Chapter Thirteen

Surprisingly, I woke up the next morning feeling great. Marietta and the twins would be gone the entire day and I’d be able to do anything I wanted. I got up once they were gone and sped through the list of chores left for me.

It had been such a long time since I had something to look forward to that I didn’t even mind cleaning the disgusting bathroom I shared with the twins. I knew they were filthy on purpose and no matter how much I tried to keep it clean, it didn’t work. Normally, the globs of hair and spilled lotion and used tampons would send me into fits of rage where I imagined delivering all kinds of bodily harm to them.

Not today. Today I tried to ignore it, along with the crippling doubt that Jason would even be in touch.

Stepping out of the shower, I heard my phone chime with a new text message. The message was from Dr. Sherman and read, “U free or locked in the basement?”

I smirked and typed, “It’s usually the attic but I’m free. Step monsters gone all day. Come over.” Before I changed my mind, I hit ‘send’.

He mentioned wanting to see the house. Logic told me that since Marietta wasn’t home, it would be safe. The last thing I wanted was for something here to cause him harm. He had found a way to work himself into my life, something I still wasn’t sure I wanted. I did enjoy talking to him, once I got past the jangled nerves. No, that wasn’t even true anymore. I liked him, which annoyed the heck out of me, but I figured I might as well let it play out. He’d be bored soon enough and on to more challenging pursuits.

“On my way,” he replied.

I dried my hair and dressed in khaki shorts and a black tank top. I ran around straightening up an already pristine house and realized I really was nervous. Not even Abby had been in the house recently and now, Jason Preston would be here. What was I thinking? He couldn’t come here.

Before I could text him back to change where we met, the doorbell rang.

“Here we go,” I muttered.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. He stood there grinning at me. I saw a car pull away from the house and a large man across the street, near the square, trying to blend in. He must have been one of Jason’s bodyguards.

“Morning, Quinn.”

“Hi.” I stood there with the door open for what felt like forever. “Oh, come in. I’ll give you a tour then we can leave. I need to go to the library.”

“Okay.” He entered the house and scanned the room. “I wasn’t sure if we’d be going anywhere so I brought my disguise.”

Jason pulled a baseball cap out of his back shorts pocket and pulled it on. Then he slipped on a pair of wire rimmed glasses. I laughed. It didn’t do much to take away from the fact that he was incredibly attractive but someone glancing at him might not be able to tell it was Jason Preston.

“What’re you laughing at? It’s a good disguise and it works, most of the time.”

“Okay, if you say so. I see you also brought your muscle, Mr. Important.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the street.

He grinned again and pulled off the glasses. “It’s hard to sneak away from them. The studio thinks it’s necessary for some reason. Most of the time, I don’t even notice them. This place is much bigger than I thought last night. How old is it?”

I felt self conscious as he entered the large foyer with the enormous sweeping staircase. The focal point was the giant antique brass chandelier hanging from the two-story entry. Portraits of my ancestors graced the walls although not as many as there used to be. Marietta claimed they frightened her. Following Jason, I ran my hand lovingly over the banister.

When I was a little girl I loved playing dress up and walking as elegantly as I could down the stairs, pretending to be Scarlett O’Hara. Or I’d dream of descending them to meet a boy who stood nervously in the foyer with Daddy. They reminded me of another girl; a girl who still had her place among the oldest families in town, a girl on the verge of becoming a woman whose dreams come true, a girl who would raise her own children in this house. Maybe now those dreams could come true after learning the truth about the will.

It was a dangerous road to go down so instead I told Jason about the house.

“Old. It was built in 1831 and has survived the years pretty much intact. At one point, it was supposedly the finest house in all of Savannah. The grounds took up the entire block. There are sixteen rooms, not including the attic. No one’s really done any major remodeling apart from updating the kitchen and bathrooms and the electricity. Air conditioning was added, of course. Every generation did its part in keeping the house in pristine condition.”

I led him into the front parlor, ignoring the couch Marietta sat on last night. It still gave me the creeps thinking about the foreign voice coming from her mouth.

“This is the front parlor, or I guess it’s more of a living room now. All the floors are the original hardwood. Marietta hates the upkeep on this place. She’s always complaining but I look at it as a labor of love. That door leads into the formal dining room. This way,” I led him back through another door, “is the kitchen.”

“Wow, awesome kitchen.”

I smiled. Marietta updated it not long after moving in and I agreed it was a great room. The large windows let in plenty of light and the dark cabinets and granite countertops gleamed. It was the kind of room that shouldn’t work in an old house, but it did. There was also another large fireplace original to the home.

“I wasn’t expecting to see stainless steel appliances. Don’t old houses like this have to be historically correct?”

“You’ve done your homework,” I said and ran my hand over the counter, “but no. This house is listed on the National Historic Register but most of the rules only apply to the outside. They make allowances for updated interiors as long as the exterior is maintained in the original condition and as close to the original handwork as possible.”

“Did you memorize that?”

I felt myself blush. “Well, I love this house and up until the last couple years, it has been in the Historic Homes Tour. I used to love dressing up in period gowns and showing people the house. It’s one of our silly traditions. This house is all that’s left of my family. I can’t explain it.”

“People down here are real sentimental about their houses,” Jason said. “It reminds me of the one we’re using for the movie. It might even be a bit older. I can’t remember the name of the house now. They all have names here, I’ve discovered. Anyway, the owner follows the crew around like a man possessed. They can’t set the equipment there or they can’t move that piece of antique furniture. I think the director’s ready to strangle him.”

“Luckily, Daddy was never that obsessed. He let me be a child in here, running from room to room, sliding down the banister, even climbing on things I shouldn’t have. I knew other kids who also lived in historic homes who weren’t allowed to do anything. Their bedrooms were full of centuries old furniture and they were only allowed to play in the servant’s quarters, which weren’t as well refurbished. You have to let kids be kids.”

“My parents were that way, too.” A sad shadow crossed over his eyes. “They were the kind who totally overdid the holidays. Our house always looked like Santa threw up on it.”

“I know what you mean. This place turned into a winter wonderland only without the snow.” I sighed and stared out the window. “It’s been five years since Daddy died and I haven’t had a Christmas since. Marietta and the girls put up a tree but they go to Atlanta so I’m left alone. Abby and her mama invite me over but I hate imposing. I think I miss holidays the most, and birthdays. It might sound selfish but my best memories are of us as a family at Christmas. It’s such a magical time.”

Jason didn’t say anything but I could feel his heavy, pitying stare. I hoped he would forget what I said. I hated sounding so ‘poor me’ all the time. I pointed out the rounded window overlooking the backyard and hoped the house would distract him.

“I told you the house originally took up the entire trust lot. A trust lot is the four smaller lots surrounding one of the town squares. They were once considered places of privilege. Now we only have the carriage house, or basically the garage, a shed and another small outbuilding at the back of the property that I think was used for either storage or slave quarters.”

“The carriage house is huge.”

I studied the building that captured his attention. The carriage house was almost as big as the main house. The brick was not in as good a shape as the main house and I noticed one of the rounded doorways had begun to sag. I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone up to the second floor but when I had, it was huge, empty and dusty.

“Well, when you consider it used to house the carriages and the horses that pulled them, it needed to be big. The carriage driver or stable hand would have lived in the rooms above. I read that it once housed close to a dozen horses for the Roberts’ many different carriages. The people who built the house on the other side fought to get it torn down because it sits too close to them. We won that, thankfully. The second floor has great light and I’ve already started dreaming about putting my photography studio and darkroom up there.”

I felt him watching me for a while before I turned to him. “What?”

“You come alive when you talk about this house. Now that I see you here, I can’t picture you anywhere else. I don’t blame you for fighting to keep this place. Any other plans?”

“Maybe a pool.” I grinned and gazed back at the window. “A lot of historic homes have added them so I don’t think it would be a problem. Other than that, I’ll concentrate on making it the home I remember. It has been neglected too much. Let’s go upstairs, I’ll show you the bedrooms.”

After I showed him the three bedrooms and office on the second floor he looked at me questioningly.

“You’re staring again.” I eyed him close.

“So, where’s your room? Call me crazy, but I assumed it wasn’t one of those cotton candy pink disasters. You don’t strike me as a frilly bedroom kind of girl.”

“That’s because I’m not.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a pink bedroom. It would make me physically ill. What’s your bedroom like? Mirrors on the ceiling, oversized pictures of yourself on the walls?”

Leaning close, Jason asked, “You’ve thought about my bedroom?”

My breath caught in my throat at his proximity. He was close enough that I saw specks of brown in his eyes. Nothing could stop the blush I felt working its way across my face. All my strength went into playing it cool.

“You wish. You want to see my room? Fine. Follow me.”

Even with my back to him, I sensed the big smile on his face and became aware of how my own lips wanted to curl up traitorously. I stopped at the door to the attic, opened it and pointed upward.