I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering gentle hands leading me to the sofa, and I felt my shoulders hunch with embarrassment. My eyes felt raw and swollen, as if I’d been crying for the last one thousand miles, but I knew I hadn’t. I was an expert at keeping all my emotions inside. Had been for years. But there was something in the way Mr. Williams had looked at me, something that reminded me of my father and the little girl I’d once been before everything changed.
Ms. Difloe placed the cold tumbler in my hands and I brought the glass to my lips, dripping water down my chin because I couldn’t steady my fingers. Mr. Williams brought out a pressed linen handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and as he gave it to me I noticed his embroidered monogram in navy in the corner. It told me everything I needed to know about Mrs. Williams, and I felt oddly comforted.
“Thank you,” I said, dabbing at my chin but ignoring my eyes, as if I could hide my tears by blinking them away.
Ms. Difloe quietly exited the room while Mr. Williams sat patiently in a pulled-up chair that matched the nail-head couch I was propped up on. He looked at me expectantly, and I thought about how Southerners were supposed to be so slow about everything, and I suspected he’d sit there waiting indefinitely until I finally spoke.
After taking another sip from the glass, I put it on the side table on a delicate lace coaster that I also imagined Mrs. Williams had strategically placed to protect the antique furniture in her husband’s office.
I clutched the handkerchief, watching my knuckles whiten as I tightened my fist around it, then looked up in surprise when Mr. Williams spoke first.
“When we talked on the phone, you said Cal had died in a fire. That he was a firefighter and his unit was responding to an emergency when he died.”
I nodded. “Yes,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Were you there?” he asked gently.
“No.”
He patted my arm. “Then it was an accident, see? It’s normal to want to blame ourselves when a death is unexpected.”
I pulled my arm away from him and stood. “Thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’d like to see the house now, if I could. Before it gets dark. All of my things are in my car, and I’d like to unpack while I can still see.”
Mr. Williams glanced out the wide window. “Did you haul a trailer or leave most of your furniture in storage?”
“I only brought what I needed. I sold or gave away everything else.”
His eyes were compassionate, as if he understood the meaning behind my words. “Really, Merritt, please stay with Kathy and me at least for tonight, and as long as you need to while you decide what you’re going to do. I promise you that the house isn’t in move-in condition.”
I looked at him as the reason for his reluctance became clear to me. “Did Edith die in the house?”
He seemed taken aback at my direct question, but quickly composed himself. “Yes. In the front parlor. I had a professional team come and do a thorough cleaning and dispose of the sofa. The house was completely aired out, and the ventilation system sanitized.”
I realized what he was trying to say without actually saying it out loud. I didn’t glance away, although I had the impression that he wanted me to. “How long was she dead before they discovered her body?”
He reached into his pocket for the handkerchief he’d already given me, his hand stilling as I held it up to him. He took it and hastily folded it before returning it to his pocket. “The coroner estimates she’d been dead between a week to ten days. Heart attack. Her neighbor noticed her newspapers stacking up on her porch steps and called the police.”
“That’s horrible,” I said, finally glancing away. I wiped my palms against my skirt as if what I’d just heard had made them dirty. “You don’t have to come with me. Just give me the address so I can plug it into my GPS.”
His face softened, and I imagined him recalling our phone conversation when I explained to him that I had no family except for Cal. “It’s no bother at all, and it would be an honor to show you the house. It truly is a fine example of some of the beautiful architecture here in Beaufort. Let me grab my car keys and the house keys, and we’ll be on our way. I’ll call my son to bring your car in a little bit so you can enjoy the scenery on the way to your new home.”
I was relieved that he didn’t expect me to drive yet, as my hands were still a little shaky. He smiled, but he couldn’t hide the look of worry behind his eyes. And I was too exhausted to explain to him that I was no stranger to sadness, and that it had become second nature to wake up each morning expecting the worst. I didn’t want to be surprised anymore. Hearing the story of an elderly lady I didn’t know dying alone merely pinged at the glass wall I’d erected without even leaving a chip.
We exited through a rear door that opened up to a small parking lot that faced a large green park area and behind that a wide expanse of water. I shivered despite the temperature, watching cars traverse a long bridge to another spit of land, while boats wandered aimlessly beneath it like a scene in a postcard from somebody else’s life. Heat rose from the asphalt, baking the soles of my shoes, and I shifted my feet.