The Seven Boxed Set

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “How nice,” Colleen remarked. Somewhere, Rory was laughing to himself, imagining the blind date going down probably exactly like this.

  “When Joe didn’t get the scholarship, he trashed the locker room. Pulled a whole row of lockers off the wall like a Neanderthal!” Bobby shook his head. He drained the last of his beer and slid the mug to the edge of the table, awaiting his third. “I could have told him, scouts are watching him lose his cool. He can’t get credit for half the touchdown passes, not when the running backs had to be circus performers to get that ball across the end zone.”

  “What else do you like to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been in college a few years now.”

  Bobby blinked without responding. She couldn’t read his expression, but he offered a small nod.

  “Rory said you go to LSU New Orleans?”

  “I was hoping for Baton Rouge, for the football,” Bobby said. He’d started to shift in his seat, sliding up and down over the wood, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “There was a mix-up in the paperwork.”

  Colleen had rarely seen a stronger case of denial than this one, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him his dream hadn’t died because of a problem with paperwork. “So what else do you do? Do you play any other sports? Are you part of any clubs?”

  Bobby’s face lit up. “I party with the St. Charles Polo Club every Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. They close the place down after seven, and then that baby is all ours. We’re still going strong long after all the bars in the French Quarter are closed. Wanna come sometime?”

  “I don’t really party,” Colleen replied, and though she’d never been ashamed of this fact, she felt suddenly like she was twice Bobby’s age and half as interesting.

  Colleen sighed before she could stop herself, but Bobby was still rambling on about all the blueblood kids and their ragers.

  What was Rory’s angle here? Revenge? Trying to show her how good she’d had it with him? There was no way he’d thought Colleen would have anything at all in common with this oaf, and maybe that was the point. Or maybe there was no point, and Colleen was thinking too far into it. But Bobby didn’t make Colleen miss Rory… instead, being around this man, who was likely a fair representation of many of the college-age boys available to date, only served to alienate her further. She wasn’t a part of this world. She’d never belonged to it, not even as a child, and every step she’d taken carried her further toward the future she wanted. She was okay with being an old woman at the age of twenty-one, because that’s where she was happy and safe, and what was wrong with that? Bobby was no more connecting with her than she was him, though he would probably be less bothered by it. When Colleen spent her time on something—or someone—it was an investment, not a lark.

  “We’re not digging on anything hard. Some booze, maybe some grass sometimes. Every now and then someone shows up with some acid, but only the good stuff. No one wants a bad trip. And we have a strictly no powder rule, because our parents have connections but not those connections, if you know what I’m saying.” He rambled on, oblivious to the idea she might not want to do any of those things.

  “What are you going to school for?” she asked, when he took a breath.

  “Uh… well, I’m between majors.”

  “Which majors are you between?”

  He grinned and ran his hand through his long black hair. “All of them?”

  “What do you enjoy doing?”

  Bobby frowned. “You asked that before.”

  “And you never really answered.”

  He shrugged. “Football is really all I care about. But unless they get my paperwork straightened out, that’s not happening."

  Colleen nodded through her struggle to connect with anything this young man was saying. What she knew about him going into the date, that he was the son of a small-time politician, seemed to explain most of what she was hearing now. He had all the markings of someone who, in the absence of accountability, had chosen to meander through life, knowing that any failure to launch would not be a failure to land on his feet.

  He reminded her of Charles, except that Charles had more depth of character. Charles was an asshole who would never see consequences for any of his ill-advised behavior, but he commanded a room.

  And as Bobby returned to the subjects he was comfortable with, football and passing a good time, Colleen’s own thoughts wandered to a certain man with the horn-rimmed glasses and patches on his Houndstooth coat. The always-thoughtful look in his eyes; how he saw through to her, to the woman she’d worked so hard to become. Everyone else gave Colleen a hard time for these things, but Professor Green understood. She imagined he’d been the same way when he was a young man, trying to navigate a silly world through serious eyes.

  It would be unwise to accept his invitation… if there was ever fire for someone as reserved as Colleen to play with, it would be this. How many stories of teacher-student romances ever ended well for either party? Of course, Maureen’s experience was an extreme example, but even among adults, such things were taboo and destined for disaster. And yes, she was jumping ahead, assuming drinks would lead to more, but Colleen’s mind wasn’t capable of living in the moment only. She had to consider all possible outcomes, and though she struggled to understand his interest in her, a relationship was a possible outcome of accepting his offer.

  Was there any outcome that didn’t lead to her misery?

  All outcomes came to one natural termination point, though: Scotland. Even if they defied the odds and fell in love, she was leaving. She needed to leave. To grow for her family, she had to first grow for herself, and she couldn’t do that here in New Orleans, stifled by all the baggage of being a Deschanel.

  “Wanna get out of here?” Bobby asked.

  Yes, but not with you.

  Eight

  For the Sake of All

  The day wasn’t supposed to be windy. Only when a tropical storm, or a full-fledged hurricane, was on the horizon did the wind really pick up in the summer, and by all accounts, Colin and Catherine had chosen a beautiful weekend to be married.

  Charles had to cover his cigarette with his free hand as he took a drag. The breeze passed through the dozen or so oaks standing sentry over the small row of cabins, and the sound competed with the cicadas, which weren’t so much singing as screaming today. The day was sweltering, but their retreat was shaded by the ancient trees, and because of this he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

  The groomsmen and groom stayed in one cabin, and the bridesmaids and bride in another. Colin had chosen his two brothers, Rory and Patrick, to stand with Charles, the best man. Charles had never liked Rory, though even he could admit the reason had more to do with him fooling about with Colleen than anything else. Patrick, a year younger than Rory, had been annoying as a kid and wasn’t much better as a new adult. But these would be his cabin-mates for the weekend, until they all scattered back to their lives in New Orleans, leaving the newlyweds to their business.

  Catherine’s maid of honor was supposed to be her roommate, but they’d had a falling out and now Carolina was standing in. The bridesmaids were Colin’s sister, Chelsea, still in high school, and a Sullivan cousin, Olivia, who none of them knew especially well.

  Charles didn’t have the presence of mind to be sad at the motley crew making up the bridal party. He was too deeply hurt to think very far into how neither Colin nor Catherine had people in their lives outside their families who could celebrate this day with them. That though Charles was Colin’s best friend, he’d never lived up to the title as much as Colin had for him, and while he’d die for Colin if the situation presented itself, that situation never had, so he remained the one who benefitted the most from their arrangement.

  He’d never been to The Myrtles before now. The plantation was less than two hours from Ophélie, just north of Baton Rouge, but he’d never had occasion to make his way up. Nor a reason, not when he lived on the most prominent
plantation on River Road already, and was surrounded by many others. When he thought of getting out and seeing new things, other plantations were pretty damn low on the list.

  Charles had heard The Myrtles was haunted, but he didn’t believe in that stuff, though he didn’t doubt what Maureen claimed to be experiencing with all their dead relatives. But Maureen was special. The average person was not. Ghosts were for people with overactive imaginations and nothing better to do.

  Still… the Spanish moss pouring down from the branches like macabre waterfalls… the dark pall cast over the land despite the sun beaming overhead… there was something to it all. Something.

  The men and women weren’t supposed to interact for the two days leading up to the wedding ceremony. Really, it was Catherine who cared that much about tradition, and everyone else—except Colin, who dared not upset his bride-to-be—wandered the grounds without worrying about tradition. Catherine and Colin hadn’t come out of the cabins at all, and Charles was surprised to find how superstitious they both were about something so ridiculous. Their marriage was more likely to be doomed by Catherine not loving her husband than it was by them accidentally catching a glimpse of one another.

  There were more than two cabins on the property, but Catherine’s family couldn’t afford to buy out the others for three days. Charles, secretly, rented the others out himself, and everyone talked about how lucky they were that no one was staying in the empty ones.

  Even after everything, he still loved her. He still couldn’t bear to see her unhappy.

  “You all ready for tomorrow?” Rory asked this, as though Charles had any job at all other than standing by Colin’s side and trying not to look miserable.

  “Haven’t quite nailed my juggling routine, but the clown suit arrived this morning.”

  Rory watched him, blinking, as if deciding whether Charles was serious or not.

  “How’s your elopement working out for you?”

  Rory leaned into the post holding up the porch awning. “It’s great. Carolina and I are really happy.”

  “Still fantasizing about Colleen?”

  “Charles, come on.”

  “You know she’s leaving for Scotland next fall?”

  Rory’s face revealed the answer. “That’s good. It will be really good for her.”

  “Right.” Charles laughed, took one last drag, and stubbed his cigarette across the bottom of his shoe. He flicked the butt into the grass.

  Rory looked around before leaning in. “What about you? Still lusting after your best friend’s fiancée?”

  “She wasn’t his fiancée when she came to my bed.”

  “I never told anyone, you know. Not even Carolina.”

  “I fucking know you didn't,” Charles said. “Or we wouldn’t be sitting here, the day before their wedding."

  “I hope you’re over it now,” Rory said. “For the sake of everyone involved.”

  “Cat is the one you should be worried about.” Charles stood. He spread his knuckles, enjoying the loud pops as he cracked them, and walked away.

  The women all had activities planned leading up to the wedding day, but the men were far less organized. Charles realized at one point he was supposed to be the one responsible for coordinating the groomsmen, but he possessed neither the desire nor the knowledge to do much. Instead, he’d sent out for two cases of beer and had Richard drive up a stack of films to watch. But he’d been the only one to touch the beer—he’d forgotten, the Sullivans were a bunch of failed Irishman teetotalers—and no one wanted to be indoors watching films when the world outside was so much more interesting.

  So the men wandered the property, separate and aimless, while the women stayed together, doing crafting projects, team building games, and other things that were so completely foreign to Charles.

  He had no interest in hanging out with the Sullivan men, so he made his way off the grounds and followed the road toward the river. The Mississippi was a staple in his life; a constant, whether he was at Ophélie or in New Orleans, and it was both a beacon and an anchor. He’d kept his angst hidden from the group, but he knew he couldn’t carry what he was feeling into the next day. He hated them both, hated them with all his heart, but he loved them, and he would smile through the worst day of his life and do his duty.

  “Huck!”

  Charles froze at the sweet sound. He didn’t turn. A car flew by on the road and the wind blew him back.

  Catherine came around him, approaching with a slow, tentative gait. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

  “Why are you following me?” He looked past her. “Where are your girls?”

  “We’re all taking naps. Beauty rest and all that.” She smiled so bright he wanted to throw up from the pain.

  You don’t need beauty rest. You’re perfect. Ahh, the things he would have said to her, once upon a time. They weren’t lines with Cat; every word had been an authentic extension of his heart, each one surprising him with how much closer they brought him to the man he wished to be.

  “If anyone sees you with me, it’s not gonna be good,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. She twisted her heel in the gravel. “I need to see you, though. Tonight, meet me behind the old cistern on the other side of the property. Midnight. The witching hour.” She said the last with a hesitant giggle.

  “Why should I?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  “For Colin. I’m here for Colin.”

  “Okay, then. Because you love me. And it’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”

  She flashed one more smile, this one fleeting and anxious, and darted back off the way she’d come.

  * * *

  Charles wasn’t sure she’d follow through. Catherine had floated in and out of his life with her indecision, and he wasn’t surprised she’d want to see him the night before she made the biggest commitment of her life. But this same wearying trait of hers, guessing which way her wind was blowing, made him doubt the odds of seeing her face appear in the moonlight.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” her soft voice said from behind him.

  Charles laughed. “You knew I’d come, Cat.”

  “Maybe,” she cooed. She took on the pliant persona of bedroom Catherine, ready to please.

  Catherine wrapped her fingers over the top of his muscled arm. “Colin doesn’t know how hard tomorrow will be. He can never know.”

  “Your wedding day isn’t supposed to be hard.” Charles nudged them further behind the cistern, to block all cabin views. He brushed her hand away.

  “Not everyone marries for love.”

  “You’re not living in some third world banana republic!” Charles cried out. “Arranged marriages don’t happen anymore.”

  “Oh really? Cordelia?”

  “You chose Colin,” Charles charged, ignoring her dig. He was doing what he had to do for his family. She was doing this for reasons that made sense to no one, probably least of all herself. “And long before I was engaged to Cordelia, so don’t go trying that on for size, either. I have my reasons for agreeing to marry her, but you damn well fucking know I would have married you in an instant! Without even a moment’s hesitation!”

  “There would have been no advantage to marrying me. Your mother wouldn’t have allowed it, and no matter what you say, I know what she thinks matters to you,” Cat said. She leaned into the rusted metal and closed her eyes. “You can only say these things to me now, when we’re both unavailable.”

  “You’ll never know now, huh?” Charles wanted to light up, but the smoke would draw attention to their rendezvous. “And speaking of unavailable, you picked a hell of a time to have this conversation.”

  “Better now than after I’m Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. Her eyes were still closed. Her skin was soft porcelain in the light of the full moon. “I’ve spent all my life wondering if I was on the right path. I question everything I do, Huck. Everything. I think and then overthink, until I can’t see the forest
for the trees anymore. I don’t come from much, and I told myself I didn’t need much, but do you know how much we moved around as kids? Do you know why I didn’t have someone already in mind to be my maid of honor? Most women have to choose. I had a roommate who I only half-liked.”

  Charles said nothing.

  “I don’t have friends, Huck! My friends are Colin’s friends, and he doesn’t have many either, except you, and… well, I don’t need to say why that’s complicated, do I? There’s this thing I do… I’ve never told anyone this… my parents don’t even know. We used to move so often that I couldn’t sleep at night for all the anxiety. Wondering where I’d be sleeping the following night, and if we’d go hungry at dinner, as we often did. I needed something that was mine, that I could hold on to. You see, I found this old cooler at the lake that someone had abandoned, and I took it home and I cleaned it up. Scrubbed it with bleach until it was like new, except half the color was gone, but that was okay. And then I started sneaking food from the kitchen and putting it in my cooler. Because I was afraid that one day we’d have to leave again, and this time we’d go somewhere worse. And you know what? I still have that cooler, and I still keep it filled.”

  “Cat…” Charles shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his heavy denim. “Stability isn’t happiness.”

  “You can only say that because you’ve always had it,” Catherine said. The pale light glinted off the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I will always know where I stand with Colin. With you, every day is new, and that scares me. You don’t know anything, Huck. You have everything, but you know nothing. And I don’t care what you know, because I love you anyway. I love you even when I shouldn’t.”

  Charles was weak in the knees at the unexpected arrival of these words. The second time she’d said them, and both times now she’d been in distress when the words slipped out. They didn’t hurt any less. “You’ve made the choice that you can live with.” He’d never chosen his words more carefully. “And yet, you’re standing here with me, in the middle of the night, hours before you’re going to be another man’s wife. I need you to tell me why.”