Flight Patterns (23 page)

“I didn't believe him, of course, until he told me there was technically only one full stoplight in the entire town. So I flew into Panama City, rented a car at the airport, and drove straight here. I passed an interesting establishment with a lot of lawn ornamentation for sale and asked the woman there if she knew where to find you and a Georgia Chambers. She was very helpful, although she seemed mostly interested in selling me a mermaid for my front yard at home.”

I choked back a laugh. “I'm assuming she told you that she's my aunt Marlene. And be thankful that her Loch Ness Monster is at her house instead of the business. It would probably be in your backseat right now.”

A smiling waitress whom I was thankful I didn't recognize appeared and picked up three menus from the hostess stand. “Would you like to sit outside?”

I was about to say yes when I saw the look of concern on Caroline's face. Turning back to the waitress, I said, “Inside is fine. It's pretty humid today.”

The waitress smiled indulgently. “It's only eighty-five percent—not bad, considering it's early May.”

I saw Caroline's eyes widen briefly before following the waitress to our table. We opened our menus and I was happy to find several of my old favorites. “I highly recommend the crab dip for starters, and then the fried-oyster salad. All the seafood here is locally sourced, so it's really fresh.”

James continued to glower as Caroline squinted at her menu. “Are fried oysters anything like oysters Rockefeller?” She looked up at me expectantly.

“Well, they both have oysters in them, but these are battered and deep fried and you will think you've died and gone to heaven when you eat one. Especially if you dip it in the homemade creamy horseradish dressing.”

James thrummed his fingers on his closed menu, waiting for us to finish. “How long are you planning on staying, Caroline?”

Her eyes appeared wide and innocent. “My original intention was just to have a quick visit with you and then be off, but this is such a charming town, and Georgia and I seem to have so much in common that I was thinking of staying a few days. Take a little vacation. Henry needs to learn how hard it is to run the household and schedules of four children, so this will be good for both of us.”

A tic appeared in his jaw. “Where are you staying?”

“I'm at the Consulate in a suite overlooking the river. They mentioned a young man who looked like me was staying there, too.”

James gave his sister a hard stare, and he reminded me so much of Maisy when she was angry with me that I almost laughed. We were saved by the appearance of the waitress to take our orders.

We all sipped from our ice waters, Caroline and I making small talk while James sat in stony silence. Either Caroline was used to this
facet of James's personality and didn't comment on it, or maybe I was unnerved because of how different it was from the thoughtful and mature man I thought I'd grown to know and like.

The food arrived and the conversation switched to their grandmother's china. “How close are you to finding a value for the Limoges?” Caroline asked.

“Closer,” I said, “but it's proven to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. It appears it may have been a custom design created by a French artist named Emile Duval in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

“What's skewing my whole thought process is that I believe I saw a piece from the same set here in my mother's house—years ago. Unfortunately, we're still looking for it. Common sense tells me that if it's the same pattern, it couldn't be a custom design. Because that would be a million-to-one chance that they're pieces from the same set. But until I can put eyes on it, I can't say for sure.”

Caroline nodded thoughtfully. “So what's the next step?”

“I have a contact at the largest Limoges porcelain museum in France who's checking the old records to see if there is a paper trail with Emile's name that might lead us to the client. We're also going in the opposite direction, checking an account ledger from an estate in Emile's hometown, hoping to see a payment made either to him directly or to the Haviland Company.”

Caroline sliced into a fried oyster with a fork and knife. “Isn't just knowing that it's a Limoges pattern from the late nineteenth century enough to give a value?”

“Certainly. I could rattle off something today. But that might mean a lowball estimate. If it is a custom design, and the client was somebody prominent, or a historical figure, the actual value would be much higher. I'm running out of trails to follow, and if I get to the end and still don't have more information, I think we can assume it wasn't custom but a limited-run pattern and leave it at that. Then I'll be able to prepare a value estimation based on that assumption.”

I glanced over at James. “Your brother has been a huge help—sifting through the Internet for hours as well as poring over volumes of china catalogs. He could probably describe dozens of Limoges patterns in his sleep.”

A corner of his mouth softened in an attempt not to smile. He quickly picked up a pita point and dragged it through the crab dip. I put an oyster in my mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Did your grandmother ever tell you anything about the china? James said all he remembered was that she was proud of it, but never used it. But since you're older, I was hoping you might recall something she might have said about it.”

Caroline delicately wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I do remember her being upset by a couple of missing pieces. She left a space for them in her china cabinet, as if she expected that one day they would be back. One of them was a large piece—its space was front and center.”

“Had it been broken?” I asked.

“I don't know. You'd think if it had, she would have just closed up the ranks so nobody would notice it missing.”

I looked down at my empty plate, fleetingly wondering whether I should be embarrassed for eating so much food. “Do you remember which pieces?”

Pale gold eyebrows drew together. “No—but I could ask Elizabeth to go look. She still lives in the city and can go over to Grandmother's house in Long Island. Why?”

“It's a long shot, but the piece I found here was a soup cup—with finger loops on two sides. Just out of curiosity, it would be interesting to know if that's one of the missing items. Even if the patterns aren't identical, if we find it, it could be a nice fill-in for your grandmother's set.”

Caroline shook her head slowly. “I really have no idea if that's one of the missing pieces. I'll ask Elizabeth to check and to take a photo of one of our soup cups and text it to you so you can see if it's the same one.”

James pushed away his plate. “Have her send it to me—Georgia
doesn't have a cell phone.” He held up his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “I promise I won't delete it without looking at it first.”

Caroline grimaced. “How reassuring to know that our brother treasures every word from us.”

“Maybe if my sisters had something new and interesting to say, I might be tempted to listen.”

To ease the tension that seemed to bristle in the air between them like static electricity, I turned to Caroline. “Where was your grandmother from? James thought she'd brought the china to the United States when she moved here after World War Two.”

“That's the assumption, anyway. It's a long story. I don't know how much James has told you, but they came from Switzerland. But my grandmother was half French and half Italian. She moved to Switzerland during the war and met our grandfather, a Swiss national, and they emigrated to the United States soon after the war ended, along with her entire family that included seven children, and an entire set of china. It was a sweet love story—remember, James?”

He barely nodded.

Caroline continued. “They were dirt-poor, and all of them living in a single-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.” She was silent for a moment. “My great-grandmother got sick and some of the younger children had to go live with other families because they couldn't afford to take care of them. Our grandmother worked in a jewelry store in Manhattan as a salesgirl, and they needed her paycheck to pay for her mother's medical care and living expenses.”

“And yet she didn't think to sell the Limoges?” I asked.

“No.” Caroline shook her head. “My great-grandmother made her swear not to sell a single piece of it, no matter how bad things became. To my knowledge, none of it was ever sold.”

Her gaze met her brother's. “Our family managed to not only survive, but thrive despite the hardships. My grandfather put himself through college and got a job on Wall Street in the mailroom of a brokerage firm and worked his way up while feeding his wife's siblings.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on James's.
“We come from a line of strong, resilient people, don't we?” It almost seemed as if she'd forgotten I was listening.

The waitress appeared with the check, and James took it and stuck his AmEx on top of it before abruptly sliding his chair back, the legs scraping noisily across the wood floor. “Excuse me, ladies. I'm going to the men's room. I'll meet you outside.”

I started to slide my own chair back, but Caroline's solid grip on my arm stopped me.

“Please excuse my audacity—I know we've just met. But how is he? How is he really?”

Her desperate look told me that my first instinct that she was here for another reason than just to check in was right.

“He seems fine. He doesn't seem depressed or anything, if that's what you mean. He's interested in researching the china, seems to be enjoying meeting my family and interacting with new people.” I paused for a moment, feeling unfaithful to James. “He told me about his wife.”

“About her dying? Did he mention anything else?”

I nodded. “He told me that she was having an affair, and he didn't know about it until after her death.”

Caroline closed her eyes for a moment. “Did he tell you with whom?”

I shook my head.

She studied me for a long time, considering her words and whether she would say anything at all. Finally, she said, “I'm only telling you this because James has already trusted you with more about him than he allows most people to know. I think he considers you to be a friend, and that's something that doesn't come easily to him these days.” She took a deep breath. “Kate was having an affair with James's best friend—the best man at their wedding. And it had apparently been going on since the three of them were at Wharton together. Before they were married.”

I pressed my fingers over my mouth.

She leaned closer to me. “He had a nervous breakdown. We . . . we were afraid that he'd hurt himself, so we checked him into a facility
with doctors who could help him, because he kept telling us that he wanted to die.”

I understand fragile minds.
Now I understood what James had meant. Understood those empty spaces behind his eyes. And why he'd said we had a lot in common. As if brokenness were a private club.

“That's why I'm here. To really make sure he's all right.” She reached for my hand just as she'd done to James. “Is he?”

“He seems to be. But I'm glad you told me so that I know. And I'll let you know if I think anything's changed. But I really think he's okay.”

She gave me a tentative smile. “Thank you. I can't tell you how much better I feel knowing that you're here with him.”

I pulled away, looking down at my hands. “You don't know me. You might not be confiding in me if you did.”

“I know you more than you think I do. James told you that he needed a distraction because of his wife's death and you let him come here without question.” She looked away for a moment, as if considering whether she should share another confidence. “He told me that you collect antique locks and keys because you believe everything has an answer. He needs someone right now who really believes that.”

She straightened suddenly, then pulled back her chair. It wasn't until I felt someone helping to pull out my own chair that I realized James had returned.

Pleading a headache and a need to get home, I left James and Caroline to walk the short block to their hotel, Caroline promising to pick up her rental car at the house the next day. After only a moment's hesitation I put the top down on my car and drove across the Gorrie Bridge to Eastpoint and then over another bridge to St. George Island. I needed to feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, and to try not to think about fragile minds, or how the heart needed more than the slip of years to mend its brokenness.

In cooler weather, the bees remain in the beehive but don't hibernate. The queen doesn't lay eggs but stays in a bee cluster surrounded by her worker bees. They flap their wings nonstop, keeping the temperature in the beehive around ninety-one degrees until warmer weather arrives.

—NED BLOODWORTH'S BEEKEEPER'S JOURNAL

Maisy

M
aisy sat on a stool at the counter of the Old Time Soda Fountain next to Becky, looking up at the menu tacked above the scalloped green-and-white awning on the wall in front of them. “I want an ice-cream sundae,” Becky said after about five minutes of deliberation.

Maisy smiled at the young ponytailed girl behind the counter. “Make it two, please. One scoop chocolate and one scoop vanilla, extra chocolate sauce, and just a pinch of sprinkles.” Despite a difference in opinion about many things, Maisy and Becky were always in agreement about their ice cream. “And two Cokes, please.”

She was rewarded with a rare grin from her daughter. Although she was exhausted from a week at work and wanted nothing more than to return to her bed after taking Becky to an early Saturday-morning tennis clinic and spending the rest of the morning running errands,
they'd ended up at the Soda Fountain. It was something the three of them had done before Lyle had moved out, which meant Maisy had avoided it for months. But when Becky had asked to go, she hadn't been able to say no.

When the sundaes arrived, Maisy stuck her spoon into the dome of whipped cream on top and automatically handed the cherry over to Becky. Even though she loved them as much as her daughter did, it had been something her grandfather had done for her and Georgia when they were girls, always asking for two cherries on his sundae so he could share with his girls. If only Maisy could enjoy her treat without hearing Birdie's voice in her head reminding her how many calories were in each bite.

“Where's Aunt Georgia?” Becky said with her mouth full.

Maisy sent her “the look” and Becky immediately closed her mouth.

“I texted James that we were here, so hopefully he got the message and told Georgia. But they were touring the Orman House, so they might not make it in time.”

Maisy tried to ignore the look of disappointment on Becky's face. What was it with near strangers in their lives whose absence only served to make them more mythical? Maisy was the one who'd been there through colic, and nightmares, and first-day-of-school jitters. And two emergency-room visits, with a broken arm and a concussion. Yet Georgia wore the halo, the breastplate of steel earned through annual birthday cards and Christmas gifts.

The door opened behind them, bringing a slap of heat against their backs. Maisy and Becky were too immersed in their ice cream to turn around until they heard the two young voices behind them.

“L-look, Em-mily. It's B-Becky S-Sawyers.”

Becky stiffened beside her as Maisy turned around to see who'd spoken, too surprised by the blatant
meanness
of the voice to find her anger. She recognized Madison Bennett as one of Becky's best friends from kindergarten through fourth grade who no longer came by the house or called. She was also the girl in Becky's math class who'd cut a chunk of Becky's hair. When Maisy had asked Becky about it, she'd
pleaded with Maisy not to make a big deal of it. Reluctantly Maisy had agreed, but still had a meeting with the principal and Becky's teacher to keep an eye out and to defuse any future bullying by Miss Bennett and her crew.

The girl practically attached to Madison's hip was Emily Nichols—another one of Becky's former best friends—whose most distinguished accomplishment was being Madison's current best friend.

Maisy swiveled completely in her seat to face them, and when the girls recognized Maisy, their eyes quickly darted away. She looked behind the girls and saw Madison's uncle, Bobby, staring at her with a grin twisting his lips. Her stomach lurched every time she saw Bobby, even after all this time. She'd always imagined that with Georgia gone she could forget. But that was the thing with memories, those little blades that cut you when you least expected it. Even the smell of barbecue or the sound of a baby's laughter could make her double over. Still.

“Well, it's Miz Sawyers. We were just talking about you and your sister who used to live here, weren't we, girls?”

The girls gave noncommittal nods. “Hello, Ms. Sawyers,” they said in unison before pretending to study the menu.

Ignoring Bobby, Maisy slid from her stool, prepared to teach the girls something about manners, since Bobby seemed oblivious. Becky's hand reached out and grabbed her arm. In an urgent whisper, she said, “P-please don't, M-Mama. You'll only m-make it w-worse.”

Maisy froze, blinking at her daughter without seeing her, feeling the impotent rage she'd felt only once before. All she could see was her younger self standing in Birdie's empty bedroom as Georgia told her that Birdie had gone away and left them behind. She hadn't believed her and had run into the apiary, looking for her mother, succeeding only in getting stung over and over.

Maisy tried to tell herself that she was an adult, that she knew what she needed to say and do. And then the door opened again and she heard Georgia's voice as she entered with James and his sister Caroline.

“Great—so glad y'all are still here,” Georgia said as she approached Becky for a hug. “Do they still make the chocolate sodas?”

Becky only shrugged, the words apparently sticking to her tongue.

Georgia leaned in closer. “Are you okay?”

When Becky didn't answer, Georgia looked up at Maisy, who indicated the group behind her. She turned slowly, the stiffness in her shoulders indicating to Maisy that she'd seen Bobby and the girls.

“Lookin' good, Georgie,” Bobby said as he let his eyes wander over Georgia, taking in her undoubtedly vintage Lilly Pulitzer minidress and her exposed legs.

“Hello, Bobby,” she said. Her eyes moved to the girls standing next to them. “One of these girls must be your niece, Madison.”

He reached a beefy arm around the girl. “This is her. Gets her good looks from my side of the family,” he said with a loud laugh that sounded more like a bark. He jerked his chin at Becky. “Your niece is just as pretty as her aunt, too. Just as long as she doesn't open her mouth to talk, right?”

The girls pretended to try to hide their giggles, but Becky's restraining hand held Maisy back.

With a frozen calmness that alarmed even Maisy, Georgia turned to the waitress at the register. “We'll have three chocolate sodas, please. With straws and spoons.”

Caroline and James smiled tentatively at Maisy, as if they realized that they had somehow walked in on the middle of a gunfight.

“I think you must have lost my number, because my phone ain't been ringin',” Bobby said.

Georgia took her time fishing in her purse to retrieve her wallet and then to count out the right amount of bills and change. “No, I didn't lose it,” she said as she handed over the money to the cashier. “I was just waiting for hell to freeze over.”

His face sobered quickly. “That's not a very nice thing to say, Georgie. I think we can both remember a time when you were a lot sweeter to me. Surely one bad memory can't erase all the good ones, huh?”

For a moment Maisy thought she was going to throw up.
One bad memory.
Had he really just said that?

James's eyes narrowed, assessing the situation, but he didn't say
anything, as if even he realized that Georgia had everything under control.

While they waited for their fountain drinks, Georgia kept the icy smile on her face. She put her arm around Becky's shoulders and squeezed. When the waitress had finished making the chocolate sodas, she placed them on the bar, and then, with a wink at Becky, put a spoonful of cherries on top of her half-eaten sundae.

“Th-thanks,” she said, her smile foundering when she realized the word had skidded off her tongue.

The two girls began giggling, not even trying to hide it, while Bobby stared at Georgia.

With her frozen smile, she approached Madison and put an arm around her. Emily wisely shrank back. In a voice loud enough for Maisy and Becky to hear, she said, “I sure hope you're getting good grades, Maddie. Because you'll need a good job to pay for all the plastic surgery you're going to need when you're older so you don't end up looking like your uncle Bobby.” She smiled over at Becky. “Not everybody can be as lucky as Becky to get brains, beauty,
and
talent.”

“Now, see here, Georgie . . .” Bobby took a step near Georgia.

Georgia picked up the plastic cups and handed one to James and one to Caroline, then took one herself. After a long pull from her straw, she addressed Bobby. “Nobody calls me Georgie anymore, Bobby,” she said, emphasizing the last syllable. “Because I'm not nineteen years old. I'd like to think I've matured enough to use my full name.” Facing Maisy, she said, “When you're done, come on outside with us. I need some fresh air, and I want to show Becky the most amazing tennis outfit I bought for her. It will show off her wonderful arm muscles and make her opponents tremble.”

Becky was staring down into her melted sundae, the extra cherries bobbing in the runny ice cream, a trail of red running into the vanilla. Her cheeks were ruddy, like they usually got when she was in the middle of a match. She was looking at the sundae with such intensity that Maisy was sure that Becky wanted to dissolve into the ice cream, too, to disappear and pretend she'd never been there at all.
Maisy recognized it because she knew what it was like to pretend to be invisible, to wait it out while Georgia fought her battles for her.
Because we're a team
.
Because Birdie is our mother and none of this would happen if we had a normal mother. We don't, but we'll always have each other.

Maisy turned to Georgia to make her stop, but she was already crossing the black-and-white tiled floor toward the door, her cheeks ruddy like Becky's. Caroline's hand clutched James's arm, as if to stop him from interfering. His rigid face and clenched jaw made him seem even more like a Viking warrior, and in any other circumstance Maisy might have laughed. Might even have pointed it out to Georgia, because still, after all these years, that was usually the first person she thought of to share something funny or interesting.

Before Georgia reached the door, it opened and Lyle stood there in his uniform, a surprised look on his face when he spotted Georgia. “What a nice surprise . . .” he began, before his gaze traveled behind her to Bobby and the two girls, and then to Maisy and his daughter, who looked like she wanted to melt alongside the vanilla and chocolate puddles in her dish.

An ugly glint appeared in Bobby's eyes. “Well, look who's here. You back to start another catfight? Or maybe that one never ended.”

Maisy had her hand on Lyle's chest before he could step forward. After a warning glance at him not to move, she faced Bobby, and in her sternest teacher voice, using her index finger to emphasize each word, she said, “Not one more word from you. Do you understand? Or I will be happy to tell everybody why your mama won't speak to you anymore. Just because I don't gossip doesn't mean that I don't know things.” She smiled at the two girls as if to reassure them that she was still nice Ms. Sawyers, a classmate's mother. Turning back to Bobby, she said, “People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. If you don't understand what that means, ask Becky to explain it to you.”

Then she slid a few bills across the counter to pay their tab, grabbed Becky's hand, and led all six of them out of the store. They stood facing one another out on the sidewalk, blinking in the bright sunlight.

“Daddy!” Becky ran to her father and buried her face in his chest as if she could burrow there until spring. One arm went around her back while his other hand cradled her blond head, and Maisy was reminded of when Becky was a baby, and how carefully Lyle had held her, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

Caroline's hand was tucked into the crook of James's arm while she lifted her straw to her mouth and took a long sip. “Well, this certainly is delicious.”

Maisy and Georgia looked at each other and slapped hands to their mouths to hide the insidious laughter that was creeping up their throats. Only the very well-bred would come up with something so innocuous to say after such a scene, and only Maisy and Georgia would find it hilarious.

“I'm sorry,” Maisy said to Caroline and James. “For all of this. I'm sure you didn't expect front-row seats to a soap opera.”

“Please don't apologize,” Caroline said. “We're no strangers to drama, are we, James?”

James didn't seem to hear her, his gaze focused on Lyle and Becky.

“Are we, James?” Caroline repeated.

“Um, no,” he said, apparently guessing at an answer. “Have you met Lyle Sawyers? Lyle, this is my sister, Caroline Harrison. Caroline, this is Maisy's husband.”