A stillness of chimes, p.26
A Stillness of Chimes, page 26
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“No, it was too dark—”
“Dark?” He looked up at the porch ceiling, where the high-intensity bulbs should have been blazing until full light. “What happened to the security lights?”
“I turned them off so if anyone was out there, they couldn’t see me.”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t chide her. He’d done the same thing—but not at three in the morning.
She jerked in a short, sharp breath, her bravado dissolving. “I sl-slammed the door so fast. I—No! Mikey!”
The cat had darted outside again, past both of them. Now he was hightailing it toward the road. For an old cat, Mikey sure could move.
Laura ran down the steps, doing the “Here-kitty-kitty-kitty” routine that usually brought the cat on the double. Not this time. Mikey was gone in seconds, disappearing into the tall roadside weeds.
“We shouldn’t have been standing there with the door open,” she said, stomping up the steps. “He’d better not get hit.”
Sean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her so edgy. He couldn’t blame her, but he wasn’t in the mood to worry about a cat.
He held the door open for her and followed her into the warmth of the house. “What time did this happen?”
“About three.”
“Three. That’s right. You told me.” Several hours after he and Keith had heard the noise near the cabin. So that could have been Elliott too.
Or Dale. Or a stranger. The man on the porch might have been a stranger too.
Or even Ardelle. Was it possible? Nothing had gone missing since he’d changed the locks, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to get in. She didn’t live within walking distance anymore, though.
It was already nearly full light. Afraid they were running out of time somehow, Sean paced the room, trying to think. Trying to focus.
“If it was your dad, why didn’t he answer when you called out?”
“I don’t know, Sean. Same possibilities we’ve talked about over and over again. Maybe he was more afraid of me than I was of him.”
Sean shook his head, still trying to put everything together, and remembered the theory that had occurred to him in the middle of the night. If Laura was right about Gibby and Jess, it could explain not only Elliott’s disappearance but also his reappearance. Maybe he’d wanted revenge on Gibby but hadn’t wanted to hurt Jess by acting on the impulse while she was alive. But if Elliott had somehow learned that she’d passed away, he might have resurfaced … just when Gibby would be in town.
Far away, a faint clang reminded Sean that the weekend was on its way. The PA system would start the canned music soon. Tonight the live bands would play. Main Street would be blocked off and swarming with tourists and locals. Downtown would smell like funnel cakes and cotton candy and beer. It seemed like some faraway planet, some silly world he used to live in.
Laura’s hand on his arm jolted him. “What’s wrong, Sean?”
He tried to smile. “Just about everything.” Reaching with his other hand to pat hers, he noticed a yellowing bruise at her elbow. “What happened there?”
“It’s nothing, really. Just a bruise.”
Her strange evasiveness piqued his curiosity. “How did it happen?”
“I … well. You know, sometimes bruises just happen and you hardly remember how, later.”
But this one completely encircled her arm in a pattern all too familiar.
“The truth, Laura.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and she met his eyes. “Remember the day I gave you the songbooks? The day I ran into Dale in your driveway? He thought I was rude, so he grabbed my arm as I was walking away. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Sean took her arm gently and examined the bruise. “He’s not getting away with this.”
“It’s no big deal,” she said, but there were tears in her eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid you would overreact.” She gave him an impish smile. “So prove me wrong, okay? Don’t overreact.”
“Our definitions of that word probably aren’t the same.”
“I know, but let it go. Please. A little ol’ bruise won’t matter if this is the day my dad comes back.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “Maybe he’ll sleep under his own roof tonight.”
She was pale. Exhausted. Shivering, probably not from cold but from nerves. Sean pulled her into his arms and leaned his head against hers, feeling her damp hair on his cheek and smelling her shampoo.
“Whatever happens, we’ll go through it together.” Closing his eyes, he flashed back to a hot August day. Laura, Cassie, and Tigger, their hands piled together with his, making a promise. “We’ll always be there for each other. Remember?”
Laura nodded but didn’t speak.
“When I say always, I mean always. The rest of our lives.”
She stiffened. She seemed to stop breathing.
He held his breath too, waiting. She had to know he was talking about marriage.
She looked up, her eyes shining with tears. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
She lowered her gaze to his chin. When she finally spoke, he could hardly hear her. “Your father.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“Refusing to acknowledge that Dale is your father doesn’t change facts. And even though I know you’re nothing like him, I still … I worry. He must hate me like he hates my dad.”
“Don’t worry about it. Dale hates everybody.”
“He hates my dad in particular. For rescuing you.”
“Laura, we’ve been close since we were kids. I thought you’d always been able to get past how vile Dale is. But now—we don’t have to stay here. If you want me to move to Denver—or anywhere else—I will.”
She finally looked up, her eyes dark with sorrow. “What if my dad’s back in Prospect? What then?”
“Then we’ll figure something out. Together.”
A long shriek of squealing tires twisted in the air.
“Mikey,” Laura said with a catch in her voice. “Mikey’s been hit.”
“Or missed.” Sean looked out the window. “I’ll go see. Not just about the cat but about any signs that your visitor might have left behind.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. Please. We still aren’t sure who we’re dealing with. Stay inside, doors locked. I don’t care if the cat learns to speak English and comes back and says pretty please, don’t open the door to anybody but me.”
He stole a quick kiss and left her standing there. He ran to the road and looked in both directions but didn’t see a cat carcass anywhere.
He’d be elected gravedigger if the cat had finally bought the farm. He was already Laura’s locksmith, bodyguard, and detective. Who had time to run a business? Or talk a woman into marrying him?
From the window, Laura watched Sean cross the road, his hair rippling in the wind. He slowed on the grassy shoulder and climbed the steps to the churchyard. At the top, he checked the view in all directions. He descended the steps and started down the road, walking fast.
Somewhere on the north side of town, a slow-moving freight blew its mournful whistle. The train would roll through Prospect, past the streets that were blocked off for the weekend. Past the kudzu jungle that had overtaken the berry patch. The train would pick up speed and keep going, leaving the town far behind.
Wherever her dad was, he heard the whistle too. He was out there, somewhere. Listening.
Ardelle’s yellow convertible swung into view and came to a stop behind Sean’s truck. Cassie was at the wheel.
Forcing her face into some semblance of serenity, Laura opened the front door. Cassie hurried up the steps, holding a small cardboard box. One of those old, bronzy-green garden markers stuck out of it. Her face was pale; her hair unbrushed. No makeup, no jewelry, and her eyes were puffy. She might have just rolled out of bed, or maybe she’d been crying for hours.
“You okay?” Laura asked.
“I spent half the night having the most wonderful knock-down-drag-out argument with Drew,” she said with a funny little smile. “I’ll explain later.”
“Come on in. What’s in the box?”
“You’re not going to believe it,” she said, coming inside. “Mom can’t keep denying that she took anything. She’d stashed all kinds of stuff in her scrapbook cupboard.” Stepping carefully through dozens of journals on the floor, Cassie made her way to the couch and sat down, still holding the box. “You ready for some craziness?”
“I hope so.” Laura sat beside her.
Cassie held up the bottle of Jean Naté. “It’s a scent Laura wouldn’t wear anyway,” she said in a spot-on impression of Ardelle’s voice. “Then there’s this.” She held up a tube of peachy-pink lipstick.
“That looks exactly like a lipstick that used to be on my mom’s bathroom counter.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Cassie reached into the box again. “She had these photos of your mom’s flower beds—my mom says that’s okay, they’re duplicates and she’s sure you wouldn’t mind—and a copy of your mom’s obituary, but that’s not something she swiped. It’s been sitting around our kitchen for weeks. And there’s one of those garden markers. Let’s leave it in the box. I don’t want to get dirt on your couch.”
Bewildered, Laura shook her head. “Is there more?”
“Oh yeah, and it gets weirder. She had the chain your dad used to wear.” Cassie reached into the box again and handed Laura the chain with the silver cross and the dog tag still dangling from it.
“What? I’d put them away in a drawer! Why would she snoop like that? And take something that’s not hers? A memento of my dad, of all things.”
“She didn’t even try to explain that one. Or these.” Cassie fanned out three Red Cross blood-donor cards on the couch. Red and white plastic, like credit cards.
Laura spread them out further to read the names. “What on earth? She had my mom’s card, your dad’s, and mine? She took it out of my wallet? When? How?”
“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”
“Me either. If I wasn’t home, I would have had my wallet with me. And if I was home—” Laura stopped. “When I was here for the funeral, she came over to help with housework. She was here for a couple of hours—so she could have taken my card and Mom’s, right under my nose. But why?”
“That’s what Dad was trying to get out of her when I left. He’ll call me if he can make sense of it.”
Laura took a closer look at the Red Cross cards and her dad’s dog tag, and her brain seemed to shut down. Maybe she was in denial, but she couldn’t accept the most logical explanation. It didn’t jibe with what she already knew. Or thought she knew.
Why Gary’s donor card?
“This is all wrong. Cassie … remember in high school … those boxes? What are they called? Punnett squares?”
Cassie frowned. “Don’t ask me. I didn’t do well in geometry.”
“Not geometry. Genetics. Biology with Preston. Oh, I wish I’d told you everything a long time ago—but this doesn’t fit anyway.”
“Laura, what are you talking about?”
“I’m pretty sure my mom had an affair. With Gibby.”
Cassie’s mouth fell open. “Gibby?” With wide eyes, she stared at the Red Cross cards. “What are you saying? What does that have to do with …”
“I don’t know. My brain’s on strike.” Laura’s voice cracked. “I need to borrow someone else’s. Who understands genetics?”
“Preston.”
Of course. Preston.
Laura picked up her phone and called him. Afraid she’d lose her nerve, she jumped into it the moment he’d said hello. “Mr. Preston, this is Laura Gantt. I have a quick science question for you. About blood types. If the mom is AB and the father is A, can they possibly have a baby with Type O?”
“That scenario isn’t bloody likely.” Preston laughed at his pun, then launched into a rambling explanation that included alleles, genotypes, and phenotypes. Laura, focused intently on the dog tag marked with her dad’s blood type, wasn’t in the mood to grasp every last detail, but the gist of the matter was clear.
Unless either the US Army or the American Red Cross had made a serious clerical error, she wasn’t Elliott Gantt’s biological daughter.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “That helps. I’ve got to run. Bye for now.” She managed to get through it without letting her voice break.
“What did he say?” Cassie asked.
“I’m pretty sure they had their affair when I was a teenager, so it doesn’t make sense that I’m—I’m the wrong blood type.”
“What? Laura, I don’t understand.”
“I’m the wrong blood type to be my dad’s biological child.” The weight of the statement pressed heavy on her shoulders.
Cassie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No way. Based on … you mean …” Her voice trailed off. “Wait a minute. Let’s think this through. It could mean … either you’re wrong about the timing of the affair, or your mom had more than one affair. Shoot, I can’t imagine her having even one. But where did you get your idea about the timing?”
“I heard my folks arguing about it the summer after we graduated from high school.”
“So you thought it had just happened?”
“Yes.”
“But maybe that’s only when the truth came out.”
Laura nodded slowly. “Maybe.”
Cassie stood. “I need coffee.”
“There’s no coffee. No grinder. There’s tea.”
As Cassie walked into the kitchen, muttering to herself, Laura reached for the last item, the garden marker from one of her mother’s flower beds.
Hemerocallis Honey Redhead.
Hemerocallis. The botanical name for daylilies.
Laura took a sharp breath. She lifted her hand to her hair.
My honey redhead, my redhead honey. Poor little carrot-top baby, you look more like your mama than your daddy.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of a vehicle roaring into the driveway. A door slamming.
“Whoa,” Cassie called from the kitchen. “My dad’s here, and he looks upset. Real upset, like he might be crying. Laura, this is scary. He never cries.”
“Yes he does,” Laura said under her breath.
She’d seen Gary with tears in his eyes. The day they’d dropped off the tuna casserole. She’d thought he was worried about Ardelle’s agitation, but he’d been talking about daylilies. Jess Gantt’s ordinary daylilies. They’d had the power to make him cry?
He bought me a daylily plant. He’s so sweet.
He, she’d written. Not E.
How quickly things can blossom overnight …
A month or two later, in a new journal, she’d added the gloomy line that made Sean say she must have been in a bad mood. Something about the brightest blossoms turning to rot. Laura had just read that entry but couldn’t quite remember it.
Burying her face in her hands, she tried to recall the other sentence that included the word “rot,” followed by three more words that had been scribbled over. A three-letter word, a four-letter word, and me.
Recalling their shape and size—and beginning to understand the context—Laura knew what her mother had written … and why. It wasn’t merely that she’d been in a bad mood. She’d been in the depths of despair. She’d written about it in a sort of code except for the last three words.
A beautiful plant can spring from the rot, from the dirt. God help me.
An affair had blossomed quickly but went sour just as quickly? And then she’d learned she was pregnant.
Gary stepped inside, shutting the door with a clatter. His usually neat hair was a mess, and he was breathing hard. “Laura. Where’s Sean?”
“Across the road, looking for my dad.”
“He just might find him. The latest is that somebody saw him trotting alongside the road a few miles from here. Heading this way.”
Laura shot to her feet. Maybe her dad was the man who’d been on her porch—but that made it even more urgent to discuss the rest of it with Gary. She had to know.
“Gary …” She couldn’t believe she was about to say this. “There’s something you and I need to clear up, right now.” Ignoring Cassie’s bewildered whispers behind her, Laura picked up the garden marker. “Did you give my mother an old-fashioned daylily called Honey Redhead? The one that has bloomed in her yard for thirty years or so?”
Gary swallowed, his eyes shifting from side to side. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Did you know about the carrot-top baby, the honey redhead who looked more like her mama than her daddy? No, you’ve never read my mom’s journals—but I think Ardelle has.”
With watery eyes, he stared at the sad little prizes on the couch. “I didn’t know. Not until now. She—Ardelle—just told me what all these things mean. She knew about Jess and me.”
Cassie gasped. “Dad!”
His chest rose and fell in a big breath. “You have to understand.” His voice broke. “I … with Jess … it just happened. It didn’t last long.” He wiped tears away. “I never dreamed … Jess never said a word about a baby.” He met Laura’s eyes. “I always thought you were Elliott’s.”
She was bewildered to the point of numbness, but she had no reason to doubt him. “I believe you.”
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she stared back. Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone, fruit of his sin—and her mother’s.
That sandy blond hair, the same color as her dad’s. Blue eyes. A similar build. Gary Bright and Elliott Gantt had sometimes been mistaken for brothers.
Gary started talking fast. “It wasn’t long after he got out of the service. She fell apart when she was telling me about his new moods. His black moods. I gave her a hug, a friendly, brotherly hug, and … that’s how it started. I never told Ardelle. I thought it would be better that way, but she knew. Or at least she suspected. All this time. It has been terrible for her.”
