On Folly Beach (42 page)

With a deep breath, Emmy reached into the box and lifted out as many as she could, stacking them on the floor next to her to make her perusal of them a little easier. When she leaned in to reach for the next stack, she spotted a dark navy blue linen binding of what looked like a hardcover book.

Getting down on her knees, she lifted everything off of it and discovered a pristine copy of Gulliver’s Travels. When she held it in her hands, she realized that the cover was warped slightly, but the book didn’t seem to have any water damage. Tilting the book to view it from the top, she saw a slim space between the pages in the middle of the book, as if something had been stuck inside.

Gingerly, she placed the book on her lap and allowed it to fall open, the pages misshapen by memory automatically opening to the right spot and revealing a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds. It was pale blue, and thin, definitely not the heavy stock of today’s printer paper. The edges were folded crisply and cleanly and very straight, as if whoever had folded the letter had allowed their fingers to pinch the crease over and over as if in deep thought.

Emmy lifted the letter from the pages, momentarily surprised by how light it felt in her hand, somehow expecting it would bear the weight of the words within. She stared at the letter for a long moment, wondering if she could put it back and close the book, and never open it, understanding a little about how Heath felt.

Her thoughts turned to Ben, and the last time she’d seen him and how they hadn’t said good-bye. She nudged that thought the way a person might press a bruise to see if it had healed, wincing slightly because it wasn’t quite gone. When she thought of Ben and pictured his face, it was always that last scene in the doorway of her parents’ house, the way they’d said everything except good-bye. She closed her eyes, trying to get her troubled mind to see more clearly, to remember their final parting and to see the truth, no matter how hard it was.

Emmy listened to the quiet of the room, her temples beating with her pulse. She let out a breath of air as light seemed to penetrate the small space, forcing her eyes open. Staring at the folded letter, she remembered again in startling clarity the last time she’d seen Ben. Maybe that was why she kept hearing his footsteps; their incomplete parting had been like an unopened letter, and he was waiting for those final words. Maybe all of her indecision since then stemmed from that one omission.

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her wrists, and then, swallowing heavily, she opened the letter, unfolding each third until she could see all of it. The handwriting was one she hadn’t seen before, and she allowed her eyes to scan to the bottom of the page to see the signature. Catherine. Returning to the top of the page, Emmy began to read:

I know the truth, I’ve always known that you were really mine, but I throught if I tried hard enough, we could be happy. I’ve not given up, but I know that you have and it’s made me angry and no desire to live without you and you have no desire to live with me, wich leads me to believe that we are both better off with me dead. I think I really loved you, at least for a little while, I hope that is some consolation to you for all that I have wronged you. Forgive me.

Emmy read the note again, her mouth dry. Her first thought was to call Heath, but after remembering their last conversation, she knew she couldn’t. But then she recalled his parting words about calling her mother.

Carefully refolding the letter, Emmy took her cell phone from her pocket and dialed her parents’ home number. Her mother picked it up on the second ring.

“Emmy. This is a nice surprise.” The tone in Paige’s voice made Emmy believe that she was telling the truth. “Your father and I were just talking about you this weekend. We took a road trip to the Smokies to see the changing of the leaves. We had a lovely cabin but without cell phone coverage. We were wondering if you were missing the change of season in Folly.”

Emmy thought of the migrating ospreys and the sleeping marsh, and the way the colors of the cord grass had begun to change from green to yellow as its seeds clustered, then blew at the whim of the wind, and she realized she hadn’t missed the flame orange and russets of the trees she remembered from childhood.

“Maybe,” she said, trying to recall the last time her parents had ever gone anywhere. “The last few times I called, I ended up talking just to Dad, but I wanted to make sure that he passed on my thanks for the clothes you’ve been sending.”

“Yes, he did.” Paige’s voice seemed different, her Southern accent less pronounced and more flattened almost. Or maybe it was the same but Emmy had grown used to hearing the accent in its true original form. “Have you worn the bathing suit yet?”

Emmy paused. “No. Not yet. It just shows more skin than I’m used to.”

Emmy could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “Give it time. Just make sure you wear a T-shirt and shorts over it if you decide to go mattress surfing.”

“What?”

“Oh, just something we used to do as kids—figured they probably still did it as long as the cops aren’t around. You tie a mattress behind a car or truck on the beach and try to hang on.”

Emmy tried to picture her mother doing something like that, and only drew a blank. “Okay. I’ll try to remember that.” She shook her head, wondering what else her mother had never told her about growing up on Folly, and why she’d waited so long.

“You sound good, Emmy.”

“I feel good,” she said, not even having to think about it. “Things are . . . better. I’ve starting jogging. Well, half walking really. I hope to be running soon.”

“Really? You used to make fun of people who ran for exercise.”

“I know. Abigail’s son, Heath, he pretty much forced me. I’ve been going almost every morning and can do about three miles in a half walk, half run. It feels good.”

“I hope you’re wearing sun protection.”

Emmy smiled. “You sound like Ben.” They were both silent for a moment as if realizing that it was the first time she’d said Ben’s name so casually. They both seemed to wait a moment for the crush of grief to overwhelm her. Emmy still felt it, but it was softer now, the edges rounded by the life she’d begun to explore on Folly.

“Do you want me to go get Dad?”

“No. I actually called to speak with you about something.”

“About the store? Shoot.”

“No, actually. About the Reynolds family. I know you weren’t born until much later, but I was hoping you’d remember your mother or neighbors talking about something that happened here a long time ago.”

“About what?”

“You said you knew Maggie, Abigail’s mother-in-law, who used to own Folly’s Finds.”

“Well, I knew more of her, to be exact. I’d go in her store all the time as a child. I knew Lulu better because she was a lot younger.”

“Do you remember Maggie’s cousin, Catherine? They called her Cat.”

“I remember hearing of her, but never knew her—she died before I was born. During the war, I think.” Paige paused for a moment. “I seem to recall that there was something tragic about her death. She was very young—that could be it. But that’s all I remember. Abigail might know. Lulu definitely would, since she’s related to Catherine. Abigail didn’t move to Folly until high school. Why? Does this have something to do with the notes in those books?”

“I don’t know. But I found a letter stuck inside one of the books. It’s signed by Cat, and the handwriting is very different from the woman’s handwriting in the margin notes.”

“What kind of letter?”

Emmy took a breath. “Let me read it to you and you tell me what you think.” Slowly, she read the letter into the phone.

There was a long pause before her mother responded. “It’s a suicide note. There’s no doubt.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Could that have been the tragedy that you remembered?”

“I really don’t know. It happened so long ago, but I suppose my mother might have mentioned . . . something. You’ll have to ask someone else.”

“I’ll ask Abigail first. Lulu tends to be a bit elusive around me. Not one to give off the warm and fuzzies, you know?”

Paige chuckled, an unfamiliar sound to Emmy. “She’s always been that way. When she used to work in the store with her sister, she’d scare all of us children with the way she’d look at us without smiling. But I remember her sneaking me candy when my mama wasn’t looking. And she used to save books she thought I might like at the front counter for whenever I came in. They had a little lending library there for a while. I remember she was really into Nancy Drew. My mama told me that when Miss Lulu was younger, she’d go around Folly Beach with a magnifying glass and a flashlight, pretending she was a junior detective just like Nancy. I was never afraid of her after Mama told me that.”

Emmy frowned. “She’s never said anything to me about knowing you when you were a girl. I wonder why.”

Emmy imagined Paige shrugging. “I was married and living here then, but I remember people telling me that she went real into herself after Hugo—when her sister died. She was always quiet before, but she became almost a hermit. If it hadn’t been for Abigail and John and their kids, I don’t think that she would have made it.”

Emmy thought of Lulu in her bottle-tree garden, asking about Ben and telling Emmy that she was brave. There was so much about Lulu she didn’t know, had never even tried to know. The barrier Lulu had erected around herself was very effective. But surmountable. If only someone cared enough to try.

With renewed determination Emmy said, “I’ll talk to Lulu.”

“Would you let me know?

Emmy paused for a moment. “Sure.”

“You sound surprised that I’d be interested.”

“Well, I am. You never really looked beyond your store and house before.”

“Yeah, well. Things are . . . different since you left. It’s your father, mostly. He’s been bitten by the travel bug. We’ve been doing little weekend trips, but now he’s thinking about a visit to the Napa Valley. And then maybe Europe. We’ll see. But it’s been . . . reviving. I know that’s an odd word, but that’s how it feels. Like I’ve been taking shallow breaths for years and finally learned how to fill my lungs.”

Emmy understood. She’d felt the same way the first time she’d started running. “You could come back to Folly for a visit.”

There was silence on the line, and Emmy pictured her mother staring out the kitchen window at her bottle tree. “Yes, I know. We’ve . . . talked about it.”

Emmy leaned back against the checkout counter, remembering the jar of sand and the way it had smelled like the ocean. “Why have you never come back, except for funerals?”

The pause was long enough for Emmy to hear the slow progress of a car on the street in front of the store. “I don’t know, really. Maybe I figured if I returned, I’d realize how much I missed it, and how I’d want to stay. But returning forever was never an option. It would have felt like defeat, almost, to return—like I’d be forgetting all those babies and the good parts of my marriage. I didn’t want your father to know that I was tempted. There’s something so healing about being near the water, isn’t there? Makes you forget all the bad parts. But I couldn’t go back.”

“Was it all bad, Mama?”

“No, sweetheart.” There was a slight pause, the silence filled with Emmy’s heartbeat. “Because I had you.”

Emmy squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think of how long she’d been waiting for her mother to say that. Swallowing heavily, she opened her eyes and her gaze rested on the letter in her lap again. “I need to go show this letter to Abigail. And I guess I need to find Lulu to see what she remembers about Catherine.”

“You do that. It was good talking to you, Emmy. And don’t forget to let me know what you find out.”

“I won’t. And call me if you think about anything—anything to do with Folly Beach or anybody who once lived here. It might help.”

“I will. Good-bye, Emmy.”

Emmy said good-bye, then ended the call and considered why she didn’t feel so far from home anymore.

LULU STOOD IN THE DOORWAY to her shed behind Folly’s Finds, blinded momentarily by the brightness outside so that the interior of the shed seemed like an endless hole. She almost wished she could step inside and fall forever, like Alice from one of her favorite childhood books.

Lulu had awakened that morning after a fitful sleep, finally knowing what she had to do. Today was the party for Lizzie’s babies, and that Emmy woman would be there, asking her questions and thinking she needed to find the answers for herself and to solve her own problems. She just had no idea.

And the whole time Lulu had lain in the bed wondering what she was going to do. While she was remembering everything that had happened all those years ago, it hadn’t been Maggie’s eyes she’d seen, but Heath’s. When he’d shown her the box he’d found in the attic, he’d known—known that he’d pierced a hole into her past that nobody was ever supposed to find.

His eyes were understanding, but somehow wounded, too, accusing her of deliberately keeping her secret from him so he wouldn’t understand just how dangerous leaving your past open-ended could be.

She stepped inside the shed, blinking as if that would help her see. As she reached out blindly, her hand struck the row of hoes and rakes leaning against the interior wall, knocking them to the ground with a large crash.