“But . . .” Heather was confused. “She’s a turtle lady, too.”
“Yeah,” Bo acknowledged. “And she’s dedicated. Don’t get me wrong. But . . .” Bo returned to screwing together the cage panels. “There was a genuine sweetness to Miss Lovie. I never heard her say a bad thing about anyone. She was a real lady.”
The doorbell rang. “Be right back,” Heather said as she hurried to the front door. She swung open the door to find Cara carrying a bouquet of flowers. Her face was only slightly made up, blush, mascara, and lip gloss, but with her tanned skin that was all she needed. She was wearing skinny jeans that showed off her slim figure, a well-fitted navy blazer over a simple white cotton shirt, and polished boots. Her thick, glossy dark hair fell loose to her shoulders.
Heather thought of her father’s comment when she spied the sizable pearls at the ears and neck. Cara looked polished, as if she might be on her way to work.
Heather tucked her long blond hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious in her rumpled shorts and flip-flop-clad feet.
“Good morning,” Heather stuttered, caught off guard.
“Hi, there,” Cara said. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I’m on my way to Charleston for a meeting and realized there was something I left in a closet. I’m terribly sorry.” She raised the large bouquet of flowers in her hand. “I brought you a little something for your trouble.”
“Come in,” Heather blurted out, and swung the door wider. “There was no need for flowers. It’s your house.”
“It’s yours for the summer,” Cara corrected her. “Better put these right in water. It was hot in my car.” She walked toward the kitchen, then stopped short, peering into the sunroom. “Bo? Is that you?”
“Hey, Cara,” he called out from the floor where he was assembling a wall of one cage. Rising, he walked into the front room, wiping his hands on his jeans, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Nice to see you.”
Heather registered their closeness.
“And you,” Cara replied, smiling. To Heather she said, “I see you two have met.”
Heather nodded, feeling awkward at having Bo in the house rather than outside working on the deck.
Bo obviously felt the same, clearing his throat as he shifted from foot to foot. “Hope you don’t mind, boss, but I’m helping Heather put her birdcages together. I’ll get back to the deck when I’m done.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Cara replied magnanimously. “That was very kind of you, Bo. I know how much Heather loves her birds. Go on, get back to it. I’m just stopping by.”
With the same authority she’d shown the day before, Cara walked into the kitchen and headed straight for a specific cabinet. Heather followed meekly. Opening it, Cara pulled out a glass vase, then handed it to Heather. “Here you go. I left something in the back closet. Can I grab it?”
“Of course,” Heather replied.
Cara headed down the hall with the ease of someone who knew the house like the back of her hand. Heather filled the vase with water and added the flowers, then set them on the table. When done, she followed Cara down the back hall, unsure what the correct, polite thing to do was in such a situation. She found Cara in one of the two back bedrooms. Cara had told her during the walk-through that this room had been her childhood bedroom. She’d redone it with creamy walls and bright, tangerine-colored bedding. Heather paused at the door. She didn’t want to tag along like a puppy or make Cara feel like she was shadowing her in her own home.
“How did you sleep last night?” Cara asked over her shoulder as she rummaged through the closet.
“Not great at first,” she admitted.
“What a shame. Did you open the windows like I suggested?”
Heather looked at her feet. “I, uh, tried. But I was pretty . . . jumpy at every bump in the night.” She blushed when Cara laughed at her response. Heather couldn’t imagine someone like Cara being afraid to leave the windows open. Heather turned and idly looked at the framed photographs hanging on the hallway wall. They were all from the early days of Isle of Palms. There was a sepia-toned photo of a big Ferris wheel near a low-roofed wooden hotel. Another of a trolley car parked at a depot. One of a narrow road leading into a maritime forest. What was most amazing to Heather was how bare the island was. There were very few buildings. Just lots of sand.
She came to a stop before a photograph of a lovely, fair-haired woman, tanned and smiling, with her arms around two young children. They were the same children painted in the portrait over the bed—one dark-haired girl and a towheaded boy. Heather leaned forward, squinting, and looked more closely at the woman in the photograph. She jerked back and covered her mouth with a gasp.
Cara came from the bedroom carrying a box. “Got it. Thanks.” Then, seeing Heather’s expression, she took a few steps closer and asked, “What’s the matter?”
Heather pointed to the woman in the picture. “Who is that woman?”
“That’s my mother. Lovie Rutledge.”
Heather turned to Cara. “That’s the woman from my dream,” she stammered, her voice shaking.
Cara’s face immediately sharpened with interest. “What dream?”
Heather licked her lips. She didn’t want Cara to think she was crazy. She looked again at the photograph—at the woman in the photo. Her smiling face once again was both reassuring and comforting.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just being silly.”
“No, I’d like to hear.”
“Well,” Heather began feeling embarrassed. “Last night. I had this dream. It . . . it was very real, you know the kind?” she asked, glancing at Cara. When Cara nodded, Heather continued, “A woman was in it. She was very kind. She made me feel welcome. Not so afraid.” Heather put her hand to her forehead. “I remember her stroking my hair.”
Cara suddenly seemed extremely interested. “She stroked your hair? The woman from the photograph?”
Heather nodded.
Cara looked at the photograph, and her face revealed an indescribable longing. “My mother used to stroke my hair when I couldn’t sleep.” She shrugged. “You probably just saw the photograph during the walk-through yesterday and it stuck in your subsconscious.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, that must be it. She just seemed so real, and she smelled like jasmine.” Heather looked at Cara. “It was so strong, it filled up the room.”
Cara’s face went very still. “That was my mother’s scent.”
Chapter Six