“Come on, Sophie. She’s the nanny. So what if she’s attractive?”
She sighed. “I think I should read your tarot cards again.”
“Why?”
“Because I think there are certain . . . undertones . . . in your life that you should be aware of. I just get these weird vibes from Jayne. It doesn’t mean anything, probably, and most likely it’s just because she looks so darn familiar, but I can’t place it. That’s probably what’s so unsettling to me, not that I think there’s something going on.”
I stopped pushing. “Going on?”
She waved her hand in the air. “That didn’t come out right, either. What I meant is that Jayne’s uncertain background and the way she looks so familiar just give me pause. I think I’ll be happier than even she will be if and when Jack figures out why Button Pinckney left her the house. And I’m sure that what I saw was exactly what they said it was.”
“Excuse me?”
“That didn’t come out the right way. I swear I’m morphing into Rebecca here. What I meant to say is that a couple of days ago I dropped by to say hello to you and to ask Jayne a question about the new kitchen we’re putting in—if she wanted to keep the servants’ bells as a piece of artwork. She and Jack were, oh, there’s really no better way to put this, but they had their arms around each other standing right there in the middle of the foyer—I let myself in because the doorbell wasn’t working again. They were each holding a golf club, and there were plastic cups and golf balls all over the place. Jack said she was teaching him a trick shot.”
“A trick?”
“Look, Melanie, I’m sure it’s exactly as they said. Jack loves you, and would never do anything to compromise that. But she is attractive and she’s living under your roof. Don’t get me wrong—I like her, too. There’s just something . . . uncanny about her.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to let you know.”
I felt ill all of a sudden. “I think I should go home. I need to take a shower before work, and it takes forever these days to find something in my closet that fits.” I turned away, embarrassed to find myself so close to tears.
Sophie lifted out Blue Skye and tucked her into her front carrier. “I’m here anytime for a tarot reading. Just let me know.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, strapping the babies back into the stroller. “I’ll call you.”
After transferring the babies and stroller into the Volvo, I drove home slowly, my thoughts warring between anger and tears before eventually settling somewhere between rational thought and incredulity. I was a big girl now. The new, mature Melanie. I could discuss anything with Jack because I trusted him. We were married. Life partners. I wasn’t the same insecure Melanie Middleton he’d first met, the woman who’d fake a foreign accent just so she could pretend to be somebody else on the other end of the phone.
With renewed confidence, I parked the car in the carriage house and hoisted each child in my arms, entering the house through the kitchen. I heard them laughing from somewhere inside the house, the sound of a golf ball being struck as loud as a firecracker in my ears. I listened to all three dogs barking and scampering after what sounded like a ball rolling across the hard floor, followed by a shout of laughter from Jack. Then there was a silence so loud and pregnant that I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. A silence that seemed to go on and on. Even my heartbeats seemed leaden. The children watched me in absolute silence, as if they, too, wondered what was happening on the other side of the kitchen door.
I forgot all about the new Melanie, leaving her on her knees panting in the dust. Quietly, I stepped back through the kitchen and let myself out the door, closing it softly behind us.
CHAPTER 20
Iglanced up at the sound of a car door slamming and saw my mother’s car parked behind mine in the driveway at the Pinckney mansion on South Battery. It was a Sunday, so the workmen’s trucks were gone, although the overflowing Dumpster still monopolized most of the driveway.
She wore a long and drapey red sweater over a black blouse and cigarette pants, with small, dainty kitten heels on her feet. Red leather gloves covered her hands up over her wrists. She looked beautiful as always, and way too young to be my mother. The only thing marring her features as she approached me was the small crease in her brow caused by her expression of concern when she regarded me.
She sat down next to me on the brick steps, unaware or uncaring of their dusty nature. “Are you all right, Mellie?”
I sniffed. “Just a spring cold,” I said, adding a cough just in case the sniffing wasn’t enough to convince her.
“You told me it was allergies on the phone,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I think it might be both.”