As if he could read my mind, he said, “I’ll get it later.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “I’ve been driving around, burning gas. I went as far as Gallen Hall and parked in front of the cemetery for a little while. Don’t worry. All was quiet. No Revolutionary War soldiers or bodies hanging from trees. And all holes have been filled in.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” I tried to hide the uncertainty in my voice. “I’m surprised you went back. Especially since you don’t believe in do-overs.” I gave a little laugh that sounded false even to me.
“I don’t. Trust me, I wouldn’t want to relive that scene in the cemetery. I just . . .” He shrugged. “It’s almost as if my car drove there on its own. It’s like it knew I needed some quiet time. The house is for sale. Did you know? I wonder if Anthony needs the money for the lawsuit against his brother.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I doubt Anthony will allow Marc to push him around again. I would like to hope that Anthony’s learned his lesson.”
We regarded each other in silence. Jack wanted to say something but appeared as reluctant to speak as I was, although most likely for a different reason. I’d missed our nightly conversations in bed, and this was the next best thing. I wasn’t eager for it to end. It had been hard for me the last couple of months to fall asleep without him beside me, his voice the last thing I’d hear.
My eyes must have been slowly drifting closed, because when Jack finally spoke, I startled, my eyelids flying open. “Were you waiting up so you could sniff my breath?” His tone was only partially joking.
“Of course not.” The old Mellie would have stopped there, happy to put the unpleasantness behind her and move forward with happier topics. Instead, I found myself asking, “Why? Were you tempted?”
He nodded, his eyes not leaving my face. “I was. It’s why my first stop was to see your dad.” Jack had been my dad’s AA sponsor and this was the second time Dad had returned the favor.
“And you’re feeling better now?”
“Much. I did a lot of thinking while driving around. I forced myself to come to terms with what Marc has done. I figure I can put up with him for a little longer. We both have reason to want the film to be a success now, so I guess I just need to grin and bear it. We both will.”
He smiled at the thought of Marc being as miserable as he was. “The best news is that I came up with a pretty exciting plot idea. I’ll mull it over some more, jot down some notes, but I’m raring to go on the new project as soon as it’s a little better formed. It’s the first time in a long while I’ve been this excited.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “What’s it about?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Probably not for a while. I need to let it get past the seedling stage before I can share it.”
“I understand,” I said, even though I didn’t. I was still his wife, after all. And he’d always shared his story ideas with me before. It left me wondering what was so different about this one. But writers, I’d come to understand, were a weird bunch, with so many idiosyncrasies that I’d given up trying to make sense of them all.
He kicked off his shoes and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned against the pillows like I remembered. I recalled how I’d crawl into bed and rest my head on his chest, listening to it rumble as he spoke, and how sometimes his hands would drift down to rest on my shoulders or hips and then . . .
“Mellie?”
I jerked back, realizing he’d been speaking while I’d been staring at his chest. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“I was asking why you were waiting up for me. You could have just texted me or left a note. I’m assuming you would have called if it had been an emergency.”
“I know. But I didn’t think you’d be this late. And then I started listening to Beau’s podcast and lost track of the time.” I sat up straight, agitated all over again. “Have you listened to it?”
“His podcast? No. Should I?”
“I think so. Especially if someone like that is working for your parents and is in close proximity to Nola.”
Jack sat up and put his feet on the floor. “Why? Is he a Satanist?” His eyes widened as a new horror occurred to him. “Or a Communist? Not that there’s much difference, but still not someone we want Nola hanging around with.”
I shook my head. “I wish. It’s much worse.”
“Worse?”
I nodded. “The whole purpose of his podcast is to debunk ghost stories and expose fraudulent psychics.”
He stared at me, blinking once. “I think I’m missing something here.”
“Don’t you see? He read Marc’s book and that’s how he found out about me—and is probably why he sought out Trenholm Antiques for employment. It’s all like some big . . . plan or something.”
“A big plan for what? Sounds like you’d applaud someone who shines a light on those who might trivialize others like you who have a real gift.”
“More like a goiter on my neck, but whatever. It just seems like someone with an unspoken agenda shouldn’t be invited into our lives so easily.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “God only knows what Nola might have inadvertently told him about me and Jayne and our mother without her even knowing Beau was taking notes.”
Jack stood. “Now, Mellie, his family owns an antiques store in New Orleans, so it would make sense that he’d look for a job in one here in Charleston. I think it’s just a happy coincidence that my parents happen to be related to you.”
Our eyes met. “Except there’s no such thing as coincidence,” we said in unison. It had been Jack’s mantra before we’d met, and it had become mine, too, in the ensuing years. Mostly because it was always true.