Page 63 of The Lost Hours
“I don’t know—yet. I was hoping that we might be able to find their birth certificates in the archives. Finding out who their father was might answer a lot of those questions.”
I sat back against the seat, my thoughts dancing with the rush of air coming through the open windows. I wasn’t sure what I’d find, but I wasn’t afraid so much of the unknown now. Maybe I was just beginning to realize that discovering the past couldn’t change it, nor could the knowledge erase the hours between as if they’d never happened at all.
Helen kept her face tilted upward, feeling the warmth of the sun as they headed down the old Augusta Highway toward Savannah. She loved the feel of her silk skirt brushing against the bare skin of her legs, and the way her hair whipped around her face. She remembered how when she was a little girl her mother had always braided her long, wavy hair so it would be easier to manage, but as soon as her mother would leave, the braids would come undone. Helen was still convinced that there was nothing as lovely on earth as the feel of your hair blowing about your face.
She listened as the sounds of the highway softened to those of the intimate city of Savannah, with its manicured squares of flowering hedges and native trees filled with mockingbirds, and Forsyth Park’s gardens bursting with fragrant blooms that Malily refused to admit she’d borrowed the idea of her scent garden from, insisting it had been the other way around.
Piper sat forward in the backseat so that her head was close to the front so she could talk. Helen half listened to Tucker and Piper’s conversation, noticing how it was less strained, and wondering if they’d finally noticed that by staring into a mirror, they saw the other.
“Take a left here on Bull Street, and the first square is Monterey,” Piper said. “Go around to the other side of the square to East Taylor. My house is the first one on the right.”
“I just need the address. I used to live here, remember?” Tucker’s voice lacked the sharpness Helen had grown used to, and she wondered if it was because of Piper or because his guilt had finally reached its expiration date.
The car stopped and Tucker shut off the engine. After a moment, he began to describe it for her. “It’s a three-story Savannah gray brick, with iron stair railings and a white columned portico with an iron balcony above it under one of the second-story windows.”He paused. “And there’s a large side yard that looks like it might have once been a garden.”
“What’s in it now?” Helen asked.
“Nothing but weeds and dirt,” Piper answered slowly from the backseat. “It used to be as beautiful as Lillian’s.”
Helen turned her face toward Piper. “Malily gave me a few rose clippings from her garden to give to you and I have them with me. She said she’d always meant to give them to your grandmother but never had the chance. Maybe you’ll have time today to plant them.”
Piper’s voice sounded unsure. “If I even remember how. I can have George water them while I’m gone.”
“George?” Tucker asked as he exited the Jeep and then helped Piper out of the backseat. Helen listened as he came around to her side and opened her door. “Who’s he?”
Piper didn’t answer right away. “George Baker. He’s . . . an old friend. He’s related to Mr. Morton, my grandfather’s lawyer, and he’s been sort of taking care of things while I’ve been gone. He’s even been helping with some of the research.”
Helen held on to Tucker’s arm as he led her to the sidewalk, feeling him tense. “Just a friend?” he asked, his voice sounding forced and making Helen smile.
“Earlene!”
Helen turned in the direction of the male voice as Tucker stopped walking.
“George,” said Piper, “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
Footsteps approached on the sidewalk. “You asked me to hire a cleaning crew to deep clean the house while you were gone. I’m sure you didn’t want me to give them a house key, so I’m just here to unlock the house for them.”
There was a short pause, during which Helen felt Piper’s uncertainty although Helen wasn’t sure why. She liked the man’s voice. The accent was old Savannah and as deep and warm as the pond water in the middle of summer. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Again Piper paused. “I’m sorry. I guess you just surprised me. This is Dr. Tucker Gibbons and his sister, Helen.”
She felt Tucker shake George’s hand and then she held out her own. George’s skin felt smooth, the fingers long, his grip firm. She smiled brightly at him. “It’s a pleasure,” she said. His grip lingered a little longer than it should have before he dropped it. She was used to that when people realized that she was blind.
“They know who I am, George. I told them.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He turned to Tucker and Helen. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea, but trying to tell Earlene Mills not to do something is a lot like trying to tell grass not to grow.”
“You call her Earlene?” Helen asked.
“Yes, he does. And I find it annoying but I can’t get him to stop,” Piper interjected.
“It’s her name, and I think it suits her better than Piper. Piper’s not even her middle name.”
“I wondered about that,” said Helen. “How did you get Piper from Earlene?”
They began moving forward and Tucker indicated that they were in front of the steps and needed to climb. She was surprised to feel George on her other side taking her elbow.
“I didn’t,” said Piper from ahead of them, jangling keys. “My grandfather started calling me that when he realized I had potential in equestrian eventing. He thought it was a champion-worthy name.”
