The Strangers on Montagu Street (50 page)

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Authors: Karen White

Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction

BOOK: The Strangers on Montagu Street
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I thought for a moment, wiggling my toes and fingers, moving my arms and legs. “I’m fine, actually. I feel great. I think that’s the first real sleep I’ve had in a while.” My stomach grumbled. “What time is it?”
“It’s a little past five. You’ve been out since Jack pulled you from the car this morning.”
I shook my head. “It seems like weeks ago. And I’m having the oddest craving right now for a piece of coconut cream pie from Jestine’s.”
My dad took my hand. “I’ll go get it for you. Anything you want, just ask.” I thought I saw moisture in his eyes but he quickly blinked it away.
I squeezed his hand, grateful that both of my parents were there but painfully aware of the one person who wasn’t.
“Thanks, Dad. And, um, see if you can buy an entire pie.”
He at least knew me well enough not to blink. “Done,” he said, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’ll bring it to your mother’s house, since I don’t expect they’ll keep you overnight. I’ll be back to help her bring you home.”
I smiled my gratitude, my stomach growling again in agreement as I watched him leave. Then I turned to my mother. “Has anyone told Julia what we found?”
She shook her head. “After I got you settled here, I called Dee to let her know. But Julia slipped into a coma this morning—about the time we were digging Jonathan’s grave. They don’t expect her to awaken.”
An inexplicable sadness settled on me. “So all of that was for nothing?” I shook my head in disgust, trying not to think about the trauma of the morning.
“I think it’s too early to tell, but I doubt it was for nothing.”
I closed my eyes, trying to accept what she was telling me, then opened my eyes again as I recalled that I was in the hospital. “Why am I here?” I asked, noticing for the first time the needle in my hand and the IV fluid drip by the bed.
A look I didn’t recognize passed over my mother’s face. “You were severely dehydrated. At least, that’s the medical explanation for why you passed out. But I saw Harold Manigault in the car with you, and then I saw you—” Her voice caught. “You weren’t fighting, Mellie. You weren’t even trying.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I . . . couldn’t. I had nothing to fight with, and . . . there was nothing left to fight for.” I turned my head away, not wanting to see her face as I told her the rest. “It was so much easier to just . . . let go.”
She pulled her chair up to the side of the bed and grabbed both of my hands. “That was Harold’s doing, filling your mind with his poison.” She closed her eyes. “Promise me you will never do that again. That you will always fight. You
are
stronger than them. Even without me—although there was a reason your strength was drained today. But you should always fight. Especially now . . .” She stopped.
“What?”
She looked at me, that odd expression on her face again. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
I remembered Bonnie then, her music. Her words.
Go back. Go back and find my daughter’s eyes.
“Yes,” I answered. “Bonnie saved me. She’s the one who helped me come back.” I burst out crying for a bunch of reasons I couldn’t name. “I’m sorry,” I said, blotting my eyes with the edge of the sheet. “I don’t know why I’m so emotional these days.”
My mother gave me that look again, as if she were waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, she said, “We are sometimes given angels when we least expect them. And that’s not the first time Bonnie’s interceded on your behalf, either.”
I shook my head. “No—she saved me in the Circular Church cemetery, though I don’t know why she feels protective of me. Maybe because of Nola, and how I’m sort of her surrogate mother now.”
My mother sat back in her chair and actually rolled her eyes. “Mellie, I’ve always considered you to be an intelligent woman. Surely you can figure out why Bonnie feels the need to protect you. Or why you’ve been so teary-eyed lately.”
I glared at her. “Other than my heart being brutally ripped from my chest, no, I can’t imagine why.”
She sighed heavily. “Mellie, your feet are swollen. You’re weeping all the time. Your pants and skirts feel tight. You’re exhausted all the time but can’t sleep. You’re craving coconut cream pie. Are any of these things ringing a bell?”
Little pinpoints of light erupted in the back of my head as I stared at her blankly, unable to process something my brain was trying to tell me. My mother actually rolled her eyes
again
.
She leaned forward, her eyes intent on mine. “Did it ever occur to you that you might be pregnant?”
I continued to stare at her blankly as my mind sluggishly tumbled through my mental calendar, checking off the number of days since my birthday party, resisting the inevitable conclusion that I kept reaching regardless of the different paths my brain tried to take. At least because of a lifetime of irregular periods I couldn’t claim complete stupidity in not recognizing what was probably the most basic of all biological changes in a woman’s body. And the whole time my mind was shouting at me,
No! No! No! No!
Taking my numbed silence as a reason to keep talking, she continued. “Before administering treatment to an unconscious woman of childbearing years, they’re required to do a pregnancy test.” She paused as I held my breath. “It came back positive.”
I continued to blink rapidly, unable to make my tongue and mouth work in a collaborative effort. Finally I managed, “Pregnant? But how could that happen?”
My mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I know I wasn’t there for your growing-up years or for when the time was right to have the birds-and-the-bees talk. But you’re forty years old. I sincerely hope that even without my being there you have somehow managed to figure out where babies come from.”
I felt myself blushing. “But I’m forty. I can’t be having a baby at forty! And I’m single.” This last word was hissed.
She took both of my hands in hers. “Mellie, older women are having babies all the time now. We’ll just make sure that we get you the best prenatal care. And I’m sure that as soon as Jack knows . . .”
I shook my head, the tears coming so hard now that I didn’t bother wiping them up with the sheet. “No. I don’t want him to know. He can barely stand the sight of me right now.”
“That’s not true. And this could be the thing that brings you two together.” She squeezed my hands and smiled brightly. “I’m going to be a grandmother! And I know your father and Jack’s parents will be so happy, too. We all love Nola and try to spoil her as much as she’ll let us, but having a baby to spoil from the beginning, well, those are two lucky grandchildren, is all I’m going to say about it.”
“But I don’t know anything about being a mother!”
She smiled again. “Most pregnant women say the same thing. But you, Mellie, are an excellent mother. Just look at Nola. Since the moment she turned up on your doorstep, you’ve known exactly the right mixture of guidance and affection to offer her. I think you can take most of the credit for her somewhat smooth adjustment to her new life. It’s not been perfect, but I don’t think any mother-child relationship is supposed to be. That’s what makes it so special.”
She squeezed my hands again, and when I looked into her eyes I saw that she was crying now, too.
I felt a small glimmer of hope that she might be wrong. “When Bonnie saved me in the Circular Church cemetery, I hadn’t . . . um, Jack and I . . . well, there was no reason for her to be protecting me.”
My mother gave me a patient smile. “As much experience as we’ve both had with spirits, surely by now you realize there’s so much more we
don’t
know. Maybe she knew in advance where you and Jack were heading. Or maybe it was because of Nola and your relationship with her. We can only guess.”
I sat up suddenly. “Oh, my gosh. Nola! Where is she? I need to tell her. I’d die if she found out from somebody else or figured it out before I could tell her. I’ll tell Jack first, though. Promise.”
I was already pushing for the call button so I could get a nurse to unhook me and discharge me when my mother took my arm. “You need to stay here and rest, Mellie. Everything else will work out.”
There was something alarming in her tone of voice, and I stopped trying to get out of bed to look at her. “Where’s Nola?” I asked again.
“It’s all being taken care of, Mellie. Jack has everything under control.”
“Has what under control? What’s wrong?”
I pulled away from her and began dragging my IV toward the door. Seeing that I was serious about leaving, she moved to block my way. “Nola’s missing. Jack dropped her off with Mrs. Houlihan at my house before coming to the hospital to check on you. Mrs. Houlihan says that after Nola ate an early dinner she went upstairs to get her mother’s guitar and then left without a good-bye. She did leave a note for Jack, however, saying she needed time to take care of something for her mother. The good news is that she left her backpack, which makes us think that she’s telling the truth. Jack’s handling it and doesn’t want you to worry.”
Go back and find my daughter’s eyes.
I was already trying to peel off my hospital nightgown. “I need to find him. I can help. And I have something important to tell him.”
My mother frowned meaningfully.
“Okay,” I said. “Two things, although not until I know for sure about the second thing—pregnancy tests have been known to give false positives. And if you go get a nurse to come help me speed up the discharge process, I promise to stop by a drugstore on the way and pick up a home pregnancy test so that I’m absolutely sure before I tell Jack.”
She pursed her lips, then nodded. “And at least a bottle of water. Promise me. You need to keep hydrated.”
I started ripping off the tape that held my IV needle in place. Watching me, she said, “Stop that before you hurt yourself—I’ll go get a nurse.”
“Hurry,” I shouted after her, then headed to a chair where my clothes had been neatly folded. With a shudder, I shook out the mom jeans and began to put them on, pressing my hand against my abdomen and feeling the truth I wasn’t yet ready to accept. Bonnie had saved my child and me. The very least I could do was repay the favor.
 
I let my mother drive, wishing I had Amelia behind the wheel instead. Amelia would have taken stop signs and other traffic indicators as mere suggestions and gotten us to Alston’s house in half the time. I’d had my mother call Jack to suggest he find out from Alston anything he could about Nola’s recent Facebook activity. I wanted him to assume that I was still in the hospital. Dealing with my mother trying to discourage me from leaving the hospital was bad enough. Besides, I wasn’t sure Jack would even want me near.
We arrived at Alston’s house at the same time Jack did. I wanted to run to him and put my arms around him and assure him that everything would be all right. But he made no move in my direction and instead I found myself fumbling with my purse.
“Shouldn’t she be in the hospital?” Jack asked, facing my mother.
“She thought she could help. She cares a lot about Nola and is sick with worry. If I didn’t bring her myself, she would have found another way.”
“Unless Nola told her where she was going, I don’t think she can help.”
“She says—”
“Stop it,” I interrupted. “I can hear you, you know.”
My mother at least looked embarrassed. But Jack just looked angry, albeit an angry Jack who was under a lot of stress. He still wore his dirt-covered jeans and shirt, his hair spiked around his forehead as if he’d spent a lot of time running his hands through it. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, and for a moment I wondered whether he’d guessed my secret. “I need to know that at least one of you is safe.”
My heart melted a little, and it took all of my strength not to throw myself at him. “I feel fine.” I held up a water bottle my mother had forced me to buy at the drugstore along with a pregnancy test—which I did not hold up. “I promise to keep hydrated. And there’s no way I could stay in bed while knowing that Nola is out there somewhere and might need me.”
He took a deep breath to argue, but I interrupted him. “I don’t know whether this will help, but I figured out what Bonnie’s been trying to tell us about ‘my daughter’s eyes.’ It’s a song—the song I’ve been hearing since Nola walked into my house. She’s asking us to find it—the music. She must have written it and then hidden it for some reason.”

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