Traces (7 page)

He did
not
just touch her again. His flirtations came and went like an ocean wave. She glared at his hand until he slowly released her. Anger simmered through her, canceling out any chance of Max affecting her composure with his chemistry. She’d always excelled in chemistry, but she had no use for his. “You don’t seriously want to get to know me, do you? So what is it you really want?”

* * * *

The Coldwater Bed and Breakfast hunkered among drooping willow trees, as inviting as a mausoleum. Paulette trudged up the concrete sidewalk and then the steep steps to the wraparound porch. She paused, noting the splashy flowered cushions on the brown wicker chairs arranged around matching wicker tables. The sight contrasted with the cold atmosphere she sensed blanketing the house. Almost as though overcompensating with vibrant colors would warm the environment. The owner, one Angel Baker, had welcomed her with no warmth in her shriveled face. Paulette shivered in the cooling evening air. Pushing open the door, she strode into the house. Lamps shed pools of light from side tables in the foyer. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals dangling, unlit. She’d never stayed in such a foreboding place. Another shiver rocked her shoulders.

The sound of sensible shoes smacking the carpeted hardwood floors announced Angel’s approach. Paulette clutched her purse, readying an excuse for hurrying up to her designated room without engaging in idle chit-chat. After her horrible discussion with Meredith, she dreaded talking about nothing with the proprietor of the B&B.

“My dear, did you have a good dinner with your sister?” Angel bustled into the foyer, wiping her hands on her ruffled bibbed apron.

“The food was good.” Paulette sidled toward the staircase to her right. “I think I’ll call it a night.” She yawned for good measure.

“I turned down the bed for you.” The woman nodded as though praising herself. “Scoot on up and get some sleep. Breakfast will be at eight.”

Paulette paused with her hand on the newel post. “What are you serving for breakfast?”

Angel winked. “My specialty. You have a nice night, and I’ll surprise you in the morning.”

“Night.” Obviously she wouldn’t get an answer tonight.

She made her way up to her room and dropped her purse on the dresser. Her suitcase stood beside the luggage rack. The canopied bed dominated the room. An overstuffed chair nestled into the corner by the window. A round skirted table held a glowing porcelain lamp, providing a spot of warmth in an otherwise cold room. Her hope that Meredith would welcome her to stay at Twin Oaks had disappeared with the start of the old arguments. She’d spent the majority of her cash to have a place to stay the night. A place that shoved back at her, pushing her out the door. The house didn’t want her to remain, but tonight she had no other choice. She wished she’d thought to have the bill sent to Meredith like she’d thrown at her sister; then she wouldn’t have felt coerced to stay. Meredith had plenty of money.

She opened her suitcase and pulled out a short nightgown, the kind Johnny preferred she wear. Why did she keep trying to please the man who had walked away from their relationship? When she told him about the baby, he’d said he didn’t want to be tied down by a family. He wasn’t ready to be a father. But he’d already fathered a child, whether he felt ready or not. She thought she’d loved him up until that moment. She tossed the gown back into the suitcase and yanked out a pair of short shorts and a soft tank top. Much better.

Leaving the lamp on, she drew the quilt up to her chin. Meredith would be settling in to sleep in that huge, lovely house. While she shivered in this awful place. She needed a plan for her and her baby. A home and a future.

Tomorrow she’d take the first step.

* * * *

Meredith slammed the door behind her, the loud
bang
echoing the fusion of disappointment and anger seething inside. Griz sauntered into the kitchen, tail flagged and twitching in rhythm with the thump of her paws across the floor. Meredith skirted the cat so she could drop her purse and keys onto the ceramic-tiled table nestled in the bay window, which overlooked the back of the property. If the sun were still in the sky, she’d be able to see the family cemetery. The kitchen light reflected back at her from the dark window, a yellow blot on the darkness.

“Damn him.” Her words floated through the house, fading into silence. “I didn’t need a frigging guilt trip from Grandma after she’s been buried.”

Definitely not when delivered by the oh-so-suave and handsome Max Chandler. Right after receiving the riot act from Paulette. What a helluva evening. So worthwhile driving into town to be told how to live by two people—make that three, one of whom was dead—who had no clue what she needed.

She retrieved a wineglass from the cabinet and sniffed it before holding it up to the light. Good enough. Removing a bottle from the fridge, she poured chardonnay into the vessel. She took a long sip, and the coolness calmed her nerves as it flowed down her throat. Grizabella bumped her head into Meredith’s leg, demanding attention. Reaching down automatically, Meredith found the cat’s favorite itchy spot. A splash of wine on the floor beside the calico reminded Meredith of the glass she held, and she straightened back up.

“Did you miss me, Griz?” Meredith set the glass down on the table and then scooped the cat into her arms. Machine-gun purring answered her question.

She scritched along the cat’s stomach and around her neck. When her arms grew tired, she slipped the cat back on the floor before quickly wiping the spill with a paper towel. Then she picked up her glass once more and headed out of the kitchen.

Griz rediscovered her food bowl while Meredith drifted through the house, listening to the sounds of the old building creak with each step. The dark of night lurked beyond the windows. The scents of cleaning products mingled with the hint of mildew. She paced down the hallway and into the foyer, the floorboards beneath her shoes flexing under her. The effort required to return the place to a loving home did not compare with the swift work to take it apart.

Most of all she heard Max’s voice laying on the guilt from her Grandma O’Connell. The love of the land as an Irish heritage. Honoring her family through maintaining her inheritance and keeping the land and home. She took another long swallow of wine and walked into the sewing room.

“This old house will make a much nicer memorial garden,” she said to the empty parlor.

Immediately she noticed a change in the atmosphere, a subtle shift in the temperature as the air chilled. Something altered, though she could not put her pinky on it. Meredith stilled, searching the shadowy room for differences. What was that? She slowly spun in place, a complete circle, as she scouted out the sound’s source. Nothing. She shook her head, her ponytail whipping her shoulders. Just her imagination after all of Max’s harangue about her responsibilities and family heritage.

She flipped on the light switch. Four frosted globes in the center of the ceiling fan cast their combined glow over the furnishings. An old-fashioned wood loom hunkered in one corner, empty but for a few spindles of wool adding burgundy and steel color to the ambience. A freestanding embroidery hoop stood within reach of an overstuffed chair, a modern white light arched above the afghan cloth hanging from the frame, a half-finished cross-stitched cardinal ensnared by the round wooden hoop. Her grandmother’s rocking chair sat beneath the light, which emphasized the worn arms of the flower-patterned upholstery. Threadbare patches where elbows had rested bespoke of the amount of time her grandmother occupied the seat. Beside the chair, a rack overflowed with stitchery magazines.

Grandma’s now empty chair sat in the middle of an empty room filled with her most treasured memories. This room had served as the focal point of her grandmother’s sewing, where Meredith could almost hear her voice, smell her perfume, and feel her presence. Traces of her loving grandmother woven into the very fabric of the old house.

A house she’d already decided must come down. Whether by machine or flame, her inner peace and future centered on one fact. A fact to focus upon rather than the many memories swirling around her.

With a sob born of the grief and pain she carried inside, she turned off the light and made her way back through the lit hallway to the kitchen. Nobody understood what the indiscriminate shooter had taken from her. Not only her husband, but also their unborn child. They’d longed for several years to express their love for one another through the creation of a baby. They’d been trying with no success, which made their lovemaking feel a touch desperate at times. Then one day she felt
different
, found herself crying over a peanut butter commercial, and decided to purchase a pregnancy test. The very night she planned to reveal to her husband that the pregnancy test turned up positive, she lost everything. Including her harmony, her sense of hope, and her future dreams. Everything shattered in the blink of an eye. The only thing left from her previous life was Grizabella.

The prospects and expectations this rambling plantation home exemplified stabbed her emotions with each step on its aged floorboards. She once longed to have the family this home deserved, but the doctors told her the damage she suffered prevented her from having children. She could always adopt, they’d said. Many orphans needed loving homes. She’d shrugged off the suggestion. Without Willy, she had no desire to build a future family. Without Willy, she coiled into herself, latching onto the wonderful memories of their life together and hating the robber that caused such inner despair.

Max had tried to convey why the plantation house deserved to remain standing. Yet, once she’d dismantled it, once she’d filled in the stone foundation, once she’d restored the site to a park, then she would finally have peace. A rebirth from the death of the house. She’d bury the pain consuming her by finally putting to rest the dreams she and Willy had shared.

After checking the lock on the back door, she rinsed her wineglass and turned out the light. Tonight she’d try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow she’d begin the sorting process in earnest.

* * * *

The electronic beat of music reverberated across the bedroom while Meredith stripped out of her clothes. Griz waited on the bed, a miniature multicolored sphinx. Meredith preferred instrumentals to lyrics so she didn’t need to decipher the meaning of the song. To not listen to the voices. But the classical music Max insisted on playing grated on her last nerve because Willy had also enjoyed the sound of stringed instruments. She needed something more alive. More like the driving pulse and eclectic rhythm she now danced to that worked their magic on her frayed nerves, much like a deep-tissue massage for the soul. Reluctantly, she turned off the music, silence surrounding her.

She fluffed her pillows and slipped between crisp sheets. Meg’s efforts had transformed the dusty room into a gleaming sanctuary. The lamplight pooled on the oak nightstand, reminding her of the honey on toast her mother made for her when she’d suffered with a sore throat. The matching triple dresser with its large mirror reflected the bed she and Griz occupied. Several needlework samplers and pictures decorated the walls, works by Grandma, no doubt.

Griz stood, stretched, and resettled beside her. Where Willy should be. The other half of the bed, empty except for the eight-pound cat. Meredith ran a hand over the cool sheet, imagining her husband lying beside her, his weight along with his desire for her pulling her closer. The pressure of his lips on hers. His hands moving over her most sensitive areas. Her name when he came.

Stop
. Crossing her arms, she focused on breathing, seeing the furniture, the pictures, the cat. Anything but the images in her mind. She couldn’t let herself relive his presence. The pain left from his death seared through her.

With a flick of her wrist, she turned the light switch off and cast the room into darkness. She snuggled into her pillow, tucking the sheet under her arms. A half-moon floated among the pinpoints of stars outside the window, lending a touch of luminescence to the atmosphere. Perfect sleeping weather.

If her eyes would close. She stared at the ceiling. Knotholes dotted the narrow slats.
One, two, three…
Knotholes instead of sheep?
Why not?
Since sleep evaded her, she had to do something to while away the night. Counting knotholes had helped when she was a child as well. Apparently sleeping through the night wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Even when tired. Like tonight. She sighed and started over. If she counted long enough, surely she’d drift off.
One, two, three, four…

The memory of a childhood dream floated into her mind. The Lady in Blue. Inspired by the belles in that old movie,
Gone with the Wind
, most likely. But the dream had replayed for her frequently as a child. It always started with a beautiful young woman dressed in a royal-blue hoop skirt, dotted with sequins twinkling with every step. Her blonde hair was pulled up with sausage curls dangling about her petite face. Funny how she could never espy the lady’s eyes, though.

An icy breeze blew through the half-open window, fluttering the lacy sheers. Meredith opened her eyes at the first blast. Griz lifted her head from where she’d laid it on her paws, staring at the window. Meredith stroked the cat, but the feline leaped up, the hair along the ridge of her backbone slowly rising.

“What’s the matter, girl?” Meredith looked at the cat, then the window. She pushed back the sheet and went to the window to close it. The sheers settled into place. “There’s nothing there. It was just the wind.”

Griz growled low in her throat, staring at the window.

Meredith slipped into bed, pulling up both the sheet and the lightweight coverlet. All was quiet except for the slowly fading complaints of her cat. “It’s okay, Griz. Now where was I?”

One, two, three…

Another icy breeze chilled her despite the covers draped across her body. The window remained tightly closed. Her brow tensed into a frown as she sat up and scanned the room. A flash of light drew her attention to the mirror on the triple dresser set against the far wall. She gasped as Griz jumped from the bed and raced from the room. The Lady in Blue appeared in the mirror, standing between the window and where Meredith sat on the bed, the lady’s hands reaching toward her. The lady’s silk skirt rustled when she stepped closer to the bed, sequins glinting.