Chapter 4 #2
I set my plate aside and smoothed the front of my sundress, which suddenly seemed inadequate for the impromptu gathering. The women of Dawes House that I’d met so far were beautiful, fashionable, clearly used to finer things and probably fancier food than pizza.
Pearlie had an air of wisdom and kindness about her, but when she turned her attention to me, I could see in her dark eyes that beneath her grandmotherly persona, she had an edge that could slice through bullshit like a hot knife through butter.
Even so, her smile appeared genuine when she reached out both hands and came toward me to grasp mine, lifting my arms away from my sides as if to get a better look at me.
“Well, now,” she drawled. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing? I think you’ll do quite nicely.”
I frowned again, confused by what she meant. “Sorry?”
“As a neighbor,” she clarified, her smile never faltering. “You don’t look like you eat enough to keep a bird alive, though! Well, don’t you worry about it, baby. We’ll fix that.”
I forced a smile—which seemed like the thing to do—but my stomach tightened, and my mouth was too dry to respond. So, I nodded and gave a small laugh, like someone who’d just walked into a joke at the punchline but didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get it.
“Pearlie, give the girl a little room to breathe,” a deep male voice said on a chuckle. “She’s barely moved in—I think putting some meat on her bones with your fabulous cooking can wait a day or two, honey.”
Pearlie laughed and swatted the air dismissively at the man who’d entered the common room with her. “Oh, go on, Junior. I’m just being welcoming.”
She gave my hands a squeeze then took the cocktail Earl handed her. She didn’t say a word but gave a curt nod of her head, simultaneously thanking and dismissing him.
Watching, I thought this must’ve been what it was like when a CEO enters a room—charming and warm and no doubt that she’s in charge.
Her husband, by contrast, was like the churning wake her powerful presence left behind—tall, immediately likable, quick to laugh or make a joke with Earl or the others.
Even though I still felt like the poor kid peering into the window from the outside, it wasn’t for a lack of hospitality on their part.
Every one of them was eager to make sure I was comfortable, that I’d had enough to eat, that I had enough to drink, especially Earl who seemed to be the de facto Dawes House bartender (and who I discovered was very generous with a pour).
I checked on Henry, who was sitting at a bistro table under a shade tree, laughing and chatting merrily with a pretty little girl with blond, curly hair.
She was wearing a surprisingly fancy pink party dress, her legs swinging happily.
I’d just turned to accept the blessedly cold drink Earl was handing me when I sensed a dramatic shift in the atmosphere.
Everyone seemed to stiffen at once, and I swear the temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees. Ridiculous. I knew it even then. And yet that’s what it was like as all heads turned to the doorway to see Whit standing there, looking even more out of place than I felt.
He swept the room in a glance, his expression unreadable.
Not waiting for an invitation, he sauntered in and strolled along the perimeter with what would’ve seemed like nonchalance if not for the charged energy filling the air.
He scrutinized each face as if he could see straight through to their darkest sins.
I glanced at Chase, uneasy for reasons I didn’t fully understand.
He winked and got to his feet, raising his glass to greet his cousin.
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the illustrious Whit Proffitt.
C’mon on in, Cousin! Wasn’t sure you were gonna make it, but I’m sure glad you did.
Ain’t that right, y’all? Watcha drinkin’, Whit? ”
Pearlie came forward, taking his hands in hers and kissing his cheek. “How are you, baby? We haven’t seen you much.”
“Pearlie,” Whit said by way of greeting. “Good to see you.” He nodded toward Pearlie’s husband. “Junior.” He then turned to June and Earl, who were not as thrilled to see him as Chase and the Johnsons. “June. Earl. I’m glad to see you’ve met Zellie.”
June forced a smile and busied herself with the pizza boxes.
Making more of an effort, Earl and Junior greeted Whit warmly, slapping him on the back as men do, their voices outwardly friendly, but I still sensed something just beneath the surface, a tension that had been pulled taut to the point of snapping just a moment before and hadn’t quite faded.
Chase strolled over and thrust a double scotch into Whit’s hand. “Thought you might could use a sip.”
Whit took the glass, but his gaze searched for and held mine. Then he broke away to answer a question Junior had asked about some sport score that I can’t now be bothered to remember.
But I do remember Whit’s glance flicking my way again. It was fleeting, just a glance, but it was enough to make the room feel too warm, too crowded. Pearlie was saying something about Sunday, but I just nodded, not really hearing.
Breathe, Zellie. Breathe.
Afraid I was about to pass out, I excused myself from Pearlie and stepped onto the patio where Henry and Adelaide were giggling together over some secret joke.
When he saw me, Henry hopped up and scurried over, jumped up and down a couple of times, squeezing my hand.
“I want to dig things up with Addie!” he announced. “Can I, Mama?”
I shook my head, puzzled. “What kinds of things?”
“In the flowers,” he said, irritated with having to explain. “Addie said she found bones.”
“Bones!” What the hell? “What kind of bones?”
“Pirate bones!” Addie exclaimed, hopping off her chair and joining Henry to grab my hand, both of them bouncing with excitement.
I hesitated, taking in the walled garden—beds teeming with flowers, trellises braided with vines and climbing flora, the air thick with their perfume.
An artificial stream flowed over rocks, under an arched white footbridge, and pooled in a small pond.
I hadn’t seen anything so beautiful since a field trip to the botanical gardens in middle school.
“I dunno,” I said. “You probably need to ask if it’s okay to dig in the flowers. Someone’s done a lot of work out here.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Addie said with a shrug, shoving her unruly curls off her face only for them to fall back into her eyes. “My Mamaw June lets me dig all the time. I have my own shovel and everything. I can share with Henry.”
I had the distinct impression I’d been out-maneuvered by—what?—a six-year-old?
“Please, please, pleeeease,” they pleaded, drawing out the last please like waiting for my answer was torture.
I laughed, happy to see Henry had already made friends with Addie. Unable to resist their eager faces, I nodded. “Okay, okay. But you’d better change your dress, Addie.”
Permission granted, Addie pivoted and dashed toward the house.
Henry turned to follow, but stopped short, his shoulders drooping a little.
He didn’t have the same energy as his new friend.
Instead, he hurried back to the table, snatched up the rest of his pizza, and finished it off, ready for when Addie returned.
A few minutes later, Addie burst from the house in shorts and T-shirt, shovel and plastic pail in hand. They hurried to a mostly barren flowerbed that must’ve been the area reserved for Addie’s projects.
Grinning and not ready to go inside to whatever tension was brewing among the residents, I sat down on a wrought-iron bench and closed my eyes, listening to the children play. The scape of a small shovel against dirt. The faint tink of metal against stone. Water burbling under the little bridge.
“Mind if I join you?”
Whit’s voice startled me. I hadn’t even heard him come out.
I sent a glance his way—which apparently was invitation enough because he sat down beside me. I could only stare, baffled. He must’ve noticed my confusion because he grinned, a crack appearing in his stony facade.
“Did no one tell you staring was impolite, Ms. Dupont?” he teased.
I shook my head and chuckled, embarrassed. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company. Especially not—”
“Especially not me?” he finished for me with a sly smile.
I looked to where Henry and Addie played and leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bench. “We don’t exactly travel in the same circles, Mr. Proffitt.”
He scoffed, a short, dismissive sound. “Be grateful for that.”
“Be grateful that everyone here at Dawes House might as well be wearing shirts made of hundred-dollar bills while I’m relying on my landlord’s charity to keep my son and me off the street?” I asked. “I’ll trade you.”
After a beat, he said, “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
I sighed. “It’s okay. I’m just tired. Long day. I shouldn’t snap at you. You’ve been more accommodating than a lot of landlords would be.”
“More than you expected, if our first conversations are any indication,” he said. “I’m not used to people hanging up on me.”
I groaned and let my head hang between my shoulders for a few seconds before meeting his eyes, squinting a little from the light filtering through the trees. “And yet you’re still sitting here talking with me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “A little rejection now and then can be good for the soul.”
I shook my head, confused by his attention. “So…why exactly did you come out here? Seems like you could’ve collected enough rejection from the other tenants to last you a while.”
He nodded, the humor gone. “I apologize for the tension when I arrived. You weren’t the only one concerned about me taking over for my father. Old family dispute. Nothing for you to worry about. They like you. You’ll do fine.”
I frowned. There’s that phrase again…
Before I could think more on it, he settled back, draping his arm over the back of the bench, stretching out long legs in tan linen pants, and crossing his ankles.