Not Quite Alive Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Also By Lyla Payne

  Title Page 2

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thank You!

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Lyla Payne

  About the Author

  Copyright 2016 by Lyla Payne

  Cover by Lyla Payne, Complete Pixels

  Developmental and Line Editing: Angela Polidoro

  Copyediting: Shannon Page

  Proofreading: Mary Ziegenhorn, Diane Thede, Cheryl Heinrich

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used factiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Also by LYLA PAYNE

  WHITMAN UNIVERSITY

  Broken at Love

  By Referral Only

  Be My Downfall

  Staying On Top

  Living the Dream

  Going for Broke (published in Fifty First Times: A New Adult Anthology)

  LOWCOUNTRY MYSTERIES

  Not Quite Dead

  Not Quite Cold

  Not Quite True

  Quite Curious

  Not Quite Gone

  Quite Precarious

  Not Quite Right

  Not Quite Mine

  Not Quite Alive

  Not Quite Free (January 10, 2017)

  THE PIACERE PRINCES

  The Playboy Prince

  A Royal Wedding (November 18, 2016)

  The Dutiful Prince (January 27, 2017)

  The Crooked Prince

  Mistletoe & Mr. Right

  Sleigh Bells & Second Chances

  SECRETS DON’T MAKE FRIENDS

  Secrets Don’t Make Friends

  Secrets Don’t Make Survivors

  Secrets Don’t Make Lovers (2017)

  Young Adult Novels Written as TRISHA LEIGH

  THE LAST YEAR

  Whispers in Autumn

  Winter Omens

  Betrayals in Spring

  Summer Ruins

  THE CAVY FILES

  Gypsy

  Alliance

  Buried

  THE HISTORIANS

  Return Once More

  Exist Once More (December 5, 2016)

  Chapter One

  It’s hard to believe that Beau’s really gone, even if Washington, D.C. is just a few states and a quick flight away. He promised to call me after his swearing in and first session today—part of me wishes I were there, but the rest of me craves separation from the public life for as long as I can manage it.

  He’ll be back in six weeks, and we’re going to visit at least three times. It will go fast.

  The fact that I have a big interview today about my plans for more articles on Henry Woodward with the Journal of American History, does double duty as a distraction from the it-will-go-fast lie and a legitimate, if convenient, excuse. The first of the articles I’ve planned based on the packet of information that came from my friend at Cambridge has already been accepted, and there might be enough background for three. Since spending time with Beau and my other Heron Creek family over Christmas took priority, I haven’t had time to go through all of it carefully,

  No regrets.

  The other part of my life that’s been shoved way off my plate is the bag of family history documents still languishing in Frank’s duffel bag up in my room. I peered inside long enough to verify that’s what he left me, but that’s it. The thought of the Fournier “legacy” reminds me of Travis, who decided not to leave Heron Creek after all, and spent much of the holiday with us to boot. We’re all adjusting to the idea that he’s my half-brother.

  “Do you smell that?” my cousin asks, her wrinkled nose lifted into the air like a bloodhound. She sniffs the dish towel in her hand, shakes her head, and tosses it on the edge of the sink.

  We’ve been silent while the tea kettle heated water for our morning kicks, and it takes me a moment to get out of my own head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s like a whiff of something putrid, just once in a while.”

  I pause and take a deep breath, but don’t smell anything off. For once. “Maybe they’re digging a grave at the cemetery.”

  “That’s halfway across town, Grace.” Amelia frowns at me, her tone exasperated.

  “Yeah, but you have pregnant superpower smelling,” I joke.

  She shakes her head and starts rummaging through the fridge, presumably searching for the source of the mysterious but offensive odor that only she senses. It’s not the first time in the past several weeks that she’s mentioned a curious stench, but given that it’s unnoticeable to me and everyone else who’s been interrogated about it, I go back to thinking about how to handle Travis and his…inclusion in our family.

  “What are you thinking about, Grace? You’re about to worry your lower lip bloody.” Amelia rubs her round belly as she eases down into the chair across from mine at the kitchen table. “Is it Beau? He’s barely been gone, and I’m sure his swearing in went fine. I told you we could watch it on CSPAN if you wanted.”

  My nose wrinkles of its own accord, as if I’ve suddenly caught the smell she’s been complaining about, after all. “CSPAN.”

  “Yes, you know, the channel for people who enjoy being informed about the goings on in this country.” She purses her lips. “Also masochists. I know you fall into at least one of those categories.”

  “Which one depends on the day,” I mutter, sipping my coffee and trying to ignore the longing look in her eyes. “Sorry. I’m sleeping like crap waiting for your water to break in the middle of the night or something. I mean, do you know how gross that’s going to be?”

  “I’m guessing not quite as gross as when I peed myself at the grocery store the other day,” Millie replies dryly. “And if you think you’re sleeping poorly, you should try getting comfortable with a tiny ninja round-housing your ribcage.”

  “I think I’ll take your word for it, at least for now.”

  She raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you thinking hard about a future with Beau? They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “Let’s just go to work. I’m not even ready to step into the public spotlight as the mayor’s girlfriend, never mind anything more.”

  “Okay, but can you imagine how adorable a Drayton baby would be with your eyes?” Amelia fake swoons, her grin devilish. “And you’re the senator’s girlfriend now, not the mayor’s. Remember?”

  She doesn’t have to remind me; I’ve thought about how all of this is going to affect our relationship going forward. There’s no way to predict the future, which is what I told Beau when he first talked to me about taking the job offered by Governor Haley, but that doesn’t stop
me from pondering every single angle while I head upstairs to finish getting ready for work.

  Henry watches me from his dark corner in my room, far away from the windows even though the January night has barely given way to a gloomy winter day. He prefers to avoid artificial light, as well, but his arrival with the sunrise isn’t the only reason I’m surprised to see him. His visits have been fewer and further between since the initial article about him was approved and sent for editing, increasing my speculation that what he’s wanted all this time is nothing more than to be remembered.

  For the first time, people are saying the name Henry Woodward aloud. Academics are speculating on the amazing truths of his life, and when he’s been around he has seemed…more content, somehow. Less agitated.

  But he’s still here, which must mean my work isn’t quite finished.

  “Hey, Henry. Big interview today. I’m going to defend my research on the relationship between you and Elizabeth Myles. What do you think about that?”

  Henry looks at me, all signs of his once-habitual boredom and annoyance gone. Now that I’ve started writing about his past, he’s blossomed into this handsome, engaged, excited man in front of me—who is, thankfully, wearing his proper English attire for the occasion of his visit and not his decidedly less appropriate loincloth. It feels like the truest version of who he might have been in life.

  I like this Henry Woodward.

  He gives me a nod, which I return before closing myself in the bathroom to get dressed. It’s still too weird to be naked in front of ghosts, even if they are dead. Immaterial or not, they still have eyes, right? And in Henry’s case, a penis.

  Amelia and I leave for the library together thirty minutes later, deciding on the way that we have a few minutes to spare at Westies before unlocking the doors. We haven’t been late or missed a day of work since the whole Mama Lottie thing was resolved, and Mr. Freedman seems to assume I’m growing up or something. Time will tell.

  The door has barely swung shut behind us when Belle calls out her greeting. “Good morning, Harper girls!” she chirps in a voice that borders on grating at this time in the morning. It’s as if she’s trying to do double duty for her coffee, which is completely unnecessary.

  Amelia has never even been a Harper, but that doesn’t stop people in Heron Creek from referring to her that way. I kind of love hearing the people here connecting us to our grandparents that way. For us both, their house, their guidance, were the things that made us the women we are—flawed, sure, but loyal as hell. I think Grams and Gramps would both be pretty proud of that.

  “I’ll have a cafe au lait and Fatty here will have a green tea.”

  “Grace…” Millie says, warning in her tone. She’s about had it with me calling her fat, but I’ll only get to tease her for a few more weeks. Last time she went to the doctor, they told her Jack will be fine even if she goes into labor early.

  “Sorry. My very pregnant cousin will have a green tea.”

  “And two chocolate croissants. And a piece of lemon pound cake.” She juts out her chin at me, daring me to comment.

  I hold up my hands and decide to practice self-preservation. For once. “I’ll have some oatmeal.”

  That startles both Belle and Amelia.

  “Oatmeal? With any fruit, honey?” Belle asks, recovering first.

  “Strawberries, I guess. And pecans if you have them.”

  “Is this whole Beau-becoming-a-senator thing going to inspire an entire lifestyle change?” Amelia asks while we wait. Keeping her voice low is probably a vain attempt to elude the hard-of-hearing old ladies who are about falling out of their chairs trying to eavesdrop. “Or a typical first of the year relapse into heath?”

  “Neither. I’m cold and it sounded good. Not everything warrants a federal investigation.”

  “Interesting choice of words,” my cousin murmurs as she wraps her puffy hands around her steaming cup of tea.

  Her gaze is pinned on the door, and when I follow it, I see Dylan Travis striding into the coffee shop. Only he would be up and at ’em before nine a.m. without a job.

  He catches my eye and nods. After ordering at the counter, he sidles his way down to join us in the waiting area. “Ladies.”

  “Morning, Dylan,” Amelia greets him warmly. He may be the cousin she never knew she wanted until a few weeks ago, but true to form, Millie’s been graceful in accepting the alteration to our family.

  Far more than I have, though I am trying.

  “Travis,” I add, mustering a smile. “Where’s the fire?”

  “I’m going to speak to the council this morning about getting my job back.”

  The casual statement takes me by surprise, and the startled squeak from Millie suggests the same of her, but the challenging light in Travis’s eye is enough to keep me from saying so.

  In all of the hours Travis and I have spent together since the DNA test confirmed we’re half-siblings, neither of us have brought up what happened while he was a detective in Arkansas—and why the threat of exposure was enough for him to quit his job and prepare to leave town like a Tasmanian devil. Well, he hasn’t brought it up and I haven’t had the guts. After all, I’m the one who gave the information about his old job to Clete.

  Amelia has too much class. Which has never really been a problem for me, so I guess I don’t have an excuse for avoiding his past.

  “I’m glad,” I tell him, because it’s true. My feelings on the matter haven’t yet been sorted, but how will they ever be if he heads for the hills and never looks back?

  Plus, then I might never figure out what happened in his past or whether it connects to mine other than through DNA, and that’s pretty much unacceptable. We share a father, after all. A father who has a ton of secrets and little inclination to share them.

  “Yeah?” He quirks a smile my direction, a genuine one that’s more than a little relieved.

  “Sure. We have lots to talk about, and I’ve got nothing but time now. Maybe you could come by for dinner this week.”

  “Oh, right. Beau left.” He grabs his drink from the counter when Lil, blushing like only a teenage girl can, sets it down for him. “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good.”

  We say our goodbyes, my mind already clicking ahead to dinner, about what questions to choose and how hard to push. Whether I should tell him about the documents in Frank’s bag now, or wait until I’ve had the chance to paw through all of them first. They’re probably as much his as mine, even if our father did give them to me.

  “You shouldn’t keep anything from him about Frank,” Amelia pipes up as we step through the front doors of the library.

  I take a moment to answer, slightly unsettled by her ability to read my mind. I get comfortable behind the desk while thinking about my response. “I’m considering it. I don’t know…I just hate surprises. What if there’s something in Frank’s mess of papers that I’d rather have time to process alone, you know?”

  “Grace.” The softness of Amelia’s voice grabs my attention. Her sea glass-green eyes see too much. “He’s family. Whatever is in those papers belongs to him, too.”

  The doors swing open then, saving me from having to admit that she’s echoed my own thoughts, and LeighAnn sweeps in with all four of her kids. Winter and summer breaks are, according to her, akin to “traversing hell on earth,” so I’m not surprised to see her here as soon as the doors are open.

  “Oh, thank you girls for being here. I need some space.” She shoos the children back toward their dedicated area and drops into a chair at the table where Amelia is chowing down on her pastries. “Those look divine. I did kickboxing this morning, so I totally deserve one, but these heathens haven’t given me five free minutes since. They made themselves cereal and half the kitchen is covered in milk. Whatever.”

  Amelia looks slightly horrified at this glimpse into her own not-too-distant future, but LeighAnn doesn’t seem to notice. She’s probably too tire
d to maintain proper brain function.

  I change my mind about that when she looks my way, curiosity in her blue eyes. “So, I heard Mayor…Senator Drayton left last week. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.” My throat kind of aches, to tell the truth, but it’s hard to say whether it’s because I miss Beau, or how the whole town seems different with him gone, or the fact that people insist on reminding me how things have changed.

  “She’s got plenty to keep her busy,” my cousin chimes in, coming to my rescue, as usual. “She’s got a conference call with some history journal this afternoon.”

  “Oh? I’m truly interested, but I can sense my children are about to destroy something. I’ll be back to find out more.” LeighAnn drags herself to her feet and into the stacks.

  “Thanks,” I tell Amelia with a sigh. The sound of LeighAnn chastising her children is barely audible. “Everyone around here loves Beau so much that they’re going to miss him at least half as much as I do. Which means they’re going to keep asking about him, I guess.”

  “Every day, probably,” she confirms, finishing her lemon loaf and getting to her feet. The takeaway wrappers crinkle in her palm before bouncing off the rim of the trashcan and onto the floor. “Will you get those? I can’t bend over that far.”

  “Sure.” I pick up her trash and then sit behind the computer, planning to spend the morning getting ready for my interview with the journal. I want to go over everything I’ve amassed on Henry—things I have proof of and items that can be reasonably assumed—just to be sure all of my ducks are in a row.

  The day at the library should be slow, with no children’s reading time and the new adult book club not meeting until the following night. So after Amelia tugs away the rack of books to be reshelved, I settle in to get to work.

  I promise myself that I’ll only think about Beau and how his first day of work is going once an hour. Max.