The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(29)
She nodded gratefully as she shakily stood, holding on to the edge of the table. “I guess I should have listened to my mother and gotten that flu shot.”
“Probably,” I said, gently leading her toward the front door. “I’ll pack up your things and put them in the gardening shed in case it rains. They’ll be there whenever you’re ready to return.”
Meghan thanked me and then left. When I walked into the foyer, I saw Jayne and Jack walking down the stairs, a child asleep on each of them. I frowned. “Why do they never do that for me? They’re always wide-awake when I’m with them.”
“I think children are good at sensing a soothing presence,” Jack said with a grin.
Before I could retort, Jayne said, “Or they were just tired. Meeting new people can be exhausting to young children—there’s so much new information they have to process.”
I smiled at her, her approach to refereeing confirming my decision to hire her. I reached for Sarah and JJ, balancing each child in my arms, feeling them come awake and begin to squirm. So much for a soothing presence. “I’ll go feed the children while Jack brings your things up to your room so you can unpack and get settled.”
“Thank you,” Jayne said.
I began walking toward the kitchen.
“I think I’d like to restore the house on South Battery before I sell it.”
I turned around. “Really? I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but it’s not what I expected. What made you decide?”
“Oh, a number of things.” Her gaze settled on JJ and it seemed as if she was avoiding looking in my eyes. As if she didn’t want me to see something.
“Like what?” I asked.
Jayne shrugged. “It has a little to do with what you told me about Button Pinckney and her motives, and how she chose me. That’s no small thing. But mostly . . .” She paused. “Mostly it’s this house.”
I stared at her, not understanding. “My house?”
She nodded. “It’s beautiful and historic, but it’s home. It has a soul, a good vibe, you know? I’m aware this sounds silly, but it’s almost as if it knows there’s so much love here and reflects that.”
She looked at me as if for affirmation, but all I could do was nod.
She continued. “And somehow, I know the Pinckney house is the same way under all that mold and falling plaster and sadness. There must have been a lot of happiness there before that little girl died. It was once a beloved family home, and it’s been left in my care.” Her eyes finally met mine. “I’ve been looking for a home to call my own my whole life. Even if this is the last thing I ever expected or wanted, I can’t just turn it down out of hand. It would be . . . not right. Like throwing away an opportunity without really giving it a chance.”
“There’s always a way to look past the bad to see the good,” I said, repeating the philosophy she’d gleaned from being in foster care for so many years.
Jayne smiled. “Yeah, pretty much. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m going to give it a chance. Maybe hang on to it at least long enough that we can figure out Button’s motives. And see what the house becomes. Maybe once we can get rid of that awful doll and the dark window coverings and old wallpaper, it might make a huge difference. Maybe all the cosmetic reparations will help . . . What did Jack call it?”
“‘Excorcise its ghosts,’” I said with a forced smile.
Her own smile wavered. “Yes, exactly. Then I can decide whether or not I want to sell. And hopefully it will be restored by then.”
I tried to hide my sigh of relief. “Great. I know Sophie will be thrilled.”
She continued to smile, but there was definitely something in her eyes, something that told me I didn’t have the whole story and that she had no intention of sharing it with me.
We heard Nola’s door open and the sound of girls’ voices. Jayne faced me again. “Make sure she gets rid of that game, okay? It’s not like I believe in that stuff or anything, but why tempt fate, right?”
“Right,” I said uneasily, then headed back toward the kitchen to feed the babies. I was in the middle of cleaning up pureed organic sweet potatoes and tiny cubes of chicken—courtesy of Mrs. Houlihan and Sophie’s food processor baby gift—when I began to smell the stench of something rotting mixed with the scent of freshly turned earth.
Pretending I hadn’t smelled anything, I finished wiping down JJ—Sarah was a pristine eater and hardly needed a bib—then picked them both up from their high chairs. It was only as I exited the kitchen that I noticed the large clock over the door, the audible sound of ticking confirming that the battery in the clock still worked, despite the hands that were firmly stuck at ten minutes past four o’clock.
CHAPTER 8
“Hello, beautiful.”
Just the sound of Jack’s voice over the intercom turned my insides to honey, my brain to cheese grits, my thought processes to those of a goldfish. I stared at the intercom on my desk, wanting him to speak again while at the same time wishing he wouldn’t. I was supposed to be working, something that was incompatible with Jack’s proximity.
Jolly’s voice came over the intercom, and I could tell by her wavering tone that she wasn’t immune to Jack’s charms, either. “I’m sorry, Melanie. Your husband is here. Should I send him back to you?”