Beach Winds (29 page)

No one breathed. Neither of them, not even the world.

“I appreciate that you raised me. I appreciate that you even did the best you could. Let’s leave it at that. Don’t push me further.”

“
You appreciate? Like that means anything? I gave up my life for you.”

“
You turned her away.”

“
Who?”

“
Frances. She came to the house asking to see father. Admit it—you lied to her—turned her away. Soon after, she was dead. She’s buried in an unmarked grave.”

“
Is it so wrong that I wanted to protect my family?”

“
From what? She and Dad were divorced. She wasn’t looking to move back in, was she?”

“
Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“
I believed you were trying to be honest with me before. Were you?”

“
Yes, I was.”

“
Yet you told Joel I was interested in him.”

She
pursed her lips. “I might have. Sometimes a man needs encouragement. You know I like Joel.”

“
You think he’s easy to push around. I’m not so sure he is. There’s more to him than you recognize. Why should it matter to you anyway? What was it you said? That he wouldn’t interfere with how I spent my money? Most of what I spend, I spend on…” It all froze for a moment, then became startlingly clear. She continued, “I spend it on house expenses and to pay the bills you run up.” Truth came too close. It swerved by like an out of control car and her stomach lurched. She felt dizzy.

Frannie was trying to stop the spinning
. Her stomach was churning now. Burning inside. She pressed her hand against her stomach as if to quell the fire.

“
Go home, Laurel. Go home and start packing. I’m putting the house on the market.”

“
You wouldn’t dare.”

“
I’ve already spoken with the attorney.” She didn’t need to tell her the exact details of the conversation. Let the implication stand on its own.

“
Honesty. Is that what you said? Honesty? Truth?” Laurel’s usually flawless complexion flushed a deep, ugly maroon.

She spit the words out.
“You’ve gone behind my back taking the good things I’ve tried to do for you and throwing them into my face or using them against me. You think you know so much? You might as well know this, too. That day when Frances came to the house, she wasn’t alone. There was someone else with her. A child.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“
I’m no one’s fool. I wasn’t about to raise another of that woman’s children. You needn’t stare at me like that.” She pointed her finger in Frannie’s face.

“
I did right by you. You were never easy. Always clinging to your father and disrespectful to me. No matter how I tried to help you develop social skills or to conduct yourself with any degree of dignity.”

Frannie had stopped hearing
. She was still stuck on the words about the child with Frances.

“
Who was she? Or he?”

“
Who? Frances?”

“
The child? Who was she?”

“
I presume the child belonged to her. Only heaven knows who the father was.”

“
Is. Is. Not
was
!” She couldn’t stop saying it over and over. “
Is
.” She reached up and pulled on her hair, seeking pain, anything to interrupt the rage building in her head. “That child was, at the least, my half-sister or brother. Frances died soon after. What happened to the child?”

“
How would I know? I was already bringing up someone else’s child. One was enough. The rest wasn’t my business.”

Frannie swept
the items on the counter off with one rough swipe. “Get out.”

Objects sailed. One hit Laurel
’s arm and she screamed out, “There’s my proof. Everything I’ve said about you is right. You try to get me out of the house, and we’ll see what the courts have to say about it, and about you and your competency.”

Laurel was
no more than a blur as she went to the door.

It was as if
Frannie could see that child standing alongside the woman, a sickly woman with a child no one wanted.

She
ran to the door, flung it open and chased Laurel down the stairs. “Wait. Wait! Was the child a boy or a girl? What was the child’s name?”

She saw in Laurel
’s face that she was considering not answering.

“
Tell me.”

“
They all look alike at that age.” She got into the car and slammed the door.

It. Was.
IS.

Deep night dwelled
inside Frannie’s head. It was a cave void of light and feeling, for good or ill. She pulled herself back up the stairs and slammed the door. She scrambled down the hall running her hands along the wall to steady herself and found her way into the bathroom.

She tried splashing cold water on her face, but
ruthless spasms gripped her stomach. She held on to the sink and lowered herself to the tile floor, leaned over the toilet and lost every bit of barbecue and hush puppies still in her system, and then some. She retched long after there was nothing more to give, and her stomach, her whole body, felt twisted and battered.

When she was done, it was no longer black in her head, but the room was dark. This was a natural dark. She lay down on the floor and curled up, her face resting on the small, cotton
bath mat, and she cried.

L
ater, dazed, seeking normalcy in simple, everyday acts, she rinsed her face and mouth, and dragged a brush through her hair. It didn’t work. She did manage to successfully complete an important task, but only because he didn’t answer the phone and she could leave a message.

“
Mr. Hamilton? This is Frannie Denman. I’ve learned that Frances Cooke may have had another child. If so, it would have been born a few years after me. Not many. Maybe two to five years after. Laurel, my stepmother, saw the child with Frances when I was seven. I don’t know whether it was a boy or girl, and I don’t know if Frances was using Denman as her last name, or Cooke, or some other name. Sorry, that’s all I the info I have. Will you look into it? Thanks.”

Outside
was the night. Stars hung suspended above, and darkness filled in and all around, like being in a well, a well of cold, brisk air. It washed against her face and cooled her pounding head. Anger, base anger, even if it was righteous, was a poison—if that kind of base, dirt-throwing anger could ever be righteous.

With the sofa blanket around her shoulders, she left the porch and climbed the outside stairs toward the points of light overhead. She could almost reach those beacons by standing on the deck above the house, leaning against the railing and straining, reaching heavenward. They tantalized,
just beyond the tips of her fingers. A deep night beneath a vast sky, somewhere in which to hide. From others, from herself? Alone, lost in the dark belly of night, only to find she’d taken her faults with her. It was true.

She was ashamed. Per her usual style, she
’d handled a delicate situation with a nuclear strike. She had no right to be so critical of Laurel when, she herself, was so far removed from common sense and objectivity, or from a reasonable response, from actions that were appropriate to the situation.

Or hypocrisy. She
’d been busy re-making her uncle’s home, without asking him, assuming he’d be pleased if he made it back home, and if he didn’t it would be easier to sell. Talk about cold practicality.

She
’d meant well. She didn’t think she could say the same for Laurel.

Admitting her errors didn
’t change that she was right about a few things, like living on her own. The relationship between them was toxic. Time and distance might improve that. Might not. But only the attempt would answer that question.

She drew her hands back and crossed her arms, wrapping then in the blanket, holding them tightly to her body. She shivered
, but her brain was regaining its better nature, so she lingered.

Starlight ruled above. Below, a few ships
’ lights dotted the black water. No contest. God in his universe. A touch of God. A desperate yearning that in times of anger and frustration, she would remember God. Guilt that she often forgot to turn to God when things were good.

She didn
’t need to be alone. She didn’t need to try to manage alone.

Frannie knelt at the railing.
The wood was damp and cool against her forehead. Who was up there among the stars? Her father? Frances, the mother who wasn’t? Here on earth? Laurel. No wonder she, Frannie, was so screwed up. She laughed and then realized she was crying instead, huddled in her blanket on Uncle Will’s cold, exposed, beach house version of a widow’s walk.

No father, no mother. Who else? A sibling? A sister or brother? Whether half or whole, there was a sibling. Hopefully, one who was still earth
bound. She needed more than Laurel, and even Will, to claim as family.

“
Fran? You okay?”

She hadn
’t heard the stairs creak. She pushed her hair back out of her face with her forearm.

“
Yeah. I’m good. I was out here admiring celestial bodies, Orion and such.”

He knelt next to her.
“You’re cold.”

She pulled the blanket tighter.
“I was, but I think it’s actually warming up out here.”

“
You’re too cold to feel it now.”

Brian
stood, somehow pulling her to her feet along with him. It was a graceful act and it amazed her, as did his presence.

“
Where’d you come from?”

“
From down there with the rest of the mortals. Nothing celestial about me.”

“
I mean, why did you come back?”

“
Let’s call it curiosity.”

“
If you say so. How did you know I was up here?”

“
Your front door was wide open. You weren’t inside and your car was still parked out back.”

He put his arm around her in a brotherly way. She didn
’t want to make more of it than that.

“
Now I’m warmer.” And she was. That tiny snide voice of Laurel’s tried to weasel in. She refused to allow it. “Did I really leave the front door open?”

“
Yes. I shut it. I left it unlocked.”

“
Good. I didn’t bring a key with me.”

How quickly could a person
’s world shift? This quickly? Could it be true? Or was she about to be slapped down again? She felt good, really good, tucked into the crook of Brian’s arm.

“
Did you come back tonight because you thought I might have chucked Laurel off the widow’s walk?”

Brian laughed.
“Observation deck, it’s called. Although, there’s a certain kind of symmetry to Laurel and a widow’s walk.” He looked up at the stars and laughed. Frannie laughed with him.

“
You know what this really is?” she asked. “Feel the wind against your face. Hear the ocean. Smell the salt. It almost feels like we’re moving. This is Will’s deck. His ship. His
Captain’s Walk
.”

He didn
’t speak, but tightened his arm around her.

Encouraged, she looked up into his eyes and said,
“Brian, there’s something I want to tell you. Will you stay with me awhile?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was late and he
’d found her freezing up on the observation deck, had barely figured out she was all right, and now she had ‘something to tell him’? Those words had the quality of an understatement.

She added,
“But first, before I step inside with you, into the light, I need to go wash my face again and maybe do a better job with the hair brush. It’s been a rough afternoon and evening. I don’t think my ego can survive lamplight without a little help.”

“
By all means, go ahead.”

“
You’ll wait for me?”

“
If you’ll let me in the house where it’s warmer, yes, I’ll wait.”

She went in ahead of him and disappeared down the hallway
. The blanket swept the floor like a long cape.

He sat at the table, then half-stood when he thought he heard a loud cry. He listened intently and hearing nothing else, he settled back into the chair.