The next morning, with nothing to do and no responsibilities, I stayed in bed until nine, then made my way downstairs for breakfast. I took in more of the house than I had seen the night before. It was grand, if a bit run-down. The dust was thick on tabletops and the rugs needed a good airing out. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, despite no morning appearance of the crowd from last night.
Outside, Mrs. DeBerry sat at a white wrought-iron table in the backyard overlooking the bay. She nursed a cup of tea, adding to it from a porcelain teapot. Limoges. The same pattern Mother had selected as my wedding china.
I walked down the steps, and Mrs. DeBerry turned.
“Have a seat. I’d love company.” She gestured at the extra teacup, as if she’d expected me to appear. “How was your night? The riffraff didn’t make too much noise for you, did they?”
“They were fine. I slept well.”
“That’s good. Sometimes lying in bed at night, listening to them cut up for hours, I think of how it used to be around here. Much more civilized, that’s for sure.” She sniffed and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. She wanted me to ask. Hearing stories about her more proper and civilized clientele was the last thing I wanted, but I indulged her. I looked out at the water as she spoke.
“We bought this house as our summer home, but Henry decided to open it to paying guests when we realized its income possibilities. It took off immediately. People came from all over the South to stay for weeks at a time. Magazines used to send their editors out here at least once a summer, sometimes twice.” She sighed.
“It was perfect—the lawn dotted with ladies in hats and gloves. And such dashing men. Henry would take them out on the boat, and they’d come back windblown and glowing. And the dinners—oh, the times we had. Guests filled the table, and our staff served gumbo with the most succulent shrimp you’ve ever tasted. Fresh bread. Pies so good they’d make you cry. Mrs. Parker, I wish you could have seen this place then.”
I smiled, but it felt stiff on my face. It sounded just like dinner parties at Mother’s house, the ones she insisted Robert and I attend, if for no other reason than to show her friends we were a happy couple. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “Henry got sick, and we had to stop taking on so many guests. He’d long stopped working—the house was our only source of income, and it more than paid for what we needed. But with fewer guests, money got tight. We had to let the kitchen staff go, then our cleaning staff. I’m sure your trained eye could see the state the house is in. Our old Bertha would have an apoplectic fit if she saw how I’ve let things go.” She refilled her teacup and mine.
“After Henry died, I needed the money, so I had to be less selective about who I allowed to stay here. Hence, the artists,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “I just don’t know how long I can keep this up. I can always move back to Mobile, but I’ve been gone so long, I don’t know anyone there anymore. If I did go back, I’d be the outsider, and I assure you, I have no desire for that. Imagine me, an outsider. It’s preposterous.”
She fanned herself with her hand, then rose from the table. “I need to get on with my day. You enjoy yourself, now. I can’t offer you a boat ride, but there are games in the main parlor—the artists break those out later in the day. Heavens above, I don’t know how they get by in life. No jobs, no money . . .” She continued her rant as she walked back up the steps and into the house.
Alone, I breathed in the cool air. It was January, but it felt more like early spring. I leaned my head back in my chair, untroubled for the first time since learning of Robert’s indiscretions. Sitting in that chair with the sun on my face, miles away from the center of the storm, I finally felt free.
I awoke sometime later to a man sitting at the table opposite me. I sat bolt upright, patted my hair—an automatic gesture—and smoothed my hands down my dress.
“It’s okay. You look fine.”
When I chanced a look at him, I realized he was the man from the night before, the one who stood out from the crowd. I hadn’t noticed how defined his jaw was, how thick his fringe of eyelashes. He was so close, it was hard to breathe. He seemed to take up all the air in the entire world.
“Pardon me for saying so, but you look a little out of place here,” he said.
I looked down at my dress and put my hand up to my hair again. His scrutiny reduced me to half my size.
“I don’t think it’s me who’s out of place,” I said, surprising myself. He wore a flannel shirt, dungarees, and scuffed boots. “Where’s your black turtleneck and beret?”