Quite Dubious, page 1
Chapter One
Graciela
“Millie, you look gorgeous, as usual.” I roll my eyes at her in the bathroom mirror while Jack kicks his little feet in front of me on the bed. “And even if you didn’t, Brick has seen you covered in poop and breastmilk and nearly dead. I don’t think he’s going to be put off if a curl falls out of place.”
She ignores me, continuing to frown at a blond curl that does seem to have a mind of its own. It insists on facing the opposite direction of the others, but it truly doesn’t matter. My cousin is about the most beautiful girl in the state, always has been.
“That’s exactly why I’d like to look like some semblance of my old self, Grace.” Her light green eyes meet mine in the mirror. The change in color still startles me, even in my own reflection.
“You must really like him,” I observe. It’s totally obvious and has been for weeks, but despite the fact that the two of them have admitted there’s something going on other than a bond between struggling individuals, Millie has yet to express anything of the sort.
To me, anyway.
“Of course I like him,” she says, her lips barely moving as she applies mascara. “Do you seriously think I would let him spend so much time around Jack if I didn’t?”
I cast a appraising glance down at the baby, who leaks spit up and kicks some more. A rag is off my shoulder so that I can mop him up before it hits his outfit—his third of the day at six in the evening. “You know I love this kid, and I like to pretend he loves me back, but at this point I’m pretty sure he only cares about you.”
“And that’s only because he recognizes my scent and my heartbeat. And my boobs. I know. But I still wouldn’t let someone I didn’t like and trust take care of him.”
Amelia has turned out to be a more practical mother than I imagined. She reads all of the books and websites, but even though she’s enamored with Jack, she doesn’t romanticize much about what he is and isn’t capable of at five weeks old.
“Where are y’all going?” I ask, changing the subject. Jack grabs on tight to my thumbs and a smile spreads across my face.
Super aware or not, the little stinker is as cute as a button. Not that buttons are cute. Where on earth did that expression come from, anyway?
“F.I.G.” She makes a face, then steps back from the mirror and gives herself a nod. “I told him not to go to the expense but he wouldn’t listen.”
“It’s your first official date, he knows it’s your favorite, and he’s got the money. It’s a no- brainer.”
Amelia walks into the bedroom, a light, citrusy perfume trailing her, and steps into a pair of heels that make her legs look killer. Though she hasn’t dropped all of her baby weight—it’s only been a little over a month—she’s rocking the curves she’s still got and her cleavage is impressive.
I raise my eyebrows as she sits on the edge of the bed and leans down to kiss her baby. “You’re not cleared for sex still, you know. So you might want to put on a cami under that dress.”
She whacks my arm, her face bright red. “Grace, honestly. It’s our first date.”
“Right. But y’all have spent a long time in the getting-to-know-you phase. If things were normal it’s not like you’d be waiting the requisite three dates before getting it on.”
“If things were normal, I doubt Brick Drayton and I would have started a relationship at all.” Her eyes sparkle as she casts a glance down toward her chest. “And I don’t know. I think it’s just the right amount of enticing.”
“You’re going to drive him crazy, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I mean.” She kisses the baby one more time and then stands up, a wicked smile on her face. “It’s not going to kill him to wait another week.”
“I’m not sure the Draytons are used to waiting.”
“You would know,” she chirps, the happiness oozing out of her contagious, despite the offhand reminder of my relationship with Beau.
The edge of my pain is still there, but it’s dulled. Dulling. I still miss him, and his absence is a hole in my life that feels awkward and unwieldy, but maybe now that I’ve been cleared of my father’s murder and the woman who was after me is gone, I’ll have the time to focus on healing it.
Time is the only thing that will work, but between the gap Beau left and the raw sore in the wake of Leo Boone’s more recent departure from my life, I have a feeling it’s going to take a while.
Then again, it’s not like there’s a plethora of available men in Heron Creek beating down the door to take out the accused murderer who spends time chatting up ghosts, so time is something I’m not short on these days.
The doorbell rings and Amelia jumps. I reach out and put a hand on her arm.
“I’ll get it. Don’t want to appear too eager.”
“I taught you that back in high school.” She grins. “Not that it worked. Will was more patient than you were, if memory serves.”
“Ha. Ha.” I hand her Jack and head for the stairs, opening the door to find a nervous-looking Brick Drayton on the porch holding a bouquet of daffodils.
“Graciela.”
“Good heavens, where did you find those flowers in the dead of winter?”
“A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” He smirks, and it’s so easy to see what Amelia likes about him.
Because it’s a lot of the same things that endeared Beau to me right from the start—he was confident without being cocky, quick-witted, a little mysterious, but totally unafraid to let me see that he was interested.
“I don’t know when you became a gentleman, but okay.”
“Grace, for Pete’s sake, let him inside. It’s freezing out there.”
Brick’s face lights up as he peers around me at my cousin, whose smile is like the sunshine. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says, blushing prettily and accepting the flowers. Millie buries her nose in them for a moment before passing them to me. “Take care of those, will you? They’re my favorite.”
Which Brick obviously knows, having gone to the trouble of procuring spring flowers this time of year.
“Sure. You two kids have fun now, you hear?” I get into my role, feeling like a parent getting ready to send her daughter off on a date with a guy she mostly but not totally trusts.
Amelia rolls her eyes and grabs her coat from the front closet, placing it in Brick’s outstretched hand. He slides it on over her shoulders, his fingers lingering at the base of her neck as she sweeps her hair free from the collar. A pang of loneliness twists in my gut.
“Where’s Jack? I want to tell him hi before we go,” Brick says, the expectant look on his face earnest and open.
“You know he can’t even see you at this point. And since you don’t have boobs he also doesn’t care that he can’t.”
“He’s in his swing in the living room,” Amelia answers with a huff.
The two of them ignore me and head for Jack, their voices fading. My fingers are tight around the bouquet of flowers, and I take them through the dining room and into the kitchen, giving the three of them a couple of minutes alone.
I fill a vase with water and set the flowers in it, then take the opportunity to start the oven and grab a pizza out of the freezer. The glamorous life I lead these days.
“Grace, we’re leaving!” my cousin hollers.
“Okay! I’m good with Jack, so don’t worry.” I pop my head in the living room. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
They both laugh at that, Brick’s hand on the small of her back as he guides her toward the foyer. The door shuts a moment later and I follow them to lock it behind her, engaging the double locking system we put in place late last year.
In the living room, Jack is starting to fuss. It’s time for his bottle, so I head back into the kitchen and prep dinner for the both of us, then feed and burp him while my pizza cooks. The smell makes my stomach grumble.
Once he’s settled in his swing and I’ve got my dinner piled on a plate on the coffee table, I think about turning on the television. Grabbing a book. Anything to distract me from the tremble in my chest. Tonight has been such a flux of emotions—I’m happy for my cousin, and even for Brick, a little. Or I’m working on it.
I’m sad for me, though, and for the plummet my life has taken over the past two months. It’s not that things were perfect between Beau and me. If I’m being honest, I never really believed that there could be a way the two of us could work things out long term, not with our individual challenges and goals.
But he had been good for me, and I like to think I’d been good for him. And I hoped.
I miss Beau. I don’t see that stopping. A sigh burbles out of me, so loud I check on the baby to make sure he’s still asleep.
Before my thoughts can wander further, most notably to my recent and still-stinging falling out with Leo, I snatch a pad of paper and a pen, thinking that I’ll try writing to Carlotta in France again. It’s possible she wrote back but I never got the letter, since someone has been stealing our mail—presumably the woman who also tried to kill me, since it hasn’t gone missing again since she died. Not that we know of, anyway.
It will be a good distraction, and since she was kind enough to forward my father’s last warning to me, I also feel obligated to update her on how things turned out here in tiny little Heron Creek.
So, while Jack sleeps and the spit of rain—or maybe sleet—pings on the windows, I write a woman I’ve never met, who lives halfway around the world, about the goings-on in Heron Creek. Ab out who killed Frank, and how she was obsessed with killing me and my half-brother, too. I ramble on for a few pages about my life, about Travis’s, and then fill another half a page with questions—about her family, about our past. About how well she knew Frank and whether there was anything she could tell me about him.
That last question is mostly for Travis’s sake. Now that we’ve lost more of our family, I can’t help but feel badly for him. His chances of ever getting to know much about where he comes from gets smaller every day.
His mother sure isn’t going to be any help in that area. Or any.
I take Jack upstairs a while later and lay him down in his crib, letting him fuss for a bit while I rub his belly. That, and a song, puts him to sleep. He’ll need to eat again in a few hours if Amelia isn’t home, but for now, I think closing my eyes is the best thing for me, too.
In my own room, with the baby monitor spewing white noise on the bedside table, I realize that I’m avoiding my feelings about Leo. Losing Beau is easier, in some ways. It’s a breakup.
It’s something I understand, something I have practice working through and coming out the other side.
But Leo.. .he’s a lifelong friend and someone who has been such a solid presence in my life since my return to Heron Creek as an adult. Losing him feels like something else. Like a limb that’s suddenly gone, or when I was kid and broke my right arm, having to re-learn how to do everything that was once simple.
Nothing seems simple, anymore. Not even now, when it seems like maybe it should, since I’m not going to prison. I have my work. I have my articles. I have my ghosts, assuming one who actually wants help ever shows again.
I have my friends, and my family. This house. Jack. Everything is going to be fine. It’s going to keep getting better.
And maybe I could believe that was true if the last things I see behind my closed eyes aren’t Big Ern telling me that I’m the only one who can find Clete.
And the ghost of Lavinia Fisher, grinning that evil smile.
And my mother surrounded by question marks.
And then there’s Leo, asking whether things between us could ever be the same. Or different.
Or anything at all.
Chapter Two
Amelia
It’s actually a little bit of a surprise, how nervous I feel with a man who has been a constant in my life for over three months now. My last date was.. .some time ago, so maybe the discomfort is natural.
Which doesn’t mean I have to like it. Dating used to be fun. An activity that was a bit of a lark, really, since most boys in high school and college liked me—it was me who was evaluating them, me who had the upper hand.
Now, with Brick Drayton, I don’t know. I definitely don’t feel that way.
I give Grace a hard time, but her life isn’t the only one that’s a hot mess. I’m struggling still, to cope with everything that happened after I married Jake, to say nothing of the night that he died. But Brick has seen me at my worst, which should make this easier.
Now, as he opens the car door and ushers me inside, then waits for me to swing in my legs and buckle up before he shuts it behind me, I find that it does.. .and it doesn’t.
On the drive to Charleston, things lighten up the slightest bit. He asks about Jack, which is the easiest way to break the ice with me these days. My baby is changing every day, so quickly that it feels like a blur. Smiling on his own now. Holding his head up when he’s on his belly. Odd, but Brick seems as enamored with these details as I am, and baby chatter fills the twenty minutes down the highway.
The air nips at the exposed skin on my cheeks as we walk toward the restaurant, the slightest flurry of snow drifting toward the cold town sidewalks. There’s something magical about Charleston on the worst of days, and now, with Brick’s warm hand around mine and the lacy white flakes swirling around us, it feels positively aglow.
Or maybe that’s me. As much as I love Jack, this is the first moment when I’ve felt like it’s possible to both be his mother and feel like myself at the same time.
And it feels pretty darn good.
Inside, the host shows us to our table without the slightest wait. There’s an air of respect, and perhaps the slightest bit of nervousness, that tells me he’s aware of who Brick is, who his family is, and even though I’ve never put much stock in the kinds of things my mother prizes in other human beings, pride spreads through me.
Unlike my ex, Brick deserves respect. He deserves to be given a wide berth. He’s not only powerful because of his family name, but because he’s made his own reputation.
He pulls out the chair for me at the table for two, then settles opposite and peruses the wine list. After weeks on end of being cooped up in the house together, he feels too far away, even though the distance between us is mere feet.
“What do you think? A bottle of red?”
Brick raises his eyebrow at me over the menu when he catches me staring. I feel my face get hot, a reaction that I hadn’t experienced since high school before Brick came around. I nod and raise my dinner menu, trying to cover it up.
“Jack will be good, right?”
I nod. “He’s got plenty of booze-free milk in the fridge. Grace will take care of him.”
“I know she will. I was just double checking.”
When the waiter arrives, Brick orders the bottle of wine and a serving of cheesy shrimp dip
before closing his menu. I do the same, thinking that I’ll have whatever the day’s special is, even though Grace always says never order the special because if it was any good, it would be on the regular menu.
Which is such a Grace thing to say. It’s wrong, obviously. At nice places like we frequent in Charleston, they often only serve certain fish, vegetables, and other items when they’re in season.
“I’m really glad we were able to get out tonight,” Brick says after approving our wine and sending the waiter away with a request to give us a few minutes to think on our orders.
“Me, too.” I lean back and stare into my glass of wine. “Really glad.”
There’s still something strange between us. The realness of the date, perhaps. The fact that other people will see us together and whisper, make assumptions about our relationship—first and foremost that we have a relationship.
Which we do. But it’s just so new that I hate to share it.
Brick raises his glass, clearing his throat in the process. “I just want to take a minute to thank you for letting me be a part of the last six weeks with you and Jack. It’s been.. .well, it’s been a lot of things, but damn magical overall.”
Tears prick my eyes. My throat swells shut so that all I can do is nod, which I do as I click my glass against his. I’m the one who should be thanking Brick—for being there, for being so supportive, for not flinching from the less desirable parts of new motherhood and caring for an infant. He’s magical.
The waiter saves me from bursting into tears, setting down our appetizer and taking our dinner order. Once he’s gone, I’ve managed to compose myself, and smile gratefully at Brick over the stringy cheese. “How’s Beau doing? I mean really, not just what you filter in front of Grace.”
He grimaces. We both know he sugarcoats things for my cousin. The truth is, maybe he does for me, too, but I want him to know that he can trust me. It takes him a moment to chew and swallow his bite before he answers.
“He’s. I don’t know, Amy. He’s not good.” A sip of wine makes room for a pause. “Lucy’s doing better, and he’s glad for that. He’s thrilled she’s safe, of course.”
“How are things between the two of them, though? The same? Different? Somewhere in the middle?”
“Different, of course, though I think they’ve both admitted they never resolved their feelings for one another. But as far as what that means now, with her struggling to recover mentally and my brother torn about his feelings for Graciela?” Brick presses his lips together and shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
It’s pretty much what I expect—even if I’m firmly on Grace’s side in all of this, it’s not as if my heart is hard to Beau’s particular sticky spot. He cares about Grace. He thought he lost Lucy. Now, they’re both standing in front of him. Lucy needs him. Grace doesn’t. He’s doing what he thinks is best, but that doesn’t mean it’s what he wants.
If he even has a clue.
“Poor Beau.” I sip my wine again, feeling melancholy even though it’s delicious. Not only that, but alcohol has been such a rare treat.
