Her Sister's Shoes (19 page)

“I’m pretty sure Finley Hall will be looking for a new dance instructor. Is there any chance you might be interested?” Kate asked Jackie as they were cutting the last slice of cake.

“Me?” Jackie asked, licking the icing from her fingers. “I’m flattered, but dancing has never been anything more to me than a hobby. Anyway, I’m too old to be a dance instructor.”

“You underestimate yourself. I watched you line dance. You’re agile and light on your feet, and you’re not sweating nearly as much as the girls.”

Jackie laughed out loud. “You just can’t see the perspiration stains on this white blouse.”

“Well, you definitely have a special way with the girls.” Kate handed Jackie a slice of cake. “I’m probably premature in saying anything, but if you give me your number, I’ll certainly give you a call if something opens up.”

Kate removed her cell phone from her back pocket and entered the numbers as Jackie called them out to her.

Jackie finished her cake, said goodbye to the girls, and set off in the opposite direction of her car, not quite ready to face her empty house. She wandered aimlessly, thinking about the interesting twist the day had brought. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed losing herself in dance, in letting the music invade her mind and control her body. She’d forgotten about a lot of things that were once important to her. She’d connected with those little girls in a way she’d never connected with the twins’ friends. What did she know about baiting a hook or football penalties? Bill had always been the one to take them on Boy Scout hikes and overnight hunting trips. She’d answered Barbara Rutledge’s question honestly—the boys had always turned to their father first for everything, not just for advice. Sure, she’d been meticulous in planning their extracurricular activities. Because, the busier they were, the more free time she had for work. And all for what? She had nothing to show for the sixteen years she’d spent with Motte Interiors. No client base. No portfolio of magazine articles showcasing her talents. No reference, since she and Mimi had parted on such shaky terms. She’d have to find another job. And soon. Otherwise, she’d lose her mind to boredom.

She had circled back and was four blocks away from her car when Jackie spotted a sign advertising a guest cottage for rent. The main house was similar to Kate’s, narrow in the front but long and deep with a small side yard. She peeked through the iron gate, hoping for a better view.

“Would you like to have a look?” a squeaky voice from the porch above called down.

Shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun, Jackie stared up at the elderly woman. “I don’t have much need for a guest cottage at the moment, as charming as this one appears.”

The woman came down from the porch, moving with surprising agility for someone her age. “The natural light is wonderful, the perfect space for an artist.” She opened the iron gate and waited for Jackie to walk through. “Do you paint?”

Jackie surprised herself by saying, “No, I’m a dancer.”

“With hardwood floors, this cottage would make for a wonderful dance studio. Of course you’d have to move all the furniture out, which you might want to do anyway if you have your own things. Furnished or unfurnished. I aim to please.”

Jackie stopped in the middle of the gravel path. “I’m sure it’s lovely, but really, I don’t have any need for a cottage.”

The woman looped her arm through Jackie’s. “Let me show it to you anyway. Word of mouth is the best advertising. You never know when you’ll come across someone looking for a place just like this.”

Jackie allowed herself to be dragged toward the cottage. She was never one to turn down a house tour, especially one of an antebellum home, even if this was the guest cottage out back.

“I’m Clara, by the way. Clara Graves.” The old woman unlocked the side door of the cottage.

“And I’m Jacqueline Hart. Very nice to meet you.”

They entered a small eat-in kitchen. “Kitchen’s a little outdated,” Clara said, “but all the appliances are in good working order.”

Outdated?
Try vintage late ’60s with lime-green Formica countertops and a lemon-yellow linoleum floor. At least it appeared to be clean.

She followed Clara through a short paneled hallway into the living room. Jackie gasped. With big picture windows stretching across the front and french doors leading to a private terrace on the back, the room offered the most amazing natural light of any room Jackie had ever seen. “It’s stunning. Why would you ever want to rent this out? Surely you must have family or friends who need a place to stay when they come to visit.”

“Both my daughter and son live on the West Coast. They don’t come this way very often, but when they do, there’s plenty of room for them to stay in the main house. Come on, let me show you the rest.”

The tour upstairs revealed only two bedrooms and one shared bath. The sunlight filled the bedrooms from dormer windows on both sides of the house. Jackie imagined setting up the smaller of the two as a dance studio and using the main room downstairs as a combination living/work room.

Was she really considering going into business for herself?

“My husband recently passed away after a long illness,” Clara said. “I’ve been cooped up here for so long, taking care of him. Not that I minded, you understand. I loved my dear old Howard, God rest his soul.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Clara blinked away her tears. “I’ve been taking care of other people for most of my life, first my children, then my husband. I decided it was time for me to pamper myself a little before I die.”

Thinking about how quickly time goes by, Jackie couldn’t help but imagine herself in Clara’s shoes.

“Do you have big plans? To pamper yourself, I mean?”

Clara spread her arms wide. “I’m planning to travel the world. I have several trips planned for this fall—a three-week vacation in Europe with some friends in September followed by an extended trip to California to visit my children for the holidays. My hope is to find someone to rent the cottage before I leave, to help look after things in the main house while I’m gone.” A mischievous twinkle appeared in her eyes. “So … are you interested?”

Jackie laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing. But at the same time, she was intrigued by the idea of having her own little hideaway.

“I’m tempted, Mrs. Graves.” She let out a deep breath. “I live in Prospect, and I’ve recently separated from my husband. My boys are still in high school, but they are basically self-sufficient. Seeing your charming cottage has made me realize how much I need a fresh start.”

Jackie waited while Clara turned out the lights and locked the side door. “It’s not about the rent money, Jacqueline, if that makes a difference to you. We can work out a price that fits your budget. The most important thing is for me to find a nice person, such as yourself, that I can trust to take care of things in my absence.”

She handed Jackie an old-fashioned calling card, embossed with only her name, address, and phone number. “If you think you might be interested, I’d be happy to hold it awhile for you.”

Jackie searched her bag for a pen and a scrap of paper. She jotted down her cell phone number. “I need a couple of weeks to think about it, at least until my boys get back from camp and I have a chance to talk to them.” She handed the number to Clara. “I couldn’t ask you to hold it for me, but I’d appreciate it if you would call me before you rent it to someone else.”

Twenty-Four

Faith

A
fter Tuesday night’s
rain, the clouds lingered well into the afternoon on Wednesday, casting a somber mood over the household. Faith suggested going to the movies or bowling, which probably wasn’t a good choice considering Jamie’s condition. When the sun finally came out around three o’clock, she tried to convince them to go fishing down at the pier, but neither child could be persuaded off the couch, away from their game box.

Determined not to spend another day cooped up in her sister’s house with a sulky teenager and traumatized child, Faith packed a picnic and loaded the kids in the car for a trip to the beach on Thursday.

Faith had begun to feel more like her old self. The bruising and swelling on her face was almost gone and the soreness around her broken ribs had lessened. She even managed to get Jamie’s chair into the bed of the truck, although she
hadn’t
considered how difficult it might be to maneuver the wheels through the thick sand at the beach.

Once Jamie was settled, with Bitsy playing in the sand at his feet, Faith made several trips to the car for their supplies—towels and chairs, picnic basket and a cooler, plus the assortment of buckets and shovels Bitsy had discovered yesterday in Sam’s garage.

For the rest of the morning, Bitsy played at the water’s edge while Faith flipped through the current issue of
People
magazine. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept tabs on Jamie, who was staring at the ocean in deep thought. When he ran the back of his hand over his eyes, as if to wipe away tears, she put down the magazine and debated whether to say the things she’d been wanting to say to him for days.

She wrapped her hand around Jamie’s. “If there’s something on your mind you want to talk about …”

He glanced down at their hands, then up at her. “No offense, Aunt Faith, but I’m tired of talking.” He pulled his hand away. “It doesn’t do any
good.”

“Depends on who’s doing the talking and who’s doing the
listening.”

He studied her face, as though trying to decide whether he could trust her, then returned his attention to the crashing
waves.

“According to your mom, your last MRI showed that your spinal cord has healed. The doctors think something’s holding you back from walking again. Do you want to talk about what that something
is?”

His shoulders drooped and he hung his head. “It’s not that
easy.”

“Nothing in life worth having ever is. These things take time. And you’re a gifted athlete. You, of all people, should understand how hard physical work can pay
off.”

“This is different. My mind wants to believe I can do it, but the rest of my body won’t
cooperate.”

“What about your heart?” she
asked.

“What does my heart have to do with
anything?”

“You have to trust in your heart that you can accomplish your goals, then let the rest of your body do the
work.”

Tears welled in
his
eyes.

She reached for his hand again. This time he did not pull away. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Your heart won’t give your body permission to move
on?”

“Pretty much,” he said, biting his lower
lip.

“Let it go, Jamie. There’s no one here but you and me.” Faith glanced over at her daughter who was dancing in the edge of the
surf.

Faith scooted her chair closer and rubbed his head, cooing soft words of encouragement for a good ten minutes, while he cried. Finally, he reached for a beach towel and wiped his
eyes.

“Feel better?” Faith
asked.

“I
guess.”

“The only way to get it out of your system is to give in to your grief.” She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, and felt the distant thumping of his heart. “Corey’s death was not your fault. You have to stop punishing yourself.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Deep down inside, you know how much he loved you. He would want you to go on living your life. He would want you to walk
again.”

He rested his head on the back of his chair. “I just can’t stop thinking about all the things Corey’s missing out on. All because of
me.”

“Answer me this. What if Corey had been driving the Gator and you were the one who’d been killed? Would you want him to bury himself in
guilt?”

“No, of course not.” He was silent for a minute. “I know what you’re saying is true, and I’ve tried to put myself in Corey’s shoes, many times. But it doesn’t
help.”

“Because you’re stuck. Sometimes when I’m feeling blue, I think of someone who’s worse off than me, and I try to put on a happy face. More often than not, going through the motions of trying to be happy makes me feel better in the
end.”

Jamie sniffled and wiped his nose with the towel. “When did you get so
smart?”

“Ha.” She sat back in her chair. “Have you looked at my face
lately?”

“You’re not going back to him are you, Aunt
Faith?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He jerked his head toward her. “That doesn’t sound very
convincing.”

“Like you said, it’s not that easy. I’m scared to death that, when the time comes, I won’t have the strength to stand up to him.” She reached for the cooler and
dragged it closer to her. “How about if we make a
deal?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

She handed him a pimento cheese sandwich. “I’ll help you find the courage to walk again, if you help me find the courage to stand up to
Curtis.”

He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “Throw in a bag of barbecue chips and a Dr. Pepper and you have a deal.”

She pinched his stuffed cheek. “I’m glad you shaved. You shouldn’t hide your handsome face behind all that scruffy beard.” She sat back, studying him. “I give a mean haircut, you
know.”