At the Corner of King Street (12 page)

I rolled down the window. “Flat tire.”

“So I see.” He wore a dark T-shirt branded with Talbot Construction over the left breast pocket, worn jeans, and scuffed work boots. A thick belt looped around a narrow waist and a brass belt buckle was engraved with the letter T. Dark sunglasses tossed back my haggard reflection.

“I'm calling a cab.”

“You don't have to.”

“I do, if I don't want to walk.” The less we interacted, the better. He didn't have much use for the Shires, and I wasn't in a mood to be judged.

“Stupid for you to wait in the heat with the baby. I'll take you where you're going.” Without waiting, he reached into the backseat and easily unhooked the car seat. Seconds later, he untangled the seat belt from the base.

The efficiency with which his strong fingers worked annoyed me more. He glanced at the fussy baby, frowned, then strode toward his red truck, easily loading the baby in the backseat. Irritated, I shut off the engine and locked up my car as my phone's search engine finally found cab companies. I hurried after him.

“Thanks.”

He clicked Carrie's seat into place and shut the back door. “I'll send one of my men to change the tire if you leave me a key.”

I paused, my hand on the front passenger door handle. “Really, you don't have to do that.”

“Do you have AAA?”

“No.”

A brow arched. “I'll need your car key.”

Judgment rolled off him without a word spoken as I unfastened the car key from my ring and slid into the passenger seat. The cab was spacious and large and the cool air a welcome relief. He slid behind the wheel, his large, broad shoulders eating up the space and his body
filling the cab with the fresh scent of soap and lumber. I handed him the key, which he tucked in his pocket. “Where to?”

“Back to the warehouse.”

“Don't you have an appointment with Social Services today?”

“I did.” I half wondered if that's why he was in the area, to check up on me.

He shifted gears and pulled into traffic. “And?”

Closing my eyes, I rolled my head from side to side. “I'm keeping Carrie until Friday. The foster family the case worker picked already has six kids.”

For a long moment, he didn't speak as he drove through traffic, expertly weaving in and out of lines of cars. “And after Friday?”

“The case worker has promised to get a smaller family.”

“And if she doesn't?”

Another weight settled on my shoulders. “I'm only crossing the bridges in front of me right now. Distant, far-off bridges are too much to worry about.”

“So, you don't know what you're going to do.”

Ass.
“Nope. I have no plan other than to go back to the warehouse and feed the baby. If I get really lucky, she'll fall asleep, and I'll be able to make business calls this morning.”

Silence settled, and I assumed we would not speak for the rest of the drive. Good. I wasn't in the mood to chat. Carrie, lulled by the car's movement, grew silent.

Zeb pulled onto King Street and wound down the road until he reached the warehouse on the corner. He pulled into the alley and parked. He threw the car in park but didn't rush to turn off the engine. “I remember days like this when Eric was a baby. Trying to take care of an infant and working is tough.”

“Any words of wisdom?”

“Keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you'll make it.”

I rubbed my eyes, which now itched with fatigue. “God, I hope you're right.”

He turned toward me and slowly pulled off his sunglasses. Words seemed to catch in his throat and, for a moment, I thought he'd say more but he simply nodded and got out of the car. He unloaded the baby and when I got out and came around the car to take the car seat, he shook his head. “I'll get her upstairs.”

Grateful for the help, I climbed the front stairs to the apartment. “I've got a makeshift crib for her in my room. This way.”

Steady booted feet followed me into my room. His shoulders filled the door frame as he surveyed the room: unmade bed, three half-empty coffee cups on the nightstand, and a spit-up shirt dumped on the floor. Overseeing it all, the woman in the portrait, frowning. Always frowning. “Where's the crib?”

I eased past him and moved to the dresser lined with blankets. “Not fancy, but it gets the job done.”

He didn't speak as he set the car seat on the bed. He unfastened the straps and carefully lifted her up. In his large calloused hands she looked so, so small and helpless. He laid her on her back in the makeshift crib. “I'll have my guy bring your car back in an hour.”

“Thanks, Zeb.”

He turned to leave. “Sure.”

“Zeb?”

He hesitated, his gaze still turned toward leaving.

“I know this isn't easy having Janet back. Eric wanting to love her . . . It has to be hard.”

He reached for sunglasses tucked in his pocket and stared at the dark lenses. One earpiece was well worn, chewed a thousand times while he worried. “It's natural for him to want to love her.”

“Has she seen him in the last seven years?”

“Seen? No. A few random phone calls, but they always came at night while he was sleeping. She sent a card or two, which he still has. But that's about it.”

“But he's still excited to see her. I'm guessing you've only kept your words kind, so he thinks she'll be easy to love.”

He shook his head. “I never meant to mislead the boy, but to talk against Janet didn't make sense either.”

My purse slid from my shoulder to the floor. “Do you have any idea who Carrie's father might be?” I asked on the off chance he knew.

“No.” The short, curt word cut. “She hasn't called for a couple of years.” He lifted his gaze to mine, and I saw his struggle with anger and frustration. “Car will be here by lunch.”

“Thanks.”

His booted feet echoed in the hallway and down the stairs. The front door closed behind him and I was alone with Carrie. I slid to the bed and my weight quickly settled. A few minutes of sleep would do the trick.

I lay on the bed, wincing as springs squeaked, and very carefully brought my feet up to the mattress. Slowly, I closed my eyes to Carrie's steady breathing.

Thirty minutes later, I woke to her crying.

Two young boys were stricken with typhus. Dr. Goodwin went to attend them but said there was little he could do but bleed them. He told their mother to say her prayers for God's good grace.

Mr. Talbot, who is fond of the boys and their families, sent Faith to attend them. Mistress Smyth told me Faith mixed some of her potions and gave the boys an elixir. Both boys showed steady improvement and I've been told they are both eating again.

Dr. Goodwin fears Faith is spinning magic, for no medicine he knows of would have assisted the boys. Mention of Faith struck me with a shiver of fear. My hand went to my belly, and I wondered if she cursed my child when she stood on the street corner and pointed her pale, slim finger at me
.

T
hat afternoon while the baby slept, I took the chance Carrie would sleep five more minutes while I called Scott, knowing that this was a quiet time of day for him.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and I expected his voice mail again. But on the fourth ring, Scott's breathless, “Addie” touched my ear.

“Scott.” I turned away from the baby and lowered my voice a notch.

“Where are you? God, I've been so worried.”

“I'm still at Aunt Grace's.”

“Addie, what's going on?”

“She's not been well.” That was not a complete lie. Grace wasn't herself. “I'm trying to get her situated with doctors.”

His breath rushed over his lips in a frustrated sigh and I imagined him digging his fingers through his thick blond hair. “Honey, are you all right? I'm worried about you.”

To know he was thinking about me and worrying, warmed my heart so fully, tears filled my eyes. “I'm fine. I just have to take care of
this family issue. I'll be home, come hell or high water, on Friday morning. I've talked to the caterer and texted all the vendors, and we're set. The wine is going to enjoy a beautiful launch.”

“You're sure?”

The baby curled her fingers into fists and squawked, so I crossed to her and gently jostled her seat. Her face relaxed and she quieted. “I'm very sure. Grace is doing much better, and I've been able to meet with her doctors to get her medicines figured out.” The trouble with lies wasn't creating them, but remembering them. By the time I entered kindergarten I was an accomplished liar. I understood telling the truth about Mom's sickness caught the attention of the teacher, which eventually led to Social Services.
Where's your lunch, Addie? Is your mother okay? Where are you living now?
By the time I was ten, I told stories better than a seasoned con man.

“When you get back and we get this opening behind us, I want us to spend some alone time. If this break has taught me any lesson, it's that we need to talk more.”

Gently, I rubbed my thumb along the bottom of Carrie's foot. “We talk plenty.”

“Lately, it's been the vineyard or my dreams. It struck me today, we never talk about you.”

“I can promise you, Scott, my story is not interesting.”

“Everything about you is interesting.”

His kindness was nearly my undoing. Here was a man who I loved with my whole heart, and I was hiding so much of my life from him. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I share my stories with him? As much as I wanted to tell him now about Janet and Carrie, I couldn't. Blame it on old habits, but I truly feared my family's past would taint my future with Scott. “Thanks.”

“I miss you. And, I miss the vineyard.” The front door on the first
floor opened and closed, and I quickly glanced to Carrie to make sure she was still sleeping. “Scott, it sounds like Grace is home from the doctor's. Let me get her settled for the night.”

“Call me tomorrow.”

“You can count on it.”

“Addie, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I hung up and held the phone to my heart, pushing back the tears welling in my eyes. My chest tightened and my breathing grew shallow. A tear spilled, but I quickly swiped it away. I would make all this work. I would get Carrie to a good home. Janet would come out of the mental hospital with her meds balanced, and my life in the country would resume. This story would have a happy ending.

As I tucked the phone in my back pocket, I turned to see Grace entering the room. A glance at me, and her expression soured. She didn't spare a glance toward the child as she moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer. She twisted off the top and took a long drink.

“Wow, Aunt Grace, bad day?”

“You could say that.” She glanced at the beer bottle, judging what remained.

“What's going on with you? Other than the obvious with Janet, what's bothering you?”

She held up the bottle. “Isn't all this enough?”

“More than enough, but there's something else.”

“I got an offer on this place. A good offer. More money than I could make in a lifetime. I've always known the land was worth a small fortune, but no one gave me hard numbers to consider.”

“I didn't realize you wanted to sell.”

“I don't. I love this place.”

“But it's getting to be too much.”

Grace's gaze widened a fraction as she stared at me. Instead of answering, she took another long pull on the beer. “You've been talking to Zeb.”

“I've got eyes. I walked the warehouse a couple of times. I noticed the inventory was very low. How long has it been since you took on a job?”

“About a year. I lost my manager, and I couldn't find anyone to take on this place. I figured there was time to sort it out. The warehouse was full. But I never expected inventory to dwindle so fast.”

“No jobs in a year?” In this business, you built connections with local contractors who were scheduled to demolish a home. You built connections with designers who visited your shop weekly, looking for the next trend. You built by word of mouth in the community. Everyone, especially the contractors, expected you to be there and ready to act. Disappoint these folks a few times, and you fell off their radar.

Grace dug her fingernail into the beer bottle's label. “I got a call from Zeb this afternoon about demolishing an old stone fireplace. It's all that remains of a small house once part of the McDonald Plantation. The hearth dates back three hundred years. Two years ago, I'd have jumped at the job.”

Working at the warehouse, I made a point to learn the area's history well. Alexandria became an official city in 1749, and when the first lots in the city went on sale in July of that year, they all sold within days. The primary stipulation of each land sale required that a permanent house be built on the lot within two years. A few brick homes were constructed, but most were wooden structures that didn't survive the test of time. Surrounding the new city were hundreds and hundreds of miles of Virginia farmland dedicated to growing the highly profitable crop of tobacco. Our warehouse now on King Street was only blocks away from the original Hunting Creek warehouse built to receive, inspect, and pack tobacco for shipment to England.

“Why haven't you? You could always hire day workers.”

“Yeah, I suppose. And then what? I'd have a bunch of stones lying in my warehouse.”

The market for old stones consisted mostly of high-end designers who wanted to create a unique feature for a client. “Do you still have the list of designers?”

“I have the list, but I'm not sure how active it is.”

“Give them a call.”

“I can't pull this off fast enough. I have to be on site tomorrow to haul away the stones.”

“Zeb can't give you more time?”

“He placed the first call a month ago. I've been putting him off.”

“The stones would be an easy flip, Grace.”

She raised the bottle to her lips and drank. “Not sure I care enough to try anymore.”

“What if I picked up the stones? I could bring them back. Make a few phone calls and see if anyone wants them.”

Grace's face softened with amusement. “One job isn't gonna do me much good, Addie. This whole operation is on borrowed time.”

“I'm stuck here until I hear from the social worker, Grace. I could do the job and see if I could sell the stones or sit around here and go insane. Honestly, the insane option doesn't appeal, and I would like to get out in the fresh open air and move a little.”

“You got the baby.”

“I also have you. You work with me, and we could make this happen. We both could ride out to the property and have a look. The truck still runs, because you drove it to the vineyard.”

“Yeah. It's tip-top.” She dug deeper into the beer bottle label with a thumb made crooked by arthritis.

“You want me to call Zeb?”

“Honestly, Addie, I don't care.” She lowered into a seat, no longer able to shoulder the weight.

“Grace, is there more going on that I should know about?”

“I'm running out of steam. It's all getting to be too much for me.”

“What's getting to be too much?”

“Life.”

I reminded myself that my plate was full as I reached for the phone in my back pocket. I scrolled through the numbers and found Zeb's number. I hit Send. The phone rang once and Zeb's crisp, “Hello,” cut through the line.

“This is Addie.”

“The baby okay?”

“Baby's great. Sleeping for now. And thanks for the car. Really helped.”

“You didn't call to say thank you.”

“I called about the job you offered Grace. The stone job.”

Silence crackled. “I put one last call in to her today, Addie, but if she can't handle it, I'm gonna demo the rocks. I've an addition to build for this client, and I can't put her off any longer.”

“What if I came out tomorrow with a few guys, and we hauled it off?”

Silence crackled. “I can give you until noon and then my grading crew has to get started.”

“Where's the job site?”

“Not fifteen minutes from you, down Richmond Highway. The property was the old McDonald Plantation.”

“Grace told me. Can you text me the address?”

“Sure.” A chair squeaked and I imagined him standing from his office chair. Seven years since I stood in his office, but I suspected he still owned the beat-up pine desk that once belonged to his grandfather.
Behind it stood a tall bookshelf crammed full of construction manuals and supply catalogues, model airplanes he made as a kid, and pictures of Eric. There were also pictures of Janet, but I assumed they were gone. On the wall was his diploma from the Virginia Military Institute, an old Virginia college, ripe with tradition. Zeb was the first in his family to attend the school and graduated with honors in Civil Engineering before he went into the Marines and served for eight years, including two tours in Iraq. Within months of arriving back in Alexandria after leaving the Marines, he met the vivacious Janet and fell head over heels in love.

“Thanks. I've got this.”

“Addie, are you sure you can tackle this? The baby's a handful.”

“I'll bring her along with Grace. The kid seems to be happiest when we're on the move. She only has an issue when I do selfish things like sit or close my eyes.”

His heavy sigh cut through the phone. “Okay. Address is on the way.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up and looked at the sleeping infant. “Grace, you'll have to watch over the kid while I manage the site.”

“I don't know anything about babies.”

“All you have to do is watch her. Keep her out of the sun. If she has an issue, get me.”

“It can't be good for a baby to be outside.”

“If we keep her out of the sun and heat, she'll be fine.” The kid stirred and a glance at the clock told me it was feeding time again. Damn, this kid is punctual. As I moved to the social worker's bag of formula, I flipped through a mental Rolodex of people who could help us. “Do you have cash in the business account?”

“Some. A thousand maybe.”

“It's enough for a couple of day workers. Who have you used lately, or, at least, most recently?”

“Not anyone in a regular way in a couple of years. But last year, Margaret McCrae helped me out. You played with her and her sisters, Rachel and Daisy, that summer you lived here.”

“I remember. Do you have Margaret's number?”

“Sure. In my office.”

I cracked the top of the formula bottle and secured a nipple as the baby's eyes opened. She looked around, clearly searching for a reason to cry. Her gaze drifted toward me and she found her reason.

Ready this time, I picked her up and put a bottle in her mouth. “Can you get the number while I feed the baby?”

Grace nodded. “I knew you were the one who could fix the mess.”

“Addie, Fixer of Messes. It'll be engraved on my tombstone one day.”

Grace shrugged unapologetically. “You were always good at helping, even when you were a little kid. Janet was older. Your mom was the parent. But you ran the show.”

“That's not my job anymore. Right now, I'm trying to fix a crappy situation and see that we all come out of it with what we want. You might not want the money from the sale of the stones, but I'm betting Janet could use it.”

Grace snorted. “She won't know what to do with the money. I don't care how many medications her doctors put her on, she'll spend it on crap.”

“Then I'll put it in an account for her.”

“And what? You'll keep helping her after she gets out?”

A bank account was one of those distant bridges I couldn't consider crossing now.

*   *   *

Grace found Margaret's number, and once Carrie was changed and settled back in her dresser drawer cradle, I dialed the number. If Margaret couldn't help, I hoped she could at least point me in the direction
of someone who could. I really didn't want to call Zeb back and tell him we couldn't do the job. He sounded so unsure of me, and I needed this. I couldn't really fix my family, but I needed to prove, to myself more than Zeb or Grace, that I could at least do this.