We Interrupt This Date

By

L.C. Evans

Smashwords Edition

We Interrupt This Date by L.C. Evans

© 2009 by L.C. Evans

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading his book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person living or dead is strictly coincidental

Other Works by L.C. Evans

Jobless Recovery, Second Edition ISBN-13: 978-1453792711

Talented Horsewoman ISBN-13: 978-1933157252

Night Camp ISBN-13: 978-1442124387

http://www.lcevans.com

lcevans@lcevans.com

Dedicated to all those wonderful southern women

Chapter One

If I’d had the sense to say no to Mama, I’d be safely at work right now contemplating the passage of time on the clock over my desk. I’d be planning a quiet celebration of the one-year anniversary of my divorce from T. Chandler Caraway, cheater and emotional abuse expert. Instead I was clomping along the sidewalk of a busy Charleston street wishing there were such a thing as parental divorce.

“Walk more slowly, Susan. I do not have long legs like yours to take such giant steps. And please brighten up your expression. Do you know that if you smile when you walk it will automatically improve your mood?”

“Yes, Mama. I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”

A few thousand times. I wondered if fake smiles counted. Going by my current mood, I doubted it.

My mother hadn’t stopped talking about my shortcomings and my need to plunge back into the dating world since the moment we’d stepped out the door of her condo. And now we were on our way back to my car after a morning spent in her doctor’s office. I sidestepped a herd of tourists and pasted on my blandest isn’t-it-a-beautiful-day smile.

Mama leaned closer and traced one finger down my forearm, lighting up a thousand nerves. I jumped as if she’d poked me with a cattle prod.

“You’re already forty and not getting a moment younger. Shall I tell Stanley you’re interested?” She wore one of those mood-lifting smiles she was always recommending for me.

Resisting a childish urge to throw a fit, I increased my pace, nearly mowing down a touristy-looking couple trying to access the door to a trendy King Street restaurant.

“I declare, you are nothing but rude.” Mama lunged, caught the back of my blouse in her fist, and hauled me to a stop.

I yanked my blouse out of her grasp and ground my teeth so hard it felt like I was about to snap off one of my best molars. “Mama, I love you, but the answer is no. I do not need to energize my social life by going out with guys you dredge up for me. By the way, men named Stanley do not make good dates.”

“Stanley is a wonderful man. I met him at Sunday School.” Since her retirement a few months ago, Sunday School was my mother’s main social outlet. She’d already introduced me to two of her fellow Bible Studiers—a widower closer to her age than mine and Clive, a short, intense fellow who’d asked me if I thought pythons should be allowed as pets in apartment buildings.

“And Stanley is so kind, so devoted to his mama.”

“I’ll bet. Does he wear a polka dot bow tie and part his hair in the middle?”

“You are unfair and biased and plain silly. Let’s have lunch and we’ll talk about it.”

“Of course I am. Unfair, I mean. As well as biased against all men you find for me. And you, Mama, are taking your sweet time as if we have all day to spend discussing this person you found at church when you know I have to get back to work.”

I tried to nudge Mama forward. She displayed all the mobility of a two-ton rock, no doubt still caught up in her fantasy of me strolling hand in hand along the harbor with Stanley-of-the-church.

“I’ve so looked forward to a nice chat over lunch. Why do you think I insisted we park near East Bay, even though it’s so far out of our way?”

“I don’t know, Mama. To annoy me?”

“Don’t be hateful. You know Magnolias does those fabulous crab cake sandwiches and, I declare, their tomato bisque is exquisite.” Her eyes darkened from sky blue to twilight in the shade cast by the brim of the sun hat perched on top of her over-sprayed, apricot-colored hair. “My treat?”

“I’ve already made a lunch date with Veronica.” As it happened, my friend Veronica and I were meeting at SNOB, also on East Bay.

I’d no sooner gotten the words out, then Mama put a pincer grip on my arm. Her “my daughter is up to something” radar had a hair trigger.

“Veronica Howell? You haven’t seen her in months. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I pulled my arm out of her clutches and rubbed the circulation back. “So I haven’t seen her for two months. That’s not exactly dropping the friendship. Besides, we phone each other every couple of weeks. Don’t you like Veronica?”

Her liking or disliking Veronica was not the point. I was simply redirecting her thoughts so she wouldn’t keep trying to talk me into meeting this unsuitable person—Stanley--or, even worse, inviting herself to lunch with me and my best friend. Veronica had told me she had great news. Having news meant just the two of us, heads together sharing secrets and friendship. Definitely not the two of us plus my mother, the gossip queen of the Low Country.

“I do like Veronica, and God knows you need more friends. But it’s been a whole year--time for you to forget about T. Chandler and his flagrant immorality with that creature he dumped you for.” Mama shuddered like a lady who’d just spotted a bug in her soup.

“Yes, Mama, I’m a real slacker about diving back into the dating pool. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with me.” Biting my lip, I stared down at my feet. Wasn’t my marital split hard enough without my mother reminding me I was the dumpee instead of the dumper?

They said divorce meant freedom. They promised that from the moment my ex pulled out of the driveway for the last time, I was free to heave my cleaning supplies into the nearest trash can, toss my wedding ring out the window, and lounge around the house in pajamas stuffing myself with chocolates. The “they” who imparted these words of wisdom were my sister, my friends, and a divorce support group I attended for two weeks.

But certainly not Mama. Mama has made it her life’s work to keep me from getting too comfortable with myself.

As I recall, her words to me the day I announced my impending divorce were, “Why, Susan Caraway, I am shocked.” She’d swayed on her feet and then plumped down in the nearest armchair to lean back with a handkerchief plastered over her face like a mini shroud. “You are going to regret this hasty decision,” she’d added, her breath puffing up the handkerchief, so I’d broken into uncontrollable nervous laughter, which she had immediately let me know she did not appreciate.

But despite Mama’s take on things, there was nothing hasty about my decision. T. Chandler Caraway and I had never been meant for each other. We’d stuck things out for too many years before he decided he was moving on with someone else. I was only sorry I’d hung around so long he’d ended up being the one to make the decision, leaving me feeling rejected, unwanted, and just plain low.

No, freedom was not the issue. The way I saw it, if life were about nothing but freedom, there’d be no reason to get married to begin with. For me divorce meant just one thing—failure. And it was my own fault. No one had forced me to marry T. Chandler Caraway. Or bribed me. Or threatened to throw me off a bridge if I didn’t don a white dress and look starry-eyed while I chirped, “I do.” So who could blame me for deciding I’d take my time choosing someone else to share my life—or never choosing, for that matter. I was managing fine on my own for the first time in my life, if only Mama would stop trying to shove me back into couplehood.

“Stop squinting or you’ll ruin your eyes, dear.” Mama patted my shoulder and I blinked about half a dozen times to bring circulation back to my eyes, so she wouldn’t add, as she usually did, that I was courting retinal detachment. “Now about Stanley.” She shot me the same smile she used to use when I was a child and she wanted to convince me my medicine tasted like cherry candy.

Before she could tell me Stanley’s hobbies included turning water into gold and doing yard work, I cut her off. “I promise I’ll make time for you Thursday.” If I didn’t stop her now, she’d bring me a new man every week until my brain turned into a mass of quivering jelly and I gave in out of sheer exhaustion.

I glanced over my shoulder half expecting Stanley to materialize and announce in a nasal voice that his mother had said we could go out and there was a new sci fi feature at the movies. Déjà vu had gripped me in its own special vice from the moment Mama mentioned a fix-up.

The first time she meddled in my social life, I was sixteen. Mama and her best friend Cora Haymans got together and paired me with Cora’s son Hartley, a pudgy fifteen-year-old my mother referred to as “promising.” Enough said. As far as I know, the promise was a false alarm and Hartley now spends his days strumming a banjo on a street corner near the Marketplace.

Undaunted by my threats to lock myself in my room for the next forty years, Mama then set me up with Myron Lenley III. Myron was one of those boys who specialized in drawing skulls and motorcycles in their notebooks instead of working on algebra problems. After him, there were a series of other silent, mouth-breathing youths. Mama didn’t give up meddling in my social life until I left home for college and found my husband all on my own. Unfortunately, she made no attempt to fix me up with the one boy I really cared about—Jack Maxwell. Jack had moved away years ago, gotten married, and as far as I knew lived in New Jersey. So much for her matchmaking skills.

I put my hand on her elbow and steered her to the left. “Mama, your babies are going to worry if you’re late getting home.” The babies were her two spoiled Chihuahuas. I knew it was good strategy to remind her they were fretting at home.

“I told them I was seeing Dr. Frey this morning.”

The light on the corner changed and we stepped into the crosswalk. Mama hung onto my arm, weighing me down as if she had anchors fashioned to her shoes.

“Will you look at that?” She dragged me to a halt and nudged me discreetly in the ribs. “Joyce-Ann Frampton in the flesh, sashaying down the sidewalk in public, like three-fourths of the people in this town don’t know she cheated on poor Wade with that loud, overdone man. You know the one I mean. He used to be the governor of one of those big square western states. Or so he said. Personally, I never--”

“Mama.” I locked both hands around her shoulders and yanked her out of the way of an oncoming SUV. “I don’t care how many Joyce-Ann Framptons you see parading around Charleston. You can’t stand in the street and expect traffic to come to a standstill for you.” My heart was thumping wildly at the thought of how close Mama had come to getting flattened, and I had to suck in a couple of extra deep breaths.

“Why are you in such a hurry today? Pardon me. I must say, I am shocked. When a woman can’t ask her own daughter to carry her to the doctor, then it’s time to simply give up and accept the fact that the entire world has deteriorated into a hotbed of ill manners and selfishness.”

“Or melodrama.”

“What was that? You’ll have to speak up if you expect me to hear you over the traffic.” She cupped her hand over her ear.

“As you well know, I had to take time off work this morning to drive you to the doctor. I don’t dare come in late this afternoon.” Even if I had to miss lunch with Veronica, I couldn’t be late. Odell, my boss, had made that clear when I said I needed a few hours off, telling me he wasn’t running a camp for lazy employees. He seemed to be in a worse mood than usual, and I wondered if his wife had kicked him out again.

“Surely you can take time off for family emergencies. It’s simply a job we’re talking about, not a matter of life or death.”

“It’s the only job I’ve got and without it I have no way to pay my bills.” The sad fact was that a boring job working for a guy who still had the first dime he’d ever gotten for his allowance was all that kept me out of the homeless shelter. I couldn’t afford my house and my car on the measly check I got from T. Chandler.

“There are other jobs.” She stopped and held her hands out to her sides palms up. She lifted them up and down if she were weighing things on separate scales. “Job or taking care of your mother?”

I shrugged. If there were other jobs, I hadn’t found them and I didn’t expect I would. Hadn’t Mama read the feature article in Sunday’s paper about the rising unemployment rate and the shrinking paycheck? Hadn’t she noticed the classified job section had shrunk over the past year, so it wasn’t even big enough to wrap vegetable scraps in?

Not for the first time this morning, I wondered why I’d volunteered to take Mama to her doctor. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t have asked one of her church friends. Or one of the ladies from her book club at the library. Or one of her neighbors. I marched away and when I got almost half a block ahead she finally followed. I waited at the corner until she caught up in her own good time.

I forced myself to slow to Mama’s pace and not scream when she took seven whole minutes to walk the rest of the way to my car and another seven to take off the wide brimmed hat she always wore when the sun was out. Then ten more to get out in front of her condo when I’d finally fought my way through traffic to get her there.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” I said through tight lips. “The flu shot you had this morning might make you woozy.”

“I am not the least bit woozy and I know you’re aching to race away like a horse out of the starting gate. You’ve certainly made that clear.”

I would not react. I would not bring up the fact that she’d made me thirty minutes late for my first job interview because she kept changing her make-up. Fifteen minutes late for my high school graduation because she couldn’t decide which of her three favorite pairs of shoes looked best with her hair color. Twenty minutes late for my wedding because her “digestion was out of sorts”—southern lady code for she had diarrhea. Given that I’d chosen the wrong husband, maybe it would have been a good thing if her digestive system had kept me away from my wedding altogether.

I escorted her up a flight of stairs. Mama doesn’t trust the elevator in her building since it got stuck once when the power went out. While she was still fumbling in her purse, I unlocked her door with the spare key she’d given me. I pushed the door open, and the Chihuahuas converged yapping from their plush little bed in the corner. They squirmed at her feet, fighting each other for position. She squatted to scoop the two trembling bodies into her arms.

“Babies, babies, give Mama some sugar.”

I tried not to gag. If sugar was the dog spit they were depositing on her face, she was getting plenty.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mama. Promise.”

She sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother to my daughter who has such a rotten attitude. I always said I would lie down and die before I’d become a bother in my old age. Though sixty-two is not old, goodness knows. Why, only yesterday Doris Leland told me I don’t look a day over fifty-seven.”

“No trouble at all,” I sang over my shoulder as I scurried back down the stairs.

Before I could get out of the building, Mrs. Barkley, Mama’s downstairs neighbor, planted herself in front of me at the bottom of the stairs. She was wearing a black chenille sweater that hung to her knees over a shapeless yellow housedress. The flip-flops on her feet were neon blue.

“Got a message for your mama. Man was here looking for her. Heard him pounding on her door and went up to check. You know I am all for neighborhood watch.”

“Thanks. Probably Fred from the garage to tell her he dropped off her car.” Why couldn’t he have brought it earlier, so Mama could have driven herself to the doctor? And why didn’t Mama’s building have decent security so people couldn’t just waltz in and pound on doors?

“Didn’t look like a garage man, didn’t have grease on him or anything. Tall, older fella. Dressed in one of those golf shirts and wore plaid pants and a gold chain around his neck like he thought he was somebody. Now, Mr. Barkley, bless his heart, he would never dress that way, especially not in public. Too flashy, he’d say.”

No doubt. I’ve met Mr. Barkley and the only thing I’ve ever seen him wear is a wife beater shirt and pajama bottoms, both beige in color. “Thanks, Mrs. Barkley. I’ll give Mama the message.”

I managed to slip past her and I broke into a trot as soon as I hit the sidewalk. Whoever had been looking for Mama--probably one of those people who sometimes handed out religious flyers in the neighborhood--would be back if it were important.

Chapter Two

I rushed into SNOB—Slightly North of Broad--ten minutes late. Veronica was leaning casually against the wall near the door. She was wearing an ordinary silk dress in a sage color that exactly matched the contact lenses she’d chosen to wear over her light gray eyes. Her short hair framed her face in wispy blonde curls that set off her features. Not for the first time I wished I were petite and had a perfect figure like hers. Instead I’m tall, pushing five feet ten, and too much comfort food since my divorce had glommed fat onto my hips like a pair lumpy parasites, one on each side.

At least my face hadn’t gained weight. Veronica has assured me my face is heart-shaped, with lovely cheekbones, and that I’m lucky my large brown eyes have no need of color enhancing contacts. I have so many style options, she insists, unlike herself. Veronica always complains bitterly that her jaw is too square, something I think is hardly noticeable except when she gets angry or bossy.

Veronica isn’t one for air kisses or for beating around the bush. She peeked once at her watch and allowed her eyes to widen the slightest bit. It’s one of her signature moves. “Susan, we have so much to discuss.”

“Sorry, the parking was--”

She patted my arm. “I know. Never mind. I have good news. After I give you every last detail, and you realize how fantastic your life is going to be, we’ll have a nice catch-up chat.”

“What good news?” I glanced around to orient myself. I hadn’t been to SNOB since my divorce. Everything was the same, though. It’s in a nineteenth century brick building. Lots of atmosphere and fantastic food.

Veronica was already following the hostess to our designated table, the stylish heels of her designer shoes barely making a sound as she seemed to float an inch or so above the floor. “How long has it been since we’ve made time for each other?” she called back over her shoulder, ignoring my question. “Other than quick phone calls which hardly count.”

“At least two months.” I frowned, wondering why my shoes clumped when I walked instead of tapping gently like hers.

Maybe longer than two months. Veronica had been my roommate in college until I married T. Chandler halfway through. But we’d kept up our friendship over the years, helped by the fact that we live in the same town. She’s originally from Newberry, a picturesque little town west of Columbia, but Newberry hadn’t been big enough for her ambition—Veronica’s words, not mine.

She hadn’t given me a clue of any kind when she’d called a couple of days ago. I wondered if she’d decided to marry Walter, her latest relationship. I remembered, though, the last time she’d mentioned him she’d complained he was too clingy in a sad, orphaned gorilla kind of way.

Veronica eyed me over the top of her menu. “I don’t know what to say.”

“About what?” Had something happened to my hair in the few minutes since I’d run a comb through it before I left my car? Wind-blown? A bald patch? Pigeon droppings? Maybe I should have applied new golden highlights last night instead of deciding to postpone for a week.

“You look different. Have you changed your makeup? No, that isn’t it. It’s something intangible.” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side to focus on my face.

“Same old me.” I turned my attention to the lunch special and tried to decide if I wanted the southern crab salad, a favorite of mine.

But my thoughts drifted. Though I’d told Veronica I hadn’t changed, I admitted to myself that wasn’t one hundred percent the truth. I’d moped around for months feeling like the world’s biggest failure after my divorce, but recently I’d caught myself showing sparks of life. I was no longer spending every weekend raiding my refrigerator and vegetating in front of home decorating reruns on HGTV hoping Mama wouldn’t call to give me advice.

“I know what it is. You’ve finally stopped blaming yourself, haven’t you? I swear, Susan, you make excuses for everyone, but when it comes to yourself, even perfect isn’t good enough.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture.” My face went about a hundred degrees warmer. She’d read my mind. Veronica has a way of doing that and I attribute it to the keen powers of observation that have served her so well in the business world.

As if she hadn’t just pointed out that she knew how I’d been treating myself, she casually asked if I’d decided what I wanted, and I nodded. I passed on the crab. We both ordered Portobello mushroom sandwiches and house salads. After the waiter left the scene, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Your news?”

Her skin positively glowed under the new hanging lights. “I’ve got a fantastic idea for a new business. The money will flow in so fast and thick it will be like owning a mint, and you’re the first person I thought of to share the opportunity.”

“Me?” Me and owning a mint? Didn’t compute. Me and going out of my way to do favors for friends and family maybe. But me and mints? She’d let our friendship get in the way of her good judgment and she was offering me a pity job.

“Uhmmm, this isn’t some kind of Internet scheme where I’m supposed to do surveys is it?” I hated to admit I’d actually tried that before I landed the job with Odell. All I’d accomplished was to fill up my email with spam.

“I said money flowing in, Susan. Would I ever steer you wrong?”

She wouldn’t, not unless she counted the time back in college when she’d introduced me to an older guy who was a perennial student majoring in preying on freshman girls. At least I’d figured him out before anything really bad happened.

“Whatever it is, Veronica, I decline.”

I stifled a stab of curiosity about exactly what she had in mind and asked Veronica if she thought I should change my hair color from ordinary brown to platinum.

She waved away the question, her hands fluttering like pigeons coming in for a sidewalk landing. “You are not getting off that easy.”

I sighed. Veronica is the type of person who could, if need arose, turn a wadded up paper towel into a thriving business. I, on the other hand, had spent years in the shadow of my husband, managing a house, raising a child, and wondering what had led me to marry someone so unsuitable.

“No,” I said again. “I’m perfectly content right where I am.”

She leaned across the table, almost upsetting the vase. “You are not. You’ve pined over your divorce long enough and you bitch about your job every time we talk. I can’t think of anyone more suited to be my partner in this new enterprise. You have skills, Susan. You’re a gold mine of talent and charm, if you’d only wake up.” Her jaw went square.

“Me?” I couldn’t think of a single instance where I’d ever demonstrated much more than average competence in anything. Not since I’d grown up, anyway. As a child I was one of those earnest-faced, overachieving, teacher’s pet types who always got chosen to pass out papers. But after nineteen years of T. Chandler’s daily critiques, it wasn’t surprising that I didn’t think all that highly of my abilities.

Skills or no skills, I couldn’t go into business with her. T. Chandler was a successful businessman, but he hadn’t exactly left me rolling in riches when we split. I discovered, too late, that he’d found a way to legally transfer most of his assets out of the country. I was left to cling to the house I’d gotten in the settlement—not yet paid for—and a small savings account, along with an alimony check that didn’t cover expenses. I’d had to refinance the house and take the first job I’d been that came along--an office position in a loan company slash pawnshop.

“To be honest, you probably think T. Chandler Caraway, the cheating weasel, left me pretty well taken care of, but that didn’t happen. I don’t have a dime to invest. Thanks for thinking of me, though,” I finished lamely.

Veronica drummed her fingers on the table. The last word I uttered barely had time to clear my lips before she said, “I didn’t, for one second, think that bastard would have given you more than he absolutely had to. You should have shoved him out in front of a bus and collected his life insurance while you were still married.”

A pink-sneakered woman at the next table choked on her soup of the day. Veronica shot her a mind-your-own-business look.

“Veronica, there was no husband murdering as you well know. So the fact remains, I have no money and it isn’t fair to ask you to take all the risk.” I held out my hands, showing empty palms.

“I’m willing to put up the money and you’ll supply the time and energy. Case closed.”

She’d made her plan sound as foolproof at the blueprints to a doghouse. But then, I still didn’t know what she had in mind. I pictured a trendy antique shop on King Street or Broad, not that I knew anything about antiques. Maybe a gift shop or a boutique. Not that I was an expert on gifts or fashion, either. Oh, God, what could I do? Veronica was kind, but I couldn’t let her do this. I’d been told I was a terrific mother, but unless Veronica planned to open up a daycare, that wasn’t exactly a plus in a business venture. Besides being the mother of one spoiled son in college didn’t qualify me for working in childcare, either.

I shook my head. “I can’t. But I have to know--this business would be?”

“Ghost tours.” She pasted on an “everything’s settled” expression and folded her hands in front of her like a tiny tent.

Ghost tours? Thoughts ping ponged in my brain. Just because I once thought I’d seen an apparition hovering in the bushes outside our dorm and screamed loud enough to cause Veronica to trip over a bump in the sidewalk, did that make me an expert on the supernatural? Was I now qualified to lead goggle-eyed tourists around the historic streets of Charleston while pretending said streets were haunted?

“I’m not sure I even believe in ghosts, in fact, I probably don’t. It doesn’t sound like it would bring in all that much money and…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to add that Mama would say the whole idea was tacky beyond belief.

The waiter brought our plates, and we busied ourselves putting dabs of dressing on our house salads.

Veronica breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t be a yes-butter, Susan. ‘Yes, I need money, but that idea won’t work, or yes, I hate my job, but I don’t have the nerve to leave, or yes, I love ghosts, but Mama will think ghost tours are the height of poor taste.’ Grow up, woman.”

I winced. She waited a second and then sent me an apologetic smile. “I’m only trying to jumpstart you out of your rut so you can start living again. You can’t fail. I’ve written up the perfect business plan.”

Of course she had. I would expect nothing less of a woman who’d been brought up in a rusted out trailer home and worked her way through college selling gift baskets before she moved into the stock market and finally real estate. She’d become wealthy while I took the homemaker path.

Veronica reached into a side compartment of her ample purse and pulled out a purple notebook. She flipped it open it to the first page and pushed it across the table. “Take a look. It’s decent money. And aren’t you the one who’s always telling me you don’t get enough exercise sitting at a desk all day?”

“I’m taking a yoga class, remember?” I’d won the class in a drawing. So far I’d only been to two sessions and I wasn’t exactly a star pupil.

But Veronica couldn’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face while I regaled tourists with tales of afterlife-challenged souls. To please her, I glanced at the notebook. I read through the figures. Twice. Started nodding like a mechanical toy. I wasn’t required to actually produce a ghost, now was I? Nor was I required to believe in them. All I had to do was guide tourists down historic streets and let them draw their own conclusions. And I’d collect the money, transferring tidy sums into my bank account as my share of the night’s takings.

“What did I tell you?” Veronica beamed and forked up a cucumber slice. “You know I’m too busy with my real estate to have time for another enterprise and I need someone I can trust, someone with the right qualifications to take this business to its full potential. And that’s not all. Kim’s leaving the Seaside View and moving to Savannah to get married. You could have her room, same arrangement.”

The Seaside View was Veronica’s luxury bed and breakfast in the heart of old Charleston. Big, old, and very, very pricey. Her niece and nephew ran the place with the help of their friend Kim who got a room in exchange for working the desk and helping with breakfast a few mornings a week.

“But I don’t need a place. I have the house.” And a very nice house it was, too, the house T. Chandler and I had bought a couple of years before the end of our marriage. It was in Mount Pleasant, across the Cooper River from Charleston. There were five magnolia trees in the yard, a line of azaleas across the front that bloomed each spring in shades of brightest magenta, and a white-painted gazebo nestled under a stand of giant oaks in the back yard. The inside was beautifully decorated thanks to Veronica--who had no formal training, but was gifted with an innate sense of style. I had to admit I loved my home and hoped to be able to keep it, though that was unlikely unless I found a better paying job. I’d been around and around the problem so many times I’d worn a rut in the middle of square one.

“If you’re that attached to the house, then rent it out. But, frankly, Susan, you can’t afford that big place and now that Christian’s gone off to college, you don’t need it.”

“But where would Christian stay when he’s home on holidays?” My son was only eighteen. He shouldn’t have to hang out under the I-26 overpass at Meeting Street when he had school vacations.

“He can sleep on your mother’s couch. There’s no reason for you to keep knocking yourself out keeping that big place going. Do you expect Christian to come back and live with you after he graduates? Face it, Susan, you’re an empty nester now and you always will be.”

I opened my mouth, and Veronica held up a hand. “Sorry. Goodness knows you’ve had enough of doing other people’s bidding. But I’m offering you a great job and a place to stay. Think how nice it will be when you don’t have to worry about money.”

Despite the fact that I still couldn’t picture myself toting a lantern and a clipboard while I herded ghosthunters around Charleston, I did like the idea of living at the Seaside View. Veronica was right about my home being a lot of work to keep up, and it took a good part of my monthly income to make the payment.

An image drifted into my mind, a picture of myself in thirty years, still sitting at a broken-down desk in Hoganboom Loans and Pawnshop--No loan too risky, No item too old. My hair would be sparse, gray, and wiry, my hands bony and disfigured by liver spots. I’d wear a permanent look of bitterness over my failure to take a chance all those years back. The person Veronica had hired instead of me would be tooling around town in a sporty red convertible and living in the house that used to be mine.

I sighed. Bitter or not, I couldn’t take advantage of Veronica’s generosity. She was the person with the drive to make this happen. I was too low key, too much a follower. I’d never forgive myself if the venture failed because of me.

“When I said I wanted a new job, I was thinking another office job, maybe a position working for a lawyer or a doctor. It’s not the work at the loan company I dislike, it’s the pay and the boss.” Mostly true.

“You wouldn’t have to walk more than a few blocks of city streets because the majority of your tours will take place inside. Remember a few months ago when I said I bought a historic property? It’s run down and I was going to do some work and flip it for a nice profit, but I did some research and that’s when I came up with the ghost tour idea. The property is the old Blackthorn House and it’s supposed to be haunted. The tourists will be drawn in like flies to sugar when they hear the history and the ghost stories.” Her jawline was still as square as the bottom of a box. “I’ll give you a few weeks to think about the offer. The project was delayed because of contractor problems, but I’ve hired a new firm to handle the restoration and they shouldn’t take too long. In fact I’m meeting with the architectural firm’s manager in a few days. He says he used to live in Charleston and he understands the area, so the rest of the work should go fast.”

“I’ve already given you my answer.” I could be stubborn, too, even if my jawline connected with my cheekbones in a triangular shape like a slightly rounder version of a cat’s face. I’d already put the idea of going into business with Veronica in a hidden compartment of my mind marked, “Tempting, but never going to happen.”

“You’ll come around when you’re ready to get out of your rut. And speaking of getting out of your rut, how are things going with that new man you told me about?”

I rolled my eyes, regretting my decision to tell Veronica during our last phone conversation that I’d met someone interesting. “I’d hardly call Steve a new man. I met him at yoga class and had coffee with him—and the rest of the students—after class. He’s a couple of years older than I am.”

“But you said he’s nice and he’s available. Don’t deny it. You’re definitely attracted to this guy.”

“You make it sound like he’s a sale item at Urban Outfitters. Anyway, I don’t want another man, not right now.”

Veronica stared. She clearly didn’t believe a word. And I probably didn’t believe myself. Steve had gone out of his way to sit next to me during our after class coffee sessions. I realized I was looking forward to seeing him at the next yoga class in a few days a lot more than I was looking forward to an upcoming blind date arranged by a co-worker. I’d missed the last class because Mama had some sort of crisis with her refrigerator.

“What’s he look like? And don’t just say gorgeous, that tells me nothing.”

“He isn’t gorgeous, he’s sort of average. About my height, medium build. Straight, sandy-colored hair, receding. Hazel eyes with more brown than green.” I shrugged. The list of Steve’s physical traits added up to someone who wasn’t even close to the kind of movie star looks Veronica favored, but still not bad. And he had a charming smile.

“I’m not sure it’s good that he’s exactly your height. The woman should always be shorter than the man. I told you that before you married T. Chandler.”

“Yeah, that’s got to be the reason he treated me like a housekeeper instead of a wife until he found someone shorter to attract his interest. Too bad I’m not five-feet-two the way you are and the way the new Mrs. Caraway is. My height really puts a dent in the available man pool.”

“Other than his height, this Steve person is probably okay to get you back into the dating scene. Practice material. But first you’ve got to convince him you belong in his life.”

“I’m not doing any convincing, at least not where Steve is concerned. If it happens, it happens. Besides, I already have a date tonight.”

“In the middle of the week? On a Tuesday? That doesn’t sound promising. You won’t want to stay out late and then go to work in the morning.”

“This guy—the date--is transferring to Charleston next month and he’s only here until Wednesday, so tonight was the only night he had available.”

“It’s a blind date, isn’t it?” Veronica said this in tones she might use to announce that the earth was in the path of an asteroid the size of the sun.

My casual shoulder shrug and my sudden interest in watching a couple of restaurant patrons stroll by were admission enough. Veronica knew I hadn’t been anywhere lately except to yoga. It wasn’t like I was going to arrange a date with a stranger I crashed my cart into at the Publix grocery.

“Wait, don’t tell me. That New Age person you work with is the one who’s hooking you up. That can’t be good. I imagine her taste in men runs to long-haired, ascetic types with dark, soulful eyes. They all read tarot and teach meditation classes, go to Nepal on vacation, and wear necklaces made of healing crystals.” Veronica sighed from the bottom of her soul. “Susan, Susan, Susan.”

“It’s true that Patty got me the date with her boyfriend’s cousin,” I said reluctantly, “but he’s not a meditation teacher, he’s an insurance salesman.”

Patty and Veronica had only crossed paths once, months ago, when Veronica stopped by my office to leave off an invitation to her niece’s baby shower. Patty was wearing gold hoop earrings and was dressed in her usual style--floor-length crepe, rainbow-colored skirt and matching blouse. Her jet-black hair hung to her waist in ropy coils, so she looked like one of those carnival fortunetellers. She’d made the mistake of offering Veronica a half-priced tarot reading because she looked like she was “having man problems.”

“I suppose she consulted the pagan gods first. I’ve never had a blind date in my life and I certainly wouldn’t let someone like Patty arrange one for me.”

She’d told me once that needing to have someone fix you up was an admission of failure and God knew I didn’t need something else to make me feel like a loser. I love Veronica dearly, but even she admits she tends to view the world in black and white and she can be less than tolerant of viewpoints that differ from her own. Not for the first time I pondered the whimsy of fate that had brought me a best friend who had so much in common with my mother.

No, I’d chosen Veronica and fate had nothing to do with it. The answer to the question of why I’d made that choice drifted out of my grasp.

Veronica put her cup down and signaled the waiter. “You know you’re wasting your time going on a blind date when you’ve already found someone on your own.”

Mama couldn’t have put it better herself. But if Jack Maxwell were sitting here, he’d have said, “Go for it. You can’t win if you don’t enter the race.”

I shook my head. I knew I was thinking about Jack only because Mama had tried to fix me up with a man this morning. There’s something about coming out of a year long fog that causes a lot of random thoughts and buried memories to pop up when you least expect or want them to.

“You never know how things will work out, Veronica. Besides, like you said, I need a starter date to get me off and running.”

We parted at the door. I wished she hadn’t been so negative about my date, so willing to believe it would be a waste of time.

I allowed my imagination to wander. Patty’s boyfriend’s cousin might turn out to be my soul mate, even though I hadn’t really wanted to go out and only agreed to shut Patty up. And because Everybody Loves Raymond reruns had lost their appeal. And because—just because I was tired of being predictable, soft touch Susan, who wasn’t special to anyone.

Chapter Three

Humming Let’s Get Together, I sauntered into the pawnshop through the employees’ entrance at the back. Two seconds later Odell shot out of his office as if someone had set off the Space Shuttle under his chair. He had the phone receiver pressed to his ear so he was brought up short by the cord. He deserved it. I’d told him before he needed to get a cordless phone, but he was too cheap.

I halted in front of him until he ended the conversation with a final, “proud to do business with you,” and frowned at me.

“An hour or two to take your mother to a doctor appointment is one thing. But…” He swung the phone receiver back and forth on the end of its cord as if the pendulum motion were driving his thoughts. “It’s after one o’clock in case you didn’t notice.”

I sighed gently and said, “Sorry. I’ll work late to get caught up.” I lowered my gaze to the floor, hoping he bought the penitent act.

Pathetic, but I needed the job too badly to risk getting fired. I thought about Veronica’s business proposition and wished I were in a position to take a chance. Maybe in the next lifetime, as Patty would say.

I scooted into my office and powered up my computer. The phone rang every few minutes. I kept having to ask the customers to repeat themselves. Odell made a point of shooting me warning frowns every time he walked past, the legs of his too-long trousers flapping around his ankles and threatening to trip him up. Must be tough trying to find size 38X26.

It isn’t that easy to determine when Odell is frowning and when he’s using his normal expression because he has a long, saggy, bassett hound face and droopy lower eyelids. Still, I’ve worked for him long enough to have a pretty good idea of what he’s thinking most of the time. Usually something negative. It was all I could do to keep from telling him I’d had a better offer, which I’d decided to take.

Pure fantasy. The chances of me changing my mind about Veronica’s offer were about as likely as me deciding to dance naked in front of the tourist information center on Meeting Street. I managed to clamp my mouth shut and act apologetic every time he looked at me.

You rat, I thought, after he left early because of a crisis with his niece. Wait until I find another job.

I made it a point to be especially nice to the next customer who called, even though he was three payments behind on his loan. He seemed to think that gave him the right to say, “You’re nothin’ but a witch, lady,” when I told him I couldn’t get Odell to push back the due date or lower the interest rate.

“Have a nice day, sir,” I sang into the receiver before he hung up.

Patty finished ringing up a sale and waved from behind her register. “Thank God, Odell’s finally outta here. What’s going on?” She sashayed out from behind the counter to lounge against the doorway to my office.

“Nothing.” I put my fingers on my keyboard and glanced at her sideways.

She reached up and tugged her hair clips loose, letting her black hair fall from the loose pile on top of her head to a full cascade down her back. She’d once told me that there comes a time in every redneck woman’s life when she has hair down to her butt. Then she’d planted her hands on her hips and said, “Honey, except for my interest in the occult, I’m as redneck as they come.”

Odell makes her wear her hair on top of her head because he’d once had a cashier who caught her ponytail in the register and she threatened to sue when she had to cut a chunk of it off to free herself. But whenever Odell leaves early, Patty lets her hair down. In more ways than one. Now she turned on the radio Odell keeps on a shelf against the wall and danced and swayed in the doorway to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Need something, Patty?”

“Just curious. You’ve been in such a scatterbrained mood all afternoon. Carrying your mama to the doctor doesn’t usually have that effect on you, so I assume it was something your friend, the tight-assed businesswoman, said over lunch. Let me guess. She’s finally figured out money won’t buy her love, so she’s going to share with you in the hopes that will get her some points with the relationship gods and they’ll send her a decent man to warm her bed.”

I shook my head in mock sadness. “You’re awful.”

“I’d go home and burn some candles, but I’ve already forgiven myself for my bitchiness. Now tell me what’s got you smiling.”

“I told you, I’m simply in a great mood.”

I hadn’t realized I was smiling. But I didn’t dare tell Patty about Veronica’s plan to take me away from all this. It had come to nothing, but Patty couldn’t keep a secret if her lips were stuck shut with Super Glue.

“Lately you’ve been in a great mood more often than not.”

“I haven’t noticed.” Like everyone else, I wasn’t likely to pay attention to moods unless they were the kind that made me miserable.

“Honey, I know what it is. You’re looking forward to our dates tonight with Kyle and Herman--don’t judge. He’s named after his father.”

“Sure, Patty. Herman might turn out to be The One. I’m mentally planning my next wedding.” Like I even needed a man in my life now that I had all the freedom everyone had told me about.

“Make me your matron of honor and I’ll bake you a red velvet wedding cake and get my brother Floyd to bring his Bluegrass band and do the music for half price.”

The chime on the front door sounded and she scurried back behind the register. I picked up the last invoice on my desk. I wondered if Herman was as good a catch as his cousin--Patty’s boyfriend Kyle--had promised.

***

The answer to that question came soon enough. Kyle roared to a stop in my driveway in his black crew cab pickup promptly at seven. I’d been watching from the window. I saw a moderately good-looking, slightly paunchy man with a wide face and wide-apart eyes approach the front door. I backed away from the window and waited for him to ring the bell. I took a second to touch my hair for reassurance before I opened the door.

I liked the way Herman complimented me on my outfit—cream colored silk blouse and black slacks—and my hair, piled on top of my head in curls, thanks to my curling iron and about a gallon of hairspray. I didn’t like the way he put his hand on the small of my back and applied so much pressure I had to move along in a near trot.

Herman and I sat in back. Patty turned and gave me a thumbs up. She always acts a little high around Kyle. I couldn’t help noting she’d forgotten to draw her eyebrows back on. She shaves them off because they’re orange, her natural hair color, then she draws them back on in black. They usually rub off toward the end of the day and now they were faint, charcoal-colored lines over her eyes making her face look like an unfinished portrait. I might clue her in later.

“We’re going to Bubba Gump’s,” she said. “I love their shrimp.”

Bubba Gump’s was on Market Street. I’d only been a couple of times, but I liked it.

“I’m more of a meat and potatoes man,” Herman said, patting his stomach. “Person shouldn’t have to worry about shells getting in the way when they eat.”

“There are no shells on the Bubba Gump shrimp. Everybody knows they take those off before they cook them. You’re not going to turn out to be one of those burger and fries addicts, are you?” Patty said.

“I might. I’m sure not going to let a woman order for me.” Herman cracked his knuckles. He slid closer and I smelled alcohol on his breath. Then he put his arm over the back of the seat, so I had to inch forward to keep his hand off my shoulder. Suddenly I didn’t want him touching me. The date I’d looked forward to, the only bright spot in my day had started out being about as much fun as a field trip to a fish processing plant.

After an awkward silence, Herman said, “Patty tells me you work in the office at a pawnshop.” He ran his fingers across the seat as if he were assessing the quality of the leather.

“I answer the phones, do the billing, collect payments,” I said without looking at him.

“Ouch.”

“Excuse me?” I shifted position so I could lean toward the window and away from him.

“You know.” He waved his hand in the air near my face. “I’d never settle for a dead end job like that, but then I’ve got a business degree from Clemson. I’ve worked myself up in sales, that’s why they’re transferring me from Columbia to Charleston.”

“Really. How nice for you.”

I could have pointed out that I, too, was educated, but a degree in English didn’t help much when a woman had been out of the job market for almost twenty years. I’d spent my best years holding down a homemaking gig for a husband who eventually traded me in for an enhanced model. A lady did not brag and she was not rude. Two of Mama’s most important rules, even though I’d fallen far short when it came to ladyhood.

After Kyle found a parking spot only two blocks from Gump’s, I let Herman walk beside me on the sidewalk. I pasted on a pleasant smile--actually more of a smilette, since it didn’t reach my eyes. As we strolled along behind Kyle and Patty, I made a remark about the nice cool weather—safe topic--and pointed out objects in the shop windows we passed, pretending to be especially interested in a faux marble statue of a dog anointing a fire hydrant. But when he tried to put his hand on the small of my back again, I slid out of reach.

Half an hour later, standing in front of the ladies room sink, I wished I’d opted for a standard stomach flu excuse and gone home. My first date in twenty years, and I would have been better off sharing an evening with Mama, letting her lecture me on the topic of her choosing. Or maybe I should have let her fix me up with Church Stanley.

I’d gone to the ladies room to rinse sauce from Dixie style baby back ribs off the front of my blouse. Said sauce had been accidentally deposited there by Herman, don’t judge, he’s named after his father.

Surely some people were compatible even if they’d met by way of the time-honored fix-up. Why had the gods not favored me? Why had my first dip back into the dating pool not been a gentle splash instead of a dive off the high board into freezing water.

I wondered if I needed to suggest that Herman consider investing in a personality transplant, maybe something with a dab of humor and a lot more humility. Of course, the good manners drilled into me over the years by no less a southern lady than my mother, had not allowed me to do more than nod and smile and pretend I was having a fantastic time.

Herman’s face, slightly blurry in the way fleshy features often are, had so far shown only two expressions—disapproving and smug. When I mentioned that my mother had a couple of Chihuahuas which tried to outdo each other in yapping, his response was, “Well, they would. Your basic Chihuahua has tiny vocal chords that can’t emit a deep throaty sound like, say, your basic German Shepherd.”

Yeah, I thought glaring at him, and your basic jerk probably has tiny…never mind.

I’d poured myself a second glass of wine and taken a big gulp, though I wasn’t used to drinking and was already slightly tipsy. It was then that Herman managed to drop his fork in the middle of his plate and splat sauce—in an unattractive map of the world pattern--across the front of my blouse.

Patty had sat across from me with Kyle. Kyle is not my type, either, even if he wasn’t already taken. Kyle thinks no activity is fun without the presence of a couple of six packs and a ten-pound bag of Doritos. His hobby is taxidermy. But the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at Patty and the easy way he drapes his arm across her shoulders show that she is important to him.

I’d no sooner returned from the ladies room and plopped into my chair, when Patty fixed me in a meaningful stare, her eyes made more blue by the sapphire colored shadow she’d slathered on her lids. She danced the faint line of her eyebrows at me, raising and lowering first one then the other until even Herman noticed. I could tell by the way his lips slowly parted, revealing a hunk of meat caught in the gap between his front teeth.

“Susan and I have to powder our noses.” Patty slid out from under Kyle’s arm.

I stood and retraced my steps, weaving between tables and back to the ladies room. I knew the drill—any woman who’s ever been through school has the routine down. Patty was supposed to ask how I liked Herman. I was supposed to say he was nice, but we didn’t have that much in common. Later she’d find a private moment to tell Kyle. Kyle would relay the message to Herman and Herman would know not to call me.

I resolved that this would be my last blind date. I should have learned my lesson in high school when Mama kept fixing me up with poster boys for misfits of America.

“You could have waited a few minutes instead of being so obvious,” I said. “You could have brought your purse instead of leaving it hanging over the back of your chair. We’re supposed to be powdering our noses.”

I could have told her about her eyebrows, but I was ticked off about Herman. I peered at my image in the mirror. My nose looked okay, but my lips could use attention.

“How should I say this, Susan? He’s just not that into you.”

I stopped in the middle of extracting my makeup case from my purse. “He’s not that what?”

“The relationship isn’t working.” Patty looked apologetic. “While you were in here doing sauce clean-up, Herman said he--”

“What relationship?” I fixed her in a laser glare. “It’s simply a blind date, for God’s sake, not a lifetime commitment.”

The insurance salesman with all the personality of a bowl of noodles was rejecting me? I was supposed to be the one to say, “No, thanks.” Was there something wrong with me? Why had I struck out on my first date post divorce? For one ghastly moment, I even considered that my mother might be right and maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to accept the end of my marriage after T. Chandler refused to dump what’s-her-name and go to counseling.

“What are you so upset about? I could tell you weren’t crazy about him. You know how good my intuitive vibes are and you were simply oozing boredom mixed with annoyance.”

“I’m not upset.” I let my makeup case slide back into my purse.

“Ha! You look like someone stole your last piece of candy and threw it under a truck. Let it go, Susan. Let the Universe take it from you.” She spread her arms out to her sides at shoulder level, closed her eyes, and hummed Ohhhhmmmm. A woman pushed open the door, caught one glimpse and backed out.

Patty blinked herself back to reality. “We both know you weren’t any more interested in Herman than he was in you.”

“True, but I wanted to do the dumping.”

“Hey, we all do, but the Universe doesn’t always grant our wishes. It’s not a genie in a bottle, you know.”

“Forget the Universe. What ever made you think I’d hit it off with someone like Herman? First he tries to fascinate by telling me, in excruciating detail, how he worked himself up from number four salesman to number three—in a five salesman office. Then he tells me that as a woman I don’t have the faintest idea whether I’m carrying enough insurance to protect my loved ones. What if, God forbid, I run my car off the Arthur Ravenel Bridge on my way home from Charleston some day? Is he trying to date me or sell me insurance?”

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t know him before tonight. He’s Kyle’s cousin and I thought he’d be like Kyle.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look at the mention of Kyle. “Forgive me, Susan? Because I’ve already forgiven myself.”

She pushed the door open and we left the ladies room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the nearest busboy took one look at my face and ran after me with a fire extinguisher. Patty can forgive herself quicker than anyone I’ve ever known and forgiving herself means the subject is closed.

I’d have been okay if, the second I sat down, Herman hadn’t mentioned that my blouse still looked pretty bad. I have often wondered why some people are rudely compelled to point out obvious flaws. Hey, you sure have gained weight since I saw you last. Wow, you have an enormous zit on the end of your nose. Did you know your perm looks like Ramen Noodles?

As soon as he spoke, I picked up my glass and took a gulp of wine. When he said, “Women don’t dress for practicality, though,” I drained the rest of the contents so quickly I had to gasp for breath when I put the glass down.

“I’ll have to remember that in the future,” I said, slurring the words ever so slightly.

“How’s the new job coming along, Herm?” Kyle shot Patty a grin and put his arm around her, pulling her close.

I smiled benignly. How sweet. Kyle was trying to get Herman off the subject of my blouse. Before I knew it, I’d be home and Herman-free for the rest of my life.

“Going good until I found out the manager is a woman.” Herman pasted on the expression of someone who had suffered long and hard and was finally ready to out his inner chauvinist.

I came out of zone-out as quickly as I’d gone in. “And what’s wrong with that?” I’d have popped him with the wine list if it weren’t terribly poor manners to pop one’s blind date in public.

“It’s a known fact that most businesses that fail are run by women.”

Patty snickered and nudged Kyle with her elbow. He slowly shook his head and assumed a confused expression.

When Mama instilled the manners in me, she mentioned something about how a lady shouldn’t drink too much, especially when she’s on a date. I’d already broken that rule. And now I was about to break another, the rule about how I shouldn’t brag or lie.

“I suppose, then, I should prepare myself for failure. My friend Veronica—a successful real estate broker—has offered me a business partnership and, of course, I accepted on the spot. We’re going to conduct ghost tours of the old Blackthorn House, a mansion she owns.” The Blackthorn House wasn’t exactly a mansion. Veronica had once pointed it out to me, and I remembered it as a run down brick structure that, even in its finest hour, couldn’t qualify as more than a big house.

Patty put her glass down with a clunk and squealed, “So that’s it. I knew you were keeping a secret. My intuition never fails.”

“Ghost tours?” Herman and Kyle exchanged man-bonding glances.

I’d only meant to shut Herman up, but now I was compelled to defend myself. “I’ll be dressing up in period costume to lead tourists through the mansion.” I’d made up the part about the costume, but who knew? “The first owner was reputed to a pirate and he sometimes kept captives chained in the carriage house or the attic. Wherever. Tourists will pay big money to hear there’s a bloodstain on the upstairs sitting room wall that won’t wash off. And learn how unearthly sounding screams have been heard coming from the attic, especially when there’s a full moon.”

After I made up the costume part, the rest of the lies came easily. And they served their purpose. Herman and Kyle had been struck silent and I didn’t need to have what Patty would call “psychic intuition” to know that Herman was glad he wouldn’t have to go out with me again.

“That’s fantastic, Susan.” Patty glowed, her pale face seeming to float like an island in the middle of the black frame of her hair. “I know you’ll be a huge success running your own business. Do you think I could conduct a séance at the mansion some night?”

I blinked to bring her into focus. “Fine with me. I’ll have to clear it with Veronica, though--she is my business partner.” I glanced at my wineglass. It was mysteriously empty.

We finished dinner listening to Kyle tell us how he’d stuffed a whole raccoon family for a friend to display in his living room, but his friend’s fiancée objected. To save their relationship, he had to move the furry family to his garage.

When we finally headed out, Patty and I rode in the back and Kyle and Herman sat up front. Patty, holding my arm to steady me, walked me to my door. She had to unlock it for me.

She pushed the door open, and before I could disappear inside, she said, “Hey, I meant what I said. I think it’s super you’re moving on to start a new business. You deserve better than Odell’s store.”

Heat rose to my face. “About that ghost hunting. It’s just a story.”

“I know, but what a story. Ghosts roaming the halls? Screams coming from upstairs? You can’t miss,” she trilled, handing me my key. “See you tomorrow at work, okay?”

“Wait.” Had I said anything about ghosts in the halls? I couldn’t remember.

She was already halfway down the steps. She turned with a questioning look and I waved her on. I’d straighten things out in the morning. I knew Patty would understand why I’d made up the story—she hadn’t taken to Herman any more than I had.

Still tipsy, I got ready for bed. When I saw Veronica again, I’d tell her she was right. I didn’t need blind dates, especially not when they were arranged by Patty. What was it she wanted me to do? Convince Steve we belonged together? That wouldn’t happen, but maybe I could learn to flirt a little.

My thoughts drifted in an alcohol-fueled haze. What if we started going out and Steve wanted more than a date or two? What if our friendship progressed to a relationship and he eventually wanted something else, what my mother would call an affair? Would I go along or would I hold out for marriage? If I were being true to my upbringing, I’d hold out for marriage.

But if I were being honest, I’d have to say I was definitely interested in the something else, even if we ended up drifting apart after a few months. After all, marriages didn’t always work out, as I well knew. Why should I give up a chance to be with a nice, interesting man simply because he wouldn’t put a ring on my finger? Wasn’t a fling better than a commitment to the wrong person?

I tried to bring up a picture of Steve in my mind and couldn’t remember what he looked like. About all I came up with was an especially bland smiley face with receding brown hair.

Chapter Four

I awoke to the racket of my alarm clock. I lay in bed for nearly five minutes trying to unglue my eyelids before I was able to reach across to the nightstand and smash the off button.

I had to think to remember where I was. When I did remember, thoughts flooded into my mind and heat flooded my face. Had I really drunk too much wine last night? Had I really transformed myself from my own version of a southern lady--a person who’d often been described by friends and family as sweet and caring--into a mouthy braggart? Had I, the responsible one, managed to win a know-it-all competition with a man I’d never see again? Me, the mother of a college aged son, though everyone told me I looked much too young to have an eighteen-year-old son. Apparently, I acted it, too.

What had I been thinking? At least, I told myself as I scooted to the edge of the bed, I hadn't turned myself into a southern slut--the worst type of woman according to Mama.

My head pounded and my mouth felt like someone had stuffed it full of dirty cotton. I took two aspirin and headed for the shower where I stood under the steaming water for a good twenty minutes until my head started to clear.

When I climbed out, I wiped steam off the mirror and stared at my face. Eyes definitely puffy, but otherwise, not too much damage. I’d had the little shove I needed. From now on, I was going to stop letting other people talk me into things. No more blind dates, no matter how lonely I got. And no more feeling sorry for myself and no more drinking too much wine, though that one would be easy. I rarely drank, and other than last night I’d never had more than I could handle.

I felt better after the mental scolding and made a resolve to sin no more. I took the time to hunt up my self-improvement list and stick it on the refrigerator with a dolphin-shaped magnet Mama had brought me from Florida a few years ago. Underneath the entries for exercise, makeover, and better job, I added act my age.Unfortunately, five minutes spent on my list translated to twenty extra minutes in morning traffic. I ripped my well-aged minivan around a corner, slid into the Hoganboom lot, and screeched to a halt in my usual parking spot. Odell insists that we park around back next to the stinking Dumpster we share with the seafood market next door. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes late. Maybe I should add promptness to my list as a gentle reminder.

I scurried inside, only to be blocked by Odell. He was standing in the hall outside his office with feet wide apart, one hand behind his back, and the other inside his jacket over his heart. He was the image of Napoleon, if Napoleon were suffering from hemorrhoids and wore modern clothing.

Patty was frantically eyebrow signaling me over his head. She’d made up for last night by drawing her brows in thicker and blacker than normal. Patty’s signaling clearly read that something was wrong and the something involved me.

“Good morning,” I chirped, dropping my keys in my purse and snapping it shut. I hoped my casual attitude would prompt Odell to step aside and give me clear path to my office. If he was willing to forget about my tardiness, I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.

“I suppose,” Odell said, not stepping aside. “I suppose,” he said again, sucking in his stomach and drawing himself up to his full five feet four, “you’ll give me some lame excuse as your reason for waltzing in here fifteen minutes late.”

“Traffic,” I said quickly. “I’ll do better in the future.”

I expected him to acknowledge my explanation and move on to a new topic. Either that or go back to what he was doing when I came in--probably rearranging the jewelry display, which seems to give him a lot of satisfaction. Instead his scowl deepened the lines on his face into deep grooves framing his mouth. Napoleon with hemorrhoids and a hernia and a letter from Josephine telling him she was having an affair with the gardener.

“What future?”

I glanced over his head at Patty and saw her face gradually assume the color of a cherry tomato. She made the throat slashing sign and rolled her eyes up in her head until only the whites shone. Something tried to dawn in my awareness, but my thoughts were still sluggish even after the double strength coffee I’d gulped down for breakfast.

“What future?” I squawked. Even I didn’t know what I meant or what Odell meant. “Uhmm, my future as your valued employee?”

“Let’s step into my office, Ms. Caraway.” Odell turned and strode purposefully away from me.

“Step into your office?” Except for yesterday when he scolded me for not getting to work until after lunch, he hadn’t called me Ms. Caraway since the day of my interview. I was always Susan or, when he spoke to customers, “the office girl.”

I trudged after him. I caught a last glimpse of Patty mouthing “sorry” at me before I turned the corner near a shelf sagging under the weight of electronic equipment. Yeah, no doubt the Universe was sending Patty a forgiveness ticket this very second.

Odell’s office was twice the size of mine and twice as cluttered. He swept a pile of Reader’s Digest magazines off a chair by the door and motioned for me to sit.

I would rather have remained standing. The chair he indicated was hemorrhaging wads of cotton stuffing, which would look like hell plastered to my navy slacks. I could tell it was going to wobble—one of the wheels was missing.

Odell glared until I sat. Then he half-hopped to lift himself onto his over-sized desk. A taller man would have perched on the edge, at least one foot on the carpet. But Odell’s legs dangled over the side, his feet not touching the floor. Even so, he'd achieved what I figured was his goal. He was now taller than I was. Height advantage to Odell, score one to nothing.

“When did you plan to give notice?”

“Give notice?” I winced. I was making a habit of repeating what he said to me—in the form of a question. T. Chandler used to do that and it drove me crazy.

“If my niece didn’t need a job, I’d really be in a bind. I have too much to do around here to handle your work, and then I find out you’re walking out on me.”

I cleared my throat. “Odell. Mr. Hoganboom. I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Only a tiny lie.

“Word has reached me that you’re going into business for yourself. Ghost hunting.”

Word had reached him? He made it sound as though a disembodied voice had whispered in his ear when we both knew the information had come from Patty’s big mouth.

“No, of course not--it isn’t happening. I was totally not myself last night when I drank too—never mind. That whole ghost hunting thing, it’s just a joke.”

He steepled his stubby fingers. “What are you saying?”

“Joke,” I said. “Meant to be funny, not meant to be fact. I have no intentions of quitting this job.” Yet. First I had to find a new position.

“I expected you to deny everything. But my trusted source has told me you’re fixing up an old mansion, trolling in tourists to look for ghosts, all that woo-woo stuff.” He held his hands up and waggled his fingers. “I’ve already found a replacement for you. My niece Brenda finally left her no account husband and moved here from Atlanta. She’ll be at the shop in the morning to take over your office. I’ll give you a week to get her trained.”

“You’ll do what?” This couldn’t be happening. I sat wobbling in the chair, my head spinning, and my thoughts not making sense, until the smug-faced Odell slid off his desk and pointed to the door.

“You’re fired,” he said. “Dismissed as of next Wednesday. Go.”

My mouth turned into the Sahara Desert. Score a million to nothing Odell. How would I pay my bills?

I didn’t remember getting up and walking back to my desk. I simply found myself in my own chair, dark tornadoes of thoughts whirling through my mind. Fired? That was something that happened to bad employees, wasn’t it? My face burned and my stomach felt like it was full of sour milk every time I thought of the scene in Odell’s office. I was reminded of a time when I was in fifth grade, and the teacher told me in front of the whole class I’d done the wrong homework assignment. I’d gone home and thrown up all over Mama’s new couch. Thank goodness the plastic cover had saved it from ruin.

I stared at my computer monitor until my nerves steadied. I would speak to Odell and explain about the misunderstanding. I had bills to pay and a house to maintain. A son in college. I couldn’t be out of work. My sister DeLorean was the screw-up and I was the responsible older child. Everyone knew that, even Mama. Especially Mama, who relied on me for everything.

Then why was I sitting here after my boss fired me? I had to convince Odell to change his mind, make him take me back even if I had to crawl across the floor to his desk and beg for mercy and swear I wouldn’t insist on the raise he’d promised. And I’d sign an oath that I wouldn’t quit without giving him at least six months notice.

God, how humbling. I barreled down the hall to his office before I lost my nerve. I had to hover in the doorway until he got off the phone with someone who wanted to pawn his wife’s jewelry while she was away visiting her mother. The slime. The customer, not Odell. Though he could pass for slime.

“What?” he said, banging down the receiver.

“Mr. Hoganboom, I really need this job. I don’t know why you won’t believe me when I say I’m not starting a ghost hunting business or any other kind of business or not leaving for another office or joining the French Foreign Legion. Please give me a chance to--”

“Do I need to make out a pink slip?” He snorted at his own joke. “You do a decent job training my niece Brenda, and I’ll put in a good word for you if somebody calls me for a reference.”

“I can prove it’s a misunderstanding about the ghost hunting. All you have to do is…”

His niece. Click. The light came on. I’d started to ask him to call Veronica to verify that I wasn’t going into business with her. It would be a huge waste of time. The truth was, Odell had been in a bind wanting to help his niece and he didn’t want to pay two people to work in the office. Patty’s gossip had given him the excuse he needed to give my job to Brenda.

“Never mind. I believe I understand the situation.” I gathered my tattered dignity and marched back to my desk with my chin stuck out in front of me.

What was I supposed to do? I fought down rising panic. The job market wasn’t too great right now. In fact it was horrible. As if that wasn’t bad enough, how would it look on my resume when I admitted that I’d been fired? I knew I didn’t have to say that. But they were bound to ask why I’d left my last position. How could I smooth that one over? The job interview sites on the Internet gave lots of advice about how to ace an interview, but I suspect that only worked if you could pull off the business speak they touted.

“Hmm, Ms. Caraway, so you’ve had one employer in the past twenty years. The job lasted ten months and then you left. Why did you resign from your former position? What have you been doing for the last six months other than looking for a new opportunity?”

“Well, you see, I’ve been trying to better myself through a series of self-actualization exercises that will enable me to move up in the corporate world. I plan to be a great asset to potential employers and help them achieve their goals and resolve business issues within a new paradigm shift.”

I almost gagged. Sure, that little speech should get me hired in a flash.

Even if I made up a plausible excuse, they’d know I wouldn’t leave a job before I had another one, not with jobs scarcer right now than gold coins lying in plain view on King Street. Blinking back tears, I put my fingers on my keyboard. Just because I was fired didn’t mean I was going to sit here for the rest of the day and feel sorry for myself.

Odell finally left for lunch, the engine of his SUV rumbling low and deep outside my window as if the macho sound could make up for his whiney voice. Patty waited until he cleared the parking lot before she threaded her way between shelves and fetched up in my office doorway. Silver earrings the size of saucers dangled from her ears and a matching necklace that must have weighed five pounds hung around her neck. She was wearing an ankle length dress tie-dyed in the blue and yellow colors of an Amazon parrot.

“I swear I didn’t mean to tell on you. When I said you were leaving to start a business, Odell had a total fit. He kept waving his short little arms around like the flippers on an upside down turtle.” Her expression didn’t look nearly as apologetic as I thought it should. She pulled the front of her dress away from her chest and fanned herself with her other hand. “It’s sweltering in your office. How do you stand it? Listen, sweetie, I can do you a tarot reading if you want. Give you an idea of how your ghost business is going to work out. Hey, stop looking at me like I stabbed you or something. You were going to leave anyway, right?”

I bit my lip. She could stand there cooling her chest in my office that was hot because the window was stuck shut and Odell wouldn’t let me have a fan. She could say she was sorry when she wasn’t, having already forgiven herself, when here I was out of a job and in danger of losing everything.

A surge of anger rose toward my throat and I fought it back down. After all, I was the one at fault, I was the one who couldn’t keep quiet last night.

“You’re right.” I forced a smile, showing my teeth. “No harm done.”

“Of course not. The Universe knows what it’s doing, it always does. You’ll see when the money starts rolling in from that new job. When’s your last day?”

“I have a week. I’m supposed to train Odell’s niece to take over.” I hoped she liked rude phone calls from customers with cash flow problems.

“I’m going to miss you.” Patty leaned over and gave me a hug. “But who needs Odell, anyway? Stingy. Attitude problem. Drives a car that’s five sizes too big for him so he can compensate.”

“Gee, you think so?”

Patty read at least one self-help book a week and was forever giving me psychological sketches on everyone we knew. I had little faith in her skills, but her lectures on topics such as the inner enabler crossing paths with the classic energy vampire usually made for interesting conversation.

She wanted me to go to lunch with her at Sticky Fingers, but I wasn’t in the mood for ribs. I wasn’t even in the mood for lunch. After she left, I got myself a cup of coffee from the “break room,” a large closet at the back of the store with a coffeepot and a broken microwave crammed into a corner next to a box of paper towels.

Then I logged on to the Internet and started my job search with the online newspaper ads. I found only three positions to apply for, and two of those asked for legal office experience, which I did not have. The other said someone with a good phone voice was needed immediately in a vet’s office. I supposed my phone voice was as good as anyone’s. My fingers shaking, I punched in the number.

“I’m calling about the receptionist position you advertised in the Post and Courier.”

“Right, that ad is pulling a ton of responses. Before I decide if I should have you come in to fill out an application and talk to the doctor, tell me a little bit about yourself. Do you have receptionist experience?” The female voice on the other end of the line sounded like it belonged to someone who was pursing her lips between each sentence.

I glanced at my desk searching for inspiration. Once a customer had come into my office and paid in person. Another time, someone had stood in the doorway and asked if Odell was around.

“Sort of,” I replied. “In my current position I’m responsible for answering the phone and doing the billing as well as dealing with customers who drop by.” Both of them.

“Okay, you work in an office; good for you. But do you have veterinary office experience? Dr. Turnbill specializes in reptiles and he likes to hire people who are used to handling animals.”

“No, but I love animals and I learn fast.” I could even learn to love snakes and lizards if it got me a job. “My mother has two Chihuahuas,” I added, then clamped my mouth shut so I couldn’t say anything else stupid.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see any point in letting you come in. We have a number of better qualified applicants.”

Better qualified applicants? Somehow I doubted the streets of Charleston were overrun with reptile handlers who had office experience. But unless I decided to stake out Dr. Turnbill’s office and speak to him when the dragon manning the front desk left for the day, I wasn’t going to get the job.

I sat back with a sigh. It had taken me six weeks to find this job and that was back when the paper carried three times as many ads as it did now. I could apply for the two legal office positions--assuming the gatekeepers who controlled access to the applications would let me--and hope for a miracle.

If there was only me to consider that’s what I might have done. But I couldn’t forget my son. Even with his scholarship, money from his father, and a part-time job, Christian needed my help.

I turned sideways to face the phone. I glared at it like it was my mortal enemy. When it didn’t burst into flames or melt into a wad of gooey black plastic, I gave up and dialed Veronica’s number. Her voice mail answered with a cheery, “Veronica is unavailable. Please leave a message.”

“It’s me. Susan. I, uh, had second thoughts about the job.” And third and fourth thoughts. “If you still want me, I’m ready to go ghost hunting. In fact, I guess I really need the work.” There, I’d committed, even if Veronica’s offer wasn’t my first choice.

I felt curiously employed now, even though I worried that Veronica might have offered the position to someone else. Once she makes up her mind to do something, she forges ahead like a bull on its way to a willing cow.

But she’d said she’d give me a couple of weeks to think. Surely that meant she wouldn’t look for anyone yet.

As it turned out, I needn’t have sat biting my nails between invoices. She called me back twenty minutes after lunch hour ended. I wasn’t supposed to take personal calls on company time, but what was Odell going to do, fire me?

“Got your message. I didn’t expect you to change your mind so soon.” She sounded cheery and out of breath. I imagined she was running from one real estate closing to another.

“It’s a long sad story, though you’ll probably laugh when you hear it. I’ll tell you all the horrible details when I see you again.”

“Tell me now. I can’t stand the suspense. Come on, Susan, I have an appointment in five minutes.”

“I’ll give you the condensed version, then. My date was, as you predicted, a disaster. I got a little tipsy, tried to one-up him by bragging about my new ghost hunting business, and Odell fired me when Patty told him I was leaving.”

She screamed so loud, I had to yank the phone away from my ear to avoid permanent hearing loss. “You weren’t kidding when you said you needed the job. But this is one of those cases where a bad thing works out for the best; you’ll see when the business starts making money.”

“Sure.” I forced enthusiasm into my voice. She almost sounded like Patty except she didn’t mention that the Universe had a hand in plotting my future. “But I can’t be your partner. I wouldn’t feel right about you taking all the risk and giving me so much. Why don’t you just hire me as your ghost tour manager?”

“Susan.” Exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” She mentioned a salary amount. “Is that enough for you to manage on?”

I gulped. “A lot more than I’m making here. Thanks, Veronica.”

“After the business gets off the ground and you get your first raise, we can set up a way for you to buy in. Meanwhile, you know I had to hire a new contractor, so the renovations on the Blackthorn House are behind schedule and it will be at least three weeks. But there will be plenty for you to do getting things ready, helping me with the advertising, all those millions of little business details. And buying the furniture. I’ll send over a packet so you can start working on it right away. You have the time, right? Oh, God, I’m so excited.”

“I definitely have evenings and weekends free.” And soon enough I’d have all day with nothing to do except work for Veronica.

The timetable was fine. I had a week left here training Brenda. My spirits lifted as I did a mental spin job on the ghost hunting business. Besides the job, I had yoga class—and seeing Steve--to look forward to this evening. Sure, I’d be fine, the ghost hunting business would be fine, my whole life would be fine. It had to be. It was the only life I had.

Chapter Five

Odell insisted I make up the time I’d missed because of coming in late. After the assigned fifteen minutes at my desk ticked by, I had to race to get to yoga. I slid my van into the last parking place on the street and scurried inside. I barely had time to say hello to Steve as I flew past and flopped down on my mat between Margaret--a sixtyish woman in a pumpkin colored leotard--and the wall.

Ever since I’d given Veronica a commitment this afternoon, my mind had hung like a bulldog onto thoughts of my prospective new career. I tried to think of myself not as an office clerk, but as a businesswoman, giving myself a mental makeover, figuring it was something like method acting. I even wondered briefly if I’d someday be featured on one of those paranormal shows, interviewed as an expert in the field of ghosts and hauntings. I quickly discarded the idea. Even if I came around to believing in such things, leading tourists through Charleston’s graveyards and the Blackthorn House wouldn’t qualify me as an expert. Besides, I was sure I didn’t want to become nationally famous for chasing wisps of fog.

“Susan? Did you understand my explanation of how to do the sun pose while breathing in and out to my count?”

I squinted ceilingward to see Nancy, the instructor, hovering over me. Her usual serene expression had gone furrow-browed over my failure to move from lotus position to sun pose with the rest of the students. I tried to look confused, not wanting her to know I’d zoned out in the middle of her count. Nancy said we were supposed to aim for serene and composed, but so far I hadn’t mastered that and suspected I was closer to mildly depressed.

“I’m not sure. I mean, the breathing is still not there for me.”

“Don’t worry over getting it right the first few times. The important thing is that you’re trying.” Nancy’s brow was still creased, leading me to feel faintly guilty that I hadn’t kept up with the rest of the class. She leaned over and pulled me up from a sitting position. As if she’d dealt with untalented students a thousand times, she efficiently posed my reluctant limbs.

I stifled a groan, held my arms aloft the way she’d placed them, and tried to follow her count. I relaxed my mind, letting my troubles go as I concentrated on maintaining my balance while watching a spot on the wall that might have been a smashed spider. I surprised myself when I actually got into it a few minutes later, my breath going from unsteady and irregular to even and centered.

For the rest of the hour I moved with liquid ease from pose to pose as soothing music, something tuneless involving chimes and wooden flutes, floated out of Nancy’s CD player. I could almost feel the endorphins flooding my brain.

Almost before I realized the minutes had slipped away, Nancy rang the little bell that signaled our time was up. I wiped my face on my towel, rolled up my mat, and scooted out of the way of a herd of soccer moms who‘d enrolled en masse for the class after mine.

When I came out of the women’s changing room, Steve stood near the door, leaning against the wall. I’d thought about asking Veronica if I should be more aggressive in letting him know I liked him. But even if I hadn’t been married for years and so lacked real practice—I didn’t count the blind date as real--it was not my nature to play the games Veronica played with men. I was not exactly an expert in flirting or in casual banter between the sexes and never had been.

So I did nothing except return Steve’s smile and casually head outside. I noticed he stayed where he was until the rest of our group cleared the building. But tonight when the class headed toward Starbucks, Steve ended up a few feet to my right, thanks to the fact that I slowed my pace until he caught up.

I heard him say, “I’ve found a new place you might like. The coffee’s terrific, it’s quiet, has a lot of atmosphere if you don’t mind checkered tablecloths and signed pictures of celebrities from eighty years ago plastered all over the walls. Interested?”

I didn’t care that much about the tablecloths or the celebrities, or even the coffee, but time with Steve away from the chatter of the rest of the group sounded great. I opened my mouth to say so, but then nothing came out except an inarticulate vowlish sort of noise—which turned out to be a good thing as I heard another voice, a sultry contralto, say, “Great, let’s go.”

I glanced sideways and felt my cheeks flame. Steve hadn’t been talking to me, but to the woman on his right—a big-chested blonde who’d joined the class last week while I’d been busy helping Mama wrestle her broken refrigerator into submission.

They both looked at me, no doubt wondering why I’d made such an odd sound. For a few seconds I felt like an insect pinned on a display board. Then Margaret meandered up on my left. I clutched at her arm. “There you are, Margaret. I’d love to talk with you about that afghan you’re crocheting.”

She blinked at me in confusion. Steve and the blonde headed in another direction. So much for my hopes of getting to know him better. Why had I agreed to help Mama last week instead of going to class? She’d have been fine for a few days.

Margaret squiggled her face up until she looked like an ape wondering why it was in the zoo. “I’m not making an afghan. What did you mean, honey?”

“Margaret, ah, you remind me of my mother and I just wondered if you’d like to go somewhere besides Starbucks so we can have a friendly conversation without the whole group chattering away and interrupting.”

“How sweet of you, but I’m going straight home tonight. My husband’s kidneys have been acting up and I need to make sure he takes his pills. Clyde wouldn’t remember to eat if I wasn’t there to put food in front of him. But there’s a nice place just around the corner.” She pointed. “It’s that way if you just want to be alone.”

“Sure. Thanks, maybe some other time,” I called as Margaret shuffled away.

It might not be a bad idea to be alone. Solitude was exactly what I needed right now. A huge jolt of coffee wouldn’t hurt either, though it would do bad things to the serenity I’d found in class. I walked in the direction Margaret had indicated, turned right, and found myself standing in front of a mom and pop diner that could have served as a set for any movie from the forties. A handwritten sign on the door advertised homemade pecan pie.

Though I’d lived in the Charleston area all my life, I’d never been to this place, tucked away on a side street that was almost an alley. I opened the door and went inside. The black and white tile floor was scuffed and worn, but freshly mopped. There were only four tables, none of them occupied, and a long lunch counter hosting a couple of old men sitting next to each other. They were arguing over their choices for our next president, and I suspected they ate here often. Probably had for years.

I seated myself at the last table in the back. The waitress, a perky teenager with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, bounced over and handed me a menu. Her nametag said she was Emmie.

I left the menu in front of me on the table. “Coffee, please. Strong.” My bruised feelings were already healing. It wasn’t as if Steve and I had been an item. He was a nice person, a guy I’d developed an interest in simply because I’d sort of decided I was ready to start dating. Then he’d found someone who interested him more than I did. End of possibilities.

At my age, maybe the whole event was a wake up call. I mean, a few nights ago I was so lonely I was actually daydreaming about making love with Steve—well, not necessarily Steve. A boyfriend, anyway. But I’d failed blind dating and I’d failed going from crush to dating. Maybe I was fated to spend the rest of my life alone like Mama. I could accept that, but if I developed a desire to adopt a couple of unruly Chihuahuas, I wanted someone to slap me hard.

A few minutes ago I’d felt like hiding in shame. Now I actually smiled at the empty chair in front of me, as if I had an imaginary friend. Hey, if I were serious about coming out of my year-long slump, I’d have to expect a few setbacks. We late-bloomers didn’t always get it right on the first try.

The door swung open, I glanced up, and locked my eyes on the figure who’d just walked in. For a few seconds I forgot to breathe. Accepting a few setbacks wasn’t the same as preparing myself to see Jack Maxwell, long lost buddy from the past, suddenly appear in front of me.

He looked in my direction and then a goofy grin spread across his face. He strode across the room to stand staring down at me.

Jack had aged well. He’d always been handsome, but with maturity his cheekbones were more pronounced and fine lines around his cobalt blue eyes gave him character. His black hair, worn shorter than when I’d seen him last, was as thick as ever, with a couple of strands of gray showing at the temples.

“Nic. Thought you’d moved to Texas. Okay if I sit here?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out the chair across from me and plunked himself down.

My middle name is Nicole and the day he found out, I became Nic as far as Jack was concerned.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt a familiar comfort in his presence as if it were a week ago that we’d last seen each other instead of nearly twenty years.

“Since when did you have to ask to sit at my table?” We’d eaten lunch together at school about a million times.

“Thought this might be your husband’s chair.”

“It isn’t.” At the thought of my ex, I clamped my jaw tight and fiddled with the napkin holder, squeezing the metal and pretending it was T. Chandler’s jowly neck. “What in the world made you think I moved to Texas?”

Emmie appeared with my coffee, and Jack ordered a cup for himself after she finished trying to upsell us on pecan pie. He waited until she went back to the kitchen and said, “I tried calling you once, five or six years ago.”

“And? You forget how to use a phone?”

“Your husband answered. He said he took a job in San Antonio and you were out there getting your house ready. I asked for your new address and he was pretty vague, said you’d contact me after you got settled.”

“What?” I dropped my spoon and it landed in my lap. I’d known T. Chandler was jealous of my family and friends, but telling such a lie was really out of line. I might have to rethink my plans to forgive him. “That’s not true. We never moved out of Mount Pleasant.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t anything important, just wanted to say hello.”

“I wished you’d called Mama instead of that rat, T. Chandler. And you can stop calling him my husband. We divorced last year.”

“Yeah? Sorry. I guess.” He took his coffee mug from Emmie when she silently reappeared at our table. “Aren’t you wondering why I’m back in Charleston?”

“Why are you back in Charleston, Jack?”

“My firm bought up a big contracting outfit here. Lenley Building. It used to be owned by Myron Lenley. You must know him, local family.”

“If you mean Myron Lenley--the third--he was in school with us until his family shipped him off to Camden Military Academy for an attitude adjustment.” I didn’t add that Mama had once forced me to go to a dance with him.

“That’s him. Anyway, Lenley inherited the firm and sold out to the outfit I’m with. I was offered the job of running the place and figured, why not? Better pay, and living in Charleston sure beats living in New Jersey as far as I’m concerned. I’m still a southerner at heart, always have been. So I moved back about a month ago.”

“Welcome back.” I sipped at my coffee. It was dark and hot and the rich scent that had wafted toward me ever since the cup landed on the table didn’t disappoint. “But what about...” I paused, dug deep into my memory banks, and finished my question. “Darlene? I thought she hated the South.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “It’s Marlene. We divorced about five years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Was I? I hadn’t been around her much, but his ex hadn’t made any secret of the fact that she didn’t care for any of Jack’s friends, me especially. I’d thought at the time she was a world class snob. I’d felt like shaking some sense into Jack, but then he and Marlene married suddenly, a month before I met T. Chandler.

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “We were a mismatch from day one and both too green to figure it out. I learned from the whole experience that opposites might attract, but it can be hell trying to stay together. At least we didn’t have any kids to divide up. She’d bought a couple of Persian cats and she retained custody—no argument from me. What about you?”

“I don’t have any cats,” I said.

He leaned across the table and tweaked my hair. “How many kids do you have besides your little boy?”

He knew about Christian. I’d sent a birth announcement and received in return a card with a terse congratulatory note written in a feminine hand and with a twenty dollar bill tucked inside. At the time, I was torn between going up to New Jersey and slapping Marlene silly or calling to give her a piece of my mind. Of course, I’d done neither.

“Only Christian. My ‘little boy’ started college a few weeks ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could say something trite about time flying, but I won’t; that would make me feel old. Wow. You have a grown kid.”

“Hey.” I playfully smacked the back of his hand. “I’m not exactly ready for a nursing home.”

“I can see that.” Amusement showing in the crinkles around his eyes, he let his gaze travel over me with what I hoped was appreciation for my twenty-fivish figure. Okay, I’ll be honest—thirty-ninish figure.

“Yeah, it’s been all of a month since Christian left for Virginia. And I realized only a few days ago I’m living alone for the first time in my life. No Mama or T. Chandler to run my life. No loud stereo or TV blasting from Christian’s room. No teen-aged boys crowding me out of my own kitchen. I’m almost an empty nester.”

“You like that? Being an empty nester, I mean.”

I thought about the question before I answered. “Mostly.” I’d forced myself to spend the first afternoon post-Christian working in my garden. By the end of the day, part of the gloom had lifted, but it wasn’t until the past week that I’d quit listening for Christian’s step in the hallway every afternoon. I was still lonely at times, nothing I couldn’t handle. Like Mama always says, life is full of tradeoffs. “It’s not like he won’t be home for holidays. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet. I like being able to wander the house in my nightclothes if I want to and watch ancient movies without Christian pasting on a look of superiority and telling me I’m an old fogie. He’s sure I could learn so much about modern culture from an evening of football.”

“Well…” Jack straightened in his chair and rubbed the small of his back. “Ouch. I hurt myself on a construction site a few months ago and I sometimes get a reminder twinge. What were we talking about? You home alone. I’d say you deserve time for yourself.”

Emmie refilled our coffees, and Jack and I talked on, first going through a round of “remember the time?”

“All our friends thought we were perfect for each other,” I said.

“But we found out better.” A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “Remember when I broke up with my girlfriend and you’d just dumped your guy and we tried making out on the couch at my house? Talk about a lack of chemistry--it just was not going to happen between us.” He smiled, then the smile became a chuckle, and then I thought he’d fall out of his seat howling like a coyote.

I tried to force a laugh of my own, but the attempt died somewhere around my lips. My face flamed at the memory. We’d exchanged a few tentative kisses when his mother sauntered into the room trailed by the new preacher from the Baptist Church. I’d jumped half out of my skin and rolled off the couch onto the floor to land on my butt with a solid thump while Jack said something about me being there to help him with his math homework.

I’d made an excuse to Mrs. Maxwell and Pastor Green and left. But my recollection of the kiss was that it had every bit as much chemistry as I’d hoped for, enough to put all thoughts of anyone except Jack out of my mind for weeks to come. Jack must have thought so, too, because he’d asked me out a couple of times after that. I’d accepted and then had to cancel at the last minute to babysit my sister and to handle one crisis or another for my mother. We’d gone away to different colleges not long after. And met our spouses. And lost touch until now.

We played catch up for another half hour. Jack was in an on again off again relationship with a woman named Kelly who was planning to visit him in Charleston. We gave each other the condensed versions of our divorces and discussed our jobs.

Jack was an architect. I, on the other hand, had never lived up to my potential. Just ask Mama. But I wasn’t ashamed to tell him about my stint behind a lopsided desk—especially now that I was leaving.

“You’re not happy with your job,” he said, in response to my telling him how much I hated dealing with nasty customers. “That’s not surprising for someone of your intelligence. Have you found something else?”

“A friend in real estate has come to my rescue.” Though I’d known both of them for years, somehow Veronica and Jack had never managed to meet. “She’s offered me something I’m pretty excited about.” I didn’t tell him I hadn’t actually had the nerve to take Veronica’s offer until I got fired. The job at Odell’s was bad enough. Getting rejected from that job was its own new form of humiliation.

“You’re going into real estate?”

“No, she has a new business starting up and she’s going to make me her manager.”

“Sounds promising. What’s it involve?”

Emmie brought yet another refill, though after three coffees my bladder was screaming for relief. I sent it a silent message to hang in there.

“Ghost tours.” I dumped a packet of sweetener into my cup and watched it float like dust on top of the dark liquid.

He raised an eyebrow. Lowered it and raised the other one. “Ghost tours, as in looking for spirits in graveyards?”

“Something like that. You know how it is. In a historic town like Charleston ghost hunting is popular with tourists. But my friend has a great angle, something that should get us a lot of business. She bought an old house that started life as a residence for a man who was rumored to be a pirate. Since its pirate owner days it’s served as a makeshift jail, church, and music school before it ended up as a boarding house, fell on hard times and was finally abandoned. She’s restoring it to its original state and plans to open for regular tours during the day and ghost tours at night. It’ll be finished in another few weeks.

“According to local legend, the original owner was a larger than life type called—behind his back, I presume--Devilhearted Eli. He still, so people say, clomps the halls exuding ill-will. And he’s just the main character. There are supposed to be other ghosts who make their appearances if they’ve nothing better to do. A former night watchman reported hearing screams, seeing mysterious lights, and smelling perfume, before he finally put in notice.”

“Any chains rattling in the attic?”

“Jack Maxwell, are you making fun of me?”

He put his hand over mine and left it there. “Of course not. And I don’t have to ask if you’re taking the job. You look happier and more content and confident than I’ve ever seen you. Not at all an emotional wreck of a divorcee like I might have expected.”

“Well, I’m all grown up now and it has been a year, and I’m quite sure I never…” I broke off as I felt a slow blush crawl up my cheeks. An emotional wreck of a divorcee? He was exactly right now that I thought about it. “Okay, up until a couple of days ago, I dragged around feeling angry with myself for marrying the wrong guy and sticking around for years, when it was long past time to get up off my butt, stop punishing myself, and start living again. I’ve even put off finding a new job until I was forced to.”

I brushed my hair back from my face, raised my chin, and looked directly into his blue, blue eyes. “But I’m not the same girl you used to know. My son is grown, my sister lives clear across the country, and I’ve learned to say no to my mother. From now on it’s my turn to be first in my life without having to sacrifice myself for others.”

The part about saying no to my mother was an exaggeration. And maybe I’d been forced by circumstances—Odell firing me--to put myself first, but that wouldn’t matter if I were successful at it.

He looked doubtful, but said politely, “I wish you the best.”

“I’m going to need your good wishes.” I’d just glanced sideways out the window. A woman who looked an awful lot like my mother was walking by on the opposite side of the street. I squinted, trying to make out more detail, but the shadows on that side were too dark. It couldn’t be Mama—the woman was walking with a man. But seeing the Mama-look-alike was enough to remind me that I had a fight ahead of me. “I haven’t told Mama yet. She has very definite ideas on what are and are not acceptable careers for her daughters. Trust me, ghost tours are not on the list.”

“I remember your mother. She’s—a lady with strong opinions.” Jack has always been such a gentleman. Calling Mama “a lady with strong opinions” was like calling a lion an animal that might hurt you if you poke it with a sharp stick.

“I’m calling her tonight before she hears the big news from the gossip network she’s permanently wired into.” I didn’t know how the network operated, but I could bet money Mama would find out about my new job in the next twenty-four hours even if I didn’t tell her. “She’s going to do her utmost to foster a world class guilt trip right through the center of my soul.”

The ever-attentive Emmie trudged in our direction bearing the coffeepot on a tray, and this time my bladder threatened to create an embarrassing scene if I didn’t behave sensibly. I tried to wave her off, but she didn’t stop.

“Sure about that pecan pie?” she asked, balancing the tray against her hip. You’d think the girl made a commission on every slice.

We declined more coffee and the pie and then, after quick trips to our respective restrooms, came back and lingered.

After the rest of the customers had left and Emmie started putting away ketchup bottles and sending us pointed glances, we paid and headed outside.

“I’m living in an apartment over the antique shop across the street,” Jack said, waving toward the building. “I bought a house that I have to renovate before I move in. But let me walk you to your car.”

“It’s okay. I’m parked a few blocks over in front of Nancy’s Yoga Center.”

“Jack Maxwell is a true gentleman who would not let a lady walk unescorted to her waiting carriage.” He casually took my hand in his. His skin felt warm and rough. A shiver went through me and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time a man had held my hand. Certainly T. Chandler hadn’t. Handholding was not his style.

We meandered down the sidewalk, past antique and art stores, threading our way between groups of people. It was late September and still tourist season. In fact, it’s always tourist season in Charleston. A gray horse pulling a carriage clopped along the street beside us while the young man at the reins pointed out historic landmarks to the family riding behind him on the wooden seats. I wondered if the job got boring after a week or two of piloting the horse around the same streets every day. I was sure the animal had the route memorized and all the driver had to do was make sure it stopped for red lights and didn’t break into a tourist-jolting gallop.

Jack paused to study the carriage. “You ever ride in one of those?”

I started to say no, but all at once a dim memory surfaced. I was five years old and my father had taken me out for ice cream. Afterward he lifted me onto the wooden bench of a carriage pulled by a sleek-coated black horse. When the ride was over, Daddy took me to the front and held me up while I tangled my tiny fingers in the coarse mane and filled my nostrils with pungent horse smell. I asked him if we could take it home, cried when he said we didn’t have room for a horse in my bedroom. But he’d remembered and bought me a Breyer model horse, a bay Arabian with an exquisite head, for my sixth birthday.

“Yes, a long time ago,” I said, my voice gone soft and my mouth pulling itself into a smile.

“From your expression, I’d say you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did.” It was the last time Daddy ever took me out for ice cream. He’d promised to take me again the week after my birthday, told me to be a good girl and help Mama in the house, and we’d go that evening. I wasn’t a good girl that day. I fussed at Mama because she wouldn’t let me watch cartoons and I didn’t pick up my toys. Being a Daddy’s spoiled little girl, I thought I could talk him into taking me out anyway.

I never got the chance. He died of a heart attack at work. For years afterward, I blamed myself, as children do. I thought if I’d only done everything I could to help Mama that day, then Daddy would have come home the way he promised.

“You okay?” Jack asked, pulling me back from the curb to stop me from stepping into the road against the light.

I swallowed hard and looked up at him, blinking myself back to the present. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” He looked so concerned and the lump in my throat got so big it threatened to choke me.

“I’m fine,” I said in a husky voice. It was sweet of him to offer and exactly like the Jack I remembered.

We reached my minivan, and before I could unlock the door, Jack said, “Nic, let’s not lose touch again.”

“Good idea.” We exchanged numbers, me writing his down on the back of a Piggly Wiggly receipt. “Maybe when your girlfriend gets here we can go out to dinner or something.”

Before he could respond, I quickly added, “Of course, I’ll bring my boyfriend along.”

I couldn’t let him—or his girlfriend—think I was trying to be anything more than a friend or that I was so pathetic I didn’t have anyone. But my boyfriend? Who was I going to enlist to play that part? Herman-don’t-judge, perhaps?

We stood awkwardly, staring at each other in the dim light cast by a street lamp that needed its bulb replaced. I wondered if Jack could read my mind. Then he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across my cheek.

“It was great seeing you again, Nic.”

Our eyes met and I felt a little lurch in my heartbeat when his lips formed that endearing smile I’d noticed the first time I ever saw him. Maybe my heart was trying to tell me something. Maybe my heart was saying I’d been lonely long enough and here was someone I could be with. Except he already had someone. And he didn’t like me that way. And being lonely was no excuse for falling in love.

“You, too, Jack.”

I watched him walk away and then I sat in my car staring at the night sky through my streaky windshield that made the stars blur into pale blotches. A deep longing for something in the past had pushed its way into my soul. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I knew whatever it was had made me ache inside.

Chapter Six

Somehow I had mentally assigned Brenda, Odell’s niece, her uncle’s intellectual capacity. Though there was a definite family resemblance in her stocky build and she had her Uncle Odell’s droopy eyes and wide nose, she proved to be pretty sharp. If she hadn’t been as obnoxious as her uncle was, I might have liked her.

When I complimented her on how quickly she caught on to the bookkeeping system, Miss Brenda straightened her back and announced, “I took secretarial training at the community college in Spartanburg. Of course, I’ll be making a lot of changes after you leave.” She swiveled her head from side to side. Something about the way she stuck out her lips gave me the idea she wasn’t happy with the way I’d arranged the desk and chairs. For a second I went defensive, but then I reminded myself that soon this would be Brenda’s domain.

Despite her trainability, I gave in to moping through a good part of the day, listening to my mind screaming at me that I was soon to be sans paycheck. The troubling thoughts were momentarily silenced when Jack called and invited me to lunch on Friday. We still had, he reminded me, a great deal of catching up to do.

Patty scooted into my office as soon as I put the phone down. Excitement had her eyebrows practically dancing a tango.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard the last part of your conversation. Was that a man inviting you to lunch?”

Not eavesdropping? She’d been lurking outside my door like a spy too lazy to find a real hiding spot. I glanced pointedly at Brenda who’d just come back from Odell’s office. Patty didn’t take the hint. I guess she figured that since I was leaving it didn’t matter if Brenda told Odell about me taking a personal call.

“It’s not a date. Jack’s an old friend who moved back to town recently, so it’s only polite for me to catch him up on how the area has changed over the years.” Right. Lunching with Jack was all about manners.

Patty held her arms straight up toward the ceiling. Her eyes narrowed to slits and she aimed the slits about a foot over my head to stare at the wall behind me. Then she started swaying her hips like a belly dancer warming up for a performance. “Right. Right. Susan, it’s good news. The Universe told me Jack is your destiny, and I am just soooo happy for you.”

“It spoke to you without benefit of the tarot? Despite the newsflash from the beyond, Patty, you can rest easy. Due to a complete lack of chemistry between us, which he was quick to remind me of last night over coffee, Jack and I are nothing more than friends. Besides he has a girlfriend.”

“The Universe doesn’t lie,” Patty said in tones of deepest respect. The bell at the front of the store rang, and she scurried back to her register to wait on a customer.

I had a feeling she wanted to light a candle, but Odell doesn’t allow lit candles in the shop. I glanced at Brenda. Her mouth hung open, and she was fingering a little gold cross hanging around her neck.

“Don’t mind Patty,” I said. “She’s harmless and her predictions are about as accurate as what you read in the tabloids.”

“I don’t read the tabloids.” Brenda sniffed. “But I’m well able to deal with difficult co-workers.”

“I’m sure.” The secretarial school I’d already grown sick of hearing about must have had a required class on the subject.

I’d planned to stay late to work with Brenda, but she had errands to run and I had no doubts she was planning to lay in a supply of new office decorations. I was able to leave promptly at five, my usual quitting time. I made a side trip to Publix and pulled into my driveway exactly forty-five minutes later. I was not surprised to see Mama’s aircraft-carrier-sized green Cadillac taking up most of my driveway. She’d invited herself to supper, no doubt prompted by the fact that I’d finally worked up the nerve to phone her last night with the announcement about the new job. She’d reacted predictably, which meant I’d had to drink about a gallon of herbal tea.

I shouldn’t say I’d worked up nerve. I didn’t need Mama’s permission to rearrange my life. What I needed, rather, was enough time and energy to listen to her wear herself out trying to get me to stay in my safe little world, a world much like hers. It was a world I’d been resigned to inhabiting until yesterday when I’d woken up and met the new me. Now I picked up my two grocery bags and marched to the front door, determination showing in every stride. Mama yanked the door open before I could do more than point my key at the lock.

“I carried in your mail. It’s on your desk on top of all that clutter. Your electric bill would be lower if you’d reset your thermostat. And there is a huge packet from Veronica about the Blackthorn House. I’m quite sure that does not bode well, but it is not like me to interfere, so I won’t say a thing about it. You really should keep your refrigerator stocked. I was going to finish making dinner, but you don’t have a single tomato for the salad.”

“I bought some.” I held up the bag on my right. A couple of reddish globes shone through the opaqueness.

“And no bread.” She sighed with profound weariness and then shook her head vigorously, a move that didn’t have any effect on her lacquered hair. The Chihuahuas hovered in the background, growling softly at my incompetence.

“Bag on my left.” I looked down and wriggled my eyebrows at the closest Chihuahua, a little tan number named Tiny that seems to think he’s a lot bigger than he really is. He curled his lip.

“Don’t tease my babies.” Mama was already pulling the bags out of my hands. “I’ll have supper done in ten minutes.”

I didn’t want her to have supper done. This was my house, my state of the art kitchen, and my life. But, judging from the delicious smells wafting toward me, it was too late to tell Mama to sit down and have a cup of tea while I did my own cooking.

I took the only way out, nodding and stepping carefully around the Chihuahuas as I moved toward the hallway. I concentrated on my yoga breathing.

“What’s wrong? Your lips are pulled together like purse strings and at your age there’s a serious chance of wrinkles if you hold that expression. I declare, you look like someone shoved a sour lemon down your throat.” Mama pulled me around to face her and peered into my face.

A sour lemon? Was there any other kind?

“I’m good, Mama. Give me a minute to change and I’ll help you in the kitchen.” If I made my voice any more cheery, she’d think I was trying to sell her a beach condo.

She waved a hand at me and reversed direction. Mission accomplished. I’d gotten safely in the door and past Mama and her mini guard dogs without getting into an argument. I was saving myself for later when Mama went into high gear over my upcoming career change, a high gear made higher by the fact that she’d had all day to prepare her argument.

Mama considered herself a gracious southern lady, a member of the club made up of women with accents that sounded as if the words were dipped in honey and stretched out into extra syllables. Like all of them, Mama was tough as old leather. She was a strong woman who’d survived widowhood—my father. And desertion—my sister’s father. She’d managed a career as an accountant’s secretary, raised two girls, and retired comfortably with her dignity intact.

I’d win the argument, though. Of course, me winning meant that Mama would finally throw up her hands in defeat and blink her eyes at warp speed, leading me to believe she wanted to frown, but didn’t dare risk the wrinkles. Then she’d say in that low, melodious voice of hers, “You mark my words, Susan Nicole Caraway, you are making a large mistake, bless your heart. A very large mistake.”

She’d gather the Chihuahuas and dump them into the straw basket--woven by a Gullah woman--that she called her purse. Then she’d stagger out to her Cadillac leaning sideways from the weight of the little dogs.

I thought of this now as I changed from business casual into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt sporting the logo from some metal band Christian pretends to like. Mama never really gets angry, doesn’t raise her voice. Voice-raising isn’t ladylike. Even when she reminds me she said to mark her words—such as when the minivan I’d bought against her advice developed a problem with the radio—she is always ready to pitch in and help pick up the pieces. Mama is fond of saying, “There is no love greater than a mother’s love for her offspring.”

I’ve given up trying to get her to say children instead of offspring. Offspring always makes me think of a science experiment involving genetics and multiple generations of albino lab rats that specialize in running mazes.

I ran my fingers through my hair and padded barefoot down the hall into the kitchen. I discovered that Mama had already fixed salad and garlic bread to go with the vegetarian lasagna she’d baked earlier.

The table was set and Mama had brought white carnations for a centerpiece. She’d arranged them in a bowl so they sat low between the salad and a pitcher of iced tea, all the better for her to see me from the opposite end of the table. A gracious lady always has flowers in the house, I’ve been told a million times, and plastic flowers don’t count.

Somehow I’ve never managed to become a gracious lady. Mama has to keep reminding me I’ve fallen short and my sister hasn’t even made the effort, and Mama doesn’t know why she keeps trying with two daughters who are simply doing their best to torment her into an early grave.

I waited until she locked the Chihuahuas on the back porch with a bowl of tiny kibble, a food recommended by Mama’s best friend, Lydia Freeman. Lydia is a Chihuahua breeder active with the local dog rescue organization. She has a Cadillac identical to Mama’s, except for a bumper sticker that reads, “If you don’t rescue, don’t breed.” Before I knew she raised dogs, I had no clue what the bumper sticker meant—I thought Lydia was simply anti-sex.

Mama carried the food to the table. We ate, chatting about the new gift shop near Calhoun Street, and how Ruthie Ames’ daughter Cindy, who was as flaky as her Aunt Lou’s pie crust, had dropped out of the College of Charleston to “go find herself in Idaho.”

“Can you imagine?” Mama said, dabbing her lips with her cloth napkin. “If she can’t figure out where she is right here in the city where she was born and raised, then there is no hope in Idaho where all the people are roughnecks. No hope at all.”

I knew Mama was thinking of my younger sister DeLorean as much as she was thinking about Cindy Ames. DeLorean had gone to LA a couple of years ago--not to find herself, but to let LA find her. So far, all she’d managed to do was move in with a stuck up movie producer and have a baby. There seemed slim chance of her ever being discovered, if that’s what she really expected. I doubted if even DeLorean knew what she wanted out of life.

But then, I was one to talk. Married for nineteen years, divorced for one and I was finally getting around to figuring out I didn’t want to be stuck in a loan office answering phones and soothing the feelings of entitlement-minded customers. I wasn’t sure that running ghost tours was what I wanted to do either, but I’d been forced into the situation and maybe that was what Patty’s Universe had had in store for me all along.

“Mama?” I got up and started filling the dishwasher. “I hope you’re not still upset about my phone call last night.”

“Your phone call?” She made phone into two-syllables. “You mean that nonsense about selling the house to live in a bed and breakfast and going off to hunt for ghosts like some common street person with pagan beliefs? I’ve raised you better, the good Lord knows I have, and by now you’ve surely to God realized you simply can’t do such a thing. I mean, people will think you’ve been mentally unhinged by the divorce, positively gone around the bend and that you need help before you ruin your life entirely. Though no one could blame you after T. Chandler dumped you for that gold digging home wrecker with the huge bosoms. I’m sure they were fake; pure silicon--or is it carbon they’re made of? What was her name?”

“Crystal,” I said. “Crystal Rose.” I gritted my teeth and hunted under the sink for the dishwashing powder. A year later and Mama still brought up the incident like it had happened an hour ago and, of course, it was my own fault and she wasn’t going to let me forget.

“Whatever. Sounds like a made up name to me, like she’s one of those low women who take off their clothes in bars and fit themselves into all kinds of suggestive positions around metal poles. But didn’t I say to mark my words? I said, I don’t know how many times, I said, ‘Susan, when a man claims a best friend who’s a woman, and that woman isn’t his wife, then there’s trouble brewing.’ As sure as peach blossoms turn into peaches you can expect trouble.”

“Yeah, Mama, you did all but spell it out. I still walked around oblivious, cooking and cleaning and taking care of my home while T. Chandler worked himself into a lather over a pair of size 40D faux breasts and an enhanced butt. Dumb me. No surprise when I eventually found myself in divorce court.” I made my voice deep and ominous when I said “divorce court” as if I were talking about the deepest pit of hell.

I should have been able to figure things out for myself without Mama’s warning—which I’d ignored. What forty-two-year-old man has a bubble-brained flirt for a best pal? To be fair, though, my sin was apathy more than cluelessness.

“Don’t be flippant, dear. The point is, I believe, we were going to discuss this horrible plan of yours so I could advise you.”

I sighed. I was positive I hadn’t asked for either a discussion or her advice. And equally positive that no force on earth could prevent her from butting in.

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve already told Veronica I’ll do it.” I would not tell her Odell had fired me and Veronica’s offer was the only one on the table.

“I must say, I am shocked.” Mama pulled a lavender spray bottle out of her purse and spritzed the air around her for about a three-foot radius. She sniffed delicately and sat back in her chair. I knew she was counting on the lavender aromatherapy to help her get over her shock while she thought up ways to influence me. Naturally she wanted me to continue to sit around and grow bitter, yet remain a true southern lady who holds her chin up and keeps a prominent display of her best wedding photos--with the lying skunk cut out of them--on the mantle.

“It’s a done deal and I am not changing my mind.”

“I hope she hasn’t spent any money yet. Because it’s just a matter of a few days before you realize what a fatal mistake you’ll be making.” Mama shivered. I half expected her to reach for the lavender again, but a yelp from the direction of the porch caused her to swivel to face the door. “That Tiny, he thinks he’s a Great Dane. Always beating up poor Sweetpea.” Sighing, she started to rise.

I waved her back down. “I’ll get them.” I marched out to the porch where a growling Tiny, his dark marble eyes bulging from his skull with the effort, stood over the cowering Sweetpea. He’d placed one nickel-sized paw on Sweetpea’s black and tan chest.

“Stop that right now, you little beast,” I snarled. “If the Dog Whisperer didn’t live clear across the country, I’d haul you in for rehab.”

When my warning did no good, I squatted and cupped my hands around Tiny’s body. He sank his needle teeth into my wrist, but they hardly made a dent. I carried him back into the kitchen and dumped him on Mama’s lap, leaving the other dog on the porch.

“Mama, I’ve made up my mind about the new job. I mean, look at me. For the first time in I don’t know how long--at least a year--I actually feel enthusiastic about something.” Sort of true. “I’m looking forward to living at the Seaside View. It’s beautiful, it’s close to the harbor. I’ll be able to walk all over the historic district enjoying the sights and the fresh air of one of the most beautiful cities in the country. I won’t have this huge house to work me to death. It’s a new beginning.”

“Four bedrooms isn’t exactly huge.” Mama sniffed and looked around as if she could peer through walls and see the rest of the house, mentally measuring the dimensions. “And you don’t look anywhere near death.”

“That isn’t the point,” I ground out. “I’m ready to do something for me. Maybe I’ll like conducting ghost tours and maybe I won’t, but at least I’ll know I tried. I can always look for something else if it doesn’t work out.”

“Yes, but you’ll be without a home, and you know you love this place and you love working in your garden. And you’ll have no job. Lack of a paycheck is the first step toward winding up in the streets.”

“I promise I’ll stay out of the streets. And I wouldn’t quit the ghost tours until I found something else.”

“Yes, no doubt you’ll end up at the reins of one of those poor horses that pull those overloaded carts--carts simply full to bursting with sightseers.” She grabbed Tiny’s rhinestone encrusted collar and pulled him back into her lap before he could climb on the table.

“The carts aren’t that full,” I said in clipped tones.

“And you’d have to empty those horse diaper things. I can just imagine the condition of your poor fingernails. I can almost smell the manure.”

So could I. I rolled my eyes. The phone rang and I started to say I’d let the machine answer, but Mama threw up her hands in her patented “I give up” gesture that really meant “I’ll keep hounding you until you admit I was right, because you are going to land on your face.”

“You will crash and burn, Susan. Mark my words, you will wish you never lowered yourself to being a ghost walker.”

“Ghost tour operator.”

“Call it what you will. I won’t be able to hold my head up in church when my friends spot you parading around Charleston leading tourists looking for wisps of fog.” She sucked in air like she was taking her last breath, dropped Tiny into the purse, and went out on the porch to gather the other dog. I spared a moment of pity for Sweetpea who’d be forced to ride home in a confined space with the ferocious Tiny.

Then I grabbed the phone. Telemarketer. I did not need a new back porch, a subscription to twenty-two magazines, or vinyl siding. Too bad they weren’t trying to sell me a quiet, charming mother who looked at me adoringly and doled out praise like it was her only function in life.

Chapter Seven

There’s one in every family. Or so Mama tells me. I don’t know if she’s right or if Mama is just trying to make the point that it’s not the fault of her parenting that my sister DeLorean turned out the way she did.

In any case, I was not up for trying to analyze what went wrong in the years between the self-assured toddler who could charm any kid in Sunday School out of their last piece of candy and the current helpless princess. Why did she have to have another major life crisis now, on the morning after my argument with Mama? I’d lain awake half the night, plans for the new career fighting for space in my mind with replays of Mama’s disapproving lecture.

The phone woke me before my alarm could do the job. All I wanted was to find some way for DeLorean to manage, for once, without me having to disrupt my entire life. Hadn’t I told Jack just two days ago that I’d learned to say no?

I twisted a hunk of my hair around my fingers so tight my nails started turning blue. Against the advice of all the youthful appearance experts—and Mama--I puckered my face into a frown guaranteed to lead to wrinkles and premature aging unless I hit the botox center soon and often.

“You’re sure the breakup is for real? After all, this isn’t the first time you and Baldwin have argued and you wouldn’t want to make another mistake.” Yet, I hoped it was real, that she was finally leaving that jerk she’d hooked up with.

“Susan, give me a break. I’m twenty-eight and, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve had a ton of boyfriends, so I know a breakup when I see one. I could throw myself in front of a train for trusting him to begin with, but then where would that leave me? You’ve gotta see how devastated I am.” She said devastated in long, drawn-out tones in case I still didn’t get it. “He’s paid for plane tickets back to Charleston from LA. He never wants to see me or our baby again, like we don’t even exist and we never did. He says marriage is for fools, so he never intended to marry me to begin with and I was kidding myself. You should see the way he acts, getting jealous over his own son and talking mean to us both, though of course Cole doesn’t understand.” She sounded out of breath when she finally stopped talking.

“I’m sorry. You did the right thing to break it off, Dee.” All thoughts of sticking to my position evaporated like so much morning mist burning off in the sun. I experienced a surge of protective anger at the thought of Baldwin behaving so coldly toward my sister and her baby. I was glad for DeLorean, glad she was getting away from Baldwin and I would stop selfishly worrying over the impact of her troubles on my own plans. And yet, the rush of words on the other end of the line had pelted me like chunks of ice.

DeLorean, once again, had turned her life into hash, and I would have to pick up the pieces. She’d never ask Mama to take her in. Mama and the Chihuahuas live in a one-bedroom condo the size of my garage. Besides, Mama and DeLorean get along like two crocodiles fighting over a zebra carcass.

“Does Mama know about this?” I asked stupidly.

“God, no. I can’t deal with hysterics long distance and she’d just worry herself into a heart attack. Let’s wait till I get there and then when she sees me and Cole it will be a nice surprise for her.”

Nice surprise wasn’t exactly the phrase that came to mind when I imagined Mama, her latest lecture forming on her lips, catching sight of DeLorean and Cole camped out in my guestroom.

“Of course I’ll help. You don’t seem to have many options and Baldwin has been unbelievably cruel.”

“I knew it. I knew I could count on you, Susan. You’re the best sister ever.”

“Sure, that’s me.” I still thought it would be a good idea to call Mama, but knowing I’d have better luck trying to bore a hole through my kitchen wall with a toothpick than I would winning an argument with DeLorean, I asked, “When are you arriving?”

“One o’clock this afternoon, your time. See you.” The line went dead. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her that Jack Maxwell was back in town and he’d asked me to lunch today and one o’clock was not convenient.

DeLorean’s an expert at scripting other people’s lives for them, mostly mine. I sighed and plunked myself into the nearest chair. I love DeLorean and her baby son, but why did this have to happen today? Veronica’s new business would need all my attention, and I was determined to make it work. Having finally woken up or had ice water thrown in my face or whatever you want to call it, I deserved a chance at happiness.

Why couldn’t I do what I wanted now that I didn’t have a husband to stop me? T. Chandler would have gone quietly indignant if I’d ever done something for myself while we were married.

“Your first priority is our son,” he’d have said, speaking in low tones so I’d have to lean toward him like a serf obeying to her master in order to make out his words. “Second is our marriage. You can’t jump into something as risky as ghost tours, or whatever you’re calling it, something with evening hours that would demand such a big chunk of your time and energy. And you know I don’t care for that woman.” That woman was Veronica, who’d caught on to T. Chandler a lot faster than I had.

But T. Chandler was out of my life, thank God. In fact, he was out of the city, having moved to Atlanta with his new wife. I was not going to let either him or DeLorean and her latest disaster weigh on my mind.

As far as moving ahead with my job plans, I could start the ghost tours, but I’d have to wait to move into the Seaside View until DeLorean and her son settled in to a place of their own. Presumably this would be after she found a job here in Mount Pleasant or across the river in Charleston. There had to be a way to manage with two extra people. I was simply going to have to rearrange my schedule. I thrust my chin out and pasted on a “can-do” smile. Mission accomplished—almost.

I called Jack and left a message that I couldn’t make lunch due to a problem with my sister. Then I called Odell to say I’d had a family emergency. He was still screaming about “short-timers attitude” and making inarticulate noises when I hung up. Brenda would be fine. She’d taken copious notes yesterday. Besides, she’d shown every sign of wanting to do things her way and this was her golden opportunity to assume command.

After I hung up on Odell, I spared myself a moment of keen disappointment that I wouldn’t be seeing Jack today. He was right--we still had a lot of catching up to do and, after all, we used to be best friends.

Then I raced around like a madwoman getting the guest room ready, cleaning out the closet where I’d stored the overflow from Christian’s room and rearranging the second guest room, which I’d been using as an office. DeLorean could have that room for the baby as soon as he was old enough to leave her side.

When I was done, I barely had time to shower and change before I had to head out to pick up DeLorean at the Charleston airport. The airport is only about fifteen miles from my home in Mount Pleasant. Unfortunately, an accident somewhere ahead of me blocked the westbound lanes. I crawled along in a line of cars moving bumper to bumper.

DeLorean’s plane had already touched down by the time I rushed into the terminal panting like an overheated dog. Swarms of newly arrived travelers milled around me, jostling for space next to the baggage carousel. I stepped back against the nearest wall just in time to avoid being crushed between two football player-sized men in suits, turned slightly to the right, and spotted DeLorean huddled in a corner clutching Cole in front of her in a baby carrier. Various carry-on bags swung from her shoulders.

She was wearing an emerald green cocktail dress and spiked heels—silver in color. I didn’t know how she managed to keep her balance. Her auburn hair stood out from her head in a mass of thick, unruly curls. If the break up with Baldwin had stressed her, the effects didn’t show on the perfect oval of her face. Her make-up, lightly applied, was enough to highlight her long-lashed blue eyes and her full lips. More than a few men turned for a second look as they walked past. I felt a surge of pride. That was my little sister they were admiring.

Cole looked in my direction. His chubby fist, clutching a rattle, waved back and forth. My heart melted and I stepped forward and somehow managed to hug them both. Then I held out my arms. DeLorean handed him over, carrier and all.

“Thank God you’re finally here, Susan. What took you so long? All this stuff weighs a ton.”

“Come over to this side.” I led the way to a bench. “Let’s wait till the herd thins before we fetch your luggage.”

“Good idea.” She collapsed on the bench, her bags spread out around her, and on my feet. “I have three suitcases. Can you believe it? Two years with Baldwin, that flaming narcissist, and all I have to show for it are a few bags and suitcases. And my precious Cole, but you know what I mean.”

I’d flown out to California six months ago when Cole was born because Mama was not quite over her hysterectomy and couldn’t make the trip. DeLorean had proudly shown me the beautifully decorated apartment and expensive furniture that looked like it had come out of a showroom. Baldwin liked to have friends over and he obviously wanted them to see that his place was first class. He’d paid more attention to his décor than he did to his son, bragging that he’d had his home professionally decorated. Later DeLorean had pulled me aside and told me with a pout that Baldwin didn’t want a child, but she was going to get him to be reasonable now that the child had actually been born and was lying right there in a crib staring up at him.

As if she were reading my mind, DeLorean said, “Baldwin got custody of the furniture and all the other gorgeous things in the apartment, and I got Cole and Brad. Not that I’m complaining.”

I’d been nodding, thinking that since Baldwin paid for everything and set such store by his possessions, he’d want to claim them for himself. But when she said, "Brad,” my senses went on high alert.

“Who or what is Brad?” I was almost afraid to hear the answer. Long years of experience with DeLorean had made me cautious.

Her bright expression didn’t change. “He’s Cole’s puppy. Named after Brad Pitt. Don’t you think he’s the handsomest thing in Hollywood?” DeLorean beamed me a smile that would have prompted whole cities of admiring men to throw themselves off cliffs on her behalf. “Goodness, it’s crowded in here.” She extracted a sheaf of papers from her purse and used them to fan herself.

I knew DeLorean too well to let her distract me. “You didn’t say anything about a puppy.” I glanced at Cole and when he flashed his dimples at me and gurgled, I reached down and stroked his silky blond hair. A baby this age wouldn’t know a puppy from a giraffe. What was DeLorean thinking?

Big, troubled sigh from DeLorean, accompanied by a mini-pout. “There wasn’t time. I had a ton of stuff to do, getting my stuff packed, picking up Cole’s medical records from his pediatrician, putting in change of address forms at the post office. You have no idea. You’ve always been willing to stay stuck in Mount Pleasant like it’s the Garden of Eden or something. Moving across country is hard work. I can’t be expected to think of every single thing like I’m some kind of robot with a computer for a brain.”

It didn’t take a computer brain to remember you had a dog. “We can pick up the puppy after we load your bags.”

“Did you bring your old car, that van thing with all the room in the back?”

“The minivan. It’s the only vehicle I have, Dee. I haven’t gotten rich and added a little sports number to the fleet since you last talked to me. Why?”

“Brad’s crate wouldn’t fit in a regular car. And I don’t want him bouncing around loose next to Cole in his car seat.”

Okay, so Brad sounded like a lively puppy. There was plenty of room at my place for him to run in the fenced back yard. True, the fenced part of the yard wasn’t all that big, but how much room could a puppy need?

The answer to that question took on new dimensions after we pulled around to the cargo area to get Brad. I left DeLorean and Cole in the car and walked over to a service window. One of the baggage handlers wandered out and led me into a building that looked like an oversized metal garage. He pointed out a crate about three feet high and two feet wide.

“There’s got to be a mistake.” I just managed to keep a civil tone. I was hot, tired after loading DeLorean’s things, and in no mood for incompetence. “I’m picking up a puppy, not a pony.”

I turned in a complete circle and pointed to a row of crates that could have held cocker spaniels. “He’s probably in one of those.”

“DeLorean Marsh, right?”

“My sister.”

“There’s your dog, lady.” He pointed to the big crate again. Then he motioned to a co-worker, who brought over a cart that looked sturdy enough to move an elephant.

My heart rate totally out of control, I approached the crate and squatted to peer inside. A mass of long, curly, gold-colored fur undulated back and forth and a pink tongue tried to lick my hand through the bars. I sucked in a deep centering breath and read the tag on the crate. No wonder DeLorean hadn’t mentioned Brad during our brief phone conversation this morning. She’d known I would have put my foot down. Probably.

Toy poodle-sized puppy, okay. Massive designer dog--a golden doodle according to the tag on the crate--not okay. Hairy, too big to be a housedog. And knowing DeLorean, probably not trained and not housebroken.

“You could have told me,” I said in barely civil tones when I was back in the minivan and the crate was loaded. We’d had to take out and rearrange the suitcases to squeeze the crate in. “You could have said you were bringing a dog that could swallow me whole and not show a tummy bulge.”

“Don’t be so bitchy. Brad is Cole’s golden doodle. You wouldn’t want to deprive your baby nephew of his pet, would you?” She shoved a wayward curl out of her face and when it sprang back, she pushed it behind her ear and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m exhausted and I haven’t eaten all day. As if I don’t have enough to worry about, you’re giving me grief about my baby’s pet.”

“I though a golden doodle was a cross between a poodle and a golden retriever. Brad’s huge. He looks more like a great dane-kanoodle on steroids if you ask me.”

“There isn’t any such thing.” Her pout assumed record-breaking proportions, threatening to dislocate her jaw.

“Gee, why not? Surely there are babies all over the country crying in their cribs to get one.”

I eased out of the parking lot and into a break in traffic. I took deep centering breaths until I felt lightheaded. I was not going to argue with my sister, who was clearly suffering after her breakup. I was not going to let DeLorean ruin my day. What was left of my day.

Even when we got home and I freed Brad from the crate and discovered that A. my backyard fence had a hole in it that a horse could fit through and B. Brad’s coat was matted and he had fleas, I maintained control. I pasted on my best “I am coping” smile and held tight to the leash to keep DeLorean’s designer dog from dragging me out of the neighborhood.

When I rubbed his fur backward and pointed out a couple of scurrying fleas, DeLorean looked at me helplessly.

“I’ve been too busy with Cole to have time to comb Brad or worry over parasites. You’re a mother, you know how it is with a baby and their constant needs. And Baldwin insisted I be the only caregiver instead of hiring a babysitter so I could go back to work. I thought it was because he finally learned to love Cole, but it turned out that was only another way to control me.” Her voice trembled, and I noticed faint blue circles showing through her under-eye concealer.

Yeah, I could have told her all about control tactics. After T. Chandler and I married, he took charge and I didn’t have to think anymore, never had to wonder what to say or do. Never realized I was exactly the kind of possession he’d been looking for; not until we’d been married a couple of years and I started to develop too much personality, as he called it. He’d let me know he’d wanted someone who was pretty, quiet, and obedient, so he’d be “free to pursue his interests.” I eventually outgrew my meekness. Then I developed enough outrage to get into frequent shouting matches with him before our marriage finally ended, with him accusing me in injured tones of pulling a “bait and switch.” Maybe the new Mrs. Caraway, the one who spent all her spare time at the plastic surgeon’s, was the mannequin he craved.

“Sorry, Susan. If it’s too much trouble to help me, I’ll call some of my friends.” She sounded close to tears.

My heart softened. My baby sister had gotten herself into a real mess with Baldwin. But at least she hadn’t married him and stuck with him for nineteen soul-numbing years the way I had with T. Chandler.

I held up my right hand, palm facing out. “It’s okay. I can take the dog to be groomed and get him a flea bath. Everything will turn out fine.” I put Brad back in his crate.

After putting her things in her room, I told her to help herself in the kitchen. She had to be starved.

“There’s leftover salad and ham for sandwiches, iced tea if you want it.”

“I’m hungry, but I don’t know if I can eat. I feel like I’ve been run through a paper shredder.”

That was understandable. I fixed her a tuna salad sandwich anyway. She made a face. A stranger walking in would think I’d just placed an armed grenade in front of her, but she picked up the sandwich and nibbled at the edges.

It was late afternoon, probably too late to get Brad fumigated, but I had to get something set up. I tapped a pencil against the countertop until DeLorean shot me a pained look. Right. Her nerves were shredded.

I remembered that Mama took her babies to a place called the Pet Wellness Center and Spa that I passed every day on the way to work. I dialed them and said I had an emergency.

“Sure, we’ll do him tomorrow morning if you bring him early. We’re always busy on Saturdays, but we’ve had a cancellation.”

Tomorrow morning didn’t seem soon enough given the number of fleas I’d seen setting up homesteads on Brad’s back, but I had no desire to waste more time calling around to other shops.

As soon as I broke off the call, I started dialing Mama’s number. DeLorean looked over my shoulder and let out a shriek. She dropped her sandwich on the table, grabbed the receiver from me and slammed it down in its cradle. Her eyes went huge.

“Susan, give me a break. I knew you’d want to involve Mama first thing. You have no clue how exhausted I am. Not one clue. Cole doesn’t sleep all night long--he wakes me up like every three hours--and I had to get up way early for my flight. I had to finish packing and they make you arrive hours early for security, and then he fussed all the way across the country and I couldn’t eat those airplane snacks, so I feel positively ill.”

“Mama won’t be pleased that we didn’t tell her right away. She’s never seen Cole.”

Mama had planned to fly to LA next month, a trip that involved the services of a whole office full of travel agents, as well as at least an hour of my time every few days. We’d spent countless hours discussing how much luggage she’d need and whether she should invest in a new wardrobe. We’d argued over whether she should bring little coats for the Chihuahuas or if it would be warm enough in LA. to keep them from developing hypothermia.

“Mama will have to get over it. I simply can’t handle her right now.”

I shrugged. I put a leash on Brad and walked him in the back yard. Then I tried to put him back in his crate, an operation that took a lot more time then I’d budgeted since he dug in all four feet when I tried to move him. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be cramped up, but there was no way I could turn him loose in the house. I supposed I’d have to hire someone to repair the fence. I gave up and jailed him in the utility room.

I grabbed my keys and left for an emergency trip to the grocery with a list that included a large bag of dog food. When I got back, DeLorean was holding Cole, feeding him a concoction that was supposed to be strained peas, but looked like what would happen if someone boiled a pot of grasshoppers and scraped the resulting goo into a jar. He was greedily slurping up his dinner and grinning at the same time. What hadn’t dribbled onto the front of DeLorean had made its way onto what used to be my clean kitchen floor. I made a mental note to shop for a high chair.

DeLorean wiped a green glob off a towel she’d draped across her front. “Susan? Would you mind feeding Cole the rest of his peas while I take a nap? I’m soooo wiped out from the trip.”

“Go,” I said, lifting Cole out of her arms and waving her toward the stairs. Out of habit I glanced at the answering machine before I sat in the chair she’d just vacated. No messages. But then DeLorean would have answered the phone while I was out and told me if anyone had called. I’d have to get used to not living alone, even though it was only a few weeks since Christian went away to college.

Cole started fussing the minute DeLorean left the room. I managed to get him to take a spoonful of his peas, which he then promptly spat at me. I cleaned the two of us and sat in a rocker with him and hummed Brahms’ Lullaby. After about ten minutes, his eyes started to droop and he was nearly asleep when Brad broke into a barking fit.

The baby startled awake and wailed loud enough to wake Rip Van Winkle if he’d been sacked out in the next room. I beamed a couple of choice thoughts Brad’s way. I expected DeLorean to hear Cole’s distress cries and rush back down to take him over from me, but she didn’t put in an appearance.

Sighing with frustration, I got up and walked Cole back and forth from the front door to the kitchen. Yesterday at this time I was still at work, wishing I were home. I’d been looking forward to lunch with Jack. Funny how fast things could change.

The phone rang and, even though the sound prompted Brad to break into a fresh barking session and Cole to break into a fresh round of crying, I was glad for the interruption. “Caraway residence, Susan speaking,” I said breathlessly.

“Honey, you sound like you were expecting Tom Cruise to give you a ring. Is that a baby I hear?” Patty sounded as cheery as ever.

“How did you know? Could it have been the distinctive, ear-splitting wail? My sister flew in from LA with her baby this afternoon.” My voice was considerably less cheery. I hadn’t been expecting Tom Cruise, but somehow I’d gotten the idea that Jack might call to reschedule our lunch date.

No, not a date, just lunch. But still.

“Brenda is on the other line with a customer. She said to ask where you keep the copies of the loan contracts because she can’t find them and she’s practically turned the office inside out. She has, too, wait ‘til you see it. It’s completely rearranged, but I don’t like the feng shui at all. She’s got the trashcan in the family center and she refuses to listen when I try to tell her she’s setting herself up for problems with Odell.”

“I think problems with Odell are in the job description.”

“Whatever. I’m going to miss you, Susan. Brenda is simply too opinionated and she says she doesn’t believe in the Universe. How can you not believe in the Universe? I mean, it’s right out there.”

Cole let out an extra loud wail, and Brad responded by throwing himself against the door of the utility room and howling like a love-starved werewolf. “The contracts are in Odell’s file cabinet next to his desk. He doesn’t let them out of his sight.”

“I’ll tell her. Sounds like you have your hands full, so I’ll let you go.”

“Later, Patty.”

What made her think I had my hands full? She couldn’t possibly know that Brad needed another walk and Cole needed his diaper changed and my sister was working on a new Guinness record for napping.

By seven o’clock, DeLorean still hadn’t come downstairs. I fixed Cole a bottle and took him to her room. She rolled over sleepily and reached for him, cuddling him next to her.

“Thanks,” she whispered huskily.

I experienced a moment of tenderness toward the little sister who used to follow me everywhere and copy everything I did. She’d even named her favorite doll after me, though I hadn’t been exactly thrilled to have a grubby, green-haired, one-eyed namesake that lived naked in the toy box.

The tender feeling lasted until I got back downstairs and discovered that Brad hadn’t been gentleman enough to wait for his next walk. I had to tie him to an oak tree in the back yard while I shoveled the mess off the utility room floor.

I turned on the TV and alternated between watching Casablanca–again--and reading a book about country houses. When was someone going to write a book about divorce houses?

The phone rang and when I glanced at the caller ID, I gave up all thoughts of feeling sorry for myself.

“Hello, Jack.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“I’m watching Casablanca.” I grabbed the remote and pressed mute. Rick was in the middle of telling Ilsa that they’d always have Paris.

“Woman, you need to get a life.”

“Sorry about canceling lunch, but DeLorean few in from LA with a crisis situation.” My voice was flat and matter-of-fact, but inside I was screaming, Damn it, why does my sister have such rotten timing?

“We can reschedule. But I need to ask you something. I kind of need a woman’s opinion about the master bath in my new place, the house I’m renovating. Think you can help me out?”

“You’re talking to a woman who’s relatively clueless when it comes to home decor.” I wasn’t colorblind, though Mama had accused me in injured tones of being color impaired when I tried to hang purple drapes on the windows of my scarlet walled dining room. Hey, even I knew it wasn’t a match, but they were on sale and I was too tired to keep shopping. “But if you think I can help, I’d be glad to tell you what I think about your bathroom.”

“Great. I’m working part of the day tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get off and we’ll arrange to go over there and take a look.”

He had to cut the call short. When I put the receiver down, I caught a reflection of myself in the kitchen window and saw that I was grinning like a demented smiley face.

So what? I was glad he’d phoned, despite my doubts over the value of my bathroom decorating input. For a few minutes I’d been able to feel like a desirable woman instead of DeLorean’s overworked sister. Maybe I could sneak away during the bathroom inspection and use my cell phone to consult Veronica about the decorating and then return with priceless advice. When Kelly The Girlfriend showed up, she’d be thankful for my help. We’d become good friends, maybe even go shopping together.

Something in my forehead started to thump like a jungle drum. I hoped Kelly hated Charleston.

Chapter Eight

DeLorean dragged herself into the kitchen, Cole in tow, about ten minutes after I got out of the shower in the morning. The makeup she’d forgotten to remove yesterday had turned into a dark bandit mask around her eyes, proof that she was just as tired and wrung out as she’d told me she was. She put Cole in his carrier, one of those all purpose models that doubles as a car seat and also fits into a baby carriage and a grocery cart. Then she plopped down at the table and assumed the expression of someone who’d just lost all her friends and had no prospects of getting new ones.

On cue, a wave of pity swept over me. Despite her protests that she was better off without “the flaming narcissist,” she had to be deeply hurt over his rejection of her and Cole.

“Coffee?” I leaned across the table and squeezed her shoulder, and she beamed me a grateful smile.

“Sure. I’m still on California time and this is way too early for me to be out of bed. Right when I drifted off to sleep after you brought him up, Cole started howling.”

I’d heard him, all the way downstairs in the family room. Now I wished I’d gone back up and taken him to give her a break. “Does he wake up a lot at night?”

“God, does he ever. If I’m especially tired, the little imp thinks after midnight is play time.”

“Christian used to do the same thing. And speaking of Christian, he’s going to love having Cole around. He always wanted a little brother. Of course, he won’t be home from college all that much.”

“I’ll bet he’ll make a terrific babysitter.” She put a dab of sugar in her coffee and whirred her spoon in the cup as if she were carrying out an experiment to see if coffee would whip up like cream.

DeLorean hadn’t told me much about the break up. We were both tired yesterday and I hadn’t pressed her. But I figured this was a good time for her to tell me what she had in mind as far as finding a job and a place of her own.

I fixed her a couple of slices of cinnamon toast without asking if she was hungry. I got a carton of plain yogurt for myself and topped it with banana slices.

“What happened with you and Baldwin?” With anyone else, I’d have been less direct, but DeLorean was my sister and if she was going to live at my house, I needed to know what was going on.

“He was a creep. I wanted an acting or modeling career followed by that perfect marriage I’ve always dreamed of, a little house with a picket fence, kids.” She bit her lip and blinked back tears. “Baldwin wanted a good time, not a commitment. He was furious when he found out I was pregnant. I’d never seen him so angry. Like it was all my fault. But I swear, we only--”

I held up my hand. “Spare me the details.”

As if her son had understood what she was saying, Cole let out a wail. DeLorean lifted him and cuddled him close.

She nuzzled his hair and said, “Poor little man. I didn’t pick a very good daddy for you, did I?”

DeLorean had been crazy about dolls when she was a little girl and she always said she wanted a dozen babies when she grew up. The problem was, she seemed to have started on the baby collection prematurely. I felt bad that Cole would grow up without his father. At least by the time T. Chandler and I divorced, Christian was nearly grown. But I’d still felt guilty, despite Christian’s reassurances that his father had treated me badly and didn’t deserve me.

“I know it’s awful right now, but you’ll get back on your feet. Meanwhile, you’ll have to manage on whatever child support Baldwin gives you.”

“Child support?” She stared at the wall. A delicate pink flush colored her cheeks. “Would you believe he’s buried to the hilt with child support payments and alimony for his two ex-wives? There’s barely enough left for me to buy diapers, even if he decided to support Cole.”

“What?” My voice went up a full octave. “I never knew he had ex-wives and child support. Anyway, I thought Baldwin was rich. He certainly bragged enough about his expensive furniture and his decorator and his Porsche--his whole designer life.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you about his marriages? It must have slipped my mind because I’m sure it’s something I would have told you. Anyway, after two failures, Baldwin said he was afraid to commit, even though he fooled me into believing him when he said I was the love of his life. And he would be rich—he makes plenty of money--except the wives and kids get it all. There are three of them. Kids, I mean. Besides Cole. All that stuff you saw--the apartment, the furniture, his car? Credit cards. I blinded myself to the truth until it was too late.”

She said this with as much emotion as a waitress reciting the dinner special at the Crab Shack. Obviously she’d rehearsed and was doing her best to minimize the impact. My ex is a deadbeat. Could you please pass the orange juice?

I slumped in my chair like a deflated beach ball. DeLorean was going to have to manage on her own—with my help--because her baby’s father seemed to have overbooked when it came to providing for his children. Or maybe in his case it would be more appropriate to follow Mama’s example and say “offspring.”

“It’s not the end of life as you know it on planet earth. We’ll find you a job and eventually you’ll be ready to move on.”

“Job?” DeLorean looked at me, with tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I’m too broken up right now to even think about work. Besides, you live a million miles from nowhere. How am I supposed to get to work without a car?”

A neighborhood in the suburbs of Mount Pleasant was not exactly the frontier. I pondered for a few seconds. I had a small emergency savings account. “I might be able to help with the down payment for a car. Nothing fancy or brand new, but transportation’s all you need.”

She was shaking her head before I finished speaking. “I couldn’t possibly afford daycare. I mean, it’s not like I’m qualified for a high paying job. All my salary would go to keep Cole, probably in some understaffed nursery where he’d be lonely and neglected in a wet diaper all day. He’d cry his heart out, you know he would, and I’d feel like a terrible mother.”

“Come on, DeLorean, you have no way of knowing what kind of--”

“There’s no reason to take a chance, no reason for me to trade my salary for daycare. I’ll just stay home with Cole and do your housework or something. When he’s older, and I’m over the breakup, I’ll decide what kind of career I want.”

What, when Cole was ready for college? My sister needed a reality check and she needed it now. If I could have afforded a live in housekeeper, I’d already have one.

“You have a degree in elementary education,” I ground out.

Her expression went serene. “True, but I’ve never actually taught school and I’m not sure I want to. I’m thinking of going back to college. Maybe I’ll get a nursing degree and help sick people. But right now--I couldn’t handle a job, not with what I’m going through.”

I bit back a remark that would have left scorch marks on my tongue. I could see DeLorean’s side--up to a point. And no one knew better than I did that jobs weren’t to be had for the asking. But she wasn’t a child to be looked after by her sister. And despite the fact that she was willing to trade housework for room and board, the arrangement would be hard on me.

Impossible. I really couldn’t afford to keep her and Cole, even though Veronica was going to be paying me more than I’d been making at the pawnshop. My savings would melt away in no time and I’d have to dip into my retirement fund. I couldn’t count on much money from selling the house, either.

A few years ago T. Chandler had insisted we move out of the old house, the one we’d lived in throughout our marriage, and buy this new place. It was more in keeping with his station in life, he’d said. We had almost no equity. That was another reason for my plans to sell out and take Veronica up on her offer to give me a room at her B&B in exchange for helping out a few days a week.

I was loading the dishwasher when something, maybe the way the big dish nestled against the medium dish, which pushed against the smallest one, seemed to suggest a solution. The dishes nested together all helping each other to stand straight in the rack. What if I could persuade Mama to sell her condo and come here to live with DeLorean and Cole? I’d be able to keep the house. DeLorean and Cole-and Christian--would have a home.

I half turned and looked at my sister and felt my eyes narrow in appraisal. Mama had hinted ever since T. Chandler left me that her condo was too small and I had a ton of room. I’d ignored her, not wanting another built in boss and life critic, not to mention the Chihuahuas. But with me gone, she'd be able to stay in the master suite at the opposite end of the house from the guestroom and maybe she and DeLorean might not argue too much or they could declare a truce. Mama might even take over babysitting and let DeLorean use the Cadillac so she could work.

I’d wait until I returned from taking Brad to the groomer and then I’d call Mama to come over and meet her grandson. I’d find a way to tactfully suggest the move. It wouldn’t matter if DeLorean objected. It wasn’t like she had options. And I was desperate for a solution, more desperate than either of them knew. I couldn’t tell them about getting fired, not yet while the awfulness still made me ache inside.

I took Brad for a walk, which meant that he dragged me like a pull toy all over the neighborhood. After we returned, he hauled me up the driveway toward the house, and I managed to divert him through the side door of the garage and from there to the utility room. There I left the hairy beast—devouring a plastic clothes hamper—while I fetched his crate and wrestled it into the van. Mission half accomplished. All I had to do now was persuade Brad that it would be a really good thing for him to jump in and go for a nice ride.

I finally opted for bribery, choosing to give him a hunk of leftover baked ham. In his enthusiasm he nearly made dinner out of my hand. I slammed the crate shut and latched it. Then I took the quickest route to the Pet Wellness Center, bypassing my usual leisurely path through quiet suburban streets, and sped down Highway 17. When I got back, I’d call Mama and diplomatically announce DeLorean’s arrival. Next I’d get through the drama of her meeting Cole and finding out about DeLorean’s current crisis. Finally I’d suggest that Mama move into my house.

I saw my turn, whipped the van down a side street, and bounced into the parking lot. My fingers ached, wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly they were in danger of leaving permanent imprints. I forced them loose, one at a time, and shook some circulation back.

When I opened his cage, Brad shot out in my direction. I lunged sideways and grabbed his leash. How DeLorean had managed him and the baby, too, I’d never know. The same way I’d never know what had led her to get such a high-maintenance pet to begin with. The workings of my sister’s mind have always been a mystery to me.

We galloped inside without me getting slammed into the front of the brick building or falling over the planter filled with yellow pansies. I looked around the white tiled room that gleamed like an operating suite. The smell of antiseptic and dogs blasted me in the face. A rack on one wall held an assortment of dog toys. The opposite wall was papered with photos of dogs freshly washed and brushed and looking reasonably pleased with their makeovers.

An uproar of barks and howls coming from the back of the building hammered my ears, and I hunched my shoulders. Brad responded with a few healthy barks of his own. I told him to hush, not that I expected him to listen.

The receptionist glanced up, ran her finger down the appointment book, and chirped, “Brad Marsh. Golden doodle. Right on time.” She waltzed out from behind the counter and gave Brad an appraising look. “My, aren’t we a mess. Goodness.”

“Goodness is not what I said when I met him, but I get your drift,” I said.

“What will Brad be needing today, Mrs. Marsh?”

I gritted my teeth, more from an objection to her sing-songy voice than to her calling me Mrs. Marsh. “This is my sister’s dog. She’s Miss DeLorean Marsh. My mother is Mrs. Regina Marsh. I’m Susan Caraway and I’m just doing my sister a favor bringing him over. Brad needs a haircut, and he has to have something done about his fleas.”

My lower legs suddenly developed a fierce itch, and I raised my right foot to discreetly rub it against my left calf. I did not feel a need to explain our family history and tell her that my mother and my sister used to be Miss and Mrs. Beauchamp, after Mama’s second husband, DeLorean’s father. But after Philip Beauchamp bolted, Mama and DeLorean officially went back to Marsh, her first husband’s name, so we would all have the same last name “like a real family”, as Mama put it.

“He’s badly matted, you know,” the woman said in accusing tones.

Yeah, his fur is positively ropy in places. I know that in an ideal world this kind of tragedy wouldn’t happen, but my sister has been too busy coping with a new baby and a breakup with the boyfriend from hell to be able to take care of him. I’m sorry, but I’m not responsible for the dog’s condition, so you can stop looking at me like I ought to be arrested for failure to brush and deflea.

That’s what I wanted to say. What I actually did was to assume my dealing-with-customers voice from work and respond, “Do what it takes to restore him to mint condition, please.”

“The flea bath is a standard price for large dogs, but it’s going to cost quite a bit to do his coat. If you want a comb-out, which I don’t recommend since that will take hours, you’re looking at quite an expense. I’d have to ask my supervisor if we even have time. We can clip him down, though. That would be your cheapest way to go.” She quoted me a couple of prices.

I winced and chose the cheaper clip down. I signed a paper and watched Brad drag away a girl wearing a pink smock over black slacks fuzzed with enough dog hair to make yarn for a bedspread.

The bell at the front door sounded a cheery little tinkle. I glanced around and locked gazes with the customer who’d just walked in, a familiar bag slung over her shoulder. I clapped my hand over my heart and staggered backward until I hit the reception counter.

“Mama?” I’d have been slightly less taken aback if a white knight had breezed into the shop clutching a dozen red roses and begging me to ride off to Spartanburg with him.

Mama’s expression remained serene. “I brought Sweetpea in for a bath and a massage. He seems a little depressed, so Lydia suggested a spa visit. She says rescue babies are often insecure and she should know, because she certainly has helped so many poor homeless babies. From other kennels, you understand. I declare, it is beyond me to fathom why some people breed and don’t rescue.” She reached into her purse and drew out a shivering black and tan body. The smocked girl returned to whisk Sweetpea Marsh away.

Mama turned back to me and said, “Well?”

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.” I smiled brightly.

“What mother wouldn’t? Susan, I glanced in the shop window and caught a glimpse of that over-haired creature you brought in. Or that brought you in. I realize you’re lonely, dear, but it takes time to recover from a breakup. No matter how bleak your evenings, how lonely and tortured your soul, there’s no need to burden yourself. I declare, you’ll be the death of me. A few days ago it was ghost hunting and today it’s a giant, tangle-haired dog that could squish both my babies at once just by sitting down. Have you considered getting a hobby?” She moved in closer and leaned toward me. Tiny popped his head out of the purse and growled. “There’s a lovely woman from my church, Maude Kramer, who teaches art. I’m sure you’d enjoy sketching and watercolors down at the harbor. Even if it turned out you didn’t have talent, which I suspect is the case, art would be a lot easier than dealing with that animal. Very therapeutic and, who knows, tourists who don’t know any better might even buy your pictures.”

“It’s not my dog, Mama.”

“Thank God.” She let out her breath in a dramatic sigh. “For a few moments, I had serious maternal concerns.”

Too bad. She was about to go for a long ride on the serious maternal concerns wagon.

“It’s DeLorean’s dog,” I said.

Mama let out an unladylike squeal. “Your sister, DeLorean?”

“How many DeLoreans do we know? She flew in from LA yesterday afternoon.” I cringed waiting for the inevitable response.

“And you didn’t tell me? I can’t think of a single reason why you would want to keep news like that a secret. I am cut to the core.” She placed her left hand over her heart.

“DeLorean had a rough trip. She wanted to regroup so she’d look her best when she showed you her baby for the first time.” Not exactly the truth, but close enough. While I talked, I’d moved through the doorway, and Mama followed.

“As if I care how rough she looks after flying for hours in some cramped jet with an infant on her lap. My word, what you girls come up with sometimes would drive a lesser lady into therapy.” She opened the door of her Cadillac and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. I heard a stifled yelp coming from inside the purse. “My heart is thumping away with joy at the thought of seeing my new grandson and holding him in my arms for the first time.”

She was still talking when she roared out of the parking lot, made a u-turn in front of a fast approaching station wagon, and accelerated toward the highway.

I stared after her for a full minute. I considered calling DeLorean. But warning or no warning, Mama was going to show up and DeLorean was going to have to cope. I let the impulse pass.

Chapter Nine

Unlike Mama, I took my time getting back on the road. I waited patiently through a couple of red lights, stayed five miles under the speed limit, and finally pulled into my driveway to park behind the Cadillac. I was contemplating the wisdom of taking the crate out of the van in case it was full of fleas, when a flash of sunlight bouncing off a car zapped my eyes. I blinked, turned away, and then took a second look as a familiar red Ford Mustang rolled to a stop at the curb.

Christian? He hadn’t let me know he was coming home. My breath caught and I put my hand to my mouth. Emergency? Expulsion? But when he jumped out of the car smiling and waving, I relaxed and appraised my son to see if he might have changed drastically in the past few weeks.

Christian gets his height from me—he’s about six feet tall. T. Chandler is shorter than I am, but he’d bequeathed his bulky muscles to our son. And Christian has my hair color, the grocery bag brown--that Mama insists on calling honey mixed with caramel--and my brown eyes. My appraisal showed that he looked the same, with the possible exception that he might have gained a few pounds.

“Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

Too much, I thought. But my joy at seeing my son was instantly converted to an emotion I couldn’t name when I caught sight of the combat boot and camouflage-fatigue wearing girl who’d emerged from the passenger side of his car.

Short. Boyish figure. Hair about a half-inch long—and colored royal-robe purple. Purple eyes--contact lenses, I hoped. Ears festooned with earrings of various shapes and sizes, none of which appeared to match. Nose stud. And probably, though I was too polite to ask, at least one nipple ring.

I sent up a silent prayer asking that this person be simply a friend and not a romantic interest. Okay, I knew it was none of my business, but what mother wouldn’t cringe if her son went off to college and returned with a poster girl for grunge?

“Mom, this is Trinity Vaughan.” Christian walked around the car and grabbed the female by the arm. He led her to me, her boot-clad feet clomping on the pavement like Clydesdale hooves. “Trinity, my mom--Susan Caraway.”

“Hey, Susan.” Trinity stuck out a tiny hand.

“Nice to meet you, Trinity.” I shook the dry, bony claw. I try not to be old-fashioned, so I didn’t object to her using my first name and I told myself to get a grip about the piercings and the hair. But I determined to pull Christian aside before he went in the house and have him at least ask her to refrain from calling his grandmother by her first name. But then, why bother? Trinity was not going to be a hit with Regina Marsh, not even if she groveled at her feet like a concubine trying to please the King’s number one wife.

I turned to my son, who was still wearing a loopy grin that reminded me of a time he’d won a trophy at soccer camp, and the trophy turned out to be too heavy for him to lift.

“What brings you home?”

“Laundry, of course. Just kidding, Mom. Had nothing better to do and decided to visit.” He wrapped me in a bear hug. “Got anything to eat? We stopped for breakfast a couple of hours ago, but now I’m starved.”

He rubbed his stomach and then sniffed the air as if he could smell the contents of my refrigerator all the way to the front yard. There is no animal on earth that eats like a teenaged boy. I mentally inventoried my current food stocks and realized I’d have to make a trip to Piggly Wiggly.

Despite Christian’s assurance that the trip home was nothing more than a whim, I still wondered what had brought my son to my doorstep. I thought college weekends were usually filled with fun activities, so why wasn’t Christian participating? But I should stop trying to read something into the fact that my son had dropped in. I should be glad he was here instead of back at college attending a wild party involving liquor and maybe even drugs or other forms of risky behavior.

I shuddered. Sometimes I remind myself of Mama, who seems to know every unfortunate person in the country. I could almost hear her voice in my head.

One of my friends left a pot on a burner and burnt up her whole kitchen so it was nothing but charcoal. Your Aunt Edna-Merle’s neighbor used too much fertilizer on her lawn and poisoned herself so she wobbled like an off balance fan for the rest of her life. Lettie Stengler’s grandson went off to school somewhere in the north and got hazed into a coma by rude frat boys.

I reined in my thoughts and said. “There’s food, but you’ll have to fix it yourself unless your grandmother’s willing to cook. I suspect not. I imagine she’s too busy cooing over your baby cousin and lecturing DeLorean.”

His eyes popped. “DeLorean’s visiting? With Cole?”

Christian took off running toward the house before I could explain that DeLorean’s presence was a permanent move. He seemed to have forgotten Trinity. She looked at me and shrugged.

“Christian told me about his aunt and her baby. It was cute the way his face lit up when he talked about them. I think that’s a nice quality in a man, don’t you? I mean, when they love family and babies.”

“Definitely.” I hoped she wasn’t thinking my son would be just the man she should marry so he could father a bunch of purple-haired, nose-ringed babies for her. “Trinity, let’s go inside. And if you don’t mind, it would really be better if you didn’t call my mother by her first name.”

“Gotcha. I know how touchy old ladies can be.” She made a throat cutting motion. “Both my grandmothers live in permanent states of hysteria.”

Gee, could the poor old dears possibly be upset over their granddaughter’s fondness for body piercings and crew cut purple hair? I motioned for her to follow and led Trinity to the back door.

The scene in my kitchen could have been described as a template for a dysfunctional family reunion. Christian was trying to pry Cole out of Mama’s arms, while Mama and DeLorean argued over what DeLorean should have done instead of letting Baldwin off the child support hook. Tiny raced in circles yapping and growling.

“I declare, you have no idea how shocked I…” Mama trailed off. Her gazed traveled from Trinity’s hair down to her combat boots and back up again, detouring momentarily to the motorcycle tattoo on the back of Trinity’s right wrist. Her serene mask slipped. She forgot she was fighting for possession of Cole and let Christian slip him out of her arms.

“Mama, DeLorean, this is Christian’s friend, Trinity Vaughan. Trinity, my mother, Regina Marsh, and my sister, DeLorean Marsh.”

Trinity strode across the room to the nearest Marsh and thrust out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, DeLorean. Neat name.”

“My mother certainly thought so when she let my father convince her DeLorean was the name of a former queen of France. Queen DeLorean the First. Funny, no one else ever heard of her.” She shot Mama a petulant look. “Imagine how she must have felt when someone told her she’d named her daughter after a car.”

Mama lifted her chin. “The DeLorean is a beautiful and expensive vehicle. Very rare.”

DeLorean snorted. I felt like putting on a referee’s shirt and blowing a whistle. DeLorean was making a petty complaint. I knew good and well she was proud of her name. She’d actually been obnoxious about it while she was growing up, telling anyone who’d listen that her name was DeLorean Angelique and then pasting on a look of superiority while she waited for the inevitable compliments. I was the one who had a legitimate beef. Susan Nicole sounded like a permanently middle-aged woman who sat around watching soap operas and knitting scarves.

Trinity turned to my mother and said, “Pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Marsh.”

Mama’s ingrained manners dictated that she behave as a lady. I was counting on this and I was not disappointed.

“Hello, Trinity. It is always a pleasure to meet one of Christian’s friends.”

Good thing Mama wasn’t hooked up to a lie detector. Her tight-lipped expression told everyone in the room what she was really thinking.

Trinity was a good sport. She knelt on the floor and snapped her fingers. “Chihuahua. Cool. I love dogs. Back home I have a cocker spaniel and two toy poodles. I miss them like crazy, but hey, they don’t let you keep pets in the dorm.”

Cocker spaniel and toy poodles? I would have figured her for the Rottweiler and Doberman type.

“My babies don’t like strangers,” Mama said in clipped tones.

Strangers? They didn’t like me either, and I’d seen them a couple of times a week since the day Mama brought them home from Lydia’s rescue kennel, but apparently Trinity had something I didn’t. Tiny climbed into her lap and kissed her nose stud, leaving a lot of “sugar” behind.

DeLorean, who’d been sitting frozen since shaking Trinity’s hand, suddenly sniffed and stood up. “Anyone like a cup of tea? I was just putting the kettle on when Christian came in.”

DeLorean had learned her diversionary tactics from me. And, of course, Mama would not air dirty laundry in front of a guest, even if that guest looked like an advertisement for dirty laundry.

“That would be lovely,” Mama said. “There is nothing in this world more soothing than a nice cup of tea.”

“Anyone else like something?” I asked.

“Coffee, strong, if it’s no trouble,” Trinity said.

“Ditto.” Christian put Cole back in Mama’s arms. “And eggs and bacon with whole wheat toast and grits.”

“Christian, I am not a short order cook.” DeLorean looked put out, even more put out than she’d looked when I suggested she get a job.

“I’ll cook.” Fixing breakfast would occupy my mind. The air in the house seemed electric. God, had I really complained a few short weeks ago that I was lonely and that maybe I should adopt a cat?

Fixing Christian’s breakfast took only a matter of minutes and then I joined my guests at the table. Conversation was restricted to the weather—unusually hot--and the traffic--heavy. The only person in the room who didn’t seem to pick up on the strained atmosphere was Cole, and even that was debatable. He fussed, refused his bottle, and seemed determined to brain Mama with his rattle.

Christian finally pushed his plate away and said, “Mom, I need to bring our bags in from the car. Is DeLorean staying in the guest room or in my room?”

“Uh, guest room. And either you or Trinity can use the fold out couch in my office.”

I’d turned the fourth bedroom into a home office, decorating the walls with etchings of skyscrapers and business buildings, though the extent of my home office work consisted of me paying bills and balancing my checkbook.

Christian wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He went outside, trailed by Trinity, and returned with a gym bag in each hand. Mama watched over the rim of her cup.

I had my back to the stairs, but that didn’t matter because Mama was prepared, as always, to keep me up to date.

“I must say, I am shocked. Susan Nicole, you’d better put your foot down now and put it down hard. Your son headed straight for his room with her like a bee back to the main hive. It’s obvious he’s planning to keep that brazen little thing in his own room right here under your roof. Why, she has hair shorter than Christian’s. And she wears mens’ clothing. Army clothing.”

I bit my lip. It wasn’t as if I’d had planning sessions where I contemplated how to react if my son brought home a girlfriend and installed her in his bed. Did I care? Okay, I had to admit to feeling uncomfortable for no reason that I could articulate. But was that reason enough to put up a fight? And after I’d daydreamed about having a fling with a boyfriend if the opportunity arose, was I fair to point fingers at my eighteen-year-old son?

DeLorean rolled her eyes. “Mama, puh-lease. This is the twenty-first century. You are such a dinosaur.”

“If being a dinosaur keeps me from having a child out of wedlock, then I’m quite happy with myself, thank you.”

“So you’re going to throw it in my face that Baldwin and I didn’t get married. What’s next, are you going to call my baby a horrible name because he was born out of wedlock?”

“DeLorean, the accusations. I declare. I would never.” Mama fanned herself with an envelope I’d left on the table.

Christian and Trinity had just walked back into the room.

“Whoa.” Christian put his hands in front of him, palms facing out. “I’m taking Trinity into Charleston. She has a friend who goes to the Citadel and we’re going to get with him for the afternoon and do the tourist thing. Hope you people have your problems sorted out by the time we get back.”

“Come on, Trinity.” He flung himself across the room and out the door. Trinity was right behind him, hanging unto the back of his shirt. “Nice meeting you all,” she called politely over her shoulder.

“Well,” Mama said, after the door banged shut, “that was ugly.”

“Ugly doesn’t begin to cover it.” DeLorean’s jaw was thrust out.

“Please, let’s not fight,” I said, before Mama could say she’d told DeLorean a million times that a man doesn’t buy the cow if the milk is free. “I’ll think about whether I want to tell Christian he can’t sleep with Trinity while he’s in my house.” Like I didn’t have anything more important to obsess over.

“You’d better think fast. I’d hate to imagine what would happen to his college career if he sired a child before he was halfway through his first semester. How would you cope then, having to look after a grandchild?”

The same way I’d cope looking after a mother and a sister and a nephew and a giant dog with too much hair and a live-in flea colony. The same way I coped every day at work up until the day Odell fired me. Cope should have been my middle name.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mama. I’m sure Christian doesn’t want a child any more than you want him to have one.”

“You’d better have a talk with that boy about birth control then.” She picked up her empty teacup, peered inside, and set it back down with a thump.

“I believe that’s a required subject in junior high these days. I distinctly remember signing a sex education permission slip some years back.”

“How do you know Christian was paying attention in class? A mother can’t be too careful, Susan. God knows, I’m aware of that better than anyone.” She paused to glance pointedly at DeLorean. “Since you refuse to listen to reason, I’ve a good mind to call his father before it’s too late.”

I had a quick mental flash of T. Chandler showing up on the doorstep with a giant bag of condoms slung over his shoulder. I got up and handed Cole to DeLorean before I started putting dishes in the machine.

Mama scurried over and rearranged the dishes as fast as I could get them into the rack. “You can’t convince me you’re happy your son is in lust with a girl who would look more at home running an obstacle course at the nearest boot camp than attending a tea party.”

“A tea party?” DeLorean blinked. “Do such things even exist these days?”

“You would be surprised. You would be very surprised if you ever tried to live up to your upbringing and act like a lady. But whether tea parties exist isn’t the point, miss. This Trinity person is entirely unsuited for my grandson. And there is no reason to allow her into his bed and chance disaster.”

“But if she’s wrong for him,” I said, “then maybe it’s a good idea not to fight him on this sleepover thing. No need to give him even more reason to rebel.”

“That sounds like utter nonsense to me. Mark my words, Susan, you will wish Christian had never laid eyes on that—that androgynous little tart.”

DeLorean and I exchanged glances. “Androgynous little tart,” she mouthed. I turned away to keep from laughing.

The phone rang. The receptionist at the Pet Wellness Center informed me that Brad Marsh would be ready at four. Mama grabbed Tiny and took the opportunity to make her exit. When she got to the door, she turned and said, “And another thing. Get your fence fixed. There are housedogs, Susan, and there are yard dogs, and I brought you up to know the difference. You girls would do well to pay attention to me once in a while. Heaven knows I did my best to instill my values in you.” She stiff armed the back door and marched away to her waiting Cadillac.

“Yes, heaven knows,” DeLorean whispered. “Mama must be on first name terms with God by now. And yet you and I are still without values.”

She hugged Cole close to her chest. I was startled to see tears slowly coursing down her cheeks and I leaned over to squeeze her shoulder. She was under a lot of strain, and I wished I could make things all better for her the way I did when she was a baby.

After Mama’s Cadillac had disappeared down the street, I remembered I hadn’t asked her about moving in. But then, it didn’t take a genius to see that the whole idea seemed worse than stupid. I’d have to find another solution, but what that was, I couldn’t imagine.

Though I didn’t like the way Mama had issued orders and for a second I entertained a childish notion to defy her and let the fence rot to the ground, I knew she was right. And I knew who could repair the fence quickly. Kenny, the high school kid who kept my lawn mowed, was a wizard at home maintenance. I gave him a call and arranged for him to come over on Sunday morning.

Even though Mama’s Cadillac was nowhere to be seen when Christian finally got back with Trinity, he still stuck his head in the kitchen and peered around cautiously before he ventured inside. Then he headed straight for the refrigerator while Trinity settled herself at the kitchen table where I was drinking a cup of coffee and perusing a newspaper article about how to garden on a budget. I wondered if the definition of budget meant that since most of my family was dependent on me, I couldn’t afford anything for my garden except those packets of wildflower seeds that came free in advertisements for home decorating magazines.

“Where are DeLorean and Cole?” Christian put down a carton of orange juice and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Grandma run them off?”

“Napping.” I looked at Trinity. “How did you like Charleston?”

“Primo.” She flashed two thumbs up and wriggled in her chair like a puppy. “I’m thinking of transferring to the College of Charleston.”

Primo. Damn the city for being so quaint and charming and attractive. Mama would go into high gear if Trinity took up residence within a hundred miles of Charleston. But then I suspected she wouldn’t be happy unless Trinity left the country with all the rest of the androgynous little tarts.

“Really?” I said, carefully keeping emotions in check.

“Hey, admit it, Trin.” Christian grinned at her. “You want to be close to Brandon.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Who’s Brandon?” I got up and poured myself another cup of coffee and pointed to the pot. When Trinity nodded, I poured her a cup and brought it to her.

“My friend at the Citadel. We started dating in high school, broke up a couple of times, but now he wants to get back together. He’s matured a lot since he went off to school last year, so who knows?” She shrugged.

I wondered if he was mature enough to accept the fact that his girlfriend was sleeping with another guy while he paraded around the barracks, or whatever you called the Citadel buildings, in his uniform.

I started to say something polite, such as that I wished her luck no matter what she decided, when I happened to glance at the clock. “Goodness, it’s nearly four and I have to pick up Brad—that’s DeLorean’s dog—at the Pet Wellness Center. You haven’t met Brad yet, but he’s about the size of a pony and he minds me about as well as Mama’s Chihuahuas do. And I haven’t even thought about cooking supper.”

I stood and allowed myself a deep sigh that started somewhere around my toes. Trinity pushed her cup away.

“Want company? I’m really good with dogs.”

I hesitated for the briefest of seconds. But when it came to dealing with Brad I was not about to turn down offers of help or sympathy. “If you’re sure. Do you mind if I borrow Trinity for a while, Christian?”

He grinned and dragged a loaf of bread out of the back of the refrigerator. “Take her. I’ll commandeer the family room and see if there’s any good football on.”

I suspected there would be. I hadn’t heard of the football game yet that wasn’t good as far as Christian was concerned.

Trinity and I went out to the van and climbed in. I switched on the ignition. “Seatbelt?” I said, buckling my own.

“Right.” She clicked her belt shut. “I’m good. Now what’s up with this puppy?”

“He’s an oversized golden doodle and he looked like he had enough excess coat to stuff a mattress—if you could get the tangles and the fleas out."

“I hear ya. Hey, look at that.” She peered out the window as we passed a mini plantation on the corner. “Nice. Boy, wouldn’t I love to have a place like that.” After that she chatted happily about school. All I had to do was nod occasionally and look interested and I was free to keep worrying over what to feed my guests.

The receptionist at the Pet Wellness Center first collected my check in an amount that made me wonder if I’d have to skip a few meals before the end of the month. Then she motioned for us to follow her to the back of the facility. She opened a cage. An animal, the newly buzz cut Brad, bounded out. He shot between me and the doorframe, knocking me into the wall as if I weighed about three ounces. Trinity grabbed his collar, pulling him to a halt before he could escape from the building.

He was about half his former size without all the excess fur, and now that Trinity held him still, I could see his eyes, dark and doelike. But not doelike enough for me to warm up to him all that much. My shoulder still smarted from its close encounter with the wall.

Brad reared up on his hind legs to put his paws on Trinity’s skinny shoulders. She staggered backward and then pushed him down.

“None of that, mister. Good boy, Brad. Heel.” She snapped his leash onto his collar and wrapped half the leash around her hand to shorten it. Then she snapped it for a split second, tightening Brad’s collar.

He looked at her, puzzlement taking over his face. He seemed to consider his options before he obediently positioned himself at her side, walking sedately to the van where he jumped in at her command.

I watched goggle-eyed, then managed to collect myself and climb in behind the wheel. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” I tromped harder than I meant to on the gas pedal. “I didn’t schedule time to fetch Brad. I haven’t had to fix a big meal since Christian left for school and now with DeLorean here...” I clamped my mouth shut. I didn’t want her to think I objected to guests, her included.

“Your sister got here yesterday, right?”

“Yes. I had to take off from work to pick her up at the airport.”

I’d woken up Friday morning thinking about going to work and training Brenda and here I was with a house full of people. And the problem of how to find a way to help my sister without a paycheck coming in for either of us. My new job didn’t count until I actually started earning money.

Then I thought about Jack. He hadn’t called to set up a time to show me his bathroom. I hadn’t realized until now how much I was looking forward to seeing him again. For sympathy, of course. I wanted to tell him all about my problems so he could say, the way he used to when we were kids, “Hey, Nic, want me to hire a quartet of violins to accompany your sob story?” Then he’d put his arms around me to show he was teasing and he’d pull me close and say he was there for me. I’d snuggle against his chest and wish I could stay there forever.

“You okay?” Trinity asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t really know my way around here or anything, but wasn’t that your turn near that plantation house on the corner?” She pointed back over her shoulder.

“Whoops. I had my mind on other things. I was supposed to see an old friend tonight, but that didn’t work out.”

“Hey, tragic. I could have helped you with your make-up.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t anything like that, not a date. We’re nothing more than friends.”

“Gotcha. But for supper, don’t worry about a thing. I can help you whip up something primo. Back home I worked in a restaurant all through high school. Not waitressing—I can’t stand dealing with customers when they get snotty, you know? Anyway, I worked in the back, the kitchen. I can do chicken, ribs, fish, whatever you want.”

“I couldn’t ask a guest to do all that work.” And why not? I wondered, even as I spoke. My guests didn’t seem to have any trouble expecting me to do for them.

“No trouble. I can see you have a real circus going on at your house and you could use a hand.” She looked at me solemnly, not easy with her purple contact lenses that reminded me of the aliens’ eyes in a science fiction movie I’d once seen. “Your sister is completely losing it. Christian told me all about her ex, and I can see why DeLorean would have a total meltdown. And your mother, no offense, is one bossy lady and she’s upset with you over something. Now don’t argue. Everything’s settled, Susan.”

I shrugged, swung the car into a u-turn and accelerated toward home. This morning when I first met her, I was ready to haul Trinity to the nearest airport and buy her a one way ticket out of my son’s life. Now I was thanking my good luck he’d brought her with him. I’d take her up on her offer to help fix supper, but I silently passed on letting her do my make-up if need arose. I was sure Mama would faint if she saw me wearing a nose ring.

Chapter Ten

Christian was clomping back and forth holding Cole when Trinity and I walked into the kitchen. His expression said he’d rather be clutching a bomb to his chest than a screaming baby.

“Does he need a bottle?” I asked.

Christian shot me a look of pure disgust. “Don’t you think that’s the first thing I tried? And after that a fresh diaper, a rattle, some strained carrots. He hurled the whole jar at me.”

Trinity wrinkled her nose. “I don’t blame him. For future reference, if I ever burst out crying, don’t try to pacify me with strained vegetables of any kind.”

“Smart ass.” Christian thrust Cole into my arms. “Your turn.”

I jiggled Cole up and down and when that didn’t help, sat in the rocker by the window and patted his back. For some reason, Christian had seen fit to reinforce Cole’s diaper with duct tape and now it had started to come loose on one side. “Settle down, sweetheart, Aunt Susan is here.” Cole’s lower lip quivered and I nuzzled his forehead. “Where’s DeLorean?”

“Upstairs. Crying. That jerk called and got her all upset.”

“Baldwin?”

“What other jerk is there? Two or three calls came in. She was sitting right on top of the phone, or I’d have picked up myself and told him where to go. I’d like to bury my fist in his face.”

“Thanks, Christian, but he’d just get his plastic surgeon to fix the damage.” DeLorean stood in the doorway. She’d changed out of the jeans and blouse she’d had on earlier and put on a lime colored sundress that looked fantastic with her auburn hair. But the fresh make-up she’d applied couldn’t hide the blotchy features of someone who’d been crying. She took Cole from me and I let her sit in the rocker. “You’d think he’d call because he misses me or our baby. But all he wanted was to find out if I’d send back the tennis bracelet he bought me.”

“Wow, that’s way harsh.” Trinity shook her head.

“I hope you refused.” I opened the refrigerator and took out a ham I could warm up and then started hauling out the makings of a salad.

“I may have temporarily lost my head over Baldwin, but I do know how to deal with men. Most of them are easy enough to control.”

Christian frowned. “Hey, what’s that mean?”

“Want to know how it works?” DeLorean grinned and I was glad to see her mood lift. “Maybe your mom and I can give you a few pointers. Or at least I can. Your mom isn’t good at stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” I said absently.

“Womanly wiles. Keeping men in line. For example, you have to make them wait when they come to pick you up for a date.” Cole had calmed almost as soon as DeLorean took him in her arms and now she rocked gently back and forth while he sucked his thumb and stared into her face. “You can’t jump up to open the door the minute he rings the bell as if you have nothing better to do than wait for him to arrive. You have to make him wait at least five minutes, but ten is better. I remember when you were dating T. Chandler. He probably thought you lived behind the door expecting him to whisk you away to happily ever after.”

I dropped a tomato and watched it roll across the floor. “Don’t be an idiot. There’s no reason for me to leave a man waiting if I’m ready to go. And in my case, if I made him wait he’d be sitting around my kitchen while the rest of you stared at him like he was a lab specimen.” I picked up the wayward tomato and scrubbed it hard enough to break the skin and squirt juice onto my shirt. I started thinking about how I was supposed to be out with Jack this very night to look at his bathroom. What had happened with that?

“Lateness is expected. The man always allows at least fifteen minutes waiting time when he picks up his date.” DeLorean shook her head. “You have no idea how to keep men interested.”

“How would I?” I could have made a nasty remark about her own track record.

“God help us, have you even gone out once since your divorce?” If DeLorean rolled her eyes any higher, they’d disappear into her skull.

“Yes, of course.” The date with Herman qualified, didn’t it?

Trinity turned around. DeLorean saw her watching and said, “What do you think, Trinity? Tell my sister she needs to be more mysterious or men will think she’s desperate.”

Why? It wasn’t as if I had men swarming around the yard hoping to catch a glimpse of me.

“Yeah, tell her, Trin.” Christian was lounging in a kitchen chair drinking milk out of a glass that I was sure was really my largest flower vase--one that had once held two dozen roses. This was back when T. Chandler had a guilty conscience about not taking me out on Valentines Day because he was “working late.”

“Shut up.” Trinity stuck out her tongue, and I caught a glimpse of a tongue stud. “Susan, I understand what your sister is saying, but you have to be yourself. Me, I might make him wait, depends on the guy. But you don’t like to play games, do you?”

“Boy, you got that right.” Christian snorted. “Mom might be too polite to say exactly what’s on her mind the way Grandma does, but you can bet she’s just as stubborn if she sets her mind to something.”

“Stubborn?” I squawked.

“Yes, stubborn,” DeLorean put in. “Remember that time Mama said you had to go to the prom because it was a family tradition and you said, ‘if people let tradition run their lives, then we’d still be living in caves.’”

“Shame on you, Mom.” Christian shook his head.

“Christian, if I’d let Mama talk me into following tradition, you’d have been named Zebediah Ezekiel after your great grandfather. People who can’t think up original things to do deserve to be shackled by tradition.”

“Hey, I like that.” Trinity dropped a handful of cucumber slices on top of the salad. “I’m quoting you next time my mother tries to get me to wear flowered dresses that hang past my knees. Deep down, you’re a true rebel, Susan. Someday you’re going to surprise a lot of people.”

“I doubt that.” I glanced at DeLorean. What she hadn’t said about my prom experience, was that I’d finally given in to please Mama, who’d spent far too much on a lemon-colored gown that made me look like I was just recovering from a bout of jaundice. I was between boyfriends at the time and the date I’d let her arrange for me was an older boy with sweaty hands and too many hormones. I’d escaped and gotten a ride home from a couple of the chaperones.

“Sometimes,” DeLorean said, “people think Susan is soft and non-confrontational.”

“And I’m sweet, too, nothing but sugar and spice.” I hacked a tomato in half and snatched up a perfectly innocent carrot.

She snorted. “Remember when I was in high school and that new boy kept stalking me? You drove up to give me a ride home from the movies just in time to see him grab my arm.”

“What’d you do, Mom? Threaten to call the cops?” Christian shot me a grin.

“Well, I—“

“He would have been lucky to tangle with the cops,” DeLorean broke in. “My big sister charged out of her car waving a hoe around in the air like she was going to brain this kid if he didn’t let go of me.”

“A hoe?” Trinity’s eyebrows rose over her purple eyes.

“It’s not like I carted a hoe around in case I needed a weapon. I’d been to the store for gardening tools and they were still in the back of the station wagon,” I said with a shrug. “Anyway, what’s wrong with defending your family?”

The doorbell rang before anyone could respond. If I were Trinity, I’d have said, “Primo.” I was starting to get the feeling everyone was ganging up on me.

Expecting a salesperson, I strode across the room and yanked the door open.

“I don’t want…” I shut my mouth in mid sentence and stared at Jack. He was wearing a navy blue shirt and neatly pressed jeans.

He stared back. My bare feet, my pink tee shirt--fresh tomato stain decorating the front--and my gray sweat pants obviously didn’t impress.

“Uh, come in.” I stepped back and he joined me in the foyer. Unfortunately my house has one of those open floor plans where the kitchen, dining area, and family room “flow,” as they say on the home decorating shows.

The crowd in the kitchen could see us and we could see them. I should have insisted on more walls when we bought the house. Was it too late to ask Jack to wait outside for a minute while I nailed up a couple panels of sheet rock?

“Ready?” Jack asked, eyeing me doubtfully.

“Ready for what?”

“I said I’d take you to dinner before we went to look at my house. And for you to call if it wasn’t okay. Didn’t you get my message?”

“No one gave me a message.” I was going to kill someone.

“The person who answered said you were out for a few minutes, but she’d pass the word along.”

I spun to face DeLorean and she shook her head. “Don’t look at me. The phone rang while I was changing Cole, and Mama answered.” Her expression said that if she’d talked to Jack, there was no way she’d have forgotten to let me know because a man calling for me was too important to forget.

“I’m so sorry for the mix up.” I’d have been better off if they’d left my phone alone and let my machine pick up so I could get my own messages. “Mama must have forgotten. We—we’ve had a lot going on.” Arguments, name-calling, criticism. Your basic family gathering.

“And here you were, thinking I forgot all about you.” He pretend punched my shoulder. “Aren’t I your favorite friend? You must have been devastated.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I never gave you a thought.” Liar. “After all, you were only going to show me your new bathroom. What woman would get excited over an invitation like that?”

“I said we’d eat dinner, too, remember? How about if we make it another time?” He reached for the doorknob.

“We’re fixing dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

“I can see you have company. I couldn’t put you out.”

“Don’t be silly. Susan has made enough for an army.” DeLorean had joined us in the foyer, standing so close I could count the pores on her face, so I had to move a step nearer to Jack. “She insists that you stay.” She nudged me with her elbow.

I couldn’t get closer without invading Jack’s personal space, so I took my cue and said, “Yes, I insist. We’re having ham, salad, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Ice cream for dessert.”

Instantly I regretted babbling like parrot on speed. Did I need to stupidly recite the menu as if I were his waitress for the evening? DeLorean nudged me again, this time hard enough to cause me to bite back an “ouch.”

“It sounds delicious.” Jack grinned at me. “I’m convinced.”

“Super.” DeLorean stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Susan’s sister, DeLorean.”

“Don’t you remember me, Dee? Jack Maxwell.” He ignored her outstretched hand and pulled her into a hug.

Her face lit with recognition. “Of course. Sorry, Jack, I didn’t recognize you at first. But I was just a little kid when I saw you last. You’re the big ox who used to tease me about my long legs and my braces and my wild red hair.”

“Big ox? You mean handsome stud. Didn’t your sister teach you anything?”

“Not about men. I learned that on my own.”

“Well, it looks like I can’t tease you about the braces anymore. You still have the red hair, though.”

“Auburn. But it’s not wild anymore.”

“That it isn’t.” Jack sent her an admiring glance.

I felt like the net on a tennis court. I cleared my throat. “Now that we’ve decided Jack’s staying for supper and DeLorean’s hair has matured, can we join the others in the kitchen?” I made scooting motions with my hands.

“I’ll introduce Jack while you go upstairs and change, Susan.” DeLorean’s voice had morphed, taking on the tones of a woman who spent a lot of time in smoky lounges. But then it always did when she was around men.

I wasn’t sure I liked that. But Jack was a family friend, so why shouldn’t he talk to my sister? Still, I determined to tell her as soon as possible that Jack already had a girlfriend.

It took me ten minutes to shower and two minutes to decide on a peach colored blouse and a pair of jeans. I brushed my hair and pinned it up. A dab of makeup later, I scurried back to the kitchen before they scared Jack away.

I stopped short in the doorway. Jack was holding Cole and spooning applesauce into his mouth. DeLorean was sitting practically on top of Jack and wielding a cloth, using it to mop drool off Cole’s chin after every bite. Even so, I could see that a glob had landed on Jack’s shirt.

I experienced a twinge of annoyance. “We’ll have to shop for a high chair tomorrow,” I said. “When you reach a point where it takes two people to feed one baby, that’s way too labor intensive. And, Jack, there’s baby drool on your sleeve.”

“I don’t mind. He likes me. Don’t you, Cole?”

“He sure does,” DeLorean said. “He hasn’t fussed one bit since you picked him up. You’re so good with him, Jack. I’m raising him on my own, you know.”

Cole slung his head sideways and tried to wipe his mouth on Jack’s shirt. DeLorean came to the rescue, leaning in so close she could have kissed Jack while she cleaned Cole’s face with her cloth. Mission accomplished, she took the baby and carried him to a corner of the dining room where she put him on a blanket on the floor.

I glanced at the table. Christian had set it. I could tell by the haphazard way he’d laid out the silverware. Normally I’d have ignored the chaos, but now something prompted me to rearrange everything. Forks clattered against spoons as I fixed everything exactly the way Mama would have, except for cut flowers, which I didn’t have.

“Dinner’s ready,” Trinity announced while I was slipping place mats under the settings.

I took my usual chair at one end of the table, and Christian sat at the opposite end with Trinity on his right. DeLorean ended up on my right, between Jack and me.

“There,” she said. “I’m close enough to Cole to watch him, but for once I don’t have to hold him in my lap while I eat. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have this much freedom.”

“Must be tough raising him without help,” Jack said.

“At least now, thank God, I have Susan.” She flashed me her patented “Love you, mean it,” smile and turned ever so slightly in her seat so she could keep looking at Jack.

He glanced my way. “Any family would be fortunate to have Nic jumping in to help them with all their problems.”

His words should have made me feel flattered. But something in his tone made me feel he was criticizing. I ducked my head and focused my attention on my salad. Two green olives on top stared at me, accusing eyes looking up from a bed of lettuce and grated carrot. I grabbed a bottle of dressing and buried them under a mound of cucumber ranch. I plunked the bottle back on the table so hard my silverware rattled.

What was wrong with me? My mood had morphed from reasonably content to rotten almost from the moment Jack walked into the house. You’d think I’d be pleased he was here.

Jack asked Christian and Trinity about college. They’d barely finished talking when DeLorean broke in to update him about her years getting her degree.

“I couldn’t have known that nothing I experienced my freshman year could have prepared me for dealing with Baldwin.”

Neat trick the way she could snare Jack’s attention and bring up her ex at the same time. I would have bet if I said I’d seen a rhinoceros galloping west on I-26, she’d have butted in to say she’d seen two of them and that her ex had tried to push her out in front of them.

I went quiet and stayed that way all through the meal, only half listening to DeLorean regale us with the story of her disastrous sojourn in LA. By the time I finished the last bit of my potatoes I thought I’d scream if I heard her say “flaming narcissist” one more time.

Jack eventually put his napkin next to his plate and said, “Nic? Great meal. First home cooking I’ve had in quite a while.”

Kelly the Girlfriend must not know how to cook. I allowed myself a brief moment of mental back patting. “Thanks. But Trinity was responsible for most of it. Ice cream, anyone?”

Everyone declined except Christian. Jack helped Trinity and me carry empty plates to the kitchen. He leaned forward to open the dishwasher and then put his hand on the small of his back. “I keep forgetting about my back until it sends me a little reminder.”

“What happened?” DeLorean materialized from across the room to insert herself between Jack and me.

“Got hurt at work. My doctor says it will heal up with time.”

“Baldwin had back problems and I used to give him backrubs to loosen the muscles.”

“I’m okay.” Jack gingerly straightened his back. “Ice packs or aspirin usually help.”

“Don’t argue with me, Jack.” DeLorean pointed toward the family room. “Lie on the floor in front of the couch. I guarantee that one of my backrubs will do more for you than a whole truckload of aspirin. Susan, do you have any lotion?”

“In the cabinet over the sink in the powder room,” I replied in brittle tones. Let her use the lotion. Let her use anything she wanted. Who was I to stand in my sister’s way when she wanted to make a fool of herself falling all over Jack?

I picked up a glass and watched it slip out of my hand and shatter at my feet. Then I stared at the pieces as if I expected them to gather themselves and leap into the trash.

Christian appeared at my side with the broom and dustpan. “I’ll get that, Mom. Why don’t you rest and let me and Trinity take care of the kitchen.”

“Don’t be silly. You act like I’m ninety years old and can’t manage a few dishes. I refuse to sit around while you two do all the work.” And watch DeLorean and Jack carry on like a couple of junior high kids alone for the first time.

I swiveled my head from side to side until a plastic bowl showed up in my sights. At least it wouldn’t break if I dropped it. I grabbed the bowl and shoved it into the sink.

When the kitchen was finally spotless, Trinity and Christian disappeared up the stairs. I didn’t look to see if they shut the door to his room. I checked on Cole. Still sleeping. He’d probably be up half the night after such a long nap. I walked into the living room, gratified to see that the backrub was no longer in progress. Jack was sitting on the couch across from my sister. He stood as soon as I walked in.

“I hate to leave so soon, Nic, but I have to call Kelly tonight.”

“I understand.” Probably Kelly the Girlfriend wanted to set the date for their wedding. I walked him to the door.

He hesitated, standing on the porch steps and staring down the street at a neighbor walking her poodle. After a few seconds, he said, “How about tomorrow evening? Does that work for you?”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to give you that priceless advice about your bathroom. Goodnight, Jack.”

He moved a step closer and I got the distinct impression he was about to pat me on the head. This I would not stand for. I was not his girlfriend and I certainly did not expect a kiss, but a pat on the head was something reserved for a child or a pet. I lurched backward out of reach and overbalanced, so I had to grab a porch column to save myself.

His eyebrows came together in a frown. “What’s wrong, Nic?”

“Nothing. I slipped, that’s all.” Still hanging onto the column, I tipped my chin up.

“Gotten clumsy in your old age, haven’t you? You know, if there’s some kind of problem, maybe I can help.”

Sure, Jack, I’ll open my heart and tell you that even though we are nothing but friends, I’m jealous of the way you and my sister flirt and I wish you didn’t have a girlfriend. There, I’d said it. At least, I’d thought it. But Jack was never going to know.

“There’s no problem. I’ll see you tomorrow, advise you on your bathroom, maybe even take a look at your kitchen while I’m at it.”

I watched him drive away before I went back inside and collapsed in my recliner. Where were all these feelings coming from? A week ago I’d thought I had a schoolgirl crush on Steve and now he might as well not exist. In fact, I couldn’t even clearly remember what he looked like. Maybe I was having some kind of tired-of-being-alone-crisis. I wondered if there was a hotline I could call. 1-800-reality check ought to do it.

DeLorean was buffing her nails to a higher gloss. I noticed she’d left the lotion bottle sitting on the coffee table. I got up and slipped a coaster under it, but the bottle had already left a greasy ring.

She didn’t pick up on the vibes I was sending. She even yawned delicately, putting her fingertips over her lips.

“Who’s this Kelly Jack has to call?” she asked.

“His girlfriend,” I spat. “She’s coming here from New Jersey. Any day now.”

“Moving down or just visiting?”

“I didn’t quiz him about it and he didn’t say.”

“Maybe he didn’t need to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I did not intend to sit up half the night and play guessing games with my sister.

She shook her head. “Honestly, Susan, for someone as smart as you are, you can really be clueless.”

I narrowed my eyes down so far I could barely see. “Clueless about what?”

“Think about it.” She crossed to the dining room and picked up her sleeping baby, taking care not to wake him. Quietly she went upstairs.

I stared at my hands. She was wrong. I wasn’t clueless and I didn’t need to think about anything. I knew all too well that my feelings for Jack, the feelings that had lain dormant for twenty years, had come flooding back. And the timing was terrible.

Chapter Eleven

At 6:30 I gave up tossing from side to side and dragged myself down to the kitchen to find Christian there ahead of me making coffee. I drew in a deep breath. “There is nothing that smells better than coffee after a bad night.”

He shrugged. Something in the set of his shoulders activated my maternal alert system. My heart sped up, my breathing quickened, my stomach clenched.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” I walked over to stand beside him, busily fighting off thoughts about Christian and Trinity having a baby, Christian and Trinity getting married, Christian dropping out of school to become a day laborer. Mama’s training was hard to shake.

“For God’s sake, what were you thinking?” He put his hands on his hips.

I looked down at myself to make sure I wasn’t dressed in some hideous rag that would cause him deep shame or even prompt him to disown me. Nope, my usual ratty robe with coffee stains on the front. If he was going to object to that, the time was long past.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ghost tours, Mom? I knew you hated your job, but ghost tours? And moving into a B&B? Where will I stay when I’m home and where will DeLorean and Cole stay if you sell this house? You didn’t think this through. You didn’t consider your family and what you owe them.”

I peered into his face. “Is that you Christian? For a few horrible seconds I thought my son had been possessed by my mother.”

“Don’t, Mom.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not ten years old. When Grandma told DeLorean and me what you were planning, I couldn’t believe it. At first I wasn’t going to say anything. But after Baldwin called I realized how much DeLorean needs your help. You can’t throw her and Cole out in the street.”

“Whoa.” I held up my hands. “There’s not going to be any street throwing. After DeLorean arrived, I saw I’d have to hold off on selling the house and moving into a B&B.”

“Thank God.” Christian had never been big on hugs. But now he wrapped his arms around me and awkwardly patted my back. “’Cause I don’t mind telling you, it isn’t just DeLorean and Cole who need help.”

“I understand that you need to get through college. It’s all taken care of, you know that.”

“It was. But, Mom, like I said, we need to talk.”

My heart gave an extra hard thump. I’d suspected from the moment he arrived that he had a problem that had brought him home. I gripped the back of a chair and watched my knuckles change from beige to pearly white.

“What is it?” I rasped out.

He favored me with his patented poor-worrywart-Mom look. “It’s not like I’m into drugs or anything. It’s only that I want to quit my job. Right now, all I do is go to class, study, and go to work. I need time to have fun once in a while. You know, I want the full college experience, which I can’t have if all my time is booked with work and classes.”

I worked my mouth for a few seconds before more words came out. “That’s out of the question. You need the money from your job to help cover expenses.”

A pout formed on my son’s face, the face that still looked so desperately young and unfinished. “I thought you could come up with some extra money to pick up the slack.”

“We discussed that before you left,” I said, feeling mean. Do mothers ever get over the desire to jump in front of a Mack truck if it would help their children? “I don’t have another dime to squeeze out of the budget. Maybe you should ask your father.” T. Chandler not only had a lot more money than I had, he owed Christian something after all the years he’d spent ignoring him.

“He’s already paying most of my college costs. I can’t ask Dad for any more money.” Christian looked like I’d just suggested he ask his father to quit his job and join a rock band.

“Why not?” I poured a cup of coffee and dipped my head to sniff deeply. Organic. Trade free. Pricey. Would I have to give up even this small luxury?

“He doesn’t have any extra cash. He already told me even before I asked.”

That figured. T. Chandler had a sensor that went off like the alarm on a bank vault whenever someone came near his money. The only time it had ever failed him was when he met the second Mrs. Caraway. I guess the waves of lust had shut the system down.

“Crystal is redecorating their new house and besides, they’re having a baby.”

I choked on my coffee. When I regained my composure, I said, “I don’t care if they’re having a litter of eight. That doesn’t excuse his obligation to his oldest child.”

“Mom, listen.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t handle a job and concentrate on school, too. And you can see this isn’t a good time to try to get money from Dad. You’re my only hope.”

“Why don’t I simply get a second job?”

Christian missed the sarcasm in my voice. He brightened up by about four hundred watts and poured himself an extra large orange juice.

“Thanks, Mom, that would be great. Between the pawnshop and a few extra hours at a souvenir shop or something in your spare time, we could manage.”

I dumped an extra sweetener in my cup. Spoiled. My son was very spoiled. Was it wrong of me to raise him to think all he had to do was ask and I would rush to make more sacrifices? Sure. So it followed that it was my fault he’d developed a sense of entitlement. But having made the mistake, wouldn’t it be just as mean to make a sudden break without giving him a chance to adjust? I didn’t know. I had a lot of thinking to do. In my spare time.

“I’ll consider getting a second job. No promises. But I’m still going into the ghost tour business.”

“Isn’t it risky to quit your job and start something new? It isn’t as if you have some kind of safety net if the business doesn’t work out.”

The back door banged open and Mama breezed into the room. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.”

I put down my cup and forced a smile. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Don’t be rude to your own mother. I’ve come to visit my new grandson and give him a gift.” Mama held up a little blue suit with a tiny white bow tie on the collar. “Isn’t this the most adorable thing you ever saw? Now what’s this about? I thought you’d given up that foolish, foolish ghost hunting idea.”

“I have not. And now my son wants me to take on a part-time job so he can quit his own job and have more time for fun.”

“What’s wrong with that? His college experience should be your primary concern, Susan. As his mother, you owe him that, especially since his own father has deserted him to cavort with that woman. Surely your son shouldn’t have to pay the price for his parents’ failure to maintain their marriage.”

Yes, surely. It must be written that way in the Bill of Rights. As far as Mama was concerned, I was supposed to strap on a suit of armor and hoist myself onto a white horse so I could ride to my son’s rescue. Maybe I should paste on a stoic look and ask Lydia to give me one of her, “If you don’t rescue, don’t breed” bumper stickers to stick on the horse’s butt.

“I’ll understand if you can’t help me out with the extra money. But I think you’re making a big mistake leaving a solid job at the pawnshop for something hokey like ghost tours.”

Oh, God. My “solid” job at the pawnshop no longer existed. But there was no way I could tell my family I’d been fired.

“I’m a grown woman. I’ll work where I want to work.” Where I’d been forced to work, but they weren’t ever going to find out.

“Susan, you are being…” Mama broke off and looked past me. Her expression went gooey. “There he is. There’s my little man.”

I turned and saw DeLorean holding Cole and behind her, Trinity stood on the stairs. An audience. Since Friday, I hadn’t been without one.

“Christian, can we talk about this later?”

“It’s okay, Mom. I can suck it up and keep my job if I have to.” He made a face that said he fervently hoped he didn’t have to do any sucking up. “And I guess you can always go back to the pawnshop if the ghost tour business doesn’t work out. I was mostly worried about you selling the house.”

“Right. I’m sure it’s packed full of childhood memories you don’t want to lose.”

“For your information, that animal, DeLorean’s so-called dog, tried to break down your utility room door when I walked past the garage.” Mama fixed me in a disapproving glare until Cole got her attention by bopping her in the nose with his rattle. I suppressed a smile. I could get used to having that kid around.

“Kenny from down the street is going to fix the fence.” I glanced at the stove clock. “In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t here yet.”

“So am I. As I recall, the last time he worked for you, you cooked him a whole stack of pancakes and he dug into them like he hadn’t had a decent meal in a year. And speaking of pancakes, I’m quite sure my younger daughter and her baby would love to breakfast with me at the Bookstore Cafe.”

DeLorean made a big show of running her hands down her slim body and looking horrified as if she’d detected an extra half ounce or so of unsightly fat that had attached itself to her hips overnight. “I don’t know, Mama. I haven’t lost the last few pounds I gained while I was pregnant.”

Christian snorted. DeLorean shot him a look and finally let Mama persuade her to go out—Mama’s way of apologizing for upsetting her yesterday—and Kenny still hadn’t shown up.

I fixed breakfast using Trinity’s recipe for vanilla cream pancakes. I ate one more pancake than I should have and wondered for the third time in ten minutes what had happened to Kenny.

“I really need that fence fixed.” I reached for the phone. “I’ll call and remind Kenny.”

Christian popped out of his chair and patted his stomach. “If all you mean is that little section where the wire is torn loose, I can fix that. Won’t take me half an hour.”

“Really?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Christian had never been into maintenance.

“Sure. Part of the reason you’re keeping this big house is for my sake. The least I can do is help out.”

I didn’t realize how much he cared about the house until now. But if the thought of me selling was enough to get him to take an interest in keeping it up, I was in favor.

Nearly an hour later, long enough for Mama and DeLorean to return, the fence was hole free. Trinity led Brad out of the utility room and turned him loose for a romp on the grass. He made one circuit of the yard, galloping and bucking like a rodeo bronc, and then flopped on his back under an oak.

“Done and ready to go.” Christian had just come out of the house with his and Trinity’s bags. He put them down and hugged me. “’Bye Mom.”

Trinity waited for him to step back before she moved in and wrapped her arms around me. “It’s been great meeting you, Susan. And I thought you might like to know—I didn’t sleep with Christian. I camped out in a sleeping bag on the floor.”

“Nice meeting you, too.” I said evenly, hiding my surprise.

“I sort of have a boyfriend, you know.”

Her boyfriend must be Brandon of the Citadel. I wondered if Trinity had told Mama about the sleeping arrangements. Probably not, or she’d still be in the house listening to Mama tell her that sleeping bag or not, a proper young lady does not spend the night in a man’s room unless she wants to provide fodder for the gossip mill.

After they left, an uncomfortable heaviness settled in my stomach, signal that I needed to put myself on a mini diet for the rest of the day. Could be I was simply feeling guilty over my failure to leap to rescue Christian from his job.

Mama was in the kitchen washing my cookware when I got back inside. She put the last pan in the rack, rinsed the sink, and hung the dishcloth over the faucet. “I have to rush. My babies are home alone and they do not understand why I had to skip church and tear over to Mount Pleasant first thing to visit kin. They do not know I had to leave them home in case that animal was on the loose.”

“Christian fixed the fence. Brad won’t be in the house or on the porch or anywhere else close to your babies from now on.

She clapped her hand over her heart. “I certainly appreciate your concern. They are very delicate, you know.” She snatched up her purse. “I will speak to DeLorean.” She turned in a complete circle looking for the offending daughter, who’d gone upstairs. “When I see her. Surely she can’t afford to feed an animal that size if she can’t even feed herself.”

My exact thought. I walked Mama to the door, wondering what made her think she could influence DeLorean. Of course, I knew it didn’t matter to Mama if she talked until she keeled over from exhaustion. It was her self-assigned duty to spend her days directing the lives of her family and friends as she saw fit.

Mama stepped outside still muttering about DeLorean and her self-made problems. She’s gone down my steps a thousand times, but today she caught the heel of her shoe on the second step and tumbled to the ground before I could catch her.

I bounded forward and knelt at her side. “Mama, are you okay?”

Her face was pale and her eyes were closed. She opened them briefly. “Don’t screech, dear, it isn’t ladylike. I believe I’ve broken my ankle.”

“Don’t move.” I pressed my hands on her shoulders as if I thought she was planning to leap to her feet and rumba down the driveway. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“I am not dead or dying. Take me in the car. Thank God the babies weren’t with me. Did you see how my purse flew halfway across the front yard and landed on the walkway? They could have been killed, smashed like little bugs.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward. Why in the world was she worried about dogs when her ankle was already the size of a grapefruit? I raced into the house and yelled for DeLorean.

She helped me get Mama into the van and then she ran back inside for Cole and his equipment, despite Mama’s protests that she didn’t require an entourage for a simple trip to the East Cooper Regional Medical Center. My sister caught my eye and mouthed, “She’d never forgive me.”

I heaved Cole’s diaper bag, a blue and yellow carryall half the size of a footlocker, into the back and rammed the key into the ignition.

“How are you holding up?” I said, when Mama winced as we roared out of the driveway.

“Regina Marsh is not a woman who complains or whines. Thirty-one hours of labor with you and thirty-seven with your sister. I certainly know how to deal with pain.” Mama turned her long-suffering face in my direction and managed a watery smile.

From the back seat DeLorean didn’t quite manage to suppress a snort. We both knew that once Mama got started on the subject of childbirth she was compelled to go through the entire labor process minute by minute. And when she was done talking about her own, she’d get started on those of her friends. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d heard about Millie Conrad’s forceps delivery. According to Mama, Millie never could walk straight after her son was born and it was positively frightening the way she rocked spraddle-legged from side to side when she climbed a set of porch steps.

After a squad of attendants took Mama back to see to her injury, DeLorean and I settled in the waiting room. If past experience was any guide, we had a long wait. During the years Christian was growing up, I’d accustomed myself to emergency rooms. There was the time he had a fever of 105 degrees and the time he broke his arm playing baseball and the time he wrecked his bike and had to have stitches in his leg.

But I’d never had to worry over an injury to my own mother. I don’t know what I’d have done if anything had happened to her while I was growing up. She was, after all, my only living parent. And DeLorean was my only sister, I thought, with a rush of guilt.

“Dee?” I said, half-turning to face her.

“What?” She poked the nipple of a bottle into Cole’s mouth and said something to him in baby talk about him being a handsome little man.

“I’m sorry about last night.” I could have added that I didn’t know what had gotten into me, but that would have been a lie. “I was awfully snappy with you over absolutely nothing.”

“Hey, stressful times, right” She pursed her lips and blew me a kiss.

I shrugged. I wondered if I’d handle it any better the next time I let my feelings about Jack get out of control. But I’d been over this topic last night. About a hundred times while I’d lain awake. What Jack did was Jack’s business, and the same for DeLorean. I was not going to turn into my mother, captain of the interference police.

DeLorean hummed Cole to sleep and turned her attention to a documentary about crocodiles that was playing on the TV opposite her chair. I busied myself perusing magazines. Minutes became an hour. The crocodiles on the screen gave way to elephants. Finally I tossed down a six-month-old copy of Redbook and stood.

“I’ll see if they’ll let me in the back to check on Mama.”

“Good idea. I’m surprised they didn’t come and get one of us already.” She looked across the room at a white-uniformed figure pushing a stretcher holding a screaming child. “Scratch that idea I had about nursing school. I could never be a nurse.”

Better she should find out now rather than later after she’d invested time and money in a career change.

“I’m going to consider something else. I couldn’t stand being around sick people and not being able to cure them. What do you think about paralegal studies?”

She wouldn’t have the patience for such detailed work.

“Sounds great. But you’ve got plenty of time to look around and find what interests you most.”

I scurried away before she could ask for more career advice. DeLorean was the most bullheaded person on the planet and she was not about to listen to any suggestions I might come up with any more than I’d follow her advice to give up on the idea of the ghost tour business. Come to think of it, being bullheaded was a trait she got from Mama. Some people liked to accuse me of that same trait, but I preferred to think of myself as strong-minded.

I went up to the desk and asked about Mama.

“Mrs. Marsh? Oh, yes, the lady with the ankle injury. Sorry, only one visitor at a time in the ER.” The receptionist picked up a chart and beamed me a pert smile that seemed more a signal for me to politely go away than a willingness to answer more questions.

“Excuse me?” Only one visitor. That I could understand, but who else would be visiting Mama? DeLorean and I were her daughters. No one except us would be here, not even her church family, as she called them, because they didn’t know about her injury.

“Mrs. Marsh already has a visitor.”

“That can’t be.” I leaned over the counter, and she quickly swiveled her computer monitor to face it away from me. “My sister and I are her only family. Except for her grandsons, but Cole is only a baby and Christian is away at college.”

“Her friend is with her.” Much arching of eyebrows from the unhelpful desk queen.

Friend? Had she called Pastor Whitfield or Ruth Ames?

The door leading to the back opened. I turned, my attention caught by a distinguished looking gentleman walking past. He looked vaguely familiar.

The desk queen followed my gaze. “There he is. Now you can go back. Cubicle three. It’s on the right after you pass through the double doors.” She hit a buzzer on the wall next to a chart rack.

Very efficient. But I was so deep in thought wondering about the identity of the visitor, I almost didn’t get through the electronic doors before they swung shut on my butt.

Mama was lying on a gurney in a curtained cubicle. Her eyes held the dazed look of someone who’d been drugged. She shook her head when she saw me and pointed toward her right foot, which was elevated.

“It’s sprained, not broken,” she said, her voice sounding almost disdainful as if she blamed her ankle for betraying her. “They’re going to wrap it.”

“That’s the usual procedure with sprains.” Hey, I watch ER, I know how the process works. “The receptionist said you had another visitor and I saw a man go out right before I came in. Who is he, Mama?”

She stared at me for a long minute. “Here I lie in a hospital bed, racked with pain, and all you can think to do is ask nosy questions?”

I pulled the visitor chair up to her gurney and plopped down. “I’m wondering why a man, someone I’ve never met, is allowed to see you while DeLorean and I have to sit out front worrying.”

“Worrying? For heaven’s sake, it’s only a sprained ankle.”

“For all we knew you’d sustained internal injuries. Want to tell me about your friend?”

“You should have only one concern on your mind and that is concern for your mother and her well-being. My gentleman friend, not that it is any of your business, is Rhett Dearborn. We’ve been seeing each other for almost five months.” Mama’s expression went from dazed to defiant, as if she expected me to wail and rip my hair out because she had a man in her life after more than twenty years alone.

“That’s great,” I said. “Really wonderful.”

She shifted, trying to move higher on the gurney, and I wondered if I should offer to plump up her pillow. “I hadn’t realized I was sometimes lonely until I started spending time with Rhett. The babies are good company, of course, but they can’t carry on a conversation.”

Really? This was the first time she’d ever admitted the Chihuahuas couldn’t take the place of people.

“But why did you keep your boyfriend a secret?”

“Boyfriend?” Mama made tsk, tsk sounds. “That sounds so undignified. Rhett is sixty-four years old, and I have my own reasons for keeping my personal life to myself.”

“But now that I know, there’s no reason why you can’t tell me all about him. And arrange an introduction. I’m happy for you, Mama.”

“We’ll see about the introduction.” She sniffed. “I’ll give you the condensed version. Rhett is widowed, one grown son. Well-off. Retired from a shipping business. And he’s a wonderful man, a real southern gentleman. He wants to marry me, but of course I said no.”

That’s all? Marriage? And of course she said no? My jaw dropped and my mouth hung like an open trap until Mama reminded me to shut it. Good manners and all that.

“Marriage? You’ve got to accept.” It was about time she had some happiness in her life—as well as someone to keep her occupied so she’d stay out of my business.

“Love or no love, the subject is finished.” She closed her eyes and sighed gently, and I noted that the bright light overhead made the lines around her mouth seem deeper, which only added to the impression that she was suffering.

I drummed my fingers on the edge of the gurney. Clearly Mama wouldn’t have told me about her boyfriend if she hadn’t gotten injured. Older man friend, I meant. But why?

The ER crew bustled in while I was still pondering, and I went back to the lobby to update DeLorean. I didn’t leave out the part about Rhett Dearborn.

Her eyes grew huge. “If I weren’t holding a sleeping baby, I’d be positively jumping with excitement. What did she say about him?”

“Practically nothing, except that he’s widowed and he’s asked her to marry him and she turned him down. But I thought he looked familiar when I saw him leave. Now I remember. I saw him walking with her last week when I was out for coffee after yoga class. I wasn’t sure at the time it was Mama—she was in shadow—and I certainly didn’t expect to see her with a man.”

“I don’t know why she’s being silly about not wanting to get married. Did she say why?”

“No. And I’m not going to ask her.”

Mama wouldn’t tell me, I knew that much. But I was determined to find out on my own, so I could try to get her to change her mind.

Chapter Twelve

Of course Mama couldn’t go home to her condo alone. I suggested she hire someone to come in for a week or so until she was able to move around on her own. “It won’t be for long, Mama.”

“But there’s no way I can climb the stairs to my place. I can’t walk and surely you don’t expect me to hop.”

“I expect you to take the elevator like normal people, Mama.”

“I don’t take the elevator in my building. You know that and there is no use trying to persuade me that thing is safe.”

“This is an emergency. I’ll ride up with you and then I’ll call one of those home health places and ask them to send someone.”

“I told you I am not riding that untrustworthy contraption. Just drive me to a nursing home and check me in for a few weeks.”

“A nursing home is not a hotel. What about your babies?”

“That’s another thing. No home health aide on this earth will want to walk the babies and take care of them. I’ll have to hire a petsitter to come in a couple of times a day. My, the trouble and the expense. But what else can I do?” Her lip trembled so she reminded me of DeLorean getting ready to pitch a fit.

I turned my head toward the window so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Why, Mama, I’ve just had the most fantastic idea. You and the babies can stay at my house for a few weeks.” I heard an audible intake of breath from DeLorean’s direction.

Mama fanned herself with a sheaf of papers the ER receptionist had given her and stirred a lot of dust off the dashboard. “I couldn’t possibly impose. You already have so much to deal with.”

“There’s no way you can manage on your own, so I don’t want to hear another word of protest.”

“I am the last person on earth to put someone out. The very last. Sophie Rainier, you remember her I’m sure, inflicts herself on her relatives to a point where they’re all on the verge of nervous breakdowns. Last week she showed up unannounced at her daughter’s house in Savannah and then positively steamed when her daughter said the visit was inconvenient because she already had guests from New York.” Mama dropped the ER papers in her lap. She hauled a hairbrush out of her purse and used it to tap my elbow for emphasis.

“Ouch.” I jerked my arm out of reach. “Mama, it would be my privilege to help you. Besides, if you don’t come to my house, it would be a lot more work for me to keep running across the bridge to look after you in Charleston.”

I allowed myself a few moments of mentally rolling in self-pity. I’d accustomed myself to my empty nest and now all the members of my family, dogs included, were dependent on me. And this, after I’d concluded that having DeLorean and Mama in the same house was about as likely to work out as me falling in love with T. Chandler all over again.

Mama settled back, wearing an expression like that you might see on a tennis player who’d just bested her rival for the hundredth time. She’d planned all along to stay at my place. She knew I’d make the offer and she knew she’d accept after making a token protest.

Kenny was in the back yard romping with Brad when I pulled into the driveway. I smacked my hand against my forehead. I’d forgotten to call and let him know Christian had fixed the fence.

“Hey, great dog, Mrs. Caraway.” He came around to the front and I saw a toolbox on the steps. I tumbled out of the van. “Kenny, I’m sorry, but when you didn’t show on time this morning, I let Christian fix the fence.”

“Didn’t show?” His eyebrows came together in a furry line. “You didn’t get my message?”

“Message?” Light slowly dawned. My message machine wouldn’t kick in as long as someone was answering my phone. I’d learned that yesterday when Jack appeared at my door expecting to take me out and discovered me dressed for an evening of cleaning my toilet.

“I called yesterday. A lady promised to tell you I couldn’t get here until after one.”

“Sorry,” called a voice from the back seat. “My bad.”

Christian had said DeLorean had sat on top of the phone and we’d assumed all the calls were from Baldwin. As stressed as she was, when Kenny called she must have completely forgotten to pass the message on.

I shook off a feeling of annoyance over careless family message takers and said, “I’m sorry. But how about another job? My mother sprained her ankle and she’s going to stay with me for a few weeks.” Running mine and DeLorean’s lives. “Could you help me get her settled inside and then go with me to get her things?”

“No problem.” His face brightened and the furry line turned back into two separate eyebrows.

If it were me with the sprained ankle, I’d be fine at someone’s house with a gym bag loaded with clothes and toiletries, but I knew Mama. She’d started a list in the car on the way home and in addition to the dogs and their equipment and her clothes, she’d listed at least ten more items she couldn’t live without. Of course she had to have her cosmetics case, her box of vitamins, and her new orchid plant, the one with the fuschia blooms. I suspected from the way her mouth softened when she mentioned the orchid that Rhett had given it to her.

Between the two of us, Kenny and I got Mama inside and settled on the family room couch. Before we left, I brought Mama a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast and handed her the TV remote.

She accepted gratefully. “Are you going to the condo right away? The babies need me, but it looks like rain and there is no point in you being outside if the heavens open up. I suppose they could wait.” Doubt clouded her face.

The sky had darkened from bright blue to an angry charcoal in the time since we’d left for the hospital and the air had chilled at least twenty degrees. I waved away her worries. “I’ll have them here before the storm breaks. I haven’t lost any dogs yet.”

I put on a flannel shirt with long sleeves over my blouse and took my umbrella with me. Traffic was light, typical for a Sunday, and I made it to Mama’s building in record time.

The beginnings of the promised downpour spattered on my head as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the condo. Kenny and I shared my umbrella and dashed into the building.

As soon as I unlocked the door and we stepped inside the front room, the Chihuahuas swarmed, attacked my ankles like a couple of stirred up ants, and then retreated behind the couch.

“Is this any way to treat your rescuer?” I called, shaking my fist in mock anger.

Kenny laughed. “Don’t you like dogs?”

“I like them fine, but these two are not only neurotic, they’ve chose to focus their aggression on me. You should see them with my mother. They fawn over her like she’s their queen.”

“What about the big dog, the one in your backyard? He likes you, right?”

“Like may be too strong a word. I think tolerate applies better. He actually belongs to my sister, but he doesn’t seem to have bonded with her any more than he has with me.”

“Hey, he’s a great dog. If your sister ever decides to sell him, tell her to let me know.”

“Sure,” I murmured absently, trying to decide where to start. Mama’s place is cozy and decorated in early frill—lace curtains on the windows, doilies on the chair arms, and fringes on the lampshades. Predominant colors were lavender and pink.

“Hmm. Mama wants her own towels. Would you mind getting them out of the linen closet in the bathroom while I check in the coat closet for her yarn?”

“Sure.” Kenny saluted.

I found the yarn basket and about five hundred cans of soup in the closet. Famine was not going to take my mother, not as long as Campbell’s stayed in business. While I was trying to get the yarn basket without knocking down a stack of cans, Kenny called from down the hall.

“There’s nothing in here but toilet paper.”

I went to see for myself. The linen closet was packed from floor to ceiling with rolls of toilet tissue in every brand imaginable. “Guess Mama’s expecting the great toilet paper shortage of the 21st century. Hold on while I look in her room.”

Mama’s bedroom was as pink and lavender as the rest of the house. The bottom drawer of her dresser was crammed with towels and washcloths. I dragged them out and handed them to Kenny to take to the car while I packed the rest of the things she’d asked for. Kenny came back and took the suitcases down to the van. After I gave him the dog food, the orchid plant, and assorted small items essential to life as Mama knew it, I surveyed the living room. Chihuahuas nowhere to be found.

“Come on, babies, time to go see your mama.” I chirped away, sounding more like a demented parrot than a seriously annoyed woman who was starting to wonder if she could get away with dropping the babies off at the pound and telling Mama they got dognapped by a couple of tourists with more guns than brains.

I’d brought Mama’s bag and I opened it wide to give them the idea. The little darlings pranced away and scooted behind an armchair. Lovely. On top of packing enough of Mama’s things to completely fill my mini van, I had to deal with defiant Chihuahuas. Not how I’d planned to spend my Sunday afternoon.

Sweetpea, usually a meek sort, seemed to have undergone a personality transplant since his trip to the spa, and Tiny was always a pain in the ass. Eventually I got them cornered and tried to gather them in. They snapped at me, one on each side, then attached their little teeth to my shirt sleeves. Before I could peel them off, I heard footsteps and experienced a sense of relief. Kenny could help and we’d be out of here before the storm moved in from the harbor.

“Kenny, you get the little stud on the right and I’ll get the other one,” I said without turning around.

I nearly jumped across the room when, instead of Kenny’s adolescent squawk, a deep voice behind me said, “Where’s Regina?”

I stumbled to my knees, Chihuahuas dangling from my sleeves like remoras hanging off a shark. My heart lurched.

How many years since I’d last seen him? I couldn’t remember. Long enough for his red hair to turn a pinkish white, his stomach to develop a slight paunch, and his face to sag around the edges. But he was still good-looking for someone his age.

Something clicked—maybe the sight of the plaid pants--and I knew this was the man Mrs. Barkley had told me about who’d come looking for Mama the day I took her to the doctor. Why hadn’t I investigated at the time?

A sly grin pulled his thin lips apart. He put his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels. I looked at his shoes. Expensive. Italian leather. That figured.

“Susan. All grown up.”

“That tends to happen to a kid as the years pass.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” I leaned backward and hit the coffee table.

“You tell her I want her answer. I don’t care where she’s hiding, I’ll find her, and she’ll give me what I asked for.”

“Get out before I call the police.” My initial confusion had given way to righteous anger.

“Mrs. Caraway?” Kenny appeared in the doorway. “Is this man bothering you?” His voice cracked.

Bless him, he was only seventeen and had yet to fill out. His arms hung at his sides like bent sapling branches against his skinny body, but he was prepared to defend me against a man who must have outweighed him by more than fifty pounds.

“No bother,” I said. “This is my ex-stepfather and he’s on his way out.”

Again the sly grin. Didn’t the man have more than one expression? Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember any others except anger.

“Ex-stepfather, that’s rich. But, yeah, I’m leaving.” He sauntered to the door, and Kenny moved quickly aside to let him pass.

Memories of childhood rushed over me, and my hands shook. I would probably have knelt in shock for hours if Kenny hadn’t said, “Did you know you have little dogs hanging off your sleeves?”

“Right,” I said, frowning down at my arms. “I knew thatl.”

I let Kenny help me pry the jaws apart. My thoughts churned until I wondered if my brain would turn to butter. I hadn’t seen Philip Beauchamp since DeLorean was fourteen and he unexpectedly showed up for her birthday to bring her an imitation Barbie, one of those crudely put together hard plastic dolls you can buy for a couple of dollars at discount shops. Mama had come close to fainting when she saw him, and I’d had to run Philip off, slap a cold cloth on Mama’s forehead, and console DeLorean. And this on a day when T. Chandler chose to have one of his fits because I asked him to pick up Christian at the sitter’s on his way home.

I wished I hadn’t been there when Philip walked in. And I wondered what he meant when he said, “Ex-stepfather, that’s rich.” Did he think he was still my stepfather because he’d been married to my mother for a couple of short years? Jerk.

When we got back, Kenny and I unloaded Mama’s things. I brought her the purse and set it in her lap. She took the babies out and let them give her some sugar. Wordlessly I handed her a box of tissues and went to fix lunch for Kenny.

I waited until Kenny left—after eating the four grilled cheese sandwiches I fixed for him and drinking half a gallon of milk--before I told Mama I’d seen Philip Beauchamp. At her condo. In her condo.

“Did you remember my vitamins, Susan? And my bag of prunes?” Mama cupped her hands around the nest of sleeping Chihuahuas in her lap. “And the food for the babies?”

“Yes and yes and yes.” I stood in the middle of the room between the couch where Mama lay propped on pillows with her foot elevated and the love seat where DeLorean sat with Cole sleeping in her arms, his rosebud mouth making little sucking motions. Thank God he didn’t look one bit like his maternal grandfather. “Mama, did you hear what I said? Philip Beauchamp. In the flesh. At your condo.”

I watched Mama’s expression not change, though her cheeks pinked up about five shades. No surprise, but I hadn’t expected one. From what Philip had said, he wanted something from Mama and he’d already contacted her.

DeLorean put her hand to her throat. “What if he found out he has a grandson and he wants to see Cole?” Her arms acted reflexively, pulling her son closer to her chest. DeLorean had been a baby herself when Philip left. When he’d crashed her birthday party all those years later, he’d been drunk and had almost gotten into a fistfight with the father of one of her friends, so DeLorean had been able to see for herself what a jerk he was.

“Don’t worry.” Mama shook her fist so hard, Sweetpea started to roll off her lap and had to scrabble to haul himself back up the side of a cushion. “If Mr. Beauchamp comes within a hundred feet of that child, I will rip his lungs out and wrap them around his head.”

“Mama!” my sister and I said in unison. It was definitely not ladylike to speak of ripping and wrapping lungs.

“He said he needed an answer from you,” I said. “What was he talking about?”

“That is none of your business. I declare, Susan, you have gotten entirely above yourself about asking personal questions. Bless your heart, you just can’t seem to manage without prying.”

“Me?” I screeched. “You’re a world class meddler. At least I pass on messages when I’m asked to.”

This was Mama’s cue to close her eyes and plead pain and exhaustion. I shrugged. There were ways of finding things out, and for the sake of my family, I was going to get some answers. It wasn’t just that Philip Beauchamp made me feel creepy, but childhood memories of him and his selfishness ran deep, a part of my psyche I hadn’t consciously thought about in years. I wasn’t going to wait like a trapped animal for him to make his next move.

At least I wouldn’t have to spend the evening waiting hand and foot on Mama and DeLorean. Jack called to make sure our bathroom inspection “date” for this evening was still on. Maybe when he’d talked to Kelly The Girlfriend last night, she’d pushed him to get his house finished so she wouldn’t have to wait to move to Charleston.

I pictured myself meeting her. Jack would arrange for us to have dinner together. I’d have to recruit someone to play the part of my boyfriend. Maybe Patty would let me borrow Kyle. I’d sit across the table and smile and smile until my face muscles went sore. Then I’d leave with my pretend boyfriend while Jack and Kelly The Girlfriend went back to his place for an evening of...whatever.

What would Kelly be like? I pictured her looking a lot like Maureen, his ex wife. Short and beautiful with a tight little figure that showed she used to be a gymnast and still worked out every day. Platinum hair, thanks to an expensive salon, and makeup that made her face look airbrushed. Eyes as blue as contact lenses could make them. The personality of a piranha.

I realized I was wallowing in bitchiness and I shook my head, clearing it. Jack’s girlfriend was probably not anything like Maureen. Hadn’t Jack said he’d learned from his disastrous marriage? And even if Kelly were Maureen’s double, so what? My role was to be Jack’s chemistry-lacking friend, a pal whose only role was to advise him on decorating his bathroom. I would be nice to Kelly if it killed me.

The rain had come and gone in an hour and the sun reappeared to practically sizzle the remaining clouds out of the sky. DeLorean advised me to wear a dress and a pair of heels. She offered to loan me a gauzy blue number guaranteed to tantalize, but I laughed. “Don’t be silly. Jack’s taking me to dinner and then we’re going to look at his house—currently under renovation. I can’t see myself stumbling around a construction site in heels and, besides, Jack will probably show up wearing jeans--he always does--and I’ll feel overdressed.”

“It’s Sunday. You can’t overdress on Sunday. Jack will appreciate the effort and you look so pretty in dresses. You have gorgeous legs, doesn’t she, Mama?”

Mama looked up from her magazine. “She does--she got them from me. Although, she’s taller than I, of course. I quite agree with you, DeLorean, there is no reason for Susan to wear that common pair of slacks with a blouse that clearly is not the right color for her.”

“Moss green?” I said, looking down at myself. “You helped me pick it out.”

“You must have been wearing different make up that day,” Mama said with a sniff.

“Jack and I are not going on a date, and it wouldn’t matter if I wore a designer gown and a tiara. Jack has a girlfriend. We are nothing more than buddies.”

The doorbell rang. I ran to answer it, ignoring the dual “make the man wait” frowns from Mama and DeLorean. In fact, I gave in to a moment of rudeness and slipped out the door to meet Jack on the steps instead of asking him to come inside.

“Come on,” I said. “Mama hurt her ankle and she’s temporarily moved in. If she sees you, we won’t get out of here before midnight, if at all.” I didn’t need a delay while DeLorean gave him another backrub or Mama quizzed him about his family and asked how they were doing since they’d moved out of state.

“Sorry to hear about the ankle. I’ll go inside and say hello.”

“It’s just a sprain, but she really couldn’t manage on her own with her dogs and she refused to hire a home health aide. You can come in when you bring me back.” I pushed past him down the driveway and he had no choice but to follow. I climbed into his Mercedes. I’d expected the pickup he’d been driving last night. “Nice car.”

“Thanks. Had it in the shop for a tune up,” he said, as though he knew I was wondering about his truck. “Do you mind if we go straight to the house before dinner? I’m expecting someone.”

My stomach dived toward my feet. “Fine. Whatever works for you.” I stared straight ahead. Road. Lots of cars. A couple of trucks.

So Kelly The Girlfriend was on her way. He hadn’t said so, but that had to be it. Why hadn’t I taken Mama’s and DeLorean’s advice and dressed up so I could show off my great legs?

No, wrong. He was taken. I slapped my forehead and stuck out my lips in an involuntary goldfish imitation. Jack gave me an odd look.

I turned away so he wouldn’t see the next expression that appeared on my face while I tried to sort myself out. There was no reason in the world for me to try to look great when I met Jack’s girlfriend. Except I didn’t want Kelly The Girlfriend to be prettier and better dressed than I was. For some stupid reason.

Chapter Thirteen

Jack headed into Charleston on narrow streets lined with cars. I sat up straighter and peered from side to side. So many of the houses in this area had fallen almost into ruin and then been renovated and turned into apartments for students. Some of them, though, had been bought by people with the money and the know how to turn them back into the charming mansions they once were. Pale yellows, blues, and greens were the predominant colors. Even freshly painted, they looked as if they’d been here forever.

We drove past Jack’s apartment and had to stop for a light at the corner. I glanced out the window and saw The Pie Plate where Jack and I had run across each other.

A white square on the window glass caught my eye. I sat up straighter to get a closer look. “Hey, the sign’s still in the window. They’re hiring.”

Jack slid a glance at me just as the light changed. “You give up on the ghost tours?”

“No, of course not.” I fiddled with the strap on my purse. “But I thought since ghost touring’s at night, I could pick up something part-time in the morning. Christian wants to quit his job so he’ll have more time to enjoy college.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to take on twenty hours or so a week serving coffee and pie at the same time that you have your injured mother and your sister and baby nephew to take care of? Along with a new job? What are you, Charleston’s candidate for superwoman of the year?”

“It’s not like that,” I shot back. Funny how fast human nature steps in and makes people turn defensive. “DeLorean is going to help with Mama. And Christian needs a social life apart from his studies and his job. College is supposed to be fun, at least part of the time. Hey, you had your share of good times in college. I remember you telling me about parties and football games and going to the beach.”

“True, but I worked, too.” He signaled for a left. The car, its motor ticking over so smoothly I almost couldn’t hear it, slid past more rows of pastel-colored homes, most of them featuring Charleston style side porches.

When I didn’t respond with a further comment on the merits of fun at college, Jack must have taken that for a sign I was dropping the subject. He pointed out a couple of houses under renovation that his company was working on. Safe topic for both of us.

“You can’t beat these old places for quality of materials and workmanship. That one on the corner has solid mahogany paneling in every room. Can you believe the former owner wanted to knock it down and build one of those angled modern homes decorated with chrome and glass? I’ve got nothing against modern, but what he had in mind would have looked like a parked space ship on a street like this.”

“I agree.” I’d seen evidence in other cities of people being seduced into replacing historic architecture with rows of flimsy boxes that all looked alike. The house he pointed out, unlike most of the others on the street, was brick and had a small cobblestone driveway leading to a carriage house. I was impressed. Off street parking. A way to keep one’s car off the narrow Charleston streets originally built for horse drawn carriages. Points on for the carriage house.

“What happened with the modern eyesore?”

“The city wouldn’t grant permission. He sold the place and moved on.”

“Good for the city.”

Jack turned left at the next street and pulled into the driveway of the most impressive house we’d seen yet. This one was wood frame construction with side porches on both main floors. At the very top of the house, dormer windows indicated a sizeable attic, probably walk-up. An enormous oak stood next to a carriage house in the courtyard out back.

“Is this another one you’re working on?” I said.

“You might say that. This one’s mine.”

“Wow.” I climbed out of the car and turned to face him. “I’m impressed, Jack. Your house is fabulous.”

He shrugged. “After the divorce, Maureen and I sold our home and some other property we had in New Jersey. Even split two ways we made a nice profit. And the widow who sold me this place made me the deal of a lifetime because she knew I was going to renovate and care for the house as much as she did.”

“You almost sound like you think you don’t deserve something like this.” I slipped my arm through his. “You’re a hard worker. And a nice person. Why shouldn’t you have success?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I’ve made too many mistakes in the past.” He looked at me solemn-faced and I couldn’t see the mischievous glint in his eye that usually told me when he was kidding. But the skies were still murky after the earlier storm and the branches from the oak were shading his face. So maybe I was simply missing something.

“Here’s where I’m supposed to tell you how perfect you are. After that, I profess my undying admiration and affection and shower you with compliments until my voice gives out. Then you shuffle your feet and stare at your toes and mumble, ‘Ah, shucks, ma’am, that’s mighty nice of you.’ Well, don’t place bets on any of that, mister. Don’t try fishing for compliments from me.” I grinned to show I was kidding.

“Wasn’t going to. And besides the fact that I can’t see my toes through my shoes, you know I’m not the ‘ah, shucks’ type. Gotten sassy in your old age, haven’t you?”

“Look who’s talking about old. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a good two months older than I am. Now show me the rest of this gem before I get fed up with your insults and leave.”

He gently brushed my hair away from my face, letting his fingers glide against my cheek. Little tiny goosebumps--the most delicate of goosebumps--chased each other down my back.

“You’ll have to look past the drop cloths and all the other signs of ongoing renovation, but you’ll get the idea. I look forward to your opinion.”

“And I look forward to giving it.” My arm still linked in his, we went up the steps to the massive front door.

Jack unlocked the door, pushed it open, and waved me inside. I stopped in the foyer, which was about the size of my dining room and kitchen combined.

What could I say about a house that was perfect? Or would be when the work was finished. Mahogany paneling. Ornate moldings. Built in bookshelves and cupboards. A soaring curved stairway that led to the upper floor. Lofty ceilings. Crystal chandeliers. Fireplaces with exquisite hand carved mantles.

We climbed the stairs to see Jack’s bedroom. The room was enormous. There were windows on two sides and a door that led onto the side porch, which was shaded by a giant magnolia. I pictured a table and chairs on the porch, perfect for morning coffee.

“Over here’s the bathroom I was telling you about.” Jack grabbed my arm and hauled me across the floor like I was a toy on a string.

“Hey, what’s the rush?” I pulled my arm away from him and rubbed my elbow.

“I told you, I’m expecting someone.”

There went my stomach again, trying to fall into my shoes. I’d forgotten. Really.

I shook away thoughts of meeting Kelly and stood with my hands on my hips, trying to visualize the finished product. Not easy. The floor was still unfinished, just rough plywood. I could see pipes where there were supposed to be a toilet, sinks, shower, and a tub that would be situated under the huge stained glass window.

Jack moved closer to stand beside me. He casually draped an arm over my shoulder.

“Tell me, Nic, how would you decorate if this were your home?”

I wondered how I’d feel if I were his girlfriend Kelly and I knew that Jack had brought me here and put his arm around me. Not only that, but he’d asked me to help him decorate the house that she, presumably, was going to move into with him. I told myself I wouldn’t mind at all if I were the girlfriend because Susan Caraway was nothing more than Jack’s high school buddy, the klutzy girl who fell off the couch the one and only time he kissed me.

Then, pursing my lips as if that would help me concentrate, I tried to imagine myself living here. What would I want my bathroom to look like?

Marble floors--green to pick up the same shade as the green in the stained glass window. A bit of royal purple for accents because that’s my favorite color. Some white for contrast. I moved from the front of the room to the back, explaining as I went, waving my hands for emphasis.

Jack kept nodding. Finally he said, “Is that it?”

“I guess so. And I’m sure you could have done the same thing yourself.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “I was ordered to get a second opinion. Female.”

“That’s right, and I did the ordering.”

I jumped and slid out from under Jack’s arm to turn around. I’d been so absorbed in mentally decorating Jack’s bathroom that I hadn’t heard anyone come into the house.

A tall, blond woman stood in the doorway. She was beautifully dressed in a peach-colored linen suit. She was gorgeous, flawless even, and I would have bet her makeup was done professionally. I had to concentrate on my jaw muscles to keep my mouth from dropping open in awe.

“Hi.” I stepped forward with my hand out. “Jack has told me…” He hadn’t actually told me anything about Kelly, come to think of it. “all about you.”

“Really?” She turned to Jack. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Jack laughed. “Dawn, this is my friend, Nic. Actually, her real name is Susan, but it doesn’t suit her, so I call her Nic. And, Nic, this is Dawn Akron, a designer for my firm. She’s helping with the house.”

“Jack had plans to wreck this beautiful bathroom.” She shuddered. “He has the color sense of a baboon.”

“Hey, don’t let her talk about me that way, Nic.”

“First I want to hear what you were planning.” I pretended to frown.

“Brown and orange with a gaudy shade of turquoise for accents, that’s what.” Dawn shook her head in mock sadness. “And I thought he had better taste than that.”

“Tan and, uh, tangerine,” Jack said. “Tan and tangerine. And Teal. What’s wrong with that?”

Dawn looked at me. “Trust me, Nic. Calling mustard and brick, tan and tangerine do not make them look any better in a room like this. And turquoise clashing with that beautiful stained glass would be a crime. Do you agree?”

“Perfectly.” I may not have been the greatest when it came to decorating, but even I knew that Jack’s colors would make this room look like a budget motel. I playfully slapped his arm. “I’m disowning you if you ruin this gorgeous bathroom.”

“Two against one. It’s settled,” Dawn said. “I thought a nice green marble for the floor.”

“With purple and cream accents for the rest of the room?” I said hopefully.

“I’d planned scarlet and cream, but purple would do fine. There’s purple in the window. Purple accents in the room should give it a nice color punch.”

“But shouldn’t Kelly have the final say?” I meant this question for both of them, but I looked at Jack. “After all, she is Jack’s girlfriend.”

Dawn blinked rapidly. “Jack? I didn’t know you—“

“I don’t. I didn’t.” Jack waved his hands in denial. “It’s a surprise. My girlfriend will be happy with whatever you two choose.” Jack tromped past Dawn, through the master bedroom and out into the hallway.

“Men.” Dawn raised her eyes to search heavenward for answers.

“Yeah, men,” I echoed. I didn’t bother raising my eyes. Heaven hadn’t given me any answers yet where men were concerned.

You’d have thought Jack would have told his designer he had a girlfriend, though. After all, her tastes in home decorating should be considered first. But then Jack wanted the house to be a surprise. I hoped Kelly The Girlfriend wasn’t fussy. Personally, I thought Dawn had done a terrific job in the finished rooms I’d already seen, but Kelly might, like Maureen, be consumed with a burning need to complain about everything. I wondered what would happen if she hated the house and hated that I’d given my opinion about the decorating. For just a few seconds I almost wished I’d sided with Jack and let him decorate his bathroom in the foulest of mismatched colors that would send Kelly running back to New Jersey in a snit.

Dawn and I rejoined Jack downstairs in the kitchen. Unlike most of the rest of the house, the room was finished, the appliances installed, and, Jack had told me earlier, already in working order.

“Nic and I are going out to dinner,” Jack said. “Care to join us?”

“Thanks, but Zack will kill me if I leave him alone with the kids for another minute.” She swept out of the room, trailing a “nice meeting you” over her shoulder.

“I enjoyed meeting you, too,” I called. I pulled out one of the kitchen barstools and slid onto the padded seat. “I can advise you on how to remodel your attic if you want. Insulation. Storage bins. Rustic, yet functional.”

“I think I can handle it. So are you as starved as I am? I thought we could go to that new seafood place on Broad. What’s it called?”

“I forget, but I know the place you mean. I heard the food’s fabulous, but there’s usually a line out the door. Look, the kitchen’s finished. If you want to just get some food, I’ll be glad to cook us something.”

Jack was already shaking his head. “Not that you aren’t a fabulous cook, but you’ve already made me a meal this weekend. Tell you what--why don’t I order in from the Grotto? The food’s great, Italian, and while we wait for it to get here we can finish catching up on all the years since…” He paused and worked his mouth, fishing for words. “Since we lost touch.”

“Great plan.” There was a little catch in my voice. His tone made it sound like we were more than friends. But we weren’t, much to my regret. “We can talk without my family taking center stage the way they did last night and without sitting in a crowded restaurant trying to hear over the sound of everyone else.”

Jack nodded. “Not that I don’t like your family, but I’m not in the mood for that much input this evening.”

He placed the order and poured us glasses of red wine. We went into the living room, still unfurnished, but with a working fireplace.

The air was unusually cool for September, probably due to the earlier rain. Jack lit a fire and we sat together with our backs against a box that had “Shelving” stenciled on the side.

I stared into the flames, watching the golds and reds and oranges dance on top of the logs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sat in front of a real fire with a friend. We were supposed to be talking over old times. Instead we drank our wine in a companionable silence.

After a while, Jack said, “Nic? Last week you talked about your broken marriage and your job. What about your social life? Didn’t you say you have a boyfriend?”

My first impulse was to describe Steve, but the words wouldn’t come. I tried on and discarded several thoughts. And knew it was time to stop playing my silly game and come clean. The new improved me had promised to get a life. I was quite sure that getting a life didn’t mean having an imaginary love interest or telling lies to my friends.

“The truth is,” I said, not looking at him, “there isn’t a boyfriend, there’s only a blind date that went terribly wrong and a guy from yoga class I enjoyed having coffee with. But we never went out and he’s seeing someone now. Sorry I misled you. Guess I didn’t want to seem pathetic and alone or anything like the shell-shocked divorcee you imagined.”

“You’re not pathetic. Or shell-shocked. Thanks for leveling with me.” Jack squeezed my hand.

I squeezed back. He’d made everything okay. He always made everything okay.

The food arrived and was, as promised, fantastic. Jack’s phone rang while we were finishing our cherry cheesecake. He powered the phone off without looking at the caller ID. He leaned in closer and put his arm around me.

“Nic, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He half turned and put his fingertips under my chin. Our eyes locked.

Oh, God, the baby goosebumps were back and if he didn’t move at least ten feet away I was going to forget he was taken. “You. I mean, okay what is it?” My heartbeat was so loud I was sure he could hear it over my breathing.

“It’s about Kelly. Things haven’t been going that great and we’ve both had second thoughts about continuing our relationship. In fact--”

“Hold that thought.” I held up my hand. The shrill ring coming from the phone in my pocket was so loud I couldn’t have heard him over the sound.

Caller ID indicated home. My stomach dropped toward my knees and all thoughts about Jack and Kelly dissolved. “I have to take this. Only the gods know what will happen with Mama and DeLorean on their own in my house for the evening.”

“I’m sure it can wait.” He grabbed for the phone and I snatched it out of reach.

“Stop it, Jack.”

“They haven’t killed each other or burned down any houses yet, Nic.”

“They wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency. Maybe something’s happened to Christian.” My fingers shaking, I pressed a button on the phone. “Mama?”

“It’s DeLorean. Susan, you have to come home right away. I borrowed Mama’s Cadillac and went out with Cole for just a few minutes, I swear, just five minutes to pick up some diapers at CVS.”

“What happened? Is Mama okay?’ I shrieked, envisioning her falling off the couch and cracking her skull because DeLorean had left her alone.”

“Calm down. She’s fine. Physically, I mean. But while I was gone, my father showed up and had this big ugly scene with Mama. Thank God he was gone before I got back and I didn’t have to deal with him. Anyway, Mama’s sniffling like somebody with major allergies, and it is so getting on my nerves. It can’t be good for her heart, either. Don’t people her age have weak hearts? And Cole is screaming and all the dogs are barking.” Her voice skirted the edge of hysteria. “I swear, Susan, I simply can’t deal with this. I’m about ready to toss your TV through the nearest window if it will get everyone to calm down and shut up and give me five minutes of silence.”

“It won’t. Don’t toss, I’ll be right there.” I rang off and turned to Jack. “There’s a crisis at home with DeLorean and Mama. I have to go.”

“And they can’t handle it themselves,” he said in flat tones.

“Don’t be angry.” I put my hand on his arm and he shook it off. “Jack, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”

He hauled himself off the floor and strode toward the door, shoving an empty carton out of his way so hard it went airborne and bounced off the wall. “Let’s go.”

I scurried to catch up with him. “It’s family, Jack. It’s not like some random strangers are interfering in my life.”

“Right.” Jaw set like stone. “Two grown women sitting there totally helpless until you show up to wave your magic wand.”

“It isn’t like that.” I was speaking to his back.

By the time I’d settled myself next to him in the car, I was feeling a little anger of my own. Who needed a friend who was too selfish to understand that you had to be there for your family, even it if it interfered with your own plans?

Neither of us spoke on the way back to Mount Pleasant. Jack pushed the button to the radio. When some singer with a nasal voice started whining about love being the answer, I had to fight with myself to keep from hitting the off button. Love song. Hah!

Jack skidded the car to a stop in my driveway, got out and opened my door and walked me to the porch. Then, without a word he stormed back to his car and left. I wanted to turn around to look, to wave and say that I’d call him, but I couldn’t do anything except stare at my front door until DeLorean yanked it open.

Chapter Fourteen

She stared at me as if she expected me to break out a magic wand and when I didn’t, she said, “What are you waiting for, Susan? Do something. Mama is about to have a cow, and I couldn’t deal with all the noise. This evening has gone off the stress charts, and I almost wish I was back with Baldwin. No, not really. I couldn’t handle any more of his putdowns. But still. I expected peace and quiet and a little sympathy at your house. God, I need meditation time, not a circus.”

“Sorry I fell short in the peace and quiet department. Of course, I don’t have any stress of my own.”

Ignoring my crack, she grabbed my shoulder and pulled me forward so hard I almost tripped over the doorsill. “I called that boy, Kenny, to take Brad for a walk because he wouldn’t stop barking—Brad, not Kenny. The Chihuahuas finally shut up after I gave them some leftover ham, and Cole is napping, though that won’t last. You have to see to Mama because I simply can’t get any sense out of her and I have had it up to here.” She put her hand about a foot over her head. I could see that her hair needed combing and there was a swath of yellow baby drool smeared across her left shoulder.

I smiled insincerely. “Why don’t you make us a pot of tea while I get started soothing Mama?”

Her eyes widened. I’d just given her the keys to unlock the serenity secrets of the galaxy. “Super. Yes, tea would be great. I knew you’d know exactly what to do.”

She trotted off to the kitchen while I went into the family room and found Mama and her Chihuahuas. Tiny was so traumatized by the evening’s events that he didn’t even bother to shoot me a dirty look when I sat next to Mama and put my hand over hers. A second later I realized it wasn’t trauma, but a tummyache that troubled the little hellion. He suddenly dipped his head over the side of the couch and deposited a pink mess onto the rug. No doubt the ham DeLorean had bribed him with had done a number on his digestive system.

Mama appeared faintly troubled. “Oh, dear. Susan, would you—“

“I’m on it.” I gathered the Chihuahuas and put them on the porch, where they could vomit as much as they wanted, and I could hose away the mess later. I returned with a wad of paper towels and some carpet cleaner and took care of the rug. After I washed my hands about six times, I marched back to Mama. This time there would be no distractions.

“What did Philip want? And don’t tell me he was here to see his long-lost daughter and his grandson. Something’s going on and I need to know about it if you expect me to help you.” I crossed my arms over my chest to let her know I wasn’t backing down this time.

Mama sniffled and rubbed the end of her nose until it turned scarlet. DeLorean wasn’t kidding about her coming across like an allergy sufferer. Then she went quiet until I thought the ticking of the mantel clock was going to make me scream.

DeLorean came in balancing the teapot and assorted cups and saucers on a tray. She’d managed to find time to smooth her hair and wipe the baby drool off her shoulder.

I poured us each a cup and turned to Mama. “We’re going to sit here all night until you tell us. I can be stubborn, too, Mama.”

“I did not ask for your help, but you seem to determined to interfere.” She lifted her chin. “It is none of your business, Susan. Or your sister’s. Or maybe it is. But since I am staying in your house, and Philip says I have until Wednesday evening and then he will be surely be back--well, I have decided to tell you every detail of his latest scheme to send me to an early grave.”

“Let me guess,” DeLorean said. She was still hyperventilating. If the tea didn’t calm her, I’d probably have to give her a paper bag to breathe into. “He wants money. Just tell him no and be done with him. Honestly, Mama, he can’t force you to give him money.”

“I’m afraid he can.” Mama worked her hands like she expected to be petting a Chihuahua. She frowned at her empty lap, and I wondered if she even remembered that the babies were on my porch purging themselves.

A Mama-is-in-real-trouble gene suddenly kicked in and my heart started skittering in my chest. If my expression was anything like DeLorean’s, then anyone who saw us would offer us all tranquilizers or a stiff drink.

“Suspense, Mama. Suspense.” I made come on motions with my free hand. “Do you owe him alimony or half your possessions or does he maybe have a video of you prancing around naked in front of Reverend Whitfield and he’s threatening to put it on the Internet?”

My mother owing alimony to the world’s worst deadbeat former husband would be a real twist. But I was sure that if some mixed-up judge had issued such an order, we could find a lawyer to take her case and see that belated justice was done.

“Susan, there is no need to be flippant. I would never prance naked or any other way with Reverend Whitfield, especially not with a camera trained on me. He is married, after all and I am a lady.” Mama stared over my head. A red flush spread across her face.

“But alimony would most likely mean that there was once a marriage and now there is a divorce. I’m afraid that is not the case.”

“No divorce?” DeLorean nearly tipped over the teapot. “You mean you and my father aren’t divorced? Why in the world would you stay married to someone like him? Mama, he may be my father, but he’s not a good husband. Get rid of him and move on.”

“No, dear, that is not what I mean.”

Wheels turned in my head. A thought formed on top of a pile of other thoughts, flattening the whole pile with its weight, and then I felt my eyes try to bug out of my head. DeLorean was a fraction of a second ahead of me.

“You never married,” she said, speaking while I was still trying to formulate a coherent response.

I bobbed my head up and down. Taking in that kind of news was like finding out the pope was Jewish. “Mama that’s impossible,” I added stupidly.

DeLorean held out her hands and gazed at them, as though she’d just discovered her real identity. In a way, I supposed she had. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she wailed. “Is he even my father? Oh, God, the postman we used to have, that guy who looked like a fat frog with glasses and wore postman shorts a couple of sizes too small. He has hair the same color as mine. Tell me it isn’t him. Please, Mama.”

Mama sent DeLorean the most withering look I’d ever seen. “I will expect an apology from you after you are done hearing me out, young lady.”

DeLorean shifted in her chair so much I wondered if she’d sat on a pin. I braced myself for more hysterics, but she managed to get a grip. The need for answers apparently outweighed her need to emote.

“I always intended to explain, to tell you girls the truth and yet the right time never arrived.” Mama sipped at her tea. She still avoided looking directly at DeLorean. Maybe she feared a death ray would shoot out of my sister’s eyes and nail her. By now, I was fearing the same thing.

“How could you do this to me? Time doesn’t arrive, like a package at the door or something. You schedule time. Don’t you know anything, Mama?” DeLorean jumped to her feet and balled up her fists.

She whirled and flounced out of the room like a little kid who’d been denied a treat. I turned back to my mother and raised an eyebrow. “I must say, I’m shocked.” Okay, I didn’t mean to turn one of Mama’s pet phrases on her. Shock made me do it.

“I thought Philip and I were married, Susan. I really did. I mean, there was a ceremony, a cake. You remember, don’t you?” Mama pleaded.

I’d gotten sick after eating three pieces of wedding cake. Mama and Philip had left for their weekend honeymoon in Savannah and I’d stayed with one of Mama’s church friends who’d spent the evening complaining about the mess I’d made. “Uh, yeah. I remember.”

“Philip insisted on getting married at his friend’s home instead of at the church and I agreed; I thought he was a good man and I did love him after all, and it seemed silly to refuse to honor his wishes. Another friend who was a preacher performed the ceremony, and it wasn’t until after DeLorean was born that I found out the marriage wasn’t legal. His friend wasn’t a real preacher. He was just an electrician who lived in a trailer somewhere around Moncks Corner. I felt so stupid—and so humiliated. If I didn’t have you girls, I don’t know how I’d have managed to keep on living.”

“So he eventually told you it was all fake. You could have married him when you learned the truth.” Although by then, she knew what he was really like and would have known it would be a mistake to keep him.

“Actually, Philip didn’t tell me. His wife did.” She pulled at a thread on the bottom of her sweater and watched without expression as half an inch of yarn unraveled and spiraled across her front like tangled lavender hair.

I choked on my tea, dribbled it onto my blouse, snorted it out my nose. “His wife?” When had my voice gone from alto to a thin squawk?

“They were from Arkansas. Philip had sneaked out on Lurlene a few years before he came to Charleston and met me, and she wanted him back. I never did understand her motivation because goodness knows, he is a horrible man. But I suppose she wanted him around to wreak vengeance, not that I approve of vengeance, you know that is not good Christian behavior. Still, a person can imagine wanting to punish a straying man. I admit I entertained some thoughts about exactly what I’d do to Mr. Beauchamp if I were not a well-bred southern lady. And Lurlene was not a kind woman, not kind at all. I certainly would not want to be mixed up with Lurlene Beauchamp. My, the scene she created in our living room and the language, you would have thought drunken sailors were loose in the house. Thank goodness you were in school. Lurlene became truly enraged when she found out about DeLorean. I really thought she was going to rip me to pieces, but fortunately she came to believe me when I insisted I hadn’t known Philip was married. As it turned out, what he wanted was what was left of the insurance settlement I got after your father’s death. I am very sorry to admit, he spent a substantial part of my money without me finding out. But I am not a cheating woman who will steal someone’s husband, Susan. At least not on purpose.”

“Of course, you aren’t.” I gave her shoulder a comforting pat. “Still, there’s no reason for you to give Philip money. That’s extortion. Anyway, he isn’t even your husband, never was, never will be.”

Poor Mama. She’d lived with her secret all these years and it must have been killing her. Impulsively I leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. Mama was never the hugging type, but she rested her head on my shoulder and held onto me like a barnacle clinging to a rock.

“Mama, I’m so sorry you got into all this trouble with Philip. He’s nothing but a cheap con man, and you deserve so much better. You’re a good woman, a person with solid values, and don’t let anyone tell you different. I love you.”

She sniffled. “Thank you. Your understanding means so much to me.”

I hugged her tighter and emitted a few sniffles of my own. My mother was judgmental, a meddler and could be the most annoying person on the planet. But when it came down to basics, no one loved her offspring—children--more than Mama did.

“Let go now, dear. I can’t breathe.”

“Sorry.” I dropped my arms to my sides. “You don’t have to live your life letting Philip harass you.”

“Don’t you see? He found out I am seeing Rhett and he says he will tell Rhett everything. I will simply die if that wonderful man finds out I am an adulterer.”

I whooshed my breath out and sucked in an even deeper helping of oxygen. “You are not an adulterer. It wasn’t your fault Philip was married to someone else and he lied to you about his friend being a minister. And if Rhett doesn’t care enough to understand that, then he isn’t the right man for you.”

“That is a very easy thing for you to say, miss. But at my age, men of any kind, let alone a good man like Rhett, are not easily come by. Under the circumstances, I can’t marry Rhett. But I’m tired of being lonely. I do not want to end up like Edna Vincent, bless her heart.” Mama whipped a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

Edna Vincent was one of Mama’s friends. She’d gone home from church one Sunday and dropped dead in her bedroom and no one found her for four days. Her parakeet nearly starved to death before Edna’s niece came by to bring her some pound cake and found Edna’s body.

I got up and paced to the fireplace and back. “You are not going to end up like Edna Vincent. And I’m pretty sure Rhett won’t dump you if you tell him the truth, not if he’s the man you say he is.”

“Pretty sure is not good enough. I’m not willing to take that chance and end up permanently lonely.” Uncharacteristically, Mama wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Mama, you are a good woman and I love you and I’m going to find out a way out of this mess for you. I don’t want you to suffer because of a worm like Philip Beauchamp.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

I opened my mouth to continue the argument and Mama raised her hand, stopping me cold. “Please ask your sister to come back and let me tell her the whole story.”

“Sure, I’ll ask her, but I can’t make her listen.”

I slogged upstairs to get my sister. I thought back to the day Mama had told me and DeLorean that she’d changed her name back to Marsh and officially changed DeLorean’s last name from Beauchamp to Marsh. That would have been the perfect time for her to tell us the truth, but instead she came up with the story about how we would be closer as a family if we all had the same last name. And we’d believed her for all these years.

After she found out about Mama’s faux wedding, DeLorean would fuss for a few days and act mortally wounded and then she and Mama would cry and say how much they loved each other no matter what. I couldn’t wait. Until that event came to pass, life at Susan’s was not exactly going to be fun and games.

I planned to sit around for the rest of the evening and mope about Jack and try to puzzle out a solution to the Mama and Philip drama. Then I decided to power up my computer to check my email and rediscovered the packet Veronica had mailed me last week sitting on my desk. I was sure she expected me to have all the work completed when she called me again, probably tomorrow, and if I hadn’t been so busy solving problems for my family all weekend, I wouldn’t be so far behind.

Muttering under my breath at the unfairness of it all, I settled myself in my office and sorted through the million or so papers. Plans for the ghost tours. Copies of advertisements along with lists of phone numbers of publications where I could place ads. Lists and pictures of period furniture Veronica wanted me to hunt up and buy. But nothing I could do until tomorrow, except for writing up a script for a proposed tour of a Charleston cemetery and the house and starting the work of penning the brochure Veronica wanted about the Blackthorn House.

Chapter Fifteen

I didn’t get to bed until two AM thanks to my work on the brochure, which I didn’t finish. In the morning I stumbled in to work feeling like my eyelids were swollen to the size of lemon wedges. If I hadn’t gotten up late, I could have put cucumber slices over my eyes the way Mama is already recommending. But who was I kidding? I would have needed to buy out the entire cucumber sections at Publix and Piggly Wiggly combined to even begin to reduce the swelling.

Patty was waiting at the door. As soon as she saw me, she dragged me to the break room.

“Rough night? Yes, of course. I did your cards before I came in this morning. You are overburdened with responsibility and someone you care deeply about does not understand your need to martyr yourself so you can buy your family’s love and approval to keep them from disappearing into the ether.”

“I’m not in the mood, Patty.” I wished I could roll my eyes, but knew the puffy lids would prevent that kind of flexibility. “Honestly, where do you get this stuff? And don’t say from the Universe because the Universe doesn’t make a habit of conversing with me. Though a case could be made for me martyring myself, I am not buying anyone’s love and approval. And nobody needs a deck of tarot cards to know I have responsibilities. Now move out of my way so I can get to my office.”

“It’s not your office anymore, remember? La Brenda has moved in, taken command, and redecorated in a style that will make you swear you’re in the middle of a magazine shoot for cutesy dens of the South. Come on, take a minute and tell Patty all about your latest troubles. Odell called in late, so we’re safe.”

“Oh, why not? Bring me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you anything your cards haven’t already revealed.” I snared a crooked folding chair and plunked myself down.

Patty brought the coffee and hopped onto the counter. She sat next to the microwave and stared down at me. “Okay, give.”

“First of all there’s my sister DeLorean, her baby, and her golden doodle.” When Patty looked puzzled, I told her it was a designer dog, a poodle-golden retriever cross. I gave her the condensed version of my sister’s arrival, waited for her to make sympathy noises, and launched into an account of Christian’s trip home with Trinity in tow.

When I finished, she said, “Wow, you poor thing.” She slid off the counter and I waved her back up.

“There’s more. Jack was supposed to take me out Saturday night, but no one gave me the message, so he ended up eating dinner at my house, which was not fun, thanks to my family butting in. Next day Mama sprained her ankle and now she and her two Chihuahuas are living in my family room. Jack took me to see his new place. I’m sure he either wanted to tell me he has feelings for me or that he wants us to be best buddies the way we used to be. But I’ll never know since my sister called at the crucial moment having hysterics about a family emergency and I had to go straight home, which did not endear me to Jack. Upon arriving home I discovered that my mother’s ex-husband is not her ex-husband since her marriage was not legal and he was or is married to someone in Arkansas named Lurlene. But he is still trying to extort money from Mama by threatening to tell her new boyfriend that she is an adulterer.” I left out the part about Veronica’s packet of work that I hadn’t finished.

“I knew it!” Patty put her hand over her heart. “You should have seen your card layout. Total and complete chaos all around your family and your love life.”

“Patty, I have no love life.” I spaced the words out for emphasis.

“But the cards say you do.” Her hair started to slip sideways and she passed her hands over the top of her head to adjust it. One of her hair clips sprang loose and flew across the room just in time to pop Odell across the nose as he opened the door. I hauled myself to my feet and picked up the clip, which had ricocheted off Odell to bounce against the microwave and land next to the coffeepot.

“I believe this is yours,” I said, handing it to Patty.

“Thank you much.” Patty reapplied the clip to a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. She pasted on her fake “I really do care about the customers” expression, saluted Odell, and did an about face.

Odell finished turning purple and waving his short little arms and asked me what did I think he was paying me for. Skipping the salute, I made tracks for my ex-office.

I refrained from telling Brenda that the chintz curtains on the window and the posters of puppies and ducklings cavorting in meadows under a guardian angel infested sky were not something a normal person would have chosen for office décor. I settled myself in the new visitor’s chair she’d installed in front of the desk. She seemed to have the work well in hand. I reached for a stack of invoices and she snatched them out of reach.

“Umm,” she said, patting the bun at the back of her neck. “How should I put this?”

“You took a secretarial course where you learned everything there is to know about running an office and you can handle the work without my input?”

“Exactly.” Her pupils had shrunk to the size of BB’s and I knew she didn’t like the little dig about the secretarial course.

I followed Patty’s example and quickly forgave myself. Went her one further and decided to sin no more. It was not Brenda’s fault she was the female version of her Uncle Odell.

With little to do except stare at Brenda’s posters while she worked and ponder where I’d gone wrong in failing to get Jack to understand about my family, it was a long morning. Patty came dancing into the room at lunchtime, asking if I wanted to go out for lunch. She suggested soup and sandwiches.

“Sure.” I would have gone along even if she’d opted for roast groundhog.

“I have the answer to all your problems,” she said when we were settled on opposite sides of a table at Quiznos. “You’ll feel a lot better if you don’t have quite so much to deal with.”

“It’s okay, Patty. The main thing is finding a way to get Philip off Mama’s back. As for the rest of it, it’s all pretty much business as usual. I can’t remember a time when my family wasn’t mixed up in one mess or another and it’s been my job to pitch in. I’m rescue central, you might say.”

“I do say. Definitely.” She tilted her head and squeezed her eyes into slits at the same time. The effect was one of odd angles and slightly off kilter features. “As for your mother’s ex whatever, did you know you can go on the Internet and look up anything you need to know about people? It so happens that I have a subscription to a people finder site and I get three free searches a year. Since I only used one so far, I looked up this Lurlene person he’s supposedly married to. Got her number for you.” She fished in her purse and drew out a crumpled paper.

My eyebrows struggled, trying to rise. Thanks to my still puffy eyelids, they failed. “How do you find time to get any work done?”

“It’s all in how you schedule your work day.” She winked and pantomimed tapping away at a keyboard, surfing the Internet, something she could do only when Odell wasn’t around.

“So you think I should call this woman and ask her to rein Philip in, maybe come to Charleston and haul him back to Arkansas hogtied in the trunk of her car? He’d just show up again like a stray dog that won’t go away after you feed it. Mama would never be safe.”

“Hey, if you want him out of the way permanently, I know people.” At my shocked expression, she laughed and said, “Kidding. The Universe would not condone.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “You know, what he’s doing isn’t legal. I could contact a lawyer.” The only lawyers I knew were my real estate attorney and my divorce attorney, both elderly gentlemen who likely didn’t take on extortion cases, but I could ask them.

“Why bother with a huge legal expense? Find out where he’s staying, go over there, and tell him you’re turning the matter over to the district attorney if he doesn’t leave your mother alone. Then threaten to call Lurlene and get him in really big trouble.”

“I don’t even know if they’re still married, though I suppose I could call her. But how do I find out where he’s staying? Am I suppose to consult the cards?”

Patty shook her finger at me. “Don’t make fun of the powers. All you have to do is dial information or call around to area motels and see if he’s checked in. Of course, you’ll have to trick them into telling you.”

“Hey, good idea. I’m left wondering how you come up with all this cloak and dagger stuff.”

“Experience. Don’t ask me about my ex-husband; even the Universe would prefer that he existed in another dimension.”

When we got back to the shop, Brenda cornered me and thrust a pink memo paper into my hand. “I’m going to lunch with my uncle and I’d rather you didn’t disturb anything on my desk while I’m out.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about, Brenda. I promise.”

She shot me a doubtful look and then scuttled out to join Odell in his SUV. I peeked out from between the chintz curtains until they turned the corner at the end of the block. Then I looked at the memo. It was a message from Veronica asking me to call her. I figured using the phone didn’t count as disturbing Brenda’s desk. And sitting in what used to be my desk chair probably didn’t count either.

Veronica picked up on the third ring. “Susan, have you had a chance to look over the packet I sent you?”

Thank God, I’d remembered. “I’ve already started.”

“Super. I don’t have a spare minute. I thought we wouldn’t be ready for at least another three weeks, but my contractor told me the work’s ahead of schedule. It’s going to be ready in a few days and then I want to have the house decorated as soon as possible. I know that’s short notice, but I need for you to get that advertising in gear and start buying the furniture I listed.”

Oh, right, a list that specific—civil war era couches and beds, two tasteful oil painting at least six feet by eight feet, countless little chairs, tables and knickknacks—Susan was going to produce on command. I pictured hours spent traipsing the sidewalks of Charleston, practically living in antique shops to get the exact items. But I could understand her rush and besides, the sooner she got the ghost tours started, the sooner I’d be moving on with life after the pawn shop.

“I can get going on the advertising.” I’d leave Brenda to her work and go in the back to use my cell phone. I’d tell Odell that Brenda was doing a great job and didn’t need me. He’d probably let me go, but an extra two days pay wasn’t going to amount to much when it came to paying my bills. “The antiques might have to wait a day or so.”

“Don’t wait too long. I tell you, this new firm is moving at the speed of light. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They used to be owned by the Lenley family.”

My heart did a flip. The exact thing Jack had said to me a few days ago in The Pie Plate. Pieces clicked into place, making me feel dense for not having realized sooner.

“Yes, I have heard of them. Jack Maxwell’s running it for the new owners.”

“You know Jack? Wait,” she shrieked. “Your best friend from high school you’ve told me about a million times. He’s your Jack.”

Hardly my Jack. I wrapped a piece of phone cord around my finger and watched my unpolished nail bed turn purple.

“Of course I haven’t met him yet. My office manager hired the firm and I signed the papers. I’m seeing him this afternoon, though. We’ve scheduled a meeting to talk more about the project. I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“That would be great,” I said without enthusiasm. I was sure Jack was still ticked at me for putting my family first.

“Anything else before I ring off?”

“One other thing. I’m all set for the ghost tour business, in fact I’m getting pretty enthusiastic.” Had to. As far as a job it was the only game in town. “But I’ll have to pass on living and working at the B&B. My entire family is now living with me, pets included.”

High-pitched yelp on the other end of the line. “Susan, I don’t know what to say. But that’s okay, I won’t have any trouble finding someone, not with the current job market. Whoops, got to go. I have another call and it’s important. Call me in the morning for a status update, okay?”

The line went dead. I wondered what Jack would say when Veronica told him I’d said hello. I imagined him baring his teeth and hissing like he was warding off something evil.

Brenda and Odell took a long lunch. At least two hours. In between fielding calls from customers and manning the register so Patty could take a break, I didn’t even finish the first page of Veronica’s list of advertisers before I heard Brenda approaching. With a guilty start, I realized that even though she’d made it clear she didn’t want me touching the work, she would still object to me working on personal business. The Brendas of this world are like that.

I slipped out of her chair to flatten myself against the wall opposite the desk with my hands held at my sides and my eyes wide and staring like a criminal caught in the act. But then Brenda probably got that a lot.

She hovered in the doorway. “Uncle Odell wants to see you in his office, Susan.”

“Great,” I said. “Super.” I pulled the lower half of my face into a smile that showed most of my teeth.

The hound eyes, so like her uncle’s, looked ever so slightly less droopy. “I’m sorry. It’s not good news.”

No doubt. Unless I considered getting sent home two days early to be good news. I perked up. I really did need the time for Veronica’s project. Mine and Veronica’s project, I corrected myself. After all, I was her manager for Blackthorn House Ghost Tours. Brenda stepped aside and I slipped into the hallway.

“Odell.” I stood at his door. “You sent for me?”

He motioned for me to come in and I took a few steps toward his desk. He wrote something on an envelope before he glanced up and said, “Brenda tells me she’s already mastered the office system.”

“She’s a sharp lady. And well-educated. I believe she mentioned she took a secretarial course.”

“I know I said you could stay until Wednesday, but Brenda tells me you make her nervous sitting around and—and thinking, that’s what she said. You’re thinking. Makes it hard for her to get her work done.” He went through a series of frowns and throat clearings.

“You’re saying you want me to leave now instead of working out my week.” Wow, I felt almost as psychic as Patty claimed to be.

“That’s what I’m saying. No hard feelings, Ms. Caraway. Family is family.”

I was the last person to disagree with that statement. “I understand. Completely. Uh, it’s been nice working for you, Odell.” Now that I was officially dismissed, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I went back and grabbed my sweater and my purse, waved to Brenda, who was on the phone, and scooted behind the counter to give Patty a quick good-bye hug.

“It’s not good-bye, it’s see you later. ‘Cause we are still close friends and I do expect you to call. We can still meet for lunch.” Patty wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. “Find out where your mother’s former lover is staying, and I’ll ride shotgun when you go after him. I mean it, hon.”

I winced. Mama would die if she ever heard anyone refer to Philip as her former lover. As for going after him, that wasn’t part of my plan. I figured a simple call to an attorney should get him out of the picture for good.

“I’ll call you. That’s a promise.” For lunch. Not for Philip Beauchamp hunting.

I consulted my watch. Still a few good hours left to go antique hunting in Charleston. First I called home to check on Mama and DeLorean. They’d been suspiciously silent all day, and I needed five minutes to verify that they hadn’t become embroiled in another crisis or destroyed the house.

DeLorean took the call. A deep sigh of self-pity whooshed over the line and I braced myself.

“You have no idea what it’s like being stuck in this house all day,” she whined, without even asking how I was doing. For all she knew, I could have been in the clutches of pawnshop robbers or suffering from a fatal case of food poisoning. I allowed myself a moment of annoyance, but I knew a slight from DeLorean was not what really bothered me.

I took a deep breath and said, “I know it’s tough, but I’ll take over and let you get some rest as soon as I get home. I do love you, little sister, and I know it isn’t easy to Mama-sit.” After Philip had shown up yesterday, we’d both decided we couldn’t leave Mama alone again in case he returned.

“You’re a doll.” Her voice held a smile.

“Yeah, I am, and you make sure you remember that.”

Next I rang Jack’s number. I’d decided I needed to apologize for cutting our evening short, though I still didn’t think I’d been wrong to go home to handle a family emergency. Busy. I tried twice more and then got his office. Jack was in a meeting. Right. Veronica’s meeting. I wouldn’t have thought it would have lasted this long. I left a message for him to call back. Almost as an afterthought, I called Veronica’s number and left a message that I was now available full time if she needed me. I headed out for Charleston’s antique stores wishing I knew what the future held. No I didn’t. I couldn’t stand it if I knew for sure that the future was as bleak as I imagined it.

Veronica hadn’t told me what she was willing to pay for the furnishings, and I was so caught up with my problems, I hadn’t thought to ask. All I could do was find what she wanted and put holds on the items. It took me the rest of the afternoon, but I managed to locate a couch and an entire bedroom suite.

By the time I finished shopping, Jack hadn’t returned my call. He was obviously a lot more ticked off than I’d figured. So, who needed him? A week ago, I’d practically forgotten Jack ever existed and all I had to do was forget him again.

Monday was yoga night, but with Mama and DeLorean at the house, I decided I’d skip it. Okay, I was being a poor yoga student and probably some day I’d regret my failure to limber up. But right now I didn’t feel more than a twinge of yoga-skipping guilt. I climbed into the van and stuck the key in the ignition. The opening bars to When the Saints Come Marching In sounded from my cell phone, and I snatched it out of its holster and said hello without even checking the caller ID.

“Got your message. Thrilled you can start right away. Come to Blackthorn House tomorrow morning—eight o’clock.” As usual, Veronica sounded like someone who was juggling ten bowling pins and doing the Highland fling while she spoke on the phone.

“But I need to find the antiques,” I protested, trying not to sound too disappointed that Veronica wasn’t Jack returning my call. I’d planned on heading out about nine thirty or so and getting to Charleston after the stores opened.

“Scrap that. I’ve hired a decorator and she’ll do the buying.”

I held back a sigh of exasperation. “I’ve already picked out some stuff that was exactly what you wanted and put it on hold.” I wouldn’t be able to work for her if she kept changing her plans. I made a mental note to discuss this issue with her.

“You did? Okay, call my receptionist and have her give you the number for the decorator. Tell her—the decorator—what you found and I’m sure she’ll go ahead and pick it up. See you in the morning.”

“Wait, doesn’t this decorator have a name?”

She’d already rung off without hearing my last question, but I didn’t take offense. Veronica actually seems to rev into a special gear to manage her various businesses. I hoped she didn’t expect the same level of energy out of me. It was all I could do to manage my home life—mainly my family and their problems—and still get to work every day. I went ahead and called Veronica’s office and then the decorator.

I pretended it didn’t matter if Jack stayed mad at me forever. I started the van and joined the early rush hour heading out of Charleston toward the high span of the new Arthur Ravenel Bridge over the Cooper River. Toward my right a huge ship, a freighter of some kind, was heading east to some unknown port. I wondered what it would be like to run away to sea and not tell Mama or my sister.

Chapter Sixteen

Eight was way too early to be meeting Veronica downtown--especially since Jack’s truck was parked in the empty lot next door and, having not yet had coffee, I wasn’t ready to face him. I’d been in too much of a hurry to get out of the house and avoid the latest squabble between Mama and DeLorean to take time out for coffee and now I was deeply regretting my haste.

Apparently Mama had decided my sister should cut her hair into a short, sassy bob that would look “ever so much more stylish and more suited to the hot weather of the South,” and DeLorean had decided that South or not, how she wore her hair was her own business. They’d tried to get me to take sides. I’d held up my hands, protested lateness, an impending headache, and a bad hair day. They were still bickering when I scooted out the door.

Veronica was dressed in a navy business suit and a frilly, low-cut, white blouse. Her gold earrings and matching necklace were equally stylish. She’d had her hair done and if there was a strand out of place, I couldn’t see it. I, on the other hand, had pulled my hair back with a couple of clips to get it off my face. Mama had made a remark about me needing to learn to French braid, and I’d replied that I lacked the hair styling gene and that’s when she’d turned her hairdo advice on DeLorean. I’d slipped into office casual--freshly ironed slacks and yellow cotton blouse, light make-up, low heeled leather shoes. Practical, comfortable, and why hadn’t I thought to dress like Veronica?

“Going to a business luncheon?” I asked.

Veronica glanced down and smoothed her skirt. A tiny smile of satisfaction played around her bee stung lips--product of the collagen injections she’d gotten last month. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“You look especially pretty today.” She could have been a beauty queen if she’d been a few inches taller and didn’t mind offering insipid answers to stupid questions thought up by pageant judges.

“Thanks.” She didn’t return the compliment, not that I deserved it. But still. “I’m going to show you around first, and then you can start. I’ve fixed you an office in the front--computer, phone, fax. You’ll love it. I know you can’t wait to get started.”

I peered around cautiously and was relieved to see no sign of Jack. Of course, I wanted to try to get him to understand, to let him know I hoped to continue our friendship. I just didn’t want Veronica around to hear what I had to say.

“Come on,” she said, waving her hand in hurry up motions. “I’m running late. First a quick tour of the finished section. We can’t go in the construction area, though. It isn’t safe.”

“Good. I mean, good idea, we wouldn’t want to fall through the floor or anything.” Or run into Jack.

After a whirlwind tour of the front of the house, I came away with an impression of your typical antebellum Charleston house. Sweeping staircase, hardwood floors, grand chandelier. Modern touches such as electricity and bathroom added later, of course. If there were ghosts in the house, I didn’t hear or see them. I hoped the tourists would have better luck. Otherwise I’d feel like a fraud.

Veronica showed me to a well-lighted, beautifully restored room at the front of the house. “This is the parlor, but for now it’s your office. Help yourself to anything you need. After the construction is finished, you can move up to the third floor--there’s a huge room up there with a fabulous view.”

Apparently sensing my faint misgivings, she added, “Don’t worry, Susan. This business is going to take off and you’ll do great.”

“I’m counting on it. And, Veronica, thanks for giving me a chance. You’re a super person and a really good friend.” I meant every word. If it weren’t for her, I’d be spending the morning at the unemployment office, waiting in line and hoping that I could still draw a check, even though Odell had pretty much fired me.

“I’m the one thanking you.” She gave me a quick hug. “I’m so glad you’ve finally recovered from your divorce. I’ve been really worried about you for the longest time. I mean, you’re always too willing to carry the world on your shoulders. Put some of the blame on T. Chandler where it belongs instead of taking all the responsibility on yourself. Takes two, remember?”

My face flushed. She’d told me the same thing a million times since I’d gotten divorced, which didn’t make me feel one bit better. I’d read somewhere that people who are overly responsible and self-sacrificing are really egotists who are simply engaged in a big power grab. Not exactly flattering. I didn’t like to think of myself as a big power grabber.

“Could we please change the subject?” Like a little kid begging for another bowl of ice cream I shot her a quick smile and then stared down at my feet, barely resisting an impulse to dig my toe into the floor.

“Silly. Of course we can. You know when you called and told me you were going to look for a better job, I could tell by your voice you’d finally started to wake up and move into the future. Perfect, I thought, just in time for my ghost tours. I’ll let Susan handle it.”

Apparently the same thought that everyone in my family had. Often. And at the same time. Must be something to do with the collective unconscious I’d learned about in a book Patty gave me for my birthday.

For the next few minutes, Veronica flitted around like a demented sparrow, pointing out the location of anything I might need, while I kept nodding and saying “great.” Almost as an afterthought, she slid open a drawer and pulled out another thick packet--this one about the house’s history. Photos were included. She glanced at her watch, let out a shriek, and flew out the door, leaving me in my brand new office, which included a mini fridge. I allowed myself a smile of satisfaction. Despite my doubts about ghost hunting tours, the workplace made Odell’s shop look like a slum.

A coffeepot beckoned from a table under the window. I made a fresh pot and settled in to sort through the stack of photos.

I hadn’t done anything like this, not since my college days when I’d handled the paperwork and advertising for Veronica’s gift basket business, but the actual work was easy. The research I needed had been included in the packet and all I had to do was organize it and pull it together into a condensed version.

Occasionally I glanced out the window. The view from the front window was not, like the view from the pawnshop, a parking lot in a seedy looking neighborhood. Instead I could see a brick mansion and a well-tended yard across the street. Traffic was steady, but even the car noises and the steady clop of horses’ hooves as they passed by pulling carriages weren’t enough to distract me.

I even forgot that Jack was in the building. Kind of. Until he sauntered into my office and asked to use the phone.

I glanced up from my monitor to see him standing barely inside the doorway as if he intended to cut and run should I react like a cornered bear defending its cubs. “Give me a second and I’ll go in the other room while you make your call.” I sounded so prim I even disgusted myself.

“That’s okay. It’s not private.” He strode over to the phone, picked up the receiver, and punched in a number.

Still uncertain about whether I should leave, I turned back to my work. I heard him tell someone he had to run home and change first or he might get thrown out of the place. He was wearing a long sleeved shirt and jeans, both of them showing signs of having spent hours in close proximity to a construction site. There were even a few strands of puffy pink insulation dotting the top of his head.

He hung up. “Thanks. My cell phone’s dead. It does that whenever I forget to charge the battery.”

No wonder he hadn’t returned my call. I stood and put both hands on my desk. No time like now, before I lost my nerve. “Jack--I’m sorry about the other night. The last thing I wanted was to leave you and run home to deal with Mama and DeLorean.”

“You do what you have to do just like all the rest of the world.” He shrugged.

“That’s right. I’m glad you understand.”

“Sure, I get it. I guess I always did.” He stared at his watch. His expression was pretty much blank. “Is that all? I’m meeting Veronica for a business lunch and I have to run home and get cleaned up first.”

My lips tightened and my mood plummeted toward my feet. He didn’t understand at all, damn it.

“Jack, wait.” I had so much to say. Such as, maybe I was a little slow or maybe it was because I was the late bloomer Mama always said I was, but I’d figured out since he came back to town that I was crazy about him. And I hoped he felt the same way now that he’d broken up with Kelly. Or I could tell him that I wanted him to take me back to his new house and this time I promised to turn off my cell phone and give him my undivided attention. Or that I wanted to be friends the way we used to be in high school—buddies, pals, anything I could get. Except I couldn’t say any of those things because this time I didn’t feel I was entirely to blame. A surge of something close to anger rose in my chest. People have families and sometimes the families need them. Friends who don’t understand that aren’t really friends.

Jack raised an eyebrow and after a minute or so of us staring at each other like a couple of dogs facing off over a bowl of scraps, I ended the awkward silence by saying crisply, “You have insulation in your hair.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t move to brush it away. “Catch you later.”

A quick wave and he was gone. I sat for a long time, staring at the wall where Veronica had hung a calendar with our opening date circled in red. I was proud of myself for not crawling to Jack and begging forgiveness. I hadn’t done anything wrong and if he didn’t understand that, too bad.

I eventually decided to go out for a sandwich. The weather was perfect, one of those crisp, extra sunny fall days, so I walked to a deli a couple of blocks away and ordered chicken salad on whole wheat.

The food looked good, but I shouldn’t have wasted the money. Even with two glasses of iced tea, my sandwich went down like shredded cardboard. Not surprising. Who wouldn’t be stressed out starting a new job?

With plenty of time left and no desire to rush back to Blackthorn House, I wandered over to Marion Square and sat on a bench. A pleasant breeze blew off the harbor. Squirrels chased each other across the grass and a flock of wrens hopped around pecking at the ground.

I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face while I listened to the birds chirp. Eventually my cell phone played its little tune, and I slowly came back to earth. I dragged the phone out of my pocket, determined to find the will to not answer if it was DeLorean or Mama. I checked the caller ID. Patty.

Patty was okay. Patty hadn’t done anything to ruin my life lately, though the blind date with Herman was questionable.

I cautiously said, “Hello.”

“Susan! You’ll never guess.” She hadn’t sounded this excited since the cards told her Kyle was going to propose before the end of the year.

“Probably not, so go ahead and tell me and that will eliminate a lot of wasted time.”

“The man is going down in flames, I guarantee it.”

I frowned. “Odell?” We’d often talked about what would happen if one of Odell’s loan customers came to the pawnshop to try to get his stuff back after Odell sold it. But I never thought Patty was serious when she said she’d love to witness some oversized redneck kicking Odell’s ass from Mount Pleasant clear over to Ashley.

“Not Odell, you poor confused woman. You aren’t the least bit psychic are you?”

“Well, no, but I have many other good qualities. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“It’s Philip Beauchamp. The ex-lover. I knew the businesswoman friend would work you like a galley slave and you wouldn’t have the time. I made the calls for you while Odell was at lunch with his beloved niece. They went to a special at one of those eat till you drop places, so I knew I was safe. You should have seen them when they waddled back to work. I swear, Susan, they literally looked like they were going to burst out of their clothes. You know, the way sausages crack out of their skins when they’re fried.”

“Thanks for that image. Now what were you going to tell me?” If I didn’t redirect her, she’d spend the afternoon talking about the Hoganboom family and their feeding habits.

“Meet me at the pawnshop after work. I have exactly what you need.”

“What I need? My very own deck of tarot cards? Another blind date? Don’t do me any more favors this week--my nervous system can’t take it.”

“Philip’s location, silly. Isn’t that what you wanted? I’ll go with you to confront him. You’ll be glad you have me along for moral support and I can threaten to put a spell on him. Not that I would, of course. It’s wrong to control someone’s will with magic.”

Right, but it was perfectly okay to threaten people with magic to cow them into submission. Maybe if I donned a witch costume and carried a broom, I could scare Philip myself and cut out the middlewoman.

“Hold up a minute, Patty. I’m positive Philip Beauchamp wouldn’t be frightened off by magic, even if I decided to sic you on him.”

“You never know. People are generally afraid of the unknown. He might get worried enough to back off and then we’d be heroes.”

Yeah, no doubt she figured he’d be so scared he’d run all the way back to Arkansas whimpering like a whipped dog. I shook my head. She’d gotten way too involved in her tarot if she thought she could influence Philip so easily.

“Forget about going after him. I’ll call a lawyer and have him deal with Philip. Besides I won’t have time to go anywhere after work since I promised to let my sister use the van. And DeLorean barely knows how to boil water and with her ankle, Mama is in no shape to cook. She’ll lecture me for days if she has to hunker up to the stove on a stool from the breakfast bar to fix her own supper.”

“Stop arguing and listen to what I’m saying. Your mother will be so grateful, she’ll forget all about the inconvenience. Damn. Wait a minute.”

I heard Patty ring up a customer, murmuring something about “nice stereo except for that big crack in the side.” Then she was back on the line. “I figured Philip might be up to his old tricks. About fake marrying, I mean. So I used up my last free search. If I need another one before the end of the year, you can pay for it, okay?”

“Sure, no problem.” I watched a pigeon lift off from the statue of John C. Calhoun in the front of the square and dive bomb out of the sky to scatter the wrens.

“Anyway, I was right. About Philip marrying. Only this time he might be married for real, and I called Lurlene and checked and he’s still married to her. If the second marriage is real, it’s bigamy, Susan. Bigamy.”

“You called Lurlene?” I rose half off the bench and then plopped back down like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Why not? I’m always willing to help other people solve their problems, you know that.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it help in Lurlene’s case. She might be better off living in blissful ignorance.” I jumped to my feet and started pacing in circles around my bench.

There wasn’t a chance that Philip would continue to threaten Mama now. He’d be too busy trying to stay away from Lurlene. At least I hoped so. “But that gives me all the more reason to let a lawyer deal with him.”

“You said he gave your mother until Wednesday to pay up. That’s tomorrow.”

“I know when it is, Patty. I’ll call someone before I leave work today.” I could phone Lawrence Lee Little, my divorce attorney. He should be able to advise me on what to do about Philip. Mama could have done the same thing, instead of worrying herself sick that Philip would make good on his promise to tell all. But she hadn’t, so it had become my chore.

“Are you sure you want to wait? I’ve always found that the sooner you deal with ex lovers to get them out of your life, the better.”

“I’m sure. One more thing--do me a favor and stop calling Philip my mama’s ex lover. She really thought she was married to him. Mama is the last person in the world who would take a lover or even think about taking a lover.”

“That’s right, your mother is all church isn’t she?”

“She’s religious, yes.” I slung my purse over my arm. I had barely enough time to return to work before my hour was up. “Patty, thanks. I’ll call my lawyer and let you know what happens.”

When I got back, Jack was still out. I called and left a message for Mr. Little and turned to my computer, burying myself in fact and legend about Charleston and the Blackthorn House, somehow managing to weave the two together into a tightly written narrative while I ignored the sounds of hammering and sawing coming from upstairs.

I finished the brochure before the end of the workday and it was a real feat as far as I was concerned. It’s hard to write with personal thoughts trying to intrude on your work. And it’s even more hard to forget your problems and focus when you have an ex best friend who’s trying to control how you feel about your family. People aren’t saints, me especially.

At least I’d taken action on Mama’s problem—if you could call leaving a message with my attorney action. I figured if Lawrence Little didn’t get back to me by four o’clock, I’d call him again.

Jack’s lunch lasted more than two hours. Not that I was keeping track on purpose, but I did have that big front window and who could blame me for using it? Finally I saw him drive back into the parking lot and a minute later I heard him come in the front door. He didn’t stop by to say hello. In fact, I didn’t see him again until it was almost time for me to leave work for the day.

Veronica wandered in about ten minutes before quitting time. She’d changed her clothes and now she was wearing a sapphire colored silk dress that matched her contact lenses of the day. I’d admired the same dress in the window of a little boutique on King Street. The boutique didn’t have my size, but that was okay, I didn’t have the price they were asking unless I wanted to eat nothing but crackers and water for a month. Too bad. It would have looked pretty on me, would have minimized the slight bulges on my hips. On Veronica it looked stunning.

“Hi, Susan. Did you finish placing the ads?”

“I’m working on that tomorrow. I have a rough draft of the brochure ready and as soon as I have your approval, it goes to the printers.”

“Already? Fantastic.” She came around to my side of the desk, and I moved aside to let her read through my work. When she finished, she turned to me, nodding and smiling. “I wouldn’t change a word. Send it like this and use at least four photos. After you finish the ads, I’ll need you to write up a press release and set up interviews. I won’t have time for those, so the media will have to talk to you.”

Right. The media. Veronica was going all out, but then I could have predicted she’d be a whiz at publicity. I pictured myself on the local cable channel and the radio. It certainly beat working for Odell Hoganboom.

But despite having buried myself in work all afternoon, I couldn’t entirely get Jack out of my mind. Either that or I had some need to torment myself.

“So,” I said, “now that we’ve got the topic of publicity out of the way, how was your lunch with Jack?”

“Lovely. He really is nice and a great conversationalist.” She whipped a little mirror out of her purse and held it up to her face to inspect her makeup. “We went to that new seafood place that everyone’s talking about.”

My personal torment session was going nicely. Hearing the details of Veronica’s lunch date with Jack completely took away any sense of joy or accomplishment I might have had over my success with the brochure. My stomach sank a few inches lower and a little vein in the side of my head started pulsing like a miniature heart.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” I said, “how’s your boyfriend? Walter--isn’t that his name?”

She patted her hair. “Walter’s probably fine. At least he was last time I checked.” Then she returned the mirror to her purse, drew out a lip gloss, and touched up her already perfect lips. “I haven’t spoken to him in a week. First I was out of town, then he left for Munich on business. He tried to play phone tag, but I’ve been too tied up with this place and with a deal I have going with office space over in Ashley to get around to catching up with Walter.”

Really? You would have thought she could have taken time out of her two-hour lunch with Jack to call her boyfriend. Even I had taken time out of lunch for a phone call. Only of course I didn’t have a boyfriend or an imaginary boyfriend or even—now that Jack had decided I was too attached to my family to be worthy of his attention—a friend who was a guy.

“Anyway,” she went on before I could decide whether to say I was sorry about Walter, “I guess I’d better let you out of here. Eight again tomorrow, okay?”

I assured Veronica I’d be back at eight, gathered my purse, and found I couldn’t leave because Jack was standing in the doorway. “Hi,” he said in my direction. Then, turning to Veronica, he said, “The crew’s done with the second floor front bedroom. You ever decide whether you want to keep the French doors for access to the porch or did you want to close that off and just have access from the upstairs sitting room?”

Veronica simpered and lit up like someone had stuck a couple of ten thousand watt wires in her ears. Didn’t she know that showing so much enthusiasm wasn’t a good look for her?

“Jack, what do you think?” she sang. “You’re the expert with these old houses.”

“If it were mine, I’d stick with the original as much as possible. People on ghost tours are going to want to hear that the house is more or less as it was when it was built.”

“That makes sense.” She suddenly had the grace to remember that I was in the room and I was supposed to be her ghost tour manager. “Susan, do you agree?”

“Sure.” I beamed Jack a toothy smile. “As long as you don’t paint the trim tan and tangerine and teal.”

“Tan and Tangerine? What do you mean?” Veronica said looking from me to Jack and back again.

“Nothing. Kind of an inside joke.” Heat flooded my face. A really lame inside joke.

Jack was staring at me and the blush was lasting way too long. If it didn’t go away soon, I was going to have to stick my head in a bucket of ice water.

“Nic was reminding me of a mistake I made once,” Jack said. He stepped to one side and motioned for me to pass. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to block your way. I’m sure your family needs you at home.”

Managing to avoid shooting a glare at him, I marched past. Before I left Charleston I went to the nearest grocery to pick up a loaf of bread and more dog food as well as some yogurt and fruit to stock my office mini fridge in the morning. When I drove back past the mansion on my way home, the construction crew had gone, but Jack’s truck and Veronica’s Miata were still snuggled side by side in the lot next door.

An evil troll forced its way into my head and wouldn’t go away. It’s obvious they’re going out tonight. Why else would Veronica be dressed like that with Walter out of the country? She’s supposed to be your friend. Your best and dearest friend. And even though she already has a boyfriend, she’s stealing Jack from you without a second thought.

No, she wasn’t. Because I didn’t have Jack. And I certainly didn’t want him.

I gave myself a mental slap and gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make my joints ache. I was thinking bitchy thoughts and Veronica deserved so much better from me.

I tromped on the gas. Jack and Veronica would go out. I would sit home with Mama and Cole and the Chihuahuas while DeLorean had an evening with her friends. Poor me. Poor, lonely useless me.

“Stop whining,” the troll said after about a minute of me wallowing in self-pity like a hog in a mud hole. “You have things to do. Important things. Wouldn’t Jack be surprised to know you have a life?”

No. Jack was not interested in my life any more than I was interested in his. But the troll was right about the whining. I’d gotten so wrapped up in my work, I’d never remembered to call Lawrence Little again. There was also the fact that Philip was trying to blackmail Mama, but blackmail might be hard to prove. He’d never, as far as I knew, asked for money in front of a witness. He was too smart for that. But did I really want to have DeLorean’s father arrested? Wouldn’t it be enough to let him know I was on to him so he’d leave town and never come back? Sure beat sitting home listening to imaginary violins playing songs of pity.

I called Patty and caught her before she left the shop. “Still up for that trip to the motel to have a talk with Philip Beauchamp?”

“Woo-hoo! What made you change your mind, lady?”

“Got tired of sitting around worrying and decided I’d take charge of the situation.” Mama had been really upset Sunday. Another visit from Philip wouldn’t do her blood pressure any good. Besides, I’d given the matter a lot more thought and realized that even if Philip were actually married to the second woman and committing bigamy it would take a while for the authorities to investigate and arrest him. And if he weren’t, we’d be right back to the beginning. If I could convince him I was going to report him to the police, that should be enough to get him to back off. I wouldn’t promise not to contact his new wife, though.

“Can you pick me up so we can ride together?”

“I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Maybe you can consult the Universe for slime busting tips while you wait.”

When I got back to Mount Pleasant, I ran by the house to drop off my groceries so Brad could eat. He’d run out of food this morning.

DeLorean met me at the door. She was fully made up and had on a semi sheer black blouse and a black mini skirt that made her legs look about ten feet long. She held out her hand, palm up. “Keys?”

I ignored the hand and pushed past her to the refrigerator. “Sorry. Change of plans.” She was going to flip and I couldn’t blame her.

“What change of plans? You have to take over Mama and Cole before I turn into a raving hysteric. I called some of my friends, girls I went to high school with, and we’re supposed to meet at Reds Sports Bar.”

From the back yard a booming bark split the air and then something galloped past the kitchen window. DeLorean put her hands over her ears and took a deep breath. “Brad barks at everything he even thinks is moving. My nerves are shredded.”

“Here’s his food. I’m sure he’s starving and make sure his water dish is full.” I put the bag on the kitchen island. “I have to leave right away. My friend is expecting me.”

“Jack? Can’t he make it another time.” DeLorean could pout more effectively than anyone I’d ever met--a pout guaranteed to put me on a guilt trip.

“Not Jack. I have other friends, you know.” I didn’t tell her the friend was Patty. Maybe she’d think I was going on a date.

“You can’t do this. It isn’t fair after I waited all day. It is soooo not like you to be this selfish, Susan.” Any minute she’d start foaming at the mouth, which would do some serious damage to the under made-up, but naturally gorgeous look she’d achieved with lip gloss and a touch of blush.

“Trust me. This is for your own good. Call your friends and tell them you’ll be late. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I blew her a kiss.

I grabbed a sweater from the front closet. The breeze blowing inland had stiffened and cooled the air into the nippy category since noon. As I dashed across the yard to the van, I managed to pull on the sweater.

When I got to the corner, I glanced in the rear view mirror, half expecting DeLorean to be running down the street after me shaking her fist. Nope. Hopefully she was in the back yard feeding Brad.

Chapter Seventeen

Patty jittered around near the front door of the pawnshop. As soon as I pulled in to the parking lot, she waved like mad, as if I could miss seeing her in her high heeled black boots, tie-dyed red and orange crepe dress topped by a denim jacket, and with her black hair flying around her head like a wind-tossed cape.

I reached across the seat to fling the door open. “Hurry up. The traffic’s horrible and I don’t want to be too late getting home.” I didn’t add that DeLorean still planned to go out as soon as I got back with the van. She’d take it the wrong way.

Patty hopped in. “Wow, I can’t believe I managed to solve what amounts to a mystery. Actually, I can believe it. We psychics have a built in advantage.”

“Can you stop congratulating yourself long enough to tell me where we’re headed?”

“Chuck’s Alamo Budget Motel. Get back on the highway and go toward Moncks Corner.”

“I thought the Alamo Motel was that big yellow place in Ashley.”

“That’s the Palomino Grand Motel. Not the fanciest place in town, but better than the Alamo.” She pointed. “Go right. I printed out a map from the Internet when Odell wasn’t looking. God, don’t you hate the way he charges for paper if you use the printer?”

After a few miles, she sat up straighter and said, “Hey, look at this street. Talk about low rent. Philip was staying uptown at one of those two hundred dollar a night places, but looks like he had to downgrade.” She squinted and peered out the window.

He’d had to downgrade, all right. Actually, I’d been surprised when Patty told me he was at a place like the Alamo Budget Motel. Budget anything was not Philip’s style, especially if he had a woman to provide money for him to spend.

“He’s been in Charleston at least a week. He must have run short of funds.”

“You might say that. His new wife threw him out.”

“He got dumped already?” I swiveled sideways to look at her and nearly rammed a parked car.

“Before I found out he was at the Alamo, I called his first hotel. The latest Mrs. Beauchamp, who seems to have money, is still there. She didn’t mind telling me where he was and spilling her secrets to a total stranger--not after I, uh, let her think I might be a private detective.”

“You let her think what?”

Patty shrugged. “This latest wife was paying for everything while he ‘waited for a business deal to come through.’ Then she caught him flirting with a barmaid about the same time she figured out he wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. She said something about how she was going to rearrange his anatomy.”

My mouth had dropped open and now I shut it so I could swallow. “Did you tell her where Philip’s staying now?”

“I figured she could find out on her own same way I did. But I may have slipped and mentioned Lurlene, wife number one back in Little Rock.”

My eyes bulged. “You did not.”

Silence. I swallowed again. Hard. She was probably telling the truth. I would hate to be Philip when either or both of the wives caught up to him. But by the time that happened, I would have delivered my message and he would be on his way out of town and out of Mama’s life.

I pushed on, scanning both sides of the road. We were not in one of the Charleston area’s nicest neighborhoods. Finally, to my left, a pink neon sign indicated the end of my search.

Chuck’s Alamo Budget Motel was one of those fallen-on-hard-times places that didn’t even have an old pool to collect algae. The building was cinderblock, painted a color that might have once been flamingo. Bars on the windows of the office did not lend an aura of warm and fuzzy. A few of the rooms sported plywood where there should have been window air conditioners. Lacked curb appeal, as they say on those real estate shows I am so fond of watching.

“He’s in Room 200,” Patty said, consulting a scrap of paper she’d dragged out of her pocket.

I peered at the numbers on the closest rooms. They started with ten and went up by tens. I counted. Twenty doors. That meant 200 was the last room in the row.

I yanked the wheel hard, jolted over a bump I hadn’t seen, and finally fetched up next to a sharp looking El Camino with Nevada plates. The car was an older model that had been beautifully restored, custom painted silver and cherry. I cut the van’s engine and sent Patty a “what next?” look. I’d thought I was all set for running Philip out of town, but now I wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t like I did this sort of thing every day.

“Hope he’s in his room,” I said. Lie. I longed to go home for a hot bath, scented candles, and a cup of herbal tea. No, that wouldn’t happen. As soon as I walked in the door, I’d have to take over the care and feeding of Cole, Mama, and the dogs to give DeLorean a break. “But this early in the evening, he’ll be at the nearest cheap diner.”

Patty shook her head. “Nope.” She pointed. “That’s gotta be his car. Truck. Whatever--the El Camino thing. He married the latest Mrs. Beauchamp in Las Vegas and they drove out here for the big honeymoon.”

“Okay, guess you’re right.” I reached deep inside myself hoping to find some long dormant ass-kicking gene. The Philip Beauchamps of this world do not fold their cards at the first sign of trouble. Not when they smell easy money and especially not when they are in urgent need of said money because their rich wives dumped them. “Maybe we should tell someone at the office we’re here in case there’s trouble.”

“Don’t be silly. The only concern of the desk clerk is how many times a night he can rent these rooms.” Patty had been pawing in her purse ever since I stopped the van and now she pulled out a can of pepper spray. “Don’t worry. I have jackass repellent and I know how to use it.”

“You’re probably right. About the office I mean.” I took a deep breath and flung my door open. “Wait here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, send out a search party.”

“Hold it, Susan. I’m not letting you face him alone. Why do you think I came along?”

I eyed her sideways. “The cards tell you something I need to know?”

She hesitated and then shook her head. “I’m used to dealing with nasty slime like him. You, on the other hand, have led a sheltered life and suffered through the upbringing of a southern lady.”

“Hey, unfair. Didn’t I successfully get T. Chandler--slime lite--out of my life?”

“Doesn’t count. He wanted to be out of your life. In fact, isn’t he the one who left you?”

Ouch. So true, but I was quite sure I didn’t want to keep him, especially not after I found out about Crystal. Still, why did Patty think I couldn’t deal with Philip? On the other hand, maybe she had a point. It might have something to do with the fact that I hadn’t yet learned to say no to anyone in my family, canines included, so I didn’t have much of a track record when it came to confrontation.

“Give me your purse,” she said. “Once he finds out you’re not giving him the money, he might try to steal your wallet or something.”

I doubted it. But I tossed her my purse and she put the strap over her shoulder. Then she slid out of the van, the can of pepper spray clutched in her right hand and held out in front of her like a loaded gun. She barreled toward the door of Room 200 until I caught up and put a restraining hand on her arm.

“My family. My problem.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. I could imagine the wheels turning in her head. “Yeah,” she said finally, “it might be a good idea to have your backup wait outside the way they do on those TV cop shows, though I never pictured myself as your sidekick.”

“Gosh, I’m feeling just better and better about myself.”

“Hey, don’t take it the wrong way. It’s only that you’ve been so passive ever since I’ve known you, sort of like a lamb following its mama.” She waved her arm around, and I ducked in case the pepper spray had a hair trigger.

“I’m going to kill you after I’m done with Philip, Patty.”

She looked doubtful about my ability to deal with Philip, but she stepped back and held up the can. She shook it to make sure I got the message and moved over to stand behind a half-dead palm tree in the grass strip on the other side of the El Camino.

“Go,” she stage whispered. “I’ve got your back.”

I rolled my eyes. When it came to drama, she could be as bad as Mama and DeLorean combined. Before I lost my nerve, I strode up to Room 200 and pounded against the wooden door with the side of my fist. Though it kind of hurt my hand, the pounding action seemed to instill some kind of resolve in me, adding a strength I hadn’t felt a few moments ago.

The curtain at the front window flicked sideways for the briefest of seconds and then I heard the sound of someone fumbling with the door lock. The door moved inward a fraction. A pale face and a set of eyes floated in front of me.

“Got the money?” Philip rasped. “About time. Something’s come up business-wise, and I have to move on.” He peered over my shoulder. No doubt he was checking to be sure there wasn’t a mob of torch-bearing vigilantes milling around behind me.

New resolve or not, the last thing I wanted was to go into his motel room with him, but with Patty waiting behind a tree, pepper spray in hand, I’d be okay. Besides, the door was flimsy and warped along one side and I was surprised it would even lock. If need be, I was sure I could kick it open the way actors did with those special breakaway doors.

“I have it,” I said, holding my arm against my side to give the impression I had a bulky package hidden under my sweater. I didn’t even know how much cash I was supposed to be giving him.

“Come in and we’ll get this over with.” When I hesitated, he added, “I don’t have all damn night.”

“Got a plane to catch?”

“You might say that.”

The door opened wider, enough for me to fit myself in the narrow space between the frame and the door edge. I slid inside and watched as he pushed the door shut, redid the lock and poked the chain into its slot. I glanced around, glad it wasn’t me living at the budget motel. The room smelled of mildew and old food wrappers. The rug was so worn I couldn’t be sure there was actually a rug or if I was just looking at random fibers glued to the concrete. The bedspread—ragged, mouse colored, stained—hung crookedly off the side of the bed. Motel issue lamp, phone, and nightstand completed the decor. No sign of a TV, though there was a broken piece of plastic that might have once been part of a TV stand bolted to the floor.

Philip held out his hand like a kid expecting me to slap a chocolate bar onto his palm on Halloween Night. “What are you waiting for?”

I scowled. “You’re not going to get money from my mother or from anyone else in my family.” My voice trembled ever so slightly. Not what I’d hoped for, but I was doing okay, already feeling an adrenaline rush. “I know all about wife number—whatever. Could be twenty for all I know. The new one in a hotel across the river. I’m sure she’d love to teach you a lesson. I’m sure she’d love to know you’re already married to Lurlene, who is no doubt sharpening her knife back in Arkansas at this very moment. In fact, I’m sure Lurlene is wondering when you’re coming home. I have her number and I will call her right now if you don’t stop harassing my mother. What I really ought to do is call the police, but out of respect for Mama’s feelings, I’m going to hold off on that.”

Patty would have been proud of me. The voice tremble had melted away to be replaced by the authoritative tone of someone in charge of a situation--a police officer or even a judge.

Philip’s face twisted into a reptilian sneer. I wanted to slap some respect into him.

“I’m not afraid of a bunch of stupid women. I happen to know that Regina, the stupid cow, would jump off the nearest bridge before she’d let me tell her new sweetheart about her past. Her reputation means the world to her, and that’s as good as money in my pocket.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.” I shook with rage. What I’d felt before was just a warm up. This excuse for a human being was talking ugly about my mama and I was going to take him down. “You know something, Philip? You were never good enough for my mother. And you don’t know her, you never did. Mama has more courage and goodness and character in one finger than you’ve ever thought of having.”

“Do tell. Let’s see what kind of song she sings after I present my ultimatum. Your little attempt to scare me off is going to cost her double what I originally asked for.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and shot him a look I hoped managed to convey all the warmth and love I’d show for a hungry roach rummaging through my kitchen cabinets. “Either you leave town tonight and never bother my mother again, or I’ll call them all—Lurlene, the new wife, and the police. Mama’s strong. She’ll get over all the unpleasantness. But you won’t have such a great time. I hear that jail food isn’t exactly up to your gourmet standards.”

The sneer deepened into something truly ugly. He took a step toward me and I took a step back and glanced behind me. Too late, I realized I shouldn’t have let him stand between me and the door. The bathroom door was behind me, about eight feet back, but I couldn’t count on there being a window in the bathroom--or a lock on the door. My cell phone was in my purse--but my purse was outside hanging off Patty’s shoulder.

Great planning. Primo, as Trinity would have said.

His hands curled into fists. “You’re bluffing. Your mother doesn’t want the boyfriend knowing she and I were never married. Or her church crowd.”

“Nothing you have to say can ruin my mother’s reputation. She didn’t do anything wrong.” As I spoke, I continued to inch backward. My plan was to get him to keep moving toward me and then I’d leap sideways onto the bed, bounce off on the other side, and get behind him, closer to the door than he was. I might not have time to get the lock open before he grabbed me, if that’s what he had in mind. But hopefully I could make enough noise to alert Patty.

I might as well have been thinking out loud. Philip moved away from me until he was directly in front of the door, a few feet in front of it.

“I still think you’re bluffing, you little bitch. Go over to the nightstand and pick up the phone. Get your mother on the line and have her tell me herself that she doesn’t mind if I let her fancy boyfriend know all about what a hypocritical slut she is.”

My heart rate got a fraction slower and steadier and I fought down a triumphant grin. The idiot. He was sending me to the phone. As soon as I picked up, I was dialing the police. My fingers were so ready to key in 911, they actually curled into position.

Something flickered on his face and with a sinking in my stomach, I knew I’d telegraphed my intentions. Either that or he’d realized for himself how stupid his plan was.

“On second thought, I’ll make the call.” He gestured for me to move back against the far wall.

Instead, I made a dive across the bed toward the nightstand. He was closer and he beat me to it, snatched up the phone, and yanked the cord out of the wall. I rolled off the bed and ended up on the floor, sure that I’d bruised both knees on the concrete when I landed. He lunged for me and I rolled out of the way and scrabbled to my feet, once again cursing myself for failing to plan ahead.

All my acrobatics had come to nothing. He still stood between me and the outside. And my knees throbbed like twin migraines.

“I’ve given you all the warning you’re going to get, Philip. Now I’m leaving.” If I could still walk.

“Not until I get my money.”

“You can’t stop me. My friend is right outside that door and…and her boyfriend is a taxidermist. I mean, he’s big, a huge, strong guy. He’s a taxidermist, too, but I don’t suppose he wants to waste his time stuffing you. Not that anyone would want to display a giant, thieving rat in their living room. Or their den.”

“You’re babbling, Susan. You used to do that when you were a little girl and you got nervous. Remember? Every time it thundered or I raised my voice, you’d start babbling, making about as much sense as a monkey in the zoo. Scared.” He grinned his triumph, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I am not,” I said. Damn, the tremble in the vocal cords was back. “I’m angry. Very angry. You’re going to be so sorry you ever came back into my mother’s life.”

I pressed against the wall and we locked ourselves into a stare-off. I was determined to find a way out of here, whether I went through the doorway or not. I wondered if the window glass was as thick as it looked. Even if it were as thin as paper, though, I’d never reach it ahead of him. My thoughts raced for a second and then my mind prodded me to supply another option for escape, something other than the door or window.

Sorry, I thought. I don’t see a skylight or a convenient hatch in the floor.

But I didn’t have to ponder the lack of an escape route for long. Someone--or something--flung itself against the door. With a crack that sounded like lightning splitting a pine tree, the wood splintered and the lock snapped apart.

I flinched. Breaking the door down was a little extreme, even for Patty, but I certainly wasn’t going to scold her for it. What was left of the door hit the floor, the second zero of the room number hanging sideways by one nail. A bulky form backlit by a streetlight loomed in the doorway.

Female, I guessed. But not Patty.

Philip’s lower jaw dropped open and hung there like a broken hatch. He seemed to shrink inside himself as I watched. His face drained and turned the color of raw butter before he inched backward to stand next to the bed.

“Lurlene. Sweetie.” He pasted on a sickly grin and flung his arms wide in hugging position.

The bulk rumbled into the room, crunching what was left of the door under what looked like size twelve running shoes. She was wearing canary colored stretch pants and a chartreuse pullover sweater that was a size too small. She did not rush into his arms with cries of joy.

“Why I didn’t kill you the first time I caught you cheating, I don’t know. I must have been in a real good mood that day.” She swiveled in my direction and rested her hands on her broad hips—hips that probably needed to do a lot of scrunching to fit into a seat in a movie theater. And big hands, hands that could probably palm a basketball if she wanted them to. “Well. He picked himself a younger one this time, didn’t he? Though I can’t imagine what someone as pretty as you would want with this old goat. Guess you believed the lies about him having money, didn’t you, sweetie?”

I fought down a burst of nausea and waved my hands in denial. “I’m not her. The new wife. I’m Susan Caraway. My mother is the one who thought she was married to him last time you were here. A long time ago. But it was a huge mistake and she didn’t do anything bad. He lied to her and never told her he was married.”

Lurlene’s expression didn’t soften one bit. “Then he’s up to something else besides getting married again. Let me guess. It involves money.”

“He’s trying to extort money from my mother. Threatening to tell her friends and her church they were never married and that my sister was born out of wedlock.” Dimly I heard an engine rumbling outside. In fact, with the door broken, I could hear all the traffic sounds as well as quick footsteps tapping against the sidewalk. I glanced past Lurlene and saw a shadow slide up next to Philip’s car. Thank goodness. Patty hadn’t forgotten her promise to watch my back. She’d probably started the van so we could make a quick getaway--as soon as I figured how to get past Lurlene without her damaging me.

“I’m not surprised. If there is one thing Philip loves, it is money. He is like a bee sniffing out a flower when it comes to cold cash. A real smooth talker who takes advantage of innocent women like a booth operator at the county fair talking country folk out of their last few dollars.”

“Yes, well I’m sorry he turned out so bad. Husbands can disappoint. I divorced mine last year after he cheated on me.” As I spoke, I shuffled my feet along the floor, moving gradually toward the exit to gauge her reaction. I hadn’t gotten any promises from Philip, but judging from the way he was cowering next to the bed, he wouldn’t bother Mama again. Not after Lurlene got through with him. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but I’ve got to head on home. Could you please step aside, Mrs. Beauchamp?”

Before Lurlene could shift her bulk, another female form appeared in the doorway. I groaned. Still not Patty. This woman, unlike Lurlene, wore a silk dress and shoes that probably cost more than everything in my closet put together. Her platinum hair was piled in waves on her head, probably held in place with industrial strength spray. From the way her skin was pulled up around the corners of her eyes and the way her expression stayed pleasant despite her finding her cheating husband in a motel room with two women, I concluded she’d had some work done.

“You rat. You horrible, thieving con man,” she said, spacing the words out for emphasis.

Lurlene raised a quizzical eyebrow. “The latest Mrs. Beauchamp, I presume?”

The latest looked at her, then at me, then back to Lurlene. “I’m Katherine. And you are?”

“Lurlene. Welcome to the club, sister.” Lurlene jabbed her thumb at me. “And this is Susan. She’s not a wife, she’s the daughter of another woman he swindled. She’s here to get him to stop blackmailing her mother out of what’s left of her money.”

“Blackmail? On top of everything else? I am taking back the El Camino, Philip.”

Wow, this wife meant business. You go, girl, I thought.

“By the time I get done with you, you will wish you had moved out of the country before you ever set eyes on me,” she added.

I stared, fascinated. It was eerie the way Katherine could screech and tremble with rage while her facial skin didn’t move. From her expression, you would have guessed she was telling Philip she’d cooked him a nice lobster dinner.

Lurlene chuckled deep in her throat. “Honey, you’re going to have to stand in line. I get him first.”

As if by mutual agreement both women approached Philip, claws held out in front of them with wicked determination. I saw my chance and scampered out of the room behind them.

Chapter Eighteen

Patty was leaning against the side of the van studying her fingernails when I shot outside. When she looked up and saw me, she stood up straight and stretched like a lazy cat sunning itself in a window. “What took you so long?”

“For God’s sake, Patty, I thought you were going to watch my back. Those women might have decided to take their anger out on me instead of Philip. Some sidekick you are.”

“I heard everything.” She waved a hand at me. “The only danger in that room is to that worthless ex-lover of your mother’s.”

“Didn’t I already ask you to stop calling him that? I mean, worthless is okay, but he’s not Mama’s ex-lover. Let’s get out of here. My nerves are shredded.”

“Can’t. Not unless you have two spares.” She flicked her thumb at the passenger side tires of my van.

I stared in horrified disbelief. “Flat? Both of them. What’s next, a UFO showing up on my roof?”

When I’d first pulled into the parking lot, I’d thought I’d rolled over a bump. Now I walked halfway across the lot and I could see that it was no bump I’d encountered, but a board studded with nails. I heaved the offending object into the motel Dumpster and then marched back to Patty dusting off my hands.

“The perfect end to a perfect day.” At least I wasn’t Philip. The last time I looked, he was being frog marched by both his wives to a rental car parked at the back of the lot.

Patty yawned. “Don’t get so worked up. I wasn’t out here counting the stars while you dealt with that mess. Help is on the way.”

“You called a tow truck?” I brightened. An extra expense I didn’t need, but we had to get home somehow and I couldn’t leave the van here to be stripped.

“Uh-Uh. Jack did.”

My bright mood evaporated like mist. “Jack? Why in the world would you involve him? You can be so dense when it comes to other people’s feelings and I can’t understand that coming from someone who’s addicted to self-help books and Dr. Phil.

“Get a grip, Susan. It’s not like I carry the numbers for tow trucks around with me or that I’m a walking phone book. I looked in your purse, found your phone and Jack’s business card and called him. He’s sending a truck.”

“Why didn’t you call Kyle? I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded helping.”

“Kyle’s at a taxidermist show in Greenville. He entered the raccoon family he did for his friend and he says if he wins first place he’s taking me to Myrtle Beach for a weekend.”

“How nice for you. Glad someone is having a great life and weekends at Myrtle Beach.” I snatched my purse away from her. I’d politely thank Jack for sending a tow truck when I saw him at Blackthorn House tomorrow, probably when he showed up looking for Veronica. I hoped he wouldn’t complain too much about their date being ruined by my car troubles. “You could have called my house and asked DeLorean for help.”

Patty snickered. “You’re kidding, right? From what you’ve told me, I suspect she’d have a meltdown. Why are you being so bitchy anyway?”

“I’m not being bitchy, though I admit I’m not in the greatest of moods. But that’s only because I didn’t want Jack involved. I can sort out my own messes without help from him or any other man on the planet.” I was managing—barely—to keep a tight hold on my emotions. Hysteria in the middle of a crime district could get me the wrong kind of attention.

“Tell him yourself, then. He’s on his way. In fact, that must be him in the car following behind the tow truck that just pulled in.” She peered toward the road and waved.

I followed the direction of her gaze. “I am now going to kill you. Slowly and with great satisfaction.”

Two vehicles rolled to a stop in front of us. Jack got out and walked around the van assessing the damage. The tow truck driver, a hygienically challenged type wearing greasy overalls and a Carolina Panthers ball cap, made a remark about careless driving. Then he got down to business and hooked the van up for tow. I gave him the name of my mechanic and asked him to leave it at the shop. I watched him leave before I turned to Jack and fake-smiled so big it felt like my cheeks were going to split open.

“Thanks so much. But you really didn’t have to interrupt your date to come way out here. I was telling Patty this very minute she could have called DeLorean.”

“No trouble. Get in and I’ll take you home.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of his car.

He walked over to the driver’s side. Patty scurried after him and climbed in the back seat. Too late I realized I should have forged ahead of her so she’d have to ride shotgun and I could take the back.

As soon as I got in and shut the door, Jack said, “Dammit, Nic, what in the hell were you doing? This isn’t the safest place to hang out, as you well know. And in case you still need a clue, did you see the bars on the office window and the general run down appearance of the whole street?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, slum central. But it’s all over now, Mr. Safety Police. Patty and I were taking care of a minor matter for my mother. Problem solved, mission accomplished. And if you’re into business speak--no more crime issues to disrupt the new paradigm. I am sorry she bothered you.”

Patty tapped the back of my head and a throbbing vein in my scalp threatened to burst. “Speak for yourself, woman. We might have been kidnapped by thugs if we’d had to wait half the night for your sister to show up.”

Good old Patty, always ready to help. I turned around and shot her the look she deserved. Then I wiggled my eyebrows up and down trying to signal her to shut up. I may as well have tried to eyebrow signal a train to stop at the next crossing.

“Get this, Jack. After Lurlene busted the door down, I thought about going in with my pepper spray and taking her out.” Patty blabbed as if she were simply discussing her makeup.

My eyebrows went into a Tango. I wondered if she’d take the hint if I plastered my hand over her mouth and held it there until we dropped her off.

“Who is Lurlene and why did she break the door?” Jack asked in flat tones. He glanced at Patty in the rearview mirror. If Patty had known Jack as well as I did, she would have known to stop running off at the mouth and change the subject.

“I guess Philip wouldn’t unlock it. He’s Susan’s mama’s ex love…I mean, her mama was married to him, except it wasn’t a real wedding and he was trying to extort money to keep her secret. Until his two wives showed up. One of them is real, but we don’t know about the other one. I mean, we do know. He’s a bigamist for sure.”

I dug my fingers into the sides of my seat. I hadn’t wanted Jack to know any of this, and Patty should have been able to figure that out using plain old common sense.

A major muscle in Jack’s jaw twitched like someone had hit it with a shot of adrenaline. Patty leaned forward and directed him to turn at the corner and seconds later we pulled up behind the pawnshop.

“Thanks so much,” she said, getting out of the car. “It was great meeting you, Jack.”

“Same here.” His expression was the look someone might wear if they’d just discovered their dog ate the sirloin steaks they’d put on the table for a dinner party.

I braced myself. I didn’t really care if Jack was angry. Not one bit. I simply didn’t want to have to listen to his criticism.

He turned, oh so slowly, until he was sideways in his seat facing me. “What were you doing confronting a criminal in his room? What possible reason could have have to put yourself into that kind of danger?”

“It’s none of your business, but if it will shut you up, I’ll tell you the whole sordid story. Philip Beauchamp has been causing trouble for my mother. I told him to leave her alone. Don’t worry, Jack, I wasn’t in the least bit of trouble. Both his wives showed up shortly before you got there and they’re making him think better of continuing his wicked ways. The end. Now please take me home. Or do I have to call a cab?” I put my hand on the door handle.

He put the car in gear and roared out of the lot. I could only imagine the state of his bad back. He really ought to consider a yoga class to deal with tension.

“You’ve never figured things out, have you, Nic? Your mother is perfectly capable of handling her own problems without your involvement.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You would think so, but you should have seen her Sunday night. In fact, you would have seen her, if you hadn’t driven off in a snit because DeLorean called me to come home for an emergency. For your information, Philip showed up at my house Sunday while Mama was alone and helpless with a sprained ankle. What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, call the police, maybe? That’s what I do when blackmailers come around.”

“Sure, I’ll bet you have that problem all the time. But Mama was afraid he’d tell Rhett, her new man friend. That’s what blackmail is, Jack. They scare you into thinking they’re going to out you on something, which will ruin your life forever. You’re supposed to pay up to keep the world from knowing about your sordid past.” God, the man was exasperating. He didn’t understand and he never would and I was sorry he’d ever come back to Charleston to stir up a bunch of negative emotions I didn’t need.

After he dropped me off and went back to Veronica, I never wanted to see him again. Even as I had these thoughts, I knew I was kidding myself. But life had been a lot simpler when all I had to do was mope around and drag myself in to work and not have any real thoughts or feelings.

Judging by the look on his face, Jack was probably wishing the same thing. The tires squealing a protest, he swung the Mercedes around a corner, accelerated to my driveway, made another hard turn and braked to a stop. His car wasn’t going to last if he didn’t stop abusing it every time he had to bring me home.

“Goodnight,” I said, getting out. I’d suddenly developed a headache that felt like a horde of miniature cavemen beating me behind the eyes with stone hammers. Brad’s staccato barking in the background didn’t help. “Thanks for the rescue. The last thing I wanted was to interrupt your special evening with Veronica.”

I slammed the car door and stomped up the driveway doing some serious damage to the bottoms of my shoes. I thought I heard Jack say something, but I didn’t turn around. Yeah, yeah, so I’d mistreated his car. He could send me a bill. I reached the house and stormed inside.

Footsteps sounded behind me. “We’re not done here, Nic.” Jack rudely pushed his way in before I could lock the door.

“Yes, we are. Thanks again. Now if you don’t mind, I have the headache from hell and the last thing I need is another hour of criticism from you.”

I headed into the kitchen to find the aspirin bottle. Jack trailed after me. Of course Mama and DeLorean were waiting in the kitchen. I had the feeling that even if it were three in the morning, they’d be waiting in the kitchen.

Mama was scolding DeLorean about her blouse, which was, according to Mama, entirely unsuitable for a woman who was the mother of an infant. She was shocked and so forth. Sure, Mama, you have to give up your whole existence and turn into a frump once you give birth. I’d been the recipient of the same lecture six months after Christian was born when I wore a two piece bathing suit to Folly Beach.

When she saw Jack, Mama broke off in mid-sentence, squirming in her chair like a cocker spaniel greeting its owner. An onlooker would have thought George Clooney--her favorite actor--had followed me home.

“Jack Maxwell, why bless your heart. Oh, my word, DeLorean said you’d moved back to town. I’m absolutely delighted to see you again after all these years.”

“Good to see you, too, Mrs. Marsh.” Jack, always charming, leaned over and kissed Mama’s cheek. Then he acknowledged DeLorean with a nod and a grin.

Was it my imagination or had DeLorean unfastened the top button of her blouse since I’d seen her last? I tossed my purse on the counter and yanked the aspirin bottle out of the kitchen cabinet. Jack wanted to talk? Fine. Let him visit with Mama and my sister. DeLorean could even offer him another backrub for all I cared. I was going to bed.

“Susan, you said you weren’t going out with Jack tonight.” DeLorean’s bottom lip quivered and she showed every sign of birthing a pout.

“I didn’t.” I poured myself a glass of water and downed the aspirins in one gulp. I couldn’t help but notice that the bag of dog food was still sitting unopened on the kitchen island next to Mama’s car keys. How nice. It would be up to me to feed and water Brad and put him in the utility room for the night.

“She’s right, we didn’t go out.” Jack sounded like going out with me was something he’d do when they held the Winter Olympics in hell. “Nic ended up at a motel in a neighborhood where the criminals outnumber the regular citizens. I had to come to the rescue after she got a couple of flat tires on her van.”

Mama let out a muffled shriek and clapped her hand over her heart--which prompted both the Chihuahuas to leap up from their bed in a corner of the room and race snarling to the foot of her chair, obviously prepared to defend her against all intruders.

“Susan, what in the world were you thinking? You could have been accosted by drug dealers or even sex maniacs and dragged into a dark alley.”

“Yes, what were you thinking?” DeLorean said. Her nostrils flared. I would have bet she was just itching to stomp her foot, but Mama hates it when she does that and she probably figured it wasn’t worth the drama. “You were supposed to stay here with Mama while I used the van. Now it’s too late--after I looked forward all day to seeing my friends.”

I reached behind me with both hands and gripped the edges of the countertop to keep from heaving the nearest breakable object across the room. Between half-gritted teeth I ground out, “For your information, Mama. And DeLorean. I went to see Philip Beauchamp to tell him his little blackmail scheme is over for good. " The headache moved lower and stabbed me somewhere behind my right ear. I winced and briefly closed my eyes. The phone rang and I snatched up the receiver to stop the sound from drilling an extra hole in my head.

“Hello,” I barked.

“Hey, Mom, it’s your favorite son.”

“This is a bad time, Christian. Could you call back later?” Someone, probably Mama, had set the phone on speaker. I fumbled for the mute button and missed.

“You can spare one minute, Mom. I need to know if you decided yet whether you’re going to take on some extra hours so I can quit my job. Save me, Mom? Please. And one more thing—Trinity’s going to Charleston next month for a college visit to decide if she wants to transfer. Can she stay with you for a few days?”

I held out the receiver and gave it a dagger of a look. Next I took in the unwelcome sight of my audience--DeLorean, her fine-boned face still twisted into a sulk because I’d ruined her evening out. Mama, clearly scandalized, fanning herself with a limp handkerchief. Jack leaning against the wall wearing a smirk, though I’d have expected him to be steaming because I’d taken him away from Veronica in the middle of their date. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to smack them all.

Something inside me snapped. If I’d had a speaker in my chest like the one on the phone, I’d have bet the sound would have been audible across the room.

“Yes,” I said between gritted teeth. “I’ve decided. You’re a big boy, Christian. You can work your own way through college. I have a life of my own. Did you hear me? A life of my own. And now I’m going to start living it, spoiled son and all. As for Trinity, I like her. I’d be happy to have her stay.”

Mama gasped. The handkerchief became a white blur. “Why, Susan Caraway, there is no need to get into such an ugly mood and I cannot understand why you would consent to let that purple-haired trollop back into your house. I am shocked. ”

“Not as shocked as you’re going to be when I tell you that I don’t appreciate your attitude after I helped you with Philip. Thanks to me, he isn’t going to bother you again. And if he does, so what? You can choose to tell Rhett the truth and hope he still wants to get married or you can choose to keep living a lie and praying that Philip stays away for good. Your problems are not my problems, Mama. Not anymore.” Surprised at my display of attitude, I clamped my mouth shut and waited for a response. For some reason I half expected Mama to have a heart attack and lie staring up at me with reproach in her eyes during her final moments. Or for her to dump me, hauling herself out of her chair to hobble out of my life for good. Or for the roof to come crashing down on me.

I actually started trembling and my breathing became fast and shallow. But nothing happened. Not one single thing. Unless you counted the fact that Christian’s voice floated out of the phone to say, “Gee, Mom, no need to yell. I asked, that’s all. I can manage okay if you don’t have time for a second job. And, Mom? I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.”

“I’m glad you’ve made that decision. Because that’s the only choice you have if you plan to finish college.”

“I get it. Case closed.”

Brad chose that moment to decide there might be an army of Huns invading the yard. Or maybe he was simply hungry and thirsty. Whatever the problem, I didn’t appreciate the barking and the pitiful howling right under the kitchen window and I was sure my neighbors weren’t exactly dancing a happy jig, either.

I turned to my sister. “DeLorean, you forgot to take care of Brad. I know you’ve been through a rough time with your breakup and Cole keeps you up at night. Believe me, I’ve been there and I do sympathize. But Brad is your responsibility. In fact, you have a lot of responsibilities now that you’re an adult and a mother. I don’t care if you keep Brad, but if I were you, I’d do the right thing and give him to someone who has time for him instead of expecting me to act as your kennel maid.”

“Fine, I get the picture.” She blinked rapidly. “You don’t have to be so bitchy.”

Second time tonight someone had made that accusation. So what? If bitchy meant I was through letting my family members walk all over me, then I’d gladly accept the label.

“I’m not finished, Dee. It’s time for you to stop pouting your way through life expecting me to pick up the pieces every time to you make a bad decision. You have a baby to think about. I know it’s not easy on your own and I’ll help you as much as I’m able. But I’m not willing to sacrifice every resource and every spare moment so you can remain a helpless child.”

I braced myself. But there was no storming out of the room. No disowning me forever. No death or other calamities to punish me for being mean to the sister I loved so much.

DeLorean drew her breath in sharply. I could tell she was processing what I’d just said and didn’t like it. I couldn’t blame her. My attitude adjustment probably didn’t make sense in her mind. But then, why should it? I’d always fallen all over myself to handle any crisis she’d ever had. I’d spoiled her as badly as I’d spoiled Christian and I’d let Mama expect me to come running every time she even imagined she might have a problem.

“Susan, from the moment you had this ghost hunting idea, you have not been yourself. It’s time you came to your senses and realized you need to stay on at the pawnshop.” Mama shook her finger at me in a very unladylike way. “DeLorean and I discussed your situation earlier this evening. You need the stability of your job.”

“Stability? The pawnshop?” Oh, that was rich. I waved my arms back and forth as if I were directing the Charleston Symphony during Spoleto. “Listen up, everyone, I have an announcement. You can all stop telling me to go back to earning far less than I’m worth working for Odell Hoganboom. That’s no longer an option since I got fired last week.”

“You got what?” Mama’s face first went pale, then turned a garish shade of red. I might as well have told her I’d had a tattoo that read “prime tail” applied to my right buttock.

“That’s impossible,” DeLorean said, staring at me as if I’d just turned to marble in front of her eyes. “No one would ever fire you.”

“Why? Because I’m way too accommodating? Guess those days are over.”

A squawking sound came out of the phone. I turned to glare at it, made another stab, and finally hit the mute button.

“So you can all quit telling me I’m not allowed to work where I want to work, when I want to work.”

Even Mama was struck silent by my screeching. For all of sixty seconds. Then she straightened her back and visibly pulled herself together, a paragon of southern ladyhood once again. “I don’t know what’s come over you. I should not have to remind you that it is pure bad manners to show temper and discuss family business in front of a guest.” She shifted her eyes sideways toward Jack, as if I didn’t know which guest she was talking about.

Maybe if I hadn’t followed the direction of her gaze and seen Jack still slouching against the wall, I would have been able to calm myself and apologize. But he was obviously on the verge of laughing at me. In fact, I was positive I heard a snicker escape from the side of his mouth.

“What’s so funny, Jack? Isn’t it time for you to scurry back to Veronica before she starts to worry?”

Bitter tears sprang to my eyes. Oh, damn, not now. I knew I wouldn’t be able to control the tears for more than thirty seconds and I was not about to cry in front of Jack and make him think I cared that he and my best friend couldn’t keep their eyes—or whatever--off each other. I leaned forward to snag Mama’s keys and my purse.

Before anyone could try to stop me I dashed out of the house and down the driveway. It took two tries for me to start the Cadillac and I had the fleeting thought that I should to take it back to the garage for Mama and get it checked out. Then I remembered I was no longer going to solve my family’s problems and that Mama had to handle her own car repair problems.

I didn’t know where I was going, but five minutes later I realized the car was taking me toward the Cooper River Bridge. Fine, anywhere but home was good.

Chapter Nineteen

I roared across the bridge to Charleston, knowing I was lucky a cop didn’t stop me, and took East Bay to Calhoun Street. I found a parking garage near Broad where I left the Cadillac on the third level.

My headache had dulled considerably since the aspirins. I remembered I hadn’t eaten since lunch and thought about getting a sandwich and a cup of coffee, but eating seemed like too much trouble at this point.

Charleston is a very walkable city. I trudged aimlessly for block after block, not bothering to pretend I was doing anything even so purposeful as window-shopping. People traveling in groups or pairs congregated on corners and pushed past me going in the opposite direction. They all seemed to be chatting happily as they wandered in and out of shops and restaurants, and I envied them their peace.

I tried to block out their excited conversations. And I wished it were impossible for me to think and walk at the same time. But even after five blocks, the thoughts kept coming, crowding into my head, bringing up emotions I didn’t want to deal with. I remembered a time when I was small and my dad walked with me one night down these very streets. We were on our way to pick out a birthday gift for Mama, and I was excited to be allowed to stay up past my bedtime.

An image of my father floated into my mind and tears began sliding down my face. A crowd of teenagers passing by glanced at me curiously. Mama would have said she was shocked at their rudeness, but then what could you expect from their generation.

I turned left at the next corner, crossing the street to a less congested sidewalk so I could suffer without attracting notice. A block or so further on a horse blew through its nose and I looked up to see I was directly across from a ticket stand for carriage tours. Three carriages waited in line. I fished a wadded up tissue out of my purse, did a little damage control to my face, and walked over to the teenager manning the register.

“Are you still open?”

“No, Ma’am. Night tours are by prior arrangement only. We’ve got a big pre-booked party due in a couple of minutes. Unless you’re with them—the Lambtons from Florida?”

“Uh, no.” I wondered if the Lambtons from Florida would notice if I sneaked onto one of the carriages to ride with them. Probably. I wasn’t dressed the least bit like a tourist and I was sure my nose was bright red from crying and the Lambtons would be happy people with no cares. “Thanks anyway.”

The first carriage in line was painted green and was big enough to haul a family of six. The horse was huge, a bright sorrel with a blond mane and tail. A broad blaze covered his face and made him look friendly, the kind of horse you could tell your troubles to if his driver weren’t around to hear. I patted the horse’s neck and smoothed a few tangles out of his mane.

The driver made a half turn, keeping one eye on me and one on the horse. She was a thirtyish woman with hair colored the same shade of sorrel as the horse. “Thanks for choosing our tour. We’ll be driving through Charleston’s famous historic district for the next hour and as we go, I’ll point out sites of interest.”

“I’m not with the Lambtons.” I shook my head. “And I’m not a tourist.”

“Sorry. Just admiring the horse?”

“Yes, he’s a beauty. Do you mind if I pet him? It’s been a rough day and I’ve always believed there’s something soothing about horses.”

She focused on a fresh tear rolling down my cheek, “No problem, ma’am. Pet all you want until my party arrives.”

I ducked my head and patted the horse again, but footsteps and the chatter of voices behind me signaled the arrival of the Lambton party. With a whispered good-bye to that big, understanding horse, I trudged back down the street heading toward Marion Square.

I scrubbed at my face as I walked. The tissue was shredded by now. The horses clopped by and the years rolled back until I was reliving the time Daddy took me for a carriage ride. I sobbed softly, using the sleeve of my sweater to dry my eyes. I was quickly reminded that acrylic yarn is not the most absorbent fabric on the planet. I dug around in my purse and found a handful of napkins.

If only I could talk to Daddy, I knew he’d understand. I found a bench and sat alone under a tree. I closed my eyes and imagined my father sitting beside me with his arm around my shoulders as I poured out my troubles and silently told him all the things I’d say if I could see him one more time. I told him about my life, everything major that had happened since he’d gone away so suddenly. I didn’t leave out the part about my bad marriage and how I’d stuck around way too long. And I told him how I’d made a lot of other mistakes, too many to talk about.

“I wish you hadn’t died before you took me for another carriage ride like you promised,” I whispered. “I wasn’t a good girl that day and for a long time I thought that was the reason you never came home again. But now I know better. Except, maybe I knew logically, but I didn’t really know inside myself.”

There. I’d admitted the truth to myself. Something felt different inside me. I glanced up and was startled to see the horse drawn carriages returning to their stand. Had I really sat here for nearly an hour?

The tears stopped and I leaned back against the bench, letting the clopping of giant hooves against pavement soothe my soul. I was sorry I’d taken so long to figure out who I was and what I wanted—and didn’t want. I was sorry I hadn’t figured myself out before I made Jack angry and made so many other mistakes with my life. And sorry I’d have to quit the ghost tour job, but it would hurt too much to see Veronica and Jack together all the time.

Of course, without another job my savings wouldn’t last long. I’d have to sell the house and DeLorean and Cole would have to crowd in with Mama at the condo. If I didn’t find another job before I started running out of money, I’d move to a different city where prospects might be brighter and the cost of living cheaper. Maybe I’d take up studies at a community college and prepare for an entirely new career, something to do with plants or flowers. After all, I loved gardening. Or there were courses in paralegal, real estate secretary, practical nursing. Forty wasn’t too late to go back to school and start a new career.

I rubbed my last dry napkin across my face and forced a smile. I had a million options. I was going to be okay.

I still wasn’t ready to go home, but I’d pulled myself together enough to take to the sidewalks again. I stood and stretched. Then I tramped along, my head up, basking in a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in years.

My cell phone rang four times and I didn’t bother to answer, or even look at the caller ID. Mama and DeLorean, no doubt. Well, they could call all they wanted. If they had problems, they’d have to cope on their own. New house rule. And if all they wanted was to complain about my earlier meltdown, too bad. I had every right to speak up on my own behalf. Even late bloomers eventually flower.

I found myself approaching the familiar grounds of the Blackthorn House. I turned in at the walkway and sat on the front steps. Regret filled my thoughts. After my initial doubts, I’d truly looked forward to running the ghost tours. Veronica would either have to scrap the whole idea or find someone to replace me. Maybe when I resigned I’d suggest she contact Patty. I chuckled to myself at the thought of Patty working for Veronica.

In the house across the street a light went off in an upstairs window. I yawned so big my jaw ached. It was late. Time for me to go home. I’d talk to Mama and DeLorean in the morning and tell them my plans. If they thought the Susan they’d seen this evening was a temporary aberration, they were in for a reality check.

I rubbed a cramp out of my shoulders, not paying attention to the car that slowly turned the corner and eased along close to the curb until it stopped in front of me. My heart signaled alarm. What if these were the kidnappers Mama was always warning me about? Then I recognized Veronica’s silver BMW. Though she was almost the last person I wanted to see right now, I sighed with relief.

“Thank God, Susan.” She opened her passenger door. “I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

“What’s wrong?” I said in clipped tones.

“You know very well what’s wrong. We need to talk.”

I snorted. Is there anyone on the planet who enjoys hearing that phrase? “Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

“Will you please get in? Come on, I’ll give you a ride back to your car.”

I didn’t want to get in the Beemer with her. On the other hand, the parking garage where I’d left the Cadillac was a long way off, it had gotten chilly, and the streets were now practically deserted. Besides, if I told her tonight that I was quitting, I wouldn’t have to bother coming in to work in the morning and taking a chance on running into Jack.

“Thanks,” I said casually, getting into the car. “I’m parked in that big public garage over on Broad.”

She u-turned in the parking lot next to the house and headed back toward the center of town. “I tried reaching you on your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

“I was busy.” I stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by a stray cat sitting on the sidewalk. The poor thing looked like it was going to have kittens any second. “Do you think I have to be hooked to an electronic leash for your convenience simply because I’m running your ghost tours?”

“You know better than that. Now aren’t you wondering why I called?” Her expression went intense and her face was more square than I’d ever seen it. Positively box-like.

“Not really.” I shrugged. It was obvious she’d talked to Jack or she wouldn’t have known to go out looking for me. He probably told her all about my evening at the Budget Motel dealing with my mother’s problem du jour. Then after they’d spent an hour or so laughing, Veronica must have suffered a few jabs from her conscience. She’d want to explain why she didn’t see anything wrong with hooking up with Jack, it wasn’t like he was interested in me, and besides the relationship with Walter had cooled, so it was time for a new man. She’d tell me she knew I wouldn’t be ticked off at her, we’d been friends too long, and I’d want her to have the best. Maybe she’d even suggest I take Walter for my starter boyfriend and get her off the guilt trip, though of course, I’d have to understand she had absolutely no reason to feel guilty and I needed to get over myself and move on with my life.

“You don’t understand, Susan. You don’t understand one single thing that’s going on and I am quickly becoming exasperated with you.”

“I understand everything. That’s why I’m resigning from your ghost tour business. Effective now.”

She braked, swung the wheel over and parked in front of an antique store. “You do not understand. Now stop being silly or I’ll climb out of my seat and shake some sense into you.”

“You can’t expect me to keep the job after what’s happened between you and Jack.” I did not look at her, though I wondered if she’d at least have the grace to blush over her betrayal of our friendship.

“You idiot, nothing has happened. There is no me and Jack. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Jack called me a few hours ago and told me you were under the mistaken impression that he and I were dating or madly in love and I knew I had to find you and get you to believe the truth. To tell you the truth, my feelings are really hurt that you’d believe I’d go after Jack.”

“Call it what you will. Lunch with Jack. After quitting time get togethers in my office with Jack. Dinner with Jack. Hmmm. I’m not Sherlock Holmes, but I’m not stupid, either.”

She made a growling sound that Mama would have disapproved of. “I’d hit you if I thought it would help you start thinking straight. I admit I haven’t always been the easiest friend. I’m usually running around with fourteen different irons in the fire, too busy thinking about what I’ve got going on to pay all that much attention to anyone else. But I love you. You’ve always been there for me and I’ve tried to be there for you. After all our years as best friends, do you really think I’d go out with the guy you’ve been mooning over since high school?”

“I have not been mooning.” I swiveled in my seat to face her. “I was happily married for almost twenty years. I never had thoughts of another man and don’t you dare accuse me of infidelity. No thoughts of any man but my husband. Not for one single second.”

“Maybe not until things went sour with T. Chandler, but once you realized your husband was cheating and you realized the marriage was over, you wondered what would have happened if you’d married Jack instead of him. You wondered if you’d be divorced now, and then you knew you wouldn’t be because Jack isn’t T. Chandler.”

“I never…”

My cheeks blazed. How did she know? I hadn’t told anyone that, not even myself. Not until this very moment. God, she was right. How could I have kept a secret like that from myself?

“Jack and I have never been more than good friends,” I said making my tone sound neutral. Tried to, anyway, but I could tell Veronica wasn’t buying my story for even a fraction of a second. “Lately we can’t seem to agree on anything. We don’t have the least bit of attraction for each other—we never did.” Sure and the moon was going to dance in the sky tonight over Fort Sumter.

“Ha! I guess you still believe your own lies. Not only do you owe Jack and me a huge apology, but you need to do what you should have done years ago and tell him how you feel.”

“No! I mean, okay, I apologize. I should have known you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” I felt like slime. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she fired me. Wait. She couldn’t. I’d already quit. But she’d probably dump me as a friend and that was exactly what I deserved. “Next time I see Jack, I’ll tell him I’m sorry, though I’m not talking to him about feelings. I have no reason to.”

“You are so stubborn.” She started the car and pulled out of her parking spot. “Exactly like your mother.”

“I am not like Mama,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not one bit—just ask her.”

“You are great at hiding things from yourself, too. Admit it.”

I wasn’t. Yes, I was. Failing to analyze myself made life a lot easier for me, made it so comforting to simply coast along in neutral. Until now.

We rode another few blocks in silence. A light breeze ruffled the fronds of a palm tree as we passed. The streets had quieted, most of the tourists in for the night.

“Here’s your garage.” Veronica signaled a turn.

I put my hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. You can leave me off here.” I had a lot of thinking to do and I was still wondering why the gods had smiled on me and given me a friend like Veronica. I certainly didn’t deserve her, not after the way I’d jumped to stupid conclusions about her and Jack.

“What level are you on?”

I started to protest, but figured if I did, she’d accuse me again of being like my mother. “Three,” I said.

She grabbed a parking ticket. The gate rose and the Beemer smoothly rolled forward and up the ramp. She took me to the Cadillac, the only car on level three and practically the only car left in the parking deck. Before I could get out of my seat, she put her hand on my arm. “By the way, I’m not accepting your resignation. I’ll expect you in the office at eight tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about seeing Jack at the Blackthorn House since he’s going to be over in Ashley looking at another building for me. In case you’re wondering, the Ashley job was the only topic of conversation in your office after you left, you dope.”

My face flushed. “Love you, mean it,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

I watched her drive away. Veronica was right--I was a dope. About a lot of things. I was glad she’d cleared things up and glad she hadn’t let me quit my job and run away from home. But after thinking about it all evening, I still wasn’t sorry about my little show of attitude in my kitchen. Big show. It was past time for me to put a stop to the “let Susan handle it” routine.

But of course, even after I apologized to Jack, I couldn’t expect him to want me to be more than a casual friend. He’d only been back in town a few weeks and already we’d managed to clash. The high school years when we’d been best pals were nothing but a collection of sweet memories.

With a deep sigh, I started the Cadillac and slowly rolled down the ramp to the exit. It was almost midnight. I was wide awake, but I knew I’d be sorry for the late night when I had to get up for work.

When I got home, I parked at the end of the driveway, instead of putting the car in the garage. Then I slipped off my shoes before I stepped into the house. I’d tiptoe upstairs so I wouldn’t wake anyone.

Unfortunately Brad didn’t have my reservations about disturbing the rest of the family. He hadn’t made a sound when I drove up, and I almost forgot he existed. No, Brad politely waited until I pushed open the front door before he started raising holy hell. Both Chihuahuas leaped out of their bed and, snarling their displeasure, made a beeline for my ankles. The light in the upstairs hallway came on at the same time as the family room light.

Mama, unable to climb the stairs on her bad ankle, had been sleeping on the couch. I’d forgotten about that. Now she sat up and called, “Susan, is that you?”

“Who else? Would you please call off your dogs?”

“Certainly. I wouldn’t dream of letting them cause trouble, especially not in someone else’s home. Babies, babies, come to Mama.”

Poof. They were gone, thundering across the wood floor like two miniature buffalo and back into the family room to make a fuss over Mama.

I rubbed a sore spot on my ankle where Tiny had nipped me. Then I debated. Make myself a soothing cup of herbal tea? Or head upstairs and collapse into bed with the blankets over my head?

I finally opted for the tea. Not wanting to be rude, I offered Mama a cup. I expected her to refuse and make a remark about how she wouldn’t want to put me out. No indeed, not after I’d made my feelings about her and the rest of the family clear and she would not be a burden, she’d see herself in the grave first, and she was moving out first thing in the morning, and she would never again speak to me. And I was dying inside because she was my mama and I did not want to lose her love.

“Thank you, Susan. I’d enjoy a cup of tea. Chamomile, if you have it.”

My eyebrows arched. Mama was probably waiting until morning to let me know how she felt and deliver her lecture to put me in my place.

“I’d like some, too. Peppermint if it’s not too much trouble.” DeLorean had slipped quietly downstairs and now she stood in the foyer rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her hair was tousled and her feet were bare and she looked for all the world like she had at age seven when she’d wait for me to come home from a date and read her a story.

I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “Of course it’s no trouble. I’m putting the kettle on right now.”

All this politeness was killing me, but at least my temper tantrum hadn’t cost me two of the most important people in my life. I busied myself with the tea, grateful that Brad had finally figured out I belonged here and stopped trying to wake the dead.

I’d originally planned to take my tea up to my room, but now that Mama and DeLorean had awakened, I carried the tray in and set it on the coffee table in front of Mama. I joined her on the couch and DeLorean sat on my other side.

We each fixed our own tea the way we liked it—mine with a dab of artificial sweetener, DeLorean’s peppermint with sugar, and Mama’s plain chamomile with no additives. Much tinkling of spoons against cups and exclamations of how it was so soothing to drink tea. Way too much throat clearing and even a few remarks about the lovely weather.

I was ready to scream. Finally I couldn’t stand the fake pleasantries or the suspense for one more second. “Okay,” I said, “I have something to say.” I put down my tea and watched tendrils of steam curling out of the cup as I tried to formulate my thoughts.

DeLorean and Mama exchanged looks of apprehension. I hurried to reassure them.

“First of all, I meant what I said earlier. I’m sorry for the way I said it and I’m sorry I aired family problems in front of Jack. I’ll call Christian tomorrow and tell him the same thing. I’m not backing down, though. From now on, if either of you have a real emergency, call me. But if you want me to drop everything to run errands or handle problems you could take care of on your own, don’t bother. And I hope you understand, I am not the only one in the wrong.” Please, God, let them understand. I’d grown; I’d changed. Was it my fault it had taken me years to figure out my life?

Mama pursed her lips and put her cup down as delicately as if it were made of spun sugar. “Susan, dear, if you had issues with DeLorean—and even with me—you should have spoken up sooner. After all, we are not mind readers. We cannot modify our behavior unless we know we are causing a problem.”

“Mama’s right.” DeLorean gazed at me steadily. “We had a long talk after you roared down the street in Mama’s Cadillac like you were driving the pace car for a NASCAR race. Really, Susan, I don’t understand why you were angry with us. You always jumped right in and took responsibility whether we asked you to or not. After a while, we started expecting you to handle everything. Why wouldn’t we? You always did such a great job. And it was easier to just let you, even if we sometimes had to listen to you complain.”

I exercised my jaw for a few seconds, opening and closing it like a demented guppy before I reluctantly said, “I guess that’s fair.”

“I suppose the lesson to be learned is that you train people how to treat you.” Mama nodded a half dozen times to emphasize her words.

“You sound like a self-help book, Mama. So what you two are saying is I chose my own adventures and I have to change my ways or stop bitching.”

DeLorean grinned. “Hey, big sister, I love you. From now on things will be different. I promise I will be a lot more understanding and a lot more responsible.” She leaned closer and hugged me, almost upsetting my teacup.

Mama moved in on my other side to join us for a group hug, which quickly went from sappy to awkward since none of us seemed to know quite how to end it or what to say or do next. How could we? We’d never had any practice actually relating to each other as adults. Now that I thought about it, the three of us had wasted years arguing and criticizing each other.

DeLorean saved the moment by saying, “One for all and all for one. What are we now—the three musketeers?”

“I don’t know about musketeers, dear.” Mama made a face. “I believe musketeers are rowdy men with weapons. The three tea partiers, perhaps.”

We laughed and pulled apart, which confused the Chihuahuas. They obviously didn’t know whether to run in circles or huddle in Mama’s lap.

Brad barked and DeLorean went to silence him before he woke Cole. Very responsible of her.

When she returned, she said, “You’re right about Brad, Susan. I don’t have time or money for a dog. Do you think that boy Kenny would like to have him?”

“I’m sure he would.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow. And I’m going to see about getting a substitute teacher job. Susan—I really am sorry. I didn’t realize you were forced to work at that pawnshop. I thought T. Chandler gave you a ton of money in the divorce settlement and you’ve always been so generous, I was sure you wouldn’t mind sharing. Mama told me the truth and now I feel like a jerk.”

“Not your fault. I could have told you how things are instead of pretending my life was one big story of success and wealth.”

“Well, now I know and I promise I won’t be a financial burden. A substitute teaching job will do until I figure out my next move. Mama’s agreed to help out with babysitting and transportation.”

“Guess we all have our calls to make tomorrow.” Mama put her empty cup on the table. “I’ve made a decision, too, girls. I’m going to tell Rhett the truth. Afterward if he still wants to marry me, I’m going to accept. I hope you’ll wish me happiness.”

Group hug again. But at this point the Marsh women had had all the love and tenderness we could handle for one evening and we broke apart after a second, grinning self-consciously at each other.

DeLorean excitedly started offering suggestions for Mama’s wedding and reception. Mama said DeLorean had no experience planning weddings and she’d handle her own arrangements—if DeLorean didn’t mind.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t naïve enough to expect the night’s cooperative mood to last. Though our kiss and make up session had led to a new understanding, we were still human and we were still three stubborn women who had differences that would lead inevitably to disagreements. But that was the way real families were supposed to be. I hoped we could be a little more considerate of each other in the future.

Chapter Twenty

As predicted, next morning when my alarm went off, I regretted my late night. Even half a pot of coffee didn’t give me the usual burst of adrenaline. I walked into the office an hour later whining out loud about my puffy eyes and my head that felt equally puffy. There was no one around to hear me. I made another pot of coffee and switched on my computer so I could stare at the blank screen.

I was supposed to be setting up advertising and calling the mechanic about my van so I wouldn’t have to keep borrowing Mama’s Cadillac. Or at the very least, getting my brochure off to the printers.

Soon. Soon I would decide how I would start my workday.

The workmen arrived and tromped upstairs carrying cans of paint. More screen staring on my part. Inspiration did not strike. The screen saver came on and I studied the colorful swirls. I wondered if it would help if I actually spoke to the computer and asked its opinion.

The phone rang and I finally got to talk to a live person. The car mechanic had gotten my work number from DeLorean. My tires were old and not repairable. He quoted me a price for four new ones. I winced and agreed. I trudged across the room to get a cup of coffee, which I promptly dropped on the floor, splashing coffee across my feet and shattering the cup while I was at it.

The day deteriorated further when I glanced out the window and saw Jack pulling into the parking lot. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Ashley on a new job, Veronica should have told me he’d be here, and I did not have one single idea why nothing had gone my way from the moment I’d crawled out of bed. This day was supposed to be a bright new beginning.

I cleaned up the coffee mess and then squinted to survey my surroundings. There had to be a dark hole I could crawl into until Jack left. I knew Veronica was right and that I owed him an apology. But I hadn’t made her any promises about exactly when said apology would cross my lips.

I gave up on the search for a hiding place and stood listening by the door, hoping he wouldn’t come into my office. To my relief, I heard him go upstairs and then I heard him telling someone the lock on the attic door needed to be repaired or replaced. A few minutes later his footsteps sounded on the stairs and then crossed the foyer. He was leaving.

I sighed. Best to get this over with. There was no telling when he’d return—if ever. The Blackthorn House was nearly finished, so prepared or not, I owed him more than a phone call. I hurried out of my office and into the hall while I was still firmly resolved to admit I’d been a fool.

“Jack, wait.”

He had his hand on the doorknob. He wasn’t all that happy to see me, if the lack of a friendly greeting and the tightening of muscles around his eyes were any indication.

“Could I talk to you for a second?”

“What is it?” His hand stayed on the doorknob.

I would have preferred a private chat in my office, but the foyer would do. Deep breath, get it done fast like pulling wax off the bikini area.

“I want to apologize for jumping to conclusions about you and Veronica. I mean, it’s okay if you want to go out.” Oh, God, that hadn’t sounded right. And the deep breath hadn’t been that deep, so I had to take another one. “I certainly don’t have any hold on you. But Veronica’s my best friend and you two shouldn’t--” Still not right. Not to mention, I’d developed a bad case of the blushes. “Anyway, Veronica told me you two aren’t seeing each other, so I guess it doesn’t matter what I say and I sound like an idiot anyway.”

Damn it, why didn’t he react? Why was he standing there looking like an annoyed department store mannequin instead of saying, “apology accepted” and then disappearing the way I’d scripted in my mind?

“Another thing,” I added, moving on to safer territory, “I shouldn’t have had a fit last night after you rescued Patty and me. Not in front of you, anyway. I told my family when I got back that I meant every word. You were right when you said they could take care of their own problems--most of the time, anyway. I didn’t pay attention to the difference between helping and taking over. And even worse, half the time I was sorting things out for them, I was bitching over the inconvenience. I didn’t see it at the time, but I do now. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a card carrying member of late bloomers of America, but the good news is, I’ve finally bloomed. Though it has taken me years to actually realize what a mess I’ve made of so many things. I’m sorry I fought with you and, oh God, I’m rambling.” I clamped my mouth shut. Oh, great, I’d finally taken the time to think about my life and then I’d had a sort of diarrhea of the mind in front of Jack. Very good, Susan, very ladylike.

“Apology accepted. I’m sorry, too.” With a final nod in my direction, he strode out the door.

I blinked. What was Jack apologizing for? Was he sorry he’d ever come back into my life? Sorry I’d gotten angry with Mama and DeLorean in front of him? Sorry he didn’t understand about my loyalty to my family? Did it matter at this point? Who did he think he was anyway, brushing off my apologies as if I meant nothing to him?

Well, I’d done what I’d promised and now I was finished. I’d told Jack I was sorry and I was going to forget him and go back to work. The new me got another cup of coffee and plunked myself down in front of my computer. Except, if this was the new me, it sure felt an awful lot like the old me. Tears slid down my face and I was glad I’d been able to hold them back until Jack left. I did not want him to see me cry. That would have made me even more angry than I already was.

A few mental pep talks and a couple of stern warnings later, I got myself back on track—sort of. Considering how my thoughts wandered, it was surprising my computer didn’t send me a stern reminder to stay on task and stop banging on the backspace key. But by the end of the day I’d gotten out all the press releases and placed the advertisements.

I finally powered off the machine and got up to draw the drapes at the front of my office. Another few minutes and I’d cleaned the coffeepot and even watered the droopy potted plant Veronica had put in a corner near the door. So efficient. Too bad my personal life wasn’t humming along so smoothly.

I’d just picked up my purse when I heard a thump from the back of the house in the direction of the kitchen. I let out a muffled shriek and backed up against my desk while I took stock of the situation. This was exactly the type of ghostly manifestation reported by the former caretaker, the one who had run out the front door on his way to the main office to resign. All the construction workers had left for the day, and I was not expecting anyone. I was alone in the Blackhorn House and yet I’d distinctly heard a sound that shouldn’t be there.

My heart felt like it was beating in time to a fast tango. I scanned the room. Nothing appeared remotely promising to use as a weapon. After all, if the intruder were a ghost and I used a paperweight or even the coffeepot to bash him over the head, it would presumably go right through him. What I needed was something along the lines of a silver cross or a magic spell or something. Where was Patty when I finally wanted her advice about the occult?

Those thoughts streaked through my mind at warp speed and then quick footsteps tapped toward my office. I whimpered and ducked behind the desk, wondering if ghosts could see through solid objects.

“Susan?” Veronica walked in and I hauled myself to my feet, knocking over my desk chair with a clatter.

I put my hand over my heart. Yep, it was still there, pounding away in triple time. “Good God, Veronica, you nearly gave me cardiac arrest. I didn’t hear the door open, so I thought you were an attack ghost.”

“I came in through the back door. You’re being awfully silly for someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I’d come off even sillier if a ghost waltzed into the building and I failed to arm myself.” I righted my chair and gave her a quick rundown of everything I’d accomplished during the day.

Her expression brightened. “Perfect. And I’ve got great news. Jack says most of the work will be done in less than a week, so I’ve had a super idea for our grand opening. I’m going to call the newspapers and local magazines and invite reporters and their guests to enjoy a complimentary ghost tour followed by a reception.”

“Sounds like fun.” I ignored the way my heart made an extra hard thump when she said Jack’s name. Stupid heart had given me nothing but trouble all day. “I can’t wait.”

“Just one thing—I’d like you to start the tour off in an old graveyard, then come back here and show them the downstairs of the house and give them the idea of what we’re trying to accomplish. Don’t you think that’s a fabulous plan?”

“Yeah, fabulous.” I actually preferred not starting out in the house. The Blackthorn House didn’t seem all that spooky to me, other than a few creaks and groans and the sound of Veronica’s entrance that I’d worked myself up over. But old graveyards had a built in creepy factor I could take advantage of.

“I’ll take care of the publicity and you prepare the tour and the reception. You’ll have to do a practice run through after you get your script ready, but that won’t be a problem for you.”

“Script? Run through?” I knew my role of course, but butterflies suddenly flitted around in my stomach.

Veronica patted my arm and made soothing noises. “You’ll be fine. And after all, leading ghost tours is your new job.”

“I know. It’s only that I hadn’t expected to start so soon, but I’ll be fine once I get things set up.” The butterflies gave way to a burst of real enthusiasm.

“Of course you will. You’re going to be a big success. In fact, once the tours start, I want you to hire someone part-time to help you in the office and fill in on the tours on your nights off.” She dragged a small, tattered book out of her purse. “I found this in a second hand shop and it’s a real treasure. In chapter ten it gives the history of the house and even tells about so-called ghost sightings here and in other parts of Charleston. You can use it to work something up for the tour.”

I took the book and flipped through it. “Thanks. I’ll be ready for a trial run in a couple of days. Um—about this person I’m supposed to hire. I’ve always been the hiree. Are you sure you want me to find someone on my own?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re the manager of Blackthorn House Tours. Anyone you hire will be fine.”

“I’m glad you said that.” I nodded thoughtfully. “In fact, I already have someone in mind—and I don’t mean my sister.” DeLorean had called earlier to say she’d gotten an interview for a teaching job. Besides, newfound understanding between me and my sister or not, I would be too tempted to fall into my old habit of assuming responsibility for her if we worked together. Neither of us wanted that.

“Well—as long as it isn’t your friend Patty.” Veronica bit her lip. “I know I said you could hire anyone, but I’d really prefer—well, you know. Patty is a little too…goodness, I’m at a loss for words and you know, that hardly ever happens to me.”

I held up my right hand. “I swear it’s not Patty. You’ll have to trust me, Veronica.”

“I do.” She gave me a quick hug. “Call you tomorrow. If I have time. Between the Blackthorn House and the new Ashley project I don’t have a free moment—but that didn’t stop me from buying another building in North Charleston.”

When she got to the door, she turned and asked casually, “By the way, did you get a chance to talk to Jack today?”

I fiddled with my purse strap, winding it around my hand like a tourniquet. I’d already suspected, but now I knew for sure, she’d asked him to come to Blackthorn House to check on the workmen so I’d have a chance to apologize. “Why did you have to bring him up, just when I was starting to forget last night?”

“Because you’re one of my favorite people and I love you and I want you to be happy and sometimes you’re your own worst enemy.”

“Right. Well, you can stop worrying. He stopped by to check on construction and I apologized exactly the way my mother taught me during all those years of southern lady lessons for the etiquette challenged. And, speaking of Mama, right now you sound just like her.”

“You take that back.” She shook her finger at me. “Not that I don’t like your mother, but I am not in her class when it comes to meddling. I simply wanted to make sure there was no trouble between my ghost tour manager and my contractor.”

“There isn’t.”

“Good. Oh, and did I tell you? We’re going to include the attic in the tours, but not until we’re ready to go live. It turns out that one of the former owners of the house is positive he saw an apparition flitting around up there and noises, doors shutting by themselves, and what sounded like people fighting. Pretty creepy story, though I’m not sure he wasn’t simply imagining things. Anyway, Jack’s workers have installed a new stair railing to the attic to replace the old one that was falling apart and I asked Jack to have them check the lock. It sticks.” She pulled her Blackberry out of her purse and glanced at it. “Got to run. You wouldn’t believe how many things are left on today’s list.”

I blinked and she was out the door as if she’d never been there. But even though my ghost had turned out to be Veronica, I didn’t want to spend another minute alone in the house today.

I drove home thinking about everything I had to do at home. Telling Mama and DeLorean that they’d have to do for themselves from now on didn’t mean I was abandoning them altogether. DeLorean had gotten a ride over to the mechanic’s after lunch and picked up my van. As soon as I got home for the day to take over the care and feeding of Mama and Cole, she was leaving to meet her friends for the outing I’d spoiled for her last night. I had promised and I’d keep my promise this time. And I’d spend the evening looking after Mama and Cole, though DeLorean had said Mama was getting along much better on her crutches and had even hobbled into the kitchen and peeled vegetables for dinner.

Maybe I should have had my tantrum years ago, I thought, pulling into the driveway. Didn’t see how I could have, though, since I simply hadn’t reached boiling point until last night. I didn’t need Mama to tell me that you can’t eat the grits until they’re cooked and buttered and on the plate.

DeLorean was dressed and pacing the kitchen when I walked in. She snatched her purse off the counter the second she saw me.

“Finally. I thought you’d never get here.”

“Hey, what’s the hurry? Afraid I might change my mind?”

“After last night, the thought crossed my mind. Besides, if my interview goes well and I start work next week, I need a night out while I still have a chance.”

Mama cleared her throat. She was sitting in a kitchen chair holding Cole on her lap. Two disgruntled looking Chihuahuas sat on her feet.

“I am so glad you are on time, Susan. I would be more than glad to fix dinner, but I can’t watch Cole and cook while I’m still on crutches.”

“I’ll get on it soon as I change.” I brushed my hand over Cole’s downy hair as I scooted past.

When I got upstairs, I realized I’d been so busy thinking about my family and the ghost tour preview that I’d stopped feeling bad about Jack for at least an hour. Progress, but oh, so slow. I slipped into an old shirt and a pair of jeans and before I went back to the kitchen I stopped at my desk to check my mail. Two bills, four pieces of junk, and a flyer from Christian’s college about an open house this coming weekend. It was the third such flyer I’d received. I imagined the school must have an ulterior motive for being so insistent—fundraiser plea, most likely.

I studied the picture on the front of the flyer. A tree-lined walkway led up to a stately brick mansion, now doing duty as the language arts building. The campus was beautiful I saw when I opened to the second page and saw a picture of a small lake dotted with swans and another photo of benches conveniently located in a park like setting. I should go. A road trip might be just the thing to settle my mind and help me get started in a new direction, and, like DeLorean, I was looking at my last few days of freedom before the real job started.

Still musing over whether I should spend the coming weekend in Virginia, I made my way back to the kitchen. Mama had put Cole on a blanket and was at the stove stir frying vegetables. Her crutches were propped against the counter.

“Mama, I said I’d do the cooking.” I picked up a saucepan.

“A body could starve waiting. I am not one to cause trouble in someone else’s house, goodness knows, but really, dear, you need to stick to a schedule.”

“Yeah, and I need to date church people named Stanley, stop airing dirty laundry in front of guests, and realize I’m aging fast and grab the nearest available man before my looks are gone.” I stopped for breath and wrinkled my brow. Whoops. Last night’s “we are one happy family” session hadn’t exactly shaped me up the way Mama had hoped. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure you’re tired from working and that’s what is making you snippy.” Then after a pause, “I suppose I shouldn’t have sounded so critical.”

Probably not. But at least she was trying.

“It’s okay.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Now please sit down before you hurt your ankle again.”

I took over the cooking while Mama somehow managed to hobble around on one crutch and set the table. Thoughts swirled through my mind. No, they weren’t true thoughts because they were so wrapped up in feelings, feelings that dragged me down as if I were swaddled in a heavy, wet blanket. I longed for a friend who’d listen while I unburdened myself. Instead here I was stir frying vegetables with no one but Mama and Cole in the room. I could imagine how things would go if I told Mama what was on my mind. The conversation would start something like this:

“Mama, did you ever wonder why people are so contradictory?”

“Who’s contradicting? Certainly not me. I never in my life cared to argue with anyone, though goodness knows there have been times when I’ve been forced to put in my two cents. When people simply will not do what’s right, I have no choice, but to try to guide them.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s just that sometimes I feel so mature and together and other times it’s like I’ve never grown up and I’ve messed up my life and now I want someone to share my life with me, but I’m not sure I deserve someone.”

“You are nearly forty, Susan. Of course you are mature, even though you don’t make the best decisions and that is why you need to listen to my advice.”

Enough said. And then there was DeLorean. If I didn’t have the life wisdom I felt I should have, she had even less. After all, I was the big sister and she didn’t have much of a track record of her own, though she’d finally started to show a lot of promise.

I thought of calling Patty for a long chat, but, even if she weren’t out with Kyle, she’d tell me to listen to the Universe and trust the tarot. Veronica was out, too. She had so many business deals going, I’d be lucky if she made it to the ghost tour preview next Friday. She wouldn’t have time to listen to my thoughts.

No, I was on my own. I was going to have to sort through this stage of my life all by myself. And if determination were any indicator, I would emerge from the sorting process a better person. I lifted my chin and forced a watery smile in the direction of the refrigerator.

“Susan, did you hear me?”

I jumped. “Yes, Mama?”

“Is something burning? Dear, it is not safe to daydream while you are cooking. Did I ever tell you about my friend Celia who left a pan of bacon frying on the stove and went outside to flirt with her new neighbor, an overtanned gentleman who claimed to be an actor?”

“Yes, of course.” I yanked the smoking pan off the burner. “Just singed.”

“I am not so badly injured that I can’t help, you know.” Mama hobbled to the nearest kitchen counter to help me bring the food to the table. I knew she was afraid I’d ruin something else.

Cole was asleep by the time I collapsed into my chair in front of my place setting. Mama peered down at him and her expression went gooey as if her face had melted. “Such a darling little man, but it’s nice to have a few minutes peace and quiet. He was fussy today. Teething, most likely. Remember when Christian was at that stage?”

“How could I ever forget? I thought I’d never get another moment of sleep.” Mama had still had her job in those days and wasn’t free to watch Christian while I rested and certainly T. Chandler was helpless when it came to looking after his baby son.

But the reminder about my son made this a good time to tell her about my plans before Cole decided to wake up and fuss again. “Speaking of peace and quiet, you know I’ve had a really stressful week. And it’s not over yet. Friday we’re doing a preview ghost tour and then we have our grand opening the following week after the reporters have time to spread the word and our advertising comes out.”

“How nice for you. Still, you know I have reservations about this new job. I mean, ghosts? Surely the good Lord did not mean for the dearly departed to wander the earth when they should be sitting on porch swings in paradise. Some of them anyway. Of course you know there’s a place that’s the opposite of paradise and going by some of the people I’ve met here in Charleston, it’s likely to be full up. But that doesn’t mean you should go around looking for spirits who don’t have enough sense to know whether to go up or down so they just stayed put. That is, if there is such a thing as earthbound spirits.”

I put my fork down and looked at her sharply. “Ghost tours are my job. Mama, you said you wouldn’t interfere anymore.”

“So I did.” She made a little wavy motion with her hand as if erasing an invisible blackboard where she’d started writing her latest criticism. “Never mind, Susan. The important thing is that you’re happy.”

“I’m not sure I’m happy. I’ve decided a little mini vacation is exactly what I need to perk me up, so I’m going to the open house at Christian’s college next weekend.”

“But I have plans with Rhett for Saturday. I couldn’t possibly make the trip and I’ll still be on crutches anyway.”

“No problem, Mama. I’ll go alone.” I didn’t tell her that had been the plan all along. Surely the good Lord didn’t mean for me to spend hours in a car with Mama when I should be having a restful weekend.

“I suppose it would be a good idea to see how Christian is doing. Especially now, with that Trinity person he’s seeing. You can find out exactly what’s going on with the two of them. It wouldn’t hurt to ask some discreet questions.” She sniffed. “I knew he should have gone to school in Charleston and then I would have been able to supervise his actions even if you seem to think he should be free to bring females into his bedroom any time he pleases.”

“Mama.” I sucked in the deepest breath I could handle without over-oxygenating my lungs. “I am not a detective and I have no plans to question anyone, discreetly or otherwise. Besides, Trinity is planning to transfer to Charleston after this semester.”

“In that case, better that Christian stays in Virginia.”

“There you go. But Trinity needs a job, and that’s why I’m going to offer her one when I see her. Veronica says I can hire an assistant.”

Mama choked on her bread and I got up to pound her on the back. Cole woke and started howling.

“You can’t be serious, Susan.”

“Of course I’m serious.” I lifted Cole from his blanket and rocked him back and forth in my arms.

“I suppose I see your strategy. Keep her here and she won’t be there, though you wouldn’t want her to scare away the customers.”

I rolled my eyes. “We’re talking people who are out for a little fun, people who are hoping to see ghosts. I hardly think they’ll run screaming into the night over someone who looks like an advertisement for “Goth meets army.”

I hoped Trinity would want the job. She’d shown herself to be competent and responsible despite the purple hair, the army clothes, and the nose stud. Having her around might even be good for business, though I was pretty sure her look would clash with the period costumes Veronica and I had selected for the tour leader to wear.

“Even so, I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

“I’m asking her this weekend while I’m in Virginia.” I’d drive up Friday night after the work reception and no family crisis short of bodily harm was going to stop me. I thought about calling Christian, but held off. It would be more fun to surprise him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Though I really did think Veronica’s idea for a preview tour of the mansion was a good plan, rushing the opening made a lot more work for me. Between coordinating furniture delivery, helping the decorator, and arranging a caterer for the reception, I didn’t have a spare minute to myself. I’d known that being the manager for Veronica’s new business would involve a lot of extra responsibility and the handling of millions of extra chores. I just hadn’t known how frazzled I’d be from trying to pull every last detail together on short notice.

But here we were after a frenzied week, ready for our Friday debut. I’d practiced my tour guide speech, tried on my dress, and assured Veronica that all was well. I glanced at my watch. Almost time for the caterers to arrive and start setting up in the main parlor. I’d had the furniture moved to the attic and buffet tables set up in place of the couches.

I peeped in the door for a final check of the room. Perfect, except that someone had left a lamp on the floor in a corner. I picked it up, extra careful to cradle it in both arms. I’d seen the inventory list Veronica had made for the insurance company and the lamps in the house were pricey.

When I got to the attic, I made sure to prop the door. Jack had promised that one of his men would repair the sticky lock before leaving, but he’d apparently forgotten. One more detail for me to worry about. I made a mental note to have Veronica call him Monday.

Though I still didn’t believe in ghosts, the attic gave me an eerie feeling I couldn’t seem to shake. It was supposed to be haunted. I peered from side to side in the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Nothing here, except a few old boxes and the stored furniture draped with cloth that made the couch look like a resting camel and the chairs and end tables look like—well, something that shouldn’t be there. Hidden monsters, perhaps.

I shivered. Get a grip, I told myself. Nothing but opening night jitters.

I scurried back downstairs like a mouse escaping from a burning building. I’d be fine once I had the first tour out of the way. And I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone in the house for long. Even if Trinity didn’t take the job I’d offer, someone would.

A knock sounded at the front door. I pulled it open and was relieved to see the caterer, Diane.

She waited on the steps with her mini entourage close behind her holding boxes. “All set?”

“Just finished the final detail.” I motioned her and the junior caterers inside.

We were putting the last of the fruit on the table when Veronica arrived, quickly followed by DeLorean, Patty and Kyle--and Jack. I should have figured Veronica would invite him. Mama had stayed home with Cole. He was still teething and his wails of distress had probably kept the whole neighborhood awake for the past few nights.

“Hello, all,” I said, waggling my fingers at them and making sure my gaze didn’t linger on Jack for too long so he wouldn’t think he meant something to me. “You’ll have to excuse me while I change into my dress.”

After much serious discussion, Veronica and I had decided I’d wear a period costume, and though she’d kidded me about a hoop skirt, I’d persuaded her the hoop would pose serious difficulties during bathroom breaks. We’d settled on a simple design of an ankle length cotton dress. I had five in various colors—plenty to start. I’d passed on wearing a bonnet. Bonnets make me look like I’m auditioning to play an eighty-year-old grandmother on Little House on the Prairie.

I returned from the bathroom to find Jack and Veronica standing together in a corner while Patty and Kyle chatted with DeLorean. Judging by the expression on DeLorean’s face, I figured Kyle had just told her his latest taxidermy story. The other guests arrived soon after and I kept busy greeting everyone.

Veronica finally clapped her hands for attention. “Welcome to the preview tour of the Blackthorn House. I know you’re all eager to begin, so I’ll turn the proceedings over to Susan Caraway, house manager and tour guide.”

My heart pounding extra hard, I stepped forward and delivered a brief history of the house. We’d sent out brochures to everyone when they were invited, and I didn’t want to bore them by repeating information, so I kept it short.

After taking a few questions, I led the way out the back door and we proceeded a few blocks to one of Charleston’s oldest church graveyards. I halted the group near the entrance gate. “You’ll note the skull and crossbones on some of the stones,” I said, pointing downward. “Those indicate plague victims.”

The local reporters who had come for the tour were, no doubt, familiar with that particular aspect of local history. Even so, most jotted busily in notebooks and some took photographs. Veronica caught my eye and shot me a thumbs up. Jack smiled politely and I responded in kind. I’d mastered a cool smile that almost reached my eyes—a smile that matched his.

“Some visitors have reported a shadowy figure wearing a white dress standing near this grave in the corner,” I said, touching the stone. I suspected the white dress was nothing but mist, common enough in Charleston’s high humidity. “There’s a story about a young woman who died of yellow fever while waiting for her fiancé to return from a trip to marry her, though it’s not been confirmed that this is her grave.”

Flashbulbs went off. Mama would likely call for smelling salts when she spotted a photo in the local tourist guide of me in my costume standing next to a grave and grinning foolishly. I wondered if it would be legal to have the photographer Photoshop in a blob of dress-shaped mist to really give her a turn.

I motioned for the group to follow and we snaked our way out of the cemetery and down the street to another churchyard. On the way I told more ghost stories and pointed out supposedly haunted landmarks—bad guy hanged here, soldier died there, strange noises heard all around.

Patty caught up to me and linked her arm through mine. “Fabulous,” she whispered. “I knew you’d be a huge hit.”

“The tarot never lies,” I whispered back.

Back at the Blackthorn House we toured the downstairs amid much picture taking as I told stories about supposed ghost sightings in the mansion. I pointed out the painting of Eli Blackthorn over the fireplace mantle in the dining room. Eli, with his rheumy blue eyes and thin, sallow face, looked more like an underfed preacher than someone who’d instilled fear in the hearts of half the Charleston population during the 18th century. But the guests seemed suitably impressed when I told them about his evil career as a plunderer and pillager and how he’d supposedly never moved out of the house he’d built.

Veronica dimmed the lights and I finished by saying, “Dark apparitions on the stairs. Bloodcurdling screams and strange lights in the attic. Mysterious thumps and bumps from the main bedroom. Blackthorn House is a busy place, especially at night.” Someone—I suspected DeLorean--let out a shriek and Veronica quickly turned the lights back up and nodded in my direction.

“This concludes our tour,” I said, taking my cue. “I hope you’ve enjoyed our preview and I know you’ll enjoy the reception.”

I waited until the guests had filled their plates before I got myself a glass of fruit punch and some shrimp puffs and went to mingle. I would rather have had the white wine Veronica had provided, but I’d be leaving for Virginia as soon as everyone left and I knew the wine would only make me sleepy.

The next hour whipped by and then the room started emptying. I escorted Patty and Kyle to the door.

“Susan, you are so lucky to have found this fabulous dream job.” Patty squeezed my arm. “Isn’t she Kyle?”

“Yes, I’d say so. Not sure I believe in ghosts, though.” Kyle winked at me.

Patty nudged him. “What? Haven’t I told you it’s not nice to question my beliefs.”

I laughed and watched them have a mock argument about the afterlife while they headed to Kyle’s truck. DeLorean gave me a quick hug and then went to fetch Mama’s Cadillac.

“Nice job,” Jack said, appearing beside me out of nowhere.

“Thanks” I stepped to one side to let a couple of caterers carrying a buffet table get past.

“Looks like the caterers are about done.” He glanced at his watch. “About time I got going, too. I promised myself a quiet evening at home as a reward for finishing this project.”

I glanced into the kitchen and saw Diane push open the back door and say something about one of her people needing to help her get the other table out of the parlor. I was reminded of the couch in the attic and the broken door lock. “Not quite finished, Jack. There’s one more detail--that lock on the attic door.” I glanced away from him. I’d almost sounded bitchy and I hadn’t meant to. Now that I wasn’t his buddy anymore, I somehow seemed to have lost all sense of how to speak to him and not come across sounding like a shrewish ex-wife.

“Not fixed? I asked one of my men to either repair it or put on a new lock. If you’ve got any tools around, I’ll take care of it right now.”

“It’s no bother. You can do it Monday.”

“No, I promised to have the Blackthorn House finished by preview night. Surely you don’t expect Jack Maxwell to go back on his word,” he said, plastering his hand over his heart and assuming a fake look of horror.

“It’s not a big deal, but since you insist on playing the gallant contractor who leaves no detail undone, go right ahead. If there are tools here, they’re bound to be in the storage boxes I saw up there when the men moved the furniture. In fact, I distinctly remember seeing an old hammer.” I’d rather have stored things in the carriage house, but it was in bad shape and Veronica had put off restoring it for now.

“Let’s go, then.” He peeled himself off the wall and motioned for me to follow.

“What’s this we?” He could find his own tools because I did not like that attic.

“You’re the Blackthorn House manager. I have no idea where the storage boxes are.”

“They’re not that hard to find. Honestly. You act as though the attic is the size of Carnegie Hall.”

Grumbling that being the manager did not mean I had to do every single thing, I led the way through the kitchen, up to the second floor, and then up the attic stairs. Being careful to leave the door propped, I flipped the light switch. After giving myself a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I walked in ahead of Jack, and slipped past the shrouded furniture. I tried not to shudder as I stepped over the dark blotch that was supposed to be a blood stain from where Devilhearted Eli had supposedly killed his wife’s lover.

“This place creeps me out, so let’s not take too long. Around the corner near the far wall I’m sure I saw some old cans of paint along with a couple of boxes of tools and odds and ends. There was even an old doorknob or two in one box, so there might be a lock you can use in place of the broken one.”

The light, partially blocked by stacked furniture, was dimmer in the corner so Jack knelt on the floor to see the tools. Behind me, something banged and I gulped, promising myself to stay out of the attic from now on unless I was with a tour group. Safety in numbers.

Jack stood. He held up a piece of rusted metal that might have been a screwdriver. “You don’t go in much for home repairs, do you, Nic?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Stop being so huffy. It means there’s not a single thing of use in these boxes. Everything’s about a hundred years old and rusted to pieces.”

“I said there were tools. It’s not my fault they’re ancient.”

“This has turned out to be a big waste of time. I guess I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I told you not to bother. Monday’s soon enough.” I put my hands on my hips.

“Of course. I should have remembered you’re always right.”

“Me? You’re the one who—“

“Never mind. Let’s not spoil the rest of the evening by fighting. Like I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “I’m not fighting. But tomorrow I’m driving to Virginia for an open house at Christian’s college. And Veronica won’t be by the house until at least Tuesday. She’s tied up with that Ashley project and probably about a dozen others I don’t know about.”

“I still have a key.” He fished in his pocket and held up a key ring. I recognized the oversized brass key to the house dangling next to his car keys.

“Come back anytime you like, then. You can even come back tonight if you want.”

“Tomorrow’s fine. I have to admit, you’re right about this place being a little creepy. At night, anyway.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I keep thinking I feel something touching me.”

I raised an eyebrow. At this point I could have made snide remarks about him being afraid of ghosts, but I certainly didn’t have room to talk. Besides, I did not need to waste time picking on Jack when I had to get on the road. I could have waited until morning to leave, but I was wired about seeing Christian and about the drive and knew I wouldn’t sleep anyway if I went home because of Cole’s keeping us awake with his teething pains.

I motioned for Jack to lead the way. If there were any ghosts between the exit and us, he’d encounter them first.

Except it wasn’t a ghost that brought Jack to a stop at the door. I plowed into him before I could help myself, and he reached back to steady me and managed to keep me from pitching backward and falling over a blanket shrouded end table.

“What’s going on?” I didn’t have to ask. I’d heard the doorknob rattle uselessly when he shook it.

“Who in the world closed the door?” He thumped the door with the side of his fist. “Hey, anybody here? Open the door.”

“Open the door,” I parroted uselessly.

God, where were Diane and her crew? Gone, of course. While Jack and I had been busy sniping at each other like a couple of kids over a box of broken tools, they’d left, not realizing we were up here. That bang I’d heard earlier—it must have been the sound of the door shutting. Trapping us. In an attic that might be haunted, if there were such a thing. Right now, I believed in heart and soul in hauntings. Someone or something had to have closed that door. It could have been a draft—though I hadn’t felt a hint of a breeze when we came upstairs--or it could have been something otherworldly.

I let out a thin whimper. Jack tried to pull the door toward himself. It didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Damn,” he said. “That door is at least two-hundred-years-old and solid as iron. Let’s sit down and think about how we’re going to get out of here.”

“Yeah, we’re smart people. We can solve this problem.” I felt so brave. Of course, if Jack hadn’t been here I’d have been hysterical.

Forgetting that only a few moments ago we’d been arguing, together we explored every inch of the space, banging and prodding and looking for I didn’t know what. A secret door, maybe? The walls were solid and nothing was even remotely promising as an exit. The windows were tiny and stuck shut and besides we were on the third floor with nothing between us and the ground except thirty feet of empty air. There was no door other than the stuck one leading back to the stairs.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while.” Jack pulled the cover off the sofa and settled himself on the nearest cushion. “Might as well get comfortable.”

“Might as well.” I wanted to scream. What kind of fate had led to me getting locked in a haunted attic with a man who’d made it clear he liked me about as much as he liked poison? Could have been worse. What if T. Chandler had driven up from Atlanta for my ghost touring debut and he’d been the one who’d come up to the attic with me? I shuddered.

“You okay?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“I’m fine.” I set my lips in a thin line and plunked myself down on one side of the couch. “Please tell me you have your cell phone with you.”

“Don’t you think I already thought of that?” He shook his head. “I left it in the car. Besides, I forgot to charge it, so it wouldn’t have done us any good. But what are you worried about? I’m sure your mother and your sister will need you any minute for one disaster or another and they’ll send out a search party when you don’t show up to sort things out.”

I jerked my chin up. Now he was the one being bitchy, only he was a man, so it was no doubt called something else, like leadership or strength of character.

“No, they won’t. First of all, you’re being unfair. I already apologized for the other night and I told you I’m not letting Mama and DeLorean rule my life anymore. So why are you even bringing that up?”

He shrugged. “True, you did. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been sarcastic.”

“Thanks. And second of all, I was planning to go to Virginia tonight, so they won’t be expecting me home until Sunday evening, by which time…” I stifled a sob. “by which time I’ll be a basket case, especially if there really are ghosts in this stupid attic.” I narrowed my eyes to peer at a pale patch in a corner and concluded it wasn’t a ghostly mist, but just lighter paint on the wall.

He turned in my direction. “Aw, Nic. There aren’t any ghosts. I’m more worried about hunger and thirst, though I’m sure we’ll survive until Sunday evening when someone lets us out after you don’t return on time. Meanwhile, let’s make the best of things.”

“Oh, sure, when life hands you lemons, just make lemonade.” My voice shook. “Do you have anything else useful to say, Mr. Happy Face, or can I just wrap myself in the furniture cover and try to stay safe?”

“You didn't happen to pack your pockets full of crackers or store any provisions up here for emergencies, did you?”

“Of course not. It wasn’t as if I planned to spend more than a few minutes in this stupid attic. Ever.” A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. “I don’t know why I’m being so emotional about this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault we’re trapped.”

“I know. I guess I meant I’m sorry about blowing up at you the night I had the flat tires at that motel.” Funny how I couldn’t get that night out of my mind. No, not funny. Wanting Jack to still be my friend even after we’d clashed over a stupid family crisis meant I had some kind of feelings for him. Even someone who was as romantically dense as DeLorean said I was could figure that out. And I had.

“You’ve already apologized, remember? You’re sorry, I’m sorry, we rub each other the wrong way and all that.” Deep man sigh--most likely indicating frustration followed by sad acceptance.

“I know, but it’s only that we’re in danger and who knows what will happen and I wanted you to know how I felt. I didn’t mean to get so angry with you that night, but you didn’t get it. Only it wasn’t you who didn’t get it, it turned out it was me.” Normally I would not have blabbed all this, but who knew if we’d ever get out of here? By Sunday evening we could have been taken captive by ghosts. Could they do that? Why hadn’t I paid more attention to Patty’s ramblings? But I had to stop torturing myself with horrible what ifs or I couldn’t possibly stay sane.

“What are you saying, Nic?” Jack didn’t sound nearly as upset as I was.

“I was mad because I liked you and I wanted us to stay friends, but I thought you didn’t understand about families and how they should help each other.”

“Why would you think something like that? I have a family, too.”

“I don’t know. I guess because I wasn’t making any distinctions between real emergencies and going overboard. That’s all I have to say. I apologize for—well, for everything.” I grabbed part of my dress and twisted it into a tight knot.

“Hey, Nic, you’re just a bundle of sorries tonight, aren’t you? Want me to break out the apology violins?” He pantomimed a violinist playing with elaborate bow strokes.

I glanced down at the floor and when I looked up again he was grinning and he’d somehow crossed the space between us on the couch without seeming to move. And somehow I’d ended up in his arms and then I was sobbing on his shoulder.

I fumbled a tissue out of my pocket and wiped my nose. I hated it when I cried, but it seemed all I did was gush like a stupid tear fountain.

“Are you saying you’ve changed your ways after all these years?”

He stroked my hair. A shiver went through me. More than a shiver. He’d awakened feelings I hadn’t had since--forever. I pulled away from him while I still could and then I wished I hadn’t.

“Pretty much. And, Jack, if you still want me to—I’d like to be your friend and go back to your new house with you and, I don’t know, help you decorate your den?” I sniffled.

That was as close as I could get right now to admitting my true feelings about him. If he turned me down, at least he wouldn’t know I felt rejected and embarrassed.

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse. Every man should have a stylish den designed by his best friend.” He lowered his head and kissed me. After a while—a long while, we pulled apart. We were still way over in each other’s personal space. Jack was breathing hard and his face was flushed.

“Wow,” I said. “So much for our famous lack of mutual attraction.”

“Not attracted? Woman, don’t you know the story about lack of chemistry was nothing more than a face saving rumor I started years ago to explain the fact that the cool and popular Jack Maxwell couldn’t get Nic Marsh to go out with him?”

“Idiot. I was dying to go out with you. And as I recall, I accepted every time you asked.”

“Then why didn’t we have one single date?”

“You know why. It wasn’t my fault that there was always a family…” I trailed off.

“Mama needed help in the kitchen and DeLorean needed help with her homework and the world was going to fall apart unless good old Susan took over and fixed things.” He shook his head. “Do you realize that every time we were supposed to go out, you had to cancel because of your family? What was I supposed to think? From my point of view you spent all your time thinking of ways to not go out with me.”

“That’s not true.” I swallowed hard.

Not exactly. But it wasn’t only my devotion to my mother and sister that had kept me from keeping my dates with Jack, I knew that now. There was my own fear, the fear of rejection and the fear of loss I’d never admitted to myself until last week. With T. Chandler the commitment hadn’t mattered because some part of me knew he wasn’t the one. But with Jack—well, it would have hurt too much to lose him, so I never let myself have him to begin with.

“It sure seemed that way. Imagine how I felt.” He tenderly wiped away a tear that was spilling down my cheek.

“I promise I’ll never let that happen again.” My voice sounded low and husky. I drew a shaky breath.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not saying I want you to abandon your family.” He locked his gaze on my mine.

“I know.”

”So while we’re busy apologizing, I’m sorry, too. I should have been more understanding, instead of making you feel like you had to choose between me and your family. Truce?”

“Buddies forever.” I slid my arms around Jack’s broad shoulders and kissed him.

It was another long kiss. Finally he drew back and said, “Uhmm, I had something else in mind. Something stronger than buddyhood and you’re in agreement if I read the signals right.”

“You did.” I kissed him again.

Hours later, after we’d explored the chemistry between us, we snuggled together under the cloth that the workmen had used to cover the couch. Jack dozed off and on for the rest of the night, but I couldn’t sleep. Someone had to keep watch for ghosts.

When the sun finally rose, I could tell it was morning by the dim light slanting in through the dingy windows at the front of the attic. I thought about tapping on the glass in the hope of alerting a passerby, but given the house’s reputation, people would likely think I was a ghost and run away screaming. We got up and searched the attic again, hoping we’d missed something last night, a secret exit or maybe a battering ram we could use to break open the door.

Hopeless. The place couldn’t have been any more secure if it had been Alcatraz in its heyday.

Jack and I would have to resign ourselves to waiting until Sunday when Mama and DeLorean got worried after I didn’t return. I hoped they started their worrying early.

But I hadn’t counted on Patty and her tarot cards. Thanks to Patty, the rescue party—Veronica, Patty, and Kyle—arrived Saturday morning.

“Don’t dare let that door swing shut again,” I said to Kyle after he forced his way in. Veronica called out and then came up the stairs into the attic to see if Jack and I had survived the night.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about. Kyle’s going to fix it right now, so this will never happen again.” She shot me an inquiring look. A grin slowly formed on her face and then she winked at me. I felt a blush warm my cheeks.

“Let’s go,” I said, waving her back toward the stairs and then getting to my feet. “I do not want to spend one more minute in here.”

“You sure about that?” she teased.

“I’ll bet you didn’t see or hear any spirits, did you?” Patty said in accusing tones when we got back to the kitchen.

“I’ve told you a thousand times I am not the least bit psychic. Zero. Zilch. Anyway, thanks for saving Jack and me. How did you find us, anyway? I mean, no one even knew we were missing, so they weren’t going to look and prospects for a quick rescue looked pretty grim.”

Kyle had followed us down after fixing the lock and now he picked up the cup of coffee he’d left on the counter. “Patty’s tarot cards.”

“Really?” I turned to Patty. “I’ve never actually believed in your tarot readings, but what can I say? Other than thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I mean, it’s miraculous almost. If I hadn’t driven into town to buy new tarot cards and seen your van parked here next to Jack’s car when you were supposed to be in Virginia, I never would have figured out something was wrong and called Veronica. The tarot doesn’t lie, Susan.”

“Evidently not.”

After all, even if the rescue by tarot was questionable, Patty’s cards had told her weeks ago that Jack was my destiny. I put my hand in his and squeezed. He squeezed back. I knew it was going to be a long time before I wanted to let go.

L.C. Evans

Connecting readers with other worlds

Biography:

L.C. Evans loves to write. She grew up in Florida and now lives in North Carolina with her husband Bob, their grandson--the Boy--and their three or four Chihuahuas. Occasionally there is a sighting around their home of a certain neurotic cat that may or may not be a part of the Evans household. Ms. Evans loves to hear from fans. Contact her at:

Lcevans@lcevans.com

Another book that might interest readers of We Interrupt This Date:

Take the Monkeys and Run by Karen Cantwell

Product Description

Film lover Barbara Marr is a typical suburban mom living the typical suburban life in her sleepy little town of Rustic Woods, Virginia. Typical, that is until she sets out to find the missing link between a bizarre monkey sighting in her yard and the bone chilling middle-of-the-night fright fest at the strangely vacant house next door. When Barb talks her two friends into some seemingly innocent Charlie’s Angels-like sleuthing, they stumble upon way more than they bargained for and uncover a piece of neighborhood history that certain people would kill to keep on the cutting room floor.

Enter sexy PI Colt Baron, Barb’s ex-boyfriend who would love to be cast as new leading man, filling the role just vacated by her recently estranged husband, Howard. When Colt flies in from out of town to help Barb, events careen out of control and suddenly this mini-van driving mother of three becomes a major player in a treacherous and potentially deadly FBI undercover operation. It’s up to her now. With little time to spare, she and she alone, must summon the inner strength necessary to become a true action heroine and save the lives of those she loves. The question is can she get them out alive before the credits roll?

From Publishers Weekly

This fun if light novel’s quippy, hilarious narrator, Barbara Marr, has so much warmth and genuine gumption, you’d certainly want her on your criminal investigative team. The spunky Virginia housewife and mother of three is almost at the end of her rope — her hunky husband, Howard, has left her; it’s her 45th birthday; and she’s just discovered three monkeys living in the trees in front of her house. “Life was pretty sucky” as she puts it. But while investigating the curious case of these monkeys, a bit of unexpected adventure shakes things up just the right amount. In a warm-hearted, deftly observed comic-farce-meets-mobster mystery, Barbara and her friends from her quiet suburban neighborhood, Peggy and Roz, stick their noses into the business of a deserted house down the street and find themselves caught up in some off-the-wall FBI business that hits way closer to home than they could have imagined. Perhaps a bit goofy at times, this is nevertheless an outright treat: diverting, funny and fast-moving. -- This text refers to the manuscript reviewed as a part of the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest.

Table of Contents

Chapter Three

Chapter Thirteen