The Restorer. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ it’s just the light.” He picked up the books and stood. “Do you mind if I keep these for a few days? I’ll take good care of them.”

      “No, I don’t mind.” I rose, too, on shaky legs. “Do you have any idea when I can get back into the cemetery?”

      “We’re doing another sweep tomorrow afternoon. I’d like you to be there if you can arrange it.”

      My father’s rules raced through my head, then faded. “Wouldn’t I be in the way?”

      “Just the opposite. You’re more familiar with the terrain than any of us. If anything seems out of place, who better to spot it than you?”

      “I’m not sure I’m free,” I murmured.

      “If it’s a matter of money—”

      “It’s not. It’s a matter of clearing my schedule.”

      “One o’clock, if you can make it. It could take a few hours, so you might want to plan accordingly.”

      I let him out the same way we’d come in, and then I hurried through the house and parted the curtains at one of the front windows to watch him leave.

      When he came around the side of the house, his appearance struck me again. Already his gait seemed heavier, and I couldn’t help thinking of his ghosts. I imagined them at his side, invisible in the sunlight, one at each arm, bound to him forever.

      Whether I could see them or not, Devlin’s ghosts were always with him, making him the most dangerous man in Charleston for someone like me.

      The rest of the day passed without incident…for the most part.

      I took my car in to get the window replaced, and as I waited on the repair, I spent an obscene amount of time obsessing on my latest encounter with Devlin. It reminded me of Papa’s analogy about vampires—instead of blood, ghosts suck out our vitality. That was exactly the way it had felt to me earlier, as though my energy had been drained. But there had been no ghost in my office. Only Devlin.

      If he had somehow fed on my energy, would it bind me to him the way blood connected a vampire to his victim?

      A crazy notion, but under the circumstances, I excused my overzealous imagination. After a while, though, I tired of trying to make sense of the experience and put it out of my mind as I drove into the country to look at a family graveyard on the remains of an old rice plantation. I’d been asked by the new owners of the property to submit a bid for a complete restoration, and walking the burial sites was a welcome distraction.

      And since I was so close to Trinity, I thought it would be an opportune time to pay my parents a visit. I hadn’t seen my mother in over a month, my father in even longer.

      Mama and Aunt Lynrose were sitting on the front porch of our cozy white bungalow drinking lemonade when I drove up. They came down the front steps, all exclamations and admonishments, and the three of us shared a group hug in the front yard.

      As always, they smelled wonderful, their scent a unique blend of the familiar and the exotic—honeysuckle, sandal-wood and Estée Lauder White Linen. They were both taller than I, their posture still arrow-straight, their figures as slender as the day they’d graduated from St. Agnes.

      “What a nice surprise to find you here,” I said, slipping an arm around my aunt’s trim waist.

      “Serendipitous, one might even say.” She reached over and patted my cheek. “Shame I have to come all this way to see my only niece when she lives not more than five minutes from me in Chaa’stun,” she drawled.

      “Sorry. I’ve been meaning to get by for a visit. I’ve just been really busy lately.”

      “With a new beau, dare I hope?”

      “’Fraid not. Between my business and my blog, I don’t have time for a social life.”

      “You have to make the time. You don’t want to end up an old maid like your favorite aunt, do you?”

      I smiled. “I can think of worse fates.”

      Her eyes gleamed with affection. “Nevertheless, there’s a time for work and a time for play.”

      “Leave her alone, Lyn.”

      “Leave her alone? Etta, have you seen your daughter’s skin? Brown as a berry and freckles all over the place. What do you put on your face at night?” she wanted to know. “Whatever’s handy.”

      “Chile.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “I know a woman on Market Street makes the best face cream in the world. Don’t have a clue what she puts in it, but the smell is divine and the formula works like a charm. Next time you come see me, I’ll give you a jar.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Now let me see those hands.”

      I held them out for inspection and she sighed. “Always, always wear gloves. It’s essential working outside the way you do. The hands are a terrible betrayer of a woman’s age.”

      I looked down at my callused palms. They did look a little worse for the wear.

      Mama had disappeared inside the house, but she came back out a moment later with a tall glass of lemonade, which she handed to me as I plopped down on the top step.

      “You’re staying for supper.” I’d always loved the way she said “suppah.”

      Since it wasn’t a question, I merely nodded. “What are we having?”

      “Chicken and biscuits. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Collard greens. Sliced tomatoes. Roasted corn. Blackberry cobbler for dessert.”

      “My mouth is watering already.” It seriously was, particularly for the homegrown vegetables.

      “I never could fry chicken worth a flip,” Lynrose mused as she settled back down in a green metal glider, the gentle sway almost hypnotic in the somnolent heat. “It’s an art, you know. I must have tried a hundred different recipes over the years. Buttermilk batter, cornmeal breading, you name it. Finally just gave up. Now when I have a hankering for a drumstick, I get takeout, but it’s not the same.” She sighed. “Etta got the cooking gene in our family.”

      “And you got the gift of gab,” Mama said.

      I smiled as Lynrose flashed me a conspiratorial wink. She was the only person I knew who could tease out my somber mother’s sly sense of humor. When I was a child, I loved when she came for visits. Mama always seemed so carefree with her sister.

      The last time I’d seen them together was a month ago when Mama had driven into Charleston for her birthday. She’d spent the weekend with Lynrose and the three of us had gone out to celebrate. We’d had enough wine with dinner to laugh ourselves silly over some ridiculous play my aunt had dragged us to. I’d never seen my mother so giddy. It was a sight to behold. She’d turned sixty that day, but neither she nor my aunt looked a day over forty. I’d always thought them the most beautiful women in the world. I still did.

      Now I searched my mother’s features, hoping to find a bit of that same girlish mirth I’d witnessed СКАЧАТЬ