Compulsion (32 page)

“Stop!” The word exploded from Eight and made Barrie flinch. “Look at her. Can’t you think of someone other than yourself for a change? Christ, grow up, would you?”

Cassie’e eyes glittered, and her face, her stance, her whole being radiated fury. She looked like she had looked onstage when Ashley had walked out on her after she’d confessed her feelings for him. She looked as if she wished she had a lamp to throw.

The memory of Cassie’s theatrical outrage and jealousy brought back what Eight had said about the Colesworth curse. Barrie’s own emotions, what she wanted, had been such a roller coaster that she couldn’t imagine throwing anyone else’s desires into the mix.

Her anger at Cassie melted away. That afternoon, she would never have believed she could feel sorry for her cousin again, but how could she not feel sorry for Cassie? Living here, with the carcass of Colesworth Place lying in pieces all around her, all the time knowing, hoping, there were remnants of her family’s wealth and dignity hidden somewhere that would let her escape and live a different kind of life. Or stay here and live a different life. How frustrating must it be to have believed, all these years, that the Watsons in their big
house across the river could find the Colesworth treasure if they wanted to, and thinking that Lula, Emmett, and every other Watson had simply refused to help. And here Barrie was, doing just the same.

“I’ll come back another time,” Barrie said. “I swear I will.”

Cassie nodded and stared at the ground, then bent to tie her sneaker with her face angled away, as if she couldn’t stand to have Barrie see her disappointment and frustration. She had stood up again by the time Eight crossed the dock. Hands on her hips, she stood with her hair blowing in her face. The white fabric of her shirt looked almost ghostly against the dark background of oaks and hollow-shadowed cypress. Then Eight stepped onto the
Away
, and Barrie’s head splintered beneath another wave of pressure that made her vision blur.

Eight docked the
Away
at Watson’s Landing and carried Barrie to the house. The door of the tearoom burst open as they reached the terrace, and Mary came rushing out.

“Eight Beaufort, what’d you do to the girl? Lord, honey, look at your foot! It’s the size of an elephant. We’ll need to get that X-rayed.”

“No.” Barrie’d already had too many headaches and heartaches for one day. “I just want to go upstairs. I’ll ice it and I’ll be fine.”

Eight frowned down at Barrie. “She’s a little bit stubborn,”

“You can put me down anytime now,” Barrie told him sweetly.

Mary glanced from one to the other, rolled her eyes, and
held the kitchen door open wide for them to pass. “I’ll go get Miss Pru. We’ll let her decide.”

“There’s no need to worry Pru,” Barrie said, but she might as well have saved her breath. Mary hurried straight to the attic as Eight carried Barrie upstairs. Barrie smacked him on the shoulder. “Thanks a lot.”

“What? Mary’s a smart woman. Unlike you. Now, where’s your room?”

“Down there.” She pointed him down the hall, but resisted when he crossed toward the bed in her room. “There’s no point getting the quilt dirty. Put me down in the bathroom so I can clean up.”

“You are the most stubborn— Stand right here and do not move.” He set her down beside the bed, disappeared into the bathroom, and came back with a couple of towels, which he spread on top of the quilt while Barrie balanced on one leg, holding on to the bedpost.

“Help me get my shoe off, would you?” she said once he’d settled her on top of the towels.

“Prince Charming at your service.”

“You’ve got that backward, baseball guy.
He
was trying to put the shoe back on.”

“Taking things off is always more fun.”

The tears that spilled over caught Barrie totally by surprise, and she wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Emotional
exhaustion maybe, and the damn pain in her head, which was even worse than her ankle. She turned away so he wouldn’t see what a wimp she was, but he swore softly, and the bed sagged as he sat beside her and gathered her against his chest.

“Why do you even like me?” she whispered into his shirt. “I am clearly a total dork.”

“Because you fell? That could have happened to anyone.”

“No, I’m serious.” Barrie thought of all the times she had started to be friends with someone, only to discover that they didn’t get her relationships with Mark and Lula—or get
her
, after the Watson gift had shown up a few too many times and made her obviously weird. The thought that Eight could get scared off once he knew her, really knew her, felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach.

“Hold on. Are we back to the Beaufort gift again?” His chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought we’d covered that.”

“You don’t know me at all. You think you do, but you don’t. I’m a klutz—clearly—and I have this strange Watson thing—”

“And I have my Beaufort thing.”

“I yell at you all the time.”

He leaned back so he could see her face. “Little-known secret about guys, Bear. The girls who flirt and pant all over us are the ones we want to ignore.”

“So you’re interested in me because I’m mean to you?”

“I’m interested because you’re interesting. And unpredictable and a little bit magic.”

“I’m not sure ‘unpredictable’ is the way you want to go here,” she said.

“On the bright side, unpredictable is never boring.” Leaning forward again, he cupped her chin and turned her toward him. “You want to know why I like you? All right. I like that feeling sorry for yourself pisses you off. I like that you love wearing sexy shoes but you don’t walk in them like you’re trying to be sexy. That you look for the best in people, even though you think you don’t.”

“That’s not me. You’re seeing qualities that aren’t even there.”

“No, you’re not seeing yourself clearly. You’re looking at the individual pieces of yourself, looking for the bad things, and I’m looking at
you
and enjoying the view. You’ve even made me see this place—all of Watson Island—from inside your heart, and it looks better from in there than it does from out here. You’re shaking things up. Shaking me up.”

“They have these natural disasters called earthquakes out in California. You’re going to love them.”

“Before I met you, I used to know where I was going.”

And there it was again. Long before she came along, he had made plans to follow his dreams away from Watson Island. Even the thought of leaving made Barrie sick.

He would go and she would stay.

“I can’t leave,” she said.

“I know. But you can come to USC once you graduate. It’s only a year.” He smiled at her, that
You are the most important thing in the universe
smile he gave everyone, the one she wished he would only give to her.

“No, I mean, I really can’t go anywhere. My head practically splits open every time I leave Watson’s Landing, and it’s getting worse. It didn’t even stop completely when we came back just now. And I don’t think it’s just me. You know how Pru hasn’t been in town much? She hasn’t left the island because she gets migraines when she tries. Lula had migraines. In her letters she wrote how she couldn’t stand to be away from Watson’s Landing. At first I thought she meant she was homesick, but now I think she physically couldn’t bear to be away.”

“Daddy had the migraines too,” Pru said from the doorway. Her face was ashen. “He did most of his work here instead of at the bank because of them, but the doctors never could find anything wrong with him. Maybe that was his problem all along. It’s hard to be patient and kind when you’re in pain.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Barrie said.

Pru crossed to the foot of the bed. “My headaches are never as bad as his used to be. Maybe because I didn’t have the gift as strong.”

“Does your head hurt now?” Eight turned back to Barrie.

“Not too much.”

“Good. We can work with that.” From his expression and his voice, he could just as easily have been discussing the weather instead of something kind of cataclysmic.

She punched him in the shoulder. “Hey! Earth to Eight. I just told you I can’t leave Watson’s Landing. Did you miss that part?”

“No, I heard you.” He made a show of rubbing where she’d hit him, as if she could ever dent something other than his ego. “What did you expect me to say, Bear? You’re a Watson. Weird is part of the package, and I’m all in—”

“But you’re leaving.”

“We’ll figure out why you can’t leave. I’ve never heard about this part of the gift before.”

“I never made the connection either,” Pru said, “but I’m starting to realize I haven’t been thinking clearly for a long, long time.” She dropped an ice pack onto the towel beside Barrie’s leg, and prodded at the swollen ankle before wrapping the ice pack around it. Drawing herself up and crossing her arms once that was done, she glanced from Eight to Barrie. “Now,” she said, “which one of you wants to tell me what you two were doing back at Colesworth Place?”

Barrie flinched as the cold from the compress began to seep into her skin. “How do you know where we were?”

“I saw Eight’s boat from the attic window.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Barrie said, reminding herself that was true. Partly, anyway.

Pru shifted her gaze back to Eight, and it was as close to furious as anything Barrie had ever seen from her. “I think it’s about time you headed on home. Seven’s worried, and our girl here should rest a bit. Although, frankly, what she needs more than anything else is a dose of common sense.”

Eight opened his mouth to argue, then evidently thought better of it. He dropped a quick kiss on Barrie’s nose and headed toward the door. “I’ll call you later, Bear.”

While his footsteps receded, Pru sat herself on the edge of the bed. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

None of the options were going to be any fun. “That you found the letters?” Barrie asked.

Pru gave a
tsk
. “I mean about going back to Wyatt’s house. I would have told you that was the worst idea since low-fat peanut butter—even before I read the letters.”

“Did you read them?” Barrie reached over and put her hand on top of Pru’s. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry you found them like that. I was going to tell you, but I got distracted. I can’t believe Emmett never gave them to you.”

“Never mind me. What on earth was running through your head when you let Cassie talk you into going back there again? No, don’t look surprised. You think I can’t figure out that’s what happened? Don’t you have any sense of
self-preservation? Lula was afraid of Wyatt. Afraid. Don’t you ever go over there again, do you hear me? Don’t go anywhere near him.” Pru looked down at her hands. “Lula and I—we were so alone. We were both alone. She was there and I was here, and I wish—I wish I had back even a few of all those years we wasted.”

“Did she say why? What happened the night she left? Why wouldn’t Emmett let her come home?”

“She and Daddy had some kind of agreement that wasn’t spelled out. I went through them all, and she never even mentioned it after the first couple of letters.”

“Then why did she write? Why would she write to
him
?”

“To connect.” Pru got up off the bed. “We were Lula’s people. Even Daddy, as imperfect as he was. We were family, and when things go bad, it’s family you want. You’ll have to read the letters to understand. They’re mostly about you anyway. Your mama loved you. She might not have known how to say it or show it. Some people can’t.”

“Right,” Barrie said, although Lula had never hidden anything she thought or felt.

“I guess you’ll believe it when you’re ready to believe.” Pru reached over and squeezed Barrie’s shoulder, smiling at her sadly. “I’ll tell you what, sugar. I think that ankle is going to be fine with a little rest and some ice. We’ll get you cleaned up. I’ll run the tub for you, then bring up some supper and those
letters, too. You can decide when—or if—you want to read them.”

Barrie nodded, but now that she knew the letters were about her, she didn’t know what to feel. What could Lula possibly have written about her? Did she even want to know?

She submerged herself in the warm water of the bathtub once Pru had gone, and tried to wash away a sense of loss she couldn’t place. It was only when she started to scrub herself clean that she realized it wasn’t just her mother she was missing. She dropped the washcloth and patted her chest, her neck. Her necklace, the chain with the three Tiffany keys Lula had given her, wasn’t there.