I raised my eyebrows. “I guess I’ll be staying outside for a little bit, then, waiting for the thunder to clear. Did you hide Jack’s hunting rifle?”
“Probably should have,” he said, glancing back at the house and making me worry.
“Where’s Jayne?” I asked.
“Apparently, she’s a bit of a cook, and when Jack said he was in the mood for Italian, she asked Mrs. Houlihan if she could help her in the kitchen tonight. I don’t know what’s going on in there, but it smells wonderful and I don’t think tofu is involved at all.”
“How nice.” There must have been something in my tone of voice, because he sent me a hard stare. Eager to change the subject, I said, “Rebecca told me something interesting the other day that I hoped you might clarify for me. She said that Mother was crazy about Sumter Pinckney, and that she thought they would get married.”
He lifted a branch with the tip of the shears and tilted his head each way to analyze it. “Why don’t you ask your mother?”
“Because I thought if she wanted me to know, she would have told me. It’s just odd, though. I’ve been practically living and breathing the Pinckney house, and even brought her there, but she never mentioned anything about him other than that she remembered him, and that she had a schoolgirl crush on him. But Rebecca said it was much more than that.”
With a sigh, my father put down the pruning shears and sat next to me on the bench. “I met your mother at a Citadel dance when we were both nineteen. She was someone else’s date, but that didn’t stop me—I’ve always been one of those people who believes that once you see something you want, you figure out how to get it. That’s how it was when I saw Ginny. It was love at first sight for both of us. So even if she had a schoolgirl’s crush on a friend’s older brother, it was never more than that. She chose me, and I chose her, and we loved each other hard and we loved each other completely so that there wasn’t any room for anybody else. And that’s all there is to the story.”
I didn’t mention their divorce or subsequent reconciliation because that would complicate things. They were together now anyway, so none of it really mattered. But I felt reassured, somehow. That despite my rocky early years, their love for each other and for me was real and lasting, even with the bumps in the road we’d navigated to get where we were now. Maybe I just needed to hear it, regardless of what Rebecca might believe and feel the urge to tell me.
“Thanks, Dad. I don’t know why I let Rebecca get under my skin like that. Like Mother wouldn’t have mentioned it if it were true.”
“Exactly.” He put his hands on his knees and stood, catching sight of the broken gold necklace and pendant I’d knotted around my neck; I’d meant to bring it into the house instead of leaving it hanging on my car mirror.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Before I could answer, Sarah reached for it, the pendant disappearing into her tiny fist. Her eyes popped wide-open and she screamed, her small fingers opening as if they’d been burned. She jerked back from me so fast that she would have fallen from my lap if my father hadn’t been there to catch her.
Despite the fact that the roses hadn’t begun to bloom yet, the heavy scent of them invaded this corner of the garden, acting as a pacifier for Sarah, who quickly quieted, her gaze focused on something near the fountain.
“She must be hungry,” my dad said, stealing the words from my mouth.
“Must be,” I said, standing with JJ and reaching for Sarah. I made my way across the garden in my heels, smelling roses and listening to the sound of the fountain, and wondering how far down the road of denial he and I were willing to travel before we ran into the truth.
CHAPTER 15
Itook a deep breath as I stood outside Jack’s study. I’d just come back from my morning walk with my mother and hadn’t showered yet, but I knew I’d better get this over with before I changed my mind. This was all part of the new mature Melanie. It wasn’t that I didn’t think being open and honest was good for me. It was just that change was hard, like learning to choose vegetables instead of chocolate.
I gave a brief knock on the door, then opened it and stuck my head inside. Nola’s grand piano dominated the middle of the room, but looking past it I could see Jack at his desk against the window, wearing the cardigan sweater with elbow patches the twins had given him for Christmas. I’d told him that we’d thought it made him look more writerly and that it—along with the sheepskin-lined moccasin slippers Nola had given him—would help get him over his creative slump. It worried me a little to see him wearing both now.