I let the subject drop, and we were both quiet for the rest of the drive. When I pulled up to the hospital’s entrance, Amaryllis hesitated.

  “What can I do to help?”

  My question seemed to catch her off guard. “I’m not sure,” she finally said.

  When the valet approached, I got out and went around to the passenger side. After opening her door, I held out my hand, and she took it. I didn’t let go as we walked to the bank of elevators after stopping by the information desk to find out which floor the ICU was on, nor did I when we exited on the twelfth and approached the nurses’ station.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Edmonds,” Amaryllis told her.

  “Edmonds.” She looked through the papers in front of her. “He was taken into surgery about twenty minutes ago.”

  I squeezed her hand, but before I could say anything else, a woman approached us.

  “Are you Ms. Beaudoin?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve called. My father was taken into emergency surgery.” She motioned us away from the desk and toward the waiting area. “I’m Eleanor, by the way.”

  “The surgery?” I prompted, doing my best not to react to her coincidental first name.

  “They suspect a brain bleed.”

  “I understand,” said Amaryllis. “We won’t keep you from your family.”

  Eleanor turned to leave but stopped. “Wait. There were two things he wanted me to tell you. Two words.” She dug a piece of paper from her pocket. “He wasn’t able to explain either, so I hope they mean something to you.” She handed it to Amaryllis, who unfolded it. I glanced over her shoulder and saw “Minerva” and “H. Hyde.”

  “H. Hyde?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t sure if my dad was saying it like an initial or if he was just trying to get the word out. He was…struggling quite a bit by then.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I hope it helps somehow.”

  Amaryllis put her hand on the woman’s arm. “We hope the best for your dad.”

  Eleanor motioned to her right. “I should check on him.”

  “Of course, and thank you, and please keep us posted on his progress.”

  I pressed the call button for the elevator when she walked away.

  “Minerva and Hyde,” Amaryllis muttered once we’d gotten on and the doors closed behind us. “Nothing we don’t already know.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. The ‘H’ could be significant.”

  She didn’t speak again until we were on the main floor. “I should use the restroom first.”

  I told her I’d do the same, then meet her in the valet area. While I waited, I sent a text to my father, wondering if either name meant anything to him. He hadn’t answered yet when Amaryllis approached.

  “I would like to go by the house, if you don’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.” I kept the fact that I was intrigued to myself. That she wanted me to go with her was all that mattered.

  Like she had with the hospital, she put the address into the navigation system.

  According to the map, the house was located in Newport News’ Hilton neighborhood, about ten miles from the town house where we were staying and another two hours from where we were now. As long as we didn’t hit much traffic, we’d arrive around sunset.

  We’d been on the road for several minutes when I reached for her hand. “What was it like, living in that area?”

  “Most of the houses, including ours, were modest, but I could walk to Riverside Park, which was nice.”

  “And your grandparents?” From the corner of my eye, I saw her smile.

  “Salt of the earth. Loving, attentive.”

  “You said they were your father’s parents?”

  “Yes. He was their only son—only child—which I suppose was the reason they didn’t like to talk about him much. Too painful.”

  “And your mom? What about her family?”

  “I’m not sure what happened, whether there was a falling out. I don’t know anything at all about them. That generation—my grandparents’, I mean—didn’t like to talk about the past. My granddad used to say the future didn’t live there, so what was the point?”

  As hard as it was not to fire off a hundred questions, I didn’t want it to sound like I was interrogating her, so I stayed quiet to see if Amaryllis would add more. She didn’t.

  “You met my mom,” I began.

  “What was the word you used to describe her? Formidable? She certainly is. She’s also very kind.”

  “And meddlesome.”

  She laughed. “She said it would make you angry if you knew she was speaking to me.”

  “And your response?”

  Her laugh grew heartier. “I said most things make you angry.”

  “That’s about right.” I winked.

  “I’m the same way.”

  Our eyes met with her admission, but then she quickly looked away.

  “My dad worked a lot, something I think he regrets now, but Mom left her job—or so we thought—to be at home with us,” I told her.

  “What does that mean?”

  “She still did a lot of consulting.”

  “If you’d rather spend time with them, I’d⁠—”

  “No.” My response came out harsher than I’d intended. “I want to see the house you grew up in. Plus, when I get together with them again, it’ll be to find out if my dad heard of Briggs or other defense contracting scandals around the time of the investigation.”

  “We could go by the house tomorrow.”

  “Are you trying to say you don’t want to go? I’m not going to force you. On the other hand, if it’s been eleven years since you’ve set foot in it, I think it’s time you did.”

  When she shot me one of her signature glares, I shot her one too. Then, when she stuck her tongue out at me, we both laughed.

  The smile, though, left her face almost immediately. “The truth is, I’m not sure I can do it.”

  I reached over and took her hand. “Let’s give it a try.”

  “If I decide I can’t…”

  “I already told you I wouldn’t force you.”

  “Not that you could anyway,” she muttered.

  “That’s for damn sure,” I muttered in response.

  15

  AMARYLLIS

  When Reaper pulled into the driveway of 27 Mitford Place, I would’ve thought we were at the wrong address if it weren’t for the racing sloop weather vane on top of the house. It looked so different. The trees were twice as big as I remembered, and the house, which used to be yellow, was painted white with black shutters.

  The window boxes spilled over with mums, trailing ivy, and twigs. There were even a couple of small pumpkins in the planter. The same way there would’ve been if my grandfather were still alive.

  “Ready?” Reaper asked.

  “I need a minute.”

  “Take your time.”

  It was getting dark, so harder to see, but across the lawn, I found the swing I spent hours on, pumping my legs to get as high as I could, then jumping off. I looked over at the bay window, imagining my grandma, hand over her heart, shaking her head at my antics.

  This time of year was especially fun when Granddad raked leaves into a big pile for me to land in.

  Life seemed too simple then, except now I wondered if it had ever really been. Had my parents died in a car accident or was the reason I’d seen so few photos of them because my grandparents lied about their identity? No. I couldn’t believe they’d do something so cruel.

  Thinking Mercury and Jekyll could be my real mom and dad seemed ludicrous enough now, that I wondered what I could have been thinking when the possibility occurred to me. No, I was being a foolish girl who longed for a family that no longer existed. When my granddad died, that was it. No one was left to carry on the Beaudoin name and no family reunions to attend, not that I’d ever been to one. I was all that was left.

  “Do you have aunts and uncles?” I asked.

  “My mom has two sisters and a brother. My dad has two brothers and a sister.”

  “So, cousins?”

  “Loads of them. Bishop and I are the only two out of fifteen or sixteen—I lost count—who aren’t married and don’t have kids of our own.”

  “Do you want kids?”

  “Honestly?”

  I’d been staring at the house, but turned to look at him. “That would be preferable to lying.”

  “I never thought much about it.”

  “Me neither.” When I unfastened my seat belt, Reaper got out of the SUV and came around to my side.

  “You’re sure no one lives here?”

  “If there are squatters, they’re taking damn good care of the place. But, no, the guy who lives across the street takes care of it for me. Not for free, mind you.”

  “You haven’t considered selling?”

  “Selling would mean spending time here and taking everything out of it. It hasn’t been hard to put off,” she admitted.

  “It’s none of my business…”

  “Like that’s stopped you in the past?”

  “Between the maintenance and property taxes, it seems like quite an expense to let it sit empty.”

  “It isn’t empty.” I walked up the steps to the front door. “It’s wall-to-wall memories.”

  I reached down, got the key from under the mat, and was about to unlock the door when I heard someone call out from across the street.

  “Hey, can I help you, folks?”

  “It’s me, Mr. Hill. Charity.”

  “My God, it is you,” he said when he was close enough to pull me into an embrace. “You didn’t say you would be visiting.”

  “It was kind of last minute, but the outside looks beautiful. You had it painted.”

  “Let’s go inside. My old bones don’t like the autumn chill.”

  I handed him the key since my hands were shaking, and he unlocked the door.

  “This is Reap, er, Kingston,” I said once we were inside. “This is Mr. Hill.”

  I closed my eyes when the two men shook hands, not ready to look around yet. In fact, more than anything, I wanted to leave.

  After chatting for a few minutes about maintenance he’d done on the house, Mr. Hill offered to let us look around on our own. “But stop over and say goodbye on your way out. Unless, of course, you want to stay. I mean, it is your house.”

  I thanked him, walked him to the door, and shut it behind him. Moments later, Reaper’s hands were on my shoulders.

  “Tell me what you want me to do. Would you rather I wait outside?”

  “God, no.” I leaned against him. “I can’t do this alone.”

  “Take the first step, and I’ll be right behind you.”

  Right inside the front door was the staircase that led to the second floor. To the right was the living room, and the dining room was on the left.

  “Grandma always hated that the stairs were the first thing anyone saw when they walked in. I’m sure Grandpa would’ve moved them if it had been possible. He would’ve done anything for her…”

  Reaper motioned left and right. “Which way?”

  I shrugged, then walked into the living room. Nothing had changed. There were two easy chairs facing the television, and along the wall, there was a sofa, two end tables, and a coffee table.

  “Someone could’ve put these away.” I reached for an eight-by-ten frame of me in elementary school. When I placed it face down, Reaper picked it up.

  “Pretty girl. Who is it?”

  I slugged him but smiled. Not something I would have thought possible at the moment.

  “The kitchen’s in here.” I walked into the room where I’d learned to make crab cakes because getting them out in a restaurant was a “ridiculous waste of money.”

  Reaper nudged me. “I’d love to know what you’re thinking.”

  “My grandparents were thrifty. Come on. Let’s keep going.” I motioned for him to follow. “That’s the dining room.” I pointed to the left. “My grandparents’ bedroom is at the end of the hall.” I turned around and went the other way.

  “What’s upstairs?”

  “Three more bedrooms.” I led him up the rear staircase.

  “What’s up there?” He pointed to where the stairs continued higher.

  “Attic.”

  The first room we came to had been mine.

  “Whoa, that is a lot of purple.” He gasped when I turned the light on. He was right. The walls were purple, and the bed was covered with a spread that had three tiers on the sides, all different shades. The canopy above it matched. “Favorite color?” he asked.

  “I detest it.”

  Reaper raised a brow.

  “Now. I clearly loved it at the time.” We returned to the hallway. “Uh, don’t look in there.” I pointed to a closed door.

  “Now, I have to.”

  “Okay, but I warned you.”

  “Wow.” He gasped a second time. “I didn’t know anyone made purple bathtubs. Or toilets. Or sinks.” He turned in a circle. Yes, everything in the room was the same color—or similar—even the linoleum on the floor.

  “I can see why you don’t want to sell it.”

  “Because no one would want to buy it?”

  “It’s like a seventies’ time capsule,” he joked.

  “You’re wrong. You must not have noticed the appliances in the kitchen were white and none of the rooms have shag carpeting.”

  “You got me there. But this…I’m in awe.” He waved his arm in a circle.

  “Shut up. Let’s go.”

  “What’s that way?” he asked when I went in the direction of the staircase.

  “Two more bedrooms. Nothing quite like mine was, though.”

  “Was one your dad’s?”

  “Probably. Now, come on. The attic is way more interesting.”

  He followed me up the stairs to a wooden door that had a latch instead of a handle.

  “This is the least spooky attic I’ve ever seen,” Reaper said when we walked in and I pulled the string that turned on a single light bulb.

  The space was primarily filled with old furniture my grandfather had refinished but didn’t have a place to put. There were three dressers, two cedar chests, and a chair I’d always wanted in my room, but there wasn’t enough space for it.

  Reaper rested his hand on it. “Do you know what this is worth?”

  “I do. It’s priceless.”

  His cheeks flushed. “Sorry, and you’re right. I keep putting my foot in it.”

  “Nothing new to me.” I winked. “But seriously, you’re fine.”

  “May I?” He pointed to one of the dresser drawers.

  “Go ahead. I doubt there’s anything in them.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  I crept over, almost afraid to look. “Photos?”

  “Loads of them.”

  They were loose, as if someone had dumped a boxful in and then closed it. I picked one up, then gently sifted through the rest. Most looked like black-and-white Polaroids.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  I studied the photo, but the man and woman in it weren’t my grandparents and I didn’t recognize them. I turned it over, but it was blank. Reaper picked several more and checked. Nothing was written on those either.

  He walked over to the other dresser. “Think there’s more?”

  “I’d say I doubted it, but I didn’t know these were in here, so, maybe.”

  He opened the top drawer. “Yep, but these are framed, so there’s a lot less.” He took one out. “This one looks like you if you were a time traveler.” He handed it to me.

  “The photo looks too old for it to be my mom, but I’ve seen pictures of my grandma, and this isn’t her.”

  “It’s a long shot, but you could check to see if there’s anything written on it.”

  I handed it to him, and he removed the easel and the cardboard.

  I read the single name written in handwriting I didn’t recognize. “Anna?”

  “What was your grandmother’s name?”

  “Dorothy. Grandpa was Norman.”

  He took another frame from the drawer. “This must be your mom.”

  I studied it. “It is. I think.”

  “You think?”

  “I haven’t seen many photos of her, and she died when I was three.” There was something about the image that nagged at me. “You know what’s weird?”

  Reaper looked over my shoulder.

  “This looks a little like Suzanne, er, Lyra, er, Mercury.”

  His eyes opened wide. “Let’s check.” He took it apart like he had the other, but there were no names written on it.

  He opened and closed all three drawers of the remaining dresser. “This one is empty, but what about these?”

  I shrugged and opened the top of one cedar chest while he opened the other. Mine was full of blankets and quilts. “I’ve seen these before.” I closed the lid, then peered into the one he’d opened. It was farther from the light, so it wasn’t as easy to see inside. “What’s in it?”

  “Looks like tools, maybe a hand planer? Silverware. Some, um, not sure what they’re called.” He held one up.

  “Doilies.”

  “Did you say ‘doilies’?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen one.”

  “Never.”

  I took one from his hand. “Like the quilts, I do remember seeing some of this stuff.”

  “Not the photos, though?”

  “The last time I opened any of these drawers, they were empty. I’m certain of it.”

  “Check this out.” He reached for what appeared to be an old and not-very-well-cared-for dollhouse.

  “It doesn’t look like something you’d want a kid to play with.” I didn’t even want to touch it for fear of getting splinters.

  “Yeah, I don’t think it’s a toy. It looks more like a model. You know, like something someone eventually built.” Reaper held it up and looked at the bottom. “Can’t read it.” He carried it over near the light bulb.

  “What’s it say?” I asked when his brow furrowed.

  “Hyde Camp.”

  I was standing close enough to one of the dressers to reach for it when I felt dizzy.

 

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