Season of Secrets

The intensity in her aunt’s voice startled her. “Careful of what?”

“Marc. Just be wary of Marc. There may be more to his return than he’s telling you.”

Dinah could think of nothing to say to that. She slipped outside, closing the door quickly.

Aunt Kate, through some instinct, seemed to know more than she’d been told. Marcus did have an agenda, and it certainly wasn’t one of which Aunt Kate would approve.

Well. Dinah stood on the piazza for a moment, pulling her jacket a little tighter around her. How had Aunt Kate stumbled upon that? Had she sensed something from Dinah’s reaction?

She’d tried to hide her feelings after Marc had left the previous day. This idea of his that he’d look into Annabel’s death—well, it might be understandable, but she couldn’t help him. She had to make him see that.

She went out the brick walk to the gate in the wrought-iron fence that enclosed Aunt Kate’s house and garden. The gate, like most of the others on the street, bore a wreath of magnolia leaves in honor of the season.

She touched the shining leaves. Maybe Court would like to make one, if he was determined to observe a real Charleston Christmas. Charlestonians were justifiably proud of their Christmas decor.

Crossing the quiet street, she had to will her steps not to lag. She took the step up to the curb, facing the gate in the wrought-iron fence. Marc’s gate was similar to Aunt Kate’s, but the black iron was worked into the shape of a pineapple in the center—the traditional symbol of Southern hospitality.

The house beyond, like Aunt Kate’s and most other old Charleston houses, was set with its side to the street, facing the small garden. According to local lore, the houses were laid out that way because in the early days of the city, home owners were taxed based on how many windows faced the street. The truth was probably that they’d been clever enough to place the piazzas to catch the breeze.

Open the gate, go up the brick walk. Her breath came a little faster now. Ridiculous, to hear her heart beating in her ears because she neared her cousin’s house. She should have faced this long ago. If Aunt Kate hadn’t sent her away so quickly after the tragedy—

She stopped herself. Aunt Kate had done what she thought was best when confronted with the death of one great-niece and the emotional collapse of the other. She couldn’t be blamed.

Dinah had come back to Charleston as an adult. She could have gone into the house at any time, but she’d successfully avoided every invitation.

Her first instinct had been right. Marc’s return would change all of them in ways she couldn’t imagine.

She reached for the knocker and then paused. In the old days, she’d run in and out of Annabel’s house as if it were her own. She shouldn’t change things now. She grasped the brass knob, turned it and let the door swing open.

Please, help me do this. Slowly, she stepped inside.

The spacious center hallway stood empty, the renters’ furniture gone with them. Weak winter sunshine through the stained-glass window on the landing cast oblongs of rose and green on the beige stair carpet. The graceful, winding staircase seemed to float upward.

The space was different, but the same. Even without Annabel’s familiar furnishings, it echoed with her presence, as if at any moment she would sail through the double doors from the front parlor, silvery blond hair floating around her face, arms outstretched in welcome.

A shudder went through Dinah, and she took an involuntary step back.

“I know.”

She turned. Marc stood in the doorway to the room that had once been his study. He’d exchanged the jacket and tie he’d worn the previous day for jeans and a casual ivory sweater. His eyes met hers gravely.

“I know,” he said again. “I feel it, too. It’s as if she’s going to come through the door at any moment.”

“Yes.” She took a shaky breath, oddly reassured that his memories were doing the same thing to him. “I thought it would seem different to me, but it doesn’t.”

He moved toward her. “I thought I’d already done all my grieving.” His voice roughened. “Then I found the grief was waiting here for me.”

She nodded slowly. For the moment, the barriers between them didn’t exist. Her throat was tight, but she forced the words out.

“I haven’t been in here in ten years. I couldn’t.” Her voice shook a little. “Or maybe I was just a coward.”

Marc grasped her shoulder in a brief, comforting touch and then took his hand away quickly, as if she might object.

“You’re not a coward, Dinah. It’s a natural reaction.”

Ironic, that she’d just done what she’d told Aunt Kate not to do. Still, the confession of her weakness seemed to have eased the tension between them.

“What about Court? Is he having trouble with being here?”

He shook his head. “He doesn’t seem affected at all. It’s unnerving, somehow.”

It would be. She had a foolish urge to comfort Marc. “He was only three, after all. He slept through everything. He doesn’t have the memories we do.”

“No.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “I’m grateful for that.”

“Maybe that makes it right that you kept him away from us.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that traced the words.

His jaw tightened. “I thought it was best for him.”

“Obviously.” Unexpected anger welled up in her. Both Marc and Aunt Kate had done what they thought was best, regardless of the consequences. “Are you sorry for the pain that caused us? Or do you just not care?”

Marc looked as startled as if a piece of furniture had suddenly railed at him. His dark eyes narrowed, and she braced for an attack.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. They both jerked around toward the stairwell.

“Hey, Dad, can I go—”

The boy stopped at the sight of her, assessing her with a frank, open gaze. She did the same. Tall for thirteen—he had his father’s height, but he hadn’t broadened into it yet. He had Marc’s dark eyes and hair, too, and for a moment she thought there was nothing of Annabel about him.

Then he trotted down the rest of the steps and came toward her, holding out his hand. “I know who you are.” He smiled, and it was Annabel’s smile, reaching out to clutch her heart.

“I know who you are, too.” Her voice had gotten husky, but she couldn’t help that. “Welcome home, Court.”

Marc still couldn’t get over how quickly Dinah had bonded with his son. He finished dusting the desk he and Court had carried from the attic to his study and put his laptop on it. That’s where Dinah and Court were now, happily rummaging through the attic’s contents to see what should be brought down for their use over the next few weeks.

At some point, he’d have to take a turn going through the attic. The thought of what that would entail made him cringe. He hadn’t sorted a thing before he left Charleston. Now the reminders of his life with Annabel waited for him.

And, as Dinah had pointed out, he should make the house look furnished if he intended it to show well to prospective buyers. That hadn’t occurred to him, and he could see already that Dinah would be invaluable to him. And to Court, apparently.

Court surely couldn’t remember her. He’d only been three that summer. Still, Dinah had spent a lot of time with him. Maybe, at some level, Court sensed that they already had a relationship.

He opened his briefcase and stacked files next to the computer. The vacation time he’d taken to come here had been well earned, but it was impossible to walk away completely from ongoing cases. He’d have to spend part of each day in touch with the office if he expected to make this work.

His mind kept drifting back to that summer, unrolling images he hadn’t looked at in years. Annabel hadn’t felt well much of the time, and she’d been only too happy to turn Court over to Dinah. Face it, Annabel had been annoyed at being pregnant again, and each symptom had been a fresh excuse to snap at him about it.

He should have been more sympathetic, and he knew that painfully well now. He’d been absorbed in prosecuting a big case and relieved to escape the tension in the house by the need to work late most evenings.

What he hadn’t expected was how devoted Dinah became to Court, and how well she’d cared for him. Maybe she’d loved him so much because she’d always been alone, the only child being raised by an elderly aunt, shipped off to boarding school much of the time.