“What about Ophelia?” she asks.
“She thinks I should do what’s best for me.” I brace for the argument, but it never comes.
“That sweet child would, even if it were to her detriment.”
I stare at her for a beat, then concentrate on the path. We’re closing in on the inground pool and I have no desire to trip into it. “It would only be me living here.”
“Oh.” She frowns a little. “Ophelia agreed to that?”
“She agrees that I should do what’s best—"
“I heard you the first time, son, but I thought you meant that the two of you would be moving in with me.”
“This is what’s best for me. I need time here to figure out my life. To figure out what I missed out on and make up for that.”
“From what I remember you never felt that way about your life,” she says. “In fact, you once told me you tried to imagine your life without Ophelia in it and it wasn’t a world you wanted to live in.”
Nonplussed, I don’t reply and open the door instead, letting her go through first. I shut the door behind me. “That’s kind of dramatic, don’t you think.”
“You were only fourteen or fifteen when you said this.”
I cock a brow. “I’ve loved Ophelia for that long?”
My mother smiles softly. “I think you’ve loved her for longer than that but were too immature to recognize the depths of your feelings.”
“Duke said something to me along those lines, but I didn’t... well, to be honest, all I could think was how young we must have been.”
“Nineteen and eighteen. A lot of people told me I shouldn’t have let the two of you elope.” She nods at the table that’s already set. I seat her first and then pull out the chair to her right and sit.
“Only because of our age?” I can’t help but think of what Ophelia shared with me. How she insisted that people thought we didn’t belong together, that I could do better than her.
“No. Ophelia’s had a difficult life with a mother who is bitter about the hand life dealt her. Luckily, Ophelia didn’t become bitter during those years. She has you, in part, to thank for that, and the other...it’s simply her nature to love with her whole heart. To be kind.” Jane Ellen clears her throat. “She’s become a daughter to me while you were gone, Laird. More so than when the two of you were together. I’d like to think that was the good that came from your initial disappearance.”
I don’t want to continue to discuss my wife. I don’t want the guilt that inevitable follows. “What’s the bad?”
“I had a funeral against her wishes.”
“You had a what?” My voice rises sharply.
“A funeral.” Her voice is small and her eyes full of tears. “Please forgive me for not having faith, son. I should have. I should have remained steadfast like Ophelia.”
I have no words. None at all. “Are you saying that there’s an empty grave with my name on a headstone.”
“Not anymore.” She takes a sip of wine. “I hate admitting as much, Laird. I feel as though you’re getting all this information way too quickly for you to process, but I honestly don’t know another way to tell you. It seems wrong to wait and pick at a wound that could be healed much quicker if we simply lance it, get out all the secrets.”
I thought I wasn’t the wait and see type of guy, but now I wish I didn’t see at all. My stomach growls, so I take the opportunity to change the subject. “Why don’t I sample these to see what I still like?”
Obviously thrilled by the change, Jane Ellen nods enthusiastically. She lifts the lids and fusses over me while I eat my favorites. I have to admit that the she- crab soup is my favorite and tell her as much, then help her clean off the table.
I know there’s staff that work here, but Jane Ellen start washing dishes, so I take the opportunity to help out by rinsing and drying.
“Ask Ophelia to make the soup for you. I’m sure she would be thrilled.”
A grandfather clock chimes in the distance... it’s ten and I haven’t bothered to let her know I’ll be late. Son of a bitch. I don’t have her number.
“Don’t worry, I let Ophelia know you were hanging out with me for the evening.”
I blow out a breath. “Thanks.”
Jane Ellen hands a pot to me. “Your phone is already programmed with her number.”
Of course it is. I didn’t bother to search for it. “She doesn’t have mine.”
“You should give it to her. Tonight, I think.”
“Yeah.” I dry off the pot as a yawn splits my face open. “Do you mind if I call it a night? I’m beat.”
She waves me away. “Go on. I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast.”
As soon as I shut he door to my room, I yank my phone out of my pocket and text Ophelia.
Me: This is Laird. If you need anything, text me. I’m going to spend the night here.
Ophelia: Thanks.
I frown. That’s it. That’s all she has to say?
Me: Are you okay with me staying here?
Ophelia: Yes.
That unreasonable jealousy she accuses me of having rears its ugly head. What if Caine’s there? What if the reason she’s not answering me is because she’s got her hands full of him?
Me: That’s good to know. I think it would be best if I live here while I see the therapist.
Ophelia: Whatever you think is best.
Me: I mean I’d live here, not you.
Ophelia: Yes, you made that clear.
My mouth twists.
Me: That doesn’t bother you?
Ophelia: Would you come home if it did?
I’m this close to typing out the word no, but I can’t be cruel to Ophelia. I only want answers, memories, and when I’m away from her, I get ... familiar sensations of belonging, of old habits. Happiness.
With her, there is nothing but want, need, and misery. With her, I am reminded of my first few months after waking up, of being bound to a bed with restraints because my body would not follow the orders my brain gave it.
I can’t go back to that place, not even for her.
Me: I’ll stop by in a few days to check on things.
This time Ophelia doesn’t bother to reply,
I can’t say that I blame her.
Chapter Thirteen
Ophelia
A WEEK LATER
Every other Thursday, I go home to help my mom at the funeral home. My job is to either do the hair or makeup of the deceased, depending on what she’s already gotten done.
Momma greets me at the backdoor, all business as she stands there. “Shouldn’t you be with your husband?”
“He’s busy.”
She arches a brow. “I need you to do hair for three clients today.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I open the screen door and walk in the house, moving to the door that leads to the stairs. As I descend, the air gets cooler to the point that I have goosebumps. Momma walks ahead of me, opening the door to the mortuary.
Sterile air hits me, then that familiar feeling of dread and sadness. Hopefully, the bodies I work on today well into their nineties, have lived a full life, and died in their sleep.
I pause in front of one, their body covered up to the neck with a white sheet. Unfortunately for me, the woman is young, not old.
“Car accident.”
“Her fault or the other car?” I ask, then blow out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. We serve everyone just the same.”
“You don’t have to be here today, Lia. I can finish doing hair myself, or get Henry to do it,” Momma says.
Recently, she hired an assistant and not only because she’s nearing retirement, but because my business has become so successful that I had to let her know that every other Thursday had to turn into one Thursday a month.
“I gave my word,” I remind her.
“You’ve always kept it to.” She hugs me. “I won’t think less of you if you need a break, m’dear.”
“I don’t know what I’d do
with one.” I let her hold me, let her warmth invade my pours. I need this closeness of my momma, need it like fresh air.
I need Laird.
My soul cries out for his, for the pieces of parts of his heart that make mine beat the way it should. Only his doesn’t answer. No one answers my silent cries for the man I love.
“Mental health is important,” she says, letting go of me.
In the stillness of the room, it’s easy to let the darkness sneak inside of me, invade my soul, and think bleak thoughts. “I need to get my mind off of Laird,” I finally admit.
In the past, I would have never admitted as much, but once laird went missing and I lost Connor, my relationship with my mom changed for the better. I could be resentful that it took something so tragic to make her love me again, but instead I choose to land on the side of love. To forgive and mostly forget.
I’m not perfect, after all.
“I mean it, Lia. You shouldn’t be down here when you’re feeling emotionally fragile.”
“Maybe that’s the exact reason I should be here. You don’t get better by wallowing in sadness.” I shrug, then move to the end of the table and snap on latex gloves. “I promise I’ll be fine.”
“Only one today,” she says, her eyes flashing. “That’s it.”
“Yes ma’am,” I agree. “One and done.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Stop trying to make me laugh. We should be respectful of the dead.”
I bite back a smile. “We really should.”
With a wink, she moves to the second table and snaps on a pair of gloves as well. We work as one, classical music playing softly in the background. Momma must have turned it up at some point because I can hear it over the spray of color and the soft roar of the blow dryer.
When I’m finished, I look to see if Momma needs my help with anything, but she’s already working on the last hairdo. I think the family will be happy how lifelike their deceased looks. Morbid thoughts to be sure, but it’s always been the Randolphs’ job to make death easier on the living. When I was younger, I resented my family’s legacy, but after Connor’s passing, I learned to appreciate what we had to offer.
“Go on,” she calls out. “I’m nearly done.”
With a nod, I pull off my gloves and throw them away, then wash my hands with soap and hot water. Drying them as I climb the stairs, I head down the long hallway that will lead me to the backyard.
I don’t stop at the backyard. No, I keep going until I find a copse of trees surrounded by headstones and a wrought iron fence. Opening the gate, I walk inside, mindful of my steps as I move to my angel baby’s headstone.
Sinking to my knees, I take in the manicured grass and fresh flowers. Momma must have put them there this morning. “Morning, Connor,” I say. “Your daddy’s back home finally. I’m really happy about it. Thrilled. Although, I had mostly resigned myself to the fact that he was with you.”
I exhale shakily.
I want to share everything with Connor, but it doesn’t seem right. His grave shouldn’t bear the burden of my misery. “I miss you,” I whisper. “I love you, and I can’t wait to see you again.”
MOMMA HAS TEA AND SANDWICHES waiting on the back porch when I return. My stomach rumbles in appreciation. I haven’t been eating like I should.
“I expect a clean plate,” Momma admonishes as I sit at the table set for two “And at least two slices of pound cake.”
“Since it’s chocolate chip pound cake, you can expect three slices,” I say with a smile. For whatever reason, I always feel lighter after visiting with Connor. Maybe it’s because I know I’m not letting his memory fade or if because by keeping things light and cheery, that mood has a direct effect on me.
Whatever it is, I look at it as a gift.
“From what I gather, things aren’t going well with Laird,” she says as she pours tea for two. “Jane Ellen called me last night, beside herself with worry over you.”
My face flames hot with embarrassment. So much for keeping our business private. “Why would she worry about me?”
“Because her son is living with her instead of his wife.” No matter what I can always count on my mom being blunt. “He’s gallivanting around with old friends and acting like he’s footloose and fancy-free. She said the therapist recommended he find himself. Utter hogwash in my opinion, and I let her know it.”
My heart pinches. I had no idea he was finding himself. The teacup shakes violently in my hand, hot liquid sloshing over the edges and dripping down my hand, scalding my skin. I set the cup on the table, barely feeling the burn. “I’m not mad at Jane Ellen.”
“That’s what I told her.” She blows on the hot liquid and takes a sip. “You should be furious with your husband for putting you in this position and making you a laughingstock of Castle Beach.”
“I was angry with him, but I realized that he’s needs help I can’t give him.” Why does he think old friends will help him? What old friends has he been hanging around?
Momma’s lips thin. “He doesn’t have to leave his wife in order to get help. It’s his brain not working right, not yours.”
While unwarranted, my mother’s defense makes me feel good. “Which is why I have to be the one in their right mind and act like an adult.” Although I wasn’t very adult-like when I left him hanging on Read in our text thread. “It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“A lot can happen in a week, Ophelia.” She tips up her chin. “I was too proud to demand that your father clean up his act. Maybe we could have saved our marriage before it went sideways.”
“Laird’s not cheating on me.”
“Not physically, but emotionally...” She levels me with a look. “I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but one of his old friends he’s been seen with is Cates Boykins.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. Cates is single, beautiful as ever, and a wildly successful businesswoman. She owns the only bridal shop in the county and people travel from out of state to be fitted by her. Cates was featured on a reality show not too long ego and that boosted her standing even more.
“I won’t fight over Laird, Momma. I shouldn’t have to. In the past, he—"
“He’s not the boy you married. If you want to save your marriage, I suggest you entice him to come home.”
“As in seduce him?” I wrinkle my nose. “Isn’t that...” Blackmail. Bribery. Stooping to a level I never had to before. Laird always came to me. Laird...
He’s not the boy you married.
“It’s the smartest thing you’ll ever do and you won’t wonder if there was something else you could have done to have your happily ever after.” She smiles, picks up a plate of biscuits. “Have a couple, then go shopping.”
“But what if he doesn’t go for it.”
Her smile falters. “We’ll cross that bridge if you get to it.”
THE NEXT EVENING, I sit in bed. All around me are piles of lace and satin, ribbons and bows of every color. I have no idea what he’d like best, what his favorite outfit would be, or if he even likes this sort of lingerie.
Maybe he’s into leather or feathers... or something I’ve never even heard of before.
Maybe I’ll just return it all and say the heck with it.
When Laird and I were together, I never wore lingerie beyond my bra and panties. We were so young and so new to sex that our naked bodies were enough to get us going. Heck, sometimes he wouldn’t even take off my bra before thrusting inside of me.
He had to have me. Had to make love to me.
I guess I took that for granted, that he would be the same way when he returned. It almost happened that night, but ...
I don’t love you.
The pain of his words claws at my heart. His honesty was nearly my breaking point. How can he not feel even a tenth of the love I have for him. How can he look at me and only remember pain, misery?
Bringing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and bow my head, letting hot tears fall do
wn my cheeks.
I’m a mess, a hot, unsure mess of a wife who has no idea how to seduce her husband. What if he rejects me? Or worse, what if he’s already moved on?
Surely, a therapist worth their salt wouldn’t recommend that he abandon his wife. Wouldn’t they advocate for open communication and honesty?
I take a deep breath, then another before stretching out on the bed and starting up at the ceiling. My vision is blurry from the tears, but I don’t wipe them away. I let myself cry, let myself wallow in the misery of my lack of education in matters of seduction.
Tomorrow night, I’ll go to Laird. There’s a bad storm headed toward the coast, and he’ll need me, whether he knows it or not.
Please don’t let Cates be the one to comfort him, I pray.
Chapter Fourteen
Laird
“I THINK I NEED TO SEE Ophelia again.”
My therapist, a former member of the National Guard, eyes me. “You think or you know?”
“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” I snap. If he hadn’t made an exception to talking to a client on the weekend, I wouldn’t be here at all.
Knight swears by Dr. Vance, but I’m not so sure. He makes me question everything. He’s examined every day of my life from the time I woke up until our therapy session right now.
Dr. Vance lowers his notepad. “You don’t have a problem making decisions Laird. You have a problem with trusting them.”
“That’s because I don’t know myself well enough to trust them.” I tap my fingers against my thigh. “This isn’t my first therapy rodeo. I’ve been doing this for a while now.”
“But did you listen?”
“Isn’t that what you get paid to do?”
He flips his notebook around so that I can see the shorthand notes he took. He gestures to the recording device and to his laptop. “I have proof of all of my listening. Where’s yours.”
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