The Splendour Falls (5 page)

I waited until Rhys got behind the wheel and buckled his seat belt, then made a stab at needling him in return for that ‘princess' business. ‘I'm impressed, Cousin Paula. A British chauffeur. That's very hightoned. Your guests at the inn will be very impressed.'

In the rearview mirror, Rhys shot me a narroweyed glare, but Paula just laughed. ‘If I could afford to offer him a job, I would. As it is, he's been so helpful and tolerant with the work on the house, I hardly think of Rhys or his father as guests at all.'

As the chauffeur in question pulled the car onto the road, I took the opportunity to find out whether there would be crack-of-dawn power-tool wake-up calls. ‘How is the work on the inn going?'

Rhys gave a soft snort. He knew that I hadn't known until two minutes ago that there was an inn at all. He didn't mention that fact, and thankfully Paula missed his nonverbal commentary.

‘Oh, lord,' she said, as if revving up for a recitation. ‘You would not believe the work we've done on the old place. There's still so much left to do, sometimes I don't know where I'll get the strength. This project is half cursed, half blessed, I think.'

‘What makes you say that?' I admit that my interest was merely polite. But talking distracted her, and I was able to slip Gigi from her carrier and into my lap, which made us both happier.

Paula shrugged. ‘Oh, I suppose we've just met the normal roadblocks. Hundred-year-old plumbing, vintage copper wiring—'

‘Installing an extra loo on the first floor,' added
Rhys, his eyes on the road as we approached the entrance ramp to the highway.

‘Exactly!' said Paula. She glanced back at me, but didn't seem to notice the dog. Probably because I'd slipped off my sweater and covered Gigi with it. ‘But your great-great-great-grandfather – or however many it is – knew what he was doing. The house is solid as a rock. There have been some major expenses, but otherwise things have magically fallen into place. And of course, I'm lucky to have Clara.'

Crap. Was I supposed to know who that was? In the rearview mirror, Rhys looked amused at the hole I'd dug for myself. ‘Um … so, Clara's been a big help?' I asked vaguely.

‘I couldn't ask for a better business partner,' said Paula. ‘It helps that she's an amazing cook. She's kept us all fed. And her daughter recruited the Teen Town Council to help with rebuilding the summerhouse. They've been great.'

‘The Teen Town Council?' Her tone had definitely capitalized the words, and I repeated it the same way.

Paula waved a hand. ‘You'll meet them. Bluestone Hill makes a good meeting place, so they're always around.'

I glanced at Rhys again to see his latest reaction. But he was gazing straight ahead, his hands on the wheel, as if the road required more concentration than a fourlane divided highway warranted.

Paula reached across and patted his shoulder. ‘And of course, Rhys and his dad are a godsend. They needed a cheap place to stay and didn't care that we're not even open – goodness, not even ready yet.'

Some tension – maybe I had been imagining it – ran out of him, and he smiled, entirely genuine. ‘There's a bed and there's Clara's stellar breakfasts. We can't ask for a better situation.'

‘Even when I recruit you to drive me to Birmingham.' She glanced over her shoulder to tell me, ‘I don't like to drive so far by myself.'

I wanted to ask more about Rhys and his father's situation, but this last comment distracted me. ‘How far a drive is it?'

Rhys looked at his watch. ‘Less than two hours. We should be there in time for a late supper.'

‘Two
hours
?' Gigi squirmed in my lap, as if she knew what we were talking about. ‘We're going to need a rest stop before then.'

Nodding, he changed lanes. ‘There's a spot on the way.'

We'd quickly left the suburban homes and strip malls, and were now on the tree-lined interstate. I usually had a very good sense of direction, but I was slow to get my bearings after the tiring trip. I had no idea where we were, except, apparently, a long way from our destination.

‘I need to fire my travel agent,' I grumbled.

‘Any large airport would be a bit of a drive,' Rhys said.

Paula confirmed this with a chuckle. ‘Yes, we're really out in the sticks.'

‘And you're opening an inn?' I asked. ‘Who do you expect to stay there?'

‘Oh heavens. People come from all over to hunt and fish or just enjoy nature. There's antique shopping,
we're on the way to Mobile, and Selma's not far away at all.'

I couldn't decide if I was more annoyed or appalled at myself for not asking these questions before I'd left New York. I could have at least looked the place up on a map. ‘What's the name of your town again?'

‘Well, the Hill is the country, a few miles from a charming little town called Maddox Landing.' Paula spoke with some pride and a lot of tour-guide enthusiasm. ‘I expect you'll know everyone's name within a day or two. They're all looking forward to meeting you.'

‘Oh God.' I didn't realize I'd groaned aloud until I sensed her bristling in the front seat. No taking it back, I guess. ‘Why would they want to do that?'

‘Because you're a Davis, of course.' She'd pokered up, her back ramrod straight, giving me a disapproving look over her shoulder. ‘It would behoove you to be a little gracious if folks want to welcome you home.'

A quick rush of remorse scorched my ears. I was being ungracious and ungrateful. The fact that this
wasn't
my home seemed like a pointless argument. Especially with someone who used ‘behoove' in a sentence without the slightest irony.

I didn't want to look at Rhys, but I couldn't help that any more than my blush. He was watching me again, but not with disapproval or sympathy. Just that same, studying look, as if I were a puzzle he was trying to figure out.

Join the club.
I
didn't even know what was going on with me lately. He would have to stand in line if he had questions.

And I was going to have to figure it out here, in Alabama. Land of my father's birth. Back end of nowhere.

It was so weird to have Paula talk about this being my home, when I'd never been here, never even really discussed it with Dad. I knew he left when he was eighteen. As far as I can remember, he never returned, though he must have kept in touch with Paula, because she'd known about his funeral.

The highway wound around the smoothly tumbled remnants of the Appalachian foothills. In places it dipped down between trees and lush vines that knitted everything together into a comforting canyon. Then it would crest one of the hills and, across the tops of the trees, I could see a panorama of green spread out in a dizzying vista.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes. My body was stiff and aching and a dizzy, disconnected feeling was invading my brain and moving down to my stomach. I'd been travelling since six a.m. Eastern Standard Time – taxi, 747, turboprop commuter plane and now the soccer mom wagon. It all seemed to fall on me at once, an avalanche of exhaustion.

‘Next exit,' said Rhys, as if he'd read my mind.

Paula glanced at him. ‘You aren't going to wait un-til Clanton?'

It figured she was a backseat – well, a passenger seat – driver. But Rhys took it in stride. ‘I thought the rest stop would be better for her to walk the dog. Lots of grass.'

That was what we needed. If I could just put my feet
on the ground, walk around a bit, I'd feel so much better.

Gigi squirmed restlessly as Rhys put on the turn signal and slowed to exit the highway. By the time he pulled into the paved horseshoe in front of a swath of green dotted with picnic tables, my hand was on the door latch, braced for escape.

I grabbed Gigi's leash from her bag and climbed out, not bothering to put on my shoes. I probably should have been worried about glass or other nasty things, but I was mostly interested in feeling the grass under my feet, burrowing my toes down until I reached the cold soil beneath.

Setting Gigi onto a stretch of lawn away from the picnic tables, I did just that, sinking my toes into the grass like I was putting down roots. The queasiness vanished, and a few deep breaths later, my head stopped spinning. Like magic.

I immediately wished I hadn't thought that. It was merely an expression, or it had been until that night in the Park with John. Before I had started second-guessing every whimsical thought that flitted through my imagination.

Really, Sylvie? Magic?

No, not really. I don't think magic exists.

Whew. Then I must not be crazy. Today, at least.

Except then I had to worry about talking to myself. I couldn't win.

From behind me, I heard the car window roll down. ‘Sylvie, honey, where on earth are your shoes? Have you lost your mind?'

The question made me laugh. After that, I couldn't pretend I didn't hear her, so I called over my shoulder, ‘I'll just be a second, Cousin Paula.'

Gigi, after some searching, found an acceptable spot to christen and I left her to it while I looked around. The rest stop consisted of the paved crescent, the grass we occupied, and the concrete picnic tables, all ringed by a wall of trees. The warm breeze carried a hint of the woods beyond, not really enough to compete with the stink of exhaust from the highway.

A sign warned,
ALL PETS MUST BE LEASHED
, which was good advice. Done with her pee, my dog trotted persistently around the clearing, nose to the ground, which might mean that she wasn't finished, or might mean she was checking messages from previous canine visitors.

‘Don't wander off, Gee.'

She glanced at me – her ears pricked, her fluff standing defiantly out from her head, her plumed tail held saucily over her back – then did exactly what I'd told her not to.

I sighed. This was not going to win us points with Paula.

In addition to being on the big end of the breed standard for a long-haired Chihuahua, Gigi tipped the scales on what dog books euphemistically call an ‘independent personality'. As long as I had a treat in my hand, she was reasonably well behaved. But other times she was six and a half pounds of fluffy you-and-what-army.

She pranced purposefully towards a path that led
through the trees, away from the concrete picnic tables, the asphalt circle, and Cousin Paula's soccer mom wagon.

‘Gigi! Come back here.' The very expensive trainer that Mom had hired said that I had to be the pack leader, but it was hard to feel like an alpha dog when most days I didn't even feel like getting out of bed.

At my command, Gigi
did
pause – just long enough to pull back her lips in a tongue-lolling smile before she dashed down the path and out of sight.

Paula called to me as I followed Gigi, and I heard the car door open, then close. Ignoring both, I stalked after the dog in my bare feet.

A sign with an arrow indicated we were headed to the ‘Indian Mound'. Great. My dog was going to desecrate an ancient burial ground within an hour of our arrival in the state.

My feet weren't as calloused as they once were, but the grass trail was well beaten down. It led to a large clearing, ringed by tall pine trees that cast long shadows in the setting sun. I'm not sure what I expected an Indian Mound to look like, but I was unprepared for the house-sized knoll of grass-covered earth in front of me.

Instead of a dome shape, like a pitcher's mound, it was squared off, with steeply sloped sides going up twenty feet or more, ending in a flat top, like a miniature version of the pyramids I'd seen on a vacation in Cancún.

What a bizarre thing. On the far corner was a placard, possibly explaining the site, but as curious as I was, I was even more interested in collecting my dog,
who sat halfway up the slope of the mound, waiting expectantly for me to climb and get her.

With a sigh, I did just that, figuring that if this was some kind of sacred ground, it was better to defile it with my bare feet than with anything Gigi might leave behind. Rather than risk the steep rise with my weak leg, I crawled up on my hands and knees. Gigi started to dance back out of my grasp, but I lunged and caught her. I landed face-first in the grass, but at least I had the laughing dog in my hands.

I knew, as soon as I pushed myself upright, that I had an audience. There was nothing weird or magical about it. Just that there must be some unfair universal law that applied to handsome guys coming along just as you face-plant in the dirt.

Sure enough, when I rolled over, Rhys stood at ground level, holding my shoes and looking very entertained. ‘That was by far the most graceful belly flop I've ever seen.'

Nice. Not even the accent made that go down any easier. On the whole, I preferred his calling me princess to his laughing at me.

‘Thank you.' I feigned composure, holding Gigi in one hand while I brushed at the grass stains on my T-shirt with the other. ‘I've had years of training.'

‘I can tell.' He held up my red leather flats. ‘Paula sent me.'

‘Of course.' I untangled Gigi's leash from where I'd draped it around my neck, and clipped it to her harness. ‘My cousin has a real steel-magnolia thing going on, I've noticed.'

Rhys climbed a few steps up the slope, to my
level, his eyes making a sweeping inspection. ‘Are you feeling better? You've got some colour back in your cheeks.'

Falling on my face will do that, not to mention that quick but close examination that I felt like the warmth of a spotlight. But I let his assumption stand. ‘The fresh air helped.'

Paula would be waiting, but I couldn't make myself hurry back. To my surprise, instead of insisting we go, Rhys lowered himself to sit beside me. Not close. Maybe an arm's length away. It seemed a carefully chosen distance, though, and I wondered if he felt the same zing of awareness that I did.