She waves off the accusation with a flick of a bangled wrist. “Believe what you want. I’m actually a very nice person.”
“So nice that you groped your daughter’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend?”
“You loved it, admit it.”
“So nice that you crawled into my bed on the eve of my uncle’s funeral and let me think I was sleeping with Heather?”
“You can’t be that dumb. You knew full well it was me.”
“Matter of fact, I didn’t. Had polished off a case of beer giving Uncle Robert a proper send-off. Kinda knew something was off, but I didn’t know it was you. What I want to know is, why?”
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons why not, but you seem to ignore them all.” She laughs, and the sound makes my skin crawl. For an instant, I’m in her driveway again, shaking and crying. “Do you know how badly you messed me up after what you did? It was technically sexual assault of a minor.”
“Oh please, enough with the dramatics, Isaac. You were a horny young man bent on ruining my daughter. I did what any mother would do to protect her daughter.”
“Protect her from what? She needed protecting from you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, is there a reason you came here today, other than to harass me in my store?”
“There is, actually.” Her face slackens when I hold up my phone and slowly scroll through the photos she took that night. “These photos—the ones you thought would send Heather running for the hills—they did the opposite. We’ve both seen them, and we both think you’re a psychotic bitch. I came here today to tell you to stay the fuck away from us. You aren’t welcome at our house–”
“Our house?”
“Yes, our house, and you’re not to even speak to us in public. We want nothing to do with you, and be warned, you can’t hide what you’ve done forever. These things have a way of making their way to the surface.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No need. You did this to yourself. Just a matter of time before it explodes in your face.”
“Oh, Isaac, I love your naivety. Things only work that way in movies and books. This is real life and I’ll do as I please. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”
“I’m sure you do. As it happens, so do I, though I can safely say my next task will be much more fruitful than yours could be.”
“Sugar, I don’t care.”
“You will.”
I turn on my heel and exit the store, but this time the bell above the door signals my escape. I think of Persephone rising to the surface to greet the sun after months of captivity. Like her, I plan to enjoy my impending freedom and turn this darkness into something worth celebrating.
***
“This could actually work,” Heather says, and grabs a hat off the hall tree in the foyer.
“Of course it will. Thought you were supposed to be the confident one?”
“Normally I am, but when it comes to my mama, you know she always gets the last word.” She adjusts her hat in the mirror, tipping it this way and that until she decides on an angle.
“Not this time, sweet pea. A good friend once told me to have a little faith. I need you to do the same today, okay?”
She slowly nods. “What a reversal.”
I pull her in tight for a hug. “Strengths and weaknesses, sweet pea. We complement each other, you know that? Think we know when to step up and when to back off. I needed you to be strong when Uncle Robert died, and now you need me to lead the way. I had a pretty good teacher, too.” I smile over her shoulder and marvel at our reflections, how completely opposite we are, but how perfectly we fit together.
She squares her shoulders, which does nothing to stop her foot from tapping, but I admire her determination all the same.
“You look great. Time to go,” I tell her.
The early morning air is already sticky, a sure sign that spring is quickly fading and will soon be replaced by endless days of triple-digit heat along the coast. We drive west, leaving behind the cooling canopy of Midtown’s live oaks to the more immature crepe myrtles and spindly pines of West Mobile. The winding path from the main road to the clubhouse is lined with magnolias just about to burst into bloom. A few precocious flowers release their sweet scent into the air and I think of how much Uncle Robert enjoyed this time of year. More than the ball, this was his favorite Mystics event, though golf certainly wasn’t his strong suit. Still, the proceeds always went to a children’s charity. I can see now why it meant so much to him.
“Heather, what charity are the Mystics sponsoring this year?”
“It’s called Olivia’s Hope.”
“What do they do?”
She looks out the window and mumbles something.
“Pardon?”
“They run the STOP campaign,” she says.
“And that would be…?”
“Stop, Tell, Overcome and Prevent.”
“I’m still not following.”
She sighs. “It’s a group that helps victims of childhood sexual abuse.”
“Well, that’s great.” Then it hits me. “Oh. I see.”
She puts a strong hand on my arm. “You’re not a predator, okay? We’ve been over this before.”
“No, it’s fine. I know I’m not, and there’s nothing I can do about those who think I might be. I know the truth. Juli knows the truth. Those who matter know. Actually, it’s perfect. It gives me another idea.”
“Okay, that scares me,” she says. “What are you planning?”
“It’ll be okay. I’m just going to do something I should have done a long time ago. You’ll have to trust me.”
She takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand. “I do.” Those two words are the confirmation I need. Everything’s going to finally be out in the open. No more hiding. No more shame. And for fuck’s sake, no more guilt.
I park between a BMW convertible and a Lincoln. My muscle car stands out a bit amongst these more pretentious rides, but it’s a fitting reflection of my misfit status among these people as well. Funny how I was raised among them, but when it comes down to it, I have very little desire to associate with them. After tonight, I’m not sure whether or not that will change. Doesn’t matter. They’re going to listen, and they’re going to learn—learn that appearances can be deceiving. That’s something they should definitely be able to wrap their heads around.
Heather doesn’t wait for me to open her car door. She’s out in a flash, high heels tottering in the deep oyster-shell driveway.
“Sweet pea?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s no fire. Relax. Walk with me.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Nervous?”
“Pretty obvious, huh?”
“I’ve got you. Won’t let anything happen. Promise,” I tell her. “Did I mention how fantastic you look? I mean, you always look like a ten, but you’ve outdone yourself today.”
She blushes and pats down the skirt of her pale dress. “Are you trying to distract me, sir?”
“Maybe, but I also want you to know that I appreciate the effort you make, and that no matter what happens in there today, you can count on me to be in your corner. I’ve known what it’s like to be ostracized. There’s going to be fallout from this, and when it hits the fan, I’ll be right there next to you.”
She aims a tight smile at me as I hold open the door to the clubhouse. We’re greeted by a number of funny looks and some whispers, but it slides off like oil on water. I make a mental note of the venue’s layout. It’s changed since I was last here. The small stage and podium are to the right, with tables and chairs in the middle. The buffet and kitchen are on the left. The back wall is all glass, affording a clear view of the manicured golf course beyond.
Throughout are the very people who turned up their noses to me after this year’s Mardi Gras ball and the shitstorm that rained down. That I’ve got Heather Swann on my arm dr
aws even more eyes my way, and I’m totally fine with it. I hope they get an eyeful, because they’re going to be seeing a lot more of us together if I get my way.
It’s especially gratifying to see the momentary look of sheer horror on Marcie Swann’s face when she spies us hand-in-hand. She’s speaking with Mrs. Green from church, who once again stops with a piece of gum halfway to her mouth. The woman really needs to work on her poker face.
Heather squeals and hugs a tall woman with long brown hair who looks to be around our age. She looks vaguely familiar but I can’t put a name with the face. I take the opportunity to glance around the room and see who’s here. Some of the golfers have already returned from their rounds, including Geoffrey Swann, his and Heather’s father Darryl, and standing next to the bar are Richard and R.J. Casquette, Juli’s dad and brother. I haven’t spoken to them since before the ball, so I have no clue how I’ll be received by them. I decide to steer clear. Instead, I wander over to the window and flip through some of the brochures set out by Olivia’s Hope.
The first one I pick up is pale blue and explains the STOP campaign. The S stands for stop. I guess I did that with Marcie. The T stands for tell. I should have done that, but didn’t at the time. O stands for overcome. Have I managed to do that? I think I’m in the middle of that process, though I’m not entirely sure the process ever truly ends. Finally, the P stands for prevent. Tonight, I plan to prevent Marcie Swann from ever taking advantage of anyone in my family again. I think of Baby Jayne and all the ways I’d dismember someone if they laid a hand on her.
“Can I answer any questions for you, sir?”
I look up into the gentle eyes of an elderly woman with dark wrinkles lining her face framed by white curly hair. The chains that hang from her glasses sway when she smiles and tilts her head.
“Yes, ma’am. Tell me more about what your organization does, please.”
She explains their mission, the children they’ve helped, and the programs they sponsor. “You know,” she says, “we’ve also helped adults who suffered trauma as children and adolescents. Sometimes it takes years of therapy. Sometimes all it takes is an understanding ear.”
I nod—my throat’s too tight to speak. The woman takes my hand, pries open my fingers, and removes the brochure I didn’t realize I’d crumpled. She whispers, “What’s your story, sir?”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “You’ll hear it later. Right now, I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Do you accept personal checks?”
She raises her eyebrows and nods once.
“You have an address I can send it to?”
“Of course. All our information is right here.” She hands me another brochure and winks. “Try not to destroy this one, but if you do, we have a website, too.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Although my family probably won’t be keen on me selling Uncle Robert’s house, I think they’ll approve of me donating part of the profits to Olivia’s Hope. I know Uncle Robert would certainly approve. “Listen, I do have a story if you want to hear it.”
I tell her the basics, and then I tell her my plan. We strike a deal.
“If Mrs. Swann threatens to withhold the money raised here today, not only will I match whatever’s been collected, but I also know a good lawyer who will fight it.”
That lawyer’s small arms circle me from behind. I smell Heather’s perfume and relax into her embrace. “Everything’s in place,” she says. “Mama’s going to announce the winners of the golf scramble, then the people from Olivia’s Hope are going to give a slide show on their group. When that’s over…”
“I know. It’s show time.”
“Yeah. You ready?”
“Absolutely.” I wink at the kind woman behind the table.
“Good, now let’s get a drink. I need something to calm these jitters. Normally I’d say ‘let’s fuck,’ but since that’s not an option, alcohol will have to do.” With that, she pinches my ass and grabs my hand, leading me over to the bar.
By the time I’ve finished a couple of bottles of beer and Heather’s downed her mojito, the place is packed, all the teams having returned from the golf course. Heather spots her daddy and runs into his arms. He lifts her off the ground in a bear hug, and it reminds me that I have something I need to talk with him about, but for now I’m content to watch her eyes light up. She’s so beautiful when she’s happy and smiling. I only hope I can make her that happy as well.
“Isaac, come say hello.” She holds out her hand and I take it. I extend the other one to Mr. Swann.
“Sir, nice to see you.”
“Likewise. You’ve made my daughter very happy lately. Considering everything that’s been going on, that’s no small feat.”
I have no idea what to say.
“Daddy, don’t embarrass him!” She pinches his arm and he messes up her hair.
In the next instant, the room feels like the aftermath of a car accident—all sloshy, slow, and muffled. Hot breath hits my ear. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re leaving. Now.”
“Actually, he’s not, Mama,” says Heather, and time picks back up again. “He’s my guest, and as a member of this society, it’s my privilege to bring one. You want to make a scene out of it?”
It seems my plucky girl is back.
“Perhaps I should just show a few key people the photos on my phone,” Marcie says, reaching into her pocket. “Would you like to see, dear?” She hands the phone to her husband, who slowly scrolls through the pictures.
I am a dead man.
With each flick of his finger, the urge to run like hell gets stronger until it’s nearly impossible to stand still. Adrenaline prickles the hairs on the backs of my hands, while every instinct tells me I’m about to get clobbered by the person I most need on my side. Heather grasps my fingers and squeezes hard. Her gesture is a much-needed anchor, but I can’t stop my muscles from tightening, can’t slow down my rapid breathing. Mr. Swann appears calm on the outside—too calm—but I see a vein jump in his neck. Any second now he’s going to hand back the phone, loosen his tie, and ask me to step outside where I’ll be forced to let him beat me to a bloody pulp for having sex with his wife.
Finally, Mr. Swann hands back the phone. “Well, dear,” he drawls, “if you’re going to be a professional cougar, you better start hitting the gym more often. Your whoring ass isn’t what it used to be. Plus, these will make the divorce so much easier. Thanks for sharing.”
One, two, three times I blink before his words register.
Marcie does the same, but adds in a wicked blush and a clenched jaw. Her hand darts out and she slaps his cheek. It all happens so quickly, I don’t think many people noticed, but the ones that did are wide-eyed, while a couple snicker at her loss of self-control and Mr. Swann’s crooked grin.
“That was completely worth it,” he says to Heather. Marcie stalks off, stuffing her phone back into her pocket.
I stand perfectly still, afraid that if I move I’ll burst out laughing, or worse, throw up. If only I’d had some clever comeback like that the night she came on to me, this whole mess might have been avoided.
Mr. Swann is my new hero.
He and Heather bump shoulders and share a secret look I can’t decipher.
“That was perfect, Daddy.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, baby girl,” he answers.
I go from incredulous to confused to elated in point-five seconds. “You knew about the photos?”
“Of course he did,” Heather says. “You think I’d come here and take the chance that she’d spring them on him? With you here? I only pretend to be crazy, Isaac.”
“So…I’m not about to get my ass kicked?”
“Hardly,” Mr. Swann says. “I think you’ve been through enough, young man.”
Once my blood pressure comes down from the stratosphere, I remember what I need to talk to him about. “Can I speak to you a moment, sir?”
“Of course,” he says.
“Heather, do you mind?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Sure. I’ll just…go to the ladies’ room. But for the record, you’re freaking me out a little. Can I trust you two?”
“Completely,” I tell her. She smacks my shoulder but saunters off without a backward glance.
Mr. Swann takes a swig from his beer bottle then sets it down on the bar. “What did you want to talk to me about, son?”
I stand up straight and clear my throat.
Here goes nothing.
***
Twenty minutes and another beer later, the awards ceremony is underway, with Marcie playing mistress of ceremonies. Heather is safely tucked under my arm at a table near the back of the room. Her father sits on her other side, also avoiding direct eye contact with Marcie. His team didn’t do so well. Juli’s dad’s team, however, cleaned house. She and her mama are conspicuously absent from today’s event. I don’t think they were officially kicked out—like I was—but I imagine rubbing elbows with these people is just as uncomfortable for them as it is for me.
Come to think of it, she’ll be graduating in a couple of weeks, and after that heading to Boston to the New England Conservatory. I’m happy for her. Also happy that I can finally be objective about what happened between us. Briefly, I wonder how her daddy and brother will react to what I’m about to do.
My musings are interrupted when the table begins shaking. I reach over and place a hand on the top of Heather’s thigh to stop it from bouncing. She sends me a sheepish grin that makes my heart swell. Beside her, Mr. Swann takes in our exchange with a look of resigned contentment. I don’t know him well, but I like him. Hell, anyone who loves Heather as much as he obviously does is okay in my book. The fact that he loathes his wife is icing on the cake.
Awards out of the way, Marcie turns over the program to the lady from Olivia’s Hope that I spoke with earlier. She introduces herself as Mrs. Anne Christopher and repeats much of what she told me, but with the addition of a slide show featuring pictures of their facilities and carefully cropped photos of children of various ages. The music is sappy, but it touches something inside all the same. When it switches to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”, it feels like someone rammed a steel rod up my spine. If I had any doubt at all about what I’m about to do, it’s vanished.
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