The Line

EIGHT


I felt the cousins’ prying minds swoop over me, so I extended the mental image of a “No Trespassing” sign and then a fist with a raised middle finger for those who wouldn’t take the hint. The probes fell off in en masse. I decided to get out. It would be lunch time soon, and I knew Peter’s crew always took their break in Chatham Square, so I decided to swing by Parker’s Market for provisions and surprise him with a picnic. The memory of what had happened after my last visit to his work site tried to surface, but I pushed it away. I grabbed my backpack, dumping the Liar’s Tour souvenirs out onto my bed. There would be plenty of time to start doing tours again after Ginny’s funeral.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and briefly considered applying at least a little makeup, using the artistry Ellen had taught me. With the golden light playing on my cheekbones, I looked pretty, even beautiful. It helped that Maisie wasn’t standing next to me. In comparison to her, I would always suffer. Realizing that any attempt at a pageant queen face would melt as soon as I stepped outside, I applied a little moisturizer with sunscreen and called it good. Makeup was the surest way to tell a tourist from a woman who lived in Savannah—only a tourist would be foolish enough to think her foundation could withstand ninety-eight degrees combined with 98 percent humidity. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, knowing full well that anything else would be a waste of time. I changed into cutoffs and a snug tank top, hoping that the judicious showing of a little skin would make up for the sweaty mess I’d be by the time I arrived. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and went outside.

Stepping out into the Savannah day was like walking into a steam bath. Perspiration immediately begin to build beneath the strap of my backpack. I found my bike and hopped onto it, the metal of its frame fiery against my thighs.

But in spite of the overwhelming heat, I felt freer than I had in months. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer had to hide my feelings about Jackson from Maisie. Yes, I was in love with him. No, I didn’t have to act on those feelings. Maybe I was just confused. Hopefully I could move on, with or without Jilo’s meddling. I owed it to my sister to try, and I certainly owed it to Peter. Truth was, I owed it to myself. Maisie and Peter had been the two most loving constants in my life.

After picking up lunch at the grocery store, I dug deep into my bike’s pedals, eager to get to Chatham Square as fast as I could. I didn’t register any more of my surroundings than my basic survival instincts required, and as I neared the square, I hopped off my bike and started walking, already scanning the area for Peter.

“Mercy!” A sleazy voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I was approaching the northeast corner of the square when a new red Mercedes convertible pulled up beside me. “Mercy.” This time the voice came more softly, teetering on the tightrope between greeting and proposition. The car came to a full stop. It was Tucker Perry. Great. “How are you, darlin’? My condolences about Ginny. Terrible business this all is.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perry.” I kept walking, but the car slid predatorily alongside me.

“I sure wish there were something I could do to make you feel better. Take your mind off everything.” His smile was crooked, causing his right eye to squint a tad. I felt the sudden need for a shower. The thought of my lovely Ellen submitting to Perry’s touch made me shudder.

“The thought is much appreciated.” I forced a smile. “But I should be on my way now.” Relief flooded over me as I saw Peter crossing the square toward us with a protective look on his face. He was bare chested, with his T-shirt clutched in his right hand.

“My offer to take you to the next Tillandsia still stands,” Tucker said, taking note of Peter’s approach. “Bringing you in would be completing the circle in a way. Your mama always enjoyed it so.” Peter crossed the road and came up beside me. “We could use some fresh blood. You’d both be more than welcome. You and your young man there too.”

“Thank you Mr. Perry, but I don’t think so,” I said, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t say more. I was itching to tell him off.

“Everything good here?” Peter said, his eyes glued on Tucker.

“It all looks good to me.” Tucker looked us both up and down and made that same crooked grin. “Well, I’d better be getting on. You let me know if you reconsider, Mercy.” He sped off without another word.

“What the hell was that all about?” Peter asked, watching as the Mercedes disappeared from sight.

“Tillandsia,” I responded. “Tucker seems to think we’d want to waste our nights drinking with him.”

“Well, he could not be more wrong about that,” Peter said, then turned to face me. He leaned in and surprised me with a kiss. “What are you doing around here?”

To hell with nonchalance, I decided. Here in front of me was a simple, wholesome man who loved me. No strings tying him to anyone else. No ulterior motives. “I missed you, so I came to see you. Is that all right?”

“That is way more than all right,” he responded, his face lighting up with a smile. “Come sit with me.” He took charge of my bike with his right hand and slid his left hand to the small of my back, guiding me gently into the square. He carefully set my bike down under the shade of one of the live oak trees and sat down next to it. “Pull up some turf,” he said, patting the ground next to him. I carefully dropped the backpack of food in between us. “Any news about Ginny’s funeral yet? I’ll try to get off, but the boss said I had to give him a few days’ notice.”

“No, we aren’t sure when her body will be released.”

“I still don’t understand how it could have happened,” he said. “And why your family can’t just do their hocus-pocus to find who did it.” His untroubled acceptance of my family’s powers made me smile. We had grown up together, but even with full knowledge of who my family was, and what they could do, he had never once pulled away from us like most normal people did.

“I am right there with you,” I said. “A few weeks ago, I would have thought it was impossible for anything to harm Ginny. They’ve been trying to track down the murderer, but so far no luck, either for my family or for the police.”

The rest of the crew had found their way to the park, and the men were spilling in around us. “Hey, Pete,” one of them called. “That your dessert?”

“Damn, and all I got was a pudding cup,” another of the guys hooted.

“Can I have a taste, Petey?” a short wiry guy called out.

“Ignore them. Those bastards would give anything to be sitting here with you. And I can’t blame them,” he said, but I could tell from the way he looked at the other men that they were pushing their luck. He noticed the backpack. “You doing a tour today?” he asked.

I opened my backpack and handed him his sandwich. “I brought you lunch,” I said, suddenly self-conscious. Exposed and vulnerable in a way that a few catcalls could never make me.

“Lunch, huh,” he smiled happily. “This really was premeditated, then?”

“Yeah, I guess it was.” An innocent joy washed over him, and on his face I saw real love, not some horrible Hoodoo counterfeit. He deserved the real kind too, and I was determined to try to find it in myself to give to him. And if I couldn’t, I’d just have to find the strength to set him free. I cursed myself for ever going to Jilo. I pushed the thought of her away, only to find my thoughts returning to an equally undesirable person—Tucker. “Tucker told me that my mother was the one who got him involved in Tillandsia,” I said, “Maybe that’s where she met my father.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “What are you thinking?”

“That I might be able to learn something if I take him up on his offer to introduce me to the club. Maybe it would help me figure out who my dad is.”

He was quiet for a moment, his face a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just that I don’t know what went on in the club when your mama was in it. I’m sure it wasn’t anything like the stuff they get up to today, but…” He paused.

“But what?”

“Well I’ve heard talk around the bar. They get up to some pretty wild things in Tillandsia these days. It’s turned into a kind of swingers club.” He looked guilty, as if he’d been forced to tell me there was no such thing as Santa. “You know I love Ellen, and I don’t mean to judge her, but Mercy, Tillandsia is no place for you.”

“But if what you say about Tillandsia is true, and it was like that when my mama was involved, any of the men in the club could be my father, even Tucker Perry.”

“Not a chance,” Peter said through his sandwich. “If Tucker thought you and Maisie could be his girls, he wouldn’t be sniffing around the two of you so much.”

“You sure about that?” I asked him. “?’Cause I am not so sure myself.”

Peter’s face turned gray, and he lowered his sandwich. “I think I lost my appetite.” He wrapped the sandwich back in its cellophane. “Naw, even Tucker Perry isn’t that much of a perv,” he said after a moment, trying to convince me, and probably even himself. “Listen. I could talk to Tucker. I should talk to Tucker. I’ve been wanting to, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“What boundaries?” I asked.

“My boundaries with you,” he said. “I didn’t know for sure if you would want me to stand up to Tucker as your…”

“As my what?” I prompted him.

“As your man,” he said, and a nervous look came into his eyes, crowned by a twitch in his forehead. “I’m not sure if that’s how you see me, but I do know you well enough never to just presume.”

I took it all in—the warm light from his mismatched eyes, the sun setting his hair on fire, and his strength and kindness. Still I hesitated an instant too long.

“I always thought the two of us were bound to end up together sooner or later,” he said. “Until Jackson came to town, that is.” I didn’t know what to say. It was one thing for Maisie to read me, but if my feelings were so obvious to Peter, the most normal man I had ever met, I stunk at hiding my emotions. “I don’t mind that I’m not your first choice, Mercy,” he said, saving me from the silence. “Not as long you eventually get around to choosing me.”

I felt a stirring in my heart, but I knew it wasn’t the result of any Hoodoo—it was a recognition of Peter’s goodness. I crossed the few feet over to him on my knees, then pressed my lips against his, wrapping my arms around him. He kissed me back and pulled me to his chest, like he was trying to pull me into him. Peter was a wonderful man. He’d be a good husband and a good father when the time came. Instead of a magical passion, I felt a sudden peace growing in me, a knowledge that somehow we were going to make our relationship work, whatever it took.

I stopped kissing Peter and looked him dead in the eye. “I think you need to go have a man-to-man talk with Tucker.”

“Oh, and I am going to do just that,” he said and began kissing me again.

“I would tell them to get a room,” I heard one of Peter’s coworkers say to the others, “but truth is, I’d kind of like to watch.”