Waiting for Sunrise (33 page)

Patsy could only nod. Her head was beginning to ache. She rubbed her fingertips hard against her forehead.

“Do you get headaches?”

She looked at him. “Sometimes. Not too often.”

“I do. Really bad ones. Ronni thinks it’s all the memories I keep locked up.”

Ronni, Patsy decided, was someone she wanted to get to know better. Her wisdom came from somewhere deeper than Patsy had ever dared go. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m a lot like Mama in that way. I didn’t even tell Ronni about you and Lloyd until after Harold died.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta get to the restaurant.” He smiled at her. “But . . . you’re here for the arts festival, right? You’ll be here this weekend?”

She nodded.

“Good. I want . . . I want to spend as much time together as we can.” He stood and she handed him his jacket.

“Thanks for this. It was colder than I anticipated.”

Billy looked around them, up high and over the water where several seagulls and pelicans flapped their wings lazily across the high tide. “It’s going to be a nice day though. I can tell already.” He winked at her still sitting on the bench. She was almost too afraid to move. “All right then. Come to Sikes for dinner? On the house.”

Patsy nodded.

He started to walk away.

She called his name. “Billy.”

He stopped. Looked over his shoulder at her.

“Is she . . . is Mama buried here?”

He nodded. “Ask anybody where the cemetery is. They’ll tell you. She’s not too far inside. Look to your left, all the way to the back. You’ll see a picket fence around a grave . . . she’s near there.”

“Thanks.”

“You going?”

Patsy nodded. “Yeah. There’s things I want to say.”

36

Within an hour of Billy leaving her alone on the bench, a steady stream of fishermen left the dock in boats they’d brought around from the marina. Earlier, flocks of birds had come to the shoreline on a tiny stretch of beach where they remained. Occasionally something startled them. First one, and then the entire flock stretched their wings, rose into the sky, encircled the water, and then settled again on the white sand. Gray pelicans—some with dark heads, others capped in creamy white—had also arrived and perched atop the wooden side slats of the docks. A few craned their necks to look over their homeland while the rest tucked in their bills, closed their eyes, and basked in the morning sunlight.

Every so often someone walked past where Patsy sat. The greeting was always the same. “Good morning,” they’d say.

“Good morning,” she’d reply.

“Nice out today.”

“It is.”

And then they were gone. Friendly, but no need to stop, she supposed.

The weather had grown warmer. Patsy peeled away her pink sweater, leaving only the matching shell underneath. The sun felt good on her skin. In fact,
she
felt good, in spite of her circumstances. There was just something about the water . . . something healing. It called to the most wounded of souls, hers included. She felt pleased with herself for having dared to leave the cottage, to walk to the marina alone, to sit and reflect. To think about where she’d been. Where she was. Where she was going from here.

Her watch told her it was now nine o’clock. A sense of relief washed over her that Gilbert had not come to find or check on her. Oh, how she loved the man. He’d clearly gone to great expense to find her brother. To bring her here. Not to mention the money he must have spent keeping her in Charleston. The only good thing she could say about being there—other than it had enabled her to keep her distance—was that she’d met Gabby.

A smile pulled itself across her face. Gabby. What would she think of all this? From what Patsy could tell so far, Veronica, whose strength and faith came through in nearly everything she said and did, and Gabby would get along just fine. They’d talk about God and Jesus and prayer and miracles; she could just hear them now.

God.

“Where were you in this story, I wonder,” she dared to say aloud. “Were you there when my father died? When Mama married Mr. Liddle? When he beat her? Beat me?”
Looked at me with those eyes.
Her smile had slipped to a frown. “Were you there when Mama practically shoved me onto that bus?”

Remember, Pats. I was on that bus too.

She allowed herself to imagine that she hadn’t gotten on the bus. That she’d managed, somehow, to convince Mama that she should stay. How would life have been for her? Growing up helping Mama. Watching Billy and Harold reach adulthood. Maybe Harold wouldn’t have turned out so bad, had she been there to help.

Wisps of hair tickled her cheeks. She brushed the long mane with her fingertips, twisted it as they ran the length, and held it in a fist when she’d reached the end. She stretched her legs.

He would have raped me.
The thought came from nowhere, it seemed.
Mama couldn’t have protected me, and no amount of helping would have made the difference there.

No. Mama couldn’t help.

But she had, hadn’t she? She’d put her on the bus.

Hush now, child. Yes, I know. Yes, I see. Why do you think I’m letting you go?

“Mama . . .” The name slipped from her lips before she had time to stop it. Patsy looked around. Only the pelicans, joined now by a few gulls, were witness to this moment. The wind picked up. She released her hair and let the breeze have its way with the long dark strands.

Her hair. She’d grown it for Gilbert.

Oh, the things we do for the ones we love.

The things we do. Like finding brothers. Or sending us
to
brothers.

Lloyd. She smiled again. She couldn’t wait to tell Lloyd about finding Billy. He’d never known him, of course. But they were brothers. Half brothers. Then again, she and Billy were half siblings. Not that it mattered. Blood was blood and they would all love each other. Have family reunions. Maybe this Christmas . . . if that scuffle in Southeast Asia didn’t interfere . . .

She stood. Arched her back and stretched her arms toward heaven. Turned. Looked out across the marina to a small wooden house at the end of a boardwalk jutting several hundred feet into the gulf water.

“That’s the Thomas house.”

She whirled around to find Veronica standing nearby wearing pedal pushers and a white cotton blouse and rather smart sandals. A small cream patent purse dangled from her right hand.

“I didn’t hear you.”

Her sister-in-law smiled. “I know. Billy says I walk lighter than a feather flits.” She smiled broadly. “I just talked to him on the phone. He said you were still sitting down here.” When Patsy said nothing, she continued. “He was worried.”

“How’d he know I was still here?”

Veronica pointed toward Dock Street; Patsy followed the direction of her finger. “He can see you from the office window of the restaurant.”

Patsy raised her hand and waved, imagined her brother waving back. “That’s sweet of him to worry.” She took a few steps toward her sister-in-law. “I was just going back to the cottage and then later on to the cemetery.”

“I can take you to where Billy’s mama—I’m sorry, your mama—is buried if you like.”

Patsy shook her head. “That’s nice, but I want to go alone.” She shrugged. “Well, I may have Gilbert take me, but . . . I will need directions though.”

“It’s out a ways, but easy enough to find.” Veronica pulled the purse to the crook of her arm and allowed it to rest there. “Can we sit down for a minute? I’ve got something for you.”

“What is it?” Patsy asked, not moving.

Veronica tilted her head and smiled. “It’s not bad.”

Patsy returned to the bench; Veronica sat beside her. She opened the purse and retrieved a small white box.

“I asked Billy if it was okay . . . I haven’t worn it in a while.” She extended the box toward Patsy. “Or at least, it seems like a long time . . . well, he and I both thought it was a good idea you should have it.”

Patsy took the box, opened it. Resting on a bed of pressed cotton was a ring encrusted with sapphires and diamonds. “Mama’s ring,” she breathed out, retrieving it from its safekeeping. “I’d almost forgotten about this.”

“
Your
father—not Billy’s—gave it to her. So, in my way of thinking, it’s rightfully yours, not mine.”

Patsy looked at the younger woman. “I remember Mama telling me all about it. It originally belonged to my great-grandmother. This is quite old, you know.”

“And beautiful.”

Patsy returned it to the box. “Did Billy propose to you with this?”

Veronica nodded. “Your mama didn’t think . . .” Her green eyes grew large, reminding Patsy of an intuitive cat’s. “Well, I don’t know what she thought . . . but, it’s mine and I want you to have it and so does Billy. And that’s that.”

Patsy clutched the box in her fist. “Thank you.”

Veronica snapped the purse closed. “You’re welcome.”

Patsy’s insides went to war; she wanted to say something about the baby, to tell her she was sorry for her loss. Part of her even felt like Gabby, wanting to say something encouraging, like “I’m sure there will be more,” but that seemed hollow in a way. Instead she said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My loss?”

“Were you and my mother close?”

Veronica shrugged. “Yes and no. I mean, she was always so nice, but . . . something about Miss Bernice . . . she never let anyone too close. I guess Billy was as close to her as anyone. From what I can tell and what I remember, Harold was more their daddy’s boy and Billy just always stood close by her.” She shook her head. “Still, there was something missing in Miss Bernice. Even after Mr. Liddle left. Whatever it was he took away from her, she just never really got it back.”

Instinctively, Patsy knew that part of what was taken was her. But hearing it and knowing it didn’t fit with what she’d believed for so long. Or, at least, what she thought she believed. “I’m glad she and Billy were close,” she said for lack of anything else to say. Too much and she’d start to weep. Maybe break down completely. Maybe enough to need to go back to Charleston, which she had no intention of doing. “And I’m sorry Mama . . .” Patsy gave a half smile. “There were times when . . . when Mr. Liddle was on the road—he was a traveling salesman, you know—”

“I know.”

“Well, he was on the road from Monday morning until Saturday afternoons usually. Sometimes Fridays but mostly Saturdays. And Mama . . . she was a totally different person during the week than she was come Friday. Thursday night it would usually start. She’d get all nervous. Mondays she was still wound a little tight. But Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays she could be a lot of fun. At least that’s the way I remember her.” A motorized fishing boat passed nearby them, interrupting Patsy as it made its way toward Dog Island. She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. “I wonder if Billy remembers any of that.”

Veronica patted her hand, the one holding the ring box. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to ask him and maybe even to reminisce. I just know we’re all going to be close. I can feel it.”

Patsy couldn’t help but marvel. “Are you always so sure about things?”

“What do you mean?”

“For such a young woman, you just seem so sure about yourself and everything around you.”

Patsy thought she saw Veronica blush. “I guess maybe I am.”

And then Patsy laughed. Hard. It felt good. Veronica laughed with her.

“Hey, can I give you a lift back to the cottage?”

Patsy stood. “You know, that would be nice.”

———

Patsy found Gilbert sitting on the front porch of the cottage with a cup of coffee in one hand and a small book in the other. He wore a white cotton T-shirt and a pair of khaki slacks, no belt and no shoes. She kept her eyes on him, watching her getting out of the Volkswagen and saying good-bye to Veronica.

“Amazing,” she said from the bottom step, looking up at him. “I didn’t know you cared to read.” She turned to wave good-bye to Veronica then looked back at Gilbert. “By the way, dinner at the restaurant tonight is on Billy.”

He closed the book, dropped it to the gray-painted slats of the porch. “That’s right nice.” He smiled at her. “Nah, something told me you didn’t want my company down at the water.”

She took the three steps to the porch. “Oh? Why’s that?” She tossed her sweater over the nearest arm of the green and white glider running the full length of the short porch. Then she joined it. It slid back and forth with her weight; she steadied it with her feet.

He shrugged. “If you’d wanted me to come with you, I figure you woulda woke me up.”

“Does that bother you? That I didn’t ask?”

Gilbert shook his head. He hadn’t combed his hair yet; the curls fell like a mop along his forehead. “No. You take whatever time you need. That’s one of the reasons we’re here.”

She crossed her legs. “So, you hired a private detective, did you?”

“Mad at me?” he said by way of answering the question affirmatively.

She paused long enough to cause his brow to rise, then said, “Maybe. Did you know for sure about Billy when we got here?”

“No. I had every reason to believe, but . . . no. At the very least I figured we’d get a nice vacation out of our time here.” He looked around. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

“Don’t change the subject, Gilbert Milstrap.”

He pointed at her. “You’re already changing,” he said with a wicked grin. “I can see that clear from over here.”

“In what way?”

He waggled a finger at her. “Can’t quite put my finger on it, but it’s there, all right. Tell you what else. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been wrong about Billy. I’m just glad I wasn’t.” He tilted his chin. “Sorry about your mama though. I sure was hoping . . .”

“Don’t be sorry, Gil. What you did . . . well, I believe it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” She remembered the box in her hand. “Except maybe for this.” She held the box between her fingers and wiggled it at him.

“What’s that?”

“My mother’s engagement ring. It’s worth a fortune so we need to put it somewhere safe.”

Gilbert set the coffee mug next to the book, then joined her on the glider. He took the box from her fingers, opened it, whistled low, and said, “My gracious alive, girl.”

“Like I said . . .”

He closed the box, placed it next to him, then rested against the back of the glider, bringing one arm around her and drawing her close. Patsy dropped her head to his chest and listened to the thump-thump of his heart. She pressed her palm against the shirt. Inhaled. It smelled of her husband and the sunshine the tee had been hung out to dry in. She closed her eyes, her heart feeling heavy and light all at the same time. This place really was like a balm. And she really was blessed.

———

“Hon.” Gilbert’s voice pulled her back to the porch. She sat up, wiped the drool from one side of her mouth, then gasped at the small wet circle formed on her husband’s tee.