Page 78 of Leave It to Us
They’d driven their golf cart over, following the directions that Sallie had given Tami. All the while, Yvonne still wondered what she was doing and why.
Part of her understood full well why Tami wanted answers. Tami had always wanted to know everything about everything. When they were young, her inquisitiveness could be irritating, but now, looking back, Yvonne could recognize it as Tami’s way of working through things. Because her brain didn’t process things like everyone else’s, she had to gather information in her way for it to make sense. And what way made sense to Yvonne?
To go with the flow and let all her questions, doubts, and recriminations marinate until she felt like she was slogging through the thick mess she called a life.
“This place is picture-perfect,” Tami said wistfully as she stepped out of the cart and stared ahead.
“Yeah, it is lovely,” Lana added when she came around the cart to stand next to Tami. “Wish I’d brought my camera with me.”
With a hand held against her brow, Tami shielded the sun from her eyes. “What are you going to do with all the pictures you’ve taken on the island? They’re not what you normally sell in the galleries.”
“No, they’re not,” Lana replied. She was wearing large-frame sunglasses and a floppy-brim sun hat that, coupled with the navy-blue halter-top maxi dress, made her look like she should be headed to the beach instead of into a stranger’s house.
But was this man really a stranger? When she finally exited the cart and followed her sisters across the yard and up the front steps of the porch, Yvonne had an eerie feeling that this man knew more about them and their family than she or her sisters could ever imagine.
Sallie opened the door before Tami could knock. There was a hint of a smile to her lips as she muttered, “Good afternoon,” and then stepped to the side to let them in.
Yvonne was last, meeting Sallie’s gaze momentarily before she decided to look away. After a restless night of sleep, a tumultuous morning with her sisters, and more minutes spent contemplating the situation than she wanted to give, she was no closer to resolving this in her mind. Or her spirit. Like, what was she really supposed to do with all this newfound information? What did her sisters expect her to do? Turn against the parents who’d raised them, had given them the very best they could, and embrace this woman and the wildly painful but uncomfortably possible story she’d told them?
The interior of the house was just as neat as the outside, with thick-planked dark-wood floors, white beadboard walls, heavy oak furniture, and light. Plenty of light spilled in from windows with the shades pulled all the way up. It made the place feel airy and homey at the same time. Pictures were on every wall—some big, some small, most in weatheredframes with panes so old they were pricked with tiny dots that could never be wiped away. Black-and-white pictures, mostly of men posing near the docks or in what looked like fields. A few with people sitting in big rocking chairs on wide porches, and then, like a beacon blaring life into the otherwise dim arrangement of memories, there was an eight-by-ten color photo of Betty Butler.
Lana walked up to the photo first, lifting her shaking fingers to the edge of the gold-rimmed frame, which appeared in much better condition than the others. “Grandma Betty sure was beautiful,” Lana whispered.
Tami had stepped up right beside Lana, staring at the picture as if it were the first time she’d ever seen it. Yvonne knew that it wasn’t. Grandma Betty had been as proud of her looks as she had her voice, so there’d been plenty of pictures of her in her office and the music room, and more in boxes stored in her bedroom closet. This one had to have been taken in the sixties, because she wore that high bouffant style, her hair a glossy black that made her cinnamon-hued skin glow. Heavy eyeliner gave her eyes a catlike quality, or perhaps it was just the bewitching way in which she seemed to be staring at the camera.
Yvonne couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes as she stared at the woman who’d brought them all to this island time and time again. The woman who’d given birth to their father and had orchestrated the events that would lead to this very moment.
“Is this why you brought us here?” Yvonne asked. “Is this why you were so adamant that we come back to this island to fix up your house?”
“It is!” Tami said, and whirled around to face her.
Yvonne hadn’t even realized she’d spoken the question out loud.
“We’ve all been wondering why she put those stipulations in her will. Why we had to be the ones to come back and oversee the renovations,” Tami continued. “This has to be the reason why.”
Glancing at her younger sister, Yvonne could see that she’d lost her battle with holding her tears at bay. They ran down her cheeks, even asher eyes held an excited glow. When Lana turned around next, Yvonne almost sighed because she, too, was crying.
“Really, y’all,” Yvonne said, her voice cracking as she blinked furiously to keep the tears from coming. “We came all the way to this man’s house just to cry. We could’ve done this back at the summerhouse. Or at home again, like we did when we first found out she was gone.”
“But you just would’ve grieved her again once you got to ’Fuskie,” a deep, raspy voice said. “Her presence was strong here, and I suspect it always will be.”
The sisters all turned their attention to the man who’d entered the dining-room area of the house. He had a deep-mahogany complexion; his low-cut beard was snowy white, while the hair on top of his head was a salt-and-pepper sprinkle. As he stepped closer to them, Yvonne noticed his broad shoulders and fit upper body in the white dress shirt he wore. The sleeves were rolled midway up his arms, one of which he stretched out when he was closer to Tami.
“You’re Tamela,” he said, his narrow eyes resting on her. “The baby that Betty said couldn’t hold a note but had music in her heart.”
More tears spilled from Tami’s eyes as she accepted his hand to shake it vigorously. “Yes. Yes!” she said with a quick nod. “That’s exactly what she used to tell me.”
He grinned. “You have her smile,” he told her.
Tami beamed and then reached up to swipe the back of her hand over her cheeks, wiping away her tears.
“And you’re Alana.” He reached for Lana’s hand in the same way he’d done Tami’s, and Lana accepted it. “From the time you could walk, Betty said you should be in pictures, but then you grew up and decided you’d rather control the camera than be in front of it. Pretty, talented,andsmart.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lana replied, her tears now lighted by a smile as well.
Yvonne couldn’t find a smile. Not at how easily her sisters had accepted this man’s greeting or to cover over the heavy grief that had now washed over her. But when he came to a stop in front of her, she did meet his gaze.
“Betty’s serious baby girl. The one who’d learned to walk and talk just so she could hold the weight of her family’s woes on her shoulders. Oh, how she’d prayed the light and love that lived inside you would someday break free.”
