A Stillness of Chimes (25 page)

At a quarter to four, rain still hammered the windows. The house was an ark tossed about on a stormy ocean, with only two souls aboard. Three, if she counted the cat. But someone else had been out there in the night.

Trying to remain calm and act normal, Laura walked into the kitchen and caught Sean scratching Mikey’s chin and crooning some kind of nonsense to him.

“Since when have you been so nice to Mikey?” she asked.

He looked up, wearing a blue shirt that brought out the intense color of his eyes. He must have borrowed it from her dad’s closet. “How about some coffee?”

“Why not? We’ll never get back to sleep anyway.”

“Coming right up.” He went straight to the cupboard that held the good Costa Rican stuff. He knew where the coffee filters were too, and he knew how to coax the beat-up coffee grinder into operating.

Laura opened a different cupboard to pull out a couple of mugs. There was her dad’s favorite, right where it belonged. She rested her fingers on the handle. Black, plain, the mug had a hairline crack and a white chip on the rim. Mom had nagged him to throw it out but he wouldn’t. She could have thrown it out once he was gone, but maybe she’d turned sentimental about it. Maybe she’d even come to regret the affair.

Or she was just a pack rat.

Laura pulled the mug from the cupboard. So many times, she’d seen her dad warming his big hands around that chipped mug. Sometimes he’d curved a hand tenderly around her mother’s cheek too, in a kind of benediction.

“Laura.” Sean’s voice was nearly in her ear.

“What?”

“You okay? I don’t think you heard a word I said.”

He’d been talking?

“I’m fine.” Ignoring Sean just behind her, she put the black mug on the counter, chose one for herself, and rummaged in the cupboard for the sugar bowl.

Sean poured coffee for both of them. “Still take yours like a man?”

“Yes, thanks.” She took her black coffee to the table and wrapped her hands around the heat of the crockery. “Now, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing important.” His spoon clinked softly as he stirred in his usual boatload of sugar.

She tried her coffee. He was right. The Costa Rican stuff was good. Good and strong.

“Is that cobbler?” he asked.

“Yep. Help yourself.”

“You don’t want any?”

“No, thank you.”

She closed her eyes, seeing those purple berries piled up in a bucket in the late-summer sun. Seeing her mom’s long, slender fingers brushing the frozen berries into a plastic bag. Tucking them away for later.

“The perfect breakfast,” Sean said. “Coffee and cobbler.”

She kept her eyes closed and didn’t answer, just listened to the sounds as he clattered around, dishing up a serving of the cobbler and then settling into the chair across from hers.

His fork clinked against the plate. “Delicious. Your mom’s recipe?”

“No. It’s one I found online.”

She hadn’t wanted to open her mom’s recipe file. It would have unleashed memories of baking together. Making her dad’s favorite suppers. Being a happy family, most of the time. But she couldn’t forget that last big blowup either.

Laura shuddered and opened her eyes.

Sean had his last bite of cobbler halfway to his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“The cobbler,” she blurted. “It’s the last … the last …” She couldn’t say it.

Looking bewildered, he pointed the fork toward the dish on the counter. “No, there’s plenty more. You want some?”

“No. I don’t mean … It’s not the last of the cobbler.” She steeled herself, making her voice hard and clear. “I made the cobbler with the last of the berries my mom ever picked.”

“Aw, Laura.” Abandoning his last bite, he came around the table and crouched beside her. He took her hand in his. “You’ll be missing her for a long, long time.”

“But that’s not it. It’s … it’s about something I’ve kept from you too long. Oh Sean, I don’t want to tell you, but you’ll need to know—especially if my dad comes back.”

“All right.” Sean sat in the chair beside hers. He didn’t let go of her hand.

“This will sound stupid. You’ll think there’s no connection between blackberries and this … other topic. But bear with me.”

“Okay.”

“When we were teenagers, I heard my folks arguing.” Wanting to stop right there, she made herself keep going. “Dad accused her of being unfaithful.”

Sean flinched almost as if she’d slapped him. “Did they know you were listening?”

“No. They were right here in the kitchen, and I was around the corner. I’d left to spend the night at Cassie’s house, but I came back for my toothbrush. I only listened for a minute.”

“When was this?”

“About a month before he disappeared. She had an affair, Sean. He found out. He made his plans, and he walked away.”

“If you thought it was related, why didn’t you mention it when he went missing?”

“We thought he’d died, remember? And I … I didn’t want to believe it was anything more than his paranoia. I thought it was best to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Did she acknowledge that there was any truth to it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t eavesdrop long enough to find out.”

He shook his head. “Maybe it wasn’t true.”

“But since then, I’ve wondered about things I saw over the years. Clues that she was a little too friendly with a certain someone.” She stopped, hating to say it. “Last night, I found a … a naughty note in her dresser. A note in masculine writing. There’s no signature, but it’s not my dad’s writing.”

“Does anybody else know about this?”

“Nope.” Then Laura managed a half smile. “I expect the other man knows.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Think for a minute, Sean.
You
know. It’ll come to you.” She started a silent count to ten.

At six, Sean’s eyes widened. “Gibby.”

“That’s my theory. By the time we were in high school, my dad was practically impossible to live with. Maybe she’d started looking for someone new, and there was Gibby. Always so charming and available. And he came through town every few months.”

“He still does. He’ll be here for the weekend.”

“I could ask him if it’s true, but part of me would rather not know. I’d rather just forgive both of them, as if I know it’s true, and let it go.”

“That’s probably a good way to handle it. But remember, you don’t know the timing of the note. It might have been written long after your dad was gone.”

“Maybe, but the simplest explanation is that the argument I overheard was about her and Gibby. And Dad walked away a month later.” Seeing the sadness in Sean’s eyes, Laura squeezed his hand. “I didn’t want to tell you, Sean. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too, but I’m glad you told me. It does put a different spin on things.” He tilted his head, studying her. “You think this proves that your dad walked away instead of drowning, don’t you?”

“I’m about ninety-nine percent convinced.”

“That’s a mighty big leap.”

“I know, but it all fits. I only hope that if he’s alive, he won’t pick next weekend to come back. When Gibby’s in town. That could be a real problem.”

Frowning, Sean reached across the table to retrieve his coffee. It must have cooled, but he drank it anyway, staring into space. He made no move to finish eating his cobbler.

“Now it’s your turn,” Laura said. “I told you a whopper of a secret. When will you explain that figurative drowning?”

He looked up, startled, then smiled. “Compared to what you just told me, it’s nothing. Years ago, I saw somebody sending a car into the little lake on old man Bennett’s land.”

She pondered it for a moment. “You mean … like somebody stole a car and had to get rid of it?”

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s just funny that Annie made such a big deal of it.”

He picked up his fork and worked at straightening a crooked tine. “I guess she didn’t hear everything so she had to fill in the blanks from her imagination.”

“I guess.”

Thunder boomed, making both of them jump.

“Here comes another round,” Sean said. “Nobody will be out in this.”

Laura was sure he’d meant to make her feel safe from intruders, but she could only think about her father, cold and wet and miserable. Somewhere.

Laura woke, her feet cold and her cheek itching against the rough fabric of the couch cushion. Instantly, she remembered the bearded man at the window.

She and Sean had sat in silence for a long time after they’d moved back to the living room. They hadn’t turned on any lights, though an occasional flash of lightning had shown her his troubled expression.

She sat up and examined her elbow. In a few days, the bruise wouldn’t be visible anymore. Sean still hadn’t noticed it.

The heavy old quilt lay across her. Sean must have tucked her in after she nodded off. With his gun by his side, he lay on the hooked rug on the hardwood floor, his angular features softened by the shadows of morning. No pillow, no quilt. His hair was tousled and messy. His stubborn mouth was relaxed in sleep.

She had her work cut out for her, but she had to convince him that her visitor wasn’t a criminal, wasn’t a ghost. It was Elliott Gantt in the flesh, wandering around in a terrible storm and frightened away by his own daughter’s scream. She could hardly bear the thought.

She swung her feet to the floor, then arranged the warm quilt over Sean’s long frame, pleased with the idea of transferring her body heat to
him. He didn’t stir, even when she pulled the quilt up to his whiskery chin and touched his cheek with one finger.

“Some bodyguard you are,” she said.

He still didn’t wake.

He should have been in his own bed, getting a good night’s sleep. No, he should have been hard at work already, making all those mysterious little tweaks to the nearly finished instruments that he wanted to sell at his festival booth. He should have been proofreading his brochures so the printer could have them ready by Friday morning at the latest.

To get Sean back where he belonged, working toward his dream, she’d have to convince him she wasn’t in danger. After last night, it wouldn’t be easy.

She tiptoed around him and went into the kitchen, where Mikey swatted her leg in a silent demand for food. She gave him a can of chicken and liver, his favorite. When she opened the trash to throw the can away, she saw shards of angels and rainbows—the remains of the angel mug that she’d dropped in the sink when she saw the man at the window. Sean had cleaned up the wreckage.

The window framed a sky of the brightest blue. Small tree limbs and scattered leaves lay across the yard, varying shades of brown and green on the lawn. Sunlight glistened in still puddles. No branches moved. The wind had worn itself out in the night.

She recalled those deep-set eyes meeting hers for a fraction of a second. She’d screamed, and the man had ducked out of sight.

It could’ve been Dale. He had a beard too. But his eyes weren’t that deep set, were they? She was almost certain it was her dad, but after all that time in the wild, his appearance would have changed. His mind and his heart might have changed too.

He might have left signs of his visit.

After Laura dressed, she put her phone in her pocket. Blocking Mikey’s escape, she stepped onto the leaf-strewn porch. It was cold and damp beneath her bare feet.

Beyond the borders of the yard, green billows of kudzu were taking over. A whole regiment of men could hide in the luxuriant growth.

The world was holding its breath. No wind blew, not even enough breeze to move the chimes. She couldn’t see them, hidden as they were by shrubs, but she imagined the silvery cylinders hanging motionless among the drenched leaves.

There would be no footprints. The storm would have washed them away. Just as time had washed away the evidence of her mother’s guilt or innocence. Then the aneurysm had taken her life.

Her voice had been so calm, last Christmas, when she casually mentioned that she’d already made her funeral arrangements, wanting to get them off her mind for good. Less than six months later, she was gone. Maybe she’d had a premonition.

She opened her phone and checked the time. It wasn’t too early for a call.

Cassie answered on the second ring, sounding groggy. “Good morning, but next time remember I’m still on California time.”

“Good morning, Eeyore.”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask.” Laura made her voice bright and cheerful. “Sean is so paranoid about prowlers, it’s ridiculous. He’s sticking to me like glue. Playing bodyguard.”

“Lucky girl. He’s one cute bodyguard.”

“He’s one busy luthier. He needs to be in his shop, doing prep work for the weekend.”

“What’s to do? He only needs to show up at his booth and flash that adorable smile at the ladies, and he’ll sell instruments like hotcakes.”

“There’s a little more to it than that. And would you please stop trying to make him sound so—so—”

“Gorgeous and sweet and sexy?”

“Cassie. Stop it.”

Cassie laughed. “Okay, okay. What’s the favor?”

“If I’m here, he’ll insist on being here too. Can I hang out at your house today? And spend the night? Or is that a problem, given your mom’s situation?”