“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Just as I remembered it. Untouched. Unspoiled.”
Brooke propped an elbow on the windowsill, and the two women sat, without speaking, for half an hour. It was mesmerizing, Brooke thought. She felt her pulse slow, heard her breaths begin to match the inexorable rhythm of the waves rolling into the shore. She watched the long-legged shorebirds and smiled at their graceful antics, rushing in and out of the foam, pausing to dip and sieve for food. A pod of dolphins cruised by, rolling in and out of the waves. It made her think of Henry, whose favorite beach pastime was looking for dolphins.
She glanced at her cell phone on the seat beside her, guiltily wondering how her mother was faring with her son, who’d woken up cranky and uncooperative that morning. She couldn’t tell whether her mother had called, though, because again, she had no cell service.
“Was there something here you wanted me to see?” she asked her client.
Josephine waved her arm toward the horizon outside the truck’s windshield. “This. It’s the place I told you about. Mermaid Beach.”
“Where the High Tide Club went skinny-dipping?”
Josephine nodded. “I haven’t been up here since I got sick. Today, when I woke up, I thought, just for a minute, maybe I’m better.”
“You certainly look better.”
“Looks are deceiving,” Josephine said. “I’m dying. The doctors did scans, and there are new tumors everywhere.” She stared out at the water. “And please don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m sick of hearing that.”
“What should I say instead?” Brooke asked. Since Josephine felt so little empathy for others, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she expected none for herself. Still, her client’s matter-of-fact acceptance of her terminal diagnosis was unsettling.
Josephine turned dark, unblinking eyes toward the younger woman. “Tell me the real reason you decided to work for me. I know a little bit about people. You’re broke, but you’re not desperate, not by a long shot.”
“Maybe it’s the challenge. My colleague who’s worked on these kinds of cases says that fighting a state on condemnation issues is mostly a lost cause. I like the puzzle-solving part of being a lawyer, and lately, there hasn’t been a lot of that in my life.”
Josephine’s thin lips stretched into a ghostly smile. “You think I’m a lost cause?”
“You said it yourself.”
“So you’re a fighter, after all.” Josephine coughed violently, holding a hand to her chest as though trying to soften the racking spasms.
“I found the women you wanted me to look for,” Brooke said abruptly.
“Tell me.”
“Your friend Ruth has a granddaughter who lives out in California. Her name is Lizzie. She’s a freelance magazine writer.”
“Lizzie. She must have been named after Ruth’s daughter, who died when she was a teenager. Did you speak to this Lizzie person? When can she come?”
“I did speak to her, and she said she’ll only come if you pay her way.”
“Hmmph.”
Brooke let it drop, knowing that if she pushed the matter her skinflint client would probably push back and refuse to underwrite Lizzie’s travel expenses.
“Also, Varina and her great-niece Felicia came to see me.”
“They came to you? How extraordinary.”
“Not really. Louette told them how ill you are and mentioned that you’d hired me to help with fending off the state.”
The old woman scowled. “Louette had no business saying anything to that girl about my private business.”
“Felicia brought her great-aunt to town to pick out a headstone for her great-uncle. Louette’s a cousin. Saved me the trouble of tracking her down. If it means anything, Varina wants to come see you.”
“Because of the money. That Felicia is all about the money.”
“You’re the one who wants to see her old friend. Who, by the way, is in her nineties and suffering from diabetes herself, but whose first concern is praying for your health.”
“Preacher’s kid,” Josephine said dismissively.
Brooke threw up both hands in mock surrender. “I give up. Do you like anybody? Trust anybody? You asked me to find these women. I found them, and now you’re looking for reasons to turn them away.”
“Just being realistic,” Josephine said. “Did you talk to your mother? Tell her I’m dying?”
“Yes. She’s actually at my house right now, helping with Henry.”
“And what did she say? When you told her about my intentions?”
“She doesn’t understand why you feel so strongly about leaving the island to her and the others.” Brooke paused. “You didn’t even go to my grandmother’s funeral. You didn’t so much as send a card.”
Josephine looked away. “Things changed. I’ve changed. Did she say she’d come?”
“She’ll come.”
21
Josephine dozed off on the way back to Shellhaven. Her face was pale again, and her breathing sounded a little labored, or maybe Brooke was just feeling particularly anxious about her client. After several fits and starts, now that she’d taken on this oddball case, she realized that she really wanted to see it through to its conclusion.
Brooke touched the old woman’s shoulder lightly after she’d pulled the truck around to the front of the house. “Josephine?”
No reaction. Brooke touched the side of her face and was relieved to feel that it was warm and her client was still breathing.
“Josephine, we’re home.”
The old woman’s eyes opened slowly. She sat up and looked around. “So we are.”
“Do you feel okay?”
“Tired,” Josephine said. “What time is it?”
“It’s after three. I need to get home to my little boy. Shall I get Shug to carry you into the house?”
“No!” she said sharply. “I can walk. Just give me your arm and I’ll be fine.”
The front door opened, and Louette came out and opened the passenger-side door. She must have been watching and waiting for the truck’s return.
Brooke took one arm and Louette took the other, and they easily lifted Josephine out of the seat and into the house. The two Chihuahuas met them at the door, eagerly barking and jumping at their mistress’s leg.
“Silly girls,” Josephine said, but she reached into the pocket of her slacks and tossed each of them a biscuit.
After they’d gotten the dogs calmed down and the old lady settled back in her recliner, Brooke sat down and rested her briefcase across her knees. “Do you feel like signing this letter to your Atlanta lawyers?”
“I’m fine,” Josephine said. “Stop fussing over me.”
Brooke produced the papers, which Josephine signed.
“What else?”
“We talked about your making phone calls and writing letters to the governor and any other politicians you think might help stop the condemnation effort.”
“Not today,” Josephine said. “What day is it anyway?”
“Monday.”
“Come back Wednesday. We’ll do it then. Bring your lawyer colleague too. I’ve wasted enough time on this already. I want to get this done. And I want to see those women.”
“Lizzie Quinlan won’t come unless you pay for her expenses,” Brooke reminded her. “And she lives all the way out in California. So this could take some time.”
“Time is what I don’t have. So yes, I’ll pay her way.”
“Shall I make the arrangements?”
“I certainly can’t, so yes, you’ll have to do it.”
“And how will I pay for it?”
“Don’t you have a credit card?”
“Don’t you?”
“It’s in my pocketbook, which is somewhere around here,” Josephine said vaguely. She waved in the general direction of the room. “I’m not paying for first class,” she warned. “You tell her that. I never took a first-class plane ride in my life, and she won’t be taking one on my dime.”
*
C. D. rode up to the dock on a small black motorbike just as Shug was dropping Brooke off. He leaned the bike against a tree, then motioned Brooke to follow him to the boat. He jumped easily onto the boat and started the motor before extending a hand to help her aboard.
“Thanks,” she said, sinking down onto the fiberglass seat.