Trent takes a last look at the nursing home. “It sounds as if she’s lived quite a life.”
“Yes, it does.” It stings to imagine May, my grandmother’s friend, languishing in this place day after day. No visitors. No one to talk to. Grandkids living far away in a complex blended-family situation. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just a reality. I’ll definitely get in touch with Andrew Moore at the PAC and see if he can suggest any organizations that could help her.
A horn sounds on the street, and nearby a car door closes. The world is still moving, and Trent and I should too.
His chest heaves outward and then relaxes. His breath grazes my ear as he leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Thanks, Avery. I’m glad I know the truth.”
His face lingers against mine. I smell salt air, and baby shampoo, and a hint of pluff mud. Or maybe I’m only imagining it.
“Me too.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says again.
“I won’t.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a woman coming up the sidewalk. White blouse, pumps, black skirt. Her rapid-fire steps feel unwelcome, out of keeping with the day. Heat boils into my cheeks, and I jerk away from Trent so quickly, he gives me a confused look.
Leslie has tracked me down. I should’ve known better than to ask Ian to check on May’s condition for me. Leslie’s chin recedes into her neck as she regards Trent and me. I can only imagine what she’s thinking. Actually, I don’t have to imagine it. I can see what she’s thinking. The exchange she just witnessed looked intimate.
“Thanks again, Trent.” I try to diffuse the impression she must have. “Take care on the drive home.” I step back, clasp my hands one over the other.
His eyes search mine. “Yeah,” he mutters, cocking his head to one side and squinting at me. He has no idea someone is standing behind him or that the real world has come rushing in with gale force.
“We’ve been looking for you.” Leslie makes her presence known without taking time for pleasantries. “Cellphone not working this morning, or are you in hiding?”
Trent moves aside, glances from my father’s press secretary to me.
“I was on vacation,” I say. “Everyone knew where I was.”
“On Edisto?” Leslie retorts with a nip of sarcasm. Clearly, I’m not on Edisto now. She directs another suspicious glare in Trent’s direction.
“Yes…well…I…” My mind scrambles. Sweat beads under the cotton floral tourist dress I bought so I’d have something clean to wear today. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have time for it. You’re needed at home.” She means to let Trent know we have business to tend to and he’s not welcome here any longer. It works. He gives me one last quizzical look, then excuses himself, saying he has someone he wants to visit while he’s in Aiken.
“Take care, Avery,” he says, and starts toward his car.
“Trent…thanks,” I call after him. He lifts a hand and waves over his shoulder in a way that says, whatever is going on here, he wants no part of it.
I wish I could run after him and at least apologize for Leslie’s abrupt dismissal, but I know I shouldn’t. It’ll only raise more questions.
“My phone was off, I think.” I preempt Leslie before she can start an inquisition. “Sorry about that. What’s going on?”
She blinks slowly, lifts her chin. “Let’s not talk about that for a minute. Let’s talk about what I just saw when I came up this sidewalk.” She waves a hand toward Trent, and I hope he’s far enough away not to hear her. “Because that was disturbing.”
“Leslie, he’s a friend. He was helping me track down some family history. That’s all.”
“Family history? Really? Here?” Jerking her chin up, she snorts in frustration. “Of what sort?”
“I’d rather not say.”
Leslie’s eyes flash. Her lips squeeze into a thin line. She takes a breath, blinks again, levels a heated gaze at me. “Well, let me tell you something. Whatever I just witnessed there is exactly the kind of scene you cannot afford. Nothing that could possibly be spun, used, or misinterpreted, Avery. Nothing. You have to be pure as the driven snow, and that did not look pure from a distance. Can you imagine how it would have played in a photograph? All of us, the entire team, are putting everything we have into you. In case you’re needed.”
“I know that. I understand.”
“The last thing this family can withstand is one more battle to fight.”
“Point taken.” I paint a layer of confidence over the words, but inside I’m confused; I’m embarrassed; I’m aggravated that I have to deal with Leslie right now. I’m torn between appeasing Leslie and running after Trent. I’m afraid to even look up to see whether he’s made it to his car yet.
The engine starts, and answers my question. I hear him back out and drive away. It’s probably for the best, I tell myself. Of course it is. I had my whole life planned before I went to Edisto. Why would I want to jeopardize that over…ancient family history, things that don’t matter anymore, a man with whom I have no connection other than a story that even those who lived it want to forget?
“There’s been a development.” Leslie’s words take a moment to register even though I’m looking right at her. “The Sentinel just rolled out a massive exposé about corporate-owned nursing care and the responsibility dodge. It’s only a matter of time before the major media pick it up. The article highlighted the South Carolina cases. They have cost comparisons between Magnolia Manor and the kind of care facilities that have been named in some of the injury lawsuits. They have photos of victims and their families. They titled it ‘Aging Unevenly,’ and they headed it up with a long-range picture of your dad and your grandmother walking in the gardens at Magnolia.”
I stare at her, openmouthed, a feverish anger igniting deep within me. “How dare they! How dare…anyone! They have no right to harass my grandmother.”
“This is politics, Avery. Politics and sensationalism. There is no safe ground.”
CHAPTER 20
Rill
The man’s name is Darren, and the woman’s name is Victoria, but we’ve been told that we’re to call them Papa and Mommy, not Darren and Victoria or Mr. Sevier and Mrs. Sevier. It doesn’t bother me much. I’ve never called anyone Papa or Mommy, so the words don’t have a place in me one way or the other. They’re just words. That’s all.
Queenie and Briny are still our folks, and we’re still going back to them, soon as I can find a way. It won’t be hard as I thought it might be. The Sevier house is big and filled with rooms no one uses, and out back there’s a wide porch that looks over fields of tall trees and green grass, and all of it slopes on down to the best thing ever—the water. It’s not the river; it’s a long, skinny oxbow lake that drains off into a place called Dedmen’s Slough…and Dedmen’s Slough goes all the way down to the Mississippi. I found that out because I asked Zuma, who cleans this place and fixes the meals and lives over the old carriage house, where Mr. Sevier parks his cars. He has three cars. I’ve never even met anybody that has three cars.