The Sound of Glass Page 12

  Merritt closed her eyes and began breathing deeply, her hands clenched into tight balls. Owen used to do that when he was a toddler and was on the verge of a meltdown. She wished Merritt would throw a big caterwauling, screaming-and-jumping-and-throwing-things kind of tantrum. It wasn’t good to hold everything inside, even if you were from Maine and thought you were supposed to.

  Through very thin lips, Merritt said, “Please leave. And don’t say another word. You can’t help me. Nobody can, and not for lack of trying. Why can’t I just be left alone so I can work through things on my own?” She turned back to the closet, and Loralee thought for a moment that she’d walk inside and shut the door and maybe not come out.

  She wasn’t sure whether Merritt wanted an answer, but Loralee had one anyway. “Because you seem lost. And most people can’t let it alone when they see someone bumping into walls.”

  “Merritt?”

  They both turned to see Owen in the doorway. “There’s a man at the front door saying he’s here to fix the air conditioner. Can I let him in?”

  Merritt looked like she’d just gotten a stay of execution from the governor’s office. “Yes, thank you. I guess we didn’t hear the doorbell.”

  She walked past them into the hallway. Loralee watched the back of her prim white blouse as Merritt descended the stairs, knowing it was high time for Merritt to have a hissy fit, to clench her fists and then grab something and hurl it across the room, watching each piece explode against the wall like a raindrop in dry dirt. Loralee had done it several times during her thirty-six years and knew for a fact that watching the pieces scatter was like seeing all of your hurts lessened somehow, each part finally made manageable and bearable. Yes, Merritt was due a hissy fit, and hopefully soon. At least before Loralee had one more hurt to lay at her feet.

  * * *

  Loralee leaned heavily on the buggy at the Piggly Wiggly as she studied the organic produce in front of her, weighing her decision of what to buy between how healthy it was and how likely it was that she’d get Owen to eat it. Merritt would eat anything that was put in front of her, although in rabbit-size portions. Robert had said that Merritt ate like a linebacker when she was a child to fuel her appetite for climbing trees and running races with the neighborhood boys. All while wearing sequined tops with matching headbands. Loralee had seen the photographs or else she wouldn’t have believed it.

  According to Robert, the climbing and racing had ended with Merritt’s mother’s death, but not the designing part. Not even Loralee’s marriage to Robert had grounded Merritt’s creativity. Loralee wasn’t sure when that had stopped, and when this new Merritt with the tight lips and ill-fitting clothes had begun, but she was starting to think it had to have been around the time of Merritt’s marriage to Cal.

  Loralee picked up a package of organic kale and tossed it into the cart without looking at it. She needed to be quick, before the last spurt of energy left her completely. She thought of her mother and how long she’d been sick before she died, and how she’d wished for a pill to just get it over with. Loralee understood that now, how dying was such a process. How the end would come sooner or later but it would come. Some mornings she felt so bad that she wished it could just be over. But it was too soon. There was Owen to think about, her precious boy, who would be an orphan. Who would need somebody to take care of him. That thought alone gave her the energy she needed each day to put one foot in front of the other, to smile, to cook breakfast, to do all the things that made it look like everything was fine in her world. Except, of course, that it wasn’t.

  She leaned all her weight on the handlebar, pretending to study a package of baby carrots like they were the instrument panel in a 747 while giving her body a little rest. Just for a moment. If she didn’t think she’d be noticed, she could have easily slid to the floor, pressed her cheek against the cool laminate, and gone to sleep immediately.

  “Loralee?”

  She jerked her head up, automatically smiling as she recognized the voice. “Dr. Heyward. So nice to see you.” He held a six-pack of beer in one hand and a bunch of bananas in the other. Even if she hadn’t already known he was a bachelor, that alone would have tipped her off.

  “It’s Gibbes, remember?”

  “Gibbes,” she repeated, admiring how nicely he filled out his light green polo and how his gold eyes and white teeth looked in his tanned face. He’s bigger than life and twice as handsome. Loralee almost giggled out loud as she recalled what her mama used to say when they spotted a good-looking man.

  “I’m glad I ran into you. Outside of the house, that is,” he said.

  He glanced around and waited for a woman with a tight gray perm to push her cart out of produce and into the dairy section. Loralee kept smiling, but her insides froze.

  “My offer is still good for sharing any doctor recommendations you might need.”

  “Yes,” she said. “How nice of you to remember.”

  He looked at her closely for a moment before continuing. “If Rocky will be starting school here in the fall, he’ll need a physical and a doctor’s sign-off that he’s had all his shots. My practice does free school checkups the last week in July, which should give you plenty of time to get his current pediatrician to send over his medical records. There are lots of other pediatricians in the area, so feel free to check them out, too. Just wanted to give you the heads-up.”

  “Thank you, Gibbes. I appreciate it.” She continued to smile, waiting for her insides to thaw.

  “I know lots of other doctors in the area, too,” he went on. “You’ll probably want an internist or a GYN. A dentist. Whatever you need, I’m sure I know one I could recommend. Please don’t hesitate to let me know.” His voice was light, but his eyes held a serious glint. “You want to make sure that you’re under a doctor’s care, with your ulcers.”

  “Yes, of course. Just give me a few more days to get settled and I’ll give you a call.”

  He continued to look at her without speaking, and it was almost like they were daring each other to be the one to look away first.

  Still studying her, he said, “I’m not on call this weekend and was planning on taking my boat out—maybe just to ride around in so you can check out your new home. We can fish next time. The invitation still stands if you and Rocky are interested.”

  “He’ll love that—we’ll love it. Thank you. What should I bring? I’ll pack a picnic basket—there’s one in the pantry that looks like it’s still in good condition.”

  “You don’t need to, but I have a feeling that you’re going to bring one anyway.”

  She returned his smile, although it did nothing to melt the frozen spot inside her. “Can you ask Merritt to come with us again?”

  He tilted his head, the way some people did when they couldn’t understand her accent. “I was under the impression that she’d rather sew her head to the carpet than spend any time in my company.”

  She thought just for a moment, remembering what her mama had said about how it was always easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. “I think the reason she said no was not so much because of you, although I won’t lie and say that’s not part of it. It’s more about the boat. And the water in particular.”

  He looked at her with dawning understanding and she hoped, just for a second, that he would understand enough so she wouldn’t have to say it out loud. Merritt was such a private person that she would probably turn to stone if she knew what Loralee was about to tell Gibbes. But Merritt needed somebody besides Loralee to know, and Loralee just didn’t have the time to wait the fifty or so years she imagined it would take Merritt to warm up enough to anybody to tell them herself.

  “Merritt’s mother drowned. She and her mother were driving over a bridge in a storm at night, and the car went over. Sarah managed to get Merritt free, but Sarah died.”

  Gibbes looked stunned for a moment, then nodded his head. “Ah. Well, that would explain why she wouldn’t want to go out on the water. And I can’t say I
blame her.”

  “I know. But I think if she gives it a chance, she’ll find the water is different here. It’s still the Atlantic, but down here—except during hurricanes, of course—the ocean seems so much more forgiving. It’s warmer, calmer; the colors are green and blue and not black and gray. Growing up in Gulf Shores, I always found the water to be a place of refuge and renewal.” She looked past him, through the sliding glass doors that showed blue sky outside, remembering. “When my own mama died, I spent a lot of time on the beach staring at the water until I learned what I was supposed to. And I did. I finally figured out that when the waves come ashore and wipe away all the footprints, it’s like God telling you that starting again is part of life. It saved me.”

  “And you want to save Merritt?”

  Loralee dipped her head, examining her gold metallic strappy sandals. They had been Robert’s favorites, and they made her happy when she wore them. With a strength of conviction that came from deep inside of her, she said, “We all need saving.”

  “Good luck with that. Something tells me that Merritt isn’t the type who enjoys a good ol’ coffee klatch with her girlfriends.”

  Loralee almost laughed at the mental image of her and Merritt wearing fluffy slippers and bathrobes with towels in their hair, curled up on a couch drinking coffee while sharing confidences. She had the disloyal thought that she’d see Owen playing professional football before that ever happened.

  She and Gibbes ended up at the checkout even though Loralee still had grocery items on her list. But her energy reserves were below empty, and she was glad she’d had this conversation with him. He was an unlikely ally, but one she felt good about.

  He placed his two items on the lip of the conveyor and began loading her purchases onto the belt. She wanted to tell him to go ahead, that she could do it herself, but knew she’d be lying. “Thank you,” she said instead, handing her credit card to the cashier.

  Gibbes bagged her purchases and put them in her buggy before buying his own items, then escorted her out to her car, pushing the buggy and even loading her car. He didn’t ask permission. She liked that about him. He saw what needed to be done and did it. It reminded her of Merritt, although Loralee would rather dip her head in honey and lie down on a red-ant hill than say that aloud to either one of them.

  “Thank you,” she said as he opened her door and she climbed in behind the wheel. She hit the start button and rolled down the windows, taking deep breaths of cool air.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine—please don’t worry about me.” She looked up at him, recognizing the same shadows she saw behind his eyes that she saw in Merritt’s. “And I’m sorry for your own loss. First your grandmother and then you find out that your brother is gone, too. I know you hadn’t seen him for a while, but I’m sure you’re grieving. It might help if you talk about him with somebody. Just let me know—you know I love to talk, but I’m a good listener, too.”

  “You’re a nice person, Loralee. I hope living with Merritt doesn’t change that.”

  She laughed softly. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I understand Merritt. More than she thinks I do. She’s just one of those people who thinks they have to live with their toes pressed against the edge of disaster. She’s been pushed over it so many times she just comes to expect it. I think this place will be good for her. Every time I hear the mermaid’s tears I think they’re clapping to welcome Merritt.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Mermaid’s tears?”

  “That’s what my mama called the sea glass.” Her smile fell at her next thought. “I hope you’re not upset that your grandmother left the house to your brother and now his widow is living in it. Especially since you grew up there.”

  Gibbes shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. “Family tradition and all. Cal was the oldest son and so the house should rightly have gone to him—or his heirs. And she’s welcome to it.” He looked at Loralee, but she was pretty sure he was seeing something else. “If my grandmother had left it to me, I would have torn it down.”

  He stepped back and closed her door, his hands braced on the frame. “Remember to let me know about any doctor recommendations you might need. Call me anytime.”

  “I will. Thank you, Gibbes.” On impulse, Loralee touched his arm. “And remember to call me anytime you want to talk. I really am a good listener.”

  “I’m sure you are. I’m just not sure anybody’s ready to hear what I have to say.” He pushed off from the car, his smile back in place. “I’ll let you know about the boating.”

  After a final wave, he picked up his grocery bag and headed toward his truck. She rolled her window up as she watched him walk away, wondering what demons he still saw lurking in the dark corners of the old house, and if they knew the ones Merritt was running away from.

  Slipping her pink journal out of her purse, she opened it at the spot she’d marked with her pen and began to write. The scariest things in our lives aren’t always the bogeymen under the bed. It’s the fear that the small bird with bound wings that lives in the darkest place in our hearts will one day find a way to break free.

  She put on her seat belt, then drove back to the house on the bluff, thinking of the dark places in her own heart, and how much time she had before she had to face her biggest fear.

  chapter 10

  MERRITT

  I walked slowly through the dining room, my fingers lightly skimming the top of an elegant eighteenth-century sideboard with Queen Anne legs and detailed marquetry bordering the small drawers. A heavily tarnished silver tea service sat on top, and I’d already discovered that the drawers were filled with sterling flatware with handles embellished with vines of roses and the letter “H.”

  As I’d taken inventory of all the rooms, I realized that the old house contained a fortune in antiques and art, presumably acquired by a family that had called this place home for generations. But Gibbes didn’t seem to have warm feelings about it, as if there were too many dark spaces clouding his memories. I felt them, too, the shadows that seemed to move and twitch right beyond my field of vision. But I also felt a warmth, a sense of family and belonging that must have been included in each floorboard and each nail when it was built all those years ago. It was almost as if the house were waiting for someone to shine light into all of its corners.

  I had been an art history major and then a curator of a small art museum in Farmington, Maine, but that made me no expert. The museum also contained pieces of furniture donated or collected from the area, the legs thicker and bolder, the wood darker and grainier than the almost dainty furniture in this house. It had made me think of the long, hard winters in Maine, and I couldn’t imagine this delicate furniture surviving in such a brutal environment.

  These were family heirlooms, treasures that I owned but had no real claim to. Gibbes had expressed no interest in anything except personal mementos, but I would have to insist. I didn’t want any burning resentment to link us together. I wanted to give him what was his and cut ties completely. I wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. I’d already spent a lifetime loving people and losing them.

  I sat down for a moment on a Chippendale sofa with faded blue and white Chinese silk upholstery, resting my clipboard on my lap. I was waiting to show Gibbes the inventory list I had made, and had even included a column for him to check off the items he wanted. I tilted my head back, not minding the whir of the new air-conditioning unit as long as the cold air blew on my face and dried the sweat on my cheeks and forehead. The HVAC man had looked at me oddly when I mentioned that it surely couldn’t get any hotter outside than it already was. He’d reminded me that it was only May.

  I was the happy owner of six unsightly window units, which would make the house bearable while I determined when the best time to install the new central heating and air system would be. The estimate I’d received was more than I’d been expecting, but at that point he could have charged me three times the amount and I would have gladly paid
it. For somebody with a genetic predisposition to keep the wallet strings tightened at all times, that was saying something.

  The doorbell rang and I spent a moment mentally preparing myself before standing up and answering it. Gibbes smiled when he saw me, but it was the kind of smile one gives to his dentist right before a tooth is pulled.

  He paused in the foyer under the beautiful fluted arch that separated the doorway from the rest of the entrance. “Is that a cool breeze I feel?”

  “It is. I had new AC units installed in the study and front parlor to create a cross breeze, and I added a new one in the dining room, two more upstairs in Owen’s and Loralee’s bedrooms, and one in the attic. It makes the house almost bearable.”

  “It’s not that hot, you know. It’s still spring. You might want to leave the windows open so you can get acclimated before summer gets here.”

  I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to prepare me or scare me, so I didn’t say anything. Instead I handed him the inventory list. “Here’s everything in the house—excluding the kitchen and garden. You’re welcome to go through those yourself if you think there’s anything there you might want. Or I’m sure Loralee would be happy to do it.”

  He looked at me sharply, and I wondered whether my tone of voice had given me away. Loralee had been so excruciatingly helpful with the inventorying. She was like a diligent little worker bee who did what was needed and didn’t require any direction. She was efficient, organized, and—for lack of a better word—cheerful. She took frequent naps, but her sleeping habits didn’t interfere with her productivity any more than her propensity to wear high heels and makeup every waking hour did.