The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(96)
“Well, that explains it,” Jayne said. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll take the bag out and show Sarah the empty drawer. Maybe she’ll forget about it.”
Ginette laughed. “Not likely—Sarah’s pretty stubborn. She gets it from her mother. She’s small and cute, but she’s like a pit bull with a bone when she gets it in her head that she wants something.”
I opened my eyes to find both Sultana and my mother studying my face. “Much better,” Ginette said, nodding approvingly, then slid her credit card across the counter. “Go ahead and wrap all this up—my treat.”
Despite our protests, Ginette insisted (obviously Sarah’s genetic disposition toward stubbornness ran deeper than just one generation) and Sultana began sorting our selections to ring up.
Jayne walked behind the counter to the shelves of perfume and picked one up to sniff. “I’m wondering if there’s a way she can play with the snow globes that might be safe. I mean, I wouldn’t let her handle them or put them in her mouth, but maybe some kind of game I can make up that might make her happy?”
I considered for a moment. “Well, she did show a partiality toward the Miami one—was really vocal about that one being ‘the one.’ For what, I have no idea, but as soon as I showed that one to her, she was fine and then went to sleep. If you want to whip them out of the bag and lay them on a table for her to let you know when you get it right, go right ahead.” I paused. “Just don’t leave them in their room when you’re done. I wouldn’t want them to get hold of one of them, just in case there’s still broken glass.”
“All right.” A frown crossed her brow. “How did they get broken?”
I cleared my throat while my mother unscrewed the lid of a face cream and took her time smelling it. “I’m not really sure. There’s so much construction going on, and so many workmen. I asked Amelia if they might be worth anything, and she said no, so at least there’s no restitution involved.”
“Not that I’d make anybody pay for them anyway, since it’s my fault they got broken,” Jayne admitted. “I should have had them moved out of the house long before they started all the restoration work. It’s just . . . I don’t know. I don’t feel as if the house is mine, and I’m finding it really difficult to make these decisions because I still think of the house and everything in it as belonging to Button Pinckney.”
“That’s normal,” I said taking my shopping bag from Sultana. “If you work more closely with Sophie, she can help you put your personal stamp on things to make it feel more like yours. Well, assuming they’re historically accurate. She’s a little fanatical about that kind of stuff.” I smiled brightly. “Of course, I can help you work around them. I’m a real expert on that.” My smile faded as I remembered a few times when Sophie had discovered my subterfuge, my knees aching at the memory of me being forced to strip floors by hand after a contraband electric sander had been discovered in my possession. “As long as you don’t let her know.”
Jayne gave me a worried glance. “Okay. That’s good to know. But I still wouldn’t feel right. Maybe I’m holding out hope that Jack will discover some answers so I can move forward—mentally, anyway.” The air behind her shifted, the temperature dropping as if an air conditioner had been switched on behind us, and I watched her shiver. She reached up a hand and brushed at the back of her neck, as if something had touched her, and I was glad for the scarf I wore that hid the scabs from the scratches I’d received in Button’s bathroom. I met my mother’s gaze, her eyebrows rising in acknowledgment that we weren’t alone.
“Thank you, Ginette,” Jayne said as she took her bag. “This wasn’t necessary, but I do appreciate it. I had fun.”
“Me, too,” Ginette said, sneaking a glance behind us as she held open the door and we said good-bye to Sultana with promises to return.
Heavy clouds had been forming while we were inside, and a crack of thunder sounded above us as we made a dash down the street, trying to beat the rain. I turned my head to catch our reflection in the window, not surprised to see the pale form of a young girl in a white nightgown standing behind us, staring directly at me. Help me. Her lips didn’t move, but the words sounded loud in my ear. I turned and ran faster to catch up, the words reverberating over and over until I began to hum loudly to block them out.
CHAPTER 28
Isat at the vanity in front of my bathroom mirror, playing with the makeup we’d purchased the previous day, frowning at my reflection and thinking I looked more like Tammy Faye Bakker than the glamorous appearance I was going for.
Nola sat on the counter, studying me as I’d seen her do at museum exhibits. “Can I do the eyeliner? I’m good at the cat’s-eye look, and I don’t think I can watch you remove everything and start over one more time. You’re going to wear down your eyelid if you’re not careful, and then you’ll have to put makeup on your bare eyeball.”
“Can that really happen?” I asked, not completely sure she was joking.
Instead of answering she jumped off the counter and took the eyeliner from my hand. Relieved, I closed my eyes, happy to have her expertise. “What would I do without you, Nola?”
“Same thing I’d do without you, so I guess that makes us even.”