reconsider the black leather boots.
“That’s…interesting,” Cooper utters under his breath as I stifle a laugh.
A pricking sensation works its way around my scalp, a sure sign my spirit guide wants me to take note of what’s happening. Though I’m not sure who to be more cautious of—Pink or Mrs. Fancy Pants.
Miss Delia grabs at the door handle with a liver-spotted hand. “Help me out of this car, Cooper.” Her voice brims with urgency.
“Sure thing.”
In a flash, he’s got the rear door open and yanks out the wheelchair. I slip on my flip-flops, then come around to Miss Delia’s side, unlatch her seatbelt, and help swing her around so Cooper can lift her out. Through it all, the two on the porch stay put, watching us do all the work. After gently setting Miss Delia in her chair, Cooper pushes her over the uneven earth to the stone path. From there, she takes over, flicking the switch to engage the motor. We follow as she maneuvers her way through the garden and up the new ramp. The wooden structure isn’t perfect and doesn’t come close to what my dad would have built, but it’s safe and sturdy and does the job. When we reach the top, she stops short.
The woman in the pantsuit fans herself. “Lord, I forgot how hot these Carolina summers are. I broke a sweat watching you make your way up here.”
Miss Delia nods. “Heaven forbid you strain yourself, Angelica. You must keep those delicate hands safe.”
Lifting a set of perfectly manicured fingers, the woman smiles. “Can’t argue with you there. These hands change lives.” She steps forward and bends to kiss Miss Delia’s cheek.
Stiffening, Miss Delia accepts the gesture. “I’m sure they do. Emma, Cooper, say hello to my granddaughter, Dr. Branson. She’s a plastic surgeon in Chicago.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.” I wave, feeling way out of place at this little family reunion. Trying not to be rude, I work to keep my eyes trained on Dr. Branson, but can’t resist a furtive peek at the girl. She’s definitely older than me, maybe even older than Cooper, though not by much. Rather than paying attention to what’s happening on the porch, she’s staring at the bottle tree, her head tilted as if she’s counting the pieces of glass. If so, it’s going to take a while.
“Hello, ma’am.” Cooper extends his hand toward Dr. Branson. She barely grazes it with her own.
“These
Dr. Branson scans me up and down. “I see. Someone’s got to tend the garden.” Only she says it like she means something else entirely. And that she totally disapproves.
That’s probably my cue to leave. I clear my throat. “Maybe Cooper and I should go so you all can visit.”
Cooper nods. “Sure. We can come back tomorrow.”
Miss Delia snaps her head toward me. “Nonsense. We’ve got work to do. Or have you forgotten we’re on a deadline?”
Nope. I’m pretty clear on the whole soul-snatching thing.
Three hundred years ago, Cooper’s great-great ancestor gave Maggie, an enslaved African girl, to Bloody Bill Ransom and his band of vile pirates in exchange for not sacking High Point Bluff. But things didn’t go as planned and they killed her, which enraged her grandmother, Sabina, an African queen with a brutal sense of justice who used her mystical hoodoo powers to seek revenge. She unleashed The Creep on the scurvy pirates, and cursed the Beaumont progeny forever by stealing their souls when they come into their manhood, turning them unspeakably dark and corrupt. If we don’t break the Beaumont Curse before Cooper’s approaching sixteenth birthday, he’ll end up just as gluttonous, selfish, and arrogant as his grotesque father, Beau. With just three weeks to go, time’s a-ticking.
Dr. Branson sighs. “See, this is what I feared. At your age you shouldn’t be working anymore, even if you do have some sort of…assistant.” She flicks her wrist dismissively toward me. “And now this…accident.” She scans the scars on Miss Delia’s face with an expert eye. “It nearly scared me to death hearing you were in a coma. We flew down just as soon as I cleared my schedule.”
“That was very kind, but you ought to know better than to worry after me. You going to introduce me to my great-granddaughter?” Miss Delia nods toward the girl on the other end of the porch.
Now I see the resemblance. Despite the girl’s dye job and eye-popping fashion statement, she and Dr. Branson actually have very similar features.
Dr. Branson plasters on a smile. “Of course. Say hello to your great-gran, Taneea.” Her voice drips with syrup.
Taneea drags her attention away from the bottle tree, glares at her mother from beneath shaggy bangs, then glances at Miss Delia. “Hi.” The diamond chip in the Monroe piercing above her lip glints in the sunlight.
Miss Delia smiles. “Hello to you, too. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Uh-huh.” Taneea shrugs, then pivots on her thick rubber heels and plops into one of the rocking chairs. It creaks against the cracked porch floor as she rocks back and forth, staring at the tree once again.
An electric shock wave rolls over my scalp. I’m guessing she’s the one my spirit guide is warning me about.
Miss Delia turns to Dr. Branson. “I may be old and frailer than you remember, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Why are you really here?”
“I know you may not believe it, but I worry about you, Gran. You’re getting up there, it’s amazing you’re able to live alone at ninety-five—”
“Ninety-seven,” Miss Delia corrects her.
“Right, ninety-seven. But that’s even more to my point. You’re vulnerable. Things can happen to you here all by yourself. I mean, look at you, all scraped up from that fall…or whatever you were up to. And now you’re stuck in that chair. You need someone to take care of you.”
Cooper and I exchange nervous glances. His baby blues reflect the same anxiety that’s churning in my gut. The doctors in the hospital already broached this conversation with Miss Delia, offering to find her a nice, quiet assisted-living facility. They didn’t get very far. Miss Delia made it clear she’s never leaving her house and garden. And now her granddaughter’s jumping into the fray, likely spurred on by the hospital doctors. This is liable to turn ugly. Curse deadline or not, maybe Cooper and I should beat it out of here. We can always come back in the morning.
I inch toward the porch steps beside the ramp. Cooper follows my lead.
Miss Delia scoffs. “
Dr. Branson smiles. “I wish I could. But I have my practice to consider.” She gestures toward her daughter. “I was thinking Taneea might instead. She’s missed out not having you in her life. This could be a great opportunity to get to know each other.”
Taneea huffs and runs her black-polished nails through her bangs, revealing a silver eyebrow ring. “That’s just your excuse for dumping me in butt-crack nowhere.”
“Seems your daughter has no interest in caring for her great-gran. Fine by me. Emma’s all the help I need.”
Dr. Branson chuffs out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Emma isn’t family. And she can’t keep watch over you twenty-four hours a day. What if you have another fall when you’re alone? What if something worse happens? I couldn’t live with myself.”
Miss Delia stiffens her jaw. “You’ve managed to live with yourself—and my daughter—for nearly thirty years in Chicago. It didn’t bother you to take her away from her home, or her legacy.”
Dr. Branson raises her palm. “Please, Gran, I don’t want to argue about hoodoo anymore. I know you believe in it, but I’ve studied science. It’s a bunch of bunk. Mama’s had a better life with me than if she’d stayed here.”
Cooper tugs on the bottom of my T-shirt. It’s definitely time to bounce. Walking backward, we climb down one step and then another.
Miss Delia stiffens. “Emma and Cooper, get back here. I thank you for your visit, Angelica, but I think it’s time for you and Taneea to leave.”
Gulping, I hop back on the porch and stand next to Cooper.
The whites of Dr. Branson’s eyes turn misty pink. “I can’t.” Her voice is suddenly small.
