Islowly jogged down Broad Street the following morning, paying more attention to the uneven sidewalks than to who or what was in front of me. I had enough going on in my life that I didn’t need a twisted ankle, too. I preferred to run down the small side streets south of Broad, but I’d had to change my running route to avoid South Battery and any chance of seeing Jayne or her house.
Sophie ran next to me, her breathing easy and her gait just a little faster than mine to keep me motivated. Not that I needed the motivation. I eagerly approached our little runs with enthusiasm now, if only because my struggle for a deep breath took all my concentration so that for at least half an hour I didn’t have to think what a mess my life was in.
We passed Henderson House Realty, and I was glad for the darkened front reception room. I still went in to the office each day, but usually very early in the morning or very late at night when nobody else was there. I didn’t want to take the chance of Jack stopping by and catching me. I’d do some paperwork, take anything I’d need to work from my mother’s house, and go through the pink message slips Jolly left on my desk. Most of them were from Jack and Suzy Dorf, with a few from Rebecca. I didn’t read any of them, taking unusual pleasure in the sound of their being crumpled in my fist before I dropped them in the wastebasket.
We were almost at East Bay when Sophie slowed her pace. I glanced over at her to see what was wrong, then followed her gaze toward the next block as she stopped completely. Rebecca, in a different pink jogging suit than I’d seen before, was approaching us, Pucci in her pouch on her chest, pink bows in her ears. It was hard to judge which one of them looked more idiotic.
I began to turn around but Sophie grabbed my elbow. “She wants to talk to you.”
I tried to pull away, but she held tight. “Am I being ambushed?”
“I’m sorry, Melanie, but I can’t stand to see you so unhappy. Ignoring people will not make your problems go away. Rebecca called me yesterday and told me she’d been trying to reach you but couldn’t get past your mother or father or the receptionist where you work. She’s desperate to talk with you, so I said I’d help.”
“Oh, great. So you’re the missing link.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I think you mean ‘weakest link,’ but yeah, that would be right.”
Rebecca drew closer and Sophie’s grip tightened. “You’re going to leave a bruise if you don’t let go.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes at me. “Only if you promise not to bolt.”
“Fine. But I won’t promise I’ll actually speak with her.” She let go and I folded my arms over my chest, prepared for battle.
“Good morning,” Rebecca said. She at least had the decency to look chagrined.
“It was,” I said, staring pointedly at her.
“I guess I deserve that. And I don’t blame you for being angry. That’s why I needed to talk to you. Not only to apologize, but also to help you.”
“How can you possibly help me?”
“I’ve been having more dreams. More specific dreams, and I know they have something to do with Jayne’s house.”
I started to back away. “I have no further connection with the Pinckney mansion, so you might want to save your breath and go find Jayne to let her know.”
“They involve your mother.”
I stopped and looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“The girl in the white nightgown keeps showing me a staircase with no door, and when she gets to the bottom step, she pulls up a board and pulls something out.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“I don’t know. She won’t show me.”
“But what does that have to do with my mother?”
“I hope this means more to you than it does to me, but she keeps saying that Button did the right thing, and that your mother should forgive her.”
I stepped back. “What did Button do?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. The little girl is very faint when she comes through, and I don’t always hear her clearly—like she’s being blocked.”
“Well, if that’s all . . .” I said, unimpressed and impatient to get away from Rebecca.
“One last thing. She also said that you should listen to Sarah.”
“Sarah?” Sophie said in surprise before I could. “As in her little girl Sarah?”
“Unless you know another one,” Rebecca said. “I’m guessing she’s inherited the family gift. Is that right, Melanie?”
I kept my face expressionless, not wanting that little nugget of information to be confirmed and used relentlessly as Sarah got older. Whatever had gone wrong between my mother and me when I was little was not going to happen with Sarah and me. It was the only thing I was sure of right now.