Page 86 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
“You poor thing,” my mother said, getting up to refill Rebecca’s teacup.
“I didn’t say anything, wanting to be sure first. So I did a little digging and found out she’s a grad student at the college—in psychology or something. And they’ve been seeing each other for months. Formonths.”
“Are you going to leave him?” I asked.
Her shoulders hunched forward as she began to sob and shake her head. “I... can’t.”
“But why n—” I stopped. Recalled what she’d said about how her dreams were blocked, and I remembered when that had happened to me. “You’re... pregnant?”
Rebecca glared at me with reddened eyes. “You don’t have to sound so surprised, you know. Marc is a very virile man.”
I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat. “I’m sure he is. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay married to him, you know. If you have the right support system in place, it’s possible to raise the baby on your own.”
A fresh torrent of tears streamed down her face. “But I love him. I will never love another man as much as I love him.” She slumped down so completely she was almost folded in half, looking as pathetic as a kitten in the rain.
I sat back in my chair, completely defeated. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of using the situation to convince her to share with me the piece of paper Jack and I so desperately wanted to get a look at. But seeing Rebecca’s desperation made me quash that idea. The mere thought of trying to make a life without Jack made me sick and crazy at the same time. It was inconceivable, really. I understood her pain, and I couldn’t take advantage of it, no matter how much I wanted to. Or how much Marc deserved it.
“I’m so sorry, Rebecca. But like Mother said, we’re family. We’re your support system. We will help you get through this whether you decide to stay with Marc or not.”
My mother moved to sit down on the arm of Rebecca’s chair, pulling her close. “Mellie’s right. We’re here for you.”
Rebecca’s phone in her purse announced a text. Slowly, she pulled away from my mother and reached for it. She stared at the screen for along moment, blinking only once and very, very slowly. I thought she might start to cry again, but then I saw her expression change to disbelief, then anger, and finally fury. Without responding, she threw her phone into her purse. “That was Marc. He said he won’t be home tonight for dinner again. He’s got abusinessmeeting and said not to wait up.”
She sat still, breathing deeply, her expression slowly returning to neutral while my mother and I watched, unsure what we should do. “Are you all right?” my mother asked.
Rebecca shook her head, a new, determined glint lighting her reddened eyes. “Not really. But I will be.” She reached into her purse again, pulled out a piece of paper folded into a square, and held it close to her chest. “I put this in my purse right after I saw you at the Francis Marion, not really thinking I could go through with this. But Marc has left me no choice.” After an exaggerated pause, she stood and handed me the paper. “Just in case you weren’t aware that Marc has already ransacked your house looking for your drawing while he’s supposedly helping Harvey. And don’t worry—this is a copy. I could see you already worrying about how to tell Sophie about the creases.”
I wished I could tell her she was wrong. Instead, I quickly opened it up and saw what looked like a page identical to what Jack and I had found in the papers from the shoebox. “Thank you,” I said. “Won’t Marc be angry?”
She slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “He won’t find out, will he? I might still love him more than he deserves, and I will do what I can to fight to get him back, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy a little revenge for what he’s done to me. And our baby.” She rested her hand on her still-flat abdomen.
Rebecca embraced my mother. “Thank you both. Right now, I’m in dire need of a spa day and I’m headed to Woodhouse Spa. I’m charging it all on Marc’s credit card. And then I’m going to figure out how to win him back—right after I find a way to punish him.”
We said our good-byes and she left, saying she’d see herself out, and for once I didn’t roll my eyes behind her back, regardless of how muchshe’d just reminded me of Scarlett O’Hara after Rhett Butler’s departure. This was the first time since I’d known Rebecca that she’d demonstrated that she had more brains and gumption than the Barbie doll she closely resembled.
“Well,” my mother said, “that was illuminating.” She indicated the piece of paper in my hand. “Do you think that will help?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ll compare it to the matching piece of paper that we have and see if it means anything.” I looked down at the page, at the weird lines and swirls that resembled the bricks of the mausoleum but were somehow different. I’d have to put them side by side to know for sure.
I carefully refolded the paper and placed it in my purse. “I came over to discuss the schedule for Saturday night. I’ll have Nola bring the twins and dogs over to Amelia’s house—and remind her to make sure JJ has his kitchen whisk. She forgot it last time and Amelia gave him one from her kitchen, but he apparently can tell the difference. Anyway, I know you’ll be busy doing one of the appetizer sessions here, but I was hoping you could hurry to my house before the dinner to help me with last-minute preparations since I won’t have Jack.”
My mother sat up and pulled her notepad from the side table before adjusting her reading glasses on her nose. “Of course, dear. I’m sure your father can handle any stragglers so I can leave. And I’ll make sure Mrs. Houlihan makes more of her gingerbread cookies just for Jack—they might cheer him up, and the ginger can’t hurt. Did you know that she sent over a little gift bag of cookies for us? She’s just the sweetest.”
I looked at my mother to see if she might be deliberately tormenting me, but she was busy writing on her notepad.
My phone buzzed, alerting me that I had a text. I glanced at it to see who it was. “It’s just Nola,” I offered. “She’s not supposed to be using her phone at school, but occasionally she’ll text me about things she needs at the store or for a homework project. She likes to be prepared.”
“Sounds familiar,” Mother said as she bent over her notepad. “So, since yours is one of the dinner houses, you’ll need to lay out theappropriate serving pieces for oyster stew and bone-in ham. I’ll stop by your house later to get a count of dinner plates, but I’d suggest using the Vanderhorsts’ beautiful antique Imari china. All of that gold will look beautiful with the decorations, plus I know there are a ton of serving pieces.”
The phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out to make sure the message was from Nola. As I yanked it out, it caught a purse strap, which caused the purse to tip over, spilling the contents.
My mother stood to help, but I held up my hand to stop her. “You don’t want to touch something you might react to,” I warned.
“What’s that?” She pointed near the skirt of the chair Rebecca had just vacated.
I recognized the signet ring that Greco had found. I’d brought it to show Sophie when I met her for lunch and had thought it was secure in the pocket of my purse. I had planned to tell my mother that we’d found it and where but had no intention of actually showing it to her. “Don’t touch it,” I said. “It was in the bedpost, just like you suspected. Greco found it.”
Ignoring my warning, she moved toward it, reaching it before I could get up off of my hands and knees. “Mother...”
