The Hideaway

“A note from William?” Dot prompted.

I nodded. “Pieces of it, at least. It was in a box up in the attic. I found it when I was cleaning. The box was full of all these little mementos. That’s where the postcard from Mags’s mother came from. The note was in pieces, like someone had torn it up, but I put it together as best as I could. There was . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to mention the ring. It felt too sacred. “It was signed, ‘Love, William.’”

She nodded. “Yes, I do think a lot of love was involved.”

“Who was he?”

Dot put her hand on top of mine. Her skin was thin, the back of her hand and her wrist speckled with brown age spots.

“William was your mother’s father.”

“No, my grandfather’s name was Robert. You know that. Wasn’t he here when you moved in?”

“That’s true, Robert was here. But he was not the father of Mags’s baby—of your mom. That was William.”

I swallowed hard, then shot to my feet. Dot pulled her hand back to her lap, her eyes patient. I walked a few paces away, then turned around. “That’s not possible. I don’t even know this man. Do you? He can’t be Mom’s—my grandfather. It’s impossible.”

“I know it sounds that way, but it’s true. William and Mags met here after she left Mobile. Things between them escalated quickly, and she got pregnant.”

“Did Mom know about this?”

“I don’t think so. I know it sounds bad. I think it was hard for Mags to talk about.”

“What about Granddaddy? Was she married to him at this point?”

“Yes, she was. But before you jump to conclusions, you need to know a little about Robert. He was not a faithful husband. Mags didn’t tell me much, but she told me that. He had other women over the years, one in particular. When he went away with this woman and left Mags in Mobile, she decided to leave too. She started a new life here, and William was a big part of it.”

“So Robert was just her first husband? Did Mags and William ever marry?”

My head was exploding, but I tried to ask rational questions.

“No, they didn’t. I was never sure exactly what happened. I moved in after William left and Robert was back. Mags was weeks away from giving birth to your mom. She told me William was the father and he had left. She was heartbroken. At first, she said it was her fault, but I found out her parents had something to do with it. The way they saw it, Robert was a more appropriate husband for a woman of means, like Mags had been.”

Dot snorted. “Appropriate in the wallet, maybe, but money doesn’t guarantee happiness or loyalty. To my knowledge, Mags and Robert slept in different bedrooms every night he lived here. Robert thought it was a big secret, but we all knew. She may have been willing to allow him back into the house, but not into her bed.”

“William left even though Mags was pregnant?”

“He didn’t know. Apparently, he was supposed to come back. Maybe they had some plans that never worked out.”

“That postcard from Mags’s mother . . . ,” I said.

“Right. I didn’t want to say too much on the porch with Glory. She and Major moved in well after your mom was born. They don’t know anything about William. I’d never seen that postcard before, but her mother must have been talking about Mags choosing Robert over William. Although I’m not sure it was exactly a choice—her mother was likely the one pulling the strings. It was very important to her that her daughter marry the right last name.”

Pictures flew through my head like an old movie reel. The photo of Mags at the funeral, her smile blazing, so unlike the photo from the box in the attic with her hat, pearls, and forced smile. The unspoiled sand and beauty of the cove, hidden among the trees and moss, safe from a world of rules and propriety. The little hand-carved house, complete with a porch, fireplace, and bedrooms for children.

Mags had ended up with a cheating husband over what sounded like an uncomplicated love that had produced my mother and, in a way, me. Why?

28

SARA

JULY

Once Crawford began making frequent visits after work, I found myself listening for the crunch of gravel signaling his arrival, his footsteps on the porch, his quiet knock. Each time he came, he stayed a little longer, leaving the house late, the dark night alive with a cacophony of cicadas and crickets.

He came by one evening with a box of fried chicken in one hand, a six-pack in the other, and a bottle of 409 cleaner tucked under an arm. “I’m here to work. But first, you have to eat dinner with me.”

I smiled. “Let me run upstairs and get cleaned up first.”

“Don’t do a thing.”

I looked down at the dirt-smeared T-shirt and blue jeans I’d found in an upstairs closet. My usual neat ponytail was now a messy bun at the back of my head, curls escaping everywhere.

He reached over and rubbed a smudge of dirt from my cheek. “You’re kind of sexy right now.”

I laughed. “And you’re kind of crazy.”

He took my hand and led me to the kitchen. I put the chicken on paper plates while he searched for a bottle opener.

“So have you discovered any more mysteries we need to decipher?” He rummaged in a drawer of kitchen utensils. “Another old map, maybe a hidden door?”

I poked him with a plastic fork. “Very funny.”

Balancing our plates and beer bottles, we walked down the back steps toward the dock.

“Actually I have found out a little more about Mags,” I said, unable to keep quiet about it.

“Really? Fill me in.”

We settled on the dock with our makeshift picnic. Crawford took a sip of his beer and looked at me expectantly.

How much should I tell him? Would he be interested in the life of my eccentric grandmother? What I’d found out had the potential to change the foundation of my entire world, but to anyone else, it would probably just be stories of an old lady’s life.

I hesitated. “We can talk about it later. Let’s enjoy our dinner first.”

“No, tell me.” He leaned toward me. “I want to know.”

Back in New Orleans, Mitch’s eyes would glaze over anytime I tried to talk about something deeper than city politics or the New Orleans Saints. His hands would fumble in his pockets until he found his phone and pulled it out, at which point he’d relax. “Go on,” he’d say, his fingers busy tapping on the screen. “I’m listening.”

But Crawford kept his eyes on me. He seemed sturdy enough to take on the murky waters of my life without buckling, and I wanted to let him in, to push open that iron door in my heart that Allyn always bugged me about. So I told him everything I knew—about the Mags I’d known my whole life and how I’d gotten her wrong all those years.

He shook his head when I finished. “That’s a lot to take in.”

I picked at the cold chicken on my plate. “I know. All I ever knew about the man I thought was my grandfather was that he died of a heart attack. I wish I could ask her about everything. She was a lot tougher than I ever knew.”

“Do you think things would have been different if you’d known this part of her life all along?”

I’d already asked myself the same thing. If I’d known the Mags who had the courage to leave her home and a bad husband to search for something better, who had such a deep capacity for love and heartache, would my life have been different? Would I have still left? Or would I have stuck close by her side to absorb that rebellious iron will and courageous strength?