He took it from her, then slowly rolled off the rubber bands. One of them broke and snapped back, slapping his hand. He placed the box on the hall table and lifted the lid. They all peered into it like they’d just dug up a buried treasure.
Inside was a dome-shaped bullet with three scored rings at its base, the lead oxidized to almost white, and a large steel bolt still connected to a jagged piece of blackened metal. He was silent for a moment, as if he were watching a movie in his head where he and his brother were the main players. “Yep. This is exactly what I remembered. I just can’t believe these were the only two things he thought were important enough to take with him when he left home.” Gibbes reached inside the box and took out the bullet, dislodging an object that had been stuck beneath it. A simple gold ring rolled to a corner of the box, then fell flat against the cardboard.
“I forgot that was in there.” Merritt picked up the gold band and held it in the palm of her hand. “It’s Cal’s wedding ring. He didn’t like to wear it because it interfered with his doing his job. So he put it in the box.”
Her fingers closed over the ring, and she seemed to be considering what to do next. “I should probably keep this.” Her tone reminded Loralee of when Owen said something just because he thought it was what his mother wanted to hear.
Merritt slid it into the pocket of her skirt, then led the way to the stairs, Deborah and Gibbes following her. Gibbes watched her closely, as if Merritt were a puzzle and he couldn’t figure out how all the pieces fit together.
Owen’s voice came from the kitchen as he sang the theme from Gilligan’s Island at the top of his lungs. They’d both become addicted to the old TV show when they’d seen an episode on one of the children’s cable channels, and Loralee had purchased the entire series on DVD. They’d memorized the lyrics of the theme song just by watching it so many times, and when Loralee told Owen that singing sometimes helped unpleasant chores go faster, he hadn’t needed to be prompted. He would never be a singer—not that talent had anything to do with making records anymore—but the sound always made her smile.
She moved into the open doorway and paused. The rain had stopped, the sun glinting off the wet pavement and the river, the tips of the grass sparkling like tiny diamonds in the front yard. A rainbow arced across the sky in a brightly hued bridge, its end fading somewhere behind Lady’s Island. Loralee took a deep breath, her exhaustion gone for a moment. Rainbows always gave her hope—hope that something beautiful waited for those strong enough to survive the storm.
Loralee quickly closed the door so she could go write that down in her pink journal before she forgot. Or before she stopped believing it was true.
chapter 18
MERRITT
Cal’s wedding ring nudged my hip where it lay in my pocket as I climbed the stairs. I pulled open the attic door and waited for Deborah and Gibbes to go first. I hadn’t forgotten the first time I’d climbed the stairs with Gibbes while I wore a skirt, and wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Deborah paused, looking up the steep, narrow attic steps. “Edith always kept the door locked, so I’ve never been up here. Not that I would ever go against her wishes, of course. She was a very private woman, and I respected that.” A small smile tilted her lips. “Mr. Calhoun never came up here, either, not that she locked the door when he was home. The man couldn’t abide a locked door.” She rubbed her hands over her arms as if she’d just had a chill. “I always wondered why she didn’t use the basement, where the old kitchen and slave quarters were, for her workshop. There was always the potential of flooding, but it would have been a lot cooler.” She nodded toward the stairs. “But now I understand why. Her husband was a big man who was fond of his brandy. I don’t think he could have managed these steps.”
I scratched my head. “I haven’t even been to the basement—I’ve seen the half-moon windows from the outside, but they’re covered with dirt and cobwebs. And I know the door’s at the end of the back porch—which seems to me an odd place for it.”
Gibbes began climbing the steps. “When they added on the new kitchen, they didn’t enclose the basement door, although I have no idea why. I don’t think anybody’s been down there for years. I just remember how dark it was—with old wooden beams on the ceiling, and dirt floors. It would be a nice place to fix up—maybe a rec room for Owen.”
“It would be if he were going to be living here. Besides, if it’s prone to flooding, maybe I’ll just let it stay the way it is. Something less to worry about.”