Twice in a Lifetime (21 page)
“Daddy,” Lindsay called from upstairs. “I’m ready.” “I should go.” But she didn’t move.
Neither did he. And then his lips found hers in a kiss that seemed irrevocable. His fingers raked back through her curls so that he held the back of her head, her hair twining around his hand as if to hold him fast.
Every cell in his body was aware of her. A wave of tenderness swept through him, mixed with longing. He should end this, but he couldn’t.
She did it for him. She moved, taking a step back. Her fingers touched her lips and her breath was uneven.
“Lindsay wants you.” Her smile trembled. “Good night, Matt.”
He should go to Lindsay. He would, but he stood watching first as Georgia went swiftly down the steps.
When Matt pulled up at the cottage the next day, Georgia hurried down the stairs, holding an umbrella to ward off the rain that had started during the night.
She was trying to ignore the fluttering in the pit of her stomach, trying to tell herself she felt that way because Matt had tracked down the woman Ned might have gone off with. She couldn’t quite convince herself of that, not with the memory of last night’s kiss so fresh in her mind that she
could still feel his lips on hers.
He reached across to open the door as she approached, and she slid in, tossing the umbrella into the backseat.
“Good morning.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, so warm that it brought a flush to her cheeks.
“Good morning to you, too.” She smoothed back unruly curls, hoping he didn’t see just how affected she was by his presence. “This is amazing news. I can’t believe you found her so quickly.”
“Once we had a name, it wasn’t that hard.” He pulled out onto the road. “There’s an investigator the firm sometimes uses, so I put him onto it. Don’t worry—he doesn’t know why I was looking for her.”
Worry was too constant a companion on this subject. She knew the truth was bound to come out, but she couldn’t help wanting to delay that moment as long as possible.
“But if she ran away with Ned, he’d know—” “She didn’t,” he said quickly.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “He’s sure of that?”
He nodded, turning toward the drawbridge. “There’s no mystery about it at all. Mr. and Mrs. Malloy went back to their home in Summerville after that summer on the island. They lived there until his death in the seventies. She moved to Charleston then, living first in a retirement community and now in a nursing home. They had one child, a daughter, who also lives in the city.” He glanced at her. “If there had been any gap in the story, our investigator would have found it.”
“So that was a dead end.”
“Not necessarily.” His eyes were focused on the traffic, giving her the freedom to study his strong, capable hands on the wheel, the firm line of his jaw, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“What do you mean? If he didn’t go away with her, we still don’t know what happened to him.”
“She might know. If Benny was right about the relationship, she might be the one person who did know.”
“Did?”
He shrugged. “Did. Does. As I told you, she’s in a nursing home, apparently not expected to live long. Whether she’s able to talk…”
“That’s why you said we had to go right away.” She’d wondered at the urgency in his voice when he’d called this morning. Now she knew.
He nodded, glancing at the screen of his GPS. “I just wish I knew how we were going to get in to see her.”
“That part won’t be too difficult. I’ve visited more nursing homes than I can count. It’s part of growing up Southern, like visits to the cemetery. We’ll need to make a stop to pick up some flowers, that’s all.” She smiled at his expression. “Trust me on this one.”
The nursing home proved to be the one on the outskirts of Mount Pleasant, making things even easier than she’d predicted. Her mother had visited here regularly, bringing flowers and seasonal treats to elderly church members. A few minutes’ chat with the nurse on duty at the desk, and they were soon pushing open the door to Mrs. Malloy’s room.
The woman sleeping in the railed bed didn’t bear much resemblance to the picture that had formed in Georgia’s mind of the heroine of that wartime romance. But then, Ned, if he were still alive, would be eighty-four, and the woman he’d supposedly loved would be even older.
A faded wedding picture stood on the bedside table, and she moved closer to have a look. The woman had been a delicate beauty, with masses of fair hair and a fragile grace that had probably appealed to Ned’s chivalrous instincts. The man had a square, red, bulldog face. He gripped his young bride with a possessive air.
She glanced from the photo to the woman in the bed. There were still traces of that fragile beauty in the worn face, like an echo of the vanished past.
Matt stood back from the bed, clearly uncomfortable.
This was up to her, it seemed.
“Grace.” She said the name softly, touching a thin, veined hand. “We’ve come to visit you. We brought you some flowers.”
Eyelids flickered, then opened, and faded blue eyes attempted to focus. “Flowers,” she murmured.
Georgia held the mixed bouquet closer, so that she could see and smell them. “Daisies and roses, with a little baby’s breath. Shall I put them in a vase for you?”
A faint nod, which she took for yes. This part of the visit was familiar. She’d always found a vase and arranged the flowers while her mother made cheerful small talk, never acting bothered if there was no response.
Emulating her, Georgia chattered about the flowers, about the weather, about the room while she fixed the flowers at the small sink and carried them to the bedside. Grace smiled faintly, as if the aroma of the flowers touched some memory hidden deep in the recesses of her
mind. “Who?” she whispered.
“I’m Georgia.” She took the woman’s hand again, her heart beating a little faster. “Georgia Bodine. I think you once knew my family, that summer you spent on Sullivan’s Island, a long time ago.”
She frowned, as if chasing an elusive memory. “You’d better ask her directly,” Matt said.
Georgia held the wasted hand in both of hers. “Ned Bodine,” she said. “Do you remember him, Grace?”
For a moment there was nothing. Then the faintest trace of animation lit the woman’s features. “Ned,” she murmured. “Ned.”
Georgia leaned closer. “Yes, Ned Bodine. Do you remember Ned? He loved you, I think.”
For a moment a smile lingered on her lips. Then her brow furrowed, and she closed her eyes.
She was slipping off into whatever world she inhabited now. Georgia’s heart wrenched.
Bless her, dear Lord. Ease her passage into Your presence.
“Grace?” She tried again. “Do you remember Ned?”
The only answer came from behind her as the door swung open.
“Who are you people? What are you doing in my mother’s room?”
The woman who swept in moved protectively toward the bed, forcing Georgia to retreat. She didn’t have her mother’s beauty, but there was a faint resemblance between the faded creature on the bed and the erect, assertive sixty-something woman who stood next to her.
“I’m sorry to intrude, ma’am….” She hesitated, not sure of the daughter’s name.
“Ms. Wilson,” Matt said quietly. “I assume you’re Beatrice Wilson. My name is Matthew Harper. I’m an attorney with Porter and Harper. This is Georgia Bodine.” “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here,” the
woman said tartly.
Georgia exchanged glances with Matt. “I believe that your mother was acquainted with my great-uncle. We were hoping she might remember something about him. His name was Ned Bodine.”
The woman knew his name. Georgia could see it in the sudden tensing of her body, in the quick, dismissing movement of one hand, as if she’d brush them away.
“My mother never knew anyone by the name. You’ll have to leave. She’s in no condition to have company.”
“Please, Ms. Wilson.” She held her hand out in appeal. “It’s very important to my grandmother to find out what happened to Ned. If your mother remembers anything—” “She doesn’t.” She clipped off the words, her gaze sliding away from Georgia’s as she took her mother’s hand
in a protective grasp. “Please leave.” “But I just want—”
Matt touched her arm gently, and she could feel his sympathy through the light caress. He held out his card to Ms. Wilson. “Anything your mother knows or might have told you could be of great value. If you think of something, please believe we’d treat it with discretion.”
She made no response, so he put the card down on the bedside table.
“If you’re willing to talk to us later, I hope you’ll call me.”
She pressed her lips together for a moment, then shook her head.
“If only you’d let me—”
Matt grasped her elbow, piloting her out of the room before she could finish the sentence. The door swung shut behind them.
Georgia tried to shake him off, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “I’m sure she knows something.”
“And I’m just as sure that she’s not going to tell you.” He hustled her down the hallway. “You can’t badger a dying woman, Georgia. Or her grieving daughter.”
“But she knew…” She let that trail off. He was right, of course. She couldn’t let her need to help Miz Callie override common kindness. Miz Callie was the last person to want that.
She glanced at Matt. His face was set, and lines of tension radiated from his eyes. He moved so quickly that she could barely keep up with him.
“I don’t think we need to run,” she said mildly.
“I don’t like nursing homes.” He clipped off the words. “Let’s get out of here.”
His shuttered expression warned her. Her heart twisted. His wife—had she been in a nursing home, making this visit a painful reminder?
She didn’t know, because Matt wouldn’t, or couldn’t talk about that. All she knew was what everyone knew— that his wife had died, and that it had nearly destroyed him. He’d kissed her. He seemed to care about her. But he wouldn’t let her into what was really important to him, and judging by the look on his face, she didn’t think he
ever would.
G
eorgia jogged slowly from the beach to the stairs that led up to Miz Callie’s deck the next morning, stopping at the bottom to stretch. As the heat intensified, she’d had to get her run in earlier and earlier.
She’d had some vague hope that jogging along the beach in the morning light might clear her mind, but she was no nearer any decisions than she had been. Her own future was still a tangle that she couldn’t seem to unravel. As for her grandmother’s problem, the more they learned, the less they knew.
She’d looked up Ms. Wilson’s phone number and address the night before, and a half-dozen times she’d reached for the phone. Each time, something held her back. She couldn’t badger the woman when her mother was dying. But with the woman’s death might go their last chance of learning the truth.
Matt clearly didn’t want to pursue that angle any further. But was his opinion based on logic or emotion? She wasn’t sure.
She glanced down the beach, shielding her eyes with her hand. There was Miz Callie, back from her turtle patrol,
but where was Lindsay? The two of them had set off together when she’d left for her run.
Impelled by something that seemed amiss in the solitary figure, she trotted down to meet her grandmother.
“Hey, Miz Callie. What happened to Lindsay? I thought she was with you.”
“She’s down there at the turtle nest. She didn’t want to come back yet.” Her grandmother’s eyes showed concern. “Somethin’s ailing that child, but she wouldn’t say what. You go, Georgia. Maybe she’ll talk to you.”
She put her arm around her grandmother’s waist in a quick hug. “If she wouldn’t tell you what’s troubling her, she surely won’t tell me.”
Miz Callie patted her cheek, but her gaze was stern. “Don’t you belittle yourself, Georgia Lee. Goodness, you’re the one everyone wants to tell their troubles to. You go and try your luck with Lindsay. She needs you.”
Still doubtful, she nodded. She certainly couldn’t leave Lindsay there all alone. “I’ll try.”
She began to jog again, her legs protesting a little. Was her grandmother serious about people wanting to confide in her? She’d always considered that Miz Callie’s role in the family, not hers.
Matt certainly didn’t want to do any confiding in her. The turtle nest came into view. Lindsay was a small,
lonely figure, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees next to the orange tape. She looked so desolate that for a moment Georgia’s heart failed her.
Lord, that child is hurting so much. I don’t feel quali-fied to help her, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else. Please, if this is Your will, guide my words. Let me bring her some comfort.
Lindsay didn’t acknowledge her presence as Georgia jogged up and dropped to the sand next to her.
“Hey, Lindsay. Are you visiting with the baby turtles this mornin’?”
Lindsay turned her face away, as if looking at the nest, but not before Georgia had seen the traces of tears on her cheeks. Her heart clenched.
“It…it takes them a long time to hatch, doesn’t it?” “Quite a while.” She searched her memory for the turtle