“She probably said damn or hell, or maybe took the Lord’s name in vain when she stuck herself with a needle.” Flynn chuckled. “Sounds like the worst of the storm has passed. See you later.”
Nessa stretched out on the bed and laced her hands behind her head. April muttered in her sleep, but the only two words Nessa could make out were mother and sin. How could the grandmother that Nessa had thought hung the moon make such a horrible mess of raising her own three kids and then her granddaughter?
The next morning, warm sunshine flowed through the window, the heat warming Nessa’s face and bringing her semi-awake, but what made her sit up was April moaning in her sleep. Nessa grabbed the trash can and held it up to the side of the bed.
April’s eyes popped wide open, and she shivered from her head all the way to her bare toes. “What am I doing in here? I told you I hate this room.” She grabbed her head and closed her eyes. “Dear God, my head is pounding.”
“I think maybe it should be ‘dear Jack Daniel’s,’ not ‘God.’” Nessa set the can back down. “Two questions. How long had that bottle been hidden down there, and what did you mean about Nanny Lucy sinning?”
“I can’t remember anything.” April put her pillow over her head. “Go away and let me die in peace.”
“There’s not an ounce of peace in your heart, so you might as well wake up and get past the hangover.” Nessa set about making up the trundle and pushing it back under the daybed.
Flynn threw open the door and brought in a banana. “One banana coming right up.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and took the pillow away from April’s head. “Sit up slowly and eat this. After that, you’ll go take a shower, and then come to the kitchen for a piece of bacon and a poached egg on toast. Then you can have a cup of coffee and two aspirin.”
“I’ll need that trash can if I eat a banana.” April turned over and faced the wall.
“You might if you don’t eat it.” Flynn took her by the arm and gently pulled her up to a sitting position. “When I was fifteen, I had to figure out a cure for hangovers for my dad and his women. Dad is a happy drunk and the life of the party when he’s drinking, but he’s downright mean and hateful when he has a hangover. It didn’t take me long to figure out how to bypass the temper and oftentimes the abuse. So eat your banana, go take a shower, and I promise by the time you get finished with the coffee, you’ll be feeling a lot better.” He peeled the banana and handed it to her.
She took the first bite. “I was dreaming, and then Nanny Lucy was still in my head when I woke up. She said that she was being punished for sinning.
“I remembered coming here several years ago, and I knew better than to even try to hide my bottle of whiskey in my suitcase, so I made an excuse and went to the cellar when I needed some liquid strength to get through the visit. Since it was open, I couldn’t travel with it in my car, so I hid it.” She took several more bites. “It had been down there for years. I’m surprised she hadn’t found it and poured it all out on the ground.”
“What do you think she was talking about when she said she was sinning?” Nessa asked.
“I don’t have any idea.” April finished the last bit of the banana.
“It was just a crazy dream brought on by the storm,” Flynn said. “Now, off to the shower while Nessa and I make breakfast. We’ve got a quilt to work on, and you sure can’t do it with a hangover.”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” April said as she got to her feet. “I could have been. I like the taste, but I don’t like the aftereffects, so after I had a few mothers of all hangovers, I seldom ever drank anymore. I just want y’all to know that.”
“Why does it matter what we think?” Nessa asked.
“We’re living in this house together, all of us searching for something that’s missing in our lives. We should be honest with each other.” April shuffled out into the hallway, a hand to her forehead and groaning the whole way. “I still hate this room, even more than I hate that cellar. If I ever pull a stunt like that again, just leave me down there until I sober up.”
“Why?” Nessa asked.
“I was born while a storm was raging, and they couldn’t get my mother to the hospital. Nanny Lucy delivered me right here in this room, and she said that she knew that night I’d be just like my mother. She tried to beat it out of me, shame it out of me, and even guilt it out of me, but none of that worked,” April answered. “She scared me half to death when she said that my mother’s spirit was still lingering in this room and that she would never rest in peace because she hadn’t been a good girl.”
The tone of her voice sent chills down Nessa’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold air blowing from the air conditioner in the window. “I thought you were born in the hospital over in Paris. Isn’t that where your mother died?”
“When the storm passed, Nanny Lucy took my mother and me to the hospital. Mama had got an infection and died four days later. I wonder if that’s what she meant when she said she had sinned. Did she feel guilty because she hadn’t battled the storm to get my mother the proper care? Maybe the storm wasn’t that bad, but she thought if Mama had me at home, I would die.” April frowned.
“That’s horrible. Do you really think she had that in mind?” Flynn asked.
“We’ll never know, but I’ve always wondered,” April answered.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Nessa said. “I wish we’d gotten together before she died—while she could tell us how she felt about things, like what April said and us coming every summer.”
“We’ll never know for sure about all that, but we will know what’s in that hope chest,” April said. “We’ll finish the quilt and open the hope chest. Who knows, maybe she left us a note explaining everything.”
“We wouldn’t be that lucky.” Nessa started toward the kitchen.
“She probably took whatever had upset her to the grave with her,” Flynn added.
“You’re both probably right.” April went into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Ready to go make bacon and eggs?” Flynn asked Nessa.
“Where were you with this magic cure when I had my first hangover?” Nessa asked.
“What did Uncle Isaac do when he found out his angel had been out drinking?” Flynn chuckled.
“By then I wasn’t his angel anymore, and I let him think I had the flu,” Nessa replied. “If he’d found out otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here today. I’d either be six feet under or in a convent.”
“Uncle Isaac isn’t Catholic,” Flynn reminded her when they had reached the kitchen and he had gotten out a cast-iron skillet.
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Nessa said. “He would have put me in one anyway.”
Chapter Nine
It wasn’t that Jackson hated Sundays. It was more like they bored him. He wasn’t a churchgoing guy, never had been. He’d usually stayed home even on the occasional times when Uncle D. J. felt the need to go to Sunday services. His uncle had always said that if the almighty God rested one day a week, then humankind should do so, also, whether he went to a church-house building or not. So any kind of work in the shop was taboo on Sundays.