The Last of the Moon Girls(66)

“It’s why you do most things, isn’t it? Like the peace sign on the church. And the night you went skinny-dipping in the fountain.”

“All right. You’ve got me there. But the mural was different. It was . . . personal. It’s how twilight felt to me when I was a kid. That sliver of time between day and night, when the sky looks like velvet and the stars are just coming out. It always felt so magical, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what happened next.”

Lizzy was too astonished to reply. She’d never seen Rhanna so filled with . . . What was it? Happiness? Yearning? Was it possible that beneath all that angst, her mother had actually tucked away some pleasant memories?

“You sounded almost happy just then.”

Rhanna shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad.”

“Not all of it, no.”

The silence spooled out. They sipped their coffee. “I didn’t make it easy for you, did I?” Rhanna asked finally.

“No. You didn’t.”

“Is that why you left Salem Creek, because you were ashamed? Of me?”

Lizzy lifted her chin a notch, unwilling to concede the point. “I left to go to school, like I was always going to do. But you were a big part of why I stayed gone. The damage you did—the wreckage you left in your wake. You made sure there was nothing left to come back to.”

Rhanna nodded, accepting the words as truth. “I never meant to.”

Lizzy tilted her head to one side, trying to read her face. “Was that your idea of an apology?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes? If I fell down on my knees right now and asked you to forgive all the terrible things I’ve done, would you buy a word of it? Or would you think I was just saying it to say it?”

“There’s history, Rhanna. That makes it hard.”

“I know that.” She wandered to the end of the worktable, quiet as she scanned the array of bottles and jars scattered over its surface, the FedEx box and discarded Bubble Wrap. “What’s all this?” she asked, waving a finger.

“Just some supplies I ordered.”

“Colloidal oatmeal, shea butter, lye.” Her head came up. “You’re making soap?”

Lizzy nodded, surprised she’d put it together so quickly. “I brought some headache tea to a woman who works the lunch counter at Wilson’s. She told a friend. Now I’m making soap.”

“You could have said no.”

“They’re old customers of Althea’s. They stood by her when the rest of this town turned their backs. I felt like I owed them.”

Rhanna picked up the package of oatmeal, peered at the label, and put it back down. “I could help.”

The coffee. The chitchat. All at once, Lizzy understood. She was wrangling for more time. “We talked about this last night, Rhanna. I said one night.”

“Please, Lizzy.” Rhanna blinked several times, her gray eyes suddenly luminous with tears. “You can’t send me away. Not like this. Not until . . . well, I don’t know, really. I don’t even know why I’m here. I just know I had to come. I’ll be good. I promise. If I screw up, you can kick me out. And I’ll earn my keep. Let me help you make the soap.”

“Why?” Lizzy asked flatly. “Why now?”

“The women,” she said simply. “The ones who stuck by Althea—I owe them too. In fact, I owe a lot of people.”

Lizzy studied her, wary of this new, softer side. Was she sincere, or was this just a new act?

Help her find her way back if that’s what she wants.

“All right,” Lizzy said reluctantly. “For Althea’s sake.”

“But only that?”

Lizzy met her gaze without flinching. “It’s the best I can do.”

Rhanna nodded, accepting the response at face value. “Thank you. For saying yes, and for letting me in.”

“Tonight, after supper,” Lizzy replied coolly. “And I’m not doing it for you.”





TWENTY-FIVE

Andrew tossed down his drafting pencil and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d come into the office early, hoping to finish up the revisions for the Boston job. Two hours later, he’d barely made a dent. He was antsy and distracted, unable to settle into the work.

The construction out in the new CAD shop didn’t help matters. Dennis Hanley might be a hard worker, but he certainly wasn’t a quiet one. Not that there was a quiet way to hang drywall. Maybe he needed another cup of coffee. Or maybe he’d already had too much.

Or maybe he couldn’t knuckle down because he couldn’t get Lizzy’s face out of his head. The way she’d looked at him last night when she asked if he believed in ghosts—like her whole world hung on his answer. And he’d needed to earn his way back into her good graces after surprising her with Rhanna.

But what was he supposed to do, let the woman walk the last sixteen miles? He’d stopped at a Cumby for coffee and spotted her coming out of the restroom. He hadn’t recognized her at first. She was thinner than he remembered, almost wiry, her once-pale skin tanned to a deep shade of caramel. It was the guitar slung across her back that cinched it. That and the fact that she’d looked so astonishingly like Lizzy when she turned around.

She had seemed startled when he called her by name, almost puzzled. But then who could blame her after trekking nearly three thousand miles across country? She’d recovered quickly enough when he introduced himself, and had even pretended to remember him, though he was quite sure she didn’t. Rhanna had always lived in a world of her own, detached and rebellious, as if the rules that governed the rest of the world didn’t apply to her. She’d also been oblivious to the price her family—her daughter in particular—paid for her recklessness.