Choosing Charleston Read online

  I came across my trumpet. It hadn’t been used in a very long time, except by a tiny spider who found the three valves a suitable place to spin her web. The instrument had appeared thanks to sixth-grade musical aptitude testing implemented by an administrator whose brother-in-law owned a musical instrument business.

  As it turned out, the trumpet hurt my lips and, despite instruction from the band teacher, I never quite got the hang of making the proper seal while blowing into the mouthpiece. On several occasions, I almost passed out from hyperventilating. I had, in fact, found fault with a succession of instruments during my juvenile years. In addition to the brass trumpet, I found my tambourine and set of maracas. A guitar. A pair of cymbals. A flute. A xylophone. A drum set.

  Daddy was a patient man.

  While the timeline of my extracurricular activities could be documented in abandoned musical instruments, Jenny’s teenage timeline consisted of apparel. Ballet shoes, dance attire. Theater props and costumes. Drill team paraphernalia. Several cheerleading outfits complete with a set of time-flattened pom-poms.

  Granny discovered a trunk loaded with Halloween costumes that, packed in reverse order, became progressively smaller as we dug through them. The twins found matching tiger costumes of mine and Jenny’s and, after a quick quarrel as to who got which one, put them on. Hunter wanted to get dressed up, too, but the only costume we could find in his size, other than a fairy princess getup, was a giant padded red delicious apple.

  “Well at least now he can say ‘bite me’ and mean it,” I told Jenny.

  “You shouldn’t be teaching my kids that kind of language,” she said, fluffing a blue and white pom-pom. “Just wait until you have a kid of your own.”

  “You’re the one that taught him ‘bite me’,” I said.

  “Basta!” Hunter added.

  “Oh, right, and ‘bastard’, too.”

  Jenny threw a pom-pom at me.

  Two hours after our excursion for hats commenced, Granny wore a pair of Mickey Mouse ears and a black feather boa, and gripped a ping pong paddle in each hand. The twins had assembled a pile of toys, I reclaimed the trumpet that had taken my musical virginity and Jenny discovered a pair of white patent leather boots she felt sure would come back in style.

  It didn’t occur to anyone that we remained hatless until we’d carried our loot down the stairs and were dusting ourselves off.

  As we debated on a return trip, someone knocked at the back door. The twins, still dressed as tigers and alternately roaring, ran to see who was there.

  “It’s Mister Protter,” Stacy called, “and another Mister Protter.”

  “From Protter Construction and Development,” Sherry yelled.

  “Can they come in?” the girls said.

  “Of course they can come in,” Mamma said.

  Hearing that two men were entering the house, Jenny made a dash for her makeup case and a mirror.

  I was suddenly self-conscious, too, and didn’t like the idea of facing my adversary in bare feet, a pair of cutoff jean shorts and one of Daddy’s Stone Hardware tee shirts.

  Despite my telepathic message to slam the door on the Protter men, the girls led them into to the kitchen.

  When Trent saw me holding my trumpet defensively, as though it were a shield to deflect incoming arrows, amusement washed across his face. In explanation of our disheveled appearance, Mamma told the Protter men that we’d been romping around in the attic. As if to prove her point, Granny emerged from the bathroom to see who our gentlemen callers were.

  “Ah,” Mister Protter said. “That would explain the Mickey Mouse ears and feathers.”

  Mamma offered them a glass of iced tea, which to my irritation, they accepted.

  And since they hadn’t, I got right to the point of their visit.

  “As you were so quick to remind me the other day, Trent, you are now the ones who seem to be trespassing. Is it something that couldn’t be handled over the phone?”

  Unfazed by my rashness, Trent smiled. “A mediator, a lawyer and now a musician. You have multiple talents, Miss Stone.”

  “It was the first instrument I played growing up.”

  “First?” he said.

  “There were several,” I admitted.

  “You, too?” Mister Protter nodded in the direction of his son. “This one here went through enough musical instruments to create an entire marching band.”

  In different circumstances, Trent and I would have laughed and compared youthful war stories. In different circumstances, I’d have thrown my arms up to hug the strong neck rather than suppressed an urge to strangle it.

  ‘Stop it!’ I silently scolded myself. Trent was the reason Daddy had made two trips to the emergency room.

  Mamma filled tumblers with ice and poured sweet tea from a glass pitcher while Granny openly studied Trent.

  “Have I met you before, dear?” she asked him.

  “Yes, ma’am you did. And you liked me, too.”

  Satisfied, Granny turned her attention to the elder Mister Protter. She still had the black feather boa around her neck and twirled one end of it. They got into a conversation about grandchildren, and Mister Protter told her he didn’t yet have any grandchildren.

  “Carly and Trent would make you a beautiful young’un, don’t you know.”

  I almost choked on an ice cube and had I been sure Granny was cogent, I’d have been mad. Even though she was probably right. With his genes, he’s probably make a beautiful baby with any woman, even a homely one.

  Trent acted like he hadn’t heard her comment. “We stopped by your store earlier, but your father said we should just catch you here,” he told me.

  “Why would Daddy tell you that?”

  “I suppose he figures I ought to deal directly with you and leave him out of it. Pop feels the same way. He’s only along right now because we’re headed to a heavy equipment auction from here.”

  Like a late-arriving bird stirring up the rest of the flock, Jenny made a show of entering the kitchen. We moved chairs to make room at the table, Mamma retrieved another glass of ice for tea and both Protter men half-stood while my sister settled into a chair.

  After I introduced Mister Protter to those in my family he hadn’t yet met, Trent told me why he’d stopped by. He wanted to deliver the test results in person.

  It was my turn to be surprised. Only three days had passed since I had the cease and desist orders delivered to the offices of Protter Construction and Development. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have found their own experts so quickly. Forcibly sidelining heavy equipment apparently caused other things to get moving.

  He produced a report and slid it across the table, upside down from his vantage point, so I could follow along while he explained it to me. I had made the same move frequently with my clients, and it proved that he’d thoroughly read the report and was familiar enough to point out paragraphs as he spoke.

  There definitely was not a burial ground on the land, but then, I hadn’t thought there was. Chief Hatcher didn’t think so either, even though we’d found the mound of dirt. It wasn’t the right shape, he’d said, but since Native American Indians roamed freely throughout South Carolina at one time, theoretically, there could be a burial ground most anywhere. If there was any possibility at all, he thought it best to investigate.

  But soil testing conclusively found no human bones in the dirt. The archeologists could only produce some broken pieces of pottery estimated to be around two hundred years old.

  I flipped through the four or five pages of the report until I came to the end. The last page was an invoice for eighteen hundred and fifty dollars. I mentally smiled. It was a start.

  “Well, this is good news,” I said. “Chief Hatcher will be relieved.”

  “I’m sure,” Trent said, scowling at me.

  “So, is there any news on the wall, yet? You don’t seem to be wasting any time.”

  “We try not to waste time in the land development business. And, yes
there has been some progress made on the determination about the piece of wall.”

  “Well?”

  “Why don’t you stop by the site tomorrow, say around noon, and I’ll go over it with you.”

  He took a drink of tea and my attention was drawn to his mouth. I imagined his full, strong lips would feel as smooth as they looked if pressed against mine. He put the glass down, swallowed, smiled. I had to force myself to look away and knew he’d caught me staring.

  “I wouldn’t want to trespass. Why not just tell me now?”

  “I’m still working a few things out. And since I invited you to visit, you won’t be trespassing. Didn’t you learn that in law school?”

  I stifled the urge to shoot him the finger.

  “You’re welcome to visit the site anytime, Carly,” Mister Protter said.

  Mamma called Daddy to see if he could come home for lunch and he told her he could. To my dismay, she invited the Protter men to join us for barbecued chicken pizza and to my horror, Mister Protter accepted.

  Trent shot his father a questioning look at the same time I gave Mamma a ‘what-are-you-doing’ look. Happy to have some men around, Jenny shot me a ‘shut up’ look. Mamma, demanding politeness above all else, gave both of us a ‘behave’ look. The twins gave each other an ‘it’s-getting-juicy’ look.

  An awkward twenty minutes passed before Daddy got home, and Jenny and I served the pizza. Halfway through the meal, Mamma told Trent to call her ‘Doris’ rather than ‘Mrs. Stone’ and, appalled, I nearly spit up a piece of sun dried tomato. Didn’t she understand these were the men who were causing Daddy so much grief? That they were putting our store out of business? The store that both her grandfather and Daddy had put their souls into?

  But Daddy didn’t look upset either. He was being as cordial as Mamma.

  I managed to get the half-chewed bite of food down without making a scene and sat back to assess the situation. Hunter had gravitated to Mister Protter and was happily perched on the old man’s knee, eating off his plate. Mister Protter didn’t appear to mind at all and had cut pizza into pieces small enough to accommodate Hunter’s little hand.

  Trent had started addressing Mamma as ‘Miss Doris’ and Daddy as ‘Mister Lloyd’. The twins had removed their tiger costumes and now acted like perfect little ladies, trying to impress our guests with a demonstration of proper dining etiquette. Even Taffy turned traitor and sprawled out lazily between Mister Protter’s leather loafers and Trent’s worn work boots. Precious was the only one acting normal. She kept her distance and growled at something invisible to the rest of us.

  A ringing phone interrupted my disbelief.

  “Can I hand you the telephone, Miss Doris?” Trent asked Mamma and I wanted to throw up. I think I rolled my eyes.

  To be polite, Mamma left the table to talk. She returned seconds later and asked me if I wanted to speak with Robert.

  “What does he want?” I snapped, annoyed to hear his name.

  “The snake wants you back, Carly,” Granny said, as though she’d been clearly following my dilemma all along. “I’m tellin’ ya. Get you a pair a them pruning shears… and chop, chop!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Robert had indeed wanted me back. Corin was reuniting with her ex-husband and moving to Philadelphia. He admitted he was emotionally immature and had begun seeing a shrink. He would even attend marriage counseling. He swore I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and if I came back, he would treat me like a queen. I hung up on him.

  Although the phone conversation had happened yesterday, it stuck in my head like a bad radio jingle and kept replaying against my will. I forced it out of my mind and focused my attention on the gorgeous day as I drove to meet with Trent at the construction site.

  Hunter was strapped into a child safety seat in the back and Granny rode shotgun. A commanding entourage it wasn’t, but they were the only family available to go with me. Mamma, Jenny and the girls were shopping for the wide-brimmed hats for In Home Now and Daddy was working.

  “Pull over,” Granny shouted. “There’s a bird in this car! Sounds like a wren.”

  My purse was chirping.

  “That’s the new mobile phone Jenny gave me. It has forty different bird rings.”

  “That’s a lot of dang birds to cram in one teeny phone.”

  I managed to silence the annoying wren without running off the road. It was Lori Anne.

  “I thought you were off somewhere frolicking with Britt,” I said.

  “I am. In fact, we were thinking about running by the spa and microdermabrasioning each other. But I just had an epiphany.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Trent Protter. You need to come on to him a little. Turn that dazzling Stone smile on him. Get him sweet on you, so you’ll have an edge.”

  I explained that I already had an edge, and that I’d rather shave my head than come on to a jerk like Trent.

  “Jerk!” Hunter said from the back seat.

  “No, I’m a tellin’ ya, it was a wren,” Granny said.

  “Look, Robert is the one who’s a jerk,” Lori Anne said, “and that’s a nice word for it. Trent, on the other hand, is an incredibly gorgeous hunk of male who just happens to be on the opposite side of an issue.”

  “A crucial issue,” I told her. “Thanks but no thanks.” I pressed a button and the phone cuckooed itself off.

  Three men stood by the construction trailer, talking. Two of them were the Protters and the third was Daddy. While he was staying out of my battle with the Protters, he was curious about how my plan was progressing and must’ve walked across the street to see what was happening with the wall. Irritation over Daddy becoming chummy with the Protter men pricked at my skin. I didn’t understand how he could act so objective about the threat they posed. But then, southerners were nothing if not polite.

  Or maybe it wasn’t southern etiquette at all. Maybe Daddy had already made up his mind about shutting down the store and was just humoring me and my plan to change the outcome.

  Hunter’s chubby hand held Granny’s spotted one as we made our way toward the men. Without any small talk, the six of us walked to crumbling stone and mortar wall. It didn’t look like much. Of uneven width, it spanned a total distance of about twenty feet. Its highest point was less than six feet off the ground, but it appeared to have been much taller at one point. Strangely, nothing stood on either side of it. No remnants of a building or a chimney or anything indicative that the wall had been a part of something else. I wondered if it really was a piece of Charleston’s City Wall.

  “It’s a piece of the wall,” Trent said. “They can tell by the artifacts they found around it, among other things.”

  I moved closer, and just the pressure of my hand on one of the larger stones caused it to tumble to the ground. I jumped out of the way to avoid a smashed toe, tripped over a mound of dirt and stumbled backwards. Trent’s hands were around my waist before I had a chance to completely lose my balance and fall. I wore a skirt and cropped blouse that fell just at my hip bones, but his hands went beneath the silk material to steady me. His skin felt smooth and calloused and hot and cool all at the same time. Before my nerve endings could settle down and determine which sensation they were actually receiving, I regained my footing and Trent turned me loose.

  “What’s the matter?” Granny demanded, putting the back of her hand against my forehead. “Are you woozy? Did you get yourself knocked up and you’re havin’ one a them faintin’ spells?”

  “Good grief, Granny. Of course not.”

  “Damn skippy you oughtn’t to wear a corset. It could hurt the baby.”

  “There is no baby!”

  “The two a you’s would’ve made a fine tot together,” she clacked her dentures and strutted off, shaking her head at some imagined injustice.

  Mister Protter and Daddy struggled to suppress their laughter, but Trent ignored Granny’s comments about our imagined copulation. Because I needed something to
do with my jumpy hands, I picked up Hunter and carried him on my hip as we walked back.

  The trailer that doubled as a site office was clean, functional and distinctly masculine. I deposited Hunter on a sofa and asked Granny to keep him out of trouble. The rest of us encircled the table that held the blueprints. The master plan lay on top and I had to admit the center would be fabulous.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Trent said using the eraser tip of a yellow pencil as a pointer. “We will reinforce what remains of the wall, so it doesn’t disintegrate any further. A decorative picket fence will be erected around it to keep kids from climbing on it. An oval walkway will go around the fence along with benches and some nice landscaping. An information stand will go here,” he pointed with the pencil, “that will tell people about the history of the wall.”

  “It will actually be a nice little area for shoppers to sit and relax,” Mister Protter said. “So your discovery has worked out for the best, Carly. Building three will have to be moved slightly from where we originally intended it to go, so the plans will have to be redrawn. But no harm done. The historical society is going to give us a good citizen award.”

  “An award?” I repeated without meaning to.

  “Yes. Some sort of appreciation thing,” Mister Protter said. “We’ll probably get a write up in The Post and Courier. This is actually pretty big news among history buffs.”

  “So you were right after all, Carly,” Trent said. “We’re grateful you brought this matter to our attention.”

  I had an urge to slap the smug look off his face, but smiled instead. I had a more professional way to remove it.

  The good news was that the chunk of debris had turned out to be a piece of history. But the bad news was that it hadn’t slowed the Protters down much and they were going to come out looking like saints. I could already envision the headline… ‘Local Construction and Development Company Preserves Charleston History’. It would be great public relations.

  But even though my wall plan had backfired, I still had ammunition. Daddy always said timing was everything when it came to getting what you wanted. And this was going to be impeccable timing. I couldn’t wait to deliver the news.