Page 29 of The Lost Hours
“Amen,” Lucy said softly.
I stood and smoothed down Sara’s hair, then leaned down and kissed her softly on her forehead. I waited for Tucker to approach, but when he didn’t, I moved to Lucy’s bed. “Can I tuck you in, too?”
She nodded, her large eyes never leaving my face. I tucked her in like I’d done for her sister but without the tickling, and then, after hesitating only a moment, I kissed her forehead. “Good night, Lucy.” I started to move away but paused, remembering something else I’d long since forgotten. “Sweet dreams,” I added and watched as Lucy’s solemn face broke into a wide grin, the first one I’d seen.
“Mama used to say that to us. It works, too. I always have good dreams when somebody says that.”
I smoothed her blond hair away from her face. “My mother used to say that to me, too, when I was a little girl.”
Her face was serious again. “She doesn’t say that to you anymore?”
I considered what to tell her and then decided on the truth. “My mother died when I was six years old. That was a long time ago and I think I’d forgotten about her telling me sweet dreams until tonight. So thank you for helping me to remember. It’s a nice memory to keep.”
“You’re welcome. Good night, Miss Earlene.”
“Good night,” I said again, and watched as Tucker moved to the side of each bed, bending stiffly to kiss a forehead and say his own good nights before following me out into the hallway.
He waited as I bent down to retrieve the notebook. “Can I carry that for you?”
It was going to make walking more difficult, but I knew how he felt about the book and its contents and who had last seen them and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for his help. “No, but thank you. I’m fine.”
We walked in awkward silence down the hall but I voiced my surprise when we passed the staircase and continued walking to the other end of the long hallway.
“Elevator,” he said, as we stood in front of what looked like another bedroom door, but this one had two buttons on a panel beside it.
I nodded my acknowledgment, secretly grateful that he wouldn’t have to witness my clumsiness climbing down a set of stairs while holding the heavy notebook. We descended in silence, both of us staring at the closed door. The elevator smelled of new carpet and the air was filled with all the words that I couldn’t say: how sorry I was about his wife; how precious his two daughters were and how they would all get used to the idea of living without their mother; and how I hadn’t always been a crippled genealogist but that I’d once been an equestrian champion with dreams of winning Olympic gold.
Instead, I waited in silence for the doors to open, clutching the bulging notebook as I stepped out into the dimly lit marble foyer.
“This way,” he said, indicating the back of the house. “Odella always leaves the cart by the kitchen entrance.” He pushed on a piece of wall paneling in the dining room, which revealed a hidden door and I followed him into the kitchen, which smelled like dish detergent and lemons and reminded me of my grandmother and the way she’d taken such pride in her kitchen. I stopped in front of the island, staring above at a pot rack covered in gleaming stainless-steel pots and felt a stab of nostalgia for the woman who’d cooked for me all of those years but whom I barely remembered.
“This way,” Tucker said again as he held open the screen door that led outside.
I stood on the brick steps, and inhaled sharply. A mixed bouquet of flower scents wafted toward me like a spritz of perfume, and I turned to Tucker to see if he’d smelled it, too.
He’d paused on the bottom step, his face illuminated by an outdoor gaslight. He had the same half-amused expression he’d worn the first time he’d seen me, flat on my back in the middle of the horse paddock. “It’s Malily’s garden for the blind.”
I joined him on the bottom step. “Her what?”
“She planted it for Helen. It’s full of the most fragrant flowers in existence so that you don’t have to have sight to enjoy it. It’s Helen’s favorite place in the world.”
“I can see why,” I said, closing my eyes as I breathed in deeply.
“You should come by in the daylight to see it. It’s almost as beautiful as it smells.”
“I will,” I said, and moved off the steps. I hadn’t gone very far before I realized that Tucker wasn’t behind me. “Is something wrong?”
He stood staring at me for a long moment before coming toward me. “No. I was just thinking.” He stopped in front of me, his back to the gaslight and his face in shadow. “Lucy and Sara want to learn how to ride, but I don’t really have the time or the patience to teach them myself. I’ve tried to hire someone, but I can’t find anybody who wants to come all the way out here.”
I listened to the thick air stir itself enough to push a wind chime, to press the scent of moonflowers against my skin. “Like I said, I don’t ride anymore,” I said, squeezing the book tighter against my chest.
“I’m not asking you to. I just need somebody who has experience and knowledge to teach my daughters the rudiments of riding. That’s all they need for now.”
I shuddered, but at the same time felt the heat of the old flame lick at my chest again. “I don’t . . . I mean, I’ve never taught anyone before. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“But I’m assuming you were an advanced rider, correct? To sustain the kind of injury that you have, you must have had a serious fall. Not from a cross rail, in other words.”
I searched for his eyes in the shadows, but saw only the darkness. “I don’t like horses anymore. I haven’t had anything to do with them for a very long time.”
