Leaving Carolina (16 page)

He nods.

So we understand each other. I feel better. That is, until we step into Uncle Obe’s room and into the middle of a family gathering. I lurch back and come up against Axel.

“They don’t bite,” he says in my ear. “At least not in broad daylight.”

I scan the faces of those whose eyes land on me. My red-headed, Easter egg-thievin’ cousin Luc is here, and beside him is his mother, Adele, to whom Botox has been kind—in a stiff way. At the foot of the hospital bed, Bart and his mother, Belinda, perch on opposite sides of the mattress, and near Uncle Obe’s head sits a girl with glasses poking out from dark hair that hangs around her face. She looks a bit like the one I saw entering church with Maggie yesterday.

“Piper.” A drawn-looking, IV-connected Uncle Obe lifts his head from the pillow.

“Piper?” Aunt Adele zips her gaze down me and shakes her head. “My, you
have
changed.”

“I’ll say,” Luc mutters.

“Yes,” Aunt Belinda says.

Bart stands taller. “Told you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Come in.” Uncle Obe motions me forward. “You too, Axel.”

I smile. “I’m sure the number of visitors you can receive is limited, so I’ll come back later.”

“Don’t worry about the nurses,” says a man I didn’t notice until
now. “We have an understanding.” Past Aunt Adele’s shoulder, he turns from the window, and for a moment I stare into my father’s face. But it’s the youngest of the brothers—Bartholomew, Bart and Bridget’s father—who always bore such a striking resemblance to my father that the two could be momentarily mistaken for each other. Even though he has packed on twelve years, twice as many pounds, and there’s silver among his red hair, the resemblance remains.

“You
have
changed.” He shakes his head. “And here I thought my boy, Bart, was simply in a generous mood.”

This is not going to work. “Uncle Obe, I think I should—”

“Do you know what I think?” says the girl in a honeyed drawl.

I wonder at the sparkle in eyes magnified by glasses. Who
is
she?

Her smile has Maggie written all over it despite a small gap between her front teeth. Is this her daughter? It follows, and yet other than the smile, she bears little resemblance to my cousin. Still, Maggie’s daughter is nearly a teenager, and this girl can’t be more than ten.

She lifts her chin. “I think you’re lovely, that’s what.”

Nice kid, meaning it would be hard for her to be a close relation of Maggie’s.

“And potentially inspiring,” she adds.

Inspiring?
Potentially?

Aunt Adele looks around Luc. “Now, Devyn—”

Devyn? This
is
Maggie’s daughter. And that
was
her heading into church yesterday. And she
is
twelve—or soon to be.

“—it’s kind of you to make Piper feel welcome, but remember what I told you about talking out of turn?”

“Sorry, Grandma. It’s just nice to finally meet my long-lost relative.”

“Piper, are you coming in or not?” Impatience battles fatigue in Uncle Obe’s voice.

Axel nudges me, and as he follows me to the bed, Uncle Obe says, “Well, aren’t you a nice-looking couple. And both of you single.”

Axel stiffens, and while I read it as a sign that he doesn’t like Uncle Obe’s intimation either, I’m irked. Did he have to accompany me across the room as if we are, indeed, a couple?

“You’re reaching, Uncle Obe,” Luc drawls. “I hardly think my big-city cousin is about to fall for your
Rambo gardener.”

So much for Uncle Obe’s assurance that Pickwicks get better with age. Of course, he did allude to exceptions. I glance at Axel, who is staring at Luc, who is staring back. No love lost, but then Axel is thought to be behind the changes to Uncle Obe’s will. And there was that altercation at the Easter egg hunt…

Devyn gives a heartfelt sigh. “True. Mom says that kind of stuff only happens in romance novels.”

Uncle Obe smiles slightly. “Wait and see.”

I lean near him. “How are you feeling?”

The tilt goes out of his mouth. “Fine.”

“He’s exhausted,” Devyn says. “He was in surgery for an hour and a half and then moved to recovery for an hour. And though they let him return to his room, he’s still feeling the effects of anesthesia. And he’s hooked up to an IV for medication and a spirometer”—she eyes a machine beside the bed—“to keep his lungs free of postsurgery fluid. Nothing is ‘fine’ about that.”

I stare at the plain little girl who has a remarkable head on her shoulders. Someone needs to tell my cousin that her baby was switched at birth.

Devyn lays a hand on Uncle Obe’s head and pets his hair. “What you need is rest, Unc-Unc.”

Unc-Unc? Of course, he is
her great-uncle
.

“You know me well, Devyn.”

Does she? But that would mean Maggie has been spending time with him, which is as unbelievable as Bridget coming around. Strange.

Uncle Obe squints at my forehead. “Is that a bandage?”

I slide a hand beneath my bangs and touch the bandage. “I had a little accident, but I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I had it checked a short while ago and was given a clean bill of health.”

“What happened?” Bart asks.

Looking past Axel to my cousin and the others, I shrug. “It was a stick.” I give Uncle Obe a grossly exaggerated wink that eases the lines on his brow. “A big one.”

“Someone hit you with a stick?” Aunt Belinda chirps.

My lips twitch. “Sadly true.”

Axel does that stiffening thing again. Making light of the matter at his expense—albeit temporary—may not be a good idea.

“Who would dare?” Uncle Bartholomew blusters, coming to stand over his wife’s shoulder.

“I went up to the cottage to…”
Helloooo! What about the warning that you’re always giving your clients—not to feed the vultures?
I keep my game face on in spite of the interest in Aunt Adele’s and Luc’s eyes. “I needed to talk to Axel, and when I came around the side of the cottage, he had just thrown a stick for Errol—”

“Errol?” Aunt Adele says.

“Artemis’s dog,” Bart supplies. “Real unfriendly.”

Toward those who break into houses. “Anyway, I was in the line of fire.” I touch the bandage.

“Is that right?” Luc runs a hand along his jaw. “I recall quite clearly that Axel has a good right hook.”

“Still do,” Axel says with a thrum in his voice, and suddenly I feel strangely safe beside the defender of little Piper Pickwick—certain that his big, capable hands would defend me again.

“Why, Axel Smith, are you threatening my boy?” Aunt Adele demands.

Uncle Bartholomew grunts. “Sounded like a threat to me.”

“My godson would not strike a woman,” Uncle Obe says. “And as long as your Easter egg–stealing days are behind you, Luc, there’s no reason Axel should have to teach you another lesson.”

Devyn’s head swivels around. “You stole someone’s Easter eggs, Uncle Luc?”

He has the grace to color—a little. “That’s a matter of interpretation. Besides, I was just a kid.”

Devyn sighs. “Kids can be unkind.”

That didn’t sound like an offhanded comment. It sounded like someone who has firsthand experience with “unkind” kids. But the daughter of Maggie the cheerleader?

“Fortunately, kids grow up.” Uncle Obe lowers his lids, and when he lifts them again, it’s only halfway. “For the most part.”

Axel steps back from the bed. “Devyn is right; Obadiah needs to rest.”

We murmur our good-byes and file out of the room. As the
door closes behind us, one of two nurses heading past mutters to the other, “Those Pickwicks.”

I’m surprised when, rather than cringing at being lumped with the Pickwicks, my defenses rise.

“Well, don’t you look like a bunch of vultures?” Bridget says as she comes around a corner. “Well, not you, Axel.” Her eyes light amid the dreadlocks on her brow. “Or you, Devyn Divine.”

The girl runs to her, and Bridget throws her arms wide.

Strange. Though Bridget and Maggie were more accepting of each other than they were of me, they were hardly close.
“We Pickwicks get better with age,”
Uncle Obe said.

“Where’s Mom?” Keeping an arm around her aunt’s waist, Devyn steps alongside Bridget, and they advance on us.

“She said to tell you she’s sorry, but her auction is running overtime.”

Auction? Does she have to sell off something to pay her bills?

“She’ll meet us here later and asked me to keep you occupied until then.” Bridget glances at us. “I’m assuming I’m too late to visit Uncle Obe.”

As the two halt before us, Devyn says, “For now—too many visitors. The nurses really need to enforce the rules.”

“Obviously.” Bridget considers me briefly before turning to her parents. “Mom… Dad.” Then to her brother. “Staying out of trouble, Bart?”

“You know me.”

She grimaces. “That’s reassuring.”

Luc sidesteps the group. “I have cars to sell. Let’s go, Mom.”

As he takes Aunt Adele’s arm and heads down the corridor, I look around. “I should go too. It was nice”—this is what lies are made of—“to see all of you.” Well, I
did
enjoying meeting Devyn.

They murmur similar lies and murmur more when Axel walks from the group to follow me.

“You two drove in together?” Bridget says.

I am surprised by a glint that quickly fades from her eyes. Jealousy?

“Your cousin was in no condition to drive herself.”

Axel makes it sound as if I were intoxicated! I open my mouth to object, but Devyn says, “She sustained a head injury, Aunt Bridge.”

I raise a hand in parting, but Axel says, “Bridget, can I talk to you?”

There’s that brilliant smile of hers again, and something trembles through me. Maybe it’s just Pickwick, but that
felt
like jealousy.

With a swish of dreadlocks, my cousin, trailed by Devyn, follows him down the corridor where their exchange takes place in hushed voices.

“What’s that about?” Uncle Bartholomew demands.

“Oh, stop,” Belinda says. “Bridget’s a grown woman.”

“And
that’s
a grown man. A highly objectionable grown man, even if Obadiah believes he’s worthy of an inheritance.”

“Why?” Yes, I awoke yesterday morning with egg—er,
snobbery—
all over my face, reluctant though it was, but nothing is reluctant about Uncle Bartholomew’s “highly objectionable” or Luc’s “Rambo gardener” comments.

As I hold my uncle’s glowering gaze, Bart leans in. “Dad’s concerned
that Bridget will end up giving him another son-in-law who can’t support his daughter in the manner to which he wants her to become accustomed.”

“Of course I want the best for her,” my uncle snaps.

“And since Uncle Obe’s heart is no longer an issue,” Bart continues, “it could be a long while before Axel comes into money.”

“Or any of you.” Bartholomew’s heavy brow takes on extra weight. “And don’t forget my fool of a brother is set on rightin’ wrongs that have no business being righted.” He takes a step toward me and in a raspy whisper says, “We’re counting on you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I resent being the cure-all, but I set my face to keep my emotions in check. “All I can do is reason with him.”

The baby of the four brothers stares hard at me, then sighs and glances at the door to Uncle Obe’s room. “The alternative is…distressin’.”

I can’t be sure, but Bartholomew appears genuinely upset at the possibility of having his brother declared mentally incompetent.

He shakes his head. “But Luc is right. Better that than a bunch of no-goods cutting into the Pickwick inheritance.”

No-goods
. “Is that your only concern? The inheritance?”

He looks at me as if I’ve taken on the odor of ripe cheese. “What else is there?”

Aunt Belinda lays a hand on his arm. “I believe she’s talking about the media—what happens if they find out about the changes to the will and the reason for them.”

Bart nods. “Yeah, bad publicity.”

My uncle rolls his big eyes. “So what’s new?”

“Actually,” his wife says, “it’s been nice not to have our name blasted across the papers for a while. And I can’t tell you how much more relaxing my salon experience is when gossips aren’t stealing peeks at me while I’m under the dryer.”

“Nothing to worry about, dear.” Uncle Bartholomew’s eyes pierce mine. “Providing our niece does her job.”

Job?
I don’t recall the Pickwicks offering a retainer for my services.

“Ready to go?” Axel asks.

“Yes.” I turn and look between him and Bridget, who can’t possibly be that pretty in the midst of those ratty ropes of hair. What were they talking about?

Axel steps to the side, and as I pass between the two, Devyn crouches to tie her shoe.

She gives me another gapped smile. “It was nice to meet you.” She tilts her head to the side. “Do you mind if I call you Miss Piper? Or do you prefer Miss Wick?”

She knows about my name change. Of course, it’s probably been a topic of discussion since my return. “Miss Piper’s good, and I enjoyed meeting you too.”

She rises. “If everything works out, I’ll see you tonight.”

Tonight? If
what
works out? Ugh. Not a family get-together. If so, I have a Pickwick-proof excuse—work.

Five minutes later, Axel hands me into his Jeep. “So,” I say as he slides in beside me, “Luc doesn’t much like you.”

“No.”

“Beginning with the Easter egg hunt.”

He backs out of the parking space and, as we head for the garage exit, says, “He can’t put the incident behind him.”

It was probably the first time someone bettered him. “Until recently, I didn’t know what happened between you and Luc. I remembered there was a boy with Uncle Obe, but I didn’t know it was you. I mean, you were almost bald.”

“Buzz cut.”

“Right. And now look at you. You have a ponytail, for goodness’ sake.”

He smiles. “After a lifetime in the military—between my father’s service and mine—I needed a change.”

“I guess so. Anyway, thank you for defending me that day.”

“You’re welcome.” He brakes at the parking booth, then hands the attendant the ticket and a five-dollar bill. “Of course, nowadays I try to be more reasonable in dealing with injustice.”