“Well, that. And the fact that she was madly in love with Sumter Pinckney. My mother said that Ginette expected to marry him and was brokenhearted when he chose Anna Hasell instead.”
I waved my hand at her dismissively. “It was more like a schoolgirl crush. Your mother must be remembering incorrectly.” Before she could say anything else, I tossed the unopenable plastic produce bag on top of the heirloom tomatoes and began moving my buggy away. “I really need to go now. Please give your mother my best.”
“Don’t forget to RSVP,” she called out after me, but I pretended I hadn’t heard.
I left the buggy half-filled with groceries and carried the children out to the car, deciding it wasn’t too cold to open the windows in the car for the short drive home. Several times I reached for the Bluetooth button on my steering wheel to call my mother and ask her about Sumter Pinckney, but each time I let my hand drop, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.
CHAPTER 14
Ileft for work through the back door on the way to a few showings for a client, belatedly realizing that I’d gotten into the habit of using the front door because of the gaping hole in my backyard and the lingering feeling of unease I sensed whenever I was back there.
I was surprised to find Nola squatting down in front of the hole, wearing her school uniform, her backpack on the ground nearby. As if she could sense me and hear my unasked question, she called over her shoulder as I approached, “Mrs. Ravenel is running a little late, so I thought I’d check with Meghan to see if they’ve found anything interesting.”
I stopped behind her, looking at the hole to see Meghan and another grad student I’d been introduced to earlier, Rachel Flooring, with small shovels gently scraping away dirt from old bricks. Apparently, Meghan didn’t like to work in the cistern alone anymore, and always had at least one companion to dig alongside her. “You’re here early,” I said, noticing her ubiquitous pearls and cardigan sweater.
She smiled brightly up at me. “I know. But there’s a sale at J.Crew today that I wanted to get to, so I figured if I started here early I’d have time to get there before lunch.”
Of course, I refrained from saying. “Have you found anything new and interesting? I was kind of hoping you would be done by now and I could fill in this eyesore.”
Both she and Rachel looked at me as if I’d just suggested throwing a bag of kittens in a well. When Meghan had regained her composure, she said, “We want to be thorough, which is why it’s taking so long. But believe me, we’re working as fast as we can. We just don’t want to damage the bricks, because they have historic significance, and we’ll want to analyze them, too.”
“Look what they’ve found,” Nola said as she pointed at something on the blanket, where the girls had been placing artifacts—their word, not mine.
I stared at the collection of what appeared to be small animal bones and pottery shards. “Looks like what the plumber pulled from our garbage disposal last week,” I said with a grin. It quickly faded as I was met with the collective frowns of all three girls.
Nola straightened, then shouldered her backpack. “I’ll do you the favor of not repeating what you just said to Sophie.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Sorry. I meant Dr. Wallen-Arasi. But she told me I could call her Sophie.”
“I know, but we’re in Charleston,” I said, hoping that would explain everything.
We said our good-byes and I followed Nola to the front of the house, where Jayne was tucking a blanket around the children in the jogging stroller my father had brought over to our house. I’d yet to use it, but Jayne apparently enjoyed her morning jog with the children in tow. She wore tight running pants that accentuated her long legs and toned hips, and a close-fitting top that showed off arms that didn’t seem to wobble as she bent over the stroller to make sure the children were protected from the cool morning breeze. I quickly looked away when I realized I was frowning. Wrinkles were the last thing I needed right now.
“I like our new nanny,” Nola said. “She’s really good with the babies and doesn’t seem to mind your OCD impulses.”
“Excuse me?”
She was already moving toward the front gate. “Oh, nothing.” She stopped. “There is one thing. . . .”
“One thing?” I asked, wondering if she was talking about Jayne or about to apologize for the OCD comment.
She shrugged. “It’s just that I’m not really blaming her or anything, but ever since Jayne’s arrived I can’t seem to write any music. I’m sure it’s just bad timing, but it’s odd, you know?”
“I’m sure it’s just a phase. Talk to your dad—he goes through creative dry spells, too. He might be able to guide you through it. But I’m sure it has nothing to do with Jayne.”