The Witch of Belladonna Bay (30 page)

She used to say, “We've just come out from under all the tragedy that woman and her ways brought down on the heads of this family and this town. I'll be dead in that cove if it happens again. You keep your ways still. You hear me? Control them. Tamp them down. It's a bad, bad thing.”

And when I was little, I'd argue with her. Kind of like Byrd.

“But you have talents, and so do others in this town. What's the matter with mine? What makes me different?”

“You're a distorted version of who we're supposed to be, Naomi. And that's all there is to it. Harsh or not, it's the truth. If you don't listen to me, I promise you'll bring hell down on those you love. You already chased your own mother away by being born. That was my daughter,
my daughter.
”

Minerva would usually come in and defend me, but I still heard my grandmother in my heart. It's one of the reasons the drugs took hold, they helped me create a wall, and the voice would go quiet.

My bond with my children when they were babies was entirely different. But when they got big, around three or four, I used to look for them. I'd find these bigger, independent, sticky little people and think,
Where did my babies go? Who took them?

For a long time I blamed Grant for taking Bronwyn. And I feared his deep affection for her. I could tell, especially when I was coming off the opium and could feel the thoughts again, that his love for her was extraordinary. Once in a lifetime. And I didn't want that for her. She'd drown in it.

But I was wrong about my children. I was wrong about everything.

No one took them from me. I left them. Like my mother left me when I was a baby. Like my gran left me to rot in that asylum. Like Jackson left me when he drank too much … which was all the time.

But because I couldn't see what I was really doing, I blamed them, my children, and all who loved them. I threw the blame around like mean confetti, when it was my fault all along.

Oh, why couldn't I fly with the birds when I died? Why did I have to face all the truths when I had no way to fix them?

Instead of flying, I climbed up inside of Esther and moved my hands over her old, aching branches. I perched there and watched as my family fell apart.

Esther told me if I waited till the lights over Belladonna Bay turned a silver pink and shone in the daytime, that I'd be set free. That if I waited, was patient, I'd find whatever my spirit was waiting to find, and then be able to cross over into the light of the in between.

“You can't help her until she asks for you, Naomi,” she'd whispered.

I'm tired, Bronwyn … so tired of lingering here with no voice, and reliving a past I can't change. Help me, sweet girl. Help me find my way home.

Forgive me, BitsyWyn and then ask for me.…

 

25

Wyn

 

You don't promise a ghost something and then go back on it, you just don't.

Ben and Jackson were waiting for me when I came out of the mist. It felt like I'd been gone for days, but they told me it was only a small stretch of minutes.

“I tried to go after you, sugar. I did, but that mist was choking me. Ben here pulled me out. Why'd you go there?”

“Jackson, I need you to be calm,” I said. “Byrd's over there. I went to get her.”

He looked at me with that sort of confusion that comes over you when your heart doesn't want to hear whatever someone is saying into your brain.

“Did you find her?” he asked.

“Yes and no. You have to trust me, okay?”

I looked at Ben, who was staring off toward Belladonna Bay. Not even looking at me. Something was confusing him, too. I wanted him far away. I knew it wasn't fair; he hadn't brought any of this trouble. But I needed to be angry at someone, and he
was
the easiest mark.

That's when I read Ben's mind, and my heart went haywire.

I didn't know this would happen, she's not safe. I've been so selfish. This is my job, why am I not doing my job? Forget you love her, forget you love her … help them.

His feelings had muddled up his instincts about everything. I was furious.

I turned to Jackson.

“Come on, Daddy, we gotta talk.”

“Now? Have you lost your mind, Byrd's out there,” he said.

“Daddy, if you'd let yourself feel anything real for once, you'd know I wouldn't be back without her if I'd had a choice. I can't get to her until I've solved this mess. At least, that's what Lottie said.”

“But she's … oh. Now
you
see them, too. Okay,” he said, sort of breathless, “Okay. But Jaysus, I need a drink first. I haven't been this sober in forty years, and it ain't right.”

He turned to Ben as we walked up the short path to my porch steps. “Don't take your eyes off that mist, young man. Byrd could need us at any moment.”

“I know, sir. I know,” said Ben.

I wanted to drop-kick him all the way back to New York. Because I was done playing with all of that righteous, brave bullshit. I had a job to do, too.

You'll get it done, I have faith in you,
he said, right into my mind.

Strange ways could give a person a serious headache. “Get outta my head, Ben Mason!” I shouted. He didn't turn around.

*   *   *

“What's that all about?” asked Jackson as we settled on the porch.

“Trouble in paradise,” I said, flipping on the switch for the fans. The white noise helped clear my head. Then I poured us both a drink, morning or not, and told him what Lottie had said. Only I left out the “she might die if I don't solve this thing soon” part, because he'd run over there himself and get his breath taken, too. And I loved him. So that wouldn't do at
all
.

“So you have to find Jamie,” he said. “Shit, darlin' … we seem to be trapped in a box of sorts. If we don't find his body, we lose Byrd. If we do find him, we lose Paddy to the electric chair. It's a Solomon kind of decision, don't you think?”

My father. I knew what he wanted to do more than anything. He wanted to go back to the Big House, grab a fishing line, two cases of beer ('cause beer's for fishin', don't you know), and forget his life entirely. I couldn't let him do that. Not yet.

“If there's anything you know that you haven't said, Daddy, tell me now.”

“What are you hinting at, sugar?”

“Did you know Grant was Jamie's father? You had to have known. No one's born here without your damn
permission.”

“Yes. I knew. But how does that help us? I was tryin' to keep a secret that belonged to a dead woman. I ain't lost my chivalry yet.”

“But what if he did it, Jackson? What if he killed them? I swear I don't want to believe it, either.”

“In all honesty, Wyn, that boy couldn't have done it. I believe it just like I believe Paddy couldn't have. I know them both, inside and out. He just didn't.”

Jackson took a long sip and seemed to get his thoughts together, “There's a fine line between right and wrong and good and bad. And it's blurred all the time. You should know this better than most. Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, Wyn. You can be a hero and not be healthy. Grant was always tryin' to be something he wasn't after you left.”

My stomach soured. I didn't think Grant could have done it, either. But I needed to get the case reopened.

So I told him everything. I told him about the fight between Grant and Charlotte; about the message on her answering machine, about my plan to use that evidence as some kind of probable doubt.

“I knew you'd think of somethin', sugar. But don't it feel like robbin' Peter to pay Paul? And I'm not sure it's enough to get the case opened again. It's sealed tight right now. We'd need a witness, a murder weapon … all that forensic bullshit.”

“All I know is that I have to find Jamie, and I have to find him fast. Once I do, a brand-new trial will open up, and then we have … Grant.”

“It's a sad day, ain't it, darlin'?”

“For sure, Daddy. But I have to try and protect everyone at the same time. So, can you think of anyone else who might be able to help?” I asked.

Jackson finished his drink and poured himself another. “Stick. I know, I know … he's a little lazy and scratchy, but he might know more than he thinks he does.”

“You're drinking too much, Daddy,” I said.

“Always,” said Jackson.

He sighed. The sun played across his blue eyes, showing the sadness. Everything stilled for a moment, and I held him. We rocked on the swing, together again.

There's a particular type of magic between fathers and daughters. I'd seen it in photographs I'd taken. And I felt it when I was little. A golden bond. Innocent and free. The purest sort of love. But it comes with a price. If the love is abused, there is no greater abuse. But right then, I knew that Jackson had done his best. He'd let me go, and he'd taken care of me at the same time. Somehow, through all of my nonsense, he'd protected me even when I didn't know he was there. He hadn't ever forgotten about me. He'd thought about me every day for fourteen years. Blame can make a person so damn blind.

Minerva and Carter showed up while we rocked and paced with quiet worry.

I was the only one who knew we were running out of time. I snuck away while Jackson told them what happened and called Stick at the sheriff's office but got the machine. I turned his card over and tried his home phone, no answer there either.

I burst back onto the porch, letting everything around me slam. Patience may have been Bronwyn's best trait, but BitsyWyn Whalen had none of it.

“I'm going into town to find Stick,” I said.

“No, you are not,” said Minerva. “Today is his day when he goes to see his mother in Mexico Beach. He stays over. It's a five-hour drive. You can see him first thing in the morning.”

First thing in the morning might not work because I'm running out of time!
I wanted to scream but couldn't seem to say much. Then I looked at Carter, who couldn't make eye contact with me. My opinion of him wavered again. And a thought as clear as anything occurred to me.

Carter. He knew something. That's why he'd been trying to push me away and pull me in, all at the same time.

Cup holders.
Damn cup holders.

I'd driven my Subaru in upstate New York for two years and the only thing I didn't like about it was there were no damn cup holders. One day, Ben was driving and we stopped for coffee. He pushed a little button next to the radio and
poof!
Cup holders popped out from the dashboard. I was astonished.

“You always overlook the things in front of you, Bronwyn.” He'd laughed. We'd laughed together that day.

Carter. Standing in front of me. If you looked up the word
obtuse,
my picture
would
be next to it.

I was going to find out what he was hiding if it took all night. For me, for Byrd, for Patrick. What had that foul man done?

*   *   *

The day dripped past us slow. I tried several times to get Carter alone, but he's a clever son of a bitch. I tried to read his mind, but I could Feel Minny in there, protecting him. Not for any other reason but pure love. I respected that. I made a quick dinner with Minerva, pasta puttanesca, a favorite of mine growing up. Fresh tomatoes, olives, capers, garlic, and onions. All fried up in olive oil and then tossed together with pasta. The smell of it cooking was rich and decadent. But none of us had much of an appetite. As soon as the sun set, we all wanted to turn in. No one seemed to be going back up to the Big House. A big, solemn slumber party was unfolding. Byrd would have loved it.

“I'll sleep on the porch,” said Ben.

“Fine with me,” I said.

Jackson was passed out in an armchair, his legs on an ottoman. Minerva had the couch pulled out, putting linens on it for her and Carter.

“Carter?” I asked straight out, tired of trying to coax him into anything.

“Yes?”

“I want to speak with you.”

Minerva looked at me, a quiet suspicion in her eyes.

“Don't look at me like that, Minerva,” I said. “I'm not gonna kill him … yet.”

Carter looked around for an escape, but Minerva motioned for him to follow me. So he did. We went into my bedroom, and I closed the door.

“Tell me what you know, Carter. I'm sick of playing cat and mouse with you. Sick of it.”

He sat on the edge of my bed.

“Look,” I said. “I know Paddy thinks Byrd did it. Hell, Byrd told me she thought she did when I first got here. I kept her secret, you know. I can keep them. Tell me. I know Paddy was lying about something yesterday. And you know what that is, so tell me now or I'll knock your teeth out.”

“Wyn, there's nothing I can say.”

“But you don't have to protect her anymore, if that's what you're doing. I know she didn't do anything. So just tell me. Goddamn it, Carter. I need to know. It's important.”

“Look,” he said, “I made a promise to Paddy. I love him like he's my own flesh and blood. And I've seen, firsthand, what broken promises do to that boy. I won't say one word unless I'm damn sure we're wrong about Byrd. So you can go ahead and knock these teeth out if you want.”

And he left.

Broken promises …
he'd been talking about me. About my promise to always be there for Paddy.

I was out of arguments.

*   *   *

“Bronwyn!”

I woke to Ben yelling in the silver light of early morning. I ran into the living room. Jackson had already jumped up out of his chair. I looked for Minerva and Carter, but they were nowhere in sight.

My father and I ran to the creek to see Ben giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to my little niece, who was as blue as a stillborn baby.