A Lowcountry Wedding (15 page)

She paused again, studying his face as an expert would a portrait. She put her hand to her heart, as though she still couldn’t get over it. “Parker was my son. He’s passed now. When I saw you, I thought you were him. The resemblance is uncanny.”

Atticus remained silent, enduring the scrutiny.

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Zora Green.”

“Another literary name,” she noted, seemingly pleased by the fact. “You know, my son, Parker, named his daughters after his favorite southern authors—Eudora Welty, Carson McCullers, and Harper Lee.”

“He must’ve loved books. My mother did.”

“Oh, he did.” Her face softened in memory. “He was a writer, you know.”

“Yes, that’s how he got to know my mother. She was an editor. They met while she was helping him with his novel.”

“Zora . . .” Marietta paused to think back, then regretfully shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t recall Parker ever mentioning your mother’s name.”

That rankled. “Oh.”

“We rarely discussed his friends or personal life. So that’s not to be taken as a slight in any way. You see, my son and I had a serious falling out after his first divorce. Later we reconciled, but from that point on it was tacitly understood that his personal life was not up for discussion. And, to be honest, I was more comfortable being kept in the dark. Let’s just say Parker
was a very handsome and charming man. He had three wives, you see.”

“And you have three granddaughters.”

“Tell me about your mother,” she said.

This was a subject he could speak about readily. A small smile crossed his face as he pictured his mother in his mind. “She was lovely in every way. And bright. She was the publisher of
Atlanta
magazine until she died.”

“It’s a very good magazine. Small world.”

He nodded in agreement, then looked idly around the room in the heavy silence.

“Reverend . . . Atticus, do you have something in particular you’d like to ask me?”

Atticus felt the heat of her searching stare. “Not particularly. As I said, my mother was a friend of Parker’s and I was curious to see where he grew up.”

Mrs. Muir looked at her hands. “I think, perhaps, an intimate friend.” She lifted her eyes.

He met her gaze sharply. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

As they stared at each other, his blue eyes searching into hers, Atticus knew without a doubt the game was up. This was a wise old bird, biding her time.

To her credit, she released a knowing smile that revealed more compassion and wisdom than he felt he deserved, under the circumstances.

“Atticus, you are the very image of my dear son, Parker. Tell me, child. Did you come here, to Parker’s home, searching for answers? If so, I have a burning question of my own.” She closed
her eyes as though to gather her strength, then, opening them, she held his gaze and said with heart, “Are you my grandson?”

Atticus’s defenses were shattered. The vague responses he’d meant to give melted away under the heat of her gaze. Open and vulnerable, she looked at him. She’d laid her cards on the table and now waited for his response.

He blinked slowly. “Yes.”

Her hand flew to her lips as her composure fled. Tears filled her eyes, appearing as two deep lakes about to overflow. With the truth out, Atticus felt her stare intensify as she examined him with open curiosity, even hunger, clearly searching for signs of her son in his son.

Atticus felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Are we really that much alike?”

She smiled with self-effacing charm. “Enough that I thought you were him when I first saw you. Scared the living daylights out of me, I must say.”

“Alike, except with a different skin color,” Atticus said wryly.

“Well, yes.” Marietta leaned forward and peered into his face. “Now that I look at you more calmly, there are differences, of course. The nose isn’t his. Your forehead might be a bit broader. And though he was tall, he wasn’t as tall as you. But overall the resemblance is absolutely profound. Your facial structure, slender frame, and of course your eyes. It’s the Muir blue color,” she said with a hint of pride.

Atticus listened, soaking in the information like a dry sponge. He’d not looked like Tyrone and only somewhat like his mother. “I had always wondered where I got my blue eyes from.”

Marietta shook her head, seemingly dazed. “But this is
extraordinary! I wonder why he never told me. You’re his only son. My only grandson.”

“My mother asked him not to tell anyone. I have to respect him for keeping his promise. He never met me. I didn’t know about him, either.”

“Then how . . . ?”

“My mother died a few months ago. After her estate was settled, her lawyer sent me, per her instructions, a letter she’d written to me before she died.” He steepled his hands. “It was a shock.”

“My dear boy, I can’t imagine.”

“I didn’t see it coming.” He paused at the understatement. “My parents were separated when she met Parker. My father was working as a lawyer in Atlanta. My mother went to New York to work as an editor for a major publishing house. According to the letter, it was there she met your son. I gather she was helping him with his book, they spent a lot of time together, and one thing led to another.” Atticus shrugged. “She says they fell in love.”

Marietta’s eyes widened with a sudden realization. “Did your mother work for Georgiana James?”

“Yes, I believe that was her name. She was, according to my mother, a cruel woman.”

Marietta’s eyes narrowed. “It was Georgiana,” she said with certainty.

“In any case, once her boss found out about their affair, she fired my mother and divorced your son. Only, by this time my mother was pregnant. She returned to her husband in Atlanta, where they reconciled. He raised me as his own son.”

“When did Parker find out he had a son?”

“My mother wrote to tell him before I was born. You should know, he offered to marry her.”

Marietta’s face was somber. “It was the honorable thing to do.”

“For a white man to marry a black woman in your society here in Charleston almost thirty years ago, it would have meant a scandal. In New York? It might have brought a few raised brows, but they could have done it. My mother loved your son, and he loved her. But she didn’t want to marry him. She chose to go back to her husband. My
real
father.”

Mrs. Muir didn’t respond.

“Let me be clear. I’m not here in search of a father. Tyrone Green is my father. He’s the only father I’ve ever known or need to know. And he was a good man. A good husband to my mother.”

“I’ve no doubt. Meeting you is proof enough.”

“Thank you.” He was relieved that his loyalties were clear. “But they’re both gone now. As are their parents, my grandparents.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Atticus shook his head. “I’m an only child. I’m alone.”

Mrs. Muir smiled gently. “Well, you have three sisters now.”

He took a deep breath, exhaling with wonder at that reality. “Right. Half sisters, anyway.”

“Blood is blood.” Mrs. Muir brought her hands up and clasped them near her heart. “I have a grandson,” she said with disbelief, feasting her eyes on him.

Atticus felt emotions long held in check come surging up now. “I didn’t know if you’d be glad to learn about me. If you’d want me.”

“Oh, dear boy, I’m overwhelmed with joy. I didn’t know you existed. My son’s son.” She put her fingers to her lips. “You are the sole male heir of the Muir family.”

Atticus put up his hands, suddenly feeling a little trapped. “Whoa . . . I didn’t come to interfere. The Muir granddaughters might not appreciate that. Laws of primogeniture notwithstanding, I didn’t come here to be one of the Muir clan.”

“But you
are
here, Atticus. And you are a Muir.”

When she put it like that, it made his arguments sound trivial. He looked at his hands. He didn’t want to expose the fragility of his emotions. Having a family meant more to him than he’d realized. He had been feeling lonely since his mother’s death, a man adrift without a family to anchor him. Now this woman, his grandmother, was including him in his new family, and it was a gift, as welcome as it was daunting. How did he feel about embracing this family as his own? That was not clear yet.

“You’re curious about us,” Mrs. Muir continued.

“That’s why I came. It’s only natural that I’d want to know my genetic history. My health records.”

“And you’ll have them. Do you have children?”

“No. I’m not married.”

She leaned back, surprised. “A handsome man like you? Goodness, in that respect you’re not at all like Parker.”

Atticus looked at her with surprise, then saw that she was laughing. Parker had married three times and had three children, one with each wife. He sounded like a womanizer. That she could make a joke of it showed character, and he liked her all the more.

“You’ll want to meet your sisters, no doubt.”

Atticus blew out a stream of air and leaned back against the sofa. “Honestly? I don’t know. They might not be thrilled to meet me.”

“Why ever not?”

“This is all happening so fast. I hadn’t meant to tell anyone about my family connection today. Not even you.”

She lifted a brow speculatively. “So this was a scouting mission?”

He half smiled as one caught in his game. “Exactly.”

“But then I recognized you and ruined your plan.”

His grin widened. “I didn’t expect that.” He was aware she was watching him with a thoughtful, appraising expression.

“I think you should meet your sisters. Why waste any more time on doubts? You’ll like them.”

“Are they anything like you?”

Marietta laughed shortly and said, surprised, “Why, I should think they are. I hope I’m like them.”

“Then I know I’ll like them.”

She lowered her chin coquettishly. Atticus thought she must have been quite something in her heyday.

“How will they react to a surprise brother? Even a half brother?”

“It’s not a new experience for them.”

“Not even a black half brother?”

“That might be a surprise, perhaps. But it won’t matter.”

Atticus crossed his legs. “It might.”

“Let’s risk it. What choice do we have?”

“Mrs. Muir . . .”

Marietta put her hand up. “Please, that’s much too formal
under the circumstances. Call me Mamaw. That’s what the girls call me.”

He swallowed, touched by the offer, but shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s a kind offer, but I’m not ready to go that far yet.”

“Marietta, then?”

“Marietta,” he conceded.

“I hope that someday you’ll feel comfortable calling me Mamaw.”

Atticus accepted the statement with a tilted nod of the head. Mamaw’s breath momentarily caught in her throat as she recognized the gesture as a mannerism of Parker’s. “I hope I will, too.”

Marietta made a move to rise. “This is going to be such a great surprise for your sisters. You’ll be here to celebrate Harper’s and Carson’s weddings!”

Atticus put up his hand in an arresting motion. “Hold on a minute, please.”

Mamaw settled herself back on the sofa and waited, eyes alert.

“When are the weddings?”

“They’re coming up right quick. May. Not a double wedding. One on Saturday and one on Sunday with a joint rehearsal dinner on Friday night here at Sea Breeze.”

He could see the excitement taking hold of her. “With the weddings so close, I don’t think the timing is right to spring this on them. Weddings are a roller coaster of emotions. The last thing they need to deal with now is a brother they knew nothing about. Mrs. Muir . . . Marietta . . . I’m a minister. I deal with the ups and downs of weddings all the time.” He made
a face.
“Weddings bring out the best and the worst in people. You can’t believe what people say and do—to their own family members—under
normal
circumstances. I don’t think it’s wise to expose a long-held family secret into the mix. Not now.”

He could see the older woman was having trouble accepting this possibility. She wanted to pop the champagne and celebrate the return of the lost grandson. Still, his argument wasn’t lost on her.

Marietta brought her hand slowly to her neck. “I didn’t think of it that way. Perhaps you’re right. This is a delicate time for them.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “And we have a few issues to deal with already.” She sighed, not quite ready to give up the argument. “But you’re here now. It’s a shame to wait.”

“We must. My mother died only recently, and I only just learned that Parker was my father. That’s a lot to take in. I need time to digest all this.”

Marietta appeared resigned. “I suppose it would be a lot for all of you to face. At least immediately.”

“Exactly. I’m still grieving my mother and have to reason why she never told me or sought you out. And . . . I hope you’ll respect that I may, in the end, choose to keep my distance.”

“I can’t promise that I’ll never let your sisters know.”

“I understand. I’m only asking you to wait.” He checked his watch. They seemed to have reached an impasse.

He was about to stand and leave when she turned sharply toward him, her face brightening. “I have an idea!”

He looked at her dubiously. “What’s that?”

“You said you’re a minister? What kind of minister are you?”

“Southern Baptist.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “I’m an Episcopalian. Dora
is, too. But Carson and Harper, the brides, aren’t members of any church as far as I can tell. I’m not sure about Harper. Being from England, she might be Anglican, but in any case I can tell you that neither girl has stepped foot in a church since she’s arrived.” Marietta sniffed, which gave away her opinion of that. “I think we can make this work,” she said with confidence.

“Make what work?” Atticus asked dubiously.

“What if I introduce you to the girls as an old family friend? We’ll have to come up with some history, but that shouldn’t be too hard. And”—her eyes brightened further—“as a friend, I asked you to officiate at the weddings.”

Atticus couldn’t speak for a moment. She looked at him with an expression of innocent delight when what she was asking him to do was to get involved in a lie.