“No,” I said quickly. Then added, “Thank you. I have work to do here. Besides, I don’t like the water very much.”
He continued his cajoling, even though his expression looked like he was sucking on a lemon. “That’s because you’ve never been on the water down here in South Carolina. And we won’t go near the ocean—just stick to the creeks and marshes and possibly the river. We’ll fix you up with a life jacket and a hat and a bunch of sunscreen and all you’ll have to do is sit down and enjoy the ride.”
“I don’t like the water,” I repeated, surprised at the power the merest suggestion that I go near a body of water still had over me. I felt cold all over, as if I’d been plunged into the frigid north Atlantic, and it had nothing to do with the air-conditioning.
“Okay, I get it. Just thought I’d ask.” He sounded too relieved, enough so that I began wondering about his motives.
“And to answer your question, Loralee took Owen to the nursery to get supplies for the garden. She’s planning on re-creating it the way it was. Maybe you can give her some insight, since you probably remember it. She wants to finish with the garden before she finds a job.”
Gibbes regarded me with serious eyes before glancing down at the inventory list. He flipped through the pages, giving each one a cursory glance before handing the clipboard back to me. “Nope. Nothing here I want. It’s all yours, and you’re welcome to it.”
“Didn’t you see my value estimations next to the items? There’s a fortune in furniture and paintings in this house. Not to mention heirloom silver. We can talk to Mr. Williams and see if we can work something out. . . .”
“I told you. I’m not interested in anything in this house except for a few personal items. That’s it. I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the furniture. I don’t want any of it. It’s yours. You won it fair and square.”
I felt the blood rush to my head. “I didn’t win anything. My husband died.”
“You’re right, of course. I was out of line and I’m sorry.” He didn’t look the least bit sorry, but I let it go.
I placed the inventory list on the circular table in the entranceway. Eager to move on, I said, “I think I found the photo albums you were looking for. They’re upstairs in the hallway with the rest of the boxes marked with your name.” I hesitated just for a moment before adding, “I haven’t been up to the attic yet. There’s a window unit up there now cooling everything off. You’re welcome to go up with me now if you have time.”
I felt foolish all of a sudden, like a child afraid of the dark. But every time I approached the door I heard Deborah Fuller telling me about secretly gathering sea glass for Edith Heyward, keeping it from her husband, and seeing Edith’s face in the attic window. When I placed my hand on the doorknob I felt a little bit like Pandora, but with the benefit of hindsight. Maybe I was afraid of what I might find. Or maybe I was simply discovering the small pleasure of deliberately ignoring the little voice in my head that I knew was Cal’s goading me to do something I didn’t want to.
“You haven’t been up there yet?”
“No,” I said as I turned away toward the stairs, not wanting him to see my cheeks flush. “So we might as well get it over with now.”
We climbed the stairs, the rising warm air upstairs seeming to press into us, adding to my feeling of gloom. Gibbes glanced down the hallway at the piles of boxes with his name on them, then stopped next to me by the attic door. Stalling, I said, “I had the new AC in the attic set at sixty-eight. It’s a horrible waste of money, but I couldn’t stand the thought of going up there otherwise.”
He widened his eyes, as if to remind me that the new AC had been installed almost three days before.
I took a deep breath, concentrating on my loafers and how the tips were badly scuffed. More people die from smoke inhalation than flames. Fire can suck all of the oxygen from a room and fill it with poisonous smoke and gases before flames even reach a room. I didn’t have to wonder why that particular nugget of fire-academy wisdom had come to me at that moment.
With a confidence that was completely artificial, I turned the knob and the door swung open into the hallway. A tall, narrow flight of stairs, made of wood stained only by time, led the way up. They were steep steps, making them difficult to climb and impossible to see what lay beyond the top step.
“I should go first,” Gibbes said, putting a foot on the first step.
I bristled. I knew about Southern boys, and I needed to shove his chauvinism back where it came from. “Just because I’m a woman?”