Read The Strangers on Montagu Street Online
Authors: Karen White
Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction
The Strangers on Montagu Street (15 page)
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“Don’t worry; I won’t tell anybody you’re eating refined sugar,” I said, scratching General Lee under his chin. Lowering my voice as if I were speaking in a confessional, I added, “I actually had some of Chad’s vegan lasagna that Sophie brought over for you, and it was pretty good. But I will deny it with my last breath if you tell them.”
I turned around and put General Lee on the floor. “But before you put those doughnuts back in the pantry, take a couple out and sit down at the table.”
With a loud groan, Nola slid up the refrigerator to a stand and did as I asked and plopped two doughnuts on a clean plate Mrs. Houlihan had left in the dish drain. I took two glasses out of a glass-fronted cabinet, then removed two cartons of milk from the fridge—one soy and one regular—and filled each glass nearly to the brim.
I put a glass in front of Nola at the table, then sat across from her, reaching for my doughnut at the same time. I took a bite and chewed slowly, hopefully giving Nola a chance to talk. But she said nothing. Taking a chance, I said, “The house makes a lot of noises at night, doesn’t it? I hope it’s not keeping you awake.”
She shrugged, and I noticed her oversize T-shirt from a Rush concert in 1993.
Bonnie.
I knew then that her sitting on the floor in a dark kitchen and crying wasn’t because of something like being scared in an old house or being lonely or misunderstood. Her mother had abandoned her in the most permanent, irrevocable way possible. It was hard to accept and understand that from the perspective of a grown woman, and I couldn’t begin to understand how a thirteen-year-old would try to wrap her head around it. I kept remembering the glimpses I’d had of Bonnie, and the lingering despair she left behind, and I knew there was much more to her story.
Bonnie.
I knew then that her sitting on the floor in a dark kitchen and crying wasn’t because of something like being scared in an old house or being lonely or misunderstood. Her mother had abandoned her in the most permanent, irrevocable way possible. It was hard to accept and understand that from the perspective of a grown woman, and I couldn’t begin to understand how a thirteen-year-old would try to wrap her head around it. I kept remembering the glimpses I’d had of Bonnie, and the lingering despair she left behind, and I knew there was much more to her story.
“Are you missing your mom?” I ventured.
Nola slid her plate across the table, her doughnut untouched, and looked away, but not before I saw her lower lip trembling. I almost told her then: that I kept seeing her mother and that if I kept trying, I might be able to get her to talk to me. But reason intervened; it was still too early, and if I ever wanted her to trust me, now didn’t seem to be the time to make her think that I might be mentally unstable and delusional.
Her voice was so quiet that when she did speak I thought for a moment that I was imagining it. “I sometimes hear her playing her songs on her guitar, like she’s still here. Do you think that means I’m crazy?”
I tried not to shake my head too vigorously. “No. Not at all.” I thought for a moment, wondering whether I’d ever seen eyes that sad before. “I think it means that you miss her, and you’re holding on to the thing you both loved—the music. You know, Ashley Hall has a wonderful music program. Maybe if you got involved . . .” I stopped, the thunderous look on her face telling me I’d gone too far.
General Lee walked over to Nola’s chair and hoisted himself up on his hind legs, placing his front paws on her leg. His face had that pathetic-cute expression he must spend hours practicing in a mirror that’s impossible to deny. I watched as Nola scowled at him before emitting a put-upon sigh and picking him up. She cradled him in her arms, and I saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. I’d give the dog an extra treat later.
With her face buried in his fur, she said, “My mom didn’t want me, and neither does my dad.”
I was completely out of my league here; this wasn’t a real estate negotiation, or an exclusive listing, or a counteroffer—all things I was competent at. All things that required hard bottom lines and no emotions. I was as out of place and unprepared here at my mother’s kitchen table as I would have been taking over for the pope in Rome.
I closed my eyes, wishing Sophie were there. She always knew the right thing to say. Instead I found myself channeling my mother and repeating something she had said to me, a truth I was still discovering, tasting it slowly like a long-simmered soup. “Sometimes we have to do the right thing even if it means letting go of the one thing we love most in the world.”
Nola looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Are you saying she was right to kill herself?”
I shook my head, still not fully understanding my mother’s words, but at least knowing what they
hadn’t
meant. “No.” I tried hard to visualize this conversation as a list of to-do items, making sure that nothing was left off. It’s how I got through my life, and I had no other resource. “I’m saying she must have thought she had no other choice.” Again, my thoughts wandered to my own mother’s explanation of why she’d left me all those years ago. Feeling relief and gratitude toward her for this unexpected guidance, I said, “She must have believed somehow that you would be better off without her.”
hadn’t
meant. “No.” I tried hard to visualize this conversation as a list of to-do items, making sure that nothing was left off. It’s how I got through my life, and I had no other resource. “I’m saying she must have thought she had no other choice.” Again, my thoughts wandered to my own mother’s explanation of why she’d left me all those years ago. Feeling relief and gratitude toward her for this unexpected guidance, I said, “She must have believed somehow that you would be better off without her.”
Nola ducked her head back into the dog’s neck. “Then why would she leave me with . . . him?” She spit out the last word, not even willing to say Jack’s name.
I found myself in the unusual position of having to defend Jack. But I felt I was on solid ground here with my advice, because my father and I had gone through the same awkward dance when he recently decided to become a part of my life after decades of emotional absence. “He’s a good person, Nola. And I know he loves you. He just has no idea how to be a father right now—you need to give each other time as you get used to this situation.”
“He abandoned us. My mother told me that. That he knew about me, and still didn’t want me.”
If a heart could physically break, I was pretty sure mine would be lying on the kitchen table in a thousand pieces. I gave up on my mental spreadsheet and list, knowing they would be of no help to me here, and instead leaned back in my chair. At least I had the truth on my side, and that was something.
“I don’t know why your mother said that, and I’m sure she had her reasons. But your father would never have abandoned you if he’d known about you. And he wants to do the right thing now, if you’d just give him a chance. He’s annoying and pigheaded, sure, and used to getting his way.”
I was rewarded with a small twitch of her lips.
“But,” I continued, “he’s also kind and caring. And he understands his responsibilities.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “And if you tell him I said those nice things about him, I will force you to wear a lime green skort and lacy white blouse. With matching green Keds. I have that exact outfit in my closet, so it wouldn’t be that hard.”
She pretended to shudder. “My mother wouldn’t lie to me. She wouldn’t.”
Despite the determination in her words, I heard the question in them, too, and I felt encouraged enough to press forward. “He wants to do something fun—like a father-daughter outing. So you can get to know each other. I was thinking maybe a kayaking excursion in Charleston Harbor. There’s an outfit on Shem Creek that takes groups and does a saltwater tour.”
She contemplated the ceiling for a long moment. Finally, she said, “Whatever. But can I bring a friend?”
I knew that wasn’t what Jack had intended, but at least it was a place to start. “Sure,” I said. “Which friend?”
She gave me a look apparently meant to make me feel like the stupidest person on the planet. She succeeded. “I’ve only got one. Alston Ravenel.”
I remembered the shy Alston with the infectious laugh and good sense of humor. Smiling, I said, “Sure. Give her call. Your dad gets back from New York tomorrow, so how about Saturday?”
Nola sighed heavily, as if speaking to me were taking a great effort. “Nobody calls anybody anymore. They text, or Facebook, but they definitely don’t call. That’s so 2000.”
I contemplated her for a long moment, wondering how many blows my ego could take before holding up a white flag. “I didn’t know you had a cell phone.”
“I don’t.” She looked pointedly at me.
Feeling a little more secure in adult territory, I said, “I’ll be happy to talk to your dad about it—that’s his decision, not mine. In the meantime, you can use the good old-fashioned house phone. Call your grandmother if you don’t have the number.”
“Whatever,” she said again, but made no move to get up. She chewed on her lower lip while I waited, hoping whatever it was she had to say wouldn’t make me feel any more inadequate. Finally, she said, “Does Jack drink?”
Her question took me by surprise. Jack was a recovering alcoholic, and had, in fact, been my father’s AA sponsor the previous year. But I thought Jack should be the one to tell Nola. “Not anymore,” I answered, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Because when I was staying with him, he bought a six-pack of beer and then the next day I saw him smash each of the full bottles in the sink. He’d been leaving messages for somebody all day—I think somebody in New York—and nobody was calling him back, so I think he was pretty pissed.” She paused, as if deciding whether she should tell me more. Slowly, she said, “My mom’s boyfriend—two boyfriends ago—used to smash the bottles when my mom brought home booze. He was trying to keep her clean. I think that’s why she broke up with him.”
Something hard and heavy formed in the pit of my stomach, but I forced my expression to remain neutral. I was worried about Jack, and what would have made him buy beer after he’d been sober for so long. But the sick feeling came from listening to Nola, and how easily she used words like “keeping clean” and “booze.” She was only thirteen years old, but as I stared at her across the kitchen table with her face scrubbed clean and the multiple earrings removed from her ears—something Sophie, of all people, had suggested—Nola looked like what she was: a scared and lonely child.
“I appreciate your telling me.” I took a deep breath. “I think your dad’s going through a tough time right now, but I’ll make sure that he won’t go it alone, okay?” I had no idea what I was actually promising, but I knew I had to reassure her that at least one parent would be a stable anchor for her.
I watched as the sky through the window behind her began to pinken. “Why don’t you try to go back to bed? I’m going to go ahead and get dressed and get to the office early. I think my mother said something about taking you in for a haircut. . . .” My words trailed off as I heard the distinct sound of a man speaking quietly.
With my fingers held to my lips, I stood and darted for the light switch, then turned off the overhead lights.
“Good night, Ginny,” came the loud and definitely masculine whisper from the foyer.
“Sh!”
came an equally loud reply from upstairs. “Don’t wake up Mellie or Nola. You’ll know we’ll never hear the end of it.”
came an equally loud reply from upstairs. “Don’t wake up Mellie or Nola. You’ll know we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Sorry. I just think I’m a little too old to be sneaking around like a teenager in heat.”
Something clattered on the marble floor.
“Ouch! What was that for?” My father’s annoyed whisper was louder than his usual speaking voice.
“You forgot your belt. I don’t want Mellie finding it in my room. Now go before the sun is up and the neighbors see you.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“Only if you leave right now.”
“Ginny?”
“Yes?”
“I still love you.”
“Go.”
There was a long silence, followed eventually by the sound of the dead bolt on the front door turning, and then the door closing softly.
I looked at Nola in the brightening gloom, her cheeks red, her eyes sparkling. “Ew,” she said.
“Ew,” I spit out, before we both dissolved into smothered laughter that erased, at least for a while, all the sadness the predawn hours had laid open.
CHAPTER 9
I
paused outside my bedroom door, still wrestling with the clasp on my necklace, listening to the faint sound of music. At first I thought I was hearing the radio, until I realized the sound was coming from the bathroom, with the hum of water from the shower as the backdrop. Nola’s bathroom had another entrance into the hallway, and I moved to stand in front of it to listen more closely.
paused outside my bedroom door, still wrestling with the clasp on my necklace, listening to the faint sound of music. At first I thought I was hearing the radio, until I realized the sound was coming from the bathroom, with the hum of water from the shower as the backdrop. Nola’s bathroom had another entrance into the hallway, and I moved to stand in front of it to listen more closely.
I noticed the melody of the song first, haunting and lyrical, one of those songs that stays with you long after it’s over. Then I noticed the voice singing it. If I hadn’t known who was behind the door, I would have thought an angel had somehow decided to take up residence in my mother’s house.
Leaning against the doorjamb, I closed my eyes and allowed the notes and the words to fill my head. The doorbell rang and I jerked myself away from the door, embarrassed to find my eyes moist, the heartbreak in Nola’s voice real enough for me to feel it. Glancing at my watch, I realized that it must be Alston, and she was exactly five minutes early. I knew there was a reason I liked the girl.
I opened the front door and Alston stood there wearing cute plaid walking shorts, a pale pink polo shirt, pearls around her neck, and her hair in a high ponytail. “Good morning, Miss Middleton. I hope I’m not too early. It’s a bad habit, but I hate being late.”
Her smile faded a bit as she took in my own outfit. Thinking I might have dropped powdered sugar down the front of my shirt, I looked down and cringed. We wore nearly identical outfits, right down to the white Keds and plaid shorts, except my plaid was in darker hues of green and blue, whereas hers were in pale yellows and pinks. I laughed as I opened the door a little wider and ushered her inside. “I guess we both got the same memo, didn’t we?”
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