Not Quite Dead (A Lowcountry Mystery)

Chapter Nineteen

It's not that late when I get home, a little before midnight, but the lights are off. Nothing but dark silence greets me at the front door, not even Anne. We've been going to bed early, and clearly the events of the past couple of weeks have taken toll on my aunt and uncle. I decide to change into pajamas before confronting Amelia but stop and stare at the sight of her slight form curled under the covers on my bed.

She's breathing deep, on the side of the bed nearest the windows—that's always been her side—but she's not asleep. We've spent way too many nights pretending to snooze away before sneaking out to meet Will and Mel for her to fool me, but I let her fake it while I swap my jeans for shorts and wash my face.

In bed next to her, the comforter tucked under my chin, the way to start the conversation slides through my fingers like river water. My soul remains calm from the evening at Beau's, though, and his advice to not rehash the past rings in my ears. There's no way to change what tore us apart. I can't take back the way I feel about Jake—wouldn't, even if I could—but maybe there's a way for me to keep my cousin, regardless of who she's married to. Her betrayal, the fact that she believed him and cut me loose, left me dangling in the wind that became a gale when my mother died, a hurricane when my relationship imploded, still cuts like a hot knife through butter.

But if I can find the way to forgiveness, maybe there's a way to keep her.

It's not ideal, not what we planned, but after the past five years of silence, the thought of even being able to share her makes my heart hurt. Hope is as painful as anything else, in the right dosage.

"Millie, are you awake?"

No response breaks the night's quiet, but I wait her out. She's deciding, and if she suspects I'm aware she's been awake this whole time she'll just get stubborn. Other than marrying Jacob Middleton, my cousin has never made a rash decision in her life. To my surprise—shock, even—her shoulders start to tremble. A small whimper, then a sniffle convinces me she's crying, but I still can't believe it.

"What is it? You can tell me anything, I swear." I put a hand on her bare arm, hesitant, terrified she'll shrink away.

She doesn't, but a little laugh joins her soft tears. "You sound exactly like you did when we were twelve and you begged for ten minutes straight for all the details of my first kiss."

"Maybe things haven't changed as much as we think."

That makes her cry harder, but she rolls toward me in the process. Desperation, fierce enough that it reminds me of Anne's face when she gets super worked up, bunches her features. "It's just the pregnancy hormones. I'm such a bawl-baby now, you wouldn't believe it."

The lie blubbers out with as much gusto as she can muster, which isn't a whole lot. I let it go, walking beside her to see where she'll lead me instead of trying to drag her along where I think we should go.

I feel my way, blind after being out of her life for the past five years. "Tell me about being pregnant, Millie. How far along?"

"Eighteen weeks now."

"Further than I thought. You're barely showing."

"It's halfway gone. My time alone with him."

"Him?" The revelation crumples the sheet inside my fists. After my conversation with Beau over dinner, the baby being a boy seems like an omen, and not the good kind.

"I don't know. I don't want to know, for some reason, but in my mind it's a boy."

The other part of her previous statement strikes me as odd, too. "You sound so sad about not having more time alone with him. Won't it be exciting to meet him?"