Page 25 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I was cut off by the sound of the front door slamming shut and a dog barking. “Hello, Mrs. Trenholm.” Lindsey’s voice traveled up the stairs. “We’re back!”
I stood frozen, staring at the door and wondering how I’d explain my presence in the attic. I contemplated hiding there until everyone was asleep and then sneaking out but quickly dismissed the idea. If I was caught, the headlines would be worse than any recounting my ghost-seeing abilities.
I was in the middle of calculating how long it would take me to get down to the second floor when something soft struck me in the back ofthe head. I looked down to where the object had landed at my feet and picked it up. It was the heart-shaped pillow, covered in red felt with a ruffled edge. The sound of running feet, heavier than Lindsey’s, came from the stairway, and before I could think of what I was doing, I shoved the small pillow into my tote bag.
“Melanie? Are you up here?” It was Michael, sounding as if he’d already reached the second floor. I listened as his footsteps, slower now, approached the attic door.
Still immobile, I heard something else, something small and delicate, clatter against the floor at my feet. I looked down at the broken chain and the charm that Veronica had found in the box, the interlocking Greek letters offering a clue we’d yet to understand.
Panicking, I watched as the doorknob turned, then quickly scooped up the necklace and dropped it into my tote before Michael opened the door.
I registered his look of surprise as I walked past him with a smile. “Thank you,” I said. “I think I’ve got all the pictures I need. Tell Veronica I’ll give her a call.”
I hurried down the stairs as fast as my high heels could take me, gave Lindsey a quick good-bye and the dog a pat on the head, then exited the house as fast as I could, trying to decipher the look on Michael’s face. It wasn’t until I’d reached my car and met my gaze in the rearview mirror that I realized what it had been.Grief.
CHAPTER 10
When I got home, Jack’s minivan wasn’t in its space in the carriage house. It was dinnertime for the twins, so I doubted that Jayne had taken them out. Usually when Jack was knee-deep in a book, he didn’t leave the house in the middle of the day unless there was an emergency. Or he was procrastinating. I frowned as I stepped out of my car, contemplating the possibilities.
The sound of squealing brakes followed by a revving engine brought my attention to the street. I walked to the end of our driveway and peered out to see Jack’s minivan hurtling in my direction before coming to an abrupt stop about twenty feet away in the middle of the road.
The driver’s-side door flung open and a very annoyed Nola emerged and began stomping toward the house. “I didn’t want to know how to drive anyway,” she shouted over her shoulder just as Jack exited from the passenger-side door.
“Good,” Jack shouted in reply. “I’m sure the entire world will thank you.”
Nola burst into tears and ran past me and up the steps to the piazza. I could hear her feet pounding to the front door as her sobs carried back to us on the street.
“Jack?” I’d never heard him raise his voice to his daughter, ever.
There was no remorse on his face as he stared back at me. “She’s a menace to society when she’s behind the wheel of a motor vehicle.”
“Still, that’s no reason to yell at her.” I pointed to the house. “Go inside and apologize. I’ll park the car since I don’t think either one of you is capable of doing it right now.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond as I got behind the wheel and put the car in drive, then parked it in its space next to my car. After waiting long enough for Jack and Nola to have a heart-to-heart, I entered the house through the front door, avoiding the back garden and cistern. It had become such a habit that I’d forgotten what the back door looked like.
I paused in the foyer, listening to Jayne in the kitchen with the twins and trying to hear Jack’s or Nola’s voice. Instead I heard the distinctive clink of ice in a glass from the direction of the parlor, and I cautiously walked in that direction, my breath held.
Jack stood in front of the bar cart, usually filled with empty decanters. Because Jack and my father both were recovering alcoholics, we kept the decanters empty except when we had company. As I watched, Jack leaned down and, after hesitating for a brief moment, opened the cabinet door. Despite having a brass key in the lock, it had never been locked. Because there’d been no reason to lock it.
Jack reached inside to the back of the cabinet and pulled out what looked like a full bottle of Glenfiddich. Having grown up with an alcoholic father, I recognized the bottle like an old friend. I continued to hold my breath, not daring to move even though I wanted nothing more than to back away and pretend I hadn’t seen him.
He held the bottle with both hands, looking at it for a long time, as if it might be the face of an old lover. I guess, in some ways, it was. And then, without a word, he leaned down and put the bottle back where it had been.
“Jack?” I said softly.
He started at the sound of his name but didn’t turn around. “I thought you’d go check on Nola.”
I moved to stand next to him, staring pointedly at the open door of the cabinet. “And that would give you time for what?” I found myself very close to tears. “What’s going on?”
His beautiful eyes bored into mine, but there was none of the humor or love I usually saw in them. They weren’t empty, but there was definitely something missing. “What’s going on?” he repeated. “What’s going on besides my career getting flushed down the toilet?”
I took his hand, and being unaccustomed to having our roles reversed, I led Jack to the sofa, pulling him down next to me. “What’s happened?” I asked.
He jumped up and began pacing the room, keeping his distance from the bar cart. “Oh, just the usual in the life of a writer trying to resurrect his career. I write ten pages, then delete nine of them, and after I rewrite them I realize it’s all total crap. So I went for a run because fresh air and exercise are supposed to help creativity, but as I’m running down Legare I practically trip over Rebecca and that little dog of hers—with ears dyed pink now, I kid you not—and she asked me how I am in the way somebody asks a person with some life-threatening disease, and then tells me she’s sorry, and she seemed surprised that I had no idea what she was talking about or why she should be sorry and then wouldn’t meet my eyes. So I rushed back home to check my messages and sure enough, there’s one from my agent.”
I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what I knew was not going to be good news. I wanted to suggest a time-out so I could find a doughnut or two to bury my worries in and to distract me from the looming problem. But that was what the old, single Mellie would have done. Now I was a married and responsible adult and mother of three. And I loved Jack. I had for even longer than I’d known. I needed to slap down the old Mellie and figure out a way to get us through this. That’s what marriage was. We were a team. And if it was my turn to be the strong one, then I’d better figure out how. Even if I had no clue as to how to start.
My voice was a lot stronger than I felt. “And what did he say?”
