Leaving Carolina (37 page)

Seth brightens like a string of lights after the one bulb that caused them all to go dark is replaced. “Wonderful!”

“Can I stay with Uncle Obe?” Devyn asks.

“Sure you can,” Seth says, and annoyance flashes across Maggie’s face as he draws her away.

The annoyance is duplicated on her daughter’s face, and for a moment a strong resemblance exists between the two. “I’ll just die
if he’s
my dad,” she mutters.

“You’ll be pleased to know I won’t be attending your funeral anytime soon,” my uncle says.

Her eyes widen behind her glasses. “How do you know Mr. Peterson isn’t my dad?”

Uncle Obe shrugs. “Some things you just know. Call it instinct.” He jerks his chin, as if to put a period on that, and turns to me. “I’m proud of you, Piper.”

“Thank you.” Where is Axel?

“So”—he turns toward the pavilion—“do you agree with Devyn that honesty is the best policy? that the truth will set you free?”

Even without the proper amount of lubrication, those wheels of his have been hard at work. Still, beyond the worry of how this will play out, I feel freer. And it would be selfish of me to deny him the same. “Though it will be uncomfortable for a while, it’s nice not to have it hanging over my head—or Trinity’s.”

As we near the pavilion, I check my watch. It’s five minutes until the mayor’s opening address, meaning Uncle Obe will soon be onstage. “I don’t imagine you and Axel had time to go over your note cards?” And by the way, where is he?

“Nope. First off, they aren’t in my shirt pocket where I put them. Second, I don’t think I’m going to need them. Do you?”

Keep breathing
. “No.”

He smiles. “I prayed this morning for the Lord to guide me through the day. And so He has—just as He guided you.”

It was God, wasn’t it? God who has been hard at work on me since I returned to Pickwick. And, finally, I did the right thing. “Yes, Uncle Obe.”

He halts before the pavilion. “I’d better get up there and get this over with.”

“Wait!” I open my purse and pull out a notepad. “I’ll jot down a few things in case you…”

“Forget?” He gazes at me from beneath those bushy eyebrows. “It’s lies and half truths that are hard to remember, Piper. I don’t need notes for this.”

I imagine him at the podium, struggling for elusive words beneath the heat of embarrassment. “Yes, but to be on the safe side—”

“I am on the safe side, feet firmly planted.” He looks at Devyn. “Come clean and be done with it, right?”

“Right. Just like Miss Piper did with Miss Trinity.”

As I look between them, the band strikes up “God Bless America,” signaling the commencement of the celebration.

“Now,” my uncle says, “I’m going to get some of that peace for myself.”

Devyn escorts him to the steps, and I hold my breath as he grips the rail with one hand, his cane with the other, and makes his way upward.

Lord, please grant him the peace he seeks, and help the rest of us Pickwicks to control ourselves. And, one more thing—don’t let Axel think too badly of me
.

T
he mayor welcomes everyone to the Fourth of July celebration, causing applause and whooping and whistling. There follows a brief speech about our Founding Fathers and their break with England, a reminder about the mayor’s bid for reelection, and then my uncle is introduced.

Despite the constraint of his recent surgery, Uncle Obe is surprisingly erect as he walks forward to shake the mayor’s hand. When the podium is yielded to him, he looks around. “I’m honored to be here today, and I hope you will bear with me if my delivery is not as smooth as our…our…”

Mayor
. The word is
mayor
.

“… as the leader of our fine town.”

Good strategy.

“Since I’m not a politician, words don’t come easy for me.” He looks down. “But there’s more to it than that.”

He’s not going to—?

“Ahem. A-hem!” Artemis stands to my left, attempting to waylay my uncle.

“You see, I was recently diagnosed with dementia.”

As a murmur once more circulates through the crowd, Artemis
shakes his head and blots his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “That’s takin’ honesty a tad too far if ya ask me.”

“So,” Uncle Obe continues, “if I forget a word or two, I trust you’ll understand.” He winks at Devyn where she peers at him from the foot of the pavilion.

And I feel Axel’s absence more deeply.

“Now, as the… mayor said, my family and I have good news. On that granite pedestal”—he points to the left—“there once stood a bronze statue commissioned by my grandfather. Forty-odd years ago it disappeared. Now I could tell you that out of the kindness of my heart I’m commissionin’ a new one, but the truth is, I’m makin’…”

As I steel myself for more honesty, pain flashes across his features. “… amends for a wrong I personally committed.”

The voices grow louder.

“It was a young and secretly rebellious Obadiah Pickwick who convinced his friends to help him pull down that statue and sink it in Pickwick Lake.”

Artemis sidles up to me. “It’s all your fault. Had to let the cat out of the Lady Godiva bag.”

I note the prickly flush of red above his collar.

“Not the influence I was countin’ on ya to have, Piper Pickwick.”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct my last name to
Wick
. And I don’t mind.

Uncle Obe continues. “Though the Pickwicks have made a great number of contributions to this community, along the way we’ve wronged some of our neighbors. Thus, our family has decided
to make things right. In the months and possibly years ahead, restitution will be made. Unfortunately, it may cause some of you to think harshly of our family, but I pray for your forgiveness. Thank you.” He turns to the mayor, who appears to be in a state of confusion. My uncle clears his throat. “Now as soon as y’all wrap your heads around that, we can continue the celebration of our nation’s birthday.”

The mayor hastens forward, a tensely toothy smile on his face, and shakes Uncle Obe’s hand. “Thank you for your, uh, generosity.” Stiff chuckle. “And honesty.” He looks to the crowd. “Let’s give Obadiah Pickwick a hand.”

The clapping starts small and uncertain but grows as my uncle heads for the steps.

“Image consultant!” More neck chafing from Artemis. “It’s all hype and no bite, if ya ask me.”

I start to defend myself, but there’s nothing to defend. My job is to help a client present an image that appeals to his audience, but it only works if it’s something the client aspires to. Uncle Obe aspired to something higher than what I devised, and it’s for the best, even if there are headlines to pay.

“Luc will be having a fit, I tell ya. And wait till Adele hears about this—if she hasn’t already.”

“They’ll get over it.” The voice that comes between Artemis and me makes me catch my breath.

“Get over it?” Artemis drops back to glower at Axel. “This ain’t gonna play well for the Pickwicks.”

I venture a look at Axel, but his eyes are on Artemis.

“Nope.” More chafing. “Gonna get rougher before it gets better.”

“But it will get better.” Uncle Obe appears before us with Devyn.

Artemis whips his head around, freeing up Axel to look my way, which he does. And his mouth curves. And his eyes are Blue.

“I don’t know why ya pay me to look after your affairs, Obadiah Pickwick, if you’re just gonna do what ya wanna do.”

Uncle Obe shrugs. Devyn giggles. And out of the thinning crowd, Maggie emerges less one Seth Peterson. She looks from her daughter to her uncle. “A little warning would have been nice, Uncle Obe.”

He turns his palms up. “When your cousin set such a fine example of doin the right thing, I couldn’t help myself. And it felt mighty good.”

“Well, the two of you have certainly put our family under the microscope. Any more revelations we ought to know about?”

“You mean other than what we talked about this morning?” Uncle Obe says.

“Yes.”

His eyes flick to Devyn. “There might be.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie’s raised voice causes the stragglers to turn.

“We’ll talk later.” Uncle Obe pats Devyn’s shoulder. “Should we scout out a piece of sidewalk to watch the parade?”

Devyn bounces onto her toes. “How about the fountain in front of the bank? The mist will keep us cool.”

“Sounds good to me.” And off they go, with a tense Maggie and muttering Artemis in their wake.

Acutely aware that it’s just me and Axel, I nearly jump when his arm brushes mine. In the gathering dusk, I look sidelong at him. “I suppose you’re pleased by what happened here today.”

He appears neither smug nor satisfied. “I believe it will give your uncle peace. And you.”

His arm brushes mine again, and I swallow. “Are you sure you want to stand this close? Some of my past might rub off on you.”

“I’m not worried.”

“But you disappeared. You were by my uncle, and then you were gone.”

“Your aunt Belinda swooned when she heard about the real identity of Lady Godiva. I helped Bartholomew get her to the car.”

The gossips will love that. “Then you weren’t put off to learn what I did twelve years ago?”

He smiles. “I figured that out a while back, Piper.”

I look down. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were a teenager and you made a mistake. What is there to say?” His hand closes around my upper arm, and all my bodily functions threaten to shut down.

“You’re holding your breath,” he says in my ear.

I lift my chin to find his face inches from mine, mouth kissably close. Way too much temptation, especially under the circumstances. “I am going back to L.A.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you miss the 24/7 life? And feeling the need to carry a gun?”

I don’t, but I can’t tell him that, not with everything inside me
straining toward him. “Look, L.A. has its problems, but everyplace does. What happened there could happen here…” I should not have said that. I backpedal into a bright smile. “I need to get back to my job.”

“Do you?”

Do I?

“You could stay in Pickwick.” He smiles. “It’s tame—relatively.”

“If you’re not a Pickwick.”

“You aren’t.”

I scoff. “I may have changed my last name, but—”
What? You’re a Pickwick? That
is
what you were going to say
.

“You’re Piper.” Axel lifts my chin. “Above all, Piper.”

Is he going to kiss me? I believe he is. And though I know I should pull back, this time there’s no Grant. There’s only Axel, and I kiss him back and slide my hands up around his neck and my fingers into the hair at his nape. Nice—until a finger catches on his rubber band.

“Ouch,” he says against my mouth.

I tug my pinkie free. “Sorry.” I step nearer and his arms encircle me, head angles, and lips press mine. No man has ever kissed me like Axel kisses me, and it has nothing to do with the rasp of whiskers above and below my lips. No, never
ever been
kissed like this. Not that I have loads of experience, but I have enough to know that his kiss is different.

And dangerous
.

I won’t let it go any further. I just want to enjoy it while it lasts. And make it last a nice long while. After all, once I leave Pickwick—
if
I leave Pickwick—

Oh no.

He lifts his head. “See, Pickwick isn’t all bad.”

Not with Axel in it. “Maybe I should explore my options a bit more.”

“Maybe?”

I smile. “Definitely.”

“Meaning that one day you might consider being engaged to be engaged to one Axel Smith?”

I catch my breath. “That’s certainly a possibility.”

He chuckles and taps a finger to my lips, as if pushing the Pause button. “We should join your family to watch the parade.”

My family… “Yeah.”

He steps back, slides a hand down my arm, and meshes his fingers with mine.

“I only hope Maggie is in a better mood,” I say as we start across the park. “Axel, when she asked Uncle Obe if there are other revelations we ought to know about, he said there might be and gave Devyn a funny look. Do you know anything about that?”

“I believe he was referring to the artist he wants to commission for the statue.”

I shrug. “So?”

“He told me the guy lived in Pickwick for a while and that he had a bit of a history with Maggie.”

I nearly shrug again, but then I remember how enthused Uncle Obe became when I told him he could choose the artist. And didn’t he say he had someone in mind? And what about the look he gave Devyn? And his certainty that Seth didn’t father her?

I halt. “Oh no.”

Axel turns to me. “What?”

“Did he mention the artist’s name?”

“He may have.”

“Does Thorpe sound familiar? Reece Thorpe?”

“That’s it. What’s this about?”

I sigh. “I think Uncle Obe is trying to give Devyn what she wants.” As Axel’s confusion deepens, I blurt out, “A father. Reece Thorpe was one of Maggie’s boyfriends in high school. He’s now a renowned artist who works mostly in sculpture.”

“How do you know this?”

“Our firm publicized one of his showings after he hit it big several years ago. I didn’t work with him, but I recognized him from publicity photos circulated around the office.”