The Sound of Glass (7 page)

I wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, that mermaids weren’t real. But the softness in her face, and what she’d said about us needing to believe in a little bit of magic, stopped me.

I took a deep breath. “You can stay a week. That should be plenty of time for me to get to know Owen before you head back to Georgia.”

“We’re not going back to Georgia. We were thinking that since you’re here, this might be a good place to settle down.” She smiled, but it was different somehow. Like she was holding two conversations and I could hear only one of them.

“Why don’t you go back to Gulf Shores? I’m sure your mother would be happy to see you.”

“Mama died when I was twenty. I’ve been on my own ever since. Robert and Owen are the only real family I’ve ever had. And now you.”

She didn’t say it with self-pity, and I respected her for that. But it didn’t make me want to like her any better. She was still an over-made-up, underdressed, big-haired woman who’d snared herself a man nearly twice her age despite the fact that he had a daughter just five years younger than she was who didn’t approve. I couldn’t bring myself to care too much where she went next.

Throwing my towels in the sink, I said, “I’ll mop this up in the morning—I’m too tired to deal with it right now. I’m going to bed—see you tomorrow.” I turned to go.

“Good night, Merritt. Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

I stopped and turned around, then took another deep breath, wearier than I’d been when I’d come downstairs. “Let me guess—that’s something your mother used to say.”

She gave me a wide grin. “Uh-huh. But I say it to Owen every night now, too. I guess you could say it’s sort of a family tradition.”

I nodded, then headed toward the stairs, remembering how my mother had always said, “Sweet dreams,” before she closed my bedroom door, and how it had been a long, long time since I remembered how to dream.

LORALEE

T
he smell of frying bacon filled the small kitchen, reminding Loralee of the tiny trailer she’d shared with her mother all those years ago. Loralee had never been allowed to go anywhere before she’d had a home-cooked breakfast, and it was something she’d continued to do for Owen. Her mama had always smelled like bacon grease from the diner where she worked two shifts every day. She was always there for Loralee when she came home from school, and each morning ready and dressed in her uniform and apron. She’d be standing at the two-burner oven in the corner of the trailer they called the kitchen, frying up bacon or flipping flapjacks from batter that the diner’s cook had slipped Desiree in a small Tupperware bowl.

Loralee gripped the edge of the counter and leaned on her arms as she closed her eyes. The smell wasn’t agreeing with her this morning, stealing what little appetite she still had. She heard Owen’s
steady steps down the hallway and quickly straightened and put a smile on her face. She placed two fried eggs on a plate and then selected a couple of strips of bacon, arranging them so it looked like a smiley face.

Owen entered the kitchen and blinked sleepily at her before settling in at the old Formica kitchen table. Out of habit, Loralee took his glasses from his face and cleaned them with the hem of her skirt. He was wearing the new pair of jeans she’d bought the previous day, the crease in the middle still sharp. His knit golf shirt with the little man playing polo stuck on the left corner was buttoned up to his neck.

As Loralee replaced his glasses, she resisted the pull to unbutton the top button and to rumple his hair, which had been parted and combed down with water. He liked it that way, he’d told her, because his daddy had worn his hair like that.

“Good morning, Owen,” she said, kissing the top of his head, relieved that he hadn’t pulled away when she kissed him. She knew that was part of growing up, and she accepted that. She just wasn’t ready for it yet.

“Good morning, Mama,” he said, staring down at his plate. He put both elbows on the table and let out a heavy sigh.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, stopping at the side of the table.

He shrugged a bony shoulder. “I like the smiley face—I really do. But if I go to a real school here, don’t do that with anything you pack in my lunch box, okay?”

“Sure,” she said, smiling although it hurt her to do it. “I understand.” And she did. It was just too soon.

“So you’re already talking about schools here?”

They both turned to see Merritt standing in the kitchen doorway. She wore another shapeless skirt that was too long for her, and a beige blouse that did nothing for her coloring. Her beautiful dark hair was scraped off her face into a low ponytail, and her face was bare of any makeup. Her skin was pale but perfect, and Loralee
itched to sit her down and put some color on her lips and cheeks. She didn’t even have earrings in her earlobes, leaving Loralee to wonder whether she didn’t have her ears pierced, or maybe there wasn’t a mirror in her bedroom and she hadn’t noticed that she’d forgotten to accessorize.

Loralee pulled out a chair across from Owen. “I’m making breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast, and I’ve got blueberries just in case you have a hankering for blueberry pancakes.”

Her stepdaughter looked as if she would refuse the chair until she saw Owen’s hopeful expression. She sat down on the edge of the chair as if she didn’t plan to be there for very long, and said, “Just coffee, please. I usually don’t eat breakfast.”

Loralee walked over to the old percolator and poured steaming coffee into a chipped china cup before bringing it over to the table. “But breakfast is the most important meal of the day. My mama . . .” She stopped when she saw the look on Merritt’s face. “Cream or sugar?” she asked instead.

“Just black,” Merritt said, then added, “Thank you,” as if remembering her manners. She blew across the top of her cup and took a sip, looking up at Loralee as she did so. “So, what’s this about looking for schools? You’ve been here less than a day. I’m sure there are other places you should consider before making a decision.”

Loralee turned her back to the table and cracked two eggs in the skillet. “Yes, well, schools will be a big part of our decision. We figured that while we’re here we should go ahead and check out the public and private schools. Owen’s been homeschooled for the last year but wants to get back into what he calls ‘real’ school again.”

“Mama, I’m going by Rocky now, remember?”

She adjusted the heat under the pan. “If that’s what you want everybody to call you once you’re in school, that’s fine. But to me you’ll always be Owen, all right? It would be like me suddenly asking you to call me Daisy instead of Mama.”

Owen laughed, making Loralee smile.

Merritt said, “I set my alarm so I could get up and come down here and mop up the rest of the milk I spilled last night, but for some reason it didn’t go off.”

Loralee flipped the eggs, the melted butter crackling in protest. “I turned it off because you wouldn’t wake up, so I let you sleep, seeing as how you probably needed it after your long drive. And that nice-looking doctor called and said he’d be here at ten with Mr. Williams.”

“You what?”

Loralee turned around at the sound of a kitchen chair being scraped on the floor as Merritt shot to her feet. “What time is it now?”

“It’s nine forty-five. And I already mopped the floor, and I made some cookies for the doctor when he gets here—”

Merritt cut her off. “There will be no entertaining him, all right? The man doesn’t like me very much, and I don’t think my opinion of him is much better. He’s coming over to decide what he wants to take from his childhood home, and then he’s leaving. And hopefully that will be the last time we need to see each other.”

Loralee slid the eggs, bacon, and toast onto a plate and turned to set it on the table. “Well, you’ll need your energy if you’re going to tussle with him, so you might as well sit down and eat. I’ll be happy to answer the door when they get here.”

Merritt stared at her for a long moment before slowly sitting down again. She looked at her plate suspiciously. “It’s smiling at me,” she said, her voice not amused.

“Just go with it,” Owen said, putting a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

Loralee dropped the pan in the sink and began to run the hot water.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Mama?” Owen asked.

“I already did,” she said, adding one more lie to the list. “And don’t talk with your mouth full.” She turned the faucet as far as it would go, but only a lukewarm drip of water rewarded her efforts.
“I think you’re going to need a plumber, Merritt. Unless you like cold showers and greasy plates. I could ask one of the neighbors for a recommendation when we go over to introduce ourselves. . . .”

Merritt coughed and Loralee looked over her shoulder in time to see coffee sloshing over Merritt’s cup as she roughly set it down on the table. “Excuse me? Even if I thought that knocking on a stranger’s door unannounced were something expected here, I can’t imagine why you’d be accompanying me.”

“So they could meet Owen,” Loralee said, squeezing dishwashing soap onto the new sponge they’d bought the night before. “Since he’s family and all.”

“She baked cookies ’cause she figured you probably didn’t know how and she wanted to make a good impression.” Owen’s words were garbled, and Loralee wanted to tell him again about not speaking with his mouth full, but she was too busy being embarrassed.

Keeping her back to the table, she continued scrubbing the now-clean pan. “Robert said you never liked to spend any time in the kitchen; that’s why I thought you wouldn’t want to do any baking. But they’re chocolate-and-peanut-butter-chip—Owen’s second-favorite cookies—so I thought you’d like them, too. And don’t tell me you’re counting calories, either. You’re so skinny, when you turn to the side and stick out your tongue you look like a zipper.”

Loralee cringed at the sound of a kitchen chair being scraped back, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t Owen’s.

Merritt’s words were tight, as if she was measuring them carefully. “I appreciate your cleaning up the milk and making me breakfast—I do. But I don’t want you to do anything else for me, all right? And if you’re going to be staying here for a week, we’re setting some ground rules, the first being that my room and alarm clock are off-limits. As are my neighbors and any plumbers or electricians or whoever else I might need to come work on the house. You and Owen are guests here, and all I’ll need you to do is stack your sheets and towels on the floor of the laundry room when you leave.”

Loralee had finally gotten control of her face to turn around. “Actually, Merritt, the washing machine isn’t working—I tried to wash those towels we used to mop up the milk last night and it just made this sound like an old pickup truck trying to start on a cold morning. That load of sheets Mrs. Williams’s cleaning lady did for us must have been the washing machine’s swan song. There’s a stack of Yellow Pages in the garage, so I looked up a number and a serviceman will be here between one and five. I would have looked it up on my phone, but I only had one bar and there’s no Wi-Fi connection. I can call somebody for that, too, if you’d like.”

Loralee smiled her flight-attendant smile, the one even the crankiest passenger couldn’t help but respond to. But Merritt was different, and instead of smiling back she seemed to be getting angrier as bright red spots of color appeared on her cheeks. Loralee wanted to take a picture with her iPhone so that she could show Merritt what she’d look like with a little bit of blush on her cheeks, but she figured this probably wouldn’t be the right time.

Merritt barely moved her lips while she spoke. “I can’t talk with you right now. I’m going upstairs—”

The doorbell interrupted whatever she’d been about to say.

Loralee forced herself to smile even brighter. “That must be Mr. Williams and the doctor. I’ll go get the door if you want to run upstairs and change—you can take the back stairs. You’ve got such a cute figure, and it’s a shame to be hiding it under that skirt.”

Merritt held up her hand and Loralee could see it shaking a little bit. “Not one more word. Please. I’ll go get the door.”

As soon as Merritt left the room, Loralee pulled out a china platter from the pretty wood hutch and began transferring cookies from the baking sheet. “Owen, could you please get some plates and napkins? I’m going to bring these to the front parlor in case anybody’s hungry.”

Loralee hurried, her heels tapping against the wide-planked
floors until she reached the foyer, where Merritt was alone with the doctor, the two of them looking like two dogs circling a bone.

“Well, good morning, Dr. Heyward,” Loralee said in greeting.

The handsome doctor responded with a wide grin that got even wider when he spotted Owen coming up behind her with the plates and napkins. “Hey, there, Rocky. Nice shirt.”

Everybody seemed to notice at once that Owen and the doctor were wearing matching shirts, although if Loralee was being honest with herself, she’d have to admit that Dr. Heyward filled his out a lot more nicely than her son did.

Owen smiled shyly. “Thank you, sir.”

“Where’s Mr. Williams?” Loralee asked as she placed the plate on the hall table instead of waiting for Merritt to play hostess and invite everyone into the parlor.

“He had an emergency at the office and couldn’t come. He was going to call and reschedule, but I said I was sure Mrs. Heyward and I could do this without any blood drawn.”

Merritt stood with her hands clasped together like a schoolteacher, but the spots of color on her cheeks had returned. “That’s very brave of you, considering you don’t know me at all.”

Dr. Heyward turned to Owen. “Does she bite?”

Owen was trying very hard not to laugh, but when he glanced at his mother she gave him the look that meant it would be very bad manners if he did.

Loralee placed a cookie on a plate and handed it to the doctor with a napkin. “Would you like a cookie, Doctor? They’re chocolate-and-peanut-butter-chip.”

“My favorite,” he said. “After Oreos, of course. Thank you.” He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Delicious, Mrs. Connors. You have a gift.”

“You’re very kind. And please call me Loralee.”

“Only if you call me Gibbes.”

Loralee beamed, feeling like she’d made a new friend. “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee if you’d like a cup.”

Before Gibbes could respond, Merritt said, “I’m sorry to interrupt your social hour, Doctor, but I’ve got a lot to do, so maybe you can schedule your coffee klatch for after we’re done.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Heyward. And you can call me Gibbes. We’re family, after all, and it feels strange calling you by my grandmother’s name.” He paused as if expecting Merritt to ask him to use her first name. When she didn’t, he took another cookie from the plate and smiled at Loralee. “I guess I’ll take a rain check on that coffee, but thanks for the cookies.” He ruffled Owen’s hair. “Save at least one for me, okay?”

“Mama always hides some in the freezer just in case, but I’m not supposed to know that.”

Loralee looked up at the ceiling and smiled. “I guess we’re going to have to find you a sport soon, so you can burn off all those calories. Or I could just stop baking.”

Owen turned to her, unsure whether she was joking or not. “Mama!”

“Do you like to fish?” Gibbes asked.

Owen shook his head. “I’ve never tried it, sir. But I think it sounds fun.”

The doctor nodded his head slowly. “I think so. Maybe next time I take out my boat, if you and your mother”—he paused and lifted his gaze to Merritt—“and your sister would like to go, I could bring you with me. I usually spend most of my time off work on the water when the weather’s good, but we’re temporarily shorthanded right now, so I haven’t had too much boat time.”

“Oh, Mama, could we?” Owen was nearly jumping up and down with excitement.

Loralee had to smile really hard so the tears that threatened wouldn’t spill over. It had been so long since she’d seen him so
excited about anything that she’d almost begun to believe his grieving had become as much a part of him as the color of his eyes or the way he pulled at his lower lip when he was deep in thought. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”