I struggled not to purr or growl or whatever large female cats did when they came upon a gazelle or something equally tasty on the African plains. I closed my eyes to block out the vision, blaming my absurdity on all the punch.

"What are you doing here, Mellie?"

His question was innocent enough, but some underlying meaning lay couched behind it.

"You left the party early. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

He stared at me for a long moment. "You could have called."

An unseen door shut somewhere down the hall. "Can I come in?"

He didn't step back or open the door farther. "Why?"

I felt icy cold suddenly, remembering the last time I'd shown up by myself unannounced on his doorstep and found Rebecca in his bedroom. My voice seemed to rise in pitch. "Are you alone?"

He almost smiled. "I'm alone, and I'm tired. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No. It can't." I wasn't sure which part of what I wanted to tell him was more important than the other, but either way I didn't want to wait. "Please-let me come in?"

His eyes slowly drifted from my face downward, past my chin, hovering on my chest, then dipping lower until he brought his gaze to meet mine again. "Are you sure you want to come in, Mellie?"

Lightning bolts of heat were flung through my veins, and I expected to smell something smoldering. I knew I could turn and run, something I was overly familiar with. Or I could disobey what the logical part of my brain was telling me and walk forward into a place that was uncharted and couldn't be organized on a spreadsheet. Maybe it was the fact that I was now forty years old and tired of feeling like I'd missed out on something important, or maybe it was the punch. Either way, I found myself pushing on the door until Jack let go and stepped back.

I stood in the entranceway and watched as Jack locked and bolted the door, then turned to me warily. "Can I get you anything?"

I wasn't thirsty, but I needed something to keep my hands busy while I told him what Marc had said. And I wanted to look and see whether I found any evidence of alcohol. It wasn't necessarily that I didn't trust him. It was more because I'd grown up with an alcoholic father and learned it was always better to find out for myself.

"Just water, please. If you have it."

He sent me an odd glance as he headed to the gleaming kitchen and took out a gla.s.s from the cabinet. He put crushed ice and water in it from the refrigerator door, then handed it to me. I took a sip, needing to cool off more than anything, especially with him standing so close and watching my lips as they touched the gla.s.s.

"Why are you here, Mellie?" he asked again, his voice very, very soft.

I wanted to tell him then about Marc's book, and how I hadn't known until tonight, but I hesitated. I knew how devastated he would be, and how it would make whatever was zinging between us right now stop.

I swallowed, wanting, too, to tell him what I'd figured out earlier, something I was afraid to name. It was still too new and too delicate to be allowed out in the open, especially when I was unsure of his feelings toward me. Instead, I said, "Because I was worried about you. About what you might do. I know how disappointed you must be about your book being pulled." I looked back at him, searching for some sign that he knew about Marc's book already, that he'd managed to put it all together.

Instead, his face darkened, but neither one of us stepped back. He didn't raise his voice, but his words were measured and very succinct, as if he wanted to make sure I understood. "Do you really think I'd start drinking again? That I would do that to Nola-my daughter? You asked me that same question when we were on the Battery, and I swore to myself then that I'd had enough of you and your lack of trust and faith in me." He swiped both hands through his hair. "To answer your question, no, I haven't started drinking again. I'd love to have a drink right now-several, in fact. But the truth is, I love Nola more."

I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to stem the tears his words had made form in the backs of my eyes. There was so much about Jack Trenholm that I didn't know, hadn't bothered to see because I'd been too scared to look deeper, too scared to realize that Jack might be the one person worth jumping into the void with.

I took a sip of my ice water, startled to find my hand shaking, and searched for the right words to say. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I shouldn't have. But I know what it's like to be hurt and to face it alone. I thought maybe you could use a friend."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes hard. "I don't need a friend." He took my gla.s.s and put it on the counter, then placed both hands on my face, cupping my jaw. "I need you."

All I could do was breathe, to try to understand the word "need," to know the meaning in every bone. His lips hovered over mine for precious seconds until they touched, tentative at first, like a bee discovering a new flower. And then I was pressed against the counter, his lips hard on mine and my arms trying to pull him closer. I opened my eyes, feeling dizzy and afraid I might pa.s.s out and miss whatever was going to come next.

Jack pulled back, his eyes darker than I'd ever seen them. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, trying to clear it. "I might have had too much punch. I'm feeling dizzy."

His lips lifted in one corner, as if he were trying not to smile. "The pink punch at the party?"

I nodded, wondering why he was trying to get specific at a moment like this.

I felt the laughter rumble through him. "I was drinking it all night. So were Nola and Alston. It was nonalcoholic."

I blinked very slowly, wondering how I'd found the courage to knock on his door without any spiked punch. Without thinking first, I said, "Then why do I feel so dizzy?"

His smile faded as he brought his face close to mine again. "Is that all you're feeling? Because I'm feeling a lot more than dizzy." There was no initial hesitancy this time as his lips met mine, the edge of the granite counter digging into my back as he crushed my body against him. My mouth opened under his as I began to feel less dizzy and perhaps more of whatever it was that Jack was feeling.

His lips drifted down my neck, leaving a hot, damp trail to my collarbone, and jelly where my knees had once been. His hands reached behind me to cup my bottom as his teeth did dangerous things to my earlobe and sense of reality.

"Did your mother really buy you this dress?" he said into my ear. My body shuddered as his warm breath danced across the damp skin of my neck.

"Yes." I somehow managed to get the word past swollen and seemingly paralyzed lips.

"Have I ever told you that your mother is a very, very smart lady?"

I gasped as his hands smoothed their way up my back until his fingers found the zipper to my dress. I reached up and took his hand in mine, stopping him. "What are you doing?"

He was breathing very hard and looking just a little annoyed. "Exactly what I thought you wanted me to be doing."

The familiar need to control the situation struggled to emerge from the slush that had become my brain. "Maybe we should talk about this first. What . . . this . . . would mean for you and me. For us. I know of too many couples who jump into bed together for all the wrong reasons, and then she gets hurt or he gets hurt, or they find out they shouldn't be together anyway, or that the way she flosses in bed annoys him, or the way he leaves hair in the sink makes her want to kill him, so they grow apart and wonder what it was they saw in each other in the first place. And then it's awkward at parties and bar mitzvahs or wherever they run into each other. . . ."

His hand covered my mouth. "Mellie?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up. Please."

I frowned, then nodded.

Lowering his hand, he said, "For once in your life I want you to stop thinking. Enjoy yourself and don't think about anything except how good I'm about to make you feel."

If it were possible for people to self-combust, I'd be a smoldering pile of red silk burning a hole in the wood floor of Jack's kitchen. I felt dizzy again and realized I needed to breathe or I'd pa.s.s out. Our eyes met and I knew that words weren't necessary anymore, that everything we'd already said since the time we'd first met nearly two years ago had led up to this moment. All that wasted time.

He reached for the zipper again, but this time I didn't stop him. He slowly lowered it down the length of my back, his eyes never leaving mine even as the sleeves of the dress dropped from my shoulders, revealing the very skimpy and very red bra I'd picked up at Bits of Lace on King Street as a last-minute addition to my ensemble.

I opened my mouth to tell him that tonight was about more than making each other feel good. I thought of how I'd felt standing in my garden, when I'd realized how, despite all my efforts to the contrary, he'd somehow managed to breach the wall I'd constructed all those years ago on the day my mother left me behind.

His hands stopped removing my arms from the dress. "Mellie? No talking anymore, remember?"

I closed my mouth and nodded, unable to find any words at all as the dress slid to the floor. Jack reached behind me and hoisted me up, leaving me no choice but to wrap my legs around him. Not that I would ever tell him, but I'd had dreams just like this, and not once had any of them compared to the feel of Jack Trenholm in the flesh through just the thin silk of lingerie.

Our mouths met again and I closed my eyes, aware of him carrying me a short distance. When I felt soft cushions beneath my back I opened them again in surprise. "The couch?" I asked.

"For starters," he mumbled against the soft skin between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

My hands pushed at his shirt until Jack sat up and pulled it off along with his undershirt, throwing them onto the floor. He'd just begun to work at the straps on my bra when he suddenly stopped. Lifting his head, he met my eyes. "Just one question."

I propped myself up on my elbows, wondering-since this was my life, after all-whether this was the moment he was going to tell me he was gay. Or a woman. "What?"

He thought for a moment, as if trying to get the words right. "The dead people you see, you know when they're around, right? Like right now-you would know whether or not we're completely alone."

I relaxed back against the cushions again. "Not that I have a lot of experience as far as that's concerned, but yeah, I'd know." I reached up for him, my hands on his bare shoulders. "And right now, it's just you and me."

He looked relieved as he lowered his head to mine again and kissed me with surprising tenderness. I sighed, seeing thousands of twinkling lights behind my closed eyelids, and imagining a word softly whispered from very far away. Finally.

CHAPTER 25.

I awoke before dawn with the familiar feeling of a warm and fuzzy body in the bed with me, except this particular body wasn't quite as fuzzy and had only two legs instead of four. And was a lot more fun to sleep with.

Jack's hand traced slow circles on my bare hip under the sheet, and I became aware of his rising interest in continuing our energetic pursuits of the previous evening. My body tingled in places I hadn't known existed, and my heart hummed with a new and unfamiliar rhythm, giving me the odd compulsion to sigh and laugh and cry-all together. For the first time since my mother had abandoned me, I was content where I was, my head not already spinning and going down the lists of everything I needed to accomplish for the day. I was with Jack, and that was all that mattered.

I wanted to lie there forever, coc.o.o.ned in the darkness where no words were needed, where I could show Jack what I felt without complicating everything with those infamous three little words. It wasn't that I didn't want to be the first to say it, or even that I was unsure of Jack's feelings toward me. My hesitation had more to do with having to tell Jack the news about Marc and his book, knowing that I couldn't tell him one without telling him the other.

I turned to face him, to try to read what was in his eyes, but his face was in darkness, backlit by the glowing numbers on the bedside clock. I was almost relieved, unsure of how I could look him in the eyes without blushing after the previous evening. It was the perfect moment to tell him what I'd discovered about Marc, and to let Jack know that I was on his side, that I would be there to help him through this. And that if he needed help in making voodoo dolls or concocting elaborate dismemberment schemes where n.o.body would be permanently maimed or go to jail, I'd consider a.s.sisting him.

Instead, my gaze settled on the clock behind him, the glowing readout indicating it was almost five thirty in the morning. My head jerked up off the pillow. "c.r.a.p." After kissing Jack quickly on the lips, then flinging the covers off, I began to scramble around the room, and then into the hallway, dining area, living room, and kitchen, searching for my clothes and shoes, shyly holding up a pillow from the sofa as a modesty shield.

Jack stretched lazily in the bedroom doorway, completely naked and apparently finding my running around without clothes oddly exciting. "What's the rush, Mellie? Didn't you take today off? I thought we could spend the day . . . inside. Where you won't need your clothes." He gave me a long and appreciative look. "And why bother hiding behind a pillow? I've seen everything already." His smile was smug and not a little self-satisfied.

I was very tempted to stop my search and return to Jack's bed and ignore the rest of the world a little longer. Instead I snapped my bra off of the floor lamp behind the sofa and struggled to put it on as I searched for my underwear. "Jack, as much as I'd like to, I've got to get back home before everybody's up and sees me coming in wearing what I wore last night. Especially since my mother knows I was coming to find you when I left the party."

I found my dress in the kitchen and was stepping into it when Jack joined me, standing behind me and kissing me on the back of my neck and shaking my resolve. "You're forty years old, Mellie. I'm sure your mother will understand."

I turned in his arms and kissed him, feeling how eager he was for me to stay. "What about Nola? What's she going to say?"

His eyes widened. "You've got to hurry." He whipped me around and began zipping my dress. He ran back to his room while I went in search of my purse, and returned wearing shorts and a T-shirt and carrying both of my shoes. He held them up like trophies. "Sorry it took me so long. These were in my bed for some reason."

I blushed, remembering how they got there. "Thanks," I said as I took them from him and began to put them on.

"I'll drive you."

I shook my head. "That'll look worse if somebody sees you dropping me off. Besides, I have my own car."

He put his hands on my hips and drew me toward him. "So when can I see you again?"

"Tonight?" I bit my lip, embarra.s.sed at how eager I sounded.

Jack grinned. "As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I'm afraid I can't. My mother's been begging for me to join her on a weeklong buying trip to the Northeast, and since I don't have the excuse of working on a book, I should go. She doesn't like going alone, and my dad needs to stay behind to manage the store. Who knows-maybe I'll find my next book inspiration while I'm gone. My mother already cleared it with yours regarding coverage for Nola if you weren't available."

I tried to hide my disappointment. "So when will you be back?"

"Next Thursday. It'll give us something to look forward to." He kissed my neck again, making me sigh. "And there's always the phone."

I nodded, thinking of everything that remained unsaid between us, and knowing that none of it could be said over the phone. "Jack-" The alarm on my phone chirped, interrupting me.

As I fumbled with my purse to pull out the phone and turn off the alarm, Jack asked, "What's that?"

"My alarm. I always wake up at six o'clock, so I set my phone alarm to go off fifteen minutes before my bedside alarm goes off."

He stared at me for a moment before responding. "That must be a 'Mellie-ism,' so I'm not going to ask for an explanation."

"A 'Mellie-ism'?"

"That's what Nola calls all of your idiosyncrasies. Like how all of the clocks in your room and your watch are set ten minutes fast. Or how you stick labels on the inside of your drawers to show where everything goes. Mellie-isms." He kissed me on my forehead. "I think they're cute." He reached over and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. "Come on-I'll walk you to the car. I'm not in the mood to explain the birds and the bees to Nola this morning."

I allowed him to lead me out the door. And as he kissed me good-bye at my car I did my best to convince myself that what I needed to say to him could wait just one little week.

My feet seemed to float above the ground as I went about my daily routine the following week. I was very careful to hide my emotions from everybody else, feeling it only fair until I'd told Jack, but Charlene wanted to know where I was getting my facials now, and my mother and Nola had each scolded me for putting the coffee grounds in the refrigerator and the milk in the pantry. Twice. Only General Lee seemed to have guessed the truth, and had taken to sleeping at the foot of my bed instead of on the pillow next to me, as if he understood that particular place was being held for somebody else.

My work schedule was busier than usual, and I closed a record three times in one week, earning me my regular-and coveted-top spot on the seller's chart in Dave Henderson's office. Jack and Amelia were apparently just as busy, as a.s.sociates in the antiques business wined and dined them from Boston to New York. Our phone conversations were brief, as if both of us were aware that a profound yet unacknowledged change had occurred in our relationship. We were explorers in uncharted territory, using blank maps. And I kept waiting for him to tell me that he'd discovered the truth behind his canceled contract, and each day that he didn't I felt more and more guilt about keeping it to myself. Still, I convinced myself that telling him over the phone wasn't an option, and that I would tell him face-to-face as soon as I saw him again.

For the first time in my life, I had both of my parents to consult with about a major decision, but I knew what they would tell me, and I didn't want to disappoint all three of us by going against common sense and reason. I recognized that I was acting like a coward, but the thing between Jack and me-whatever it was-was still too new and fragile to take such a blow. Like a person staring down a tornado, it seemed I was waiting until the last minute to seek shelter, hoping against all odds that it would veer off course and avoid me completely.

The only thing that was clear to me was that the dollhouse had to go. The feud between William and his father had escalated since the discovery of the graves on Manigault property, and Nola seemed caught between them as they haunted her dreams, using her as a conduit to continue past arguments, tossing her bedclothes and anything else in the room into disarray. Mrs. Houlihan was threatening to quit, and Nola walked around with dark circles under her eyes. I'd had enough.

On the morning Jack was scheduled to return to Charleston, I was awakened from a sound sleep by a shuddering rumble of thunder. General Lee dived under the covers as my eyes popped open in time to see a flash of lightning illuminating the room and a human figure standing next to my bed.

A cold hand touched my arm and I bolted to a sitting position. Thunder growled as continuous bursts of lightning flashed through the room like the end of an old-fashioned film reel, the figure leaning toward me seeming to do so in slow motion. I dug my heels into the mattress, pushing myself away until my head collided with the headboard. I tried to meld into the wood as the figure leaned closer, and in the next burst of lightning I found myself staring into two wide eyes. Two very familiar wide eyes.

"Nola?" I could barely hear my voice over the thunder.

Her hand squeezed my arm with surprising strength, and when she spoke, it wasn't her voice that came from her mouth, but something much deeper, and darker, and not of this earth.

Lightning illuminated her very pale face, her eyes appearing hollow in the shadows. "We told you to stop her. And now you will pay." The hand tightened on my wrist, cutting off circulation to my hand.

"Nola!" I shouted, trying to snap her out of the trance or whatever it was she was having.

"There is nothing you can do now to save her. You should have listened."

I struck out with my other hand, colliding with the nightstand and making the lamp wobble. "Nola-wake up! You're dreaming; wake up!"

The temperature dipped, and I sensed a pervasive light in the room that had nothing to do with the storm raging outside, yet the overhead chandelier and lamps remained dark.

Nola. Wake up. It's just a dream.

It was Bonnie, her voice light and melodious. Nola lifted her head and I could see her eyes in the odd light as she blinked several times. Slowly, her gaze drifted to me and then to where her hand gripped my arm. She let out a cry and then covered her face with her hands.

The light dimmed and then vanished. I struggled out of the bedclothes, hampered by a squirming General Lee, who was trying to do the same thing, and fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp. I stood and reached for Nola, holding her in my arms as she wept.