The Sound of Glass (37 page)

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Four hours—plus five potty breaks, two food and water breaks, and two phone calls—later, Loralee was sound asleep and I was staring at my lapful of used tissues. My phone pinged and I saw it was a text from Gibbes saying he was at the front door and could he let himself in. I responded yes and waited for him to find me in Loralee’s room.

I hit “pause” on the remote and looked up to see him standing in the doorway. He held a paper bag with liberal dark spots of grease on the bottom that smelled like heaven. I was glad Loralee wasn’t awake to comment on how my nose and eyes were red and that I probably should have at least brushed my hair or put on lipstick.

“I didn’t want to wake her, which is why I didn’t ring the doorbell.” He glanced from me to Loralee, then back again. “Have y’all been wrestling?”

I snorted through my nose, too exhausted to care what I might look or sound like. “
Gone with the Wind.
I just got to the part where Melanie dies. Please tell me it gets happier at the end.”

“You’ve never seen
Gone with the Wind
or read the book?”

“I know. I’m an anomaly. That’s why I was watching it.”

He took the remote from my hand and turned it off. “Let’s just say the ending is inconclusive.” He held up the bag. “I brought something to eat.”

I looked over at Loralee, who still appeared to be sleeping. In a loud whisper, I said, “It smells fried. I don’t think she’s . . .”

“Not for her—for you. I know you’ve been taking care of Owen as well as making Loralee’s meals and getting her to eat as much as she can, but I’m thinking you probably haven’t been paying much attention to your own needs.”

I felt my spine stiffen, but Loralee’s words about putting up walls came back to me, and I settled against the pillow. “I am pretty hungry. I usually eat with Owen, but he’s at Maris’s tonight. I did have some popcorn while we watched the movie.” I jutted my chin at the bag. “What’s in there?”

“A shrimp burger and hush puppies from the Shrimp Shack
over on Saint Helena. Best food you ever put in your mouth. The shrimp is fried before it’s put in the burger, so you might overdose on grease, but you’re with a doctor, so it’s all right.”

“Good to know,” I whispered back, picking up all of the used tissues before carefully sliding off the bed. “Let’s go to the kitchen and grab some plates.” I glanced over at the clock. “She won’t need more meds for another hour.”

I made to move past him, but he didn’t budge. “Have you been avoiding me?”

I looked anywhere but his eyes. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know. I see this a lot with caretakers, how they make themselves sick because they’re too busy taking care of other people. You need to take time for yourself.”

“There’s really nothing else I want to be doing.” I met his eyes for a moment, and then glanced away, not yet ready to take Loralee’s advice. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

“Another band is coming next weekend to Waterfront Park, and they’re expecting shag dancers from all over the state. It should be fun.”

“I told you—I don’t dance.”

“Great. Because I’m a great teacher.”

“I don’t—”

“She’d love to,” Loralee interrupted.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I said before facing Gibbes again. “I really can’t. I think I was born with two left feet. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

Loralee grinned widely. “I think we were just saying how much you needed a red dress. Problem solved. And I get to do your hair and makeup.”

Knowing how much the thought probably excited her, I didn’t argue. Instead I picked up the remote and handed it to her. “I’m going downstairs to eat an early dinner, but I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. You can finish watching the movie if you like. I was at the part where Melanie dies.”

“Did you cry?” she asked.

“Like a baby.”

She opened her hand and I squeezed it.

“And you feel better, don’t you? Having a cry is good for you.”

I looked at her closely, seeing how translucent her skin had become, how sharply her cheekbones jutted from her face. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Just a little uncomfortable. We can ask the nurse tomorrow about upping some of my doses. But I’ll be fine for tonight. You two go on and have your dinner.”

I started to move back, but she held on to my hand, bringing my head closer to her. “You are strong enough. And he’s not Cal,” she whispered.

Impulsively, I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

She winked at me, then mimicked putting lipstick on her lips with her finger, and I rolled my eyes before turning away and snatching up her tube of lipstick on the dresser before leaving the room.

“Don’t forget to use a mirror,” she called back, her voice weak but still audible.

I felt my face heat while Gibbes struggled to hide his laugh with a cough as we headed down the stairs.

MERRITT

I
sat at Loralee’s dressing table, staring in the mirror at a prettier version of myself than I was used to seeing. Loralee sat on the bed behind me, propped up to get a good view of my face’s reflection. She told me that I needed to learn how to do it myself, but we both knew she was too weak to hold her arms up for long enough to curl my hair or flick a mascara wand through my eyelashes.

“Is the light on the curling iron green yet?” she asked. Her voice was reed thin, but still held the unmistakable twang of Alabama behind each syllable.

“Which one’s the curling iron?”

She at least had the energy to roll her eyes. “It’s the one with the round barrel. The flat one is the straightener.”

“I could just wear my hair in a ponytail and not worry about either one,” I suggested, already exhausted from the makeup
lesson. Who knew that making one’s face look natural took so much effort?

“There are no shortcuts to anyplace worth going.”

I turned to look at her. “Is that in your little book?”

“Not yet. But I don’t think I have the strength to write in it.”

“Would you like me to do the honors?”

She nodded, and I stood to retrieve the pink journal and the pen that she always kept nearby. I opened it, surprised to find that all the pages were filled with her elegant handwriting. I flipped to the back and read her last entry.
Try to remember that the best days of your life are still ahead of you.
I blinked back the sting in my eyes and held the pen poised over the page. “You’ve only got half a page until the book is filled. I’ll have to go find you another one—although I don’t know how easy it will be to find another pink journal.”

She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up as I wrote, my handwriting looking large and childlike next to hers.
There are no shortcuts to anyplace worth going.
“There,” I said, closing the book and sticking the pen in the last page. “I think there’s room for one more.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll start thinking of a good one. An appropriate one for the end of the book.”

“Of volume one, anyway. I have a feeling you’ve got a few more journals in you.”

“That’s for sure,” she said, her breath rattling. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“After I die, can you make sure that Owen gets my journal? That’s why I’ve been doing it, so that he’ll sort of still have me even after I’m gone. I want you to read it, too.”

“Sure,” I said, working hard to keep my voice steady, and even managed a smile. I turned back to the mirror. “Are we done here?”

“Almost. Just pick up the curling iron—don’t touch the metal part or it will hurt like the dickens, and I speak from experience—and twist it into those front sections of your hair like I showed you.”
Her breath came in gasps, her chest rising and falling. It was difficult to listen, but I also knew that Loralee’s favorite thing to do was talk, and I wasn’t about to tell her that she couldn’t.

I did as she told me, although with questionable results, and returned the curling iron to the dresser before unplugging it and the straightener. I made a move to stand, but she called me back. “Don’t forget the hair spray—in this humidity you have to spray it to death or you will look like a drowned rat in less than thirty minutes. Don’t be all delicate on me now; hit that pump and just keep going.”

There was a fog of hair spray around my head by the time I was done. I quickly fanned at it to make it dissipate before it reached her. “What is that—shellac?”

“Just about. You can only get that brand at beauty-supply stores—and I think a few of the contents are probably forbidden in some countries, but it gets the job done.”

I glanced sideways at her to see whether she was joking, but before I could ask, the doorbell rang. “That’s probably the nurse. She said she could stay until we get back—which won’t be late—so you won’t be alone. And the movie Owen is seeing with Maris and her dad is over at nine, and he should be home shortly after that.” I slid her cell phone closer. “But you can still call me at any time, all right?”

The doorbell rang again and I went to answer it, finding Lutie Stelle at the door, and Gibbes walking up behind her.

“Well,” Nurse Stelle said as she stepped inside. “You look pretty as a picture. Let me see that dress.”

I gave a little twirl, just enough so the full skirt swished about my knees. It was deep red, my “signature color,” as Loralee called it, having an almost Jackie O. look to it, with a portrait collar and a tightly fitted bodice. I’d gone shopping by myself, but had taken more selfies in one day than I had in my whole life and sent them to Loralee until she and Owen selected what they both considered the perfect dress. I couldn’t imagine wearing it to a funeral, and refused to think beyond getting through the coming night.

Gibbes closed the door behind them and gave a low whistle. “It’s not going to matter if you can’t dance. You can just stand still in that dress.”

Remembering what Loralee had taught me, I bit back any arguments and just said a simple, “Thank you.” I noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hands. “I’m assuming those are for Loralee? Come on up—I think there’s room in the vase from the flowers you brought last time.”

We all headed upstairs, where Loralee greeted us with one of her big smiles. I noticed she’d put on some of the lipstick I’d left on her nightstand.

Gibbes kissed her cheek as I arranged the flowers in the vase and moved them to the dresser so they’d be closer. Nurse Stelle settled herself in the chair by the bed and began checking the clipboard and rearranging the medicine bottles.

“Don’t you worry about us,” she said. “We’ll hold down the fort until you get back—and no need to rush. Loralee and I always have a good time, don’t we?”

“Just don’t have too wild a party,” I said, leaning in to kiss Loralee’s cheek. “I don’t want Owen coming home early and being scandalized.”

“We’ll try not to,” she said, looking up at me with bright eyes. “Good-bye, Merritt.”

It wasn’t until we were outside again that I wondered at her choice of words, but I didn’t dwell on it. If there was anything Loralee had taught me, it was not to dwell on things. In the week since we’d had our “come-to-Jesus meeting,” as she called it, I still hadn’t found a way to tell Gibbes what I knew, or prepare myself for the consequences. I knew she was probably hoping it would happen that night, but when his hand touched the small of my back as we headed down the porch steps, and I smelled the clean, fresh scent of his shampoo, I knew I couldn’t. If that was to be the only night we’d have, then I didn’t want to ruin it with confessions and recriminations. Or memories of a husband who’d never let me wear red.

“Would you like to walk?” he asked. “We could drive, but it might be hard to find parking.”

I pointed my toe, showing off my new red ballerina flats with the tiny bows on the top. “These are perfect for walking, and it’s a gorgeous evening, so I say we walk. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll trip and hurt my foot so that I won’t be able to dance.”

He threw back his head and laughed, then tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “You probably aren’t aware that it’s illegal to live in South Carolina and not know the state dance.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that. Although they might need to change the law after tonight.”

As we approached the marina, Gibbes stopped. “Are you okay to walk along the river, or would you prefer we stick to Bay Street?”

I stared down at my shoes for a moment, thinking. “I’ll be okay to walk by the water. I just have to think about Loralee and I realize my fears are pretty pathetic in comparison.”

I put my hand on his arm and we resumed walking past the marina to the waterfront, both of us lost in our own thoughts. It had been a warm day, but not too hot, and a cool breeze now blew off the water as the sun began to paint the clouds with streaks of red and orange. The distant sound of live music came from the park, and my heart sighed. It was almost as if for a long while all the things that made my heart beat had been silenced by the things in my life I couldn’t control. But as my skirt swished against my legs, and I felt the salt-tinged air on my face and the solidness of Gibbes’s arm beneath my hand, I allowed myself to loosen up and to believe—even just for one evening—that both feet were off the brake.

“Have you been over to Saint Helena’s churchyard to find your grandfather’s grave yet?”

His question startled me. “No. I’m not . . . I mean, maybe eventually. I’m just focused on other things now, taking it one day at a time. I plan to give the suitcase to the police, but not yet. I need a little more time to think things through.” I stopped walking,
making him stop, too. I looked up into his eyes, still hoping I could find answers that were more palatable than the ones I already had. “Do you remember anything about the day Cal left? Anything he or your grandmother said to you?”

He looked away for a moment, the sun shining in his eyes. “I remember mostly how I felt—lonely. And unwanted.” The light made his eyes almost translucent, and I imagined I saw clouds moving behind them. “But like I said before, being in the house so much lately has helped me remember other things, too.”

“Like what?” I asked, trying to hold my breath, trying to see Edith not as an accessory to a crime, but as an abused woman who’d sought love and restitution in a world she didn’t fully understand.

“My grandmother told me to be happy.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “But it’s what Cal told me that I’ve been thinking about lately. ‘Never let the fire get behind you,’ he said. I haven’t thought about that for a long time, and I guess I’m still trying to figure out what he meant.”

I remembered what he’d told me as we stood outside the Heritage Society. “And you said Cal called Edith a murderer.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I can’t figure that one out, either.”

Tell him now
. It wasn’t Loralee’s voice in my head this time, but my own. I didn’t want to be like Edith, dwelling in the past and living in exile in the old house on the bluff, with only my guilt and secrets to keep me company. And I had Owen to think of, the brother I’d happily pretended didn’t exist for ten years but who’d now become so precious to me.
You can’t move forward with one foot always on the brake.

I tilted my head back, his name on my lips. “Gibbes . . .” I began.

I hesitated, my old fear of stepping past my boundaries, of swimming away from the safe place, paralyzing me, making me think of Cal and the coward he believed me to be.

But then Gibbes kissed me, his lips soft and warm against mine, and I stopped thinking about Cal, and my fears, and everything else
except the feel of Gibbes’s hands gently cupping my head as if I were a rare and precious treasure.

He lifted his face away from mine.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, breathless.

He didn’t remove his hands. “Because you’re a beautiful woman and it’s a warm summer night, and you’re wearing that dress. And because I’ve been wanting to do that for a very long time, and I think I might just do it again.”

And he did, but this time I put my arms around his neck and let him draw me closer, kissing him back. I felt wanted and desirable and even pretty. I imagined curling up with Loralee later and telling her thank you. Mostly, though, I felt the long-dormant stirrings of desire, and want, and gratitude to this man who’d never demanded more from me than I was ready to give.

“Get a room,” somebody from a crowd of teenagers called out as they passed us.

We broke apart and I was sure my face matched the color of my dress.

“You ready to cut some rug?” Gibbes asked, reaching out his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“Dance. Are you ready to dance?”

“Only if you’re ready for a good laugh,” I said, putting my hand in his.

“I’m always ready for that,” he said, leading me down the boardwalk and the grassy area to where bodies were already moving in tandem and the music seemed to dance across the water like a skipping stone, rocking the anchored boats with its rhythm.

I found that I recognized a lot of the music as old standards like “Double Shot (Of My Baby’s Love),” “Too Late to Turn Back Now,” and “Band of Gold.” Maybe it was my ability to sing along with the lyrics and anticipate the beat that saved not only my pride but also Gibbes’s feet. I made sure we stayed in a back corner, far away from
the very experienced dancers—whom I’d have been content to just sit and watch all night—as I counted out loud to the eight-beat count, “One-and-two, three-and-four, five-six,” always reminding myself that each beat meant a different foot
.

His left hand held my right, giving me a firm, guiding pressure to remind me when to turn and when to avoid an oncoming pair of dancers.

“Remember—your weight should be toward the balls of your feet, and you’re supposed to pretend that your shoes are magnets and the dance floor is made of metal, so that you just sort of shuffle through the steps.” Gibbes smiled as I ran into him again before stepping back with my left foot.

I allowed myself to laugh and to make mistakes, becoming bolder as Gibbes laughed along with me, gently leading me instead of criticizing me. A thought occurred to me, and I stopped moving, causing Gibbes to pull me toward him and off the dance floor so we wouldn’t get trampled by the other dancers.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern in his voice. “Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?”

“No, thanks. I’m just hot. Can we go sit on one of those benches on the boardwalk?”

I took out a tissue from my small evening purse—the purse borrowed from Loralee and the wad of tissues suggested by her—and handed one to Gibbes, then took one for myself. It was full dark now, the lights from the boats on the water twinkling like fireflies.

I tilted my head back and pressed the tissue against my face and neck, finally understanding why Loralee insisted on waterproof makeup in the summertime. “I just realized something—something about your grandmother. She made a lot of mistakes, but she did right by you. Maybe she’s the reason you’re a good pediatrician, and the kind of person who accepts—although grudgingly—his brother’s widow even when he thinks he probably shouldn’t.” I shrugged. “It’s something to think about, anyway.”