, though, to bring you good luck throughout the year. It’s a Southern tradition.”
She eyed the collard greens with suspicion. “Tradition or punishment?”
“If you’re going to grow up in South Carolina, you really need to know these things.” I took a deep breath, remembering what my grandmother had taught me at about the same time I was learning to walk. “Back during the Civil War, when the Yankees traipsed through the South burning everything in sight, they left behind the black-eyed peas and greens to feed their animals, not destroying what was left because they didn’t think it edible for humans.”
“They got that right,” Nola said under her breath before taking another long drink of water.
I continued. “The Southerners were grateful for the leftovers, because it was the only thing that saved them from dying of starvation. So each January first, we eat our collard greens and black-eyed peas with grateful hearts and a renewed sense of hope for the coming year.”
“Do you really believe that?” Nola asked dubiously.
I rubbed my belly. “I will admit that every New Year does give me a little spark of excitement and enthusiasm, and even a renewed sense of purpose. Especially this year, since I’m expecting the twins.”
My eyes met her skeptical ones.
I pushed away my plate. “Oh, all right. I confess that starving might be a viable alternative to eating these plain. I might even feel a little more hopeful and enthused if I could just have a tiny bit of fat and salt to go with my greens and peas.”
General Lee sat up, his face turned toward the open bedroom door as Nola and I both became aware of the sound of somebody walking up the stairs. The dog gave a high-pitched whine—something he usually reserved for those he loved best, or whoever was holding the dog food—while we waited for the visitor to appear in the doorway.
Both Nola and I slumped when we spotted Rebecca, a vision in pink cashmere and wool tweed, holding Pucci, who was wearing a matching tweed sweater.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Nola said quietly through clenched teeth and what might pass as a smile.
“Melanie
! Nola! It’s been forever!” Rebecca burst into the room in a cloud of perfume and hair spray, but before I had a chance to cough, she was kissing me on both cheeks and then Nola. “Your mother let me in, saying a visitor was just what you needed to perk you up.”
Nola and I made a big show of gathering and stacking plates so we wouldn’t have to respond, while Pucci and General Lee became reacquainted by sniffing each other’s posterior. Without being asked, Rebecca dragged over the low upholstered slipper chair by the window and parked it next to Nola’s.
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that you can’t be in my wedding now, Mellie. It’s important to both Marc and me that our families play a big part in our wedding. Maybe you can be godmother to one of our children instead.” She looked pointedly at my belly, which I inadequately tried to cover with my hands. I hadn’t thought about godmothers yet, but I was pretty certain that Rebecca wouldn’t be one of them.
“How nice,” I said.
She didn’t seem to have heard, as she was staring intently at Nola. “What size are you? A two? Or maybe a four? I think you might fit into Melanie’s—”
Nola stood suddenly, her chair wobbling in her wake. “I need to get these dishes down to the kitchen. And I’ve got tons of homework. . . .”
“I thought you’d have at least another week for your Christmas break,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, well, I do, but Ashley Hall is pretty tough. You have no idea how much homework they give even over breaks.” She gathered up the tray and smiled at us before backing out the door. As she descended the stairs, I thought I heard her fading litany, “And then I have to milk the cows, plow a field, scrub the floors. . . .”
“Sweet girl,” Rebecca said, diverting my attention. “A little excitable, perhaps, but sweet. I guess that comes from growing up in California.”
I yawned, not bothering to hide it. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess it’s my nap time.”
She laughed. “My mother and grandmother have to take naps, too. I guess I’m not old enough for that yet.”
I was grateful that my bulkiness precluded me from leaping on her and squashing her like a bug. Instead, I said, “I am sorry about not being able to be in your wedding. Even my parents have postponed their wedding until after the babies are born so that I can participate. I don’t expect you to do that, of course,” I added quickly, hoping I wasn’t giving her any ideas, “but I will pay for my dress, since we already ordered it.”
She smiled, and I began to have a very bad feeling about the purpose of her visit. “Actually,” she said slowly, “all might not be lost, and you might have a reason to wear it after all. It is in the most beautiful shade of pink, and if we get it altered just a bit to show that it’s different from the bridesmaids’ dresses, I think we could make it work.”
“Make it work?”
She beamed. “Well, since we’re practically sisters, I thought I could ask you this favor. Actually, it was Marc’s idea, but since you and he have a . . . history, we thought it best that I ask.”
My phone buzzed and I looked down at the screen to see it was Detective Riley. We spoke almost daily, but not in person. The two times he’d come to the house, Jack had hovered like a chaperone, and the second time he’d actually lain down on the cot and pretended to nap while Thomas and I talked. It was awkward and unnerving, and we’d decided to chat by phone for the duration of my pregnancy unless I knew that Jack was out of the house for at least an hour.
After making a mental note to call him back later, I hit mute and looked back at Rebecca. “I’m sorry. You were saying you wanted to ask a favor? Look, if you want to borrow any of the family jewelry for your wedding day, you’re welcome to it.”
“Actually, we want to borrow your house.”
I was silent for a moment, trying to unscramble her words into an order that made sense. “Excuse me?” There was a scuffling sound from the other side of the bed, out of our line of sight, but I was too focused on what Rebecca was saying to give it my full attention.
“It’s such a perfect idea, I’m just ashamed that I didn’t think about it first!” She practically bounced up and down in her chair. “Since it’s technically because of this house and your connection to it and to Marc that he and I met, we thought it would be the perfect location for the rehearsal dinner.”
“The rehearsal dinner,” I repeated, just to make sure I’d heard her correctly.
She nodded multiple times, reminding me of a bobblehead on a dashboard. “Yes! Isn’t that the most amazing idea? We’ve already paid our deposit at the yacht club, but we would happily forfeit it, because having the rehearsal dinner at your house would just be the icing on the cake of our wedding plans. And you won’t even have to lift a finger. We’ll have our wedding planner take care of everything—hire the caterers, do the decorations, the cleaning, and all the prep work. All you have to do is smile.”
Her gaze slid down to my abdomen. “Maybe I can get the alterations lady at the bridal shop to make a sash or something to cinch you in. You know, give you a waist.”
The sounds on the other side of the bed were becoming more frantic now, but I was too busy wondering how I could grab a pillow and toss it at her while making it look like an accident.
“Actually, Rebecca, I’m not supposed to leave my bed. Except to go to the bathroom or sit up and eat, I’m supposed to be lying on my side.”
She stood and walked toward the cot, her thoughts so focused that she didn’t even think to ask why it was there. “This would be perfect! You could be carried down the stairs on this—sort of like Cleopatra!—and moved from room to room with the guests.”
I needed her to leave before I’d be forced into an act of violence that I couldn’t even pretend later that I regretted. “I need to think about it. Can we talk about this later?”
She returned to her chair, her expression solemn. “It might be the very last function you will ever have in this house, you know. It would be like a huge farewell celebration—everything shimmering and gleaming just like when it was new. It would be something you’d remember for the rest of your life.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
Her own eyes were round and innocent. “It’s nothing I’ve read or been told. I’m waiting with bated breath along with everyone else to find out what the DNA results will be. But I did have a peculiar dream. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. But only after you agreed to do the rehearsal dinner.”
“You’re bribing me? What’s this ‘we’re all family’ stuff?”
“I’m not the one who has trouble recognizing that we’re related, Melanie. I’m always having to remind you. I know our connection is a distant one, but we are blood relations. Marc and I both think it makes perfect sense for our rehearsal dinner to be here. I just figured you might need a little . . . incentive.”
I leaned back against my pillows, wishing for a giant flyswatter so I could just shoo her away. But somewhere inside of me, buried in all of my annoyance, I knew she might be right—that it could be the last party and gathering of family and friends in this house that I’d called home for such a short time, but that seemed like a lifetime.
With a sigh, I said, “Do you promise I won’t have to do a thing? Because I really can’t. And there’s no guarantee that the ghosts will behave, either.”
She was bouncing up and down in her chair again. “Oh, I can manage them.” She reached over and hugged me, then sat back. “So, do we have a deal?”
I sighed, seeing no alternative and lacking the will or energy to argue. “Whatevs,” I said, feeling a small sense of satisfaction as I watched her mentally translate. “So what was your dream?”
She moved her chair up a little closer next to the bed, as if the ghosts couldn’t hear her if she whispered. “I dreamed of that woman again. The woman I saw before with the cradles.”
I felt a stab of disappointment. “And that was all? You just saw the woman with two cra
dles again?”
She shook her head. “Sort of. Except that there were three cradles this time. And one of them had a baby in it.”
“Were the cradles all the same?”
She nodded slowly. “They were black with twisted spindles, and rockers carved to look like egrets.” Her eyes opened wide. “And there was one more thing that was different this time.”
Her face was so close to mine that I could feel her breath as she spoke. “What?” I whispered.
“She was holding something in her hand, a piece of paper. There were lots of lines on it, like some type of official form, like a birth certificate or something, but I couldn’t read any of the writing. She kept holding it up to my face and pointing at a signature at the bottom. I couldn’t read it, so I was hoping you might know what it’s all about so that she won’t come back and disturb my sleep. Wouldn’t do for me to have dark circles under my eyes in my engagement photos.”
“Thank goodness for Photoshop,” I said, my attention distracted by what she’d just told me.
“Excuse me?”
I refocused on Rebecca. “I said that I doubted you could take a bad picture.”
The table on the other side of the bed began wobbling back and forth, accompanied by a grunt and a whine, the crystal lamp on top of the table beginning to shimmy.
Rebecca jerked to her feet. “What on earth . . . ?” When she reached the foot of the bed, she shrieked. “Pucci!”
In the same moment that I realized I couldn’t get out of bed fast enough to help, I noticed that General Lee was MIA. I turned to Rebecca with horror. “Is my dog . . . ?”