The Line (Witching Savannah #1)

The Line (Witching Savannah #1) Page 18

“Okay,” Peter said. “What are you thinking?”

“That I might be able to learn something if I take him up on his offer to introduce me to the club. Maybe it would help me figure out who my dad is.”

He was quiet for a moment, his face a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just that I don’t know what went on in the club when your mama was in it. I’m sure it wasn’t anything like the stuff they get up to today, but…” He paused.

“But what?”

“Well I’ve heard talk around the bar. They get up to some pretty wild things in Tillandsia these days. It’s turned into a kind of swingers club.” He looked guilty, as if he’d been forced to tell me there was no such thing as Santa. “You know I love Ellen, and I don’t mean to judge her, but Mercy, Tillandsia is no place for you.”

“But if what you say about Tillandsia is true, and it was like that when my mama was involved, any of the men in the club could be my father, even Tucker Perry.”

“Not a chance,” Peter said through his sandwich. “If Tucker thought you and Maisie could be his girls, he wouldn’t be sniffing around the two of you so much.”

“You sure about that?” I asked him. “ ’Cause I am not so sure myself.”

Peter’s face turned gray, and he lowered his sandwich. “I think I lost my appetite.” He wrapped the sandwich back in its cellophane. “Naw, even Tucker Perry isn’t that much of a perv,” he said after a moment, trying to convince me, and probably even himself. “Listen. I could talk to Tucker. I should talk to Tucker. I’ve been wanting to, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

“What boundaries?” I asked.

“My boundaries with you,” he said. “I didn’t know for sure if you would want me to stand up to Tucker as your…”

“As my what?” I prompted him.

“As your man,” he said, and a nervous look came into his eyes, crowned by a twitch in his forehead. “I’m not sure if that’s how you see me, but I do know you well enough never to just presume.”

I took it all in—the warm light from his mismatched eyes, the sun setting his hair on fire, and his strength and kindness. Still I hesitated an instant too long.

“I always thought the two of us were bound to end up together sooner or later,” he said. “Until Jackson came to town, that is.” I didn’t know what to say. It was one thing for Maisie to read me, but if my feelings were so obvious to Peter, the most normal man I had ever met, I stunk at hiding my emotions. “I don’t mind that I’m not your first choice, Mercy,” he said, saving me from the silence. “Not as long you eventually get around to choosing me.”

I felt a stirring in my heart, but I knew it wasn’t the result of any Hoodoo—it was a recognition of Peter’s goodness. I crossed the few feet over to him on my knees, then pressed my lips against his, wrapping my arms around him. He kissed me back and pulled me to his chest, like he was trying to pull me into him. Peter was a wonderful man. He’d be a good husband and a good father when the time came. Instead of a magical passion, I felt a sudden peace growing in me, a knowledge that somehow we were going to make our relationship work, whatever it took.

I stopped kissing Peter and looked him dead in the eye. “I think you need to go have a man-to-man talk with Tucker.”

“Oh, and I am going to do just that,” he said and began kissing me again.

“I would tell them to get a room,” I heard one of Peter’s coworkers say to the others, “but truth is, I’d kind of like to watch.”

NINE

The day was hot, and only going to get hotter, so I was grateful for the air-conditioning in the limo, particularly since I was wearing black. We were on the way to Greenwich Cemetery, where Ginny would be laid to rest. Ginny had insisted that she wanted to be buried on her own, away from the rest of the family. Since we wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace in life, she’d say, she was going to be damned sure that death would allow her a little privacy. Unlike so many who died in Savannah, Ginny’s spirit had not lingered. Her essence had passed on to another plane, and I said a silent prayer that she would find happiness wherever she was.

Oliver, Iris, and Ellen were riding with the body, and Connor, Maisie, Jackson, and I were following in a second vehicle. I looked at my reflection in the limo’s window, and watched the world go by through my own image. Outside there were tourists in Hawaiian print shirts lining up to board a trolley. Inside there were black outfits and pearls and somber ties. Outside, in Forsyth Park, a few children ran ahead of their mothers and then stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of a voice I couldn’t hear. Inside, I was doing my best not to listen as Connor droned on to Jackson about this, that, and everything—none of it important. I wanted to be able to listen to my own thoughts, but Connor’s drivel lined my skull like ugly wallpaper.

Surrounded by my nearest blood, I felt entirely alone. I wished Peter could be here with me, but the site foreman had given him a very clear choice: show up for work as usual or never show up again. I offered to have Oliver pay the man a visit, but Peter seemed somewhat offended by the idea. “People like me, Mercy, like us, we don’t rely on those kinds of tricks. We come by things honestly.” I respected him for that, and even though I wished he were here to hold my hand, the way I knew—without even looking—that Jackson was holding my sister’s, I was glad he felt the way he did.

I turned away from the window and my gaze fell on Maisie. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that her mind was focused on one thing, the drawing of the lots. It was scheduled for tonight. I closed my eyes and said another silent prayer, this time for Maisie. I hoped that the power would settle itself on another. She thought she was prepared for the responsibility, but I wanted her to have her own life. A life that wasn’t anchored to the line. And in my heart, I felt a sudden conviction that my prayer would be answered, that Maisie would be spared the burden of assuming Ginny’s mantle, at least for now.

I felt the weight of Jackson’s gaze fall on me. My heart began to pound when our eyes met, and the temperature around me soared. I always thought it was a joke when people said that you hear violin music when you’re looking at your true love, but I swear I heard the rush of strings. I tried to look away, but his eyes held mine like a vise. Could that look in them be longing? I wondered if Maisie was right, and he really was torn between us. There had been that moment at the hospital after all…For a second I was lost, drowning in desire for him. The flame that I’d tried to smother was rekindled, and it burned all around me. Then I noticed that Jackson was indeed holding Maisie’s right hand in his left. A dark red shame filled me as I acknowledged that my thoughts were a betrayal of both my sister and Peter. I would not pursue my interest in Jackson, nor would I do anything to encourage him.

Guilt forced me to look away, and I returned my focus to my surroundings. The quirky, historic Savannah that I loved faded quickly into a no-man’s-land of generic strip malls and discount stores. The road to the cemetery seemed too suburban to belong to Savannah proper, and I only felt a returning sense of home as we drew near the gates of the far more famous Bonaventure Cemetery, where my own mother and grandparents were interred. You can’t reach Greenwich without passing by Bonaventure, and I promised myself that once the heat broke, I’d bike out and bring flowers for their graves, and maybe even a few for Ginny’s.