Chapter 9 #2
“It’s the dust,” Brody replied, still smiling at Rae. “You haven’t cleaned in here for years.”
A small parlor jutted off to Rae’s right, formed by tall bay windows.
The setting sun transformed the old glass into a multicolored shield.
Rae found herself silenced by the tableau, as sad as it was beautiful.
Her aunt trapped in bed, flirting with a man turned into some burnished seagoing warrior.
The sun set every evening about this time.
Why should this particular instant pierce her heart?
Brody lifted the book from his lap. “Should I continue?”
“Not just now. Do me a kindness and come back another day, will you?”
“Emma,” Brody’s breath caught, turning the woman’s name into a ragged effort. “I’ll be here every afternoon if you’d allow.”
She studied him a long moment. “Where are you staying?”
“Atlantic Beach Doubletree.”
“Why have they put your crew in a hotel?”
“They’re not … It’s a long story.”
Rae expected the sort of questions she always endured when trying to avoid a topic with this woman. Instead, Emma merely said, “I positively adore long stories.”
“Not this one.” Brody lost his smile. “Boring and bitter both.”
“Even better,” Emma replied. “I’ve always preferred Christmas stories that hold that flavor of some bitter spice. It fits the season’s mood, at least for me.”
Brody breathed, shrugged his shoulders, said merely, “Okay.”
Emma said, “Two of the guesthouses are empty. Tell Doris I said to put you in six.”
Brody opened his mouth, but no sound came.
“That is, if you want.”
“Emma, I can’t think of anything better.” He hesitated, then added, “Mom has offered me a place in Oriental. But until things have been sorted out with my father, I think it’s best if I decline her invitation.”
“That sounds both wise and correct.” This time her finger wave looked genuinely feeble. “Off with you now. I need to rest.”
There was no reason on earth why seeing this man rise and bend over and kiss Emma’s forehead should make Rae want to weep. Or for her eyes to burn so savagely when she stepped forward and planted her lips where Brody’s had been.
Rae returned the chair, then departed by way of the rear door.
She paced the front drive in slow-motion steps, doing her best to draw the world back into proper order.
But when Brody finally appeared, still smiling from something the neighbor in the bookstore had told him, it was all Rae could do to wait for him to step within range.
She gripped his hand and arm and pulled him over to where the trees masked them from the house.
Then Rae clutched him with all her strength, using his shirt as a way to clear her face, feeling his breath and hearing his murmured words.
Not caring what he said. Brody’s heartfelt tone was enough to release everything she’d carried since learning her aunt and best friend was soon to be no more.
The wind had died to nothing while they had been inside.
When Rae finally released him and started down the walk, they became enveloped by a fine sea mist. Brody let her set the destination and the pace.
The fog drifted slowly, casting historic Beaufort in a timeless glow.
Brody had no idea where they were going, nor did he care.
Rae did not lead them with a destination in mind.
Whenever they reached a crossroads she stopped and waited, as if hoping the gathering dusk might whisper a direction, meaning, destination, something.
Then Brody gently nudged her, and she moved forward, and they walked.
Her meandering path kept them a couple of blocks off the waterfront, away from the holiday crowds and bustling restaurants.
They had the streets mostly to themselves.
Occasionally a car swept by, the tires making an apologetic whisper.
They passed a lovely antebellum mansion, every window alive with candles and Christmas music.
A throng of people spilled onto the raised front porch.
Brody smelled wood-smoke and perfume and food and booze.
When Rae halted, he momentarily feared she wished to join the party.
He prepared an apology, words to explain his need for a more solitary space.
Then the front door opened further, illuminating Rae’s features.
She stared at the people in abject confusion, as if seeking to understand how they could possibly be enjoying themselves.
On this, a night of impenetrable sorrow.
Gently, he wrapped one arm around Rae’s shoulders and led her away. As the music and laughter dwindled to nothing, Brody assumed it was time to release his hold. But she reached up and gripped his hand, keeping him in place. They walked on, close and connected.
Brody sensed the chill working its way in, and knew it was time to find both warmth and the food Rae might not have allowed herself all day.
He guided them to the Beaufort Grocery, an upscale bistro on Queen Street, and asked for a quiet indoor table.
Rae seemed only partly connected to where they were and what was happening, so he ordered for them both, a single plate of the night’s special—corn-fed breast of chicken stuffed with morels and served on a bed of wild rice and julienne vegetables.
A glass of house white for each of them.
By the time the waiter departed, Brody knew what he wanted to say.
Rae needed something strong and heady to draw the night back into focus. Help her fit this impossible new burden into a shape she could live with. Which required linking her to the other main aspect of her life. The professional Rae. The attorney.
And besides, it was time.
He leaned across the table and said, “I want to tell you about my work.”