EIGHT
I felt the cousins’ prying minds swoop over me, so I extended the mental image of a “No Trespassing” sign and then a fist with a raised middle finger for those who wouldn’t take the hint. The probes fell off in en masse. I decided to get out. It would be lunch time soon, and I knew Peter’s crew always took their break in Chatham Square, so I decided to swing by Parker’s Market for provisions and surprise him with a picnic. The memory of what had happened after my last visit to his work site tried to surface, but I pushed it away. I grabbed my backpack, dumping the Liar’s Tour souvenirs out onto my bed. There would be plenty of time to start doing tours again after Ginny’s funeral.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and briefly considered applying at least a little makeup, using the artistry Ellen had taught me. With the golden light playing on my cheekbones, I looked pretty, even beautiful. It helped that Maisie wasn’t standing next to me. In comparison to her, I would always suffer. Realizing that any attempt at a pageant queen face would melt as soon as I stepped outside, I applied a little moisturizer with sunscreen and called it good. Makeup was the surest way to tell a tourist from a woman who lived in Savannah—only a tourist would be foolish enough to think her foundation could withstand ninety-eight degrees combined with 98 percent humidity. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, knowing full well that anything else would be a waste of time. I changed into cutoffs and a snug tank top, hoping that the judicious showing of a little skin would make up for the sweaty mess I’d be by the time I arrived. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and went outside.
Stepping out into the Savannah day was like walking into a steam bath. Perspiration immediately begin to build beneath the strap of my backpack. I found my bike and hopped onto it, the metal of its frame fiery against my thighs.
But in spite of the overwhelming heat, I felt freer than I had in months. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer had to hide my feelings about Jackson from Maisie. Yes, I was in love with him. No, I didn’t have to act on those feelings. Maybe I was just confused. Hopefully I could move on, with or without Jilo’s meddling. I owed it to my sister to try, and I certainly owed it to Peter. Truth was, I owed it to myself. Maisie and Peter had been the two most loving constants in my life.
After picking up lunch at the grocery store, I dug deep into my bike’s pedals, eager to get to Chatham Square as fast as I could. I didn’t register any more of my surroundings than my basic survival instincts required, and as I neared the square, I hopped off my bike and started walking, already scanning the area for Peter.
“Mercy!” A sleazy voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I was approaching the northeast corner of the square when a new red Mercedes convertible pulled up beside me. “Mercy.” This time the voice came more softly, teetering on the tightrope between greeting and proposition. The car came to a full stop. It was Tucker Perry. Great. “How are you, darlin’? My condolences about Ginny. Terrible business this all is.”
“Thank you, Mr. Perry.” I kept walking, but the car slid predatorily alongside me.
“I sure wish there were something I could do to make you feel better. Take your mind off everything.” His smile was crooked, causing his right eye to squint a tad. I felt the sudden need for a shower. The thought of my lovely Ellen submitting to Perry’s touch made me shudder.
“The thought is much appreciated.” I forced a smile. “But I should be on my way now.” Relief flooded over me as I saw Peter crossing the square toward us with a protective look on his face. He was bare chested, with his T-shirt clutched in his right hand.
“My offer to take you to the next Tillandsia still stands,” Tucker said, taking note of Peter’s approach. “Bringing you in would be completing the circle in a way. Your mama always enjoyed it so.” Peter crossed the road and came up beside me. “We could use some fresh blood. You’d both be more than welcome. You and your young man there too.”
“Thank you Mr. Perry, but I don’t think so,” I said, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t say more. I was itching to tell him off.
“Everything good here?” Peter said, his eyes glued on Tucker.