Compulsion (19 page)

His intensity, the set of his shoulders, the thrust of his jawline, all looked suddenly different, like a deceptively simple piece of abstract art that revealed new layers of meaning and emotion when considered from an alternate angle.

She wanted to tell him she knew how he felt. How she had never been enough to interest Lula. Never been enough for Lula.

“Why baseball?” she asked instead. “Or is that just to get through college?”

He gave her a smile so wide, it was as if she’d given him a present on Christmas morning. “Thanks for not telling me why I’m wrong. I hate pity. And, no, it isn’t just for college. It’s not a lifetime career, but I want to play in the majors, then
open a restaurant when I retire. Maybe I’ll be a celebrity chef and feed people exactly what they want.” He grinned even wider. “There’s no right and wrong in fish or chicken, and in baseball everyone knows what everyone wants. A run or an out. Maybe a walk. When I’m on the pitcher’s mound, people are too far away for me to read. I don’t have to worry what’s fair or unfair. I don’t have to decide if I should try to help them get what they want.”

Barrie had never stopped to think whether she
should
find an object once she became aware of it. At least not until she’d arrived at Watson’s Landing.

“I thought the gift didn’t give you a choice?” she asked.

“That’s another downside to growing up in a family of lawyers. You learn to twist the gift so you give people what they want in a way that helps you instead.”

“So you’re saying that you manipulate people.”

Eight slowed the engine to a purr and pulled into the marina. “If Dad can’t argue you into doing what he wants, he’ll maneuver you into it. I try not to be that way, but I can’t not know what I know.”

That was probably the closest he was going to come to giving her an apology. She couldn’t really blame him for his gift—which didn’t make it any easier to live with.

“What you need,” she said lightly, “is a twelve-step program. Mind Readers Anonymous.”

Eight darted a glance at her, and then he nosed the boat into a slip and jumped out to tie it off.

Barrie stowed the life jacket and stood on shaky legs. Her head pounded, and she was grateful when Eight reached down to help her up onto the solid dock. She kissed him. Just a peck, but he would have known she wanted to do that anyway. She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, but she wasn’t sorry. What he had told her couldn’t have been easy for him to say.

They wound through the marina. Sailboats and a few big tourist yachts bobbed gently on one side, separated from the working vessels on the other. Rows and rows of fishing boats bristling with antennas and radar dishes looked rusty and weathered. Except for one just preparing to pull out, which was conspicuously sleeker, cleaner, and more powerful. Wyatt stood on its deck, talking to a man with a tattoo of a face on the back of his head. Wyatt fell silent when he caught sight of Barrie and Eight. His stare held none of the friendliness he had shown the night before.

“Come on.” Eight took her hand and pulled her down the dock.

They left the marina and turned along the boardwalk, then walked a few blocks to a clapboard building hung with a green-and-gold sign:
RIVERBANK FARM AND MARKET.
Red-faced toddlers reached through the bars of a corral to pet a trio
of miniature horses, while a shaved llama with a puffball face chewed its cud from behind a chain-link fence. Along the side paddock, older children lined up for rides on a pair of ponies decked out in straw hats that had been slipped over their ears.

“I thought we were picking up steaks. Do we have to kill the cow?” Barrie tried to ignore the fact that people were gaping at her the same way the kids looked at the animals on display.

“No worries. The stuff inside is dead already, apart from the odd crustacean and the fish-eyed locals.”

Curiosity followed them into the building. Strangers stopped and chatted, gossiped, pried. At the meat stand an old woman in a yellow housedress, brown socks, and sandals counted out change for her purchases one coin at a time, while the younger woman with her watched Barrie and Eight with open speculation.

The old woman plunked the coins down onto the butcher-papered counter. With a last glance at Barrie, her companion loaded their white-wrapped packages into a bag.

“Come on, Granny,” she said, catching the old woman’s elbow. “We’d best get back.”

The old woman hobbled a few steps, then peered at Barrie. “I heard Lula’s daughter was coming home,” she said, drawing out every word. “You are a welcome sight.”

“It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Price.” Eight spoke more loudly than usual.

The old woman waved her hand at him without shifting her attention from Barrie. “I thought I was going to have to come up to the Landing to get a look at you, honey. Not that I’d have minded. Don’t see near enough of your aunt.” She paused and gave a wide, nearly toothless grin. “But of course, you don’t have any idea who I am, do you? I taught Pru and your mama both. Every one of the Watsons for two generations. Broke my heart to think Pru was going to be the last of you, her ending up alone, dying alone in that prison of a house.”

Goose bumps prickled down Barrie’s spine.

“Granny!” The younger woman cast an apologetic look at Barrie. “Gawd. Don’t mind her, now, sugar. She’s eighty-seven and as stubborn as a cross-eyed mule. It’s hard to rein her in sometimes, and her mind gets stuck back in the past. Glory days, you know.”

“You hush up, Lily Beth. I’m not back in diapers yet.” Mrs. Price pulled her arm out of her granddaughter’s grasp.

Lily Beth leaned closer, but her voice was still loud enough for everyone around them to hear. “Watch what you say, Granny. You’ll give the poor girl the wrong impression about her family, and she’s only just arrived.”

“It’s fine.” Barrie glared at Lily Beth, but the woman was too oblivious to notice. “So you taught my grandfather, too?” she asked.

“Along with his brother, Luke, and your grandmother.” Mrs. Price nodded at Eight. “And your great-aunt Twila, matter of fact, Eight Beaufort. Although sometimes I doubt I taught any of them much. None of them could concentrate on anything except each other.”

“Twila and Emmett, you mean?” Eight asked.

“No, dear.” Mrs. Price gave a slight, delighted shake of her head, her eyes twinkling as if she enjoyed the gossip. “Twila was in love with Luke Watson from the beginning. Course Luke was always a little wild. Not bad, mind you, just needed settling down. Emmett, on the other hand, he could never bear for Luke to have anything for himself. Didn’t matter if it was a football or a pencil. If Emmett couldn’t have it, Luke wasn’t going to have it either. The man might as well have been a Colesworth.”

“Granny!” Lily Beth’s face reddened, and she wound her arm around Mrs. Price’s elbow. “Come away now.”

Mrs. Price looked back at Barrie. “Your grandmother was too good for Emmett. And your aunt Pru, she was a saint for staying all those years. You tell her I said hello. Tell her to come and see me, when she has a chance.” Mrs. Price snatched Barrie’s wrist and regarded her intently. “Remind her Emmett’s dead and gone, and it’s time she started living.”

Barrie gave an uncomfortable nod, and Mrs. Price dropped Barrie’s hand. “I always did like Pru best, you know. People
may pretend they liked Lula, but Pru was always the kind one. Like Luke. Funny how there was one in every generation. I can’t help wishing it was Pru who had gotten away and Lula who was the one chained to that house.”

Barrie was grateful when Eight wrapped his arms around her.

“Not
actually
chained,” Lily Beth hurried to explain, as if Barrie and Eight were dense. Her fingers dug into the paper-thin skin of Mrs. Price’s arm. “Come on, Granny. This is
Lula’s
daughter you’re talking to. Apologize and let’s go.”

“It was a metaphor, dear.” Mrs. Price winked at Barrie. “I taught English for nearly fifty years. You’d think my own granddaughter would understand figurative language. Still, it’s true enough. Emmett lost Luke, Twila, and Lula. He was damned if he was going to lose Pru, too. Never mind he was the reason they all stayed away in the first place, you mark my words. Dead to Emmett might as well be dead to everyone. The pompous old ass.”

“You all right?” Eight’s chin rested lightly on Barrie’s hair as they watched Lily Beth pull Mrs. Price away. His warmth felt good against her aching head.

“Do you mind if we come back for the steaks later?” she asked.

“What did you have in mind, exactly?”

Briefly, Barrie wondered if he already knew, if it was even worth explaining. She decided not to think about it. If she
spent all her time trying to analyze what Eight knew and what he didn’t, the extra brain-drain would make her even more conversationally challenged than she already was.

“It seems to me that if Pru ended up being punished when Lula left, she at least deserves to know why Lula ran away. I want to go see if Julia can find that letter.”

Julia’s house, a two-story home set on stilts, was close to the beach on one of the palm-tree-and-rhododendron-dotted side streets. She answered the door dressed for tennis, her face and hair windblown and damp as if she’d recently finished playing a match.

“Oh, it’s you.” She held the screen door open an inch, apparently unsure whether she wanted to invite them in or close it in their faces.

Barrie put on her most winning smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I keep thinking about that letter you got from my mom.”

“You’d better come in.” Julia’s voice came out with a sigh. “I was going to call Pru later, only . . .”

“Only what?” Barrie prompted.

Julia led the way into a large family room with pale blue paneled walls and white furniture that matched the Wedgwood plates hanging on the walls. “Have a seat,” she said, waving them toward an overstuffed sofa crammed with pillows. “Can I get you a lemonade? Sweet tea? Cheerwine?” She smiled at Barrie’s confusion. “That’s a soda. Cherry flavored.”

“No, thank you,” Barrie said, but Eight nudged her with his foot and raised his eyebrows at her. “Or maybe . . . could I have a glass of water?”

“Me too,” Eight said.

Barrie waited for Julia to disappear into the kitchen. “What are you kicking me for? I thought we’d get this over with quick.”

“She hasn’t made up her mind what she’s going to tell you.”

“You think she found it?”

“She wishes she’d never remembered the letter or mentioned it to you. I don’t know if she found it or not, but why else would she wish we weren’t here?”

“Maybe she’s having an affair with the tennis instructor and he’s hiding in the kitchen,” Barrie said. “Come on. Put yourself in her shoes. Losing something so important and worrying about confessing to Pru, and how Pru’s going to react . . . Can’t you see why she’d hesitate?”

Julia came back with the water and a plate of oatmeal
raisin cookies. “I baked these earlier. You’re probably getting hungry, aren’t you? My kids are always ready for a snack about this time of the morning.” She lowered herself into the love seat kitty-corner from the sofa, and picked at a cookie.

“I lied when I said I was going to call Pru, you know. The truth is, I probably wasn’t going to call at all.”

“So you found the letter?” Barrie leaned forward and braced her forearms on her knees, wishing she was positive she wanted the answer to be yes.

“I got to thinking about places I don’t normally get into,” Julia said, “and I remembered the box of birth announcements and congratulations cards I’d put away after my son, Devon, was born. That was about ten months after Lula’s funeral.” She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s still so hard to believe. That she could have been alive all this time. I wish I’d seen her even one more time.”

Barrie rubbed Mark’s watch and told herself to be patient. “So was the letter in the box?”

“Yes. I opened it. Steamed it open. I figured I could glue it again if I needed to, but I thought it would help me decide whether or not I should give it to Pru. I’m still not sure. Maybe I’ll leave it up to you.” She reached over and pulled open a narrow drawer in the coffee table. “Here,” she said.

Barrie sat with the envelope in her hand—a plain white envelope with Pru’s name written in Lula’s handwriting. Definitely
Lula’s handwriting, the letters flamboyant and flowing. Yet there was no sign of the shaky effort that marked everything Lula did after the fire. Barrie’s own hands shook.

“You don’t have to open it now,” Eight told her gently.

“No. Not at all. Take it with you.” Julia sounded relieved. She stood up and smoothed the tennis skirt over tanned legs that were just starting to show her age.

Barrie barely managed a choked thank-you as Julia saw them out. Descending the steps to the sidewalk, she clutched the envelope tightly in her fist. Eight walked with his hands in his pockets, glancing at her now and then.

“That was a crappy thing for her to do,” he said finally.

“Steaming it open or leaving it for me to decide?”

“Steaming it open isn’t much different from eavesdropping. But you’re not sure if you want to read it now.”