“I’m Mr. Williams. It’s nice to meet you, too, Rocky.” He turned to Loralee with a hopeful expression, as if she might want to explain who they were and why they were there.
But she’d stepped past us and was looking up at the row of sea-glass wind chimes, her expression like a child’s on Christmas Day. “Mermaid’s tears,” she said, clasping her hands together over her Barbie-like chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my whole life.”
Mr. Williams smiled at her as if he’d never seen anything as beautiful as she was, and I wanted to shout at him, to warn him that charming older gentlemen was something she was really good at.
“My mother used to call them that, too,” he said, smiling a smile that wasn’t grandfatherly at all. “You must have been raised by the ocean.”
“Yes, sir, I was. In Gulf Shores, Alabama, not too far from the gulf.” She stuck out an elegant, well-manicured hand with a broken index fingernail. “I’m Loralee Connors. Merritt’s stepmother.”
Mr. Williams took her hand, but looked at me with raised eyebrows, his expression letting me know that I had some explaining to do.
A stiff breeze blew at us and the house and the wind chimes, making the glass stones sing. The long day and the stress of the last few months were finally too much for me, and my knees just buckled.
Loralee was closest and caught my elbow, and she and Mr. Williams led me to a wicker chair with an indented seat. I nodded my thanks, but, in my embarrassment, couldn’t look at either of them. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on the scarred floorboards of the porch, listening to the wind as it picked up speed and shook the chimes, showering us all with the sound of glass.
chapter 3
LORALEE
Blood isn’t always thicker than water. As Loralee watched Merritt hesitate before finally shaking Owen’s hand, that was the first thing she thought, and she moved a bracelet to her other arm to remind herself to add it to her Journal of Truths later. But then Loralee saw that Merritt’s eyes were the same color as Robert’s and their son’s, except just a shade darker. It was like all the hurts in Merritt’s life had settled there. Loralee thought they probably created shadows in front of everything Merritt saw in life, and felt herself soften toward her stepdaughter. But Loralee knew she could never let on that she’d seen Merritt’s weakness, that she knew Merritt felt the hurts more than most people and thought she’d figured out how to hide them from those who knew where to look.
Loralee knelt down by the wicker chair so she could see Merritt’s face. “If you tell me where the kitchen is, I’ll go fetch you some water.”
Merritt looked at her with an expression Loralee had seen on a fox her mama’s bluetick hound, Roscoe, had cornered outside their chicken coop. It was hunger, and hopelessness, but tucked way back was the tiny glimmer that there was still a chance to escape.
“Why are you here?” Merritt asked, her Northern accent at once jarring and familiar to Loralee.
“I figured it was time you met your brother. Your daddy would want that.” Loralee hoped that she was better at hiding her real feelings than Merritt was.
Merritt struggled to get out of her chair and Loralee knew better than to offer help. It would be like trying to help a rattler by moving a rock off its tail. It would bite you just because it was hurt and didn’t know the cause of it.
She fell back into the seat and glared at Loralee. “What makes you think that I give a”—she glanced at Owen before continuing—“hoot what my father wanted? He didn’t care what I wanted, so I guess that makes us even.”
Loralee wanted to tell her something she’d already written in her Journal of Truths—that life wasn’t about keeping score—but she didn’t think Merritt would appreciate it just then. Loralee knew she should take Owen by the hand and go find a hotel, to give Merritt time to get used to the idea of their being there. But she was running out of time, and a category five hurricane wind couldn’t have blown her from her spot on the porch.
She felt Owen’s worried eyes on her, and Loralee knew she had to make this work. “Your daddy said that you and Owen are like two peas in a pod. Always has his nose in a book and loves to swim. He’s on the summer rec swim team. He hasn’t won a ribbon yet, but he signs up every summer so he can try. Your daddy said you did the same thing.”
Merritt looked at Owen, and they regarded each other with matching eyes. Loralee felt a glimmer of hope, as if she’d somehow found a rip in Merritt’s duct-taped heart that allowed a little light to shine in. “He loves to draw and paint, too, and he’s so creative. You should see what he can do with a bunch of LEGO bricks.”