September Song

by Jeanie Freeman-Harper

  “ Could be better than never marrying at all.” She knew the minute she said the words they were untrue, and Brad intuitively waited for her true thoughts to unfold.

  She swallowed the tears that rose to choke her words: “Ethan did not kill himself.”

  “It was not determined one way or another.”

  “Ethan didn’t end his life. In your heart, you know it!” The last words came in a broken wail.

  “Don’t do this, Emmie. Look at me.”

  “I don’t want to look at you...and, while we're at it, I don’t want to love you.”

  “You might never love any man. You’re in-love with a boy...a boy who’s been dead seventeen years.” He cradled her face between strong and gentle hands. “If I could take that pretty head in my hands...like this...and force his image from your mind, I would. You might as well have climbed into that grave with him!”

  At that Emma let it all out—all the years of grief and and endless guilt. She finally allowed Brad to comfort her, just as it was when they were children. It was Brad whose shoulder she leaned on for comfort, without thought, even with all the distrust she felt toward him.

  As for Brad, he did what he had always done. He unsnapped the pocket of his white western shirt and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief.

  “You still carry those...after all these years?” She laughed softly through the tears.

  “Mama always told me never to go around a lady without a clean handkerchief. 'Sooner or later, she’ll need one, mark my words.’ That’s what Mama said. Remember all the times one came in handy...for wiping away tears...just like this?” Brad dabbed her face dry and then kissed her cheek where the tears had fallen.

  “I remember....but must you kiss me? Must you smile at me that way?”

  “Try to overlook it. It’s sort of an involuntary action...like breathing air.”

  Emma pretended not to have heard but went to her bathroom and grabbed a towel to finish drying and untangling her hair.

  Do something...anything...just get away from him.

  “I have to ask you this,” she called to him from the bathroom. “ Did you resent Ethan too?”

  “Not so much when we were little kids...but later...along about high school...I may have been envious of him. Who wasn’t?”

  She came back to sit by him on her bed, and this time stayed out of arm's reach.

  “Do you resent me, as well?”

  “How can you ask such a question?”

  “Someone wanted Ethan out of the way...or had a grudge to settle...and I suspect someone feels I’m getting too close to figuring it out. Is it possible someone is trying to chase me back to Boston?”

  Emma’s eyes widened, as if to more clearly see the real Brad beyond the symmetrical features and disarming amber eyes. His calm exterior gave her no clue to the inner man. She may have known the boy very well, but she wasn’t so sure about the man .

  Will the real Brad Caldwell please step forward?

  “If you truly feel that way, then be careful who you say that to. Trust no one other than Lucas, if for a certainty, you no longer trust me.”

  Emma changed the subject as the weariness of the long ordeal began to sink into her bones. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I need a warm bath now. Every part of my body feels like silly putty. Will you go down and tell Mother and Daddy I’m alright?”

  “And what shall I tell your...um...frenzied fiance who’s probably pacing the floor downstairs and feeling dejected?"

  “I don't know. Maybe assure him that you did not take advantage of me in my fragile condition.”

  “Must I really?” Brad turned and smiled at her from the doorway. “And what about that thing you told him...”

  “What’s that?”

  “...about me not being like a man in your eyes. Did you really mean that?”

  Emma took her time unwrapping her long hair from the towel and letting it fall naturally to her shoulders.

  “I lied,” she said. “You're more manly than I ever imagined you would be...and it scares me to death.”

  9: Business as Usual

  Benjamin Madison Winfield III carefully chose his tie to match his shirt for his return trip come Monday morning. There would be no time to change later, so he needed to be fully dressed upon arrival, like a warrior carefully choosing his armor for battle. If his flight had no delays, he figured he could make the two o’clock meeting with his prospective clients. Ah, what a feather in his cap to win that contract. The very idea of it made adrenaline rush through his veins—likening him to some modern day predator in a steel and glass jungle. When all else failed him, disappointed him, left him, he had one thing left: “the deal.” It had become a kind of wayward mistress: capricious and fascinating always.

  The relationship with Emma St. Claire held some of the same elements for him. It had, however, cooled in the course of one Texas weekend in September, leaving Ben to feel off-game. The trouble with Emma, he decided, was that she expected constant and genuine devotion from those around her. For him, it was a stretch.

  Oh yes, they were polar opposites, she and he, yet there was something untenable, unfathomable about her that made her exciting to him. She was the essence of all things female. The fact that she was just beyond his grasp, made him all the more determined to have her.

  He could deal with the competition of her first love, because Ethan was gone—except in her mind, and given half a chance, he would find a way to erase her past for a clean slate. Ethan could never claim her in any real life manner, as could a living mortal man. But Brad Caldwell? Now there was a different matter.

  Ben jerked the knot of his tie tight against his neck and glared into the mirror. I’ll break him if he doesn’t get out of my way. I’ll fight him with every trick in my dirty little book.

  Oh no, Ben didn’t worry about a ghost who visited now and then. It was, rather, the platonic pal in a girl’s past who always resurfaced— morphing into an attractive love interest as a grown man. It was a given. Watch any Grade “B” love story, and there was that same twist, and everybody knew how the story would end. They would, in fact, root for the guy. Who knew the woman better than the one who had known the girl? Who shared that bond of common history and background like Brad Caldwell?

  He would tend to that cowboy .

  Ben came downstairs to an empty kitchen . An exhausted Emma had apparently slept in, Lucas was out tending to his morning chores, and Grace had taken Lucas’ truck into town for breakfast. Checking his watch, Ben figured he had time for one stop in downtown Cobblers Cove before making it to the Houston airport—without Lucas driving him—even though that had been the agreement.

  He set his bag in the entryway and checked his smart phone for a local taxi listing. He was leaving on the sly, and he knew he would hear about it later and would think of an excuse. It had to be that way. There was a private matter to be taken care of before he left town.

  Within ten minutes, the cab pulled up , and Ben was there waiting . “Where to?” the driver asked.

  “Do you think you could drive me to the airport in Houston ?”

  “I guess so, Mister, but that’s over a hundred miles south of here. I suppose I can get you there for the right price.”

  “Name it. But first, I need to make a local stop.”

  Ben handed the driver a business card with an address on Lakeside. The driver nodded. “Oh yeah. I know the place…Walker Realty.”

  Inside his office, Tommy Walker was totally unaware of that dark cloud that was soon to drop over his sunny little world. He leaned back, feet on his desk, daydreaming of his glory days on the high school football field. He was lulled into the golden years—that carefree past in which he was the leader of the Invincibles: the guy that all the girls had admired, the Friday night hero who came from family wealth and privilege. Somehow, those daydreams filled the holes in his road of life, making his way smoother and easier—until he had come to expect it to always be that way.
r />   He liked to think he could have led a life of the local playboy, had he not “had to get married”. It was not that he hadn’t wanted Amy, but marrying at eighteen had not been in his plans, any more than Amy's unexpected pregnancy had been. There were reasons for bitterness at first: not knowing if he was the biological father of the first baby, realizing his parents would insist he “do the right thing”. After all, they controlled the purse strings. And then after the wedding, the other three kids came in rapid succession, until he gave up and lived the life others had forced upon him. Getting his way came around a lot less often, but he still expected it.

  Tommy’s reverie came to an abrupt end when a cab pulled up to the curb and parked, and Benjamin Winfield walked into his office. Tommy was immediately curious. He looked the man over head to toe: expensive suit and shoes, soft hands with manicured nails, starched collar. He remembered meeting him at the Saturday barbecue at the St. Claire house but had not pictured him quite like this. He had the look of the sophisticate. He stuck out like a sore thumb in small town Texas.

  “Surprised to see you here, Ben. What brings you to grace my humble office this morning?

  Ben sat down in front of his desk and leaned forward with cool unblinking eyes. “I think we need to talk, Tommy... just you and me. You are aware of the incident yesterday when Emma almost drowned in Moon Lake?”

  Tommy sat upright. “What? What in the world happened? She went for a swim? She knows better than that. She knows how it can be in September. What possessed her?”

  “You know...funny you should use the word “possessed.” Sometimes it seems she is just that. Anyway, I have a feeling you know what happened Saturday afternoon. She was trying to board your boat .”

  Tommy’s eyes glazed over, and he peered at Ben as if seeing all the way through him. “I can’t say as I even knew she had followed us. Is she alright?”

  “Physically...but I think she's emotionally and mentally on a roller coaster ride...and it all stems from being here in these backwoods, where old secrets just won’t stay buried. I would like to get her away from the drama here. But getting back to the reason for my visit. I have a question for you. Who may have been at the right spot to witness her struggling in the water? I’m certain that if you stop and think about it, you can answer that question...and be prepared for Lucas, because I can guarantee you he will ask. Stop and think about it. I’m sure you’ll have an answer for him. You may want to go to him first. It would look at lot better.”

  Tommy drummed his fingers on his desk and bit his bottom lip.

  Ben continued: “He might also ask you about who came into his house and monkeyed with the ventilation on that fireplace, probably while Emma was alone upstairs...knowing she loved using the gas logs on the first cool spell of the year. Someone knew her very well. It’s like this: Someone wanted to bring to question Emma’s sanity. And they wanted to spook her. That person also placed her life in danger. There were two who had a key to that house outside of family...you, as their realtor... and Brad Caldwell, as his right hand man and close friend. No matter how Lucas tried to soften it by saying he was retrieving the keys from others as well. It was you two.”

  “Now how could you know that?”

  “Because I keep my eyes open. Lucas retrieved only two spare keys on Saturday... and he placed them on the hook with his...just two...yours and Brad’s. Lucas is not a man to leave unfinished business...or spare keys laying about. Do we understand each other? There are only two possible answers as to who had access to the St. Claire house.”

  “Yeah...okay, okay. I get your drift.”

  “I intend to get Emma back with me in Boston very soon. That's where she belongs. After that, she won’t be a thorn in anyone’s side...no more trying to recall Ethan’s death...no tricky questions from her. No more poking around. Having her leave Cobblers Cove would be for her benefit and mine... as well as certain others...wouldn't you say so?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Good. I’m glad you agree. Now meet the problem head on. ”

  Ben reached over and shook Tommy’s hand, which was cold and limp as a fish. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”

  10: Confrontation

  Emma was relieved now that the new day brought with it October. She knew it made no sense that one month should be different from the one before it. It was the essence of September that was memorable: both good and bad. It brought to mind the return from summer vacation—a time for reuniting with Ethan and running against the wind with the Invincibles: a dozen carefree but decent kids who did much as they pleased without thought of consequence. But after the tragedy, it brought with it sadness and unrest, so that it was never the same again.

  Emma was the last to forfeit that old pie-in-the-sky world that now had begun to evaporate like fog under heat of full sun. Ethan’s spirit was fading. She could no longer feel his presence. There was one last dream in which his arms no longer reached out, and his eyes were dull and vacant. But as his form faded, it seemed to flow into a kinetic energy flowing back to that moment of death from whence it came. So indelible was the imprint, Emma began to recall and rewind and play forward toward the bitter end.

  The bits and pieces bits of that day surfaced at last, to be examined and rendered to ashes in her mind...as she had done with the trinkets and keepsakes that she had destroyed one by one.

  After the final dream, she awoke to recall more than she ever had. This time, she went past the sighting of the empty boat on Moon Lake and Mutt the dog. She herself entered the scene. She could see herself running toward the pier in slow motion. Her legs had no strength, and against her best efforts, she could not get there. At last, with supreme will, she saw herself made it to the bank. She saw, rather than heard, herself screaming at the sight of Ethan’s body. It lay at the edge of the lake in water too shallow for it to float away—as if planned, as if to say Here I am look at me. See what you have done?

  Now she began to recall the body itself, remembered staring at gray skin on flesh not yet bloated or decayed but still looking like the Ethan she knew. With superhuman strength, she had dragged and tugged him, inch by inch, up onto the grass. At first, she could only scream his name but then forced herself into action, placing her mouth over his in an attempt to bring the breath of life back to him. She looked up and down the shore line for help. What was it there? A flash ...a person...running through the thick pines. Too quickly gone, too far away. She screamed for help, but whomever had been there was gone.

  Focus, Emma. Let the memory come. See who it is... there in the pines watching.

  Then nothing more. She had gone farther than she had ever gone but had not made it all the way. There was more .There was the final truth, but she knew not whether it would come to her.

  She left her bed with renewed energy, as if she had slept around the clock. She went down stairs with the thought that it was her mother’s last day to visit. Wanting somehow to connect with Grace, Emma forced all other thoughts from her mind to appear as if nothing was different. Yet she knew she was just a short leap from truth at last. She needed just a little more time.

  Grace was as always well groomed and well dressed and seemed to be in a good mood.

  “Good morning, Daughter. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  Emma did something she had not done since she was very small: she kissed her mother on the cheek.

  “What brought that on?”

  “Nothing really...and yet everything.”

  “Sit and drink your coffee. Your father left a couple of cups in the pot. As for me...I’m having myself a nice cup of Earl Grey with lemon.” Grace gave that self-satisfied expression that had always reminded Emma of an over-indulged, pedigreed cat.

  “You went to Ruby’s for breakfast?”Emma asked.

  “Of course. Where else am I to get breakfast around here...other than fixing it myself...and you know I don't mess with your father’s kitchen. Besides, I'm an atrocious cook
, as you very well know. Surely you realize it doesn't bother me a bit to see that woman at the diner...not after all the years Lucas and I have been separated. Why should I care? I must say I thought he could do better. She is a bit flashy, don't you think?”

  “She’s unique...not a bad thing to be. You know...not everyone fits into a mold with a label on it. I don’t.”

  “But you’re an artist, Emma. Nobody expects an artist to be...well.. like other people.”

  Emma poured her coffee and slid onto a stool at the kitchen bar. “Thanks ...I guess.”

  “I meant nothing bad by it. But I must say, back to the subject of Ruby. You sound as if you actually like the woman. Must be something more to her than meets my eye.”

  “There usually is more to most people...isn’t there?”

  “You are so like your father, Emma.”

  “Is that a criticism or a compliment?”

  “Just an observation.” Grace peered at Emma above her china tea cup. “You seem a bit on edge this morning.”

  “Not really. I just feel...different...stronger...yet more vulnerable...all at the same time. I feel a resolution coming, whether good or bad I don’t know. I hate disappointing you, Mother, but this is where I need to be for awhile longer. I may be back in Boston before Christmas. But whatever I decide, it will be because I am ready… and no other reason.”

  Grace became very quiet.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen had grown tense, and Emma was relieved when Lucas came in. He had stepped out of his work boots at the back door and entered the kitchen in his socks, looking from one to the other with raised eyebrows.

  “Did you girls solve the world’s problems?”

  Grace had an answer ready: “Of course. We’re two tough broads, more alike than either of you think. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must pack my bag. Will you be ready to take me to the airport soon, Lucas?”

  “I’m headed for the shower right now.” He stopped to give Emma a light peck on the head. “I would hug you, but I’ve been in the muck and mire.”