Unstill Waters

Thursday, July 13th, 2006

The small town of Waterford sweltered under the hammer of the summer’s heat, its pavements shimmering under a merciless July sun and clusters of ancient oaks hoarding every minor portion of the available coolness solely within their deep embraces. The fountain in front of the granite-faced Waterford Savings & Loan flowed sluggishly down into its stone basin as though it had little energy to do anything more vigorous, and several young mothers in neat jeans and short-sleeved cotton blouses stood fanning themselves in the shade near a row of SUVs and mini-vans parked in front of the dual-spired 1st Methodist Church while they waited for their children to emerge from what the brick marquee in front of the building proclaimed to be Vacation Bible School. A panting spaniel hung it’s head out of one of the vehicles, drooling down the side of the car, and watched Mia Crane with dark, soulful eyes as she passed, as though hopeful of rescue.

Like many other small southern towns of its age, Waterford had at its center a town square, this one grassy and set with trees that very probably dated back to the Civil War, thick-boled, gnarled, and heavy limbed above clusters of asaleas and wood-and-iron park benches. The center of the square was graced by a three-story red brick courthouse of similar vintage, boasting mansard rooflines and a soaring clock tower two stories taller than the rest of the building. Around the perimeter of the square on all sides, a rank of beautifully restored two-story buildings, mostly of similar red brick or local granite, housed businesses of various sorts, and completed what Mia had to admit in spite of the heat to be a quaint and nostalgic picture postcard setting.

Lacking was the air of crumbling gentility so often seen in towns of similar antiquity, but still there was an aura of solidity and permanency about the town that was oddly comforting. What had not been restored had aged gracefully, like a well loved woman. Soft green moss grew in the cracks that separated sections of the well-worn sidewalks, and enormous clay pots set here and there around the square held flowering crape myrtles in shades of vibrant reds and fushias. Most of these now were tall enough to supply shade for the benches set at strategic intervals around the square, but were placed carefully so that they did not obscure the display windows of the various shops.

In cooler weather it would be pleasant, Mia thought, to stroll around this square window-shopping at her own pace, and perhaps eating a double-scoop ice cream cone from The Creamery, or sampling freshly baked buns from Soulcakes, or wandering into The Booke Nooke for a leisurely browse. The tempo here normally would be slow, without the taint of temporal demand, but on this particular day the air was thick with heat that clung to everything it touched, and even sound seemed deadened by it.

Mia softly cursed the waves of it that rolled up from the steaming asphalt and into her inadequately cooled car, turning it into a mobile sauna. Auto repairs were sometimes difficult to schedule and always difficult to afford, and hardly a day had passed this summer that she hadn’t resolved once again, and in spite of the financial ramifications, to get this one handled. Obviously though, she hadn’t dealt with the problem, because otherwise she wouldn’t be driving along with her hair lank, her clothes soaked in perspiration, and her feet swimming inside ancient Reboks.

The sweat trickled down between her breasts and further dampened the back of her thin cotton shirt as she turned to follow the line of the square, and loose tendrils of dark hair clung to the perimeter of an oval face with a slightly stubborn chin. The small amount of makeup she’d applied in the early morning was mostly gone now, her generous mouth was devoid of lipstick, and faint smudges of mascara were evident beneath heavily lashed green eyes as they narrowed against the sun’s unrelenting glare. She felt wilted, like a rose left too long out of water, and the last of the ice was long gone from what remained of the coke in her cup-holder. The little liquid left was warm and had no remaining taste to it. Just tepid, vaguely coke-flavored water in a soft paper cup.

Still, for all her discomfort and the distraction it caused she had no trouble, now that she’d reached the square, in locating the address she sought. The law offices of Lyons & Burke were, thankfully, just where the attorney had said they would be, on the south side of the square between a small Corner Bistro and an upscale hardware store. Geoffrey Lyons had given her excellent directions, and it eased her mind considerably to know that she would have no difficulty in locating the place again the next morning when she needed actually to do so.

Its elegant brick facade faced the square with gleaming windows and brass fittings, looking well tended and prosperous even among the other attractive storefronts, and the ease with which she had found it reassured her that the bed and breakfast Lyons had recommended would be similarly easy to locate. Having followed bad directions often enough in her life to appreciate the difference, she found this reassuring under the circumstances, and sighed with a gratitude that even the oppressive heat couldn’t quite dispel.

The place called to her, and drew her as places sometimes — just sometimes did.

Turning left to circle the square, then right back onto Hennessy Street as he had instructed, she eased along the broad tree-lined avenue past a number of beautiful old houses, the 1st Presbyterian Church with its fortress-like stone and crenulations, and a two-story brick school house, all of which probably had been standing there for at least a hundred years. Roots from the surrounding trees crept out onto the sidewalks, and limbs arched to meet overhead, creating a shaded natural tunnel. Almost at once as she entered that leafy colonnade cooler air slid up into her car, and brushed her bare skin. A moment’s blessed reprieve and an augmented sense of belonging.

Ancient trees, these had undoubtedly arched, just as they did now, over an unpaved hardened dirt avenue in the days when most of these homes had been new and vehicles that passed along between them were horse-drawn. She could almost catch the scents of wood smoke and leather and manure – almost hear the steady, ryhthmic thud of iron-shod hooves, but then she was back in the present with rubber tires carrying her over smooth asphalt and a child on a tricked-out bike and wearing a Sponge Bob t-shirt trying to manage a wheelie on the sidewalk.

Two more blocks, and Mia turned left again onto Oak Street, passing another series of old and beautifully cared-for houses, most with deep verandahs and tree shaded lawns, and an occasional newer home constructed to blend well with the others rather than to detract from the historical ambiance. She drove slowly, appreciating the architectural detail and the beauty of each setting, and as the street veered to the right around a sweeping curve she saw the Waterford House rising up in front of her to the left just as the attorney had said she would. Extra points for him, she decided with satisfaction, tilting her head and slowing the car to get a better look.

Set atop a hill, the Waterford House was Victorian in style, and visually striking in a way that houses sometimes are. Someone had taken great pains with its restoration and the landscaping of the grounds, and because she appreciated beauty in all of its varied forms she nodded with approval as her eyes followed its graceful lines. Painted a soft blue with dark red and white detailing and a steeply pitched slate gray roof, it seemed to welcome her with generous proportions and glints of sunlight reflecting off of tall graceful windows. This had been a much-loved family home once upon a time, and it retained that warmth even now. The lawn was well-tended beneath the comforting shade of several huge oaks. Roses lined the drive along an old stone fence, their fragrance drifting through the car’s overtaxed air conditioning system, and around the foundations of the house hydrangeas were heavy with clustered lavender blooms the size of cantalopes that seemed to deny the summer’s heat.

The driveway passed upward between aging, mossy granite gateposts and climbed up the rise to a small paved lot that could not be seen from the street below, its limits defined and the edges of the green lawn guarded by raised stone curbs. As she turned gratefully into the area she saw only four other vehicles, and that also was reassuring. Crowded accomodations wouldn’t have suited her. Not today. Today she wanted quiet and cool in equal measures.

One vehicle in the lot clearly was local, a silver-blue Chevy suburban with a weather-worn Waterford Band Boosters sticker on the rear window, and a local tag. Two were out-of-state SUVs, the black Expedition boasting Florida plates and a rosary dangling from the rear-view mirror; the green Navigator coming from North Carolina and having an empty ski rack on top and a child’s car seat in back. The fourth vehicle was a low-slung red corvette convertible with a vanity tag reading GLION, and it probably had cost its owner more than Mia made in two years, maybe three, before taxes. It was parked askew, predictably blocking two spaces, and as far as she could see did not have a single mark or smudge on it’s gleaming finish. Clearly the owner, given the way he’d parked the thing, didn’t want to risk having it scratched, and because she couldn’t afford to be thought responsible for the slightest nick she stayed well clear of it and pulled her vintage Honda Civic in beside the least pristine of the SUVs, sighing with relief as she shifted into neutral and set the brake.

It had been a long and monotonous drive from Charleston, and her muscles felt stiff and unresponsive. When she opened the door the heat should have hit her like a wall, but it was less oppressive than she’d expected and had braced herself to endure. Here under the trees it probably was a good ten degrees cooler than in the direct sunlight, and certainly cooler than it would have been back in Charleston. For the past two weeks the heat there had been enough to leech the strength out of bone, so anything at all, she had to admit, was an improvement. All things considered, she felt surprisingly relaxed as she slid out of the car and stretched to relieve the stiffness, and she sighed because no one really needed to tell her why this was so.

A light breeze whispered through the trees in response, like a gentle greeting at journey’s end, and from behind a tall hedge at the rear of the lot the strains of mellow jazz drifted out into the quiet afternoon. She could smell both flowers and freshly cut grass, and after a moment smiled and walked slowly around to lift the hatchback and extract her meager luggage.

Mia had traveled light, with only a single medium-sized suitcase and a smaller travel bag, and she felt her spirits lift as she locked the car and began making her away along a moss-chinked brick walkway to the front of the house. The broad wrap-around veranda was set with woven wicker swings and chairs from an earlier age, as well as with enormous potted ferns, and she easily could picture herself relaxing there on a warm summer night with the crickets chirping and fireflies courting among the trees. The image came readily. It was a peaceful, gracious setting, and as she stepped from the verandah into the foyer and felt cool scented air against her skin she silently thanked God for that favor, too. Waterford was gaining points at every turn — drawing her in and offering comfort and a quiet sort of oblivion. Offering escape and sanctuary.

The interior of the large house had been as carefully restored as the exterior, with a great deal of polished wood and textured fabric. On either side of the entry hall two front parlors were richly accented with thick area rugs, period window treatments and what appeared to be original artwork. The left hand parlor had been converted to include an antique wooden hotel desk behind which ranks of numbered cubbyholes stood ready to hold messages and a polished walnut rack held several large and ornate keys with shiny, numbered brass tags. Real keys. The fireplace there held some very realistic gas logs, and a long table placed against the wall opposite the desk was graced with a lovely, vibrant arrangement of silk flowers. It also held a bowl of fresh fruit, real fruit as opposed to the decorative artificial kind, and a small stack of colorful brochures advertising local restaurants and local and regional attractions.

The opposite parlor, boasting an ornate Turkish rug in deep red tones, was set with two overstuffed couches, several upholstered chairs, and a lovely 19th century walnut writing desk. The windows were velvet draped, and over the mantle there hung an impressive portrait nearly as tall as Mia herself.

After pausing for a long moment without seeing anyone appear behind the desk, Mia set her luggage down on the polished wooden boards that gleamed through between the foyer runner and the parlor carpeting and drifted slowly into that room through the open archway, glancing about her and feeling tense muscles continue their slow process of relaxation.

She smiled with approval at the various antiques, occasionally running her fingertips over smoothly aged wood and rich fabric before coming at last to gaze up at the portrait with a critical artist’s eye. Upon closer inspection it clearly was an original oil of some antiquity, and very well done. The subject was a naval officer, probably dating from the late nineteenth century, and quite rakishly and impossibly handsome in spite of the formal pose. The artist had managed to capture a roguish glint in the eyes and a sensual quality about the lips that seemed to bring the man to life, and she found herself wondering what he had been like in the flesh. Even in two dimensions, he radiated a sort of confidence and sensuality that was hard to deny. A devil, she was willing to bet, and she sighed and shook her head, her eyes hardening ever so slightly. She knew about those.

That’s our captain Hennessy a cheerful voice unexpectedly interrupted her reverie. Impressive, huh?

A bit startled, Mia turned to see a pert young woman clad in tennis togs standing just in the archway, her dark hair pulled up into a ponytail and her attractive face pleasantly tanned.

A founding father? she asked the girl, thinking ‘Of course. Hennessy Street’, and there was a low chuckle in response.

He fathered quite a few in his time. Five sons and two daughters was the final count, I believe. By the way, I’m Darcy Julian. Are you our guest from Charleston?

That’s right.

Then I suppose you’ll want to get settled, right? A bright smile lit the girl’s face again. She had straight, even teeth that seemed to blaze against her tan.

Mia nodded and smiled in return, feeling her tension release another notch. That would be wonderful.

Fantastic! Then I’ll get you signed in if you’ll follow me across the hall. My mother’s in the kitchen, but you’ll meet her later. She’ll want to check in with you and make sure you have everything you need. Darcy tossed her hair and led the way, stopping at the desk to indicate a huge old-style guest register before she slipped around to lift an ornate brass key ring from one of the wall pegs. It gave a solid thud when she tossed it onto the counter, and Mia found herself wincing and hoping that the lovely dark finish hadn’t been damaged.

Signing the register with an ostentatious plume pen, Mia replaced this with a deliberate flourish, then accepted the key with a smile that lit her eyes as much as curved her lips. She found herself wishing that she could take off her shoes and feel the thick pile of the area rugs beneath her feet, because somehow, for all the surface formality of the rooms, they had a very welcoming feel to them.

Is it usually this hot around here? she heard herself asking.

Well, that was inane! Was she really that desperate to make conversation? Odd, because usually she was not.

Darcy seemed not to notice either the stupidity or the predictability of the question.

Christ no! she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. We’re pretty high up in elevation here, so the summers are usually nice. This is the worst heat wave we’ve had in years. It isn’t expected to last long though, thank God!

Mia regretted that she wouldn’t be around by the time the heat broke, and said so with a wry smile. I’m just here for a few days, and then it’s back to Charleston.

The girl wrinkled her pert nose. Then I guess you’re use to the heat, huh?

Not a chance! I’d live in the pool at home if I could!

This was almost literally true.

Well, we’ve got a pool here, if you want to use it Darcy supplied as she strode out into the foyer and picked up both bags with little apparent effort. She was shorter than Mia, but was stronger than she looked and had a fit athletic build. A cheerleader, Mia found herself thinking as she followed the younger woman up a high-pitched staircase, sliding her hand along the polished banister and wishing she had half as much energy.

Though Darcy Julian, whose age she placed at roughly twenty one, was probably not all that much younger than she was, not that far at all from pompoms and the sidelines of a high school football game, Mia had lately felt that every one of her own twenty eight years weighed about twice as much as it ought to have done. She still looked younger than she was, but inside the weariness was sometimes more than she cared to endure. It had been a long time since she’d felt either the welcomed flush of excess physical energy or the seductive comfort of being totally relaxed. Now, at the thought of a swim, she felt an acute sense of longing for simple indolence….and blessed cool.

She sighed. I didn’t see a pool when I came in.

It’s around back behind the hedge. Having her hands full, Darcy jerked her small, pointed chin to the left, and grinned as she started down a generous hallway carpeted with a soft, patterned runner. The textured wallpaper was a rich red and gold floral design above dark waincotting, and the wall sconces rather effectively mimicked period gaslights, set at intervals and with flickering candle bulbs.

Right. I did hear some music coming from over there when I pulled in Mia confessed, and her guide turned her head a bit and laughed, teeth flashing again.

Yeah, that’s Josh. He’s a major hottie. She rolled her rich brown eyes and gave a very wicked grin. Mama says he’s too old for me, but she needn’t worry about it. He isn’t interested in me anyway. She gave a small, feminine snort. He’s known me since I was in diapers, and that image is sort of hard to shake. Well, here’s your room.

She opened the door with an unpracticed sort of bravado and another wide grin, and Mia looked into a charmingly decorated bedroom furnished with a beautifully carved Victorian bed that looked altogether luxurious to her travel weary eyes, and a tall similarly styled armoire, and a dresser with a lovely cheval mirror. The night stand was set with an antique style glass chamber lamp, and the area rug was thick and soft. She smiled as she stepped inside to survey her surroundings, watching Darcy deposit her bags at the foot of the bed with a saucy grin. The air smelled faintly and very pleasantly of roses and of vanilla.

Since there’s no one in the next room, or expected to be for a few days, you can lock the adjoining door and have the bathroom all to yourself until then. If there’s anything else you need the girl said brightly, just pick up the phone. Just dial a zero and it rings at the switchboard.

Switchboard? Mia was both startled and amused.

"Yes, well we had some problems billing calls to the right rooms when we first opened up a few years ago, and when we started out mama couldn’t afford a computerized system or separate lines for every room. She had the phone company hook up this old switchboard she found somewhere at a flea market, and now it’s just sort of comfortable for us. We have a girl who watches it, among other things, but I’ll warn you there’s no internet in the rooms unless you have wireless access, and the board isn’t manned 24 hours a day. If you need to make calls before eight a.m. or after about eight p.m. you have to use the pay phone downstairs, and if you need to plug into the web you’ll need to go down to the parlor. There’s a high-speed hook-up down there, by the desk, if you need it."

That sounds fine Mia assured her warmly, and felt a heady, guilty twinge of relief. Odd as it might seem in this day and age, she didn’t yet own a laptop or, currently, have a working cell phone, and that meant she could be out of touch without really explaining why.

Okay, then I’ll let you settle in Darcy gave another quick toss of her head, unless you need something else.

I need a new life.

No, I’ll be fine. Mia wondered if she was supposed to tip her girl, but decided that it probably wasn’t expected. Certainly, Darcy nodded brightly enough, not hanging around to wait for any expected gratuity, and Mia watched her depart like a brisk little wren taking flight. That seemed to be a good sign that she’d chosen correctly.

Settling slowly onto the edge of the beautiful bed, she lay back with a soft little sigh of gratitude. For her, the mattress was perfect, and she sank down into it with a moan, feeling the cool, smooth texture of the striped emerald and ivory chintz spread beneath her fingertips. There were tiny roses on the ivory stripes, and a vase of freshly cut roses stood on the dresser. The drapes were the same shade of green as the darker portion of the bedspread, and were tied back with thick ivory tasseled ropes. The plush Aubusson area rug that covered most of the floor contained many of the same colors, and the sunlight filtering in through the long window brought no heat with it.

She was tired, just simply tired, having left Charleston early and driven straight through without a real break, and she knew that if she didn’t get up again she was just liable to fall asleep before she could get unpacked, or changed, or even fed. She didn’t need to do that, she supposed regretfully. No, she had to get her things put away before they were hopelessly wrinkled, and she very much needed to take either a swim or a shower and to get a bite to eat before she succumbed inevitably to her travel weariness. The bed cradled her, offering comfort and forgetfulness, but she climbed stubbornly out of it and set promptly to work.

Since she’d packed only a few things to see her though what was expected to be a very short stay, it didn’t take long before everything was stowed in the rose sachet-scented drawers, or hung up in the tall wardrobe. Soon the dress she planned to wear the next day was hung carefully beside a couple of comfortable casual outfits she‘d brought along, just in case, and her suitcase was tucked carefully away and out of sight under the high bed.

She had enough, she thought. The simple cotton shorts and sleeveless shirt she’d worn on the drive could easily be washed out by hand and hung up in the bathroom, if she really had that to herself. The fabric still adhered to her damp skin, but she didn’t really want to change for supper until she’d had that shower or swim — and in any case it was still too early for supper. Her wristwatch, an ancient Timex with a black leatherette band and a scratched crystal, read only 4:12 p.m.

Way too early for supper.

After a few moments of consideration she rose slowly, kicked off her shoes and opened a drawer again to pull out the swimsuit she’d brought along on impulse, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder as she turned through the narrow connecting door into the adjoining bathroom. Inside she turned on the tap to run water into the charming pedestal sink, and quickly removed the clinging remnants of her day-old makeup as well as a day’s worth of perspiration. The white ceramic floor tiles were cool beneath her bare feet, and her fingertips sank into the softness of the towels that were hung there on heavy brass rods. Large and yielding and thirsty. Taking one of them from the rack to use at the pool, she began shucking gratefully out of her sweaty clothes, and letting them fall, at least momentarily, to the floor.

The cool air of the room felt wonderful on her bare skin as she shimmied into the suit, tugging at fabric which refused to settle where expected, and when she returned with the towel to the bedroom and caught sight of herself in the mirror she frowned — then sighed with resignation.

She’d been meaning to buy a new swimsuit, but money was always tight and when she was able to spend anything on herself — well, then suitable work clothes had to be the priority. There was no choice, really. As a result, she’d made do with this one for far longer than she ought to have done, and it showed. The dark green spandex was stretched, and worn thin in places, and certainly looked shabbier than she was particularly comfortable with. She studied her reflection self-consciously and frowned again, but she had to admit that the effect was not really so very bad. Besides, it was unlikely that anyone would notice, the way she did, details like worn seams and frayed, stretched hems. Of course, she could shower and let that do, she thought as she pondered her reflection again. That would suffice. Still, the thought of submerging herself in cool deep water really was more than she could resist.

It’s not as though I’ll ever see any of these people again in my lifetime she said aloud to her image. The people here in Waterford were, and would remain, strangers, and there was no reason why she would ever return here. Whatever they might think of her and her shabby attire would have no lasting effect upon her life, so why should she care if her swim suit looked like something just barely reclaimed from Goodwill before it fell apart entirely? What, after all, would it matter, and why should she think, inexplicably, that it might?

Shaking out the large towel she wrapped it quickly around her, seized her room key, and walked out into the hall before she could change her mind. Following the corridor with its soft patterned runner toward the back of the house, she headed for a dark stained French door leading to the outside where a small balcony perched on the rear of the house. From there a narrow flight of worn wooden stairs lead down to a brick walkway running along the back of the yard to the hedge-fenced pool, and from her elevated vantage point she could see most of the pool itself below. The water looked blessedly cool, like a faceted blue topaz in a setting of red tiles, and the air was rich with the scents of flowers and just a slight, elusive tang of suntan oil. The steps were hot under her bare feet as she descended, but not uncomfortably so, and the rhythmic strains of jazz could still be heard wafting up from below.

She saw the man as soon as she passed through the gap in the hedge. He was stretched out on a lounge, all tanned and blond, his powerfully muscled body clad in a well-worn pair of red track shorts and his fingers hanging relaxed over a sweating bottle of Sam Adams summer ale. Though the sunglasses he wore made it hard to judge, she suspected that he was asleep. Certainly he neither moved nor gave any other sign of wakefulness as she passed, and his broad lightly-furred chest rose and fell with a slow steady rhythm.

Walking quietly past him, she could see at a glance why Darcy Julian regretted his lack of interest. He was without a doubt a fine looking man, and one with whom just about any women would have been impressed. He had physical strength and a certain presence that was undeniable, and his well-oiled muscles were sleek and healthy. She noticed a few scars, primarily one along the side of his left knee, but these did not distract from his appearance or appeal in any way.

There was something just vaguely familiar about him, she realized, as though she’d seen him before or he reminded her of someone else. Not Gordon, she thought with satisfaction. Though blond, this man’s hair was both thicker and darker…tawny with golden highlights. He also was much larger and taller than Gordon, and his features were stronger. He wasn’t, she decided, pretty. Instead, he was handsome, and there was a difference. He was the sort you remembered, and that made it all the more annoying that she couldn’t quite think who he reminded her of.

It teased at her mind, that vague sense of familiarity, but she was determined not to stare, just in case he really was awake behind those dark Cavalli sunglasses he wore. And so, after what really was only a brief glance, she looked quickly away, concentrating instead on the pair of lounges near the other end of the pool. The heavy furniture was of painted wood, as solid and reassuring as everything else she‘d seen here, and the hedge screened out the world beyond except for the upper floors of the house itself, giving an illusion of privacy. Glancing again at the unmoving man, she decided that he really was asleep, and that comforted her as she dropped her towel on a lounge and eased over the edge into the cool water.

It felt wonderful simply to lean back and allow herself to drift, and for a long while that was exactly what she did. The afternoon was still and calm, and for once there was nothing else she really had to do. It had been a long time since she’d simply relaxed, and it felt good to set everything else aside, even if it was just for a little while.

Unfortunately,it was rare lately for this to last, and predictably, after all too short a time, bitter thoughts and anger did begin to intrude again; to percolate slowly up to the surface. She didn’t want them there, but they came anyway, and to push them aside she busied herself with swimming laps and counting her strokes as though chanting a mantra. Back and forth she traversed the length of the small pool to the beat of the mellow jazz from the radio until her arms finally began to tire with the exertion of slicing though the sparkling water, and then she drifted again, letting her aching muscles go limp.

She felt guilty in many ways, taking this time for herself, and had to admit that she’d used the reading of the will as an excuse to do so. It went without saying that she was very curious about the woman who had died — a woman who supposedly was her great aunt but whom she’d never once met or even heard mentioned. Given the total lack of familiarity, she couldn’t begin to understand why the woman would have left her anything at all. Of course, with the exception of Mia and her brother there were no other children that she knew of on that side of the family, the Crane side. But David hadn’t, apparently, been mentioned in the will at all, and that was strange too. David wasn’t the one traditionally forgotten.

She sighed. The bequest was probably some small feminine token or piece of jewelry that Artis Crane Davies had wanted to remain in the family. That, Mia thought, would explain it, but it didn’t explain at all why no one had ever previously mentioned this particular great aunt.

Elizabeth Crane had never heard of her, which made the whole thing even more bizarre and intriguing since Elizabeth was naturally nosy and had always prided herself on knowing who was related to whom, and to what degree. Having an unknown in-law, dead or not, had not suited her at all, and because there was no one left to ask about it Mia’s mother had typically been both frustrated and irritated. She’d been certain, as Mia herself now was, that the bequest would be a trifling one, but that hadn’t eased her curiosity and she’d been furious as a result that her daughter hadn’t wanted to take her along to Waterford.

Being away from her mother for a while was something that Mia had very much needed, however. Since Frank Crane’s sudden but only lightly-lamented death two years before, his widow had come to lean more and more heavily upon their daughter, and this was not a situation that Mia welcomed, or that seemed at all likely to change.

Frank, Mia admitted without a single miniscule twinge of guilt, had possessed very few redeeming qualities as a human being. Other than being a handsome devil and fathering two reasonably attractive children, he’d been a near total loss as a man. Selfish, faithless, amusive and without conscience as far as his daughter had ever been able to determine, it was unclear that he had ever truly cared for anyone other than himself. Nevertheless, throughout all of her marriage to him Elizabeth Crane had remained, at least outwardly, a card-carrying resident of the state of denial.

She might have known the truth herself, but if she did she’d never been willing to admit it. She hadn’t believed then, and still didn’t believe, in airing dirty laundry outside the family, so no matter how badly Frank had treated her or his children she had never been willing to leave him or to admit to her children or to anyone else that her marriage was a harsh travesty. She always had pretended that everything was fine, just peachy, and now that Frank was gone she had rewritten the past with a liberal and creative hand. In retrospect, at least as far as Elizabeth was concerned, Frank Crane had been a caring husband and a good father, and now she liked to pretend that her widowhood suited her simply because she would never be able to replace him with anyone half as fine.

Well, so much for honesty! It probably really suited her because there were fewer bruises to hide!

In reality, her husband’s death should have liberated her, Mia figured, but Elizabeth had clung stubbornly to the lies that had sheltered her emotionally for so many years, refusing to set them aside even now. She was still young enough at fifty four that she had a great deal of life ahead of her, but she refused to grasp it. Instead, she clung to a past that had not really existed, and to her children as though they were her only remaining link to the outside world.

David, of course, had escaped early on, even before his father’s timely death. Because he was a son, Frank had at least seen to it that he’d had whatever he needed financially, and had made provision for him to go to college. Having a son had appealed to Frank on a certain visceral level, Mia supposed, and so David had gotten some measure of support from him. He’d always had new clothes, had been given a car at sixteen, and had attended the University of South Carolina on his father’s dime. Once he’d gotten out of the house though, he had never really returned. He’d stayed in Columbia through the summers and had married immediately upon graduation, moving to the Atlanta area where his wife Una’s family lived and coming back only rarely for very special and limited occasions. Yes, he’d been the smart one.

Elizabeth went to see them and their two children Tyler and Meaghan from time to time, but usually did not expect David to concern himself with her day to day problems and concerns. He was, after all, married with a family of his own, and in an odd sort of way she actually deferred to him. Certainly, she always defended him. But then Elizabeth loved David. She always had.

Mia had been another matter — always. Frank had found little use for a daughter, especially one whose conception had been undesired and unwelcomed, and there had been no provision made for her pleasure or even for her education. She’d had new clothing only when her brother’s hand-me-downs wouldn’t suffice, and new toys were pretty much out of the question. There had been no car for Mia until she’d gone to work herself to earn the money for her first vehicle, a ten year old Datsun that fell apart a couple of years later, and had her talent and intelligence not been sufficient to earn her a scholarship she would never have managed to attend college at all. Even then she’d had to pay for the extras by falling back on her art. She’d turned out caricatures at parties and civic festivals and done free lance advertising art for local merchants to make ends meet, and in the end that had been enough, barely. It had kept her in school, if also away from any reasonable semblance of a social life, and blessedly far away from home.

Like David she’d had no intention of ever returning except for brief visits. She’d planned to get a good job and make a home and a life for herself somewhere safely distant from kith and kin. But fate had an odd way of conspiring to destroy the most firmly laid plans, and upon graduation from college the best job offer she’d gotten — that one as the result of a recommendation from a company for whom she’d done work as a student at the University — had been from an advertising agency in Charleston, of all places.

She’d have been a fool at the time to have refused the offer, especially since there hadn’t been that many others, and the job paid fairly well even to start and came with a ready-made account. She knew that even now, in retrospect, and so really couldn’t fault herself much for having knuckled under and accepted the job. The firm was well respected, the money was decent, and she’d learned a lot working there. Her starting salary had been just enough to allow her to rent a small place of her own, her father was still alive at the time to occupy most of Elizabeth’s time and energy, and everything had gone reasonably well for a while. She’d actually allowed herself to dream, back then, of having a real life and maybe, once she’d saved up enough money and built a reputation in her field, to relocate — hopefully to another state.

The more fool me.

Of course, then she’d met Gordon Taylor.

Another curve thrown by fate.

She didn’t want to think about Gordon just now, but the thoughts came anyway and were hard to push away even though they always left behind them a taste of bile. The pain was just far too fresh still.

She’d been working for Spencer & Hyatt for three years when he’d joined the firm, a charming and ruinously handsome young man with a brilliant smile, sky blue eyes, and sun-kissed fair hair, who had set every female in the place to twittering. Mia had felt enormously flattered when he’d noticed her at all, especially since there were several other female employees who were, in her estimation, far more attractive than she was. Certainly, they were more self-assured and self-confident.

She supposed now that that her very naivety had made her easy prey. At the time, alone, and vulnerable, and very inexperienced thanks to the fact that working her way through college and establishing her career had left her precious little leeway in the past to socialize and none at all to have a relationship, she’d felt very, very lucky. Here was an extremely handsome and charming man, desired by many, who was interested in her. In her! It hadn’t taken long at all for him to sweep her completely off her feet, and at first it had been wonderful. Mostly wonderful anyway. She’d been so charmed by him, and so admittedly lonely at the time that she’d been more than willing to overlook any minor deficiencies in him or in their relationship. It had been enough that this marvelous man supposedly adored her — and he did claim to adore her.

And yet, as time had passed she’d finally begun to see past the glitter and the mist of new and unexpected romance, and to realize that she was not getting nearly as much out of their supposed relationship as he was. She’d always managed to make time for him whenever and pretty much wherever he’d wanted to see her, but the reverse simply had not been true. Gordon frequently had excused himself even from planned assignations, claiming business or distant family obligations, and their time together had seemed to dwindle slowly away until, aside from work, she was only actually seeing him once or, if she was wildly lucky, twice a week.

People didn’t like telling you unpleasant truths, for all that they did enjoy gossiping about them, but eventually she’d begun to hear rumors of his being seen with other women. That had hurt, and though he’d assured her that any such contact had been in the line of business she’d discovered one day, suddenly and sadly, that she no longer quite believed him.

The lying bastard!

They’d been together, but not really together, for nearly three years when the denials had come to an end, and that not because Gordon had gotten a sudden and uncharacteristic attack of conscience. No, it was more that she had caught him red-handed at work in a supply closet with a chesty twenty one year old blond from the accounting section. He’d tried at first to talk his way out of it, but Mia wasn’t completely sure why he’d bothered. He hadn’t loved her. Looking back on it, she suspected that he never had loved her. She’d been convenient for him. Biddable, and always available, that was her! She’d needed to be loved and he’d liked always having a fallback position, but in the end she’d had her pride and that hadn’t allowed her to overlook what was clearly only his most recent infidelity. She’d ended it then, and he’d accepted that with so little discomfort that she’d wanted to strangle him and watch his face turn an unattractive shade of magenta just before he gagged and died horribly. It made it all worse somehow to hear him ask what, after all, she’d expected.

She’d expected love and fidelity, that’s what she’d expected, and even now she felt like a naïve, witless fool for having wasted nearly three years of her life pandering to a man who in all likelihood had never really cared for her at all!! Just like her mother? The thought sickened.

It had been difficult to return to work and to face everyone after that, but she’d managed to do so. She’d also managed to put on a credible show of indifference for the benefit of their co-workers, while behind the scenes she sent out desperate resumes and hoped frantically for an offer that would finally take her away from Charleston, Gordon, and the increasing demands of her lonely and neurotic mother. Unfortunately, the job offers had not exactly come rolling in, and she’d recently begun to wonder if she would be trapped permanently in a life she now longed with every atom of her being to escape —one that was threatening to suck her down into a hateful morass of hopelessness and self pity.

Enough of that!!!

She chided herself silently for dwelling on the past, and executed a neat surface dive that took her through crystal water to the bottom of the pool and up again into brilliant sunlight. She was supposed to be relaxing, and thoughts like that were not going to help. What she needed was a good meal and a sound night’s sleep in that wonderful bed upstairs, not bitter memories and fatalism.

That decided, at least for the moment, she pushed the memories forcefully aside and swam several more laps to the beat of the mellow jazz, then levered herself up onto the side of the pool to wring out her hair, reclaim her towel, and wrap it snugly around her hips. The sun felt good on her face now, but she didn’t linger to savor it. She still needed to wash out her things, to shower the chlorine out of her hair, and to figure out where in such a small town she ought to go for supper. The Waterford House was a bed and breakfast, not a hotel, and they didn’t serve dinner here. She’d have to manage a quick blow dry, get dressed, and check the brochures for good local restaurants if she expected to eat, so she told herself she’d better get going.

Sighing, she walked again past the attractive and oddly familiar man, wishing she could thank him for supplying the music, and made her way back along the walk, up the narrow plank steps and along the cool dim corridor to her room. Funny, but in spite of his undeniable good looks she realized suddenly that she hadn’t felt as drawn to him as might have been expected. Perhaps she was learning.

About time too!

Then again, it was possible that Gordon’s callous disregard had killed something inside of her, bruising her heart so deeply that she no longer had the capacity to care. She hoped not, but then again maybe she hadn’t had much capacity for that in the first place. After all, she’d gotten through life before him, through high school in Charleston and through college in Columbia as well, without loosing her heart the way other girls so often did, so it was possible that something already was missing inside of her.

Gordon had professed as much during their final confrontation, suggesting that if she had been more passionate he might not have had to look elsewhere for real satisfaction, and maybe he was right. It was possible that she just wasn’t capable of the sort of heat he’d needed – that something had withered away inside her during her childhood, never to be healed, or had never been there to begin with.

And maybe I’m better off that way.

Did she blame herself? Well, how could she not shoulder a heavy portion of the blame for the relationship’s failure, especially right at first when the hurt was new. But she really had tried to be everything he’d wanted, and that made it easier now to accept that he had been at least equally responsible. The things she’d refused to do – well, there hadn’t been many and on those occasions she’d felt she’d had a right to stand her ground. Would she have balked if she hadn’t been cold by nature? That, she didn’t know. Should he have expected them of her? That she didn’t really know either.

Sighing, she stepped briefly under the hot, steady flow of the shower to rinse away the chlorine; then shut off the taps and wrapped herself in a second fluffy towel, using a third to blot the moisture from her dark hair. Thus clad she made her way back into the cool silence of her room, wriggling damp toes against the soft pile of the rug. The bed beckoned and her watch on the bedside table read only 5:30. Still early yet.

But she was hungry, and that mattered too. The exercise had given her hunger more of an edge, and her stomach gave a cautionary little growl as she stood there eyeing the mattress.

Okay then, food first. Then sleep.

O’Banyon’s actually was, in atmosphere, more of a pub than a restaurant, and was extremely popular with a great many Waterford locals, especially those living or working on or near the square. Both the beer and the food were excellent, and the owner, whose name wasn’t O’Banyon, but rather Alvin Coursey, had managed to entice a number of pretty young women into working for him as waitresses. That meant that it also attracted more than a few hopeful young men from the surrounding area. Even if some of them did nothing more than stand at the bar sipping cokes or trying to pass as legal, they were at least spending money, and in the evenings, most especially on weekend, O’Banyons was pretty much as close as Waterford got to a local hot spot.

The pub had generous wooden booths along the dark paneled walls, heavy wooden tables, and chairs with wide, comfortable seats. Celtic instrumental music played softly in the background most of the time, not loud enough to interfere with conversation but with just enough volume to supply ambiance, and there was a fireplace at the end of the main room — though of course it wasn’t burning now. Not in the heat of summer. Off to one side of the hearth a low bandstand was set with a couple of three-legged stools and microphones, ready for the use of the performers who came in later in the evening, a twosome advertised on a placard near the entrance as Sean and Carrie.

The threesome seated in a booth near the west wall were not there for the waitresses or even for the entertainment though. They were there for the food and the beer. They liked the long familiar feel of the place, with its deep benches and broad, heavy tables, and the pub served as a convenient place for them to get together at the end of a busy day when good food and good drinks seemed most in order. The atmosphere was relaxed, and because they all lived busy lives these days they enjoyed being able to spend time together every once in a while, just to kick back, put down a well-cooked meal, toss back a few brews, rehash old times, and indulge themselves in mutual harassment.

Full mugs and heaped plates crowded the generous, solid table which already was made to look smaller than it was by the size of its occupants. All of them were tall, well-built, and bore a strong family resemblance.

Joshua Lyons, leaning back across from his cousins Drake and Jonas, was the largest of the three, though not by a great deal since even Jonas, being the smallest, stood over six feet in height. Just now, he grinned broadly as across from him Drake lifted his glass in a mock toast and favored him with a typically sardonic smile.

You shouldn’t tease the waitresses, Josh the more serious Jonas said with a shake of his head. You know they’re too young for you. His warm brown hair was worn short, like a military buzz cut that had been given a couple of months to grow out, and, and his hazel eyes were perhaps just a bit too solemn, even when he smiled.

Hell, she only asked me for my autograph! Josh responded with a wider grin. Got to keep the fans happy, right? Besides, don’t get your scrubs in a knot, cuz. You worry too much!

Burly and ruggedly handsome, with sun-kissed blond curls and laughing blue eyes, he didn’t suffer from his cousin’s excess of restraint. If anything,