The sight of Marcus walking toward me in casual gray cotton pants and a blue-striped button-down steals my breath. Get over it, Lil. He ripped your heart out and stomped all over it.
As he leans in to kiss my cheek, I’m acutely aware of my appearance. I’m still wearing the same rumpled khakis and blouse from our meeting the day before. I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday morning, and I smell of sweat and stale coffee.
Removing an elastic from my wrist, I tie my greasy hair back in a ponytail. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I need to know everything Dad told you when he gave you the key.”
“He made me promise to look out for you after he was gone.”
With head bowed and chewing on a thumbnail, I walk in little circles in front of Marcus. “I don’t understand why he would ask that of you. Why he would have you assigned to his team of attorneys.”
“Because he trusted me.”
My head shoots up and I stop walking. “He didn’t trust you. You broke his daughter’s heart.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Marcus walks me to a nearby bench, and we sit down side by side. “After we broke up, before I left for law school, I went to see Graham at his office at the college. I confessed the truth about why I broke up with you.”
My heart skips a beat. “What truth? You betrayed me by hooking up with my sister. My sister, of all people.” I raise my voice and people around us stare. “Don’t try to deny it, Marcus. I saw you kissing Layla with my own eyes.”
He lets out a deep breath. “Okay, first of all, Layla kissed me. I didn’t kiss her. She was in a mood that night. She was pissed because she didn’t have a date to the party. As usual, you were her target.”
I’m shocked, and yet I’m not. Vintage Layla. “Why didn’t you tell me this then? You could’ve salvaged our relationship.”
“Because I used the situation to make a clean break. I was a coward, Lil. I realized after we got engaged that I wanted to experience the world outside of Charleston before I got married. I never told you that I’d applied to law schools up north. When I got accepted at Columbia, I knew I would forever regret not going to New York.”
“Did you ever consider taking me with you?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Would you have gone?”
“Probably not, but it would’ve been nice if you’d asked. Then again, it would’ve been difficult for you to discover the real you with a wife hanging around.” Leaning forward, elbows on knees, I stare across the marsh grass at the river. “So, all this time, I thought I was the one who broke off our engagement because you hooked up with my sister when it was all about you finding yourself.”
“That’s the thing, though. I wanted you to find yourself as well. I wanted you to get out from underneath the hold your sister had over you. I thought maybe, you being angry at Layla for kissing me would give you the nerve to stand up to her.”
I snort. “I stood up to her, all right. And we’ve hardly spoken since then.”
None of this makes any sense. I think back over the years. Dad comforted me in those dark days following my broken engagement, but he never once said a negative thing about Marcus. Why would he keep Marcus’s confession to himself when he knew I would’ve forgiven Marcus if I’d known the truth? Because Dad was a man of honor, the greatest secret keeper of all times. He would never have betrayed Marcus. He loved Marcus like a son. And, because Dad would’ve agreed with Marcus that I needed time alone to sort out my relationship with my sister.
I straighten. “Whatever, Marcus. This is all ancient history. I have too much else on my plate to worry about this now.”
“Talk to me, Lil. Maybe I can help.”
I remove Dad’s letter from my pocket and hand it to him, sitting quietly next to him while he reads it. He looks up when he’s finished, his auburn brow knitted in confusion. “Sounds like Graham sent you on a wild goose chase.”
“Yep. Pretty much. I need to find this truth he’s talking about. Although I have no clue what Hemingway has to do with it. I’ve already turned Dad’s study upside down. There’s nothing there.”
“What about the cottage? Doesn’t he have a home office down there?”
I toss my hands in the air. “Of course! Why didn’t I think about the cottage? He has an extensive Hemingway collection down there. Bigger even than here.” I get up and walk away without saying goodbye.
“Hey!” Marcus calls after me. “Where’re you going?”
“To Wadmalaw,” I toss over my shoulder and take off running toward home.
Lillian
When I enter the house, I hear voices in the drawing room. While I appreciate the outpouring of sympathy from friends and neighbors, I’m in no mood for company. There’s no way to bypass the drawing room to get to my bedroom. I hold my breath and hug the wall as I inch down the hall, but Layla spots me anyway.
“Lillian, come here! There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I exhale my breath with a sigh and reluctantly enter the room. A handsome man with the healthy glow of an outdoorsman crosses the room to greet me. “Nice to meet you, Lillian. I’m Bennett Calhoun.” Elegantly dressed in poplin slacks and a knit polo, I estimate him to be in his forties despite his prematurely gray hair.
“Bennett’s a Realtor,” Layla explains. “He’s here to talk to us about selling the house. I was just showing him around.”
She crosses the room to Dad’s study. She’s reaching for the doorknob when I say, “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
She swings the door open anyway, gasping at the sight of the mountain of books in the center of the room. “What the hell happened in here?”
“I was looking for something.” I elbow her out of the way, pulling the door tight. I turn to the real estate agent. “My sister asked you here under false pretenses. The house isn’t for sale.”
Hands on hips, Layla let’s out an exaggerated huff. “What’re you talking about, Lil? The house is totally for sale.”
My eyes remain on Bennett Calhoun. “Am I correct in assuming that, since Layla and I are joint owners of the house, you’ll need both our consents to put it on the market?”
“That’s correct.” Although he does a good job of hiding it, I can tell by Calhoun’s tone of voice that he’s disappointed.
“Then we have a problem, because I’m not giving my consent.” I leave the room without further discussion.
Upstairs in my room, I pack enough clothes for the weekend in a duffle bag and toss in my toiletry bag. Layla is still conversing with the real estate agent in the drawing room when I come back down. I sneak past them on my way out the back, and head to the utility room to retrieve my canvas tote bag. It contains the art supplies I used when I last painted weeks ago.
I throw my duffle and tote bag in the back of my Subaru and go in search of Trudy. I have a hunch of where to find her, and I’m right. She’s in the hidden garden behind the carriage house clipping herbs.
From over the fence, I say, “Trudy, I’m going to Wadmalaw for the weekend.”