Edisto Jinx by C. Hope Clark

Author:C. Hope Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2021-04-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

“HOW BAD?” CALLIE asked as she approached Jeb tossing yet another soggy cushion from her porch into a pile near the road. People gawked as they drove, walked, and rode their bikes along Jungle Road. Eleven in the morning, and Edisto seemed almost normal, just not at her house. Her piece of the neighborhood served as the day’s attraction after last evening’s misadventure.

Rivulets of sweat, exacerbated by humidity and the wetness of everything on the porch, ran down Jeb’s head, chest, and back. He’d stripped to his shorts, which were soaked as well. He grabbed a damp kitchen towel from his waistband and rubbed it over his face. “We lost all the cushions, and hopefully the wicker stuff isn’t shot. The Adirondack chairs are fine but need scrubbing. We have to pressure wash the porches and the side of the house; they’re covered in soot. I’ll get on that later then I’ll plug in whatever additional fans I can find to dry things out. Haven’t tried the overheads yet to see if the water shorted them.”

“The inside is fine?” she asked, staring at the outside as if she could see into the rooms.

He tossed his head with a faint smile. “Yeah, it’s good, Mom. We were lucky.”

Curled remnants of screen hung either loose and flapping or melted against itself. So odd against the noises of gulls calling overhead, the sound of high tide rumbling in four blocks over. A hot breeze blew through, and though laced with a dank, acrid whiff of the damage, it felt good on Callie’s face.

She closed her eyes, thankful for the disaster they’d avoided. The stench only grew worse. When she opened her eyes, Jeb studied her.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She noted his mouth so like his father’s, avoiding his eyes, still surprisingly ashamed at how the night had played out. “Okay, I guess. For a second I got trapped in a loop. The fire, dusk . . . it reminds me of . . . you know.”

He listened very still.

“How are you?” she asked, tossing a small pillow on the pile.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Kept seeing the flicker, plus Ms. Bianchi’s sofa isn’t all that comfortable.” He sniffled and rubbed his nose. “I’ll never get rid of this smell.”

She nodded.

Callie craved to coddle him but recognized her boy being the man. His overt effort to take over cleanup told her his sweat served as substitute for anxiety. Goodness knows she understood that feeling, too.

“I wish I could do something, Mom.”

Callie wilted, then stroked his face. “Aww, sweetheart. You are. I see a difference in the place already.”

“No, I mean it’s hard watching you when you react like last night. It scares me.”

The term stung, and she flinched. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel bound to her indefinitely. An eighteen-year-old ought to be itching to see the world. She hated the pity in his eyes.

His mouth went tight. “Not how I meant that to sound, but you get it, right?”

“Jeb,” she said and held out her arms.

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