On Folly Beach (40 page)

Emmy gave him a dubious look, not feeling so convinced. “I know the handwriting isn’t hers—I’ve seen it enough on her orders, unless she’s deliberately changing it.” She looked up at Heath again, remembering something Lulu had said about Cat’s first husband, Jim. We all had a thing for Jim. “Do you think Lulu and Jim . . . ?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Jim was killed in nineteen forty-one when Lulu was eight. And these notes were definitely not written by a nine-year-old.”

Standing, Heath brushed his hands against his jeans. “They’re probably just notes between my grandparents. Maybe they liked a bit of drama. By the way, my dad found a sample of my grandfather’s handwriting. You can look at it to compare when you come to the party.”

Emmy stood, too, and slipped the book back into her purse. “I’d like the chance to examine all of these. Could you help me bring them down the ladder and put them in my truck?”

“Sure.” He didn’t move right away. “Although I’m thinking you’re taking all of this a little too seriously.” Absently, he rubbed the scar on the side of his head the way Emmy imagined a pilgrim would rub a relic. “Maybe you’d be better off focusing on your business right now. Jolene told me that your ideas for Internet expansion are amazing. It would seem to me that somebody looking to move forward would leave all this stuff in the past, where it belongs.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. There’s a story here, and I don’t know the ending. I can’t let it all go just like that.” She eyed him curiously. “Are your objections because all of this most likely involves your grandmother?”

“Well, how would you feel if somebody found out something in your family’s history that wasn’t exactly what you’d been led to believe?”

She paused. “Look. I understand. And I promise you that if I find anything, I’ll tell you first. All right?”

“But then it would be too late—I’d know the truth even if nobody else does.”

She frowned at him, thinking, and realized there was something more to his objection. “Maybe your resistance is because you like things to be perpetually waiting to be finished.” Bending over to lift the box, she added, “You can still die even if you have unfinished business. Believe me, I know.”

When she straightened, he took the box from her, and when he spoke, his voice lacked the geniality she’d begun to associate with him. “Stand at the top of the opening and hand me the box when I get halfway down the ladder.”

She moved into position and took the box again, then did what he asked. When she reached the bottom of the ladder, Heath had already made it to the back of her truck. In silence, she opened up the back and waited for him to slide the box inside. He closed the door carefully, then turned to her.

“E-mail me your ideas of what you need in terms of storage and space in the attic, and I’ll do some measurements and draw up plans. I have to go to Atlanta for work for a couple of weeks, but I can e-mail you my ideas for you to look at. I’ll be back for the party and we can go over things then.”

Emmy folded her arms across her chest. “I guess you don’t want to ask Aunt Lulu about the sketch, do you?”

Heath looked past her head. “No, not really. I don’t think this digging is good for anybody. Finding the truth isn’t going to make you forget your troubles for more than a few minutes at a time, much less bring your husband back.”

“Fine,” she said, digging her car keys from her purse. “I guess I’ll just ask her myself.”

His eyes narrowed. “Lulu’s an old woman, Emmy. Be careful what you say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you think I would deliberately hurt her?”

“I didn’t say that. What I meant is that I don’t think Lulu wants this to go any further. I figured that out when she hightailed it out of here after I showed her the box. I even almost called you to keep you from coming over, but figured I couldn’t stop you.”

“No, you’re right. You couldn’t have.” She had the irrational urge to stomp her foot. “I wish you wouldn’t fight me on this. It would be a lot more fun if I didn’t have to do this all by myself.”

“I thought you preferred to be left alone.” His eyes weren’t mocking and she relaxed.

“I don’t. It’s just been . . . easier.”

Heath shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, well, I’ve never found ‘easier’ the best way to go.” He began to walk toward the store. “Call your mother. She’s a bookseller, so she must be a lot like you. Bet she’d love to help.”

Emmy stared after him as he climbed the steps and entered the store, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Slowly, she got in her truck and started the engine, suddenly confused as to what direction she needed to go in. Glancing in her rearview mirror she caught sight of the box of books and felt reassured, somehow. She was nothing like Paige, but it might not hurt to call anyway.

She took a different route home, down East Cooper Avenue instead of East Ashley, visually scouring the yards for bottle trees. She told herself it was for researching an idea she had to directly market the trees to Folly residents, but after she’d passed the third tree, the sun glinting off glass like exposed treasure, she’d begun to wonder, yet again, what evil spirits Lulu was trying to keep away.

CHAPTER 21

FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA

November 1942

Lulu stood facing Maggie, jumping up and down. “So can I have it? She never wears it anymore, and if I bring it in, I’ll beat Sheila McKowskie. I’ll get a whole pound of sugar if I win—so it’ll be helping you out, too. Sheila’s brought in the most tin cans but nobody’s brought in a fur coat. They’re using them to line the coats of merchant marines.”

Maggie stared at Cat’s ruined coat as if it were a dead animal, feeling again the panic and pain of the day on the beach. It had hung in the closet, untouched, for three months until Martha had discovered it and taken it outside to beat out the sand and hang in the sun. It was unwearable now, but still Maggie hesitated to say yes.

“Let me see it,” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Hesitantly, as if she were expecting Maggie to take the coat and not give it back, Lulu handed it to her sister, releasing it only when Maggie tugged. The fur was coarse in places, and still smelled of Shalimar, Cat’s perfume. Opening up the coat, she examined the lining for the manufacturer’s label, curious as to where it had come from. But instead of a label, all she found was stitching in a rectangular pattern where it looked like somebody had carefully cut one out.

Maggie was about to hand the coat back to Lulu when she noticed a slight bulge in the lining. On closer inspection she discovered a slit pocket inside the right breast. Reaching inside, she pulled out a wadded handkerchief, her hand stilling as she remembered Cat clutching one on that disastrous morning on the beach. It reeked of Shalimar, its sickly sweet smell reminding Maggie of red shoes and smeared mascara and the unforgiving ocean.

Maggie handed the jacket to Lulu, and then the handkerchief. “And you can have this, too. I don’t care what you do with it.”

Lulu took the handkerchief and stared at it intently before shoving it into the pocket of her skirt. “Aren’t you going to ask Cat first?”

“No. She can’t wear it, regardless. Besides, she’s got other things on her mind right now, and I’d rather not upset her.” Cat had been confined to bed for the past month on doctor’s orders. It scared Maggie because instead of becoming difficult, Cat had instead retreated inside her bones, each joint pronounced under her skin and only the protruding ball in her stomach to show there was a baby inside. Cat’s hair and skin had lost all of their luster, leading Martha to say that the baby must be a girl since it was stealing all of her mama’s looks.

“Maggie?” Cat’s pitiful voice crept down the stairs.

“I’ll be up with your breakfast in just a minute, Cat.” Maggie glanced down at the breakfast tray with the buttered toast swimming in the runny yolks of the fried turtle eggs. She turned her head, barely able to look at them. Since the day she’d found out about Peter and Cat, she hadn’t been able to stomach them. She hadn’t even been back to the beach, but sent Lulu out instead to gather eggs. She’d begun to number the days until she and Lulu could leave, and she could start rebuilding the dead spot inside of her.

Maggie opened a silverware drawer and took out a fork and knife, then wrapped them in a napkin for the breakfast tray. She rubbed her shoulders, dreading another trip up the stairs.

“Can I help?” Lulu asked, looking sincere.

Maggie smiled. “No, sweetheart. But thank you for asking.”

Lulu picked up a copy of A Farewell to Arms that Maggie had left on the counter and put it on the breakfast tray. “Maybe this will keep her busy so she’s not always asking you for things.”

“Thanks.” Maggie studied Lulu’s face, noticing the freckles on the bridge of her nose and realizing that like Maggie, she’d never be a great beauty. It hurt Maggie, wishing things could be different for Lulu.

Maggie placed the utensils and napkin on the breakfast tray on top of the book. “I’ve waited to talk to you about this, but since Cat’s time is getting near, I figure now is as good a time as any.” She pulled out the letter from Aunt Edith and opened it carefully.

“You know I’ve been corresponding with Aunt Edith in Galveston, and she’s found us a house to rent. If I can sell Folly’s Finds, we should have enough money to get us through for a little while, or at least until I can get a job. She says the schools there are real good, so a smart girl like you shouldn’t have any trouble fitting right in.”

Lulu looked at her sister with wide eyes as if she were speaking in a foreign language. “What do you mean? You want us to move—like Amy? And never come back?

Maggie’s arms fell to her sides. “Oh, Lulu, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me, too. This is our home. But it’s . . . I can’t live here with Cat and Peter. It’s . . . complicated. One day, when you’re older, you’ll understand.”

Lulu swallowed hard, her eyes moistening, and Maggie wished she’d waited for a better time to bring up the subject. She glanced at the eggs, hardening now as they cooled.

“I don’t want to move, Mags! I don’t know any other place. Folly Beach is the only place I ever want to live.”

Maggie felt tears gather in her eyes, too, but she blinked them away, trying to be strong. “I know, Lulu. But I don’t have a choice.” She reached for the breakfast tray and lifted it.

“It’s because Peter married Cat, isn’t it? I wish we’d never met him. He’s ruined everything.”

Maggie gripped the tray tighter. “Don’t say that, Lulu. Don’t say those things out loud because somebody might hear you.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

Maggie closed her eyes. “You’re too young to understand. . . .”

“No, I’m not. You just said I’m smart, remember? I know a lot more than you think I do.”

Exasperated, Maggie put the tray down and turned to face Lulu. “Just because you read mystery books all day long doesn’t make you more knowledgeable about adult matters, all right? Now go get that jacket out of my sight. I’ve got to be at the store in half an hour, and I still need to feed Cat her breakfast.”

Lulu’s lower lip was trembling as she turned to go, dragging the jacket on the floor behind her. Then, just as she reached the door, she turned around and ran back to Maggie. “I know why Jim stopped asking you to go get ice cream and started taking Cat instead.”

Maggie picked up the breakfast tray again and began carrying it to the stairs. Lulu had a vivid imagination, and Maggie could only guess at what story Lulu had concocted. She put her foot on the first step. “Why, Lulu?”

“Because Cat told him that you didn’t want to see him anymore. That you only went out with him because you felt sorry for him because he was just a dumb old hick. And that you were in love with Frank Ferriday from church and were going to get married as soon as he came back from the war. Then she kissed him on the mouth and used her tongue.”

Maggie stumbled, and the book and the glass of juice fell over the side of the tray, spilling on the steps and splashing the whitewashed walls. Leaning against the wall, she looked down the steps at Lulu. “That’s a horrible thing to say. Why would you say such a thing?”

But Lulu’s eyes and mouth were open as if in shock, reminding Maggie of when she’d had to tell Lulu that Jim had been killed. It was the look of a person who’d seen the thing that lurked behind doors and under beds. And Maggie didn’t need Lulu to say anything for her to know the answer. Because it’s the truth.

Dropping the jacket, Lulu ran out the door, slamming it behind her as she left. Maggie slid down the wall until she was sitting on the step and still clutching the tray with the ruined breakfast.

“Maggie? I’m hungry. Are you coming up?”

Maggie gazed up the stairs, but couldn’t find the air to speak.

The front door opened and Maggie moved her head to see if Lulu had come back to tell her that she’d been lying, that she was trying to hurt Maggie because Maggie wanted to leave Folly Beach. Instead, Peter walked through the door as if summoned, his eyes brightening when his gaze settled on her.

Stepping over the coat without a glance, he rushed over to the steps, kneeling in front of her. “Margaret—are you all right? Did you fall?” He took the tray from her frozen hands. “I saw Lulu running but she wouldn’t stop when I called her.”