The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(99)
“An old friend gave this to me for my sixteenth birthday.” That was what she’d said when she gave the ring to me. I’d thought by “old friend” she’d meant Button and wondered if the confusion had been simply my misunderstanding or a deliberate avoidance on her part of telling the whole truth.
I wanted to ask her more, but Nola’s ride appeared and we spent a few moments saying good-bye, and then my parents went upstairs to relieve Mrs. Houlihan and gather the children and their belongings. I thought it was my imagination, but it almost seemed that Jack was avoiding my mother, orchestrating where he stood to be at the farthest spot from her. When I pointed out that we needed to move the car seats from my car to theirs, Jack seemed almost excited to be going outside.
He kissed the babies good-bye, then excused himself to check on the dogs, lingering in the kitchen long enough that he missed my parents’ leaving. I allowed him to help me with my shawl, then held back as Thomas and Jayne stepped out on the piazza, using the moment to have a private conversation.
“Are you all right?” I whispered. “You’re acting strange.”
He smiled, although the gesture was more of a grimace. “Sorry. It’s a difficult night for me, remember? We’re going to celebrate Marc Longo’s greatest achievement, which involves stealing from me, and I have to pretend I’m thrilled and happy for him.”
“You’re right—I’m sorry. It’s just . . .” I paused, then decided to come right out and say it. “Did you have an argument with my mother? You seem to be avoiding her.”
His eyes widened in childlike innocence. “An argument? No, of course not. Like I said, my head isn’t in the right place tonight.”
He made to move forward, but I clutched at his sleeve. “And why are you looking at Jayne like that?”
“Like what?”
I wished it weren’t so dark so that I could read his eyes. “Like, I don’t know. Like you really know her. Almost like the way you look at me.” There. I’d said it. The new mature Melanie was alive and well.
He put both hands on my shoulders and looked squarely in my face. “She’s an attractive woman, so of course I’m going to notice. I’m not blind. But I could never, ever, look at a woman the way I look at you, because I will never love another woman the way I love you.” He pressed his lips against mine in the slow, lingering way he knew I liked, and I felt all my worries and concerns evaporate, leaving only small crumbs of doubt clinging to my bowl of insecurity.
We rode in Thomas’s car, with Jack and me in the back. He reached for my hand and held it between us on the drive down to Spring Street. I’d only been to Cannon Green a couple of times for dinner. Despite their claims of locally grown food and healthy options, I’d adored my eating experiences there each time, finding the food delicious and the service impeccable.
Thomas handed the keys to a valet and then we entered through one of three green doors that faced the street and into the light-filled restaurant. The delicious scents of food and flowers wafted over to us and I felt my stomach grumble—something I was growing used to now that my entire family seemed intent on starving me. I glanced at Jayne, unaware of all the attention she was causing and the heads turning in her direction. She was more focused on the ambience, and Thomas, and looked about as excited as a five-year-old at her first princess birthday party. I found myself smiling at her, despite my earlier thoughts, remembering Jack’s words and his hand holding mine in the backseat of the car.
One full side wall of the restaurant contained the facade of a home that had once stood on the site, but it had been emptied of all its history—the front door of the old house was now actually the entrance to the restrooms—so, thankfully, no spirits seemed to be hanging around. Restored wooden tables filled the space, all set for dinner, but we were led to the courtyard out back, passing under a mezzanine. I looked up and then quickly glanced away when I recognized the reporter Suzy Dorf, whom I’d been successfully avoiding for over a month. Rebecca had once worked for the paper, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to see her there. But that was the thing about surprises—they always appeared when you least expected them. Or wanted them.
I’d been hoping for rain, or for at least an evening thick with the heavy humidity Charleston was famous for to ruin the party. Instead it was the perfect evening—cool, humidity free, and dry. Even the stars seemed to want to celebrate, each one shining brightly in the sky above us. Dueling reflecting ponds and fountains spraying small arcs of water vied for attention with the vertical garden hanging on the wall. Bright round bulbs were strung across the courtyard, as if the stars above had descended to see what the party was all about.
A large event space built inside an eighteen hundreds warehouse that had once stood on the site dominated the rear of the courtyard. The support beams and, I suspected, most of the brick columns, were original, judging by the number of spirits I saw hovering in the background, surprised as I was to be seen. A string quartet quietly played by the fountain, hardly loud enough to be heard over the well-heeled crowd of what looked to be around 150 people.
“Cousin Melanie and Jack!” Rebecca’s grating voice came from behind, giving me time to plaster a smile on my face as Jack and I turned.
She was, as expected, wearing head-to-toe pink, this time in pink shantung, which would have been lovely if she hadn’t paired it with a rhinestone tiara and elbow-length pink gloves. Her hand was tucked possessively in Marc’s elbow, her pink a contrast to his black tuxedo and dark good looks that I now couldn’t look at without thinking he appeared more greasy than sleek.