The Strangers On Montagu Street Part 8

Nola looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Are you saying she was right to kill herself?"

I shook my head, still not fully understanding my mother's words, but at least knowing what they hadn't meant. "No." I tried hard to visualize this conversation as a list of to-do items, making sure that nothing was left off. It's how I got through my life, and I had no other resource. "I'm saying she must have thought she had no other choice." Again, my thoughts wandered to my own mother's explanation of why she'd left me all those years ago. Feeling relief and grat.i.tude toward her for this unexpected guidance, I said, "She must have believed somehow that you would be better off without her."

Nola ducked her head back into the dog's neck. "Then why would she leave me with . . . him?" She spit out the last word, not even willing to say Jack's name.

I found myself in the unusual position of having to defend Jack. But I felt I was on solid ground here with my advice, because my father and I had gone through the same awkward dance when he recently decided to become a part of my life after decades of emotional absence. "He's a good person, Nola. And I know he loves you. He just has no idea how to be a father right now-you need to give each other time as you get used to this situation."

"He abandoned us. My mother told me that. That he knew about me, and still didn't want me."

If a heart could physically break, I was pretty sure mine would be lying on the kitchen table in a thousand pieces. I gave up on my mental spreadsheet and list, knowing they would be of no help to me here, and instead leaned back in my chair. At least I had the truth on my side, and that was something.

"I don't know why your mother said that, and I'm sure she had her reasons. But your father would never have abandoned you if he'd known about you. And he wants to do the right thing now, if you'd just give him a chance. He's annoying and pigheaded, sure, and used to getting his way."

I was rewarded with a small twitch of her lips.

"But," I continued, "he's also kind and caring. And he understands his responsibilities." I narrowed my eyes at her. "And if you tell him I said those nice things about him, I will force you to wear a lime green skort and lacy white blouse. With matching green Keds. I have that exact outfit in my closet, so it wouldn't be that hard."

She pretended to shudder. "My mother wouldn't lie to me. She wouldn't."

Despite the determination in her words, I heard the question in them, too, and I felt encouraged enough to press forward. "He wants to do something fun-like a father-daughter outing. So you can get to know each other. I was thinking maybe a kayaking excursion in Charleston Harbor. There's an outfit on Shem Creek that takes groups and does a salt.w.a.ter tour."

She contemplated the ceiling for a long moment. Finally, she said, "Whatever. But can I bring a friend?"

I knew that wasn't what Jack had intended, but at least it was a place to start. "Sure," I said. "Which friend?"

She gave me a look apparently meant to make me feel like the stupidest person on the planet. She succeeded. "I've only got one. Alston Ravenel."

I remembered the shy Alston with the infectious laugh and good sense of humor. Smiling, I said, "Sure. Give her call. Your dad gets back from New York tomorrow, so how about Sat.u.r.day?"

Nola sighed heavily, as if speaking to me were taking a great effort. "n.o.body calls anybody anymore. They text, or Facebook, but they definitely don't call. That's so 2000."

I contemplated her for a long moment, wondering how many blows my ego could take before holding up a white flag. "I didn't know you had a cell phone."

"I don't." She looked pointedly at me.

Feeling a little more secure in adult territory, I said, "I'll be happy to talk to your dad about it-that's his decision, not mine. In the meantime, you can use the good old-fashioned house phone. Call your grandmother if you don't have the number."

"Whatever," she said again, but made no move to get up. She chewed on her lower lip while I waited, hoping whatever it was she had to say wouldn't make me feel any more inadequate. Finally, she said, "Does Jack drink?"

Her question took me by surprise. Jack was a recovering alcoholic, and had, in fact, been my father's AA sponsor the previous year. But I thought Jack should be the one to tell Nola. "Not anymore," I answered, hoping that would be the end of it.

"Because when I was staying with him, he bought a six-pack of beer and then the next day I saw him smash each of the full bottles in the sink. He'd been leaving messages for somebody all day-I think somebody in New York-and n.o.body was calling him back, so I think he was pretty p.i.s.sed." She paused, as if deciding whether she should tell me more. Slowly, she said, "My mom's boyfriend-two boyfriends ago-used to smash the bottles when my mom brought home booze. He was trying to keep her clean. I think that's why she broke up with him."

Something hard and heavy formed in the pit of my stomach, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. I was worried about Jack, and what would have made him buy beer after he'd been sober for so long. But the sick feeling came from listening to Nola, and how easily she used words like "keeping clean" and "booze." She was only thirteen years old, but as I stared at her across the kitchen table with her face scrubbed clean and the multiple earrings removed from her ears-something Sophie, of all people, had suggested-Nola looked like what she was: a scared and lonely child.

"I appreciate your telling me." I took a deep breath. "I think your dad's going through a tough time right now, but I'll make sure that he won't go it alone, okay?" I had no idea what I was actually promising, but I knew I had to rea.s.sure her that at least one parent would be a stable anchor for her.

I watched as the sky through the window behind her began to pinken. "Why don't you try to go back to bed? I'm going to go ahead and get dressed and get to the office early. I think my mother said something about taking you in for a haircut. . . ." My words trailed off as I heard the distinct sound of a man speaking quietly.

With my fingers held to my lips, I stood and darted for the light switch, then turned off the overhead lights.

"Good night, Ginny," came the loud and definitely masculine whisper from the foyer.

"Sh!" came an equally loud reply from upstairs. "Don't wake up Mellie or Nola. You'll know we'll never hear the end of it."

"Sorry. I just think I'm a little too old to be sneaking around like a teenager in heat."

Something clattered on the marble floor.

"Ouch! What was that for?" My father's annoyed whisper was louder than his usual speaking voice.

"You forgot your belt. I don't want Mellie finding it in my room. Now go before the sun is up and the neighbors see you."

"Can I see you tonight?"

"Only if you leave right now."

"Ginny?"

"Yes?"

"I still love you."

"Go."

There was a long silence, followed eventually by the sound of the dead bolt on the front door turning, and then the door closing softly.

I looked at Nola in the brightening gloom, her cheeks red, her eyes sparkling. "Ew," she said.

"Ew," I spit out, before we both dissolved into smothered laughter that erased, at least for a while, all the sadness the predawn hours had laid open.

CHAPTER 9.

I paused outside my bedroom door, still wrestling with the clasp on my necklace, listening to the faint sound of music. At first I thought I was hearing the radio, until I realized the sound was coming from the bathroom, with the hum of water from the shower as the backdrop. Nola's bathroom had another entrance into the hallway, and I moved to stand in front of it to listen more closely.

I noticed the melody of the song first, haunting and lyrical, one of those songs that stays with you long after it's over. Then I noticed the voice singing it. If I hadn't known who was behind the door, I would have thought an angel had somehow decided to take up residence in my mother's house.

Leaning against the doorjamb, I closed my eyes and allowed the notes and the words to fill my head. The doorbell rang and I jerked myself away from the door, embarra.s.sed to find my eyes moist, the heartbreak in Nola's voice real enough for me to feel it. Glancing at my watch, I realized that it must be Alston, and she was exactly five minutes early. I knew there was a reason I liked the girl.

I opened the front door and Alston stood there wearing cute plaid walking shorts, a pale pink polo shirt, pearls around her neck, and her hair in a high ponytail. "Good morning, Miss Middleton. I hope I'm not too early. It's a bad habit, but I hate being late."

Her smile faded a bit as she took in my own outfit. Thinking I might have dropped powdered sugar down the front of my shirt, I looked down and cringed. We wore nearly identical outfits, right down to the white Keds and plaid shorts, except my plaid was in darker hues of green and blue, whereas hers were in pale yellows and pinks. I laughed as I opened the door a little wider and ushered her inside. "I guess we both got the same memo, didn't we?"

"That's for sure." She looked around. "Is Nola ready?"

"No. And Mr. Trenholm isn't here yet, either. Can I get you something to eat or drink while we wait?"

"Actually, I wanted to see Nola's dollhouse. She keeps telling me about it and I've been dying to see it."

"Sure," I said, leading her toward the stairs. "She's still in the bathroom getting ready, so we won't be in her way."

I tapped on the bedroom door and, when I didn't hear anything, turned the handle and stuck my head inside to find the room empty. Turning back to Alston, I said, "Give me just a minute to make sure the coast's clear." I picked my way across the floor to the connecting bathroom door and knocked. "Nola?"

The shower stopped. "What?"

"Alston's here and she wants to see the dollhouse. Is it okay if I bring her in?"

"Whatever. I have all my stuff in here. Just don't mess anything up."

I looked behind me. Nola didn't have a lot, but what she did have was strewn from one end of her room to the other, as if the laundry basket in her closet, or drawers and hangers, didn't exist. "All right," I said. "But hurry up. You have reservations at nine and the excursion won't wait."

As I made my way back to the bedroom door, I kicked clothes to the side to create a walking path to the dollhouse. "The coast's clear," I called out to Alston.

At first glance, everything appeared to be normal, a.s.suming "normal" was a word that could be used to describe this particular dollhouse. The girl figure was poised at an upstairs window with a miniature telescope, the father at a desk in the library. I had to look hard to find the boy, eventually locating him in what appeared to be an upstairs nursery, sitting on the floor in front of a mini replica of the dollhouse. A china-faced doll sat on the floor beside him, and a tiny silver tea set was on a table nearby.

A quiet voice came from behind me. "Did you and Mrs. Middleton decorate Nola's room?" Alston asked, a polite smile stuck to her face.

I thought for a moment to torment her and tell her that it was our pride and joy, but I just wasn't that convincing as a liar. "Oh, gosh, no. We just haven't had the chance to redo it yet. But Nola seems to like it."

Relief pa.s.sed over her delicate features. "It's not my taste, but I can see why it appeals to Nola. She likes a lot of bright colors, doesn't she? Probably because she grew up in LA. From what I've heard, things are a lot more colorful there."

I was about to suggest a future career in diplomacy when Alston reached inside the dollhouse to the parents' bedroom. "Why is the mother facedown in the bed and covered up like that?" she asked as she pulled the mother out and sat her in the wing-backed chair by the fireplace.

"Maybe she was tired," I said, striving for a light tone.

Alston picked up the dog that had been hiding behind a sofa in the front parlor and brought him up to the mother to place him at her feet. "Nola said that sometimes she dreams about these people, but they're real in her dreams. And they tell her where they want to be placed in the house."

I looked at her with alarm, wondering whether she and Nola understood just how odd that was. "Must be that vegan diet," I said, interjecting a hollow laugh.

"Maybe." She stood and frowned. "I really want to see the front. Nola said it looks like a real house."

I stood, too. "It's too heavy for us to move, but there should be enough room for you to slip between it and the wall to get a good look."

With her back to the wall, Alston slid behind the house. "This is amazing," she said, her eyes brightening. "I thought the rooms and the furniture looked real-but this is awesome." A light crease formed between her eyebrows. "Actually, there's something really familiar about it."

"Really?" I said. "You recognize it?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly. But still . . . I don't know. It's like I know this house from somewhere, but not this exact thing, you know?"

I tried to keep my voice steady. "If you think of it, would you let me know? I'm . . . curious who these people might have been and who the dollhouse belonged to."

"Sure," she said, giving me an odd look. She slid out from behind the house just as Nola opened the bathroom door. She'd apparently had a hairstyling lesson from Sophie, and her beautiful dark waves were bound on top of her head with an a.s.sortment of brightly hued barrettes. She had been paring down her makeup little by little and now wore only a bit of eyeliner-in brown, not black-and mascara. I'd like to think that it was because she was learning from my mother and me how to properly accentuate one's features with makeup instead of obliterating them, but I think it had more to do with using the time to sleep. She kept on insisting that she was meant to sleep until noon, no matter how many times I had to pull her out of bed several hours earlier than her target.

Her clothes were still a hodgepodge of mismatched styles, colors, and patterns, and I kept waiting for her to tone that down, too. Surely it was only a matter of time before she realized that she wasn't doing herself any favors. Then again, there was Sophie. Her inability to dress appropriately hadn't seemed to hold her back any. Today Nola had chosen a simple torn white T-shirt and long, ripped denim shorts to go kayaking in. Her feet were bare, so there was still hope she'd wear something other than combat boots or high-top Converse sneakers.

"Hi, Alston." She gave a small wave to her friend. She stopped when she spotted me, her eyes going from me to Alston, then back again. "Really? What did you two do-rob a J.Crew store?"

The doorbell rang. "That must be your dad," I said. "I'll go down to let him in while you finish getting dressed, then come down. You don't want to be late."

As I turned to leave the room, I noticed that the dollhouse mother had somehow returned to her bed and was lying facedown in her sheets. I glanced at Alston, hoping she wouldn't notice.

Jack appeared the same as he had the last time I'd seen him, except he was freshly shaved and was wearing khaki shorts and a collared golf shirt. His bare feet were clad in Top-Siders. I looked behind him on the porch. "Where's Rebecca?"

"Don't get me started," he said, brushing past me. "She said I'd promised to take her furniture shopping, but I thought she'd understand that an outing with Nola might be more important."

"Sorry to borrow a word from your daughter, but 'duh.' Of course it is."

His eyes darkened as he regarded me. Quietly, he said, "I knew you'd say that."

I swallowed thickly. "But those are two-person kayaks, and Alston's already here."

He looked pointedly at me. "Do you have plans this morning?"

I'd antic.i.p.ated a quiet morning to organize my closet, something I hadn't had a chance to do yet since moving in. And the grout in my bathroom wasn't as white as I'd like, and I'd planned to attack it with an old toothbrush and bleach. Neither of which would const.i.tute "plans" to Jack.

"Not really," I said. "But I don't like deep water."

"You'll be wearing a life jacket."

"But what if it falls off?"

He grinned his trademark grin, as effective as him picking me up and putting me in the kayak. "I'll be there to save you."

I was working on my next protest when Nola and Alston came down the stairs, their physical appearances as different from each other as possible, but both of them moving with the same lanky stroll, with arms and legs that seemed too long for them.

"Good morning, Nola." Jack smiled, a different smile from what I was used to. It was a genuine smile not intended to charm or coerce-I could tell by the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled-but there was uncertainty in it, too. And that was one thing I'd never seen.

Alston stepped forward and offered her hand. I wanted to say that I'd never seen such a mature teenager, but I knew I had been just like that at an even earlier age. At least in my case it was because I knew at least one person in my family needed to be an adult.

"Good morning, Mr. Trenholm. I'm Alston Ravenel. My mother told me to say hi. We both love your books."

"Your mother?"

"Cecily Ravenel, but you probably knew her when she was still Cecily Gibbes."

Both eyebrows rose as a secret grin crossed his face. "Ah, yes. CeCe Gibbes. I remember her well." He paused, my imagination filling in the empty s.p.a.ce. "Please give her my best. And before you go home this afternoon, remind me to send you back with an autographed copy of my latest book."

"Oh, we already have that one-the one about Napoleon, right? We're waiting for the new one. When will that be out?"

Jack's face hardened almost imperceptibly. "That would be the million-dollar question. I've just come back from New York asking the same thing. Unfortunately, I still don't have an answer, but I promise you that as soon as it comes out, I'll send over a copy."

Alston beamed. "Thanks, Mr. Trenholm. I can't wait to tell my mother."