Forgiving Jackson

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “It’s a masterpiece, for sure.” The walkie-talkie clipped to her dress pocket buzzed and she pressed the button on her headset. “Thanks. Yeah. I’ll come right around.”

  “Duty?”

  “Bride’s here.” She was walking away. “Thanks for the food and coffee.”

  “Wait. Can’t a Jackson Beauford impersonator and grits-sandwich maker get a kiss?”

  She laughed and she was still laughing when he pressed his lips to hers. Then he watched her disappear into the kitchen before he went back to the family wing dining room.

  “Hi.” Gabe was seated at the table alone with a plate piled with enough food to feed six people.

  Jackson poured a fresh cup of coffee and joined Gabe at the table. “Are you going to eat all that?” He gestured to Gabe’s mountain of food.

  Gabe smirked and gestured to the window with his fork. “Are you going to kiss all the women on this plantation? Like you used to try to kiss all the girls at charm school?”

  “No. I hadn’t thought to. Though you did seem to bring me a candidate without consulting me.”

  “Cameron?” Gabe shoveled a piece of watermelon into his mouth. What was that? Had he gotten the gravy on the watermelon by accident or on purpose? “Whatever. I wouldn’t have brought her if I’d known you were having a thing with Emory.”

  “I am not having a thing with Emory—whatever that is.”

  “If you don’t know what it is, how do you know you’re not having it?”

  “I just know. Why are you all of a sudden trying to define everything and give it a name? Are you a woman?” Jackson ate a bite of tenderloin.

  “Nope. Ask Courtney. I came to your rooms last night. You weren’t there.”

  “What? Gabriel, we got home at three thirty. What were you doing roaming the halls at that time of morning?”

  “I wasn’t roaming the halls.” He split a biscuit and stuffed it with a sausage patty, a piece of county ham, and two pieces of bacon. “Roaming the halls would mean I was knocking on random doors, which I did not do. I was only looking for my brother.”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “I know that. I’m thinking you were down at the carriage house, though at the time, I assumed you were around in the guest wing pursuing quality time with Cameron.”

  “I thought it was supposed to be Courtney.”

  “No, Courtney is with me. Carmen may or may not be with Troy. Cameron. That’s who you’re supposed to have.”

  “I’m not supposed to have her. But it’s a good thing you brought her. After all, you’re going to be here a while. You’ll probably buy Courtney off with a piece of jewelry and send her home before the end. You’ll need a spare.”

  “I think I’d rather have Emory. I always did like her.”

  A red, translucent curtain dropped between Jackson and his brother.

  “Gabriel, don’t talk about her like that. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

  A frown took over Gabe’s face. “Jackson, I was kidding. I wasn’t being disrespectful of Emory. I really do like her. And I would never go after your girl.”

  Jackson knew that and was disgusted with himself for letting Gabe see his anger.

  “She’s not my girl.”

  “Not your girl. Y’all are not a thing. We’ve come full circle.” Gabe shook his head. “Jackson, what are you doing here? And why didn’t you bring her out with us last night?”

  He shook his head. “I asked her. She wouldn’t go.”

  Gabe looked at him long and hard. “You are so screwed.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Before Gabe could respond, Courtney breezed into the room. He knew it was Courtney because she sauntered over and dropped a kiss on Gabe’s upturned face.

  “Good morning, darling,” she said.

  “And also to you.” He popped a piece of pancake into his mouth.

  She pouted a little. “Aren’t we going to get to eat in the old part of the house? Like Scarlett O’Hara?”

  Gabe laughed. “You mean you want to dig a radish out of the ground and eat it until you throw up? Yeah. I can set that up, for sure.”

  Just then Cameron entered the room dressed to the nines and wearing a lot of gold jewelry. That was it. He was out.

  Jackson rose. “Good morning and goodbye. Gabriel. Ladies.”

  Cameron looked disappointed. Courtney looked indifferent and placed a lone piece of cantaloupe and two strawberries on a plate and went to sit by Gabe.

  “What are you up to?” Gabe asked idly.

  “Gotta call a man about a keyboard. And a guitar. And a fiddle. And a mandolin.” He was backing toward the door.

  But before he could go make those calls, his phone rang. He went into the family room and closed the door.

  “Yeah, Dirk?”

  “Send the plane, Jackson. All done here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Emory leaned on the wall in the ballroom. She didn’t really approve of leaning on the wall. It looked lazy but it was preferable to lying down on the floor—though come to think of it, the buffet table had that floor-length skirt. If she could crawl under there without being seen, they’d never know.

  This was one of the easiest weddings with the most accommodating clients she’d ever had and it was a good thing. Tired as she was, if they’d been difficult, she’d have never made it.

  Everything looked great. After the ceremony, the bridal party and guests had gone outside for pictures, and by the time they had come back in, the tables, bar, and buffet had been set up and the string quartet was playing.

  The bride and groom had met in a support group after losing their spouses to cancer. Now, they were dancing in a circle with his little girl and her little boy. It was such a happy atmosphere, though there must have been a time when they thought they’d never smile again. Even their former in-laws had turned out for the affair.

  The bride, beautiful in a tea-length peach dress, caught Emory’s eye and smiled.

  Making this day special for these people was worth every demanding mother of the bride and spoiled debutante she’d ever dealt with. In spite of—or maybe because of—her exhaustion, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Are you okay?” Gwen walked over from where she’d been tidying the buffet.

  “I am. I was thinking how much I love this job.”

  Gwen nodded. “I was thinking how you look like you’re about to fall into the punch bowl.”

  “I am tired.” That was an understatement but last night had been worth it.

  Gwen cocked her head to the side and looked at her.

  “Go home, Emory.”

  “No. I can’t.” She gestured to the room.

  “Yes, you can. It’s all over but the rice throwing. I just put out the last of the food. Sammy and I can take it from here.”

  “That’s not your job. It’s mine.”

  “What? Is the union coming after me if I direct traffic? Now, go.”

  Emory hesitated. It was almost over. She could read the signs. No one was getting food anymore. The cupcakes were all but gone. Isaac had come from behind the bar to collect dirty glasses.

  “I might … I’ve already paid the quartet.”

  “You will.” Gwen nodded emphatically. “Have you had anything to eat today?”

  Emory mustered up the energy to laugh. “Yes. Jackson brought me an egg, bacon, and grits sandwich and the worst coffee concoction I’ve ever had.”

  “Yet, you smile.”

  “Yet, I do.” But how long was that going to go on?

  “Hold on.” Gwen went to the buffet and returned with a napkin-covered plate. “It’s some tea sandwiches—smoked salmon, chicken salad, and pimento cheese. Not all mixed together and no grits.”

  Emory had barely stepped out of the back door when Jackson materialized.

  “I’ve been watching for you. Party over?”

  “Not quite, but Gwen ran me off. She said she and Sammy could handle it. I need t
o lie down.”

  “It’s my fault you’re so tired. I should be ashamed of myself.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”

  “I’m not sorry.” He smiled and leered a little at the same time. “Or ashamed. I said I should be.”

  He took her plate from her hand. “I want you to come up to my rooms and let me put you to bed. I swear I’ll let you sleep. I’ve already gone down to your house and brought you up a little gown and something to change into after your nap.”

  That made less than no sense. Now Jackson was picking out clothes for her?

  “I think I’ll just go get in my own bed, unless you’ve got a good reason.”

  “I do. The thing is … ”

  “What, Jackson?” She was getting impatient. “Did my house flood? Did you break my bed after I got up?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell you until you got through that wedding. Dirk is on his way back and he’s got his detective friend with him.”

  No. She could not … Her knees started to buckle.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jackson circled her waist with his arm. “It’s good. Dirk talked to the two other victims and they went on the record.”

  “Did those other women say why they changed their minds?” she asked.

  Jackson’s expression darkened. “That part isn’t so good. He’d threatened them like he did you. When they filed charges, he made good on it. So they refused to testify. But after they found out about each other and you, they changed their minds.”

  She slumped against him. Those women had gone through that horror twice.

  “And now I’ve told.”

  Jackson’s arms tightened around her and he kissed her brow.

  “It’s over. The guy turned himself in and confessed. Now, all you have to do is make a statement. But he’s going to jail and you’re not going to court. But still, I know this isn’t going to be easy.”

  That was an putting it mildly.

  “Look, Emory. I know your house is your little sanctuary. Seems like it might be mine, too. It’s a happy place. There’s no way I would let you go through this at your house. This memory needs to be somewhere else. So I told Dirk to come to my suite. I don’t want you to go back home until all this is behind you.”

  She bowed her head against his chest. “You are the best man I know,” she whispered. What was she going to do without him? That’s when she knew she’d be alone for the rest of her life. No other man would ever do.

  “I’m not. I’m an awful man, who’s made awful mistakes. But about this, I can take care of you.”

  They didn’t say anything else. He led her up the stairs, into his suite, and to the bed, where he stripped her down to her dowdy white underclothes and reached for the nightgown he’d brought from her drawer.

  She put a hand on his arm. “Can I have one of your t-shirts instead?”

  “Sure. If that’s what you want.” He made to move toward the dresser.

  “Can I have the one you’re wearing?” She wouldn’t have asked that if she hadn’t been half asleep already.

  He looked puzzled but whipped the shirt off and then over her head. The last thing she remembered was him drawing the sheet over her.

  • • •

  It had been a rough day and it was about to get rougher. Jackson had spent most of the day on the phone having emotional conversations with his band and road crew. They had all been too forgiving, too understanding. It would have been easier if they hated him like he deserved.

  He had to make another call. He’d already told Ginger he’d be playing with the band after all, but there were some details to settle.

  She answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”

  “In my rooms.”

  “Do you need me to come around there?” she asked.

  “No. I’ve talked to the guys.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Fine. We’re starting rehearsals in the morning.”

  “I still think you should have started today.”

  “I know you do.”

  “The rehearsal studio is rented. You could get started tonight.”

  “I can’t.” Because you see, Ginger, I’ve forced Emory to do something that might tear her apart and I’ve got to be there for her. “Tomorrow is the best I can do.”

  “What are you doing about the vacant spots?” Ginger sounded as hesitant as he’d ever heard her, though that wasn’t saying much.

  “I talked to everybody about drummers. I’ve got a list of three. When we hang up I’m going to send it to you in order of preference. Hire one of them. Make it clear it’s this one show.” If everything went well, he might keep him on but that was a big if on a lot of different levels.

  “This is a charity show, Jackson. The band doesn’t get paid.”

  “I’ll pay him.”

  “And what about—?”

  He cut her off before she could finish. “I want you to get hold of a kid over at Belmont College. Chase Callahan. Ask him if he wants to play rhythm. If he says yes, hire him.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “He will.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Got to go, Ginger. Nine in the morning. I’m sending you the drummer list.”

  “Jackson—”

  “Got to go. Make the best decisions you can.” He hit send on that list as he opened the door.

  Dirk came in, followed by a tall, lanky, redheaded man who didn’t look fierce enough to work for the NYPD, let alone be former Special Forces.

  “Jeff Shelton.” The guy extended his hand.

  “Jackson Beauford.” He shook the offered hand.

  “I know. My wife plays your music nonstop. I think I hate you.” His smile belonged on a thirteen-year-old shortstop.

  “Many do.” He looked around. “Can I fix y’all up with something to eat? Drink?”

  “No.” Jeff shook his head, put his briefcase on the coffee table, and opened it. “I really need to get this done.”

  “Jeff needs to go back tonight,” Dirk said.

  Jeff nodded. “Baby’s teething.”

  “You should have brought them and stayed a few days—until after the concert.”

  “Can’t,” Jeff said. “This is too important. There can’t be any smell of impropriety. If I do a turnaround trip it would be hard to argue that even the private plane was a perk.”

  A little panic went through Jackson. “I thought this was a done deal. I thought he confessed.”

  “He did,” Jeff said. “And it is a done deal. His story matched the other victims’ stories. I like to work the angles and cover all the bases.”

  “You sound like Dirk.”

  “That’s my goal.” And he didn’t look like a shortstop anymore. He looked like he could gut you in an alley with a rusty can.

  “Where’s Emory?” Dirk asked.

  “Asleep. I’m going to make her a cup of coffee. Then I’ll wake her. Anyone else?”

  “You’re making coffee?” Dirk laughed. “I was right.”

  Jackson said, “You usually are.” Whatever that meant. He went to the kitchen, popped a pod in the machine, and then headed to the bedroom.

  • • •

  “Emory, honey, wake up.” There were warm hands on her face. “Dirk and Jeff Shelton are here. It’s time.”

  Time—for the statement. Yes. She sat up. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About three hours. It’s almost eight o’clock.”

  She got out of bed. “Where are Gabe and his friends?”

  “They’re going to eat at Mill Time and then to The Café Down On The Corner. He asked us to go but … ”

  Us? Was there an us? And why was she thinking of these kinds of things at a time like this?

  “You said you brought me some clothes?”

  “Yes.” He went to his closet and pulled out a blue sundress. “I’ve seen you wear this before and it looked cute. I thought you’d want to look nice
for this.”

  She did. Nice and covered. The dress wasn’t exactly immodest but with its thin straps and hem that ended above her knees, it wasn’t what she would have chosen. But the other choices were the crumpled dress she’d worn earlier or a nightgown.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  In the bathroom she found a toothbrush still in the package and did what she could with her hair. Had Jackson brought the sandals she wore with this dress? A quick sweep of the room told her no. All she had were her pumps from earlier, which would not do at all. It would be almost as bad as shorts and high heels.

  When she entered the room, Dirk and the presumed Jeff Shelton stood up. Where was Jackson? He’d promised to be with her!

  Dirk made the introductions.

  “Sorry I’m barefoot,” she said. “Jackson brought this dress up from my house but he didn’t think of shoes.”

  “At least it wasn’t the other way around.” Ah, there he was; he hadn’t left her after all. “Here.” He settled her onto the sofa and set a cup of coffee and the sandwiches Gwen had given her on the coffee table. “We’ll get you some real food later. I sent Sammy for creamer but he only brought one kind. Some kind of almond coconut situation.”

  Well, that was something positive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Emory looked pale and scared. As hard as Jackson had worked to bring her to this point, he wished now that she could be spared. He sat down beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders. She looked at him gratefully and he squeezed her shoulders and tried to smile.

  “Are you ready, Ms. Lowell?” the detective asked.

  “Call me Emory.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’m ready.” He turned on the tape recorder. “I’m taping this conversation, Emory. Is that all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re doing the right thing telling me this. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to ask you some questions now. I want you to take all the time you need to answer and give me as many details as you can.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you want Dirk and Jackson here? Would you be more comfortable if they left?”

  What? Not happening. No way was he leaving her.

  “I want them here.”

  “All right. Dirk, Jackson. You can stay but you cannot speak. Understood?”