Quite Precarious Page 7

  “Gracie found out about her, so I had to spill the beans.”

  “Spill the beans?” Despite the fact that we never talk about Lucy as a family, surprise that he didn’t talk to Graciela about it numbs my thoughts. Beau seemed serious about the strange new addition to Heron Creek almost from the moment they met. He’s one of the most honest people I know. “Why didn’t you tell her yourself? It’s not like you have a dark past.”

  “How can you say that? My selfishness and lies got the woman I cared about kidnapped.”

  My eyes start to roll, but the wrecked expression on his face stops me. “You’re serious? Beau, come on, man. You guys had a fight. You broke up. It might have been your fault, but that’s hardly a new story. She’s the one who ran off to Syria.”

  “Iran.”

  “Whatever. She’s the one who ran off into a war zone. She’s the one who chose to stay after the US issued an evacuation notice. Lucy, bless her heart, made her own decisions. You can’t blame yourself for them.”

  “This coming from the guy who has spent half a lifetime blaming himself for the death of a different girl.”

  Normally, the mention of Nan and what happened at Drayton Hall the night she died would have sent me into a rage. Throw things, yell, leave…anything to avoid even having to think about it for more than ten consecutive seconds.

  But things have changed. Oddly enough, thanks to my brother’s strange, maybe ex-‐girlfriend.

  “I guess that makes me uniquely qualified to say it.” I run my hand through my hair, then clench it in my lap to try to eliminate the shakes. “But I actually am responsible for Nan’s death. She wanted to change her mind and I pushed her. I did it because I thought I was being a good friend, and because I thought I would be with her on the other side, whatever that means. But that doesn’t change the hard facts.”

  Silence hangs between us in the too-‐bright room. I feel exposed and cold, and wish the lights were still off because now he’s the one looking at me too closely. I realize I’ve never said any of this before to anyone except my AA group, and that even though Beau and the rest of my family know the truth, hearing me say it out loud must be shocking.

  “I killed her,” I say again, maybe more for myself than him. “I’m sorry for that. I spent a long time wishing I’d died, too. Wondering why I was too much of a pussy to go through with it that night, and the next day, and the day after that.”

  It’s weird, but being so frank allows more of the pain those memories cause to leak out of me. Like what happened with Nan had created a wound that had been festering for over a decade and all it needed was to be lanced open—exposed to the clean, fresh air—to begin to heal.

  “I’m glad you’re alive, Brick.”

  “Thanks. I think I’m starting to be, too.” I swallow, daring to meet his gaze. We’re so similar in many ways, but for so many years our differences have been keeping us apart. “I have Gracie to thank for that. She’s not a bad woman. Off her nut, sure, but good.”

  “I know.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing, really. She’s got trust issues because of what happened with her ex. I pushed her into a serious relationship too soon and then blew my top when she kept things from me.”

  “Because you have trust issues, after not being honest with Lucy,” I guess, correctly by my brother’s grimace.

  He nods. When he meets my eyes again, they’re soft with regret. “I’m sorry if all of this affects your…friendship with Amelia.”

  My whole body freezes. For a second, it’s as though I’m hovering above the sofa, watching my tormented brother trying to comfort me for a potential loss that hadn’t even landed on my radar.

  “My friendship with Amelia…” I repeat like a dolt.

  “I can’t imagine Gracie’s going to be too keen on having you around. Not that she was to begin with,” he explains slowly, looking a little concerned about my reaction.

  “Are you okay? What’s going on with the two of you, anyway?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, you can do better than that.”

  “It started out as some kind of weird thing, like calling to like. My depression has been long, and overly medicated, but it’s a part of me. I recognize that raw edge of pain in her and it…I don’t know. I thought I could help her, and when I started to, it was like doing the right thing for Nan, in a way, even if it’s too late to save her. I can save someone.”

  “That makes sense. I know you’ve been helping her. She’s much better.”

  A smile finds my face, despite the shock of the past minute or two. My heart beats harder once, twice, at the acknowledgment that Amelia is better, because she was on the brink. Scary close to that black moment where the only thought in your head is how everyone would be better off without you.

  I’ve been there. I didn’t have anyone to pull me back after Nan was gone. The thing that saved me was pure cowardice, which presented its own psychoses going forward.

  Amy had her baby. That little guy saved her, and now she would be around to save him.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Do you have feelings for her?”

  There’s no easy answer. Unlike my admission about my depression or about what happened with Nan Robbins, this, I’m not ready to talk about. Not ready to name aloud, or even look straight in the eye. It’s been a lifetime since I had a relationship that lasted more than a couple of weeks, or amounted to any more than some brief satisfaction between the sheets.

  Amelia is fragile. She’s on a precipice, and even if she’s decided to climb back down, there’s a long way to go before she finds solid ground. The ground underfoot is rough, littered with loose pebbles easy to slip on and fall. She’s about to have a baby and only God—and maybe her cousin—knows exactly what demons haunt her at night.

  Despite all of that, I don’t have a single desire to run. I want to be there for her, hold her hand, give her a hug for every tiny win.

  I don’t know what to call that, really.

  “I care about her. I want to see her beat this thing.” Beau raises his eyebrows. I shrug. “That’s it. Well, plus she’s funny. You know I enjoy humor.”

  “You wouldn’t know humor if it walked up and licked your eyeball.”

  “That’s not funny. It’s disgusting.”

  “Thank you for proving my point.”

  Beau falls silent again, rattling what’s left of his ice around and watching the storm grow ferocious outside his office windows. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and I find that sitting in silence with one of my siblings can actually be peaceful.

  A long time passes before either one of us speaks. I don’t know what he’s been thinking about, but my thoughts have gone from my own jagged past, to my recent connection with Amelia Cooper, to Beau’s despondency over losing Graciela Harper.

  Life, it seems, likes to screw with the Draytons.

  Lucky for us, there’s nothing we’re better at than rolling with the punches long enough to figure out how to turn a fight in our favor.

  “Beau?”

  He glances at me but doesn’t respond.

  “You’re going to be okay, no matter what happens.”

  He nods, slowly, a frown pulling down his lips and leaving creases in his cheeks.

  “So are you, brother. So are you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Melanie

  “You’re telling me Travis is Gracie’s half-‐brother? That Felicia had a baby before she had Gracie?” I have to say these things out loud, even if it is the third time, because my brain continues to try to force them to make sense.

  They still don’t.

  “That’s what he said. Sat right here in this kitchen and told me Felicia gave him up for adoption but forbade him and his parents from ever telling her.”

  “And how did Gracie supposedly find this out?”

  “You know as well as I do she’s been looking into him for Clete. Trying to dig up something
they can use to either get him fired or convince him to back off Clete’s operations. She said she emailed his parents hoping they would tell her something about what happened to send him here from bigger police departments in Texas and Arkansas.”

  Will sips a beer, his face pale. Far too much has been chucked our way over the past several days. We both need more sleep.

  The baby sitting on my bladder and turning my ribs into piano keys pretty much ensures that’s out of the question for me, but he really needs to rest. It’s sort of funny, if I think about the fact that I was the one sitting in jail, I’m the one fired, I’m the one who might have to watch my children grow up in pictures, but I’m worried about him.

  Will’s not built to handle this sort of mess. Will does the right thing, and lives the right kind of life, and in return he’s supposed to have it free and easy.

  I’m not sure who he made his deal with, but they really suck at keeping it.

  “And this is what they told her. His parents think so, too?”

  “Yeah, they all think so.” He studies me closer. “You obviously think it’s bunk.

  Why?”

  “Think about it, Will. What started this whole ghost business? Why did Mrs. LaBadie try to take us all out?”

  “Because she was a psychotic, evil bitch who also wasn’t a very good librarian?”

  “Because she was carrying out a curse that was put on the descendants of Anne Bonny…” He looks at me blankly, and I wonder how many of our conversations he’s tuned out. I guess he’s had a lot on his mind, but one would think that voodoo curses would be memorable conversation pieces. “And how no boys will live past the age of thirteen.”

  His face twists in confusion. “So, the curse is already broken?”

  “That would be nice. But we know that it’s not, because of Amelia’s troubles.” I get up, pacing back and forth between the windows and the table, watching the storm. “He’s not her brother. At least, not by Felicia.”

  “But the parents said Felicia is the one who gave him up and opposed the whole open adoption or whatever.”

  “I’m not saying that’s not true. Fe was a loose cannon—everyone knows that. Who knows where she got a baby or why she pretended it was hers. Those are mysteries I’m sure Gracie will stick her nose into as soon as she pulls it out of this one.”

  “Well, Travis is freaking out. He thinks his only family is going to hate him or shun him or whatever. The guy’s a mess.”

  “Tell him to suck it up and join the fucking club,” I mutter, flinching away from a crash of thunder so loud it rattles the silverware.

  “That mouth. It’s the reason I fell in love with you.”

  I spin around to find a tired smile on my husband’s face. He holds out his hands and I go sit in his lap, looping my arms around his neck. Every last inch of him is familiar, from the scent of his shampoo to the little scar on the base of his neck.

  Guilt tramples the comfort. This is all so hard on him. He’s a good man, William Gayle. He deserves better, and I’ve been less than sensitive in an attempt to keep my own panic at bay.

  His hand is on my belly and the baby kicks right into his palm. A smile spreads Will’s lips and he looks up at me with as much wonder as he did the very first time he felt Grant do the same thing.

  I smile, too. “Never gets old, does it?”

  “Nope. We make miracles.”

  “Well, so do millions of other people every day, but I like ours the best.”

  “Me, too.” The smile on my husband’s face eases to a twist of worry as he watches me. “What are you thinking?”

  “How do you know I’m thinking anything?”

  “Please. My full-‐time job from the age of about ten until we were eighteen was watching you and Gracie so I could try to head off ill-‐conceived schemes. Out with it.”

  “First of all, our schemes were beautifully designed and second, I’m thinking that Gracie has an awful lot on her plate right now.”

  “Obviously.”

  “So, if we sit around and wait for her to help us with this whole get the Middletons to back off thing, we might be waiting a while.”

  “Okay…”

  “I’m going to go see Leo.”

  “Tonight?” Will’s eyes have drooped since we began this conversation ten minutes ago. Dark smudges ring them and red veins crack the whites.

  “You stay here with Grant. I’ll go.”

  “Mellie, it’s storming. It’s late. They’ve got a little kid over there, too.”

  “I know, but I can’t wait. We don’t have a ton of time so we need to start brainstorming how we can get the proof we need on the Senator before the trial.” I kiss his nose, then stand up and grab my purse off the back of a chair. “I’m too keyed up to sleep, but you’re dead on your feet. Go to bed, handsome.”

  I see the moment he gives in by the resignation that wrinkles the skin around his mouth. I didn’t expect a fight, given his state of mind, even with his extreme protective mode activated.

  “Sweetheart?”

  “Yeah?” I pause in the doorway, my heart jumping a little at the endearment the way it did the first time he ever used it.

  “Take a jacket.”

  The drive to Leo’s is a little rougher than expected. Tree limbs are down because of the gale-‐force winds and the rain has increased, making it hard to see out my windshield. I may be anxious and in a hurry to get the ball rolling on my potential defense, but I’m still an expectant mother—I go slow, I look twice at every turn, and I get both Mary and me to the little house toward the edge of town safely.

  There’s a light on in the kitchen and on the porch. I knock as softly as possible,

  not wanting to wake Marcella if she’s able to sleep through the storm and knowing I’d kill anyone who woke Grant on a night like tonight. If the mood in the Boone household is anything like the one in mine, the two of them are probably already exhausted.

  It’s Leo who opens the door, and the surprise on his face quickly turns to pleasure. Maybe relief, based on the release of air. “Melanie. Come in out of the rain.”

  “Thanks.” I step inside and take off my shoes and jacket, handing the latter over to Leo. “It’s getting bad out there.”

  “I know. Our lights are struggling. Hope they hold—I’m not going to be able to wake up tomorrow if my phone’s dead.”

  “Don’t try that line on me. You’ve got the earliest internal alarm clock of anyone in this town. Even the old people.” I pause, thinking. “Wait, do you even own a cell phone?”

  “I do, indeed.” He motions toward the kitchen. “Lindsay and I were just discussing our options as far as the Middletons. I assume that’s why you’re here?”

  “Yes.” I follow him down a short hallway and into a clean, outdated kitchen.

  Lindsay Boone, her inky black hair and bright blue eyes, copies of Leo’s, looks at me with naked suspicion. We’ve never had much reason to talk, or for our paths to cross, so I can only assume that she looks at everyone like that.

  It crosses my mind to ask her for some advice on surviving in the Big House, but her general countenance makes me think it’s too soon. Maybe if things go further south.

  “Would you like some tea?” Leo offers after catching me shivering. Strange, but I’ve never noticed how observant he is before now. “We have herbal. Marcella likes the passion tea.”

  “Sure, that would be great. Peppermint if you have it.”

  “I’ll do it.” Lindsay gets up and swats her brother away from the counter, putting a kettle on and busying herself with packets and sugar cubes. She’s pretending not to listen, but she’s not fooling anyone.

  “Well, I suppose you’ll tell me sooner or later, but what brings you out?” Leo pulls out a chair for me and once I’m settled, sits across from me. “I mean, I assume the shit show our lives have become in general, but what specifically?”

  That makes me laugh. Leo has a way of making the worst things sound like they’re n
ormal. Which is nice, since Will has spent the last twenty-‐four hours making the worst things sound like doomsday. As though we’ve basically time-‐traveled onto the Titanic.

  “I think you and I need to work together. You know Gracie—she’s going to do her

  best to help us, because she feels responsible.”

  “Uh, because she is responsible,” Lindsay interjects, setting my steaming mug of tea down in front of me hard enough to slosh some onto the table.

  Definitely too soon for prison jokes.

  “Is she always this angry?” I fake whisper to Leo, earning a glare from his sister. Leo laughs, deep from his belly, and it sounds like relief. “Yes, pretty much.”

  “Okay, well, as I was saying…Gracie feels responsible, but with this whole curse thing going on, the ghosts, and breaking up with Beau, I’m not sure she’s going to be able to handle it all.”

  Leo’s face struggles to hide a wide-‐eyed, startled expression. He obviously didn’t know about everything in my list, and I didn’t even say the part about Travis thinking they’re siblings. Oops. They’ve been so close lately that I kind of assumed she’d told him everything.

  “Did I say curse? I meant…” I trail off, at a loss.

  “I know about the curse. I didn’t know about the breakup thing.”

  “Oh.” Amelia had texted me earlier, upset because of Gracie and Beau and what it might mean for her budding…whatever the hell is going on with her and Brick Drayton. “No one’s really sure if it’s a breakup or a break or like, a few days off but…yeah. She’s pretty upset.”

  It’s easy to see in the way Leo opens his mouth, closes it, and avoids his sister’s pointed gaze that he wants to ask what happened. In the end, Lindsay stomps out of the room and Leo takes the high road, avoiding the gossip. Maybe he figures Gracie will talk to him about it when she’s ready, but the whole last five minutes has infected me with an awkwardness that reminds me of an eighth grade dance.

  Leo clears his throat. “Actually, Linds and I were talking about this earlier. I told her that y’all had uncovered some potential bad press on our dear Senator and that maybe we could use that to convince him to drop the charges.”