a year, letting me know he was still alive, but not much more than that. He stopped about nine years ago—I’m guessingaround the time the two of you got married. Because he never mentioned you.” He indicated the lawyer still speaking on his phone. “And Mr. Williams has informed me that you now own our grandmother’s house.”
Merritt stared at him openly. “Yes, it appears I do.”
He looked up at the wind chimes that were busy shimmying in the wind. “How nice for you.” Their eyes met, leaving Loralee to wonder who would look away first.
They both did as Mr. Williams came up the porch steps. “That was Kathy. She’s sending her cleaning lady over now, and I’m to bring you all over to our house for supper. You’re invited, too, Gibbes.”
Gibbes slowly looked over at Merritt before shaking his head. “Please give my thanks to Mrs. Williams, but I have other plans.”
The look on his face made Loralee think his plans were something pressing, like organizing his sock drawer or cleaning out his tackle box.
Addressing Mr. Williams, he said, “I’ll call tomorrow to set up an appointment to go through the house. Assuming the new owner agrees.”
Merritt crossed her arms over her chest. “The new owner can give you an answer if you’d care to ask her directly.”
His jaw pulsed and Loralee wasn’t sure whether he was trying not to smile or was clenching his teeth.
Instead of answering, Gibbes nodded, and without directing his words toward anybody in particular, he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you all.”
Everybody watched as he walked back toward his truck while Loralee slowly backed into one of the chairs and sank down into it, sighing quietly so no one would hear her. The sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows onto the porch, and she rocked back into one of them, happy to be able to take cover for a moment, thankful for the distraction of the departing truck to hide how very, very tired she was.
She felt something beneath her leg and pulled out the picture that Merritt had dropped in the chair. It was a crayon drawing of a table with two people, a boy and a girl, sharing a glass of milk and a bag of cookies that looked like Oreos. The both appeared to be twisting the Oreos apart to eat the cream first. Loralee smiled, glad Owen had thought to bring it, and feeling hopeful for the first time. She focused on holding on to her smile, knowing that if she lost it, she might never find it again.
chapter 4
MERRITT
T he sea-glass chimes crashed against one another outside on the porch as I attempted one more time to press a pillow over my head without suffocating. Although as I lay wide-eyed and sleepless, suffocation seemed like a good alternative. But then I thought of Cal, and how they said he’d died, and I felt guilty just for the thought.
I added another item to my mental shopping list right under earplugs: a ladder. Those damned wind chimes were coming down or I would be known as the second crazy lady who lived in the Heyward house.
After dinner with the Williamses, Loralee and I had driven to a grocery store with the improbable name of Piggly Wiggly to pick up supplies, and I remembered her putting a gallon of milk for Owen—or Rocky, as he seemed to want to be called—in the cart. I’d nevertried it before, but I’d heard that warmed milk helped a person sleep. I’d have to find a pot to heat it on the ancient stove, because I didn’t recall seeing a microwave.
The grocery-shopping trip had been an oddly silent one. Owen had slept in the car to and from the store, then walked like a zombie along the fluorescent-lit aisles. Loralee had been unusually silent, and I wondered if it was because she was tired, too, or because she’d realized that her heavy Alabama accent and nonstop chattering were giving me a headache. There could have been another reason, but I’d been too tired and my mind too full with the day’s events to care enough to ask.
I threw off the
Merritt stared at him openly. “Yes, it appears I do.”
He looked up at the wind chimes that were busy shimmying in the wind. “How nice for you.” Their eyes met, leaving Loralee to wonder who would look away first.
They both did as Mr. Williams came up the porch steps. “That was Kathy. She’s sending her cleaning lady over now, and I’m to bring you all over to our house for supper. You’re invited, too, Gibbes.”
Gibbes slowly looked over at Merritt before shaking his head. “Please give my thanks to Mrs. Williams, but I have other plans.”
The look on his face made Loralee think his plans were something pressing, like organizing his sock drawer or cleaning out his tackle box.
Addressing Mr. Williams, he said, “I’ll call tomorrow to set up an appointment to go through the house. Assuming the new owner agrees.”
Merritt crossed her arms over her chest. “The new owner can give you an answer if you’d care to ask her directly.”
His jaw pulsed and Loralee wasn’t sure whether he was trying not to smile or was clenching his teeth.
Instead of answering, Gibbes nodded, and without directing his words toward anybody in particular, he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you all.”
Everybody watched as he walked back toward his truck while Loralee slowly backed into one of the chairs and sank down into it, sighing quietly so no one would hear her. The sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows onto the porch, and she rocked back into one of them, happy to be able to take cover for a moment, thankful for the distraction of the departing truck to hide how very, very tired she was.
She felt something beneath her leg and pulled out the picture that Merritt had dropped in the chair. It was a crayon drawing of a table with two people, a boy and a girl, sharing a glass of milk and a bag of cookies that looked like Oreos. The both appeared to be twisting the Oreos apart to eat the cream first. Loralee smiled, glad Owen had thought to bring it, and feeling hopeful for the first time. She focused on holding on to her smile, knowing that if she lost it, she might never find it again.
chapter 4
MERRITT
T he sea-glass chimes crashed against one another outside on the porch as I attempted one more time to press a pillow over my head without suffocating. Although as I lay wide-eyed and sleepless, suffocation seemed like a good alternative. But then I thought of Cal, and how they said he’d died, and I felt guilty just for the thought.
I added another item to my mental shopping list right under earplugs: a ladder. Those damned wind chimes were coming down or I would be known as the second crazy lady who lived in the Heyward house.
After dinner with the Williamses, Loralee and I had driven to a grocery store with the improbable name of Piggly Wiggly to pick up supplies, and I remembered her putting a gallon of milk for Owen—or Rocky, as he seemed to want to be called—in the cart. I’d nevertried it before, but I’d heard that warmed milk helped a person sleep. I’d have to find a pot to heat it on the ancient stove, because I didn’t recall seeing a microwave.
The grocery-shopping trip had been an oddly silent one. Owen had slept in the car to and from the store, then walked like a zombie along the fluorescent-lit aisles. Loralee had been unusually silent, and I wondered if it was because she was tired, too, or because she’d realized that her heavy Alabama accent and nonstop chattering were giving me a headache. There could have been another reason, but I’d been too tired and my mind too full with the day’s events to care enough to ask.
I threw off the
Similar Books
