Jack reaches over and squeezes my hand, catching my attention.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.
“Of course.” He comes to a stop. I get out of the car and stretch my back. “Which garage is the stuff in?”
“Over there,” he says as he points to the smaller of the two buildings on the property. “The other one is Oliver’s shop.”
“Is he still making all of that beautiful furniture?”
“Woodworking is in his blood,” Jack says. “He’ll never stop.”
“I still have the little step stool he made me. I love it.”
Jack unlocks a big garage door and lets it slide up. As light filters inside, I see that almost everything is covered or wrapped in tarps, which is absolutely perfect.
“It’s going to be like unwrapping Christmas gifts,” I say with a grin as we step inside. “There are no snakes in here, right?”
“No snakes, no critters,” Jack confirms. “It’s a safe place. Let’s start uncovering this stuff.”
We start on the left, intending to make a circle around the garage, and I’m giddy at what we’ll find. When Jackson uncovers a gorgeous dresser, I sigh.
“Your mama had such good taste.” I run my hand over the dark chestnut and am immediately back in Jack’s parents’ bedroom, watching as they dance around the room, laughing. It makes my heart happy. “Oh, this is fun.”
“What is it?” he asks.
“They had so much fun together.” I shrug a shoulder. “I could definitely sell this piece for you. I have a buyer in mind already.”
“Great. Let’s keep going. Otherwise, we’ll be here until tomorrow morning,” he suggests. We make our way through half a dozen pieces, all gorgeous and in excellent shape, when we hear footsteps approaching the building.
“Well, hello there,” Oliver says as he pokes his head inside. “Thought I heard someone out here. Figured it was you, though I didn’t expect both of you. Glad it ain’t thieves.”
I laugh and hurry over to kiss Oliver’s cheek. “Not this time. How are you, Ollie?”
“I get by just fine, Miss Daphne.”
But I step back and frown when I look up at the handsome man. His eyes are a bit sunken and shadowed, the circles darker than I’ve ever seen them.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” I ask him.
“Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “I have a wife that does enough of that.”
“How is Miss Annabelle?”
“Fit as a fiddle and as beautiful as ever. She said to let you know she has some gumbo on the fire and that you should stay for it.”
“I won’t argue with gumbo,” I say and pat his arm. “We’re just going through some of Jack’s parents’ antiques.”
“I think it’s time to sell some things,” Jack adds.
“There are some fine pieces in here,” Oliver says with a nod. “Should make someone happy. Y’all come in any time. The food’ll be nice and hot for you.”
“Thank you,” I call after him and then turn to Jack. “Is he really okay?”
“I see it, too,” Jackson replies with a sigh. “He’s been acting pretty normal, but he just looks…beat. I’ll mention it to Annabelle. I’m sure she’ll make him go to the doctor.”
“Good. I think he needs to.” I pull a tarp and grin in happiness when I uncover the writing desk. “Here it is.”
“Mom loved that thing,” Jack says. “I don’t know where she got it.”
“I’ll tell you.” I run my hand over the top of the piece and smile softly. “Oh, it’s older than I thought. 1818. This was built in Maryland. Came here with a young couple who wanted to make a life in New Orleans. That family passed it down to your mama.”
“I didn’t know my mother’s family,” Jack admits and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“She was the last of them,” I reply softly. “Look, Jack, I was going to offer to buy this from you for my personal collection, but you should keep it in your family. Pass it on to someone someday.”
“You don’t need to buy it,” he says. “It’s yours, Daph.”
I shake my head. But, oh, how I long to own this piece. It’s pulled at me since the first time I saw it.
“If you ever want it back, you only have to say the word.”
His smile is quick. “So noted. Let’s get through some more of this before we go in for dinner.”
“My stomach is growling,” I say as I pull back a tarp and gasp.
The piano.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jimmy.” I’m at the stove, cooking up some soup for the man sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Jack’s at work, and I don’t want Jimmy to be alone.
His wife died only a week ago.
I set a bowl of soup on the table at his elbow, and he catches my hand before I can move away.
“You see things, Daphne.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you look? For me? Maybe it’ll give me a moment with her, I just need something.”