by Sharon Sala
* * *
Rachel was pissed. She’d stopped at the stop sign like she was supposed to, only to have some drunk ram her from behind at high speed, shoving her out into the intersection where the oncoming car hit her broadside. It was a blessing the last car was not going too fast, and she considered herself fortunate that she had been wearing a seat belt and was still able to walk. The drunk who’d rear-ended her car had hit his head on the windshield, and the only ambulance in town at the moment had already taken him to the hospital.
The man who’d broadsided her was, unfortunately, driving without a license and still talking to the police. The upside was that she was alive and the only one who wouldn’t be ticketed.
Bud was going to have a field day filing with the insurance companies. She’d probably get a new car out of the deal, which was great, but she was wondering what it would take to get a new husband with it. In her mind, she and Bud were a thing of the past. He just didn’t know it yet.
She knew he was in Savannah, but when she had tried to call him, she figured out her phone had been broken in the accident. Now she was just waiting for the ambulance to come back and take her to the ER to get checked out.
A sharp gust of air went down the back of her jacket. She shivered as she pulled it close while looking for a place to get out of the wind. Her neck hurt, probably from whiplash, and she was beginning to ache in all kinds of places.
She heard another car pull up and stop and, when she looked up, saw the hotshot from the other day heading toward her with an intent expression on his face. She lifted a shaky hand to brush the hair from her eyes and hoped she looked better than she felt.
T. J. knew she recognized him. Good. That meant he’d made as deep an impression on her as she had on him. He took off his hat as he approached.
“Ma’am, my name is T. J. Lachlan. I’m Gene Bissell’s nephew. Are you all right?”
The fact that he was related to a local suddenly made this less suspicious. She could work this to her advantage.
“Well, I’ve had better days. I’m Rachel Goodhope. Thank you for stopping.”
“Can I offer you a ride somewhere or have you already called someone for help? Your husband, maybe?”
“My husband is in Savannah, and my phone broke in the accident. I’ll call him later, but I would definitely appreciate a ride.”
“Do you need to go to the hospital to get checked out?”
“I think so,” Rachel said.
“Have you already given your statement to the police?”
“Yes. I was waiting on the ambulance to come back.”
“Sit tight,” T. J. said, and headed for the cop. “Officer, my name’s T. J. Lachlan. I’m the late Gene Bissell’s nephew.” He flashed his driver’s license. “I’ve offered to drive Mrs. Goodhope to the ER. Just wanted to make sure it was all right to remove her from the scene.”
The cop glanced over at Rachel, who was looking pretty shaky.
“Yeah, sure. That’s probably a good idea. If I have any other questions, I know where to find her.”
T. J. flashed him a smile. “Yes, sir, thank you,” he said, and then headed back to Rachel. “You’re good to go, ma’am. Here, let me help you to my truck.”
Rachel liked the feel of his arm around her shoulders and leaned against him as they walked. As soon as they reached his truck, he opened the door, picked her up, and set her inside.
“Excuse the familiarity. The truck is real high off the ground. I didn’t want you to strain yourself.”
“Yes, thank you,” Rachel said, and lay back against the seat as he got in on the other side.
It felt good to be in out of the cold and off her feet. When T. J. got in behind the wheel, he flashed a big smile that did nothing for the butterflies already in her belly.
“Can you buckle up, or do you need help?” he asked.
“I can do it,” Rachel said.
She was buckling up as he drove away from the scene.
Neither spoke, and in a few minutes, they were in downtown Blessings and headed for the hospital.
T. J. glanced at her. Her eyes were closed and her body was trembling.
“You doin’ okay?” he asked.
Rachel opened her eyes. “Yes, I think it’s just shock,” she said. “I can’t quit shaking.”
“Bless your heart,” he said, and put a hand on her arm. When she didn’t complain, he left it there. A couple of turns later, he was pulling up at the ER entrance. “We’re here. Hang on a second, and I’ll go get a wheelchair.”
“I can walk,” she said.
“No, ma’am. Whether you admit it or not, you’re not far from passing out. Just let me help you, okay?”
Rachel nodded as T. J. jumped out and ran inside. He came back within moments with a nurse pushing a wheelchair.
“Well, my goodness, Rachel. Were you part of that wreck?” the nurse asked, as T. J. helped Rachel out.
Rachel nodded. “Yes, and it’s a wonder I’m still in one piece. I got hit by two different cars.”
T. J. knelt beside her and casually laid a hand on her knee. “I’ll be on my way now. They’ll get you all checked out.”
Rachel grasped his hand with a shaky grip. “Thank you for being so kind,” she said.
T. J. flashed a big smile. “Totally my pleasure, ma’am. I hope you feel better soon,” he said, and stepped aside as the nurse wheeled her away.
He told himself that if she looked back, he had it made, so he waited, watching, making bets with himself. And when she suddenly turned around and peered around the nurse to see if he was still there, he gave himself a silent thumbs-up for calling it right and waved back.
He swaggered all the way back to the truck. He made another bet with himself that the next time he saw her, they would go straight to his house for some sexual healing, as well. Married women were the best fucks. They were always grateful for the attention and already attached, which meant he walked away free when it was over. It never occurred to him that his ex-wife, Laverne, had fallen into that category, or wonder if his errant behavior with other women while still married to her had caused her unexpected exit with ol’ Buddy. The sorry bastard.
* * *
By quitting time, everyone in Blessings knew about the wreck. LilyAnn heard about it from at least a dozen people, none of whom had actually witnessed the accident, but all of whom still seemed to have all the pertinent details.
She was sorry Rachel Goodhope had been involved, but not sorry enough to give her a call to see how she was. She listened absently as she rang up the shoppers’ purchases while watching the back of the store. Mitchell was putting up stock, and he never put it in the right place. Eventually she wound up having to move it to coincide with the shelf stickers the next morning. She wasn’t sure whether he was that dumb or that lazy. Either way, it always made extra work for her.
The pharmacist had a line in front of the checkout window, and she had a line up front. Whatever was going on with the citizens of Blessings, it appeared they were all getting sick at once. She kept using hand sanitizer and hoping for the best because she didn’t want what they had.
What she wanted was to go home.
She’d held herself together about as long as she could today. The fact that she’d bawled like a baby at The Curl Up and Dye was humiliating, but it had happened and there was nothing she could do to change it. She had one more day to get through, and then she had Sunday off. It wouldn’t come soon enough.
The door opened again, letting in a brief blast of cold air. Lily sighed. Would this day never end?
When the last customer in her line finally went out the door, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but it was short-lived as T. J. Lachlan came swaggering up the aisle toward the register. When he shoved a packet of condoms and a tube of K-Y Jelly across the counter, her heart skipped a
beat. Without looking up, she swept them across the scanner and dropped them in a sack.
“That will be fifteen dollars and forty-four cents, please.”
T. J. had expected the tall blond to react to the condoms with either a giggle or a blush. The fact that she did neither intrigued him. He paused, waiting for her to look up, and when she did, he was slightly surprised at how pretty she was—overweight but pretty. He’d had a fat girlfriend or two in his day and didn’t mind it.
“Cash or credit?” Lily asked, waiting for him to react.
“Oh. Sorry there, honey. I guess I was daydreaming.”
She didn’t respond to his flirting, and it ticked him off just a little that he’d gotten zero reaction. Even if he didn’t want her, he wanted her to want him.
“Cash it is,” he said, and slid a twenty toward her.
Lily made change, counted it back to him, and handed him the sack with his purchases.
“Have a nice day,” she said.
“You too.”
Lily knew he was staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze and looked at his shirt collar instead.
Giving her up as a lost cause, he grabbed his sack and hurried back to his truck. A trip to the supermarket was next on the list. If he was ever going to get that painting finished, he needed groceries in the house.
T. J.’s exit had momentarily emptied the pharmacy of customers, and Lily took it as a sign that it was safe to leave. She’d already stayed fifteen minutes past her quitting time and didn’t want to get caught by having to help close. She waved at Mr. Phillips as she headed toward the front door with her things.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Have a good evening, LilyAnn. See you tomorrow.”
She buttoned up her coat and jammed her hands in her pockets as she started the walk home. When she passed by the fitness center, she kept her eyes in front of her and her stride long and even. Considering how weird Mike was acting, her one visit there was likely to be her last, because working out after work wasn’t happening. She was too tired to mess with it at this time of day.
The streets were already filling up with traffic, mostly from the locals all heading to the football stadium. It was Friday night in Blessings, which meant high school football. She ducked her head against the cold wind that had come up and kept moving.
On a normal Friday night, she and Mike would be doing something together. Either going to a football game or having all-you-can-eat shrimp at Granny’s Kitchen. Sometimes they just rented movies and made sandwiches and popcorn and stayed inside. Her heart hurt. The cold shoulder he was giving her felt as bad as when Mama had married Eddie and moved away.
Her eyes welled up all over again, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was almost dark, and no one was paying any attention to her or what she was doing. Her reluctance to go home to an empty house was what prompted her to turn right instead of left at the next corner, and before she knew it, she was on the way to All Saints Cemetery. With all that was going on in her life, she had a notion that it was time to let Randy Joe know she was ready to move on.
It was about an hour before sundown, which gave her plenty of time to speak her piece before they locked the cemetery gates. The wind caught the hem of her coat and blew it into a bramble bush as she walked through the gate. For a moment it felt as if someone had grabbed it in an effort to hold her back, which gave her the creeps.
She reached down to pull it free and, as she did, saw Mr. Gerty sitting on a bench just inside the gate.
Everyone in Blessings knew Mr. Gerty. He’d been coming to the cemetery to visit his wife’s grave on a regular basis for the past twenty years, and in the beginning, LilyAnn had seen him daily. While her visits had thinned out, his had remained steadfast. Lily thought that made sense, considering how many years he and his wife had been together before she died.
He was sitting on the bench with his chin down, the coat collar pulled up around his neck.
“Bless his heart, he drifted off to sleep and is going to wake up in the dark,” Lily muttered. “I better wake him up and send him on his way.” When she got closer, she called out. “Hello, Mr. Gerty!”
Lily knew he was hard of hearing, and sat down on the bench beside him and patted his arm.
“Hey, Mr. Gerty! It’s getting dark. Time for you to go home.”
This time the silence was shocking.
“Oh no,” Lily mumbled, and reached for his hand. It was colder than the air—and stiff. Her vision blurred as she felt for a pulse. There was none. “Sweet Lord.”
Her eyes were already filling with tears as she dialed 911.
“911. What is your emergency?”
“This is LilyAnn Bronte. I’m out at All Saints Cemetery. Mr. Gerty is here sitting on a bench, and I think he’s dead.”
“Oh my word!” the dispatcher said. “Stay on the line with me while I dispatch an ambulance.”
Lily dug in her purse for a tissue. A few moments later, the dispatcher was back talking to her.
“Have you tried to do CPR?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. I don’t know how long he’s been sitting here like this, but he’s way past that. He’s very stiff and his skin is cold.”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” the dispatcher asked.
Tears were running freely. “Not really. Can I hang up now?”
“I want you to stay on the phone with me until the ambulance arrives, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lily said and, a few seconds later, heard a siren approaching. “I hear a siren now.”
“Just stay with me until they arrive,” the dispatcher said.
LilyAnn nodded, then realized the dispatcher couldn’t see her, but it didn’t matter because a police car had just pulled up at the gate, and the ambulance was turning the corner.
“The police and ambulance are here. I’m hanging up now.”
She disconnected without waiting for permission because she needed to blow her nose.
Lonnie Pittman happened to be the one on duty, and he recognized LilyAnn as he ran through the gate.
She looked up. “Hey, Lonnie. We keep meeting in the strangest places, don’t we?”
Lonnie felt sad. LilyAnn was crying, but she’d stayed beside Mr. Gerty. It was a very touching sight for a hardened cop. He squatted down in front of them to check for a pulse in the old man’s wrist.
“Yes, he’s definitely dead, and it appears that he’s been so for some time. How long have you been here?”
“I just got here, saw him sitting on the bench, and thought he was asleep. I sat down to wake him up and then…” She shrugged and blew her nose again.
“You can get up now,” he said.
LilyAnn looked at the old man and then shook her head.
“If it’s okay, I’ll just stay here until the ambulance arrives. He passed alone. I think I’ll wait until they take his body away.”
Lonnie sighed, then saw the ambulance, patted Lily’s knee, and got up.
“They’re pulling up now. Be right back.”
Lily glanced at the old man’s face. He looked so peaceful—like he’d just fallen asleep. She looked down the pathway toward the plot where his wife was buried.
At least he wasn’t alone anymore.
Chapter 7
Mike and his dad were in the front yard visiting with Thomas Thane, their neighbor from across the street, when they began hearing sirens. Blessings was a small enough place that the sound of an emergency somewhere usually touched them all.
“I wonder what happened,” Don said.
“I have a scanner in the house. I could go check,” Thomas said.
“Never mind,” Don said. “If it’s bad, we’ll all find out soon enough.”
“I’m going to the porch to sit down,” Mike said, and walked away, leaving them in the yard
.
He was tired of the chitchat and hated that he was already feeling shaky, although, thanks to LilyAnn, his ear infection was cured. When he’d begun getting dizzy, he’d completely forgotten about his childhood propensity for getting inner ear infections and had only himself to blame for the accident.
As he sat, he could still hear the sirens and wondered again what was going on. He glanced toward LilyAnn’s house. It was still dark. He frowned. Her car was in the driveway, but she’d walked to work again this morning. She should have been home by now.
A neighbor from down the block came outside, saw the men standing out in the yard, and came running.
“Did you hear? They found someone dead at All Saints Cemetery! Didn’t give a name but—”
Mike stood up. The image of LilyAnn walking with her head down and her shoulders slumped, as if she bore the weight of the world, flashed through his mind. He began replaying their last conversation and the confusion he’d seen on her face. He’d been so lost in his own disappointment that he hadn’t given any thought to what his reaction would do to her. All those years of grieving for Randy Joe and never moving on—he’d never thought about her being despondent enough to take her own life.
His gut knotted. If she had gone to that place in her head, the cemetery would be a logical place for her to do it. Right beside Randy Joe’s grave.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. She wouldn’t! Please, God, not LilyAnn!
The sirens stopped.
He walked off the porch, past his dad and neighbor, and stopped on the sidewalk. The streetlights came on as the sun finally set. He could hear the traffic from Main Street, which was only four blocks due north. Several cars went speeding past the street where he was standing, most likely thrill-seekers going to gawk at the cemetery so they could claim firsthand experience tomorrow at the coffee shops.
And still no sign of LilyAnn.
His heart was pounding and he wanted to cry. He’d never been this scared—ever.
Please, God, please.
And then he looked up the street, and the relief was so great that his eyes filled with tears.
His dad walked up behind him. “Hey, isn’t that LilyAnn?”
