Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Icould smell something mouthwatering before I even reached Pearlie’s door and worried my deviled eggs wouldn’t be worthy of being on the same table.
But I should’ve known better than to doubt the Johnsons’ hospitality.
When Junior opened the door and saw the glass casserole dish of halved eggs filled to overflowing with a truly unexceptional concoction of whipped egg yolks, mayonnaise, vinegar, and paprika, he rubbed his palms together in anticipation.
“Is that some deviled eggs? You must’ve read my mind, Zellie,” he said, taking the dish. “I have been wanting some deviled eggs all day. Come on in, come on in!”
I don’t know what I’d expected, but stepping into their apartment was like walking into a museum curated by someone with impeccable taste.
Their walls were adorned with African art that ranged from ancient relics to more modern art.
Their furniture belonged in a design magazine, a blend of elegance and comfort, both modern and antique, with dark wood, bright fabrics, and clean lines.
I was almost afraid to let Henry loose among such expensive pieces.
Junior set my eggs out on the dining room sideboard next to fried green tomatoes, cheddar biscuits, mac and cheese, salad, and a relish tray piled high with gourmet olives, marinated mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, and pickles.
A moment later, Chase emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving tray with two roasted chickens and an abundance of potatoes, carrots, and parsnips.
“What’d I tell ya?” he asked with a wink. “Dinner at Pearlie’s is always a treat.”
“It all smells amazing!” I admitted, wondering when I’d last had so many choices in one meal. And just how many people Pearlie planned to feed.
My question was soon answered when June, Earl, and Addie arrived carrying desserts.
“Is this all of us?” Junior asked when Pearlie exited the kitchen carrying a pitcher of sweet tea. “Merilee not coming?”
“All for tonight,” Pearlie replied. “Merilee’s tending to Ms. Netty and Mr. Dean, who are both feeling poorly. Iris already had dinner plans, and Billy Wayne and Kitty weren’t up to it.”
There was one person missing whose absence I definitely noticed. There was a void in the room without him there.
“Is Whit coming?” I asked, trying to sound disinterested.
But Pearlie’s grin told me I’d failed. “He’ll be here any minute.”
True to Pearlie’s prediction, Whit arrived moments later, looking as stiff and uncomfortable as he had our first night at Dawes House.
Everyone greeted him warmly except June, who continued to give him the cold shoulder.
If I’d known any of them better, I might’ve asked why.
But my questions were swept aside by an amazing dinner and lively conversation.
I don’t even recall most of what was said. I just remember being happy. I hadn’t felt that welcome and part of a family—a true family—since living at the farmhouse. Even June softened a little, laughing at something Chase said that had us all rolling.
At one point, I realized I was just sitting there, smiling, watching all of them, so grateful. I didn’t even notice my eyes had filled with tears until the soft pressure of a hand on mine beneath the table drew my attention to Whit beside me.
I managed to smile and gave his hand a small squeeze before blinking rapidly, clearing the tears, then excused myself to go check on Henry and Addie, who’d rushed off after dinner to play.
I peeked into the living room to see them sitting together on the floor, playing with a collection of stones that Addie had arranged in a circle. In the center was a little pile of what looked like bones from the board game Operation.
I frowned. “What are you two playing?”
“Tell the Bones,” Henry replied, holding up one of the tiny bones. “These are the pirate bones we dug up, Mama!”
Addie brushed her hair off her face and looked at me with eyes that seemed far too wise for a six-year-old. “We have to tell the bones to either stay dead or come back to life, Ms. Zellie.”
I stepped into the room to get a closer look, keeping my voice gentle when I asked, “And how do you tell them to come back to life?”
She held up a tiny watering can that looked like it might’ve belonged to one of her dolls or maybe the gardening set she’d mentioned before and pretended to pour something over the bones. “You just sprinkle them with the special water that makes them grow back together.”
“Maybe you two should play something else,” I suggested, concerned that the game was a little too morbid for Henry and might give him nightmares. “Henry, you brought some books. Why don’t you and Addie look at those instead?”
I hung out long enough to see them pack the stones into a little pouch Addie had and dig through the puppy backpack with floppy brown ears that held some of Henry’s books.
When I returned to the dining room, I was mortified to find the table already cleared and Pearlie pouring coffee from a silver pot.
“Thought we’d lost you,” Earl teased.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, slipping back into my seat and accepting the cup Pearlie handed me.
“Never mind him, baby,” she said, sending Earl a look that only made him chuckle. “You came back just in time for dessert.”
“You do not want to miss Ms. June’s buttermilk pie,” Chase assured me, taking a large bite for emphasis.
I’d barely taken my first bite when Junior leaned forward. “So, Zellie, Whit says you love books. Got a favorite?”
I glanced at Whit. His lips twitched into the hint of a smile before he turned his attention to his pie and his cousin’s inane prattle. “Yes, sir. I do love books,” I answered. “But a favorite?” I grinned. “Do I have to pick just one?”
And that’s how I found myself drawn into a lively conversation with Junior, hitting on pretty much everything from Chaucer to Jane Austen to Stephen King.
I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I looked around to see everyone had gone but Whit.
Henry had passed out cold, face down on the couch, sleeping harder than I’d seen in a while.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Pearlie!” I exclaimed, jumping up. “I shouldn’t have stayed so long. I’ve been a horrible guest.”
“Now hush,” she said, waving away my apology. “I don’t shoo out family.”
This time, I couldn’t stop the grin at her calling me family. But that happiness fractured a little at the thought of eventually leaving Dawes House. I turned away quickly and bent to scoop up Henry, groaning a bit at the unexpected weight of his limp, sleeping body.
“Allow me.”
I looked up to see Whit standing beside me. He gently took Henry under the arms and lifted my son so that Henry was draped over his shoulder, arms and legs dangling.
“I…uh…” I stammered, not used to anyone stepping in to help. “Thank you.”
“Here you go, baby,” Pearlie said, thrusting a stack of leftovers into my hands. “You take these for you and Henry. You won’t have to worry about supper after your first day of work tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ms. Pearlie,” I said, my vision blurring again with those damned tears.
On impulse, I threw my free arm around her neck in a brief hug. Pearlie hugged me back then gave Whit a pointed look, something unreadable passing between them.
Whit and I didn’t speak in the elevator. I was already self-conscious and embarrassed about my emotions being on full display that evening, betraying just how starved for friendship—for family—I really was. And I was afraid if I looked at him just then, I’d completely fall apart.
When we reached my apartment, I paused, thinking I heard crying again. “Do you hear that?” I asked, scanning the hallway.
Whit shook his head. “Hear what?”
I listened for a moment longer before unlocking the door. Once inside, I quickly put away the leftovers and returned to the living room to find Whit still holding Henry, waiting patiently.
“Sorry,” I whispered, reaching for my son. “Let me take him.” I started for the hallway but paused and looked back. “Thanks again, Whit. For everything.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a terse nod, his brows drawn together in something of a frown. “My pleasure.”
When I returned from getting Henry into his pajamas and tucking him in, I was startled to see Whit on the couch—not relaxing, just perched on the very edge of the cushion, hands clasped, posture tense.
He rose immediately when he saw me. “Apologies,” he said, shoving his hands back into his pockets in what I was beginning to realize was his tell when he felt awkward and uncomfortable. “I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left.”
“Because I’m hearing things as well as seeing things, you mean?” I teased with a small grin.
This earned an actual smile. “I never said that.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t have to. I saw it in your face. But I’m not hearing things. I did hear arguing this afternoon and then a woman crying. I’m certain of that.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “I can solve that mystery for you. You likely heard Billy Wayne and Kitty. They have a volatile relationship.”
Determined to get at what Whit wasn’t saying, I asked, “Is Kitty in danger? Should someone check on her?”
“I’m not aware of any danger,” Whit assured me. “Just arguing and screaming at each other, most likely over Billy Wayne’s wandering eye, if I had to guess. But if it concerns you, I can look in on her tomorrow.”
It wasn’t entirely reassuring, but I nodded anyway. “Thanks.”
We stood there together in silence for a moment before he finally gestured toward the door with his thumb and said, “Better get going.”
I walked him to the door, suddenly feeling awkward again. He paused in the doorway, studying me, brow furrowed.
“Zellie—” he began, but he bit off whatever it was he’d wanted to say. “Goodnight. Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded. “I will,” I said softly. “Thank you, Whit. For everything.”
He gave me a curt nod then headed toward the elevator.
I watched him go, then shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes as I recalled the gentle pressure of his hand on mine earlier, the comforting gesture that made my heart skip a beat and my breath hitch, and wishing I could silence the voice inside me that whispered in warning.
In my dream, I was running barefoot through the trees, the branches smacking me in the face, clawing at me, cutting my skin.
I glanced behind me, terrified of what followed in the darkness, my fear propelling me forward though my lungs burned and my muscles ached.
My long white nightgown snagged on a branch and for one brief, panicked moment I thought I’d been caught, but the fabric ripped, and I kept running—
A slap to the face startled me awake. I bolted up and covered my left eye, which throbbed and watered from the impact.
“What the hell?” I spat, furious.
The hand that had struck me was small, a child’s hand. Heart pounding, I searched the darkness with my good eye, looking for Henry.
Why would he do that? Was he sleepwalking? Playing some strange prank?
It wasn’t like him at all.
I threw back my covers and stormed to his room, intending to find out what the hell he was thinking, but he was sound asleep, his covers kicked off to expose one bare foot, one arm dangling over the side of his bed.
My stomach twisted.
If it wasn’t Henry…
As I stood there, the implications of what had just happened made those tighten, and a wave of nausea swept over me. I raced to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
What the hell was with me?
I had never experienced nausea so easily as I had lately—not since I was pregnant with Henry. And I knew for a fact that morning sickness wasn’t even a remote possibility.
By the time I could stand again, tears of frustration blurred my vision as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The flesh around my eye was puffy and swollen, and the white of my eye was now pink from burst capillaries.
Taking a steadying breath, I turned around and leaned against the vanity, my hands gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles ached. I swallowed hard, preparing for what I was about to open myself to.
“David?” I whispered. “Was that you? Why did you hit me? What are you trying to tell me?”
I waited, listening, not knowing if the intruder would show himself or communicate—or if he even could.
“You don’t have to hit me to get my attention,” I assured him. “You can reach out to me in other ways. You could blink the lights or knock or…” My mind raced, searching for alternative methods. “You could turn on one of Henry’s toys.”
I stood motionless for several minutes, every muscle taut, waiting, but nothing else happened.
Relieved and disappointed all at once, I returned to my bed.
I lay there in the darkness for a little while, too amped up to sleep, too afraid of what might happen as soon as I closed my eyes.
Finally, I switched on the bedside lamp.
It’s ridiculous that we think leaving the lights on will neutralize any threats that lurk in the shadows. If a spirit has the power to attack in the darkness, they can attack when the lights are on. Trust me. Still, it was a small comfort that would perhaps let me get a little more sleep.
As I drifted off, the sound of crying came through the vents.
I hadn’t even met Kitty yet, but my heart was breaking for her. Maybe she, too, didn’t have the money to leave and find something better. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep from absorbing her anguish and making it my own. Eventually, the crying stopped and the house was quiet again.