Sadly, she didn’t share my assessment. Jayne told me to pick Monday or Tuesday to resume our running, which was a lot like choosing which day you’d like to be guillotined.
Nola walked into the kitchen, dragging her backpack, the three dogs bounding in behind her and racing to their bowls, which I’d filled the night before. She would never be a morning person and I’d already made a mental note that when I helped her schedule her classes for her first year in college, no classes would start before ten. I couldn’t allow myself to believe that she wouldn’t need my help in organizing her life when she started college. Things were hard enough for me as it was.
She stopped short when she spotted me. “You’re wearing real clothes for the second day in a row and your hair is clean. Who are you and what have you done to Melanie?”
“Very funny. I’ve decided it’s time to go back to work. I’ve even showered.”
“Good for you,” she said without a hint of sarcasm. “What are you working on?” She indicated the laptop.
Before I could close the lid, she moved to stand behind my chair. “Just a little mental health worksheet. Trying to be my best self and all that,” I said, parroting what Jayne and Sophie had been trying to drill into me. “Attempting to discover what’s missing.”
Nola glanced over my shoulder. “Wow, Melanie. ‘Get dressed’ and ‘exercise.’ Careful—you don’t want to aim too high.”
I sent her a withering glance. “Jayne said to start small, with manageable goals.”
She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of thick greenish juice and took a swig. I didn’t remind her that in this house we used glasses, because nobody in their right mind would want to drink any of her concoction anyway. “Then go ahead and add ‘breathe’ to the list. And ‘reorganize something that’s already been organized ten times.’?”
“Aren’t you going to be late for school?”
She flung open the pantry door and took out a breakfast bar. She peeled off the paper of what looked to be a small dirt brick and took a bite. “Mrs. Ravenel is doing car pool again and she’s always late, so I’ve got a good ten to fifteen minutes.” She indicated the laptop again with her chin. “Does that have anything to do with my dad?”
I had to remind myself that not only was she just sixteen going on seventeen, but that Jack was her father. “Sort of,” I admitted.
She slid into a chair across the table from me and I tried not to gag at the smell of the dirt bar she seemed to be enjoying. “You know, Melanie, I don’t think that whether or not you exercise or get dressed matters to Dad. He loves you—warts and all. He even thinks it’s pretty cool that you talk to dead people and that Sarah seems to have inherited it from you.” She chewed thoughtfully. “I think the issue isn’t reorganizing his desk drawer without asking or labeling his closet shelves. It’s more that even though you’re married, you still think like you’re on your own. That he’s not your partner in all things. That you’re so afraid of being told no that instead of discussing it, you go off and do your own thing regardless of the consequences.”
I looked at her, ready to argue that she was wrong, because what I did had never been meant to result in subterfuge or outright lying; my motivation had been to protect Jack and others I loved. But I couldn’t find the right words to refute what she’d just said. Maybe I just needed more coffee.
Instead, I said, “Did you come up with that on your own?”
She shook her head as she slid out her chair and stood. “Nope. I overheard a conversation between Dad and my grandparents. That’s pretty much verbatim.” She smiled, then took another bite of her breakfast bar.
“Are you working after school today? I can pick you up and drive you home so your grandfather doesn’t have to.”
She’d been helping my in-laws for a few hours each week at Trenholm Antiques since the previous summer with managing the website, working the cash register, and learning about the business and antiques. Ever since she’d been given an antique doll house—not the best choice, as we’d learned—Nola had been morbidly fascinated with anything that had been owned by people who no longer walked the earth.
I, of course, didn’t share this fascination, but as soon as Jack agreed that she was old enough for a part-time job, Nola had begun working for her grandparents and seemed to enjoy it almost as much as she enjoyed writing music. At least until recently, when a new hire, apparently a bossy and arrogant—according to Nola—man, had been brought on to help with the heavy lifting as well as to help manage the store. My in-laws had decided to travel more, scouting for antiques across the globe while at the same time being the tourists they’d never allowed themselves to be. They insisted they weren’t ready for retirement, so this would be the best of both worlds.
I wasn’t sure if Nola’s issue was with taking direction from a stranger in a place where she’d been allowed free rein ever since she’d arrived in Charleston or something else entirely. I hadn’t mentioned it to Amelia, hoping Nola’s disgruntlement would settle itself without parental intervention.
Nola sighed. “Not until Saturday. Lord Voldemort decided it would be more productive if I worked only weekends.”
I wanted to ask her more, but her attention was distracted by the window behind me that faced the wrecked garden. “Dr. Wallen-Arasi is here. And . . . oh, crap.”
I closed my laptop and stood, wondering at her reaction. I reached the door before Sophie could knock and excite the dogs, and I opened it so she and her companion could enter the kitchen. The chilly bite of early-morning air hit me and I slammed the door shut as quickly as possible.
“Good morning,” Sophie said cheerfully as she unwrapped a rainbow-striped knit scarf from around her neck. It matched the footie socks she wore with her Birkenstocks and the beanie cap on her head. I didn’t ask for her coat because I hadn’t had enough coffee yet to face whatever outfit was hiding beneath it.