by Rachel Hauck
Paris’s cheeks flush pink. “Oh, sorry.”
Cherry spins around. “Don’t be. You were just doing your job.”
With a pleading glance at J. D., I say to Cherry, “Let’s go to my office.”
Cherry collapses against me, crying, as I nudge the door closed. My blood runs cold. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I’ve never, ever seen her ruffled or even slightly emotional.
“Oh, Caroline, it’s all messed up. All of it.” She sniffs and shudders.
“What’s messed up? Surely, it’s not that bad, whatever it is.”
“H-hen-n-er-ry.” Cherry’s shoulders shudder with each syllable.
“What about Henry?” Angling backwards, with Cherry’s forehead still buried against my shoulder, I wiggle my fingers at the tissue box until I tap the edge enough to pull the box forward. “Cherry, here.”
She steps away to blow her nose. “I’m probably making something out of nothing.” Pacing the length of the narrow office, she pauses, looking around. “Caroline, it’s lovely in here. You cleaned it up. I love the lamps.”
“I couldn’t stand the mess, or the overhead fluorescent light.” Crossing my arms, I lean my backside against the desk. “What’d Henry do?”
Cherry folds herself into the chair across from my desk. “I think Henry’s having an affair.”
“Cherry, no.” I shake my head. “Never. Not Henry. He loves you.”
She sniffs through a fresh batch of tears, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Things happen, Caroline, love fades. It’s just he’s been so elusive lately. I call him and he’s busy, distracted. A couple of nights a week, he comes home really late.”
“Honey, you know him. He’s a workaholic, trying to rebuild Granddad’s business.”
She dabs under her red, puffy eyes with a fistful of wadded tissues.
“Typically, yes. But over the past few months there have been in-consistencies. A few times, I even forced myself to drive by the office, and he wasn’t there.”
“Okay, then he’s with a client.”
“If only.” She shifts her gaze to my face. “The other night he told me he was meeting Foster Spears for dinner. Said I should eat without him. So, I put on my comfy clothes, ordered take-out, and went to Blockbuster. Who do I run into? Foster Spears.”
Cherry’s too sensible to see things that aren’t there. “Cherry . . .” I whisper. “Surely, it’s not what you think.” That rotten brother of mine. He best not . . . to Cherry.
“Caroline, please. Then tell me what to think. I’m begging you.” My steely, no-nonsense sister-in-law pleads with her tone, with her eyes. I’m unnerved. If Henry and Cherry fall apart, whose love can stand?
“I-I don’t know, Cherry. It has to be a misunderstanding.”
She jerks up from the chair to pace again. The heels of her designer pumps thud against the floor, hitting a loose board every time. Thud, clank, thud, thud, clank. “Every time I bring up the future or kids, he shuts me down, changes the subject. Sometimes, he pretends he didn’t hear me.”
“He’s always been skittish about kids.”
There’s a small knock on the door followed by the appearance of J. D.. “How’s it going?” He holds up his wrist with the watch.
“I’m sorry, J. D.” Cherry bends down for her handbag. “I inter-rupted your evening.”
“Wait, Cherry. J. D., we need a minute.” I leave him no room for debate.
With a reluctant pause, he pulls the door closed, and I face Cherry.
“Henry’s got issues. Mama’s wildness impacted him hard, different than Dad and me. But sweetie, he’s not a cheater.”
My sister-in-law presses her hand over her middle. “How do you know? Are any of us exempt? If Henry’s not cheating, then what is he doing?” She drops her hand to the doorknob, but it slips off as if she doesn’t have the energy to hold on. “I’ve watched other women when he’s around. They’re fascinated by him. He’s charming, good-looking, successful.” Her gaze lands on some obscure point beyond my shoulder. “He’s only a man, Caroline.”
I’m unable to connect with the idea of a cheating brother. “Henry has his issues, I’ll be the first to admit, but. . .” I want to think of some-thing to lighten the moment. “Maybe he’s taking French cooking classes or training to have rock-hard abs and wants to surprise you.”
The suggestion barely garnishes a sad smile from the hopeless woman at my office door. “I need to let you go. Thanks for listening.” She turns the doorknob with one huge effort. “Do you think the gestapo chick at the podium will let me sit behind the counter and lis-ten to Mitch? Order an appetizer? I don’t want to go home yet.”
“Absolutely. Hey, Cherry, you’re welcome to join J. D. and me. It’s Bodean’s thirtieth.”
“Thanks, but right now, sitting alone at the counter, eating some-thing deep-fried and listening to Mitch sounds really, really good.”
“Tell Mercy Bea you can stay as long as you want.” I follow Cherry into the kitchen where J. D. waits, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Keep me posted, Cherry. I-I’ll—” This part feels weird. I’ve never said it to anyone before. “I-I’ll pray for you.”
As J.D. and I climb into his truck, the air between us is taut. “Sorry, J. D. She needed to talk.”
He cranks the engine and shifts into reverse. One gun of the gas and we shoot backwards out of the Café parking lot. Dirt and sand billow in our wake. “It’s fine, Caroline.”
Then how come it doesn’t seem fine? I decide to wade in. “Is some-thing bothering you? I mean, if we can’t pause to help family and friends because Bo’s having a party, then we need to—”
“Please, that’s not it.” The truck lurches forward as he presses the gas.
“Then what?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about selling the Mustang?”
Oh. That. “Who told you?”
“Mitch.”
Oh. Him.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I felt stupid standing there while Mitch told me about my girlfriend’s ordeal.”
All right. I turn sideways in my seat. “J. D., um, I sold Matilda for eleven thousand dollars so I could pay Stu for the plumbing.”
He pinches his lips. Flexes his jaw muscle. Then bursts out laughing.
“You’re such a smart—”
“Hey, now.”
“I thought you’d have that thing dismantled and buried with you.” He taps the brakes as the light on North changes.
“Yeah, well, speaking of growing up and making womanlike decisions . . .”
“Why’d you go to Mitch?” There’s only a terse hint of jealousy.
“I needed a ride home.”
“He said you snotted all over his shirt.” The portable pack set on the dash tells us there’s a hit-and-run on Robert Smalls Parkway.
“Okay, I needed a ride and a really large Kleenex.”
The quick burst of J. D.’s laugh bounces around the cab, but fades quickly. “Caroline, how can we build our relationship if you don’t come to me when you need help?”
“You were busy.”
“You sold the car two days ago. I’ve talked to you on the phone half a dozen times, stopped by the Café twice. Made out with you in the office.”
“I know . . . It just didn’t come up. I was going to tell you tonight.”
J. D. reaches for my hand, kissing the tips of my fingers. “So, how are you going to get around now?”
Twisting my lips into a goofy grin, I pull my hand free from his and poke his arm. “You?”
“Bodean, happy birthday.”
“Finally, the prettiest woman in town has arrived.” Bodean approaches as we walk across the yard toward the music and lights, his arms wide, his smile mischievous. “Caroline, you look amazing.”
J. D. tightens his arm around my waist. “Don’t come fishing in another man’s pond, Bo. Isn’t Marley here?”
“It’s my birthday. I’ll flirt with whomever I want.” Bodean kisses my cheek,
pointing in the direction of the party area lit with lanterns and party lights. “Okay, here’s the lay of the land. Mars—the men—is over there, by the game area. Venus—the women—there, under the trees, by the food. Go figure.”
“Very junior high. I like it,” I say, spotting Elle on the Venus side gazing toward Mars. Naturally.
“Hurry to the games, J. D. We need you. The rookies are whupping us at the beanbag toss game thing you invented.”
J. D. laughs. “Never fear, I’ll show them how it’s done. Be there in a second, Bodean.”
But Bo is off greeting more newcomers. “Rachel Kirby. At last, the prettiest girl in the county is here.”
She giggles. Tee-hee. “Shush, Bo.”
“So,” J. D. says as we stand on the edge of the parked trucks and cars. He scoops his fingers into my hair, sending chills down my neck. “Before we end up spending an entire evening on different planets—”
I kiss him lightly. “Save a dance for me.”
“Maybe tonight we find ‘our song.’” His mood is light and infectious. “What you said in the truck . . . about me driving you around . . . Does that mean what I think?”
Slowly we sway in a circle to our own rhythm.
“Maybe. Still thinking.”
He draws me tight. “Tell me during our song?”
“Stacking the deck, are you, J. D.?”
“I’ll do whatever . . . Caroline, say yes.”
25
J. D. tracks for Mars, where a bunch of Martians call to him, yuk-yuk-yukking, announcing him as the creator and champion of some beanbag tossing game and goading him into playing.
I track for Venus. What is my answer?
“Caroline, hello.” The wives, girlfriends, and friends of the Beaufort County Sheriff ’s Department and Bodean greet me in chorus.
“Hey, y’all.”
“Girl, your hair has gotten so long. It’s beautiful.”
“We’ve been meaning to get by the Café since you took over.”
Elle pats a vacant spot next to her on the picnic table. Jess dips into the cooler for a Diet Coke. “Here you go, Caroline. Icy cold like you like.”
“Thanks, Jess.” I bump Elle with my shoulder. “Who are you here with?”
“No one. I’m trolling.”
I pop open my coke and sip. “Any bites?”
“A few, but I tossed them back. Didn’t meet the weight limit.”
“You weighed more?”
“What is it with all the skinny men?”
“Ray’s put on twenty pounds since we got married. Pure fat, mind you, but I like it. He was so thin before,” Jess says.
The conversation drifts to skinny versus fat and the latest fashion fads. Fun girl talk, but I can’t concentrate.
J. D. wants an answer. And he deserves one. If I say no, are we over? If I say yes, then what?
Can I still go to church? I’m pretty sure they still frown on the whole sex-without-marriage thing. I’m really starting to enjoy Sunday mornings. Even braved another read of Jones’s Bible.
Is J. D. the one to give the gift I can never get back? Am I over thinking this?
Yes.
But if he wants to live with me, make love to me, why can’t he marry me?
Laughter and shouts rise and fall under the lights draped among the tree limbs. The band is setting up on the empty lot next to Bodean’s place. Torches burn along the path to the dance floor. (A couple of pieces of plywood.)
I scan Mars for the sight of J. D.
“You’re quiet.” Elle says.
“Tired, I guess.” Explaining J. D.’s living-together proposition will only ignite Elle. Why fire her up when I’m undecided? She’ll do some-thing crazy, like rocket over to Mars and perform the first intergalactic execution. At the very least, castration.
“I’ve seen your ‘tired’ face. This isn’t it.”
So I throw her a bone. “Cherry came into the Café just as we were leaving. She’s worried about Henry. Thinks he’s having an affair.”
“What? Oh my gosh, Henry? Never. He’s too uptight. Besides, he’s mad about Cherry.”
“Not Henry,” Jess echoes.
Swig of Diet Coke. “That’s what I said. I told her I’d pray for her.”
Elle bumps me with her shoulder, beaming. “I’ll pray too.”
Bodean’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Marley, joins the triangle of Jess, Elle, and me. She’s five-eleven, athletic, and commanding. Bo keeps going back to her because she’s the only one confident enough to handle him.
“Look at that, will you?” Marley nods at one of the younger deputies’ girlfriends wiggling by and sublimely predicts the demise of low-rider jeans.
“Definitely on their way out,” Jess agrees. “Must make way for the high-waisters of the eighties. They’ll soon be the rage.”
“Oh, girl, please.” Marley cuts a sharp glance over at me. “My mama’s butt looked like a small island for an entire decade.”
Elle chokes on her gulp of soda. Her bracelets clatter. “Mine too. And two of my sisters. What a sad fashion decade.”
From the men’s huddle comes a roar. I look over to see J. D.’s hands raised over his head. At that moment, he looks over at me with a for-your-eyes- only smile and quickens my heart with a warm gush.
I smile back—for his eyes only. “Maybe.”
Jess asks for an update on Elle’s Operation Wedding Day. So far—and big surprise—Stu Green is the front-runner. Bodean’s party is a bust for new prospects.
An electronic screech pierces the air as the band runs a sound check. Scoping the Mars surface again for J. D., I decide it’s a lovely night for a slow dance and to tell him, “Let’s do it.”
“Anyone for a trip to the ladies’?” Marley stands.
“Me.” I down the last of my drink, toss it in the trash, and tag along with Marley to Bodean’s guest bathroom—which we find occupied.
Marley falls against the wall. “You and J. D. seem tight these days.”
I smile. “Getting there. He asked me to—”
Voices seep under the bathroom door. I give Marley a quizzical glance.
“Is someone crying?”
We lean close.
Sniff. “. . . she’s here tonight. With him.” Wail. Moan.
Marley mouths to me: “Who?”
One can only guess. There’s always a romance saga or two going on among the deputies.
“Look, he’s a jerk. I told you not to go out with him. Good-looking guys are always bad news.”
I snap straight. Marley touches my arm, shaking her head. No. But the swirl in my gut says yes.
“J. D. is not bad news, Trisha.”
Marley’s fingernails bite my flesh.
“I can’t stay here, watching him dance with her, kiss her, tell her all the things he’s said to me.”
“Beat him at his own game, Lucy,” Trisha pleads. “He promised you a dance or two, right? Make him want you over her. Be your gorgeous, sexy self. One dance and J. D. will forget that Caroline Sweeney ever existed.”
Marley claps her hand over my mouth. Beyond the door, we hear scuffling.
“Is someone out there?”
Jerking free from Marley, I bang on the door. “Lucy, it’s Caroline.”
Silence.
Marley takes over the door hammering. “Lucy, Trisha, we heard you.”
The door snaps open and two very beautiful young women wearing low-riders and tight tops face us with defiance.
“Didn’t your mamas teach you not to listen to other people’s conversations?” Trisha shoves past Marley. Lucy follows, her head high, eyes averted.
“Lucy, are you dating J. D.?” I am not ready for this showdown, but here goes.
She whirls around. “Caroline, if you have an issue with J. D., take it up with him.”
A surprising calm spreads through me. “Lucy, it’s a simple question. Are you, or have you recently, dated J. D.?”
“Answer the question.�
�� Marley demands.
The shapely brunette juts her chin. “Yes.”
“Once, twice? A month ago, a few weeks?” As the tension builds, I’m reminded cornered kittens scratch.
“A few times, over the past few weeks.” Lucy’s shoulders droop slightly as her defiance wanes. “He’d stopped by our apartment.” She gestures to Trisha.
“Did he spend the night?” Don’t answer. Yes, answer. Wait . . .
Lucy’s bright cheeks speak louder than words. “I love him.”
“And he loves you?” Marley asks. By her expression, I think she wants to deck Lucy and be done with it.
“He cares about me.”
The words ring with haunting familiarity. Oh, I’m sick. Fifteen min-utes ago, I was a breath away from saying yes—to a man who . . .
“Lucy,” I eek out. “If he cheated on me, he’ll cheat on you. Don’t start out as the other woman.”
“What makes you think I’m the other woman?” She shivers though the hallway is hot and airless. “I told you, Caroline—” Her voice breaks. “I love him.”
Marley grabs my arm and drags me toward the door. “Good night, ladies.”
The patio doors swing wide and a laughing Bodean and J. D. step in with Mack Brunner.
Shielding me like a celeb bodyguard, Marley glares at J. D. “Excuse us.”
I can’t look at him. I might spit.
“Caroline, hey, what’s up? Where are you—” J. D. stops wondering. My guess is he’s spotted Lucy.
Marley steers me out the door, then pauses, leans back, and proceeds to cuss J. D.’s face blue.
26
Full astern,” I whisper to Elle, finding her near the dance floor, talking to John Exley, which is an enormous waste of time; he’s famously antimarriage. “Full astern.” Gently, I shove her from behind, steering her away from John toward the cars.
“Caroline, what are you doing?” Elle shuffles along in front of me. “‘Full astern’?”
“Take me home.” As I feared, tears surface. I don’t want to cry. Not over a cheater like J. D.
“What? Why? I was talking to John.”
“Elle, John? Please. He’ll ask you out, analyze the whole relationship before you even go on the date, conclude it’ll never work, and treat you like gum stuck to his shoes the entire evening. You’ll be forced to be nice to him so he won’t tell people he dumped you because you were a witch.”
