Rena pointed at the bed. “Look at him. He may not live another week. I’d rather wait and see what happens.”
“But he tried to—” Jeffrey stopped.
Rena turned toward her brother-in-law.
“And he’s still trying to destroy me,” she said without emotion.
“What do you mean?”
Rena looked first at Baxter and then faced Jeffrey. She spoke in a level voice.
“When Baxter started getting better, he talked with a detective from Mitchell County and convinced him to file charges against me. I’ve had to hire a lawyer to take care of it.”
“Wait,” Jeffrey said. “Are you saying Baxter took out a warrant for you?”
“Not him, but he persuaded a redneck detective to do it for him. I’m going to have to tell the truth, no matter what it does to your family.”
Jeffrey inwardly swore. If a Richardson and Company shareholder had attempted to kill his wife, the news would appear in all the newspapers, in boardroom gossip, and in negotiations with competitors. It would be very bad for business—not fatal, but crippling. How many opportunities would Richardson and Company lose?
“Maybe not,” he said. “My father could intervene. He knows a lot of powerful people.”
“In Mitchell County?”
“I don’t know, but don’t say anything yet.”
“There’s not much time,” Rena said. “I have a preliminary hearing at the end of next week.”
The following afternoon, Alexia went for a swim. The waves pounded the beach underneath an overcast and stormy sky. The choppy water made her hesitate before venturing in, but only for a moment. In New England such wind would have held the promise of a coming nor’easter, sweeping down from the north Atlantic to buffet the rocky coast. Boris sniffed the air and barked wildly.
“You’re as rambunctious as the waves, aren’t you?” she yelled at the dog as they waded through the shallow water.
Boris answered, but his bark was overwhelmed by a larger wave that crashed against his legs, causing him to stagger.
Alexia, too, was feeling untamed. Even after getting a good night’s sleep, she felt restless. She needed a physical release from the inner spring wound too tightly by events of the previous week. She didn’t need a weather report to inform her that it was not a good day for swimming, but without any sign of an imminent storm, she decided to risk a quick dip in the water. Fighting the waves would at least be a different type of struggle than contending with the enemies swirling around Rena Richardson.
She plunged headfirst through a breaker and came up on the other side. The water was rocking and sloshing all around her. She swam farther from the beach. Several times, she lifted her arm from the water and plunged it into air as she fell into a trough. At other times, she couldn’t get her arm clear of the waves, as the water followed her arm and forced her higher and higher. Boris swam beside her gamely, but she couldn’t keep him in view. In fact, she suddenly realized she couldn’t see the shore either. Forcing herself up, she tried to regain her bearings.
All she saw, in every direction, was water.
A wave sloshed across her face and filled her mouth. Some of the salty water found its way down her throat, and she choked and gagged. At that moment Boris slid down in the same trough. She caught hold of his ruff in an effort to steady herself. He turned his head slightly, and she saw fear in his eyes.
“Oh no,” she said.
She let go of his fur and flipped onto her back. Alexia floated easily, but it was impossible to turn herself into a wooden stick capable of bobbing on top of the waves. She had to move and kick in order to keep from being swept under. She took off her goggles and stared at the sky in an effort to determine the location of the sun. But the clouds were thick, and it was too late in the day to fathom a guess.
And then the rain came.
It fell hard and coarse, cold rain mixed with tiny pellets of ice. The miniature hail popped the water all around them. Alexia caught a wave to the top of the water and again tried to find land, but even from the crest, visibility extended only a few feet in any direction. Boris slid down next to her. He continued paddling, and she realized his efforts were focused on staying close to her. If they died, it would be together. Alexia passed beyond hope in her ability to save herself.
Before a swell could separate her from the dog, she yelled into his ear, “Beach! Go to the beach!”
It wasn’t a command they’d practiced. The Labrador knew the individual words; whether he could make sense of them in the context of the moment remained to be seen. Alexia repeated the command.
“Go to the beach!”
Boris kept swimming without any apparent sense of direction. Alexia focused all her energy on staying beside him. Every few seconds she would repeat the command. The rain continued to fall in sharp sheets. The hail stopped, but the visibility didn’t improve. It was impossible to tell if they were moving in a specific direction or swimming in circles. Waves began to look familiar. Alexia knew that her mind was playing tricks on her. She fought to stave off the disorientation.
“Go to the beach!”
Boris looked sideways at her. Fatigue had replaced the fear in his eyes. If an indomitable swimmer like the black dog was tired, Alexia knew the adrenaline fueling her own limbs would soon run out. They rode up a particularly large swell, came down, and then rose again. The second swell crested and curled forward. It swept them forward for several seconds and dropped them in water that came up to Alexia’s waist. She tried to stand but fell forward when another wave crashed into her. Her fingers scraped sand beneath the water, and she came up with a few grains clasped in her hands. A fistful of diamonds wouldn’t have been more precious.
Boris continued swimming until his feet were on solid ground. He turned around as Alexia stumbled forward. She reached solid ground and collapsed. The rain abated as quickly as it had started. Alexia raised her head. Boris was running down the beach, barking the story of his adventure into the wind. Alexia sat up, looked out to sea, and wondered where she’d been. Boris returned and licked the side of her face. Alexia grabbed his head.
“Good boy,” she said.
The sound of her voice brought tears. She held on to Boris’s neck with her right hand and wiped her eyes with her left hand.
“Good boy,” she repeated. “You know the beach better than I do.”
She sat still for several more minutes. Boris lay beside her, panting. The sky grew dark again, and she got up. Whether on land or water, she didn’t want to be caught in another storm. She turned toward home.
Several hours later, the thick blanket of clouds had broken up. Alexia stood on her deck as the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the sunset reflected a deep red against the bottom of the remaining clouds. Alexia looked up with gratitude. Her whole body ached, not because she’d had to swim so long, but because every muscle willing to respond had been tense and taut as she struggled to survive in the water. A unique sunset was a treat on any evening, but tonight she especially appreciated the fact that she could stand on solid ground and gaze at the painted sky.
The red had given way to dark gray by the time her car’s tires crunched across the church parking lot and stopped. A few puddles, the only sign of the afternoon’s heavy rain, stood on the brick sidewalk leading from the sanctuary to the church office. The sandy soil had an enormous capacity to soak up moisture. Alexia turned off the lights of the car and quietly entered the church.
No matter how often she stepped into the narthex, Alexia never lost the sense of wonder at encountering the sounds floating from the piano in the sanctuary. Music sustained her soul, and each encounter with Ted’s gift was a fine meal to be appreciated in its own right. Tonight’s first dish was Mozart, the irrepressible genius who from boyhood to an untimely death astounded a continent.
He was playing one of the DuPort’s Variations, a reflective theme that matched Alexia’s poststorm mood. Alexia listened until the end before entering the darkened sanctuary. The
outline of Ted’s form was visible on the piano bench.
“It was perfect!” she called out.
Ted turned toward her, and even though Alexia couldn’t see his face across the length of the sanctuary, she knew the expression he wore. The moment struck a new awareness in her. The minister’s countenance had become part of the picture gallery of her heart. She walked down the aisle and sat in her familiar place on a front pew.
“What do you want to hear?” Ted asked.
“Mozart.”
“But he’s not Russian.”
“I can pretend you’re playing in an ornate drawing room in St. Petersburg.”
“Okay. I have another from the same group. It’s fast, not in a minor key.”
Ted touched the keyboard and launched into an exhilarating display. Alexia closed her eyes, again glad that she was alive. The last note faded away, and she felt refreshed.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
Ted kept his fingers on the keyboard. “What else?” he asked.
Alexia stood and came over to the altar. “Let me see your hands,” she said.
The minister turned sideways on the piano bench and tentatively held his hands in front of him. Alexia reached out across the altar rail and held them. They were rough and strong—the outward appearance camouflaging the talent within. Without letting go, Alexia knelt down on the narrow cushion that lay in front of the railing. Ted started to pull away, but she held on firmly. Lowering her lips, she gently kissed each finger and then released him. Ted sat up straight; Alexia remained on her knees and looked up at him.
“Why did you do that?” he asked softly.
“Because you deserve it. If a woman could wash Jesus’s feet with her tears and dry them with her hair, I can bless your fingers with a kiss.”
“I consider myself blessed.”
Alexia stood up. “No more performances tonight. I’m hungry. Where can I take you for dinner?”
“Across the parking lot. I have something at my house.”
They walked together to the old parsonage. The smell of good food greeted them as soon as they entered the house.
“What’s cooking?” Alexia asked.
“Lasagna.”
“You made lasagna?”
“If taking it out of the box and putting it in the oven counts. I thought we could make a salad together.”
As they passed the fireplace, Alexia patted the mantel. “And have a fire with dessert?”
“Uh, I don’t have any dessert except ice cream.”
“Oh, that’s perfect. Ice cream to cool my tongue and fire to warm my bones.”
They went into the kitchen. Alexia, still experiencing the euphoria of being alive, enjoyed every domestic nuance. She washed the lettuce while he cut up the tomatoes. She sliced the cucumbers while he grated some cheese. When everything was ready, they sat at the little table in the kitchen, and he lit a red holiday candle.
“Where’s the lemonade?” Alexia asked.
“I didn’t think about it,” Ted said apologetically.
“I’m teasing. It’s not the season or the type of meal. Water with a twist of lime is better.”
When Ted prayed, Alexia kept her eyes open and watched him. The minister’s hair was very curly. She guessed that if he didn’t brush it regularly and keep it closely trimmed, it would quickly become bushy.
After a few bites, Alexia said, “This is some of the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten. Are you sure you’re not Italian?”
“Stop it,” Ted responded.
Alexia reached across and patted his hand. “The key to great lasagna is the care with which the cook puts it in the oven.”
They ate in silence for a few moments. The only sound in the room was the click of their forks against the plates. Alexia wiped the edge of her mouth with a napkin.
“I’m glad to be alive,” she said.
Ted was chewing a mouthful of salad, “Me too,” he mumbled.
“No, I really mean it. I had a scare in the water this afternoon.”
Alexia told Ted about her experience without revealing how close to death she’d come.
“Animals are amazing,” he said after she related the help she received from Boris. “He’s a good dog.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“I’d like to go back to the island with you,” Ted said. “I enjoyed my salty kiss.”
“Those are rarer than an unbroken sand dollar,” Alexia replied with a smile. “You have to be in the right place at the right time.”
They finished eating and washed the dishes by hand at the sink.
“I’ll wipe up,” Alexia said. “Go start the fire.”
Her mind wandering, Alexia started at the sound of a sudden knock at the kitchen window. She jumped back from the sink and then realized it was Ted, who’d gone outside to retrieve some wood.
“That was juvenile,” she sniffed when he reappeared.
“You have to be careful about the graveyard. Strange noises come from there on nights after a big storm.”
Alexia swatted at him with a dish towel.
When she walked into the living room, she found a small fire beginning to intensify in the fireplace. A wallpaper-sample book lay on the reading table beside Ted’s chair.
“Is that for my office?” she asked.
“Yes. I thought we could look at it together.”
They sat beside one another on a couch that faced the fireplace and flipped through the pages. Ted made notes on a pad.
“You really need to see the paint colors to make a decision,” he said. “Did you go by the store and get some color cards?”
“Yes, they’re at the office.”
Alexia nestled against the armrest at the end of the couch and watched the tiny dancing flames.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Ted asked.
“That would be wonderful.”
Ted went into the kitchen, and Alexia glanced at the picture of Ted’s daughter on the mantel. She wondered if the talented young woman would like her.
“No coffee!” Ted yelled out.
“That’s okay!”
Ted stuck his head in from the kitchen. “No, it’s not. I want a cup and need some for the morning. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“No, I’ll ride with you.”
Outside, the wet weather had given way to a chilly cold front.
“Brr,” Alexia said.
“Wait, I’ll get you a coat.”
Ted grabbed a coat from the closet in the foyer and handed it to her. It had flecks of white paint on one sleeve and several colors on the other.
“It’s clean,” Ted reassured her.
The coat swallowed Alexia’s arms and hands. Ted opened the door of his truck for her. They drove into town and stopped at a convenience store not far from Rachel Downey’s office.
When he returned with the coffee, Alexia said, “Let’s swing by my office and get the paint cards.”
The detour took only a couple minutes. When they arrived, Ted started to park in front of the building.
“Go around back. I don’t have a key for the front door.”
The rear parking lot was dark.
“I’ll run in,” Alexia said. “Keep the truck warm.”
Alexia fumbled at the lock before finding the keyhole and turning it. The light switch for the overhead was at the other end of the hallway, so she entered in the dark. Her office was immediately to the left. She heard the door behind her open and spun around.
Ted.
“You’ve got to quit scaring me.”
“I don’t remember the color of the wood stain on your office furniture,” he said. “We’ll need to take that into consideration when we think about paint color.”
Alexia opened the door to her office and flipped on the light. Before her eyes could adjust to the sudden brightness, the lights went out and someone shoved her across the room. She stumbled but didn’t fall.
Alexia screamed.
&
nbsp; When she did, a hand grabbed her hair, and another hand wearing a thin latex glove clamped over her mouth and nose. She could see a dark shape across the room. Ted came running through the door.
“Alexia!” he yelled.
The figure grabbed the minister. Alexia, desperate for air, struggled and opened her mouth enough to bite the hand suffocating her.
The man holding her yelped and jerked back her head. Forced to look up, she could see him raise a dark object in his right hand. He brought it down directly toward Alexia’s face. Just before it struck her, something knocked it away. Alexia heard a low crunch and crashed to the floor. She lay there dazed.
“Let’s go!” an unfamiliar male voice cried out.
A few quick steps, and the assailants were gone. Alexia heard moaning on the floor beside her. She felt her face, and her hand came away wet with blood.
“Ted!” she said.
“Yeah,” he responded before crying out in anguish.
Alexia staggered to her feet and turned on the light switch. When her eyes adjusted, she saw Ted sitting on the floor holding his left hand. His face contorted in agony, he looked up at her.
“Alexia! Your face!”
Alexia touched her nose again. “It’s just a bloody nose. I’m calling 911.” Alexia went over to her desk and dialed the emergency number. Ted, continuing to wince, stood up.
“My hand is broken,” he said. “I can’t move my fingers.”
Alexia looked down at his left hand. A gash creased the back, and his fingers bent at an unnatural angle.
“Don’t try to move anything. Someone will be here soon.”
41
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, but the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
THOMAS MOORE
Alexia, wringing her hands, sat in the surgical unit’s waiting room at Medical University Hospital in Charleston. The long wait stretched into the predawn hours. The emergency room doctor in Santee had evaluated Ted’s hand and immediately sent him via ambulance to Charleston for surgery. Alexia picked up a magazine, but the words were irrelevant and the pictures inane. The abstract world of print couldn’t touch the reality of her anxiety and concern.
Life Everlasting Page 38
