Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
June was the first to visit, bringing Henry upstairs after the police had gone.
“Zellie, darlin’, are you alright? I can’t imagine getting that kind of shock!
I brought you some tea for your nerves. It’s my own recipe.
I want you to drink it all, now. I don’t want to hear from Whit that you left a single leaf behind. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, offering her a weak smile from where I sat on the couch, my knees to my chest. “Thank you.”
Whit opened the door for her, not exactly a subtle hint for her to leave.
“You know,” June said, heading toward the kitchen instead, “I think I’ll just go ahead and make you a cup before I go, make sure you don’t forget.”
“Thank you, June,” Whit said, exasperation evident in his tone. “I’m sure I can manage a cup of tea if you are otherwise engaged.”
She waved away his words like she was swatting a fly and addressed me instead. “It is no trouble at all. You just rest there, Zellie, darlin’. I’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time.”
Whit heaved a long sigh and swung the door closed none too gently.
June finally left after a couple of hours of fussing over me, making sure I had a comfy cushion behind me so my back wouldn’t protest, that I had enough hot water for my tea, that Henry had a nice hot lunch like he was used to when he was with “Mamaw June.”
She almost completely ignored Whit’s insistence that he could capably take care of me, clucking her tongue and sending disapproving looks his way as if to imply if that were the case I wouldn’t have suffered “such a shock” in the first place.
Whit had just shut the door behind her when a knock made his jaw clench and his posture go rigid. He pulled the door open with an irritated jerk of the handle only to see Pearlie standing there holding a plate of cookies.
“Oh, Zellie, honey!” Pearlie cried, brushing past Whit as if he weren’t even there. She set the plate of cookies on the coffee table and held out both her hands to me. “How are you, baby?”
I took her outstretched hands, and she sat down on the couch, pulling me into her arms, rocking me gently.
“I’m okay, Ms. Pearlie,” I assured her, but too comforted by her motherly concern to pull away. “I just feel awful for that poor woman.”
“Whitman Montgomery Proffitt,” Pearlie admonished, “why are you just standing there in the doorway? Get this poor girl some warmer blankets. She’s shivering!”
I didn’t know I was until Pearlie mentioned it. Then a rhythmic clacking caught my attention, and I realized it was my teeth chattering.
Whit sent Pearlie an annoyed look but obediently turned and went down the hall to grab a blanket from my bed. When he returned, Pearlie wrapped me up tightly and hugged me close.
“There now,” she soothed. “That’s more like it. Is that better, baby?”
I nodded, the chattering already subsiding. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why don’t we go get some lunch?” Whit said, holding his hand out to Henry, ignoring the fact that June had already fed Henry not half an hour earlier.
Henry immediately hopped up from where he’d been quietly coloring. “Yes, sir.” He scurried off to get his shoes but a moment later called out, “Mama! I can’t find my other shoe!”
I extricated myself from my blankets despite Pearlie’s protest about needing to let Whit get it. “It’s okay, Ms. Pearlie. Really. I can take care of it. I’m not going to break in half.” I smiled and then laughed a little shakily. “Just have to tell the bones to stop rattling, right?”
Her brows twitched together almost imperceptibly in a frown, and I didn’t miss the look she cast Whit’s way.
“The song?” I said, explaining the reference. “The one June taught Addie and Henry? I don’t really know the words. Sorry, bad joke.”
Pearlie’s chuckle sounded forced. “Oh, that! Yes, I’d forgotten she’d already started teaching the children.”
Unsettled for some reason, I hurried down the hall to help Henry. He was on his hands and knees, lifting up the comforter to look under his bed when I came in.
“No luck?” I asked.
He stood and frowned at me. “No, ma’am. Where did it go? I put them together in my closet just like you told me, Mama, I promise.”
“I believe you, baby,” I told him, tousling his hair. “We’ll find it.”
But another thorough search of his bedroom still didn’t reveal the shoe’s mystery location.
“What the heck?” I mumbled. “Henry—”
“It was in my closet!” he said, his face twisting in frustration. “I know it was! I’m not lying!”
I stared at him, too stunned at his uncharacteristic behavior to respond. But my expression must’ve revealed the words that were sitting on my tongue.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he said in a rush, running to me and gripping my shirt with his fists, his eyes wide with fear. “I’m sorry, Mama!”
“Henry!” I soothed, prying his fists loose from my shirt. “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you so upset?”
“Everything okay?”
I turned at the sound of Whit’s voice to see him standing in the doorway. “Yeah, I think we’ve all just had a rough morning.” I smoothed Henry’s hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. “We just can’t find Henry’s other shoe.”
Whit strode into the room and went to Henry’s bookshelf. “Is this it?” he asked, pulling the shoe from where it had been wedged in among some of the books the previous tenant had left behind.
“I didn’t put it there,” Henry insisted. “I promise!”
I picked him up and sat him on his bed, helping him put his shoes on. “I know. It’s okay. The important thing is we have it now, right?”
“I think David hid it from me,” Henry grumbled. “He’s mad at me for playing with Addie more.”
“I’m sure he’s not mad,” I assured him. “He needs to understand you have other friends.”
“I have other friends,” Henry told me. “But he doesn’t.”
That made my heart ache. Did David not have anyone else to interact with? Was being dead really so lonely, so dependent on the notice of the living for any interaction at all? The poor boy…
My musings were cut short when I entered the living room and found Pearlie had gone. “Where’s Ms. Pearlie?”
Whit’s jaw tightened at the question. “I assured her that I was more than capable of taking care of my future wife.”
“Oh, Whit,” I admonished. “I hope she wasn’t offended. Pearlie’s been more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was!”
He sighed, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s complicated. None of them had much faith in me taking over for my father, so I’m probably overly sensitive to their criticism, even if it’s only my perception.”
I hadn’t thought about Whit’s side of things. I rested my palm on his chest and turned my eyes up to him. “I have complete faith in you,” I told him. “There’s no one I would trust more to take care of us.”
The look in his eyes told me how much my words meant. He dipped his head and brushed a brief kiss to my lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now,” I added, my tone light, “about that lunch…”
The next few days were a steady stream of hot meals and June’s special teas and drop-in visits from all the neighbors.
Even Billy Wayne stopped by to see how I was doing.
And although there was still an unspoken, inexplicable tension simmering between Whit and the others, he was more welcoming. But watchful.
Soon, all of us fell back into our normal routines, although I noticed Whit spent more time with Henry, getting his “help” with the renovations on the other fourth-floor apartment, including Addie as often as June would allow. This meant Henry spent less time with June. And I can’t say I minded.
For weeks, the house was quiet. I saw no intruders, heard no strange noises, had no items go missing or show up in strange places, had no disturbing dreams. For the first time since coming to Dawes House, everything felt…normal.
Henry continued to grow, flourish, his cheeks rosy, his energy like a normal five-year-old boy. He was healthy. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I owed his improvement to June’s home remedies, old-world knowledge that helped him where modern medicine simply couldn’t.
As the first day of school approached, Henry’s excitement grew, and my job at the bookstore made it possible for me to buy school clothes and supplies and all the things he would need.
It was a moment I’d dreaded, having to admit to my son that I couldn’t afford to give him the same things his classmates had. But I could. And it felt damned good.
Whit had wanted to help, but I wouldn’t let him.
I wanted—needed—to do this on my own. In the end, though, I let him take Henry shopping for a new pair of shoes since he only had the one pair that still fit.
And even though Whit bought him three pairs, I didn’t care.
What mattered was how happy Henry was, how much he loved Whit, and that Whit was eager to be the father Henry had never had.
Whit and I spent as much time together as possible when he wasn’t traveling for business.
He always came home exhausted and often bruised.
And he was as evasive about why as he had been the first time, but I didn’t press.
I knew he would tell me more when he was ready.
I could imagine that not all the tenants were thrilled with the idea of being relocated, even if (as I found out) Whit offered them all a sizable sum to help them find a better place to live and to pay for any moving expenses.
With every day, I realized how much I had misjudged Whit when we’d first spoken after Mr. Monty’s death, how deep his kindness ran, how unwavering his love was for me, for Henry.
And I loved him. Loved him with such intensity, it sometimes frightened me.
It was as if I had already loved him for a lifetime.
That’s why after one of Whit’s business trips, when we lay in each other’s arms in the darkness, I said, “I don’t want to wait.”
“Wait for what?”