eighteen
The night rain was soothing. Peyton’s sleeping porch had become his refuge, a place where he could lie in the still, dark hours and try to tame the torrent raging in his head. If only his mind could be as quiet as St. Augustine late at night, where the silencing of cars and trucks and people amplified the peaceful rustle of palms, the nocturnal call of frogs and owls, and the lap of river water against the dock.
He heard the flap of Aunt Gert’s cat door and felt Pirate jump into bed with him. The cat had paid him no mind until the night after they scattered his father’s ashes. Since then, at the very moment when Peyton thought his head would surely explode with thoughts, Pirate would come onto the porch, climb into bed, and stretch out next to him. Soon after, Peyton would relax and drift off to sleep. In the morning, the cat would be gone.
What was roiling in his head tonight was a phone call. Peyton had called Lisa’s house to see if her parents might give him the number of her relatives in Miami so he could tell her what had happened. Instead of her mother or father, Lisa’s sister, Judy, answered the phone—and she had plenty to say. Her mother was convinced Peyton and Lisa were too serious and instructed the Miami relatives not to relay any messages from him. But Judy could get through. And she promised to give Lisa Aunt Gert’s phone number. Now all Peyton could do was wait.
What first brought hope soon turned to misery as Peyton hung around the bungalow, studying his father’s old Florida map and listening for the telephone. It was driving him crazy. It was driving Aunt Gert and his mother crazy. He was pacing back and forth on the sleeping porch when he heard Pirate come through the cat door. The cat did something he had never done before. He rubbed his head against Peyton’s leg. Then he pawed at the screen door that led outside. Peyton opened it and watched as Pirate walked calmly down the steps and rubbed his head against the front wheel of the bike. Then he leisurely made his way toward the river and his favorite napping tree. Peyton had never been superstitious, but, man—that was spooky.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
He turned to see his mother standing behind him on the porch. She smiled at him, but it wasn’t her old, happy smile. It was her trying-my-level-best smile.
“Oh yeah?” He grinned at her. “You think you know everything.”
She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. “I can’t believe I have to look up at you now. Where was I when you grew up?”
“Oh, you were there—tellin’ me I needed a haircut.”
They walked down to the dock and climbed into the Madame Queen. Peyton’s mother navigated as he drove them to a shady inlet off the San Sebastian River and shut off the engine. For a time, they sat listening to the water lap against the boat. Now and then a fish would jump, disturbing the river and the quiet.
Finally, she said, “Things will be very different for us now, Peyton.”
Unsure of what to say, he just listened.
“With your father and your grandfather gone, I doubt Jimmy will be able to hold on to the purse strings anymore. He secured as much as he could for you and me, but we’ll have to be careful how we spend it. Julian will likely sue for executorship, and he’ll probably win. Then he’ll do everything he can to deprive us of whatever he can. It won’t take him long to lose everything your granddaddy built, after all those years of your daddy being such a good steward. We’d be in for nothing but misery if we stayed tied to them, son. I think we have to make it on our own.”
Peyton reached over the side of the boat and ran his hand over the water, watching the ripples fan out from the Madame. “Where would we go?”
“I think you deserve a say in that. No matter what happens, I want you to finish high school with your friends. I was thinking I might get a job at the hospital in Savannah and rent a little place on Tybee. How do you feel about that?”
Peyton thought it over. Now that he saw the Cabots as his mother always had—how they had both depended on and resented his father—he didn’t think he could go back to them, ever. All that money hadn’t made any of them happy, and Peyton couldn’t see the point in fighting over it.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he answered. “And I can get a job too.”
“We’re not that desperate—yet,” his mother said, trying to muster a smile.
“No, I want to,” he said. “I want to know I can help. It’s important.”
His mother nodded. “You’re right. It is. You need to know you can stand on your own two feet. I’m so proud of you, Peyton. So was your father. I hope you know that.”
River sounds filled the silence between them. Finally, he said, “I know about Daddy’s mother—his real mother, I mean. Aunt Gert told me.”
His mother rubbed her forehead with her hand, the same way she did whenever Uncle Julian was around. “Oh dear. I’m not sure this was the right time to tell you.”
“No, I’m glad she told me. A lot of things make sense now that I know.”
“Don’t blame your father for keeping you in the dark. That was my doing.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “Aunt Gert told on you.”
His mother sighed with what Peyton knew was exhaustion of every kind and put her head in her hands.
“Chin up, Katydid!” he said.
His mother had to laugh. “How you turned out the way you did, with all you’ve had to deal with, I’ll never know.”
“Mama, you make it sound like I was raised by a pack o’ wolves.”
“No, just Cabots.”
They both had a much-needed laugh before she grew serious again. “I really am sorry I kept such a big secret from you, Peyton. It’s just . . . well, I saw what it did to your father when he first found out. I’m not sure he ever got over it. I just didn’t want that for you. So I lied. Not exactly the example I wanted to set for you.”
“I know you were tryin’ to do the right thing. But from here on out, you’ve gotta promise to tell me everything. Even if it’s hard. And I’ll do the same. Deal?” He offered her a handshake.
“Deal,” she said as they shook on it. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Now about that bike and that map . . .”
“You really don’t want me to go, do you?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t, of course, but after all you’ve been through, I think you have a right to ask for something that matters to you. What I need to know is why. Is this just about getting to see Lisa? Because if it is, I’ll drive you to Miami.”
“No, ma’am, there’s more to it than that.”
“I thought so.” It was peaceful on the river as the Madame Queen gently rocked them back to another hard question. Finally, his mother spoke. “You know you’ve got nothing to prove—to me or your daddy.”
“I know. It’s just something I need to do. But I don’t want to make things harder on you than they already are.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “Did you know that the very few disagreements your father and I ever had were about you?”
“Me? Why?”
“Because I thought the most important thing in the world was to protect you, but Marshall thought the most important thing in the world was to protect your freedom. He wanted you to be free to make your own choices and live your own life—provided you didn’t try to do something truly off the beam, of course. But that was never an issue with you. You were born with a good head on your shoulders.”
“Why was it so important to him—freedom, I mean?”
“You remember how your Uncle Gil always ends that tale about Marshall’s bike ride to Key West?”
“‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the last time Marshall Cabot ever let anybody tell him what to do.’ That the part you’re talkin’ about?”
“That’s the biggest lie any Cabot ever told, and they’ve told some whoppers. Your daddy devoted his whole life to his family—protecting his father’s investments and making sure there would always be plenty of money, not just for the family but to keep all the mills going so poor families around there would have jobs. And the thing is, Marshall himself didn’t care about money at all. To him, it was just a way to provide for other people. He was bound and determined you would never feel obligated to live your life a particular way. He wanted you to follow your own path.”
“What about you?”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I want that too.”
“Even if my path takes me to Key West?”
“Even then. But I’m not as brave as your daddy. You have to promise to call me collect every Sunday night—maybe a time or two in between when you can manage it.”
“I promise.”
“And you remember what I told you before—there’s more to this bike ride than pedaling.”
“I remember.”
“I took the liberty of tucking a few things into your saddlebag—things your daddy told me he wished he’d had. I hope you don’t mind just a little meddling?”
“I don’t mind.”
“One more thing, son—I can’t watch you ride away. So I guess you’ll have to get up early when you go.”