Evan and I went to the house on the hill for dinner. Evan questioned my quietness along the way, but I chalked it up to having been immersed in Nevan Nevilles’s diary for the better part of the day. I didn’t tell him about my visit from the Godwin twins or about the walk I’d taken with Mr. Valentine.
When Mother and I were done with the dishes and Daddy and Evan were enjoying conversation in the living room, Mother turned to me and said, “Jo-Lynn, what’s going on?”
I feigned surprise. “What do you mean?” I walked over to the coffeepot and began preparing coffee. My hands were shaking and I silently cursed them for it.
“I’ll make the coffee,” she said, taking the scoop and bag of coffee from me.
I pulled the coffeepot from the maker, walked over to the sink, and filled it with water. When we were done with our tasks and the coffeepot was beginning its final sighs, Mother walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out two chairs, sat in one, and then pointed toward the other. “Sit.”
“Mother.”
“Young lady . . .”
I knew that tone and without hesitation I became obedient. She crossed her forearms and placed them on the table. “What is going on with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, if you want to play that game: with you and Evan specifically?”
I shook my head as I leaned back in the chair. “I honestly don’t know. We’ve settled nothing between us. I could return to Druid Hills at the end of the renovation on the big house and find that absolutely nothing has changed. Or, I could find that everything has changed, though I doubt it.”
“Has he given you any indication that the two of you are on the same page in your lives?”
“He’s attentive as he used to be. He’s listening to me when I talk about the renovation projects.”
“Projects?”
“Yeah. The big house and Cottonwood.”
“Well, darling, that’s because he is involved. M Michaels will most likely give his company the job. He now has a vested interest.”
I sighed. “I’ve already thought of that, to be honest with you.”
“Did you actually discuss anything? About how you’ve been feeling over the past year? Your restlessness? Or his for that matter?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I had to think before I could answer. The coffeepot coughed and sputtered, and I took that as my cue to get up. Mother, who will never be accused of sitting idly by while someone else is moving about, joined me at the counter and prepared a cup for herself and one for Daddy. I stared at the two cups, then at the one before me. I’d not thought to prepare anything for Evan. Mother stopped what she was doing to stare at me for a moment, then reached in the cabinet for another mug. “Here,” she said, followed by, “You’re tired. Don’t start kicking yourself over such a tiny thing. You’ve obviously got a lot on your mind. You hardly said three words at dinner.”
I nodded, and in silence we took the mugs of coffee to our husbands, then returned to the kitchen. At the table, Mother said, “So. Talk to me. What exactly have you and Evan done toward working things out?”
I pouted. “We’ve made love.”
“Jo-Lynn, don’t be vulgar.”
“Mother! That’s not vulgar. We’re married, after all. Didn’t you always say that sex is God’s gift to the bride and groom?”
She took a sip of coffee. “Yes, but I don’t need to have it thrown in my face. I want to know what you’ve talked about, not what you’ve done between the sheets.”
“Other than the projects and the vandalisms, nothing really.”
“What vandalisms? Has something besides the fire happened?”
Mother’s earlier reprimand to not kick myself leapt from its imaginary place on my shoulder, ran across the kitchen, jumped through the opened window over the sinks and into the dark of night. “Ugh,” I said.
“Jo-Lynn.”
“All right, but please don’t go ballistic on me.”
“I will make no such promises.”
I told Mother about everything that had happened after the fire. She mulled my words over then said, “I will personally string my brother by his toes for not telling me this himself.”
“Mother, no. I made Uncle Bob and Aunt Mae-Jo promise not to say anything. I didn’t want you to worry and I know you well enough to—”
“Well, of course I worry. You are my child, are you not?”
I made a face at her. “That’s what you keep telling me.” I paused, allowed my finger to run a ring around the rim of my coffee mug. “Mother, do you know about any secrets inside the big house?”
“What do you mean?”
I relayed what Valentine Bach had said to me.
“He’s an old man, Jo-Lynn. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’d suggest that you leave it alone.”
“He wants me to draw a diagram of the big house. Not a blueprint per se, but a layout of the rooms.”
“Whatever for?”
“I don’t know. That’s all he told me. And he took me down to the center of town to tell me about buying his wife a pretty scarf for their first Christmas.”
Mother said, “Lilly Beth Bach rarely, if ever, came to town. Bettina and I were twelve years old when she died; I didn’t know Bettina well until afterward, really. I knew her; I even played with her and visited her in her home, but her mother kept such a tight rein on her. She kept her from all social functions that children typically take part in. But after her mother’s death, Bettina became much more involved. Her father saw to that.”
“Why do you think Lilly Beth kept Bettina so sheltered?” Mother paused for a minute before answering. “I have no idea. Miss Lilly Beth always seemed like a sweet woman. And a good mother. Maybe she was just overprotective.”
I sipped my coffee. “Could have been.”
“She was always very tight-lipped around me.”
“Bettina?”
“No, her mother. Bettina used to say that her mother was very fun-loving and talkative, but I never saw any signs of that. I remember feeling as though she were tolerating my being in their home but not really wanting it. Now, Mr. Valentine was another matter. He is now as he’s always been, quite the character.”
I smiled. “He is that.” I paused. “Mother? Whatever happened to Royce Coniff ?”
“Royce Coniff ? Whatever made you think of him?”
I shook my head. “Oh, I don’t know . . . you know how sometimes, you just think . . .”
Mother nodded. “I saw his mother not two weeks ago. She always asks about you, and I always tell her you are doing fine.”
“And Royce?”
“He’s married. Lives in Colorado, somewhere near Breck-enridge. Miriam always brags about his children—to hear her tell it, they’re perfect. And apparently, life is good in the Rockies.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “When you see Mrs. Coniff, be sure to tell her I said hello. And say hello, for me, to Royce. And his wife.” I pursed my lips. “And his children.”