Jack led us to his car and opened up the passenger door. Rebecca stepped forward first and I thought she was going to do the right thing by crawling into the minuscule backseat, but my hopes plummeted when I saw her move the front seat forward and step back for me to cram my tall frame into the back.
With my knees tucked under my chin, we headed down Legare Street, and I found myself wondering once again how my tidy, orderly life had gone the way of hoop skirts and cars with long tail fins. I tried to remember a time when my dysfunctional family was out of sight and out of mind, and my only concerns were my monthly sales figures and making reasonable payments on my low-maintenance condo.
Now I owned an enormous historic and hugely expensive house, my parents were both back in my life and wanting to parent me thirty years too late, and I had a sinking feeling that Jack Trenholm was intent on becoming a permanent fixture in my life. Some people would have considered that last part icing on their cupcake; I saw it only as a bunion on my life that rubbed whenever I wore shoes.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as we headed toward Church Street, trying to count my blessings as my grandmother Prioleau had taught me to do all those years ago, but instead I only managed to feel like a cornfield awaiting a swarm of locusts.
I opened my eyes as we took a left off Broad onto Church, unwilling to miss the beautiful vista of the church that was built in the middle of the street, forcing the road to go around it so everyone could admire the three Tuscan porticoes that fronted the three Church Street facades. Sophie told me that the church had been built butting out in the middle of the street because of English tradition and that this vista was the most photographed in all of Charleston. I told her that I doubted the latter only to be contrary; but I accepted the former having had it drummed into me since birth that England would always be the standard against which everything Charlestonians did was compared.
Despite the fact it was a week before Christmas, the temperature had turned warmer, hovering around the midsixties. I hadn’t had time to grab a jacket or sweater, which wouldn’t have been a problem if we’d been heading anywhere besides a cemetery. As usual, a spot at the curb opened up as Jack approached and he neatly slipped into the space.
Rebecca waited patiently for Jack to come to her side of the car and help her out. They stood talking quietly on the sidewalk while I waited for somebody to at least move the front seat up. With an impatient snort, I unlatched the seat lock and struggled to release myself from the backseat, tangling my ankle around the dangling front seat belt and plunging forward onto the sidewalk.
I would have fallen on my face if I hadn’t been caught up into the arms of a male passerby with a soft cashmere coat and strong hands.
“Melanie?”
My face was so close to his that I almost couldn’t focus. “Marc?”
Marc Longo kissed my cheek and smiled, revealing white teeth in a darkly handsome face that reminded me all over again why I’d fallen for him. That had been right before I’d found out that he was more interested in the Confederate diamonds hidden in my house than in any of my charms.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, and I almost believed the sincerity in his eyes. “You haven’t returned any of my phone calls or letters.We left things between us—unresolved.”
I pulled away, taking a step back. “I’ve missed you, too,” I admitted, although it was only partly true. I missed the way he’d made me feel—young, beautiful, and vibrant. He would have never made me sit in the backseat of his car. Sensing Jack and Rebecca watching us, I smiled warmly at him, and then gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” His dark eyes searched mine and I began to believe that maybe he did care something for me. He had no more reason to feign affection for me, after all. Unless his next words were to ask me for a loan.
“Only partly,” I said, knowing I had Jack’s full attention now. “Your behavior wasn’t exactly stellar. But if you call me again, I promise to take the call and give you a chance to redeem yourself. I’ll tell Nancy not to hang up on you.”
“Good,” he said. “She’s pretty tough. She should be part of our national defense.”
I smiled up at him, wondering what it would be like to be alone with him again after all he’d put me through. But we’d had good times together, too, and I figured I owed him at least one chance to atone for his sins. If it cost him a nice meal at Blossom, then so be it.
“Hello, Matt.” Jack stepped between us, but he didn’t offer his hand to shake. “How’s the jaw?” He was referring to the last time the two had met, when Jack had felt the need to somehow restore my honor with the fist he planted on Marc’s face.
“Better, thank you. I don’t blame you for what you did. Melanie is a woman worth fighting for, and I’ll admit I deserved it.” He smiled down at me, and placed his arm over my shoulder. “And now she’s agreed that she’s going to at least give me a chance to try and redeem myself.”
“I don’t think Melanie—” Jack was interrupted by Rebecca poking her hand between them.
“Marc Longo? I interviewed you last year about your winery for
Charleston
magazine. I understand you just had a fabulous crop and the winery is doing a phenomenal business now. Congratulations.”
Marc took her small hand between both of his and kissed her on each cheek while Jack and I looked on with similar expressions of disbelief.
“Of course I remember. Rebecca, isn’t it? I could never forget such a lovely face.” They smiled at each other in mutual admiration and I thought I felt my stomach turn. “You must come and do a follow-up piece about my latest project.”
“And what might that be?” Her tone was professional and restrained, but I could have sworn that she batted her eyelashes at him.
“I’m writing a book. Already have an agent and some interest from a few of the big New York publishers.”
“Really?” Jack interjected. “Is it a children’s book with lots of pictures?”
Jack’s tone had changed from mere annoyance to something else, leaving me to wonder if he was threatened by Marc’s foray into his territory.
Ignoring Jack, Marc continued. “I’ll treat you to lunch at our new restaurant. We were able to convince a French Laundry chef from Napa to come work for us, and I promise you it will be a treat you won’t soon forget.”
Rebecca smiled, revealing dimples on either side of her mouth. “I’d love to. I’ll give your secretary a call next week to set something up.”
“Wonderful.” Marc looked back at Jack. “I have no idea what you’re doing with two such beautiful women, but I’m quite sure you don’t deserve it.” With a mock bow, he said, “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure and I’ll speak with you both soon.” Then he turned on his heel and left.
Jack faced me. “Surely you’re not going to have dinner with the guy. He doesn’t have the most stellar of reputations, or have you already forgotten?”
He looked genuinely angry, and I was flattered for a moment until I remembered the ride I’d just endured in the back of his Porsche. “My personal life is absolutely no concern of yours and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your opinions to yourself.”
I began walking to the wrought iron gate that led into St. Philip’s cemetery. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. Don’t forget your camera. It’s in the backseat. I think it left a permanent impression on the back of my thigh.”
I strode into the cemetery, feeling the immediate chill and hearing the din of voices that seemed to crowd me like buzzing flies. I paused by a marker and read the inscription on the weathered stone as I waited for Rebecca and Jack to catch up. FOR NOW WE SEE THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY, BUT THEN FACE TO FACE. NOW I KNOW IN PART, BUT THEN SHALL I KNOW, EVEN AS ALSO I AM KNOWN. 1 CORINTHIANS 13:12.
A shiver coursed through me as the flicker of a shadow caught my attention from the corner of my eye. A whirring sound began in my head, almost as if it was deliberately blocking another sound. I twirled around, trying to catch sight of whatever it was that I had seen, feeling danger and sanctuary almost simultaneously. Confused, I stopped, focusing on the sound and hearing a faint voice above the din, the words like tiny bells.
Be careful, Melanie.
“Grandmother?” The sound of crunching leaves underfoot made me twirl, my startled gasp drowned by the pealing bells of St. Philip’s.
Rebecca and Jack approached, her manicured hand tucked neatly into the crook of his arm. I made a mental note to solicit her help manually peeling paint from a ceiling medallion with her bare fingers. Feeling better with that mental image, I managed to smile, overlooking Jack’s expression of concern. “This way,” I said as I led them to my grandmother’s grave.
Thankfully, the stone had been replaced to its original spot, and the yellow tape removed. “Here,” I said, indicating the odd verse on the marker.
Jack read it aloud:
When bricks crumble, the fireplace falls;
When children cry, the mothers call.
When lies are told, the sins are built,
Within the waves, hide all our guilt.
I waited for him to say something else, then realized they were both staring at me. I’d been humming ABBA’s “Waterloo” to block out the sound of my name being called over and over. “Sorry,” I said.
Jack raised his camera and began snapping pictures of not just the headstone, but the entire grave and its surroundings. Rebecca pulled a notepad out of her purse and was taking notes. “She died in 1975 but had this verse planned in advance.”
“Yes,” I said. “I never saw it though, and neither did my mother before we moved away. We’ve only just seen it and have no idea what any of it is about.”
Her clear blue eyes regarded me calmly. “Well, obviously, the waves have something to do with the sunken
Rose
, don’t you think? And seeing as how the
Rose
disappeared during the earthquake of 1886, I would have to assume that the line about bricks crumbling would be related to that.”
Jack looked at Rebecca as if she’d just discovered sliced bread. “You’re brilliant, Rebecca.”
She brightened, then tilted her face to him like a pink daisy turning toward the sun. I made another mental note to get her to help with outdoor tasks, too, to splash dark splotches of freckles across her little nose and throw a few wrinkles on her forehead.
They both turned to look at me and I realized that I might have been humming “Take a Chance on Me” a little too loudly. “Sorry,” I said again, trying to study the words I should have paid more attention to the first time I’d seen them. I thought Rebecca was probably right, considering what we knew now about the sunken ship, but I was just a little perturbed that I hadn’t been the one to figure it out first. “I’d like to study it a little further before I jump to any conclusions,” I added, trying to keep a smug tone from my voice. “And try to figure out what lies and sins she might be referring to.”
We continued to study the marker as Jack took more pictures. And I studied Jack and Rebecca surreptitiously, trying to see if they were hearing anything out of the ordinary, too, since the voices had now reached earsplitting levels. I resisted the impulse to press my hands over my ears, and focused instead on trying to hear the one voice I thought had been my grandmother’s.
Look closely, Melanie.
I glanced at Rebecca to see if she’d spoken, but she was busily jotting something down in her notebook. I leaned in closer to see if we might have missed something, and that’s when I noticed the engraved decorative edge that wound its way around the circumference of the marker, lassoing the words.
“Look,” I said, pointing to the line. “It looks familiar, doesn’t it?”
They both turned to stare where I was pointing.
“Not to me,” Rebecca said dismissively before returning to her notebook.
Jack continued to look at it, then snapped a few more pictures. “It’s not familiar to me, but it still might be to you. Think hard, Mellie, where you might have seen it before.”
I clenched my eyes and began humming again, blocking out all sights and sounds, the memory of where I’d seen those markings hovering close like a scent. I shivered again and tried to shove my hands into my pockets, but my right hand was blocked by something inside.
I looked down in confusion, not remembering putting anything there, then stuck my fingers inside and gingerly pulled out the photographs my dad had given me earlier that morning. I glanced down at the one on top, the photo of my grandmother staring at the outside drawing room window as the sun illuminated its secrets. “I found it,” I said, holding up the picture for Jack to see. “Here.” I pointed to what appeared to be a vine encompassing the image that was depicted in the stained glass.
Jack held the photograph next to the grave marker to compare. “It’s definitely the same. And from what I know of your grandmother, I doubt it’s a coincidence.”
“There aren’t any coincidences, remember?” I said, reminding him of his oft-used phrase that had turned out to be largely true.
I was rewarded with a wink. “So you do listen to me.” He turned back to the photo. “But where is this?”
Rebecca came and stood next to him to view the picture. “It’s taken from the garden outside the Legare Street house.”
Jack and I both stared at her and she shrugged. “While I was doing my research on your mother I spent a lot of time studying the garden, which is how I recognized it. Despite the, um, aesthetic changes made by the previous owners.”
I turned back to Jack. “You can only see this picture when you’re standing outside and the sun is hitting it in a particular way. The window isn’t original to the house, but was installed sometime in the late 1800s.”
“Which means that whatever the secret in the window is, it might somehow be related to the sailboat.” Jack lowered his camera. “And your grandmother wanted to make sure that somebody found out what it was.”
Rebecca glanced at her watch before shoving her notebook back into her purse. “My mother drove in today from Summerville to do some shopping and I’m meeting her for lunch over on King Street, so I’ve got to run. I’ll have my mother run me by Legare Street later to pick up my car. Then I’m going to see what I can dig up regarding the window. Who ordered it, who made it, that kind of thing. There’s a chance that the original paperwork might still exist. I’ll let you know what I find out. In the meantime, you can work on the tombstone rhyme.” She blew a kiss at Jack. “I’ll call you later, Jackie. Bye, Melanie.” With a brief wave, she turned and crossed the street, then turned to shout. “Don’t forget your costume fittings! I texted you both the address.” She waved again, then began to walk away, her pink coat quickly disappearing from view.
“I’ve got to run, too,” I said. “I’ve got a house showing at one o’clock, but I’ve got some paperwork and phone calls I want to take care of first.”
“Mellie, I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s grab a bite. My treat. I’ll even let you sit in the front seat.”
I stared at him indignantly. “I didn’t mind sitting in the back.”
“Right. I was afraid the back of Rebecca’s head might melt on my seat from your stare. Come on. What do you say? I’ll have you at your showing in plenty of time. And we can work on the rhyme, see if we can figure anything out.We can do Hominy Grill on Rutledge. I could go for some of their shrimp and grits.”
A chilly breeze stirred the leaves behind me, pushing at me like a hand on my back. The voices had died down, as if they were listening to my conversation, waiting for my response. “I really have too much to do. I thought I’d see what leftovers Mrs. Houlihan left in the fridge to eat on the way over to the office.”