The warmer weather had returned, waking up all the dormant gardens Charlestonians took such pride in. Although it was only the beginning of February, flowers were sprouting from window boxes and planters—both easily removed to the indoors for the unexpected frost that was bound to descend before the official start of spring. It was how those native to the city could distinguish who was “from off.” The newly arrived residents started planting their annuals at the first waft of warm air, then were spotted weeping from their piazzas at the sight of browned and withered plants when the mercury plummeted below thirty the following week.
I walked the few short blocks to my mother’s house on Legare Street, wearing the sneakers and yoga clothes she’d purchased for me. She’d said they were a gift to herself, as she’d decided to begin a walking regimen to stay fit and healthy. She had the stamina and figure of a twenty-year-old, so I had no idea why this obsession had suddenly taken hold of her, but she didn’t want to walk alone and I was the most likely candidate for a partner. My father preferred gardening to walking, although I think he might have found power-walking to be too much of a threat to his masculinity—as if gardening weren’t mostly a female-dominated hobby. But he seemed to enjoy his status as one of the few males in his gardening club.
That was why I had aqua blue sneakers on my feet (the ones I’d worn during pregnancy were too stretched out to be worn by anyone except perhaps a baby elephant) and was wearing yoga pants in public—something I had actually seen Sophie doing more than once. I wondered whether the end of the world might be near, seeing as how Sophie and I were now wearing similar outfits.
I paused outside the gates of the house I’d lived in for the first six years of my life with my grandmother. I always felt her presence, but it was stronger here. I wondered sometimes if it was the memories of her I felt, or if she still hung out here to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. She still called me on the phone from time to time, so it was probably the latter, but being in this house always made me happy.
My father had a flower box sitting on a wrought-iron garden table and was humming to himself as he placed lemon yellow petunias and gold gerbera daisies in the moist dirt. “Good morning, sweet pea,” he said as I kissed his cheek. “I know winter isn’t over, but I couldn’t resist planting something while the weather’s so nice.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said, admiring the colors and placement. He had a real gift for gardening, which I was just beginning to appreciate. I knew what roses looked and smelled like, so that was a start.
“Here for your walk with your mother?”
“Yes,” I said. “I thought she’d be outside waiting.”
He pursed his lips. “She had an early appointment, but she should be wrapping things up by now.”
“An appointment?”
He gave me a terse nod so that I’d know exactly what kind of “appointment” she had. Unlike me, my mother had no problem advertising her psychic abilities. My father preferred not to acknowledge it one way or the other. I guessed that was one thing I’d inherited from him.
I sighed. “Where are they?”
“In the downstairs drawing room.” He saw my dubious expression and then said, “Don’t worry—you won’t be interrupting anything important. Besides, she’s been here awhile already.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said, wondering if I should be insulted he didn’t take our abilities seriously. It had been an ongoing battle between him and my mother, and had been partially responsible for their divorce when I was a little girl. Despite being exposed to several apparitions and paranormal events, he was the Doubting Thomas of the psychic world. He was very good at seeing and understanding only what he wanted to, a confirmation that I was, indeed, his daughter.
I pushed open the front door, pausing at the contraption in front of me. It looked like one of those double jogging strollers that I saw young, fit, and perky mothers running behind down Charleston’s neighborhood streets, their jaunty ponytails bouncing happily through holes in baseball caps. I wondered if the client my mother was meeting with had brought it, because I couldn’t think of any other reason why it would be sitting in my parents’ foyer.
“Mellie? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mother,” I said as I made my way to the drawing room. I paused in the threshold for a moment, admiring the play of sunlight through the stained glass window. There was a secret message hidden inside, a mystery that Jack and I had solved, with my mother’s help. She’d thought then that the two of us could go public with our abilities, that it was our duty to help others. I was still waiting to be convinced that it wouldn’t destroy my career or my reputation.
“Come here,” she said, beckoning me to a mahogany game table where it was rumored Lafayette had once played cards. She sat opposite a red-haired woman who appeared to be around my age, the dark circles under her eyes making her seem older. My mother’s gloves had been removed and were folded neatly on the side of the table, leaving no doubt that she’d been doing a reading.
“Good morning,” I said, leaning down to kiss her cheek, then nodded at her companion. “We’re late for our walk, and I have an appointment to show a condo on East Bay at ten.”
“Sit down, Mellie. We’re just about done here.”
I did as I was told, then looked at her with raised eyebrows.