Adelaide Confused (20 page)

“
I know right! I’m so
unlucky.”

I wondered if Reed really
had a girlfriend in New York. If not, then why lie? I’d seen them
together, I knew he was attracted to Francesca, everyone was. Maybe
he was doing as I’d instructed, fixing the situation by putting her
off before she turned out like Crazy Karen. But then I remembered
his less than honest explanations and doubted it. Whatever his
motivations, they would always be self-centered.

“Where are you calling from?” I asked.

“
The Crowne. I don’t get
off for a few more hours.”

“Don’t worry about this now, just finish work
and tonight I’ll stay at your place.”

“But you hate sleeping over.”

Not when there was a crazed
murderer set on revenge, not to mention dismemberment, after me. “I
think I can manage,” I replied.

Everything would have gone
swimmingly if not for Reed turning up at the Turtle Center. I
hadn’t called him after all. I couldn’t say why. Probably because I
already knew what he would say. That I should go home and relax,
that he’d take care of it. His lies would give me little comfort.
No thank you, I’d prefer to hide at Francesca’s.

I almost regretted it.

Francesca was a proud sort.
She didn’t cry, but only just. Her misery was like a wet blanket,
smothering me all through the night. I had debated bringing the
Ouija board, knowing a make-believe séance would get her mind off
Reed. But considering the ghost’s propensity for following me I
decided against it, putting off the task for another
night.

When Francesca was still
feeling lousy the next morning I invited her to join me and Stephen
at the Sea Turtle Center. Stephen I’d invited the night before,
obligated to cheer him up after the predicament I’d put him
in.

Just before he left I’d
asked him to cover my Saturday shift, needing the afternoon off to
attend Reed’s picnic. No sooner had he agreed, then Missy arrived
(a half hour early) begging him to cover her Saturday shift as
well. Things went downhill from there. Missy, unable to take no for
an answer, continued to press an increasingly uncomfortable
Stephen. I’d pointed out that even if he could manage a sixteen
hour shift, his mother would never let him work through the night.
My interference only served to upset Missy. She heaped her
resentment upon me by the boatload, and to make matters worse,
Stephen was crumbling under the guilt. It was to spare him that I
had salvaged the situation, agreeing to cover her night shift. Not
once during the entire argument had we stopped to grumble over our
lack of help.

When I first got a job at
Sterling’s there had been a passel of employees, but one by one
they’d gone. And as the workers left we would vaguely remark on the
need to replace them, never really meaning it. In truth, Sterling’s
offered each of us something we required. For Ben it was a reason
to wake up in the morning, a place he was needed, a place to
extinguish the sadness. For me Sterling’s offered safety, allowing
me to mix with others on my own terms. And for Missy… who the hell
knew? It was probably the late night hours. We juggled shifts, we
worked long hours, and Stephen relieved us when his school schedule
allowed. It was as we liked it, and usually it worked, with the
exception of yesterday’s hiccup. Which brings me full circle:
Everything would have gone swimmingly if not for Reed turning up at
the Turtle Center.

Jekyll was a little sliver
of an island just south of St. Simons where the blue bloods used to
gather on holiday over a century ago. Francesca gripped the
steering wheel, heading for mainland, then south, and finally out
toward sea once more. The drive was a C formation, involving more
than its fair share of bridges to cross, the Sidney Lanier being
the most impressive with all its cables.

I muttered from the
backseat when it was time to pay the five dollar parking fee just
to enter the island. I passed up the crumpled bills, cursing Reed
for the loss. My accusations only added to the number of complaints
Francesca had already laid against him. From the passenger seat
Stephen was silent, but he was taking in every word, doing his best
to more fully understand the female persuasion, Francesca in
particular.

In a matter of minutes,
with Stephen playing navigator, we found the historic district
where the Sea Turtle Center was located. I was following behind
Francesca, staring down at the crushed shell pavement beneath my
feet when her emotions spiked.

It was Reed that shocked
her.

I watched as he moved away
from the brick exterior to greet my friends. He completely ignored
my outburst. Obviously my first reaction was to demand, “What the
hell are you doing here?”

“
It’s good to see you both
again,” Reed said, addressing Francesca and Stephen. He was lying.
I could tell he’d hoped to find me alone. “Would you mind terribly
if I tag along? I need to speak with Adelaide about some
business.”

Stephen hadn’t forgotten
the car ride over. Smart boy. He remembered our complaints, and
loyal to the last, he refused to thaw. Unwilling to assume the
eager admiration he once wore, Stephen turned to Francesca, waiting
to see how she would respond.

Even as she despised
herself for the weakness, Francesca desperately hoped he’d stay.
Afraid to speak and appear overzealous, she smiled, going for
demure.

I was discomfited by her
response. To Reed they’d shared a casual conversation in passing at
the Crowne, nothing more. To Francesca the conversation had been a
shattering of all her hopes and dreams, shallow as they were. I’d
spent the night before trying to piece her back together. It was
all for nothing. With one casual meeting Reed had managed to undo
all of Francesca’s common sense.

I snarled, “Fine, but
you’re paying.”

“
Of course,” Reed
agreed.

“
And you owe Stephen more
money. He’s covering my shift again today.”

Stephen was prepared to
splutter, but I shushed him.

Reed nodded, pulling the
front door open and ushering us through. If anyone else had done
it, I would’ve taken it as a courtesy. But with Reed’s charm a
simple act of kindness felt more like a promise, something
meaningful. Already Francesca was excited, deluding herself into
thinking he cared. I was betting she’d already rewritten his
admittance of being involved with someone else as a small
misunderstanding.

He caught my arm, as I was
the last to march by. “Use the restroom.”

I tried to shake him off.
“I don’t have to.”

He released me, but in a
menacing tone repeated, “Go to the restroom.”

In a loud and awkward way,
I announced, “I don’t have to use the bathroom, but I think I’ll go
and have a look-see anyway.”

Francesca and Stephen
didn’t bat an eyelash at the disclosure. They were used to my
antics. But Reed was annoyed. I’d managed to frustrate him
already.

The bathroom was a small
space, made smaller by the busy artwork on the walls. I
halfheartedly searched, glancing in the stalls, but mostly I
fluffed my hair in front of the mirror. I plucked at the raised
collar of my borrowed shirt, ensuring it covered the gouge marks.
It was Francesca’s, so it was neither outdated nor
hoity-toity.

A movement from behind had
my immediate attention. A cloud of smoke wafted upward, swishing
near my spine and around my neck. I went completely still, watching
through the mirror. The rising tendrils sifted back and forth,
hypnotic, mesmerizing.

It was not my ghost. It was
nothing like him, strange as it was to say. His movements were
different, less teasing. He didn’t invade my space, not like this
ghost.

The smoke thinned into a
mist, pressing in about my face like a caress. I decided it was a
woman, her movements reminiscent of a swishing skirt. I didn’t know
what she wanted, if she’d even realized I could see her. Maybe she
was in the habit of haunting the bathroom stalls, having herself a
one-sided flirtation with their occupants.

With a great force of will
I returned to fluffing my hair, pretending that I hadn’t been
gawking. I left shortly after, putting as much nonchalant as I
could muster into each step. I wanted to look back, see if she was
following, but I didn’t.

Reed had purchased our
tickets, among other things. Francesca was standing close behind
him, a stuffed sea turtle under her arm. Tremendously pleased, her
smile was near blinding. She measured relationships by material
means, and to her a stuffed animal was just the beginning. He had
no idea what he’d done.

I ignored them to wander
around the gift shop. A massive sea turtle skeleton hung suspended
from the ceiling, demanding attention. Fat as a cow, the thing
could have easily swallowed a demon diary. But I could see straight
through to the rafters and there was nothing there.

Stephen walked over to hand
me a T-shirt. “Mr. Wallace bought souvenirs. I got a book.” I
looked up to see a shy looking manatee posed on its cover. “It was
Francesca’s idea,” he added defensively.

He’d misinterpreted my
consternation, thinking it had something to do with allowing Reed
to buy us things. No, that wasn’t it, that wasn’t it at all. I was
horrified that a T-shirt was selected on my behalf. Even though it
shouldn’t have mattered, it was quite depressing. I would have
preferred anything else, even a keychain. Who picked it out? Did
they even know me at all? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.

Our tickets weren’t
actually tickets at all, but a game for children. We were meant to
wander through the display stations, marking a sea turtle journey
as we went with embossing stamps. I handed my pamphlet to Stephen,
saying, “Have at it.”

I walked the room in a
matter of minutes, stopping to skim a few plaques. I’d already
determined that there was no demon diary hiding here either. The
trip was a waste of time, which wouldn’t be so bad if I was
spending it with Stephen and Francesca, but I wasn’t. Instead I was
watching a loggerhead glide by, watching the blurry and distorted
image through her tank. Across the room Reed was making my friends
laugh. Francesca stroked his arm casually (though there was nothing
casual about it) and even Stephen was back to being smitten. I was
suddenly lonely in a room full of people, terribly alone,
crushingly so. I hoped it was coming from someone else, that it
wasn’t me that felt this way, but I suspected it was.

The ghosts swirling about,
filling the room with milky pockets, did nothing to make me feel
better. They only isolated me more. I ignored them for a while, but
there were too many, and I found myself distracted. Eventually I
slipped the ring off and stowed it in my pocket, the milky stains
disappearing in a blink.

I was staring at a variety
of turtle remains that had been encased in glass when Reed swooped
in on me. Without a word of explanation he pulled me through the
doors to my left. We were outside and I was being dragged down a
little brick path. I protested, but Reed’s severe expression turned
me mute.

He reminded me of
Bernini’s
David
. I loved that sculpture almost as much as I loved Bernini
himself. Rumor had it that he used his own facial features as
inspiration. He would had to have been good-looking then, like
Reed. They looked similar, sharp and almost harshly
handsome.

Reed caught me staring and
gave my arm a shake. “Stop,” he snapped, hauling me up the wooden
ramp and into the pavilion.

I was ashamed that the
charm had taken hold. Why else would I be comparing Reed to a piece
of artwork? And what was worse, he was the one that pulled me out
of my dazed reverie. “Hands off!” I said, trying to salvage a
little dignity.

“
Excuse me, Ms. Graves,” he
said smoothly while his hands slipped away. “I was under the
impression that you wished to speak with me.”

“
How do you know that?” I
demanded.

“
A group of teenage boys
went to the police, reporting that they’d seen a pretty young
red-headed woman,” he lifted a strand of my hair and flicked it
free, “held at knife point. Apparently it happened just around the
corner from where Theodore Dunn was recently stabbed to
death.”

“
You have an informant at
the Brunswick Police Department,” I said dryly. “Of course you do.”
The accusation had Reed glancing about to make sure that no one was
listening.

Circular blue and white
tanks sat on either side of the raised walkway. They looked like
tall kiddy pools, and housed sickly turtles. Humming machinery and
bubbling water drowned out all sound. On the opposite end of the
pavilion a father strolled slowly, his daughter seated atop his
shoulders where she excitedly patted his forehead. Below them was a
pair of employees. They bustled about labeling and fussing over a
grid of tiny containers where infant turtles ceaselessly
flapped.

Reed watched a behemoth
leatherback float listlessly. Its shell was a patchwork job,
covered in tape or bandages of some sort. “I don’t suppose you
would believe that I meant to see you yesterday, but you weren’t at
home.”