Twice in a Lifetime (15 page)
“And you kept it.”
She fluttered a little. “Well, truth to tell, I probably forgot about it pretty quick, but there it was, stored in my mind, ready to fall out the minute you asked.”
“I’m glad you remembered.”
“That’s fine, darlin’. I don’t suppose it helps you know what happened to Ned, but it’s good you know that story.”
She rose with one of her sudden movements. “Look at the time. I’ll get y’all some sweet tea, and then I’m going to have to shoo you out before my ladies get here.”
“You don’t have to—” Matt began, but she was already gone. He turned to Georgia. “What did you think of that?” “I think she was telling the exact truth, the way a child would remember something,” she said, feeling a little
deflated. “But I’m afraid it doesn’t get us anywhere.” “I don’t agree.”
Matt leaned toward her, much as he had leaned toward Aunt Lizbet, and took her hand in his. She hoped her great-aunt hadn’t had the breathless reaction that she was having.
“What do you think we found out?” She kept her voice even with an effort.
“We learned something valuable about Ned Bodine,” he said. “Whatever he did, and whatever else he was, he certainly wasn’t a coward.”
“You were right about the restaurant.” Matt scrawled his signature on the credit-card receipt and glanced across the table at Georgia, enjoying the sight of her more than he wanted to. “The shrimp burger was amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Sorry it was so crowded.”
The crowd had kept him from pursuing the topic on both their minds, but maybe that was just as well.
When he’d suggested lunch before they headed back to Charleston, Georgia had directed him to Bay Street, lined with shops, restaurants and elegant old buildings. He’d followed her down a walkway between two buildings and into one of the smallest restaurants he’d ever seen. It offered windows looking out onto the water and food that was well worth the crush.
He touched Georgia’s elbow as she rose and nodded
toward the back door that opened onto the waterfront park. “Let’s stretch our legs before we get back in the car.”
For a moment he thought she’d refuse. Then she nodded.
Warm, moist air settled on them the instant they stepped outside, mitigated a little by the breeze off the water. He stole a glance at Georgia’s face as they started down the walk toward the low wall that bordered the sound.
She’d seemed tense underneath the surface conversation over lunch. He couldn’t think of anything to account for that. The story from her great-aunt, and the conclusion he’d drawn from it, surely hadn’t upset her.
They reached the path that ran along the water and turned wordlessly to walk along it. Ahead of them, a father with two young children was attempting to get a kite in the air. Several women, perhaps workers from the shops along the street, sat with sack lunches on park benches, talking, and a pair of intent joggers passed them, earphones blocking out the world.
Did Georgia realize how quiet she was being? Had she been upset by her great-aunt’s obvious matchmaking? It was so good-humored, so much a part of the Southern-belle persona she’d put on, that no one could take it seriously.
From the street above them, he could hear the voice of a tour guide perched on the high seat of a horse-drawn carriage. She must have said something amusing, because her carriage of tourists laughed.
He glanced again at Georgia’s intent face. They understood each other, didn’t they? Understood the attraction they both felt, but recognized that it couldn’t go any deeper for either of them?
Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy being with her, watching the way her hair curled rebelliously against her neck, listening to the soft cadences of her voice.
Except that at the moment, she wasn’t talking.
“I can understand why your great-aunt loves this place.
It really is beautiful,” he ventured.
Roused from her abstraction, she smiled. “If she hadn’t been so busy playing the Southern belle today, she’d have given you the history of Beaufort in one intensive lecture. Including how many films have been shot here.”
“Really?” He wouldn’t have pictured the sleepy place as a southern Hollywood.
“Oh, yes.” Her smile widened. “Cole and I ditched school one day when they were making a movie, and he drove us down here. We were sure we were going to have a personal encounter with a star.”
“Did you?”
“The closest we came was a glimpse of a motor home that might have belonged to the film company. And a three-week grounding for Cole when we got home.”
“Not you?” He liked the affection on her face when she talked about her brothers.
“I only got two, because Cole was older. He was supposed to be more responsible.” She paused, watching a sparkling white sailboat move soundlessly past them.
“Cole—that’s the brother next to you in age, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “He’s a jet pilot.” Something, some faint shadow, crossed her eyes.
“Dangerous work,” he guessed.
“Not as bad as when he was a rescue swimmer, dropping from the chopper into the water. Mamma spent so much time worrying about him that she said she was going to need a face-lift by the time he decided to make the change.”
“I take it Cole’s a bit of a daredevil.” “Always trying to keep up with Adam.”
“And you tried to keep up with both of them, I suppose.”
A bench swing was mounted facing the water, and he touched her arm to lead her to it, adding the feel of her skin to the list of things he enjoyed about being with her.
She leaned back, tilting her face to the sun. “If my mamma didn’t want a tomboy, she shouldn’t have had the two boys first.” As if she realized she’d betrayed something, she pointed out across the water. “That’s Lady’s Island. Beyond it is St. Helena’s. You ought to drive out there one day. At the very end is Hunting Island State Park. You can stand at the lighthouse and look out at the ocean where streets and houses used to be.”
“Another moving barrier island?”
She nodded. “I’m probably telling you things you already know, since you grew up in Boston.”
“Not much maritime lore in my part of the city,” he said shortly.
“No?” Her eyes widened a little.
He was about to turn the subject away, as he always did. He’d had plenty of practice in avoiding the subject of his childhood.
But somehow, despite his best efforts, he and Georgia had become close. And he couldn’t put her off with something that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t quite the truth, either.
“I don’t know what you’re imagining,” he said slowly. “But just because I went to law school with Rod doesn’t mean I grew up in a home like his.”
She half turned toward him, her arm brushing his. “I don’t know that I was imagining anything. You’ve learned a good bit about my people since we met, but I don’t know anything about yours.”
“I don’t have people, not in the sense you mean.” Her eyes grew troubled. “But you had parents…”
“My father disappeared before I was born.” Better to get it out bluntly if he was going to tell her. “My mother was
an alcoholic who gave up trying to get her life together before I was out of diapers.”
“I’m sorry.” Her face held compassion, not the shock he was expecting. “How hard that must have been for you.” He shrugged. “If you haven’t experienced anything else,
you don’t know what you’re missing.”
She rested her hand on his arm, and her empathy flowed through the contact. “You must have known, or you wouldn’t have had the drive to become what you are.”
“Maybe.”
He didn’t like to look back at who he’d been then—liked it even less since he’d become a parent himself. It was painful to imagine Lindsay living the way he had—always afraid, always yearning for something he couldn’t even imagine.
“Someone helped you.” She said it as if she knew. “Someone gave you a goal to strive for.”
He nodded. “Several someones, I guess. The pastor at a shelter we stayed in. A teacher who cared. A business-man who thought he should pay back what he’d received by helping someone else.”
“God sent them into your life.” Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that it flowed over him in a wave of comfort.
“I guess. I mean, yes.” For just an instant his mind clouded. He believed that, didn’t he? Since Jennifer died, he’d lost sight of what he believed.
“But you became who you are by your own efforts, too.
That shows a lot of character.”
He shrugged, not eager to prolong the subject. “I was lucky.”
It was too hard to believe that he’d inherited any degree of character from either of his parents.
“Attribute it to luck if you want to, but that’s not going to stop me from admiring what you’ve accomplished.” Her voice was firm. “I’m glad you told me.”
He still remembered how he’d felt when he’d told Jennifer—he’d been so sure she’d back politely away from their relationship. She hadn’t, and her love had made him feel as if he could conquer anything that stood in the way of their happiness.
He’d been wrong.
Seeming to recognize that he’d said all he intended to, Georgia leaned back on the swing.
“Maybe this isn’t the right time, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
He tried to clear his mind of the lingering cobwebs of the past. “Now’s as good a time as any. What is it? Something about your grandmother?”
She took a breath, and he realized she was trying to compose herself. This was what had caused her abstraction, then.
His hand brushed hers. “Just tell me, whatever it is.”
She looked down so that her hair fell forward, brushing her cheek. “The other day Lindsay and I went to check out the turtle nest together.”
At the sound of his daughter’s name, everything inside him tensed. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened, exactly.” She looked up at him, velvet-brown eyes earnest. “Please understand, I wouldn’t or-dinarily repeat a conversation with a child. But I think—”
“If it has to do with my daughter, I need to hear it.” He chopped off the words, willing her to come out with it.
“She expressed a lot of angry feelings about the mother turtles leaving their babies to fend for themselves. It seemed to me she was talking about her mother’s death.” “Did she say that?” She was right. He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to admit it, because that meant admitting he hadn’t solved this for his child.
Pity filled Georgia’s face. “She did. I think she understands that her mamma didn’t choose what happened to her, but still—”
“What did you say to her?”
Georgia stiffened, pulling away from him a little. “I didn’t pry into her feelings, if that’s what you’re imagining. It just came out.”
He didn’t have the right to be mad at Georgia because his daughter had gone to her, not to him. He forced down the anger that threatened to overpower him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” He shook his head, as if he could clear it. “She saw a counselor before we moved here. I hoped things were getting better.”
“I’m sure they are.” Her face warmed, and she leaned toward him, eagerness to help evident in every movement. “I said she should talk to you, but she didn’t seem to feel she could. Maybe if you were to share your feelings, she’d think—”
“No.” He shot off the seat, leaving it swinging. “Just leave it alone, Georgia. You don’t understand.”
“Of course.” She said the words quietly, but he knew they hid a world of pain. “You have to decide what’s best for your daughter.” She rose, not looking at him.
He wanted to say something that would wipe the hurt from her eyes. But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t, because what she suggested was impossible. He’d do anything for his daughter’s happiness, anything but open up and expose his own pain, because if he did, the ferocity of it might shatter them both forever.
M
att was right—Georgia didn’t understand. She watched the countryside roll past as they drove back toward the island. One moment they were closer than they’d ever been, and the next the doors had slammed shut with a resounding crash.
She’d ventured her opinion on Lindsay. Matt considered his daughter’s emotional health out of bounds.
A faint annoyance hovered. Did he really think that she and Miz Callie could spend as much time as they did with Lindsay and not grow to care for her? Maybe she didn’t have much experience with children, but she did know what it was like to feel desperate for someone to understand her. That was what Lindsay needed right now, and that someone should be her father.
And if he couldn’t or wouldn’t? She ventured a glance at Matt. She knew him well enough now to recognize what a stranger wouldn’t—that extra tension in his jaw, the shutters drawn over his expression. He was blocking her out, and her heart ached.
She could try to be the friend that Lindsay needed, but she’d have to tread carefully. Matt could probably be
ruthless where protecting his child was concerned, even if he was wrong about what she needed.
They made the turn at Gardens Corners, and he cleared his throat slightly. “How do you think your grandmother will react to her sister’s story?”