Sweet Tea and Secrets (13 page)

“Stop it, Bradley. You’re pushing me. I’m not sure I want to sell this place. A month ago, maybe, but now? I’m not so sure. And speaking of unsure, I’m beginning to wonder what direction our relationship is going. I need some time.”

“This is about Malloy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not Garrett. It’s you. I’ve just experienced a terrible loss. I needed you and you weren’t there for me. All you ever think about is you, you, you.”

An awkward silence settled between them. She hadn’t meant to start a fight, but she’d gone and had her say now.

“My other line is ringing,” Jill lied. She chewed on her bottom lip—she was a terrible liar. “Bradley, I’ll give you a call later.”

“Come home, baby.”

“Talk to ya’ later.” As she hung up, she noticed the voice mail envelope lit on her phone. She petted Clyde on the head. “Don’t look at me like that. It was just a little white lie. I could tell you wanted to go outside soon. Besides you owe me, man. I’ve taken good care of you.” She grabbed his chin with both hands and kissed him on the nose.

Clyde flapped his ears as if he didn’t agree.

Jill dialed in to retrieve the message. Josh, her assistant at the Kase Foundation had left the voice mail. He gave her the final numbers for the fundraiser, which were awesome, and confirmed he’d deposited all proceeds into the special holding account she’d set up until she could get back and verify all the balancing he’d done. He was leaving for a week on the vacation she’d promised him in appreciation for all the hard work he’d done helping her get ready for the big event.

A vehicle crunched down the driveway into the yard. Clyde ran to the door, shaking the tables and jiggling everything on them as he passed.

She stepped on the front porch. Her heart responded with a somersault when she saw Garrett in the truck. “Good Morning.”

Garrett stepped out of his truck and leaned on the door. “Thought I’d stop by to see if you needed anything while I was in town this morning?”

“Nope. I think we’re fine, but thanks for stopping by and asking.”

“You’re welcome.” He dipped his hat in a cowboy sort of way.

“Want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“No time. I need to run by my office before a meeting in town. I’ll stop by later this afternoon, though. Is that okay?”

She hesitated, knowing she was beginning to tread on tricky ground. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

Garrett cocked his head to the side. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“No,” she answered too quickly. “Well, I don’t know. I feel funny about you being here the other night. I mean, I know you were just being nice and all, but I shouldn’t have let you stay.”

He ran his fingers across his chin. “Well, don’t make more of that night than it was.”

“Oh I wasn’t. I just wanted to be sure you weren’t.”

“No. I was just comforting a friend.”

She shrugged. “Well, then okay.”

“I’ll see you later?” he asked.

“Yeah. See you then.” She stood there watching long after Garrett’s truck had cleared the end of the drive.

Jill went inside, shut the door, and headed to the bathroom to run a bath in the big cast iron tub. She’d never appreciated how deep the tub was until she’d bathed in one of those updated fiberglass models in hotels that were barely deep enough to cover your parts.

As she walked down the hall to get something to wear from Pearl’s dresser, the string dangling from the attic stairs caught her attention.

Wonder what neat stuff might still be up there?

She pushed the nostalgic thought aside. Since her luggage was gone, she rummaged through Pearl’s bedroom dresser drawers for something that might fit. She and Pearl were about the same size, thank goodness. She took out a pair of white panties from the drawer. For a small size they sure did have a lot of material. Granny panties.

“Great,” she said. “Pretty underwear would have been too much to hope for.” She swept her hair back in a pony tail and went back into the bathroom where Clyde lapped up the warm water from the tub. She swatted him with the panties and he trotted out. Slowly, she sank into the tub, trying to shake off the last of the nagging doubts that kept surfacing about her life. She soaked so long her skin turned as wrinkly as a Shar-Pei.

After the water had turned tepid, Jill toweled off and put on a pair of old-lady polyester pants and wriggled into a t-shirt with a logo for a senior’s church outing screen printed across the front. She folded the bottom edge of the shirt under and turned up the sleeves to drive down the frumpy factor.

Clyde filled the hall in front of the bathroom door, sprawled from one end to the other on his belly. She’d learned to leave the doors open because he whimpered when he couldn’t see her. How could anything that big be such a sissy?

She stepped over him and the attic string caught her eye once again. With nothing else to do, she tugged the string, but the stairs didn’t budge. More determined than curious, she recalled the attic access door in the closet in the upstairs bedroom. As a child, just knowing that access door was there used to freak her out, forcing her to close the door to her bedroom across the hall to get a good night’s sleep.

Jill headed upstairs with Clyde right behind her. The closet was practically empty. She stepped toward the door. It seemed less ominous than she’d remembered it. The door latch was stiff, but after a couple of good wiggles the metal gave way and slid over. She opened the door. As she began to step through the doorway, Clyde rushed to her side and pushed his nose next to her to slide through first.

“No. You wait for me here. You’ll just make mud out of all the dust with your drool, even with your fancy pink bib.”

Clyde spread out on the floor. His tan eyebrows wiggled with a don’t-leave-me-this-way expression. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he took exception to the pink towel comment.

“You’re a player, Clyde.” She turned her back on his sad eyes and stepped into the attic. The string that hung from the single bulb was here somewhere. Over the years, she’d steered clear of the creepy attic, except for the few times Pearl asked her to retrieve or store the holiday ornaments. On those occasions, she’d placed the boxes just inside the door so she didn’t have to venture inside too far. Swishing her hand in the air, she finally caught the string and tugged. The single bulb came to life, swinging side-to-side casting light and shadow across the dusty space.

Jill blinked as her eyes adjusted. Holiday boxes were piled high against the far wall, deep to one side. Everything was clearly marked with big letters. Pearl was organized like that.

The attic didn’t feel quite as scary now as it had when she was younger. She lifted the top off the first box she came to. Glass Christmas ornaments, each wrapped in delicate, yellowed tissue paper that had seen better days. She lifted one out of the box and let it swing on its hook between her fingers. Mostly turquoise, purple and magenta, the only thing that symbolized the winter holiday were the once-white nubby snowflakes that bordered the rim. The brightest colored ornaments had always been her favorite. She started a small pile of the chipped and broken ones as she sorted through the box. These were from a time before everybody expected reds and greens to be the dominant colors on a Christmas tree. Like Pearl, they broke all the rules, but were that much more special because of it.

Tradition ruled in the Clemmons’ house at Christmas, like these ornaments. Digging through the box, each item triggered a memory. A cheerleader ornament glimmered in Jill’s high school colors of red and blue. She wrapped the treasure carefully and set it aside. A red plastic oval with a picture of her and Garrett on Santa’s lap at a Ruritan Christmas Dinner. They’d been about nineteen then.
How did I ever talk him into sitting on Santa’s lap?
This was blackmail material. She made a mental note to be sure she passed the ornament along to his mom. That picture would be hilarious in a video montage. She took her time tucking each item safely back, then slid the box across the dusty wooden planks to where she’d found it.

Jill slapped the dust from the back of her pants and eased toward the middle of the attic. At least a dozen hangers hung over a two-by-four rafter. Each held a flag by the corners with wooden clothespins. Flipping through them, Jill picked out an embroidered flag with a bright green ruby-throated hummingbird hovering over a huge pink hibiscus with 3-D silk leaves. She’d hang that one out front.

How could she pack this stuff up? Everything held a fond memory with Pearl. Memories the two of them had made along the way.

Walking deeper into the attic, she ducked to clear the lower eaves in the corner near the dormer window. The attic floor squeaked beneath her feet as she swatted cobwebs out of the way. A large wooden trunk sat under the window. Several smaller boxes, secured with gray duct tape, were stacked on top of it.

She lifted the first box. The tape had lost its sticky in the heat and pulled back easily. Inside, a layer of tissue paper and cedar blocks protected a soft thin handmade blanket, booties and a white christening gown. She lifted them out and held them up, imagining how tiny the baby must have been to have worn them.

In the bottom of the box there was something else. A baby book. She carried it underneath the light bulb and flipped through the pages. The baby book held brittle black and white photos. The pictures of a much younger Pearl made her laugh. Her dark hair was fastidiously styled in finger curls, and she held a laughing infant. Daddy. She’d never seen many pictures of him as a child. One page was nothing but pictures of him naked in the tub. These days they’d throw you in jail for pictures like these. It had been a safer time back then, people thought pictures like these were cute and innocent, and they were.

It got hotter the higher the sun rose in the sky. Jill mopped her forehead with the bottom of her t-shirt, then carried the box of baby stuff to put it with the others she’d already explored.

The attic door slammed.

Jill yelped, dropping the box.

Clyde whined, and she realized the noise was just the attic door slamming. “Clyde, you crazy dog. You scared the puddin’ out of me. That tail of yours is a dangerous nuisance. It should have to be registered as a weapon.”

She put the box away, then went to prop the door back open to get a little air.

When she tried the door, it didn’t budge.

She pushed and then pulled.

Clyde whimpered on the other side.

A swift kick didn’t do anything but jam her big toe. She jiggled and shook the handle, trying not to panic.

The hinges were on the other side, so that was no help. Leaning against one of the support beams, she looked around for options. The stairs used to unfold to the hallway. They hadn’t opened when she tugged on the string from downstairs earlier, but maybe if she pushed from here, they would. She stepped carefully on top of the door and pushed it with one foot, then held onto one of the rafters and jumped, dropping her full weight on it. Still not so much as a creak of hope. Kneeling beside the door, she ran her fingers across the dusty boards that framed the opening. Screws secured the old access closed.

Jill took off her shirt and dried her damp skin with it. She couldn’t stay up here in this heat much longer. Clyde whined and scratched at the door, but no matter how much she jiggled, lifted or pushed, the door still didn’t budge.

She scanned the attic for tools—a screwdriver, hammer, or anything that might help set her free. Slim pickings up here, but there was a tall metal floor lamp in the corner. She spun the lamp on its round base towards the stairs. The heavy metal prongs might work like a screwdriver, but removing the screws that held the hall attic access in place didn’t prove effective. She moved the lamp closer to the door then heaved its heavy base and rammed it against the door as hard as she could. But this wasn’t a cheap luan door. Heck no, she couldn’t be that lucky. The door was solid wood and the lamp barely marred it.

Jill sat with her back against the door. She could smash the octagon window at the end of the attic, but she wasn’t sure she could fit through the opening. Even if she could — it would be a second story jump to the ground. Definitely, a last resort.

She carried the lamp to where the floor of the attic wasn’t finished—over Pearl’s bedroom. She hated to tear up the house, but she was running out of options.

As she swept the blown insulation aside to reveal the joists, the nasty recycled fibers clung to her sweaty body like Velcro. She managed to clear a space, then swung the lamp towards that spot. The angle of the roof prevented her from getting momentum to make an impact. This might not work, either. She took a deep breath and pounded the lamp against the floor again, crying out a karate kia for extra power. It cracked. Another joust with all her might, and light poured through the hole from Pearl’s bedroom below.