The Sound of Glass (14 page)

LORALEE

L
oralee was standing in the kitchen wrapping the quartered watermelon slices in plastic wrap when the doors swung open. Owen’s feet were bare, and he wore a long-sleeved swim shirt with an SPF of fifty along with a bathing suit with characters from
The LEGO Movie
. He looked about as comfortable as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers. “Dr. Heyward called and said he’s on his way.”

With a sidelong glance, Loralee took out a twenty-dollar bill from her apron pocket and slid it across the counter. She hated resorting to bribery, but she’d already tried going the honest route, and Gibbes had had no better luck in convincing Merritt what was best for her than Loralee had. “We went over this enough last night that you know what to do. Just don’t take no for an answer.”

Owen gazed down solemnly at the bill. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll save this toward my college education.”

Loralee sighed. His father’s side of the family hailed from New England, after all. “Or you could just blow it on LEGOs and candy. It’s up to you.”

Owen stared at her as if she’d stopped speaking English.

Without looking at Owen, she asked, “And Maris is coming, too?”

She imagined Owen’s shoulders slumping.

“Yes. Dr. Heyward said he’d be happy to bring her. I don’t know why you made me invite her.”

Loralee held back a sigh. “To begin with, she’s your first friend in Beaufort, and she’ll be able to introduce you to more children your age so you’ll know people at school. She’s a darling little girl. I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss.”

His fingertips tugged at the bottom of his swimsuit. It
was
too short, even though she’d bought it at the beginning of summer. She wasn’t ready for him to get taller, but she would swear on a stack of Bibles that she wasn’t making him wear too-small clothes on purpose. And it wasn’t because she’d loved his baby years, when it had been just her and Robert and Owen. They’d been so happy, the days full of wonderful memories. Would it be such a bad thing if she was holding on to them in any way she could?

“That’s the problem,” Owen said in a small voice she hadn’t heard in a long time.

“What do you mean?” she asked, opening the picnic basket and carefully placing the watermelon inside on top of ice packs. She’d read in
Parenting
magazine that sometimes the best way to have a conversation with your children was to be busy doing something else so you didn’t have to make eye contact. Her own mama had held her by the ponytail and spoken to her almost nose-to-nose to get her points across, and that had seemed to work pretty well. But this was a new era, and she figured
Parenting
knew best.

Still tugging at his bathing suit, he said, “It’s a problem because she’s pretty, and fun, and smart.” He paused, studying the
plastic-wrapped plate of Loralee’s homemade chocolate-and-peanut-butter-chip cookies. “When she finds out how not cool I am, she won’t want to be my friend. I figure if I stay away from her all summer, by the time school starts she’ll think I’m an enigma, which is a lot better than her knowing I’m a loser.”

Loralee studied her son for a long moment, wondering how he knew the word
enigma
and if it was even a word a ten-year-old should be using. Or
loser
for that matter. Especially a ten-year-old boy who was painfully shy and desperate for friends. She threw the dish towel down on the counter. Screw
Parenting
. Getting down on her knees, she took Owen by the shoulders. “You are not a loser. Just because some other boys decided to call you that does not make it true. You are smart and funny and interesting. And I bet that once Maris gets to know you, all the other boys won’t seem half as cool. Besides, smart girls like smart boys.” He didn’t look completely convinced, but she thought she’d at least given him something to think about.

She stood slowly, keeping her hands on his shoulders as support.

“Why doesn’t Merritt want to come with us?”

Loralee took the glasses from his nose and cleaned them on the hem of her blouse before replacing them. “Because she’s afraid of the water.”

His eyes scrunched behind his glasses. “But I thought you said we should respect other people’s fears.”

She turned back to the counter and began slathering bread with mayonnaise, wrinkling her nose at the smell of it, at the turning of her empty stomach. “I did. And we should. It’s just that some people need a little push in the right direction. Some people use their fears as a wall, an excuse for not moving forward. It’s not on purpose—just human nature, I guess. Usually I let people figure this out on their own, but Merritt’s a little slower than most.”

Owen snorted and she sent him a stern glance. “I don’t mean that in a bad way. She’s been through a lot and thinks that moving to a new place means all the bad stuff gets left behind. But it doesn’t.
We travel with the same packed bags we’ve always had, until we take the time to unpack them.”

She glanced to the small laminate table where her pink journal sat, recalling what she’d written in it just that morning.
There are times when fear needs to be in the driver’s seat. The best learning and growing happens when wisdom is won from pain.
And then she’d written,
Brush your teeth every morning and every night before you go to bed. Clean teeth and fresh breath will give you a reason to smile.
She figured practical advice should go in her
Journal of Truths
, too.

“Is that why we’re here? To help her?”

Loralee stared into those beautiful eyes and saw his father. “Mostly,” she said softly, turning her focus to slicing the tomatoes for the sandwiches.

The doorbell rang and Owen ran toward the kitchen door but stopped. “I forgot. Maris is with him.”

“Either way, you need to answer the door.”

He looked so panic-stricken that she wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Wash your hands and then put a handful of chips into five plastic bags. I’ll go get the door.”

Merritt had already opened the door, where Gibbes and Maris waited. She greeted the little girl with a warm smile, but looked oddly at the doctor. Ever since they’d gone up into the attic, there had been a strange undercurrent between them, like two fiddler crabs who’d decided that walking sideways didn’t suit them anymore, yet were unsure how to walk any other way.

Loralee stepped forward, trying to ease the awkwardness. “So glad you could join us today, Maris. And thank you, Dr. Heyward, for allowing Owen to bring a friend. Maris, I spoke to your mother and she assured me that you’re a great swimmer and a regular on a boat.”

“Yes, ma’am. We have a motorboat that we like to swim and waterski from—not at the same time, of course—and we usually go sailing with my uncle when the weather’s good. I also like to go
shrimping and crabbing, and I always catch more than my brother even though he’s two years older. Mama says she thinks I was born with webbed feet, because I love the water so much, even though I love horses just as much.”

She apparently had used a single breath to get all the words out, her cheeks pink from the exertion.

“That’s good to know. Owen’s in the kitchen helping make lunches. Why don’t you go back and join him?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up, and Loralee noticed they were the same color as her sparkly blue bathing suit and cover-up and the sequined bows on her flip-flops. Her hair was braided again and held back with blue ribbons. She held a beach bag that was almost as big as Maris, with a horse emblazoned on its side.

“Yes, ma’am!” Without further prompting she ran toward the back of the house, where an unsuspecting Owen waited.

Before the kitchen door swung shut behind Maris, Loralee added, “And please tell him that Merritt is downstairs.”

Loralee closed the front door, wondering whether Merritt had taken the time to admire Gibbes in his Bermuda swim shorts that exposed his tanned and muscular legs. He wore a white T-shirt that fit him just fine, and if Merritt
hadn’t
noticed, then Loralee had more work ahead of her than she’d thought.

Turning to Gibbes, she said, “Our picnic is almost ready. Just give us about five minutes to get it all packed up.”

On cue, Owen came from the kitchen, closely trailed by Maris. After a quick glance at his mother, he turned to Merritt. “Where’s your bathing suit?”

Merritt looked down at her skirt and blouse as if expecting to see something different. “I’m not going. I have too much to do here.”

His face fell, and for a moment Loralee thought he might cry. He was really working for his twenty dollars, and he might even get a tip with this performance. “But I really,
really
want you to come with us. It won’t be any fun without you. And Mama said she wasn’t
feeling good, and if she has to leave we all have to go home early, because it’s not safe for just Dr. Heyward and two kids to be on the boat.”

He used the puppy-dog eyes that he usually reserved for getting extra dessert, and Loralee admired his ad-libbing. She would definitely have to give him a tip.

Merritt looked at him as a person would look at a yipping little dog, unsure whether it was just for show or a real threat. “That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m just not comfortable in a boat. . . .”

Gibbes cleared his throat. “I thought we’d take my jonboat. Stick to the small waterways. Maybe explore the creeks and see if we can spot any turtles.”

“I love the turtles,” Maris said, jumping up and down. And then, as if she were in on Loralee’s plans, she said, “I’d really be sad if we couldn’t stay long because Mrs. Connors got sick.” Her dimples were even more pronounced when she frowned, which didn’t make any sense at all.

“But I’m . . . not comfortable on the water,” Merritt said. “And I don’t even know what a jonboat is.”

Owen piped up. “It’s a flat-bottomed boat that was originally used by the old fur traders, but is still used today for traveling in shallow creeks and marshes.”

“We call them stump-knockers, too, because that’s what you do with them in the shallow water. They used to be called
bateaux
, which means
boats
in French,” Maris added. Owen looked at her with surprise and she gave him a smug smile.

“And I have a life jacket for everyone—including two children’s jackets—and I’m a really good swimmer. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.” Gibbes sounded like a man offering to feed a rattlesnake, and Loralee sent him her mama look to get him to quit.

She had once seen a movie about the French Revolution with a scene of a woman being led to get her head chopped off. Merritt looked a little bit like that woman.

Her face lit up briefly. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Just shorts and a T-shirt is all you need,” Gibbes said.

“I don’t have that either.”

Loralee almost expected Merritt to swipe her hands together like she’d finished a complicated task and was ready for something else.

“I do,” Loralee almost shouted. “And you can borrow anything you want. I’m pretty sure we’re the same size.”

Merritt and Gibbes looked at Loralee as if she’d just told a bald-faced lie. They would have to wait and see, because she was confident that Merritt had a body hidden under those drab clothes and it was time to let the world know.

“
Please
,
Merritt,” Owen whined, using a tone that usually got him sent to his room. “Daddy had a boat, too, and he used to always take me out on the lake to go fishing or just ride around. It was our favorite thing to do. It would be real neat going out on a boat with you. Kind of like Daddy being right there with us.” Owen had never been fishing in his life, but Loralee was prepared to let the lie slide unremarked.

Loralee winced, hoping Merritt didn’t remember Owen telling Gibbes that he’d never been fishing before. Still, if they’d been alone, Loralee would have hugged her little boy for such a performance. But something in his face told her he wasn’t completely playacting. She wished they’d had more time to mourn Robert, for her to give Owen his chance to grieve instead of taking him away from the only home he’d known. One day he’d understand. She didn’t allow herself to second-guess her belief that one day he would. Because he would just have to.

Merritt must have seen that in his face, too, because her own face softened just like Owen’s did right before he fell asleep.

“Unless you don’t mind a ten-year-old girl in pigtails showing you up. Of course, you might prefer staying here to inventory the attic.” Gibbes’s voice was filled with a challenge, baiting her.

Merritt gave him a hard look before turning to Owen. “If we’re not going anywhere near the ocean, and we stick to the little creeks, we should be okay. I’m sure I have a pair of old pants. . . .”

Loralee didn’t let her continue. Instead, she grabbed her by the elbow and began leading her to the stairs. “Owen, please take Maris back to the kitchen and finish packing up the basket. Merritt and I will be down in ten minutes.” She glanced at Merritt’s pale, pinched face. “Maybe closer to fifteen,” she added.

They were halfway up the stairs when Owen called up. “Maybe we’ll see some dolphins.”

Merritt’s arm stiffened under her fingers, but Loralee just gripped harder, pulling her along. She dragged her into her room and sat her down on the step stool she’d found in the pantry and had placed in front of her dressing table.

Loralee began rummaging through one of her drawers, tossing possibilities on the bed.

“Absolutely not,” Merritt said, pointing to the hot-pink strapless two-piece bathing suit. “Don’t you have Bermuda shorts, or capri pants? And something with sleeves in case it gets cool?”

Loralee looked up at Merritt for a moment to see whether she was serious, then went back to rummaging, finally deciding on something they could both agree on. Handing the shorts and shirt to Merritt, Loralee said, “Take these and put them on. I’m going to dig in my cosmetics case to see if I’ve got something that would work.”

“I am not wearing makeup to go out on a boat. That’s ridiculous.”

Loralee sighed, finally letting her exasperation out. “It’s got an SPF of fifty, and I’ll make it look natural so nobody even knows you’re wearing any.”