Page 23 of Butterfly Sisters
“She’s just excited.” Leigh knew it was more than that. It was Mama’s way of remaining on the surface of the water so she didn’t go under, because if she did, she might not surface again.
Meredith seemed almost annoyed by Leigh’s comment, as if she knew too, and they both paused uneasily. After a moment of what seemed like deliberation, her sister said, “All right. I’m gonna go. See ya.” She flew out the bedroom door and left Leigh in her room.
With a sigh, Leigh shut her laptop and got up, staring at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, still stunned that Meredith’s gallery seemed to be a wild success when she’d only taken a few years to plan for it, while Leigh’s entire life had led up to the career she was scratching and clawing to keep hold of. It didn’t seem fair, but she was happy for her sister. It seemed like Meredith knew exactly who she was while Leigh floundered.
She ran her fingers under her eyes to smooth her makeup—she looked tired. She turned away from her reflection and picked up a framed picture of Nan on the beach, her gray hair blowing in the wind. “Am I on the right path?” she whispered to the smiling face of her grandmother, her chest aching in the silence.
With no answer to her question, she squared her shoulders and walked out of the room.
“You look nice,” Mama said from the kitchen table, as she flipped through one of Nan’s magazines.
“Thanks. I saw online that Greystone has an office next to the development. I’m going to stop in and see if I can speak to someone. Want to ride over with me on the boat?”
“Oh, I think I’ll stay here. I have a few more people to call for Meredith’s party tonight and I’d like to run out and get some food for it.” Her eyes fell fondly on the magazine in her hands. “But right now, I’m taking it all in. It’s nice to just sit in Mom’s world for a little while,” she said.
Leigh walked over and put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Nan seemed to make everything okay, you know?”
“I do.”
“Remember how she used to string lights outside on the porch and light all the tiki lamps the first night we got here every summer? She had all the candles burning and something cooking in the oven—like a casserole loaded with her homegrown veggies.”
“I do,” Mama said with a nostalgic smile.
“The whole house smelled of cheese and jasmine from the candles.”
“Oh yes,” Mama said. “It seems decades ago, not years.”
Leigh nodded, lost in the memory. “She’d have some sort of beach music blasting,” Leigh continued, indulging in the reminiscences. “And when we asked her to turn it down, she’d grab our hands and spin us around.”
“I used to love to watch her do that with you and Meredith when you two were little girls.” Mama’s focus fell to the magazine—an old edition ofSouthern Style. “I still can’t bear that she’s gone,” Mama said, her voice breaking.
Without warning, Leigh’s eyes pricked with tears.
“It’s not the same without her here. It just seems empty.”
“I know. I keep waiting for this to feel normal,” Leigh said. “But it doesn’t. Not at all.”
Mama fluttered her hands in the air. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring you down. I know you want to try to get that job…”
“It’s okay. I never mind talking about Nan. And even if it doesn’t feel normal yet, it’s good to be back here. Maybe in time we’ll come to terms with it, and the cabin will feel like ours again.”
Mama smiled, something indecipherable on her face. But then she cleared it. “Go! Work that magic of yours and win them over at Greystone.”
Leigh kissed her mother on the cheek, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door. This could be the start of something great. She had to believe that.
The sun beat down on her as she knocked for the second time on the trailer door outside the development. She could hear a mumble of talking inside, so she’d left some time between knocks in case the project manager was on the phone. There was nothing wrong with taking the initiative, so when no one answered the second time, she took it upon herself to peek in.
“What is it?” an older man barked, slamming his office phone into its cradle. He stared at her, his baseball cap turned around backward, curls of gray hair escaping underneath it, two deep lines between his eyebrows.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, unruffled, stepping inside. She never let the attitudes of potential clients get to her. And she’d had some doozies. “I wanted to speak with the project manager of Greystone Properties.”
He stared at her as if her presence had ruined his day, the window unit buzzing like an air compressor, spewing an ice-cold draft through the warmth of the little space.
“Is that you?” she pressed, producing her most authentic smile, given the circumstances.
“Who’s asking?” he growled, flipping open a binder and jotting down numbers onto a legal pad.
“I left you a message,” she said. “I heard you need occupants for your development here. I think I can help with that.”
