TWENTY-ONE
After Peter’s quick exit, the other mourners made their way quietly and awkwardly back to their cars. The funeral procession that had arrived in such a neat and orderly fashion resembled the final lap of a dirt track stock car race as it made its exit. Only a few people even bothered to approach me, take my hand, or give me a quick peck on the cheek. I suspected more than a few felt it in their bones that somehow the Taylors were to blame for Colin and Claire’s meeting an early death, and Peter’s behavior was merely further proof that he had to be crazy to marry one of the Taylor girls. What could I say? They were right on the first count, and more than likely right on the second too.
Still, I made nice with those who did come up to me, although I kept one eye toward the gate and one ear open, hoping against hope we’d shortly get word from Oliver. As soon as the graveside crowd had cleared, I stepped behind a tree, where no one could witness my slide, and closed my eyes, concentrating on my husband and expecting to find myself standing beside him when my lids reopened. I could feel a cloud blot out the sun. I felt a drop of rain, then another in quick succession. I could not feel Peter.
“I can’t find him. I can’t even sense him.” I felt panic begin to tingle in my lower back and work its way up me, cascading over my shoulders as my scalp began to prickle.
“It is going to be all right, sweetheart.” Iris’s voice came from around the other side of the trunk. She came to me and put her arm around my shoulder, leading me back to our group.
Jessamine placed her hand on my forearm. “I hate leaving you like this, but my flight . . .”
“Of course,” Iris responded for me. “We understand. It was lovely of you to come.”
I reached out and took her hand. “Thank you.”
A tremulous smile came to her lips. “Don’t worry, I’m sure your husband will be all right. He’s hurting right now, but his heart will mend.” She held my hand in hers. “I’ll be in touch. Soon.” She released me and made her way down the drive to her rental car.
“I’m sure she’s right. Peter is fine,” Maisie said, although her uncertainty came out in her tone.
Ellen nodded her agreement. “Let’s just get home. He’ll probably be there waiting for you when we step through the door.” We all knew he wouldn’t be, but the rain had begun to fall in earnest and the limo was waiting.
The chrome sky was darkening, enhancing through contrast the forced jolliness of the fandango holiday lights strung along the porches of the houses bordering the cemetery. A glowing, inflated snowman danced in the wind, stung no doubt by the grapeshot rain. More lights, brighter red-and-white ones filled the automobile’s interior, casting whirling funhouse shadows around us. A siren wailed behind us, and the driver smoothly maneuvered the limo to the side of the road.
“Sorry, ladies,” the driver said. “I don’t know why—”
A rap on my window caused me to jump. The window was misty and the image on its other side distorted by the droplets. Still, I recognized Adam’s face looking at me. I pressed a button and the glass barrier descended. “Mercy, I need you to come with me.”
“What is it?” Iris asked, leaning over me.
“We’ve got a bit of trouble with Peter. No time to explain.” He opened the door and reached in, unfastening my belt like I was a toddler. The water from his waterproof jacket cascaded onto me, but he extricated me from the backseat of the limo without another word. Soon, I was standing in the full downpour, being shuffled along and stuffed into the backseat of the patrol car. Adam’s hand pressed against my head to keep me from bumping it as I climbed in. He pulled the safety belt about six inches longer than he needed to, then buckled me in. I shifted the restraint into a more comfortable position as he shut the door behind me. I felt a bit of relief that this car didn’t have one of those cages separating the seats.
Adam took his place in the passenger seat and addressed the uniformed officer behind the wheel. “Hit it.” The siren raged anew as we began flying down the street, disregarding all stop signs and red lights after nothing more than a slight hesitation at each. Through the rear window, I could see a pair of headlights keeping pace with us. My aunts and Maisie had obviously convinced their driver to follow.
“What has happened? Is Peter all right?” I asked, causing Adam to look back over his shoulder at me.
“Peter is on the Talmadge Bridge, looking for all the world like he’s thinking about jumping.”
“That can’t be,” I said reflexively.
Adam sighed. “Well, I hope you are right about that, but even if he isn’t thinking about jumping, he is on the bridge, and he’s dangling off the side. Our officers have been trying to talk to him, but he doesn’t respond. I thought he might. To you.”
“Is Oliver with him?” I asked. “He went after Peter.”
“He must have given him the slip.” Adam’s forehead wrinkled, and he looked away from me. Was he concerned that Peter might have harmed my uncle? No, even as peculiar as Peter’s recent behavior had been, he wouldn’t harm a fly. I felt that in my soul. I began shivering, as much from fear and adrenaline as the cold. Adam undid his belt and worked off his jacket. “Put this on.” I did as I was told, taking more comfort from his concern than from the jacket itself. He forced a smile to his face. “Almost there,” he said to me and reached over to kill the siren.
The bridge itself had been shut down in both directions, police cars and fire trucks parked at odd angles and blocking the span. My heart sunk at the sight of an ambulance. “Just precautions,” Adam said, seeming to read my mind.
“What are you, some kind of a witch?” I joked halfheartedly as the police car pulled to a stop.
He acknowledged the joke with a smirk. “No, if I had magic powers, I’d be living in the sunshine on my own private island. Seems like what any witch with half a brain would do. Now, let’s go get that man of yours, shall we?”
I nodded, and Adam opened his door and hopped out. I reached for the handle, only to find there wasn’t one, but as soon as that registered, Adam opened the door for me. The rain had eased and for the moment was nothing more than a light drizzle. He motioned with a slight jerk of his head. “Over there.”
I followed the arc of his gesture, only to see an unbroken semicircle formed by the broad backs of Savannah’s first responders. Adam put his hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the curtain of reflective raingear. “She’s here,” Adam said, and the curtain opened before me, just enough for me to see the back of my husband’s head, and realize how precariously he was perched on the bridge’s edge. He sat on the edge of the bridge, legs hanging over into oblivion. Adam gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze, and threaded me through the break in his colleagues’ living barricade.
“Peter,” I said softly, my voice catching. He didn’t respond. He seemed fascinated by something on the horizon. “You sure are causing a lot of good folk a lot of trouble,” I said, nearing him, but afraid to touch him.
He turned to face me, and my heart nearly stopped. He reached over and pulled me to him, nearly causing me to topple over the barrier.