The Strangers on Montagu Street (16 page)
Read The Strangers on Montagu Street Online
Authors: Karen White
Tags: #Romance, #Psychological, #Contemporary, #Fiction
“That’s for sure.” She looked around. “Is Nola ready?”
“No. And Mr. Trenholm isn’t here yet, either. Can I get you something to eat or drink while we wait?”
“Actually, I wanted to see Nola’s dollhouse. She keeps telling me about it and I’ve been dying to see it.”
“Sure,” I said, leading her toward the stairs. “She’s still in the bathroom getting ready, so we won’t be in her way.”
I tapped on the bedroom door and, when I didn’t hear anything, turned the handle and stuck my head inside to find the room empty. Turning back to Alston, I said, “Give me just a minute to make sure the coast’s clear.” I picked my way across the floor to the connecting bathroom door and knocked. “Nola?”
The shower stopped. “What?”
“Alston’s here and she wants to see the dollhouse. Is it okay if I bring her in?”
“Whatever. I have all my stuff in here. Just don’t mess anything up.”
I looked behind me. Nola didn’t have a lot, but what she did have was strewn from one end of her room to the other, as if the laundry basket in her closet, or drawers and hangers, didn’t exist. “All right,” I said. “But hurry up. You have reservations at nine and the excursion won’t wait.”
As I made my way back to the bedroom door, I kicked clothes to the side to create a walking path to the dollhouse. “The coast’s clear,” I called out to Alston.
At first glance, everything appeared to be normal, assuming “normal” was a word that could be used to describe this particular dollhouse. The girl figure was poised at an upstairs window with a miniature telescope, the father at a desk in the library. I had to look hard to find the boy, eventually locating him in what appeared to be an upstairs nursery, sitting on the floor in front of a mini replica of the dollhouse. A china-faced doll sat on the floor beside him, and a tiny silver tea set was on a table nearby.
A quiet voice came from behind me. “Did you and Mrs. Middleton decorate Nola’s room?” Alston asked, a polite smile stuck to her face.
I thought for a moment to torment her and tell her that it was our pride and joy, but I just wasn’t that convincing as a liar. “Oh, gosh, no. We just haven’t had the chance to redo it yet. But Nola seems to like it.”
Relief passed over her delicate features. “It’s not my taste, but I can see why it appeals to Nola. She likes a lot of bright colors, doesn’t she? Probably because she grew up in LA. From what I’ve heard, things are a lot more colorful there.”
I was about to suggest a future career in diplomacy when Alston reached inside the dollhouse to the parents’ bedroom. “Why is the mother facedown in the bed and covered up like that?” she asked as she pulled the mother out and sat her in the wing-backed chair by the fireplace.
“Maybe she was tired,” I said, striving for a light tone.
Alston picked up the dog that had been hiding behind a sofa in the front parlor and brought him up to the mother to place him at her feet. “Nola said that sometimes she dreams about these people, but they’re real in her dreams. And they tell her where they want to be placed in the house.”
I looked at her with alarm, wondering whether she and Nola understood just how odd that was. “Must be that vegan diet,” I said, interjecting a hollow laugh.
“Maybe.” She stood and frowned. “I really want to see the front. Nola said it looks like a real house.”
I stood, too. “It’s too heavy for us to move, but there should be enough room for you to slip between it and the wall to get a good look.”
With her back to the wall, Alston slid behind the house. “This is amazing,” she said, her eyes brightening. “I thought the rooms and the furniture looked real—but this is awesome.” A light crease formed between her eyebrows. “Actually, there’s something really familiar about it.”
“Really?” I said. “You recognize it?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. But still . . . I don’t know. It’s like I know this house from somewhere, but not this exact thing, you know?”
I tried to keep my voice steady. “If you think of it, would you let me know? I’m . . . curious who these people might have been and who the dollhouse belonged to.”
“Sure,” she said, giving me an odd look. She slid out from behind the house just as Nola opened the bathroom door. She’d apparently had a hairstyling lesson from Sophie, and her beautiful dark waves were bound on top of her head with an assortment of brightly hued barrettes. She had been paring down her makeup little by little and now wore only a bit of eyeliner—in brown, not black—and mascara. I’d like to think that it was because she was learning from my mother and me how to properly accentuate one’s features with makeup instead of obliterating them, but I think it had more to do with using the time to sleep. She kept on insisting that she was meant to sleep until noon, no matter how many times I had to pull her out of bed several hours earlier than her target.
Her clothes were still a hodgepodge of mismatched styles, colors, and patterns, and I kept waiting for her to tone that down, too. Surely it was only a matter of time before she realized that she wasn’t doing herself any favors. Then again, there was Sophie. Her inability to dress appropriately hadn’t seemed to hold her back any. Today Nola had chosen a simple torn white T-shirt and long, ripped denim shorts to go kayaking in. Her feet were bare, so there was still hope she’d wear something other than combat boots or high-top Converse sneakers.
“Hi, Alston.” She gave a small wave to her friend. She stopped when she spotted me, her eyes going from me to Alston, then back again. “Really? What did you two do—rob a J.Crew store?”
The doorbell rang. “That must be your dad,” I said. “I’ll go down to let him in while you finish getting dressed, then come down. You don’t want to be late.”
As I turned to leave the room, I noticed that the dollhouse mother had somehow returned to her bed and was lying facedown in her sheets. I glanced at Alston, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
Jack appeared the same as he had the last time I’d seen him, except he was freshly shaved and was wearing khaki shorts and a collared golf shirt. His bare feet were clad in Top-Siders. I looked behind him on the porch. “Where’s Rebecca?”
“Don’t get me started,” he said, brushing past me. “She said I’d promised to take her furniture shopping, but I thought she’d understand that an outing with Nola might be more important.”
“Sorry to borrow a word from your daughter, but ‘duh.’ Of course it is.”
His eyes darkened as he regarded me. Quietly, he said, “I knew you’d say that.”
I swallowed thickly. “But those are two-person kayaks, and Alston’s already here.”
He looked pointedly at me. “Do you have plans this morning?”
I’d anticipated a quiet morning to organize my closet, something I hadn’t had a chance to do yet since moving in. And the grout in my bathroom wasn’t as white as I’d like, and I’d planned to attack it with an old toothbrush and bleach. Neither of which would constitute “plans” to Jack.
“Not really,” I said. “But I don’t like deep water.”
“You’ll be wearing a life jacket.”
“But what if it falls off?”
He grinned his trademark grin, as effective as him picking me up and putting me in the kayak. “I’ll be there to save you.”
I was working on my next protest when Nola and Alston came down the stairs, their physical appearances as different from each other as possible, but both of them moving with the same lanky stroll, with arms and legs that seemed too long for them.
“Good morning, Nola.” Jack smiled, a different smile from what I was used to. It was a genuine smile not intended to charm or coerce—I could tell by the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled—but there was uncertainty in it, too. And that was one thing I’d never seen.
Alston stepped forward and offered her hand. I wanted to say that I’d never seen such a mature teenager, but I knew I had been just like that at an even earlier age. At least in my case it was because I knew at least one person in my family needed to be an adult.
“Good morning, Mr. Trenholm. I’m Alston Ravenel. My mother told me to say hi. We both love your books.”
“Your mother?”
“Cecily Ravenel, but you probably knew her when she was still Cecily Gibbes.”
Both eyebrows rose as a secret grin crossed his face. “Ah, yes. CeCe Gibbes. I remember her well.” He paused, my imagination filling in the empty space. “Please give her my best. And before you go home this afternoon, remind me to send you back with an autographed copy of my latest book.”
“Oh, we already have that one—the one about Napoleon, right? We’re waiting for the new one. When will that be out?”
Jack’s face hardened almost imperceptibly. “That would be the million-dollar question. I’ve just come back from New York asking the same thing. Unfortunately, I still don’t have an answer, but I promise you that as soon as it comes out, I’ll send over a copy.”
Alston beamed. “Thanks, Mr. Trenholm. I can’t wait to tell my mother.”
Jack turned his attention to his daughter. “I’m looking forward to today. It’ll be fun.” He looked at her pale arms, exposed in the white T-shirt with the torn-off sleeves. “Do you have sunscreen? It’ll be hot out on the water, and the reflection will make you burn that much faster.”
She looked up at the ceiling as if asking for divine guidance. “It’s a little too late for trying to play daddy, don’t you think?”
Before he had to come up with a response, I walked over to an insulated bag I’d prepared and left on a hall chair. “I’ve got sunscreen and some snacks in here, so not to worry. I’m sure Nola knows she needs to protect her skin. I also stuck in two golf visors Nancy gave me to shade their faces.”
Nola looked at me in horror. “Not the ones with ‘Fighting Cocks’ on them, right? There’s no
way
I’m wearing that word on my head.”
way
I’m wearing that word on my head.”
I looked pointedly at the T-shirt she wore, with a disembodied fist making the horn sign demonstrating that she couldn’t be
that
particular about signage on her clothing.
that
particular about signage on her clothing.
Jack looked offended. “Everybody here knows the University of South Carolina’s Fighting Cocks. Now, I wouldn’t go to New York or Los Angeles wearing that on your head, but here it’s pretty much mandatory. Even your mom had a T-shirt or two.”
Nola scowled. “And look where that got her.” She brushed past us and out the door.
Jack stared after her for a long moment, and I figured he must have been trying to get the look of desperation out of his eyes, because only a little bit remained when he turned back to me. “We’ll wait out on the porch while you’re getting changed.”
“Actually, I’m ready to go.”
“Like that?”
I tucked in my chin. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
I knew he wanted to make a comment about my shorts not being short enough, but there were two minors within earshot, luckily. Instead, he said, “You’re wearing pearls.”
Indicating Alston, I pointed out, “She’s wearing them, too.”
Alston nodded. “Mama says that a lady doesn’t wear diamonds until after five o’clock unless it’s her engagement ring. It’s still morning. Besides, a lady’s perspiration actually polishes the pearls, so it’s good for them.”
We both looked at Jack as if that should be enough of an explanation.
When it appeared that he couldn’t argue with that sound bit of logic, I hoisted the insulated bag and put the strap over my shoulder. “I put a few extra pairs of those pedicure flip-flops in the bag just in case anybody needed waterproof footwear or if they got their sneakers wet.”
I was relieved to see a flash of humor return to Jack’s eyes. “You’re like a soccer mom. It’s kinda scary.”
“I like being organized and prepared. Wish there were more people like me.”
“God forbid,” Jack muttered as he took the insulated bag and held open the door for Alston and me.
We stood on the dock behind the kayak rental at Shem Creek with white streaks of sunscreen striping our cheeks and arms. Alston had been the one to convince Nola that she needed it, and I’d had to do the same thing with Jack. I pointed out that he should be a good example to Nola, and that was all the coercing I’d needed to do. Apparently the apple didn’t fall far from the Trenholm family tree.
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