Until Joe

by Smith, CP

  The images came steadily, one after the other. Joe’s ex-wife running toward him. Him turning in time to catch her. Her mouth coming down on his as if she knew his mouth as well as I did. Her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck you could tell there was no room between them, no way she missed his mouth. And one of her reaching out to touch his arm as he looked down and watched. Her face was warm and open, as if she loved him desperately.

  It hurt. God, how it hurt. Bone-jarring, soul-destroying pain had crushed me and stolen my breath until I couldn’t stand. I’d spent the flight back to Hilton Head in the private bedroom trying to breathe. I’d refused to talk with my mother, Calla, and even Eunice. I didn’t want their pity, because even though those pictures should have confirmed Joe had cheated, that he was just like every other man I’d had the displeasure to meet, I still couldn’t shake the belief Joe was different.

  Call me a ninny, I didn’t care. I knew what I felt in my core. It had just taken the time alone on the plane for my belief in him to root itself again. They didn’t know Joe like I did. I’d been there when he left to go to his son. I’d seen his eyes when I’d told him I loved him. No one could fake that emotion or the pain etched in every line of his rugged face. It had killed him to walk away from me.

  It was with that newly ingrained belief in the man I loved I’d grabbed my father’s phone and studied the images again when we arrived at the mansion and I’d retired to my room. The same punch to the gut had hit me when I looked at them, but this time, I viewed them with a disbelieving eye. Joe’s face was blank in one instead of warm and loving, like he looked at me. His eyes were shut when she kissed him, but his brow was drawn across his face in a scowl. When his ex-wife’s hand was raised to touch his arm, I glanced at his jaw. It was taut. I could almost see the muscles jerking like it had done when he’d dealt with my father. An emotional eye would see lovers if they only glanced at the images. A calm and trusting eye saw an angry man. If I believed my eyes, then that meant only one thing. I’d lay down money my father had set him up. Five million dollars worth, I’d bet. My father didn’t know how to give up; he never did. If truth be told, I couldn’t even be mad at him for it. He was like a small child who threw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way. And just like a child who threw himself on the ground for a piece of candy, the best way to handle them was to ignore the behavior.

  I rolled out of bed with determination. I needed a shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a ride back to Savannah. I was heading home to get my phone from Devin and call Joe. I knew the whole family had seen the pictures—my father had sent them to Eunice, so she could be a beacon of support for her poor younger sister who had wretched taste in men—and would probably call me all kinds of a fool for believing in Joe. That was fine. But they could save their breath. I knew what I knew: Joe was a good man.

  After my shower, I skipped down the stairs, light on my feet. A day ago, I’d thought my father was a killer and Joe was never coming back. There wasn’t much that could raise my spirits after that. But today was a new day. The first day, as the corny saying goes, of the rest of my life.

  I breezed into the kitchen in search of coffee. A plump woman of an uncertain age was lighting the gas stove when I entered. She had on the customary uniform my father insisted on for the household staff. Black top and black pants. I hadn’t been to my parents’ house in months, so I’d never met this woman. “I’m Bernice,” I said, smiling, heading for the coffee pot.

  “Mrs. Baer,” the woman replied, moving toward the coffee pot. “I’ll get that for you, ma’am.”

  I waved her off. “I’m perfectly capable of makin’ my own coffee. Just concentrate on keepin’ Mufasa happy.”

  She blinked at my response. “Mufasa?”

  I threw a grin over my shoulder. “King of the jungle. Growls when he wants everyone to listen. Thinks he knows more than Simba because he’s lord of all he surveys.”

  She hesitated, darted a look toward the door, then leaned in and whispered, “Isn’t he more like Scar?”

  I paused to consider it, then shook my head. “Scar was traitorous and evil at his core. Our Mufasa is an asshole, yes, and narrow-minded in his quest to keep his people safe. His daughters safe, so they could inherit Mufasa’s kingdom. Like Scar he can be extremely annoyin’, especially when you just want to have fun—not to mention, induce feelin’s of murderous rage when he sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong—but my Mufasa isn’t evil, underneath all the assholery behavior, he’s just misguided and needs to be put in his place from time to time. It took me over fifty years to figure that out, so give him some time.”

  Mrs. Baer considered my explanation. “There’s still a bit of Scar in him, I think.”

  I smiled and nodded my head. “Yes, there is, but isn’t there a little Scar in all of us?”

  I winked at her and picked up my cup of coffee, then headed to the veranda that overlooked the Atlantic. The sky was gray today with an incoming storm, the waves choppy. Surfing on Tybee would be at its premium in weather like this. I wonder if Joe surfs?

  Mother came and sat next to me halfway through my second cup of coffee. “You seem in better spirits,” she questioned with a hint of apprehension.

  I reached over and grabbed her hand, patting it with a tender touch. “I’m fine, Momma.”

  She shot me a quizzical look. “Why?”

  “Why am I fine?”

  She nodded. “You were so . . . crushed, butterbean. What’s changed?”

  “I understand Daddy better, I guess,” I began. “You see, I had this impression of him all these years, based on a lie. He’s ruthless to the core when it comes to protecting his family, if not overly emotional about it when you consider he raised a hand to Calla. However, the fact still remains, if you were to separate all the hateful things he’s done over the years and put a question mark next to his motivation, it always comes back to the family. He’s an old bastard who would do anything to protect the Armstrong name, but that includes each one of us. He doesn’t know how to show love, I think. And as strange as it sounds, his love language is manipulation. He manipulates all of us until we’re doin’ exactly what he wants.” I leaned in and smiled before whispering, “It gives him peace of mind to know all his ducks are in a nice little row.”

  Mother’s responding smile was Southern charm at its finest. “That’s the best explanation I’ve heard for his barbaric behavior, and I do believe you’re right. But what’s that got to do with you recoverin’ from heartache so quickly?”

  I shrugged. “Daddy set him up.”

  She blinked. “Sugar . . .” she said carefully. I expected her to respond like this, for all of them to react the same, so I just smiled.

  “I know Joe, Momma.”

  A worried mask shrouded her face. “I’m not sure Preston can control who Joe kisses, Bernice.”

  The image of his ex-wife running toward Joe when he was turned to the side with a phone to his ear told the tale for me. Daddy had paid her off to make it look like they were involved. I could almost see what happened in my mind’s eye.

  “Daddy can’t make Joe do anything. But”—I paused for drama because this felt like a soap opera playing out on the veranda—“I’d bet five million dollars would sway an ex who had an ax to grind.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then her eyes clouded over, and comprehension filled them. Her mouth pinched like she’d eaten a lemon. “I should have divorced him years ago. If I didn’t love the old coot, I would have.”

  I patted her hand again. “It’s okay, Momma. Daddy’s just doin’ what he’s done my whole life. He thinks he knows best and will do anything to prove it. Even if it means fabricatin’ lovers in order to protect me. If you really think about it, it’s endearin’ in the same way a dog guards a bone.” I shrugged. “Daddy loves me. I can see that now. I can fault his actions, as heinous as they are, but not the feelin’s behind it. I know I would do anything in my power to protect Calla Lily if I thought she was i
n trouble.”

  “True, but datin’ a man isn’t exactly trouble, Bernice. He should have waited. Investigated Joe, without a doubt, but he had no way of knowin’ if Joe would have stuck. You don’t exactly have a long track record with men.”

  “Momma, when has Daddy ever made sense?”

  She patted my hand back. “I suppose you’re right. He’s a man only a family could love, I’ll give you that much. So, what do you plan to do now?”

  “Head home, of course, and get on with my life.”

  “With Joe?”

  I raised my brows. “Have you taken a good look at the man?”

  She chuckled lightly. “He is a fine specimen.”

  “With a heart of gold that I love.”

  “Sentimental horseshit, blossom,” my father sighed, entering the veranda like a caged bull with too much energy. He sat across from us once he’d stopped pacing, crossed a leg over the other knee, and glared. “You’ve lost your good sense, Bernice. I may have offered money for dirt on that man, but I didn’t fabricate his rendezvous with that woman. His ex-wife told my man on the ground, even though they were divorced, they still seek each other out at least once a week. So when Joe returned to Tennessee, my man, Todd, contacted her, and she told him they were meeting up the next morning for a good time after visiting their son. Those pictures prove she didn’t lie and confirmed what I’ve suspected. He is not good enough for you.”

  I leaned forward and rested my arms on my knees. My father prided himself on always being right, but I was going to shatter those illusions. “She lied for the money, Daddy.”

  His eyes grew sad. “I don’t like hurtin’ you this way, daughter mine. I can see you truly believe that, so you leave me no choice. If you don’t believe me, then maybe you’ll believe a victim of his deceit. A woman he should have helped if he’s as honorable as you said.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “I sent the plane back to you last night to cover all my bases. I need her here ASAP.” Daddy listened for a moment, then sighed. “Tell her she’ll get paid once she’s told her story. Now get her on the plane and bring her to the mansion.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll see you in four hours,” he ordered then hung up.

  My head fell back on my shoulders. “This will not work, Daddy dearest. I won’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth. Especially if this so-called victim is his ex-wife.”

  “It’s not his ex-wife I’m bringin’ here.”

  “Then who?”

  “Be patient, Bernice. This will all end today, then you can go back to your little shop and keep an eye on our girl.”

  At least he was right about that. I would be going back to my little shop on River Street today.

  I sighed and stood up. There was no arguing with him when he thought he was right. Joe would just have to prove he was wrong when he came back. “I’m goin’ home. I don’t care what this woman has to say.”

  My father crossed his arms. “You’re stayin’ until this is resolved,” he ordered.

  “It’s already resolved for me. I’m leavin’.”

  I started to walk away but stopped when my father called out, “And how do you expect to leave? I won’t admit a taxi onto the grounds, and none of my drivers will take you back to Savannah without my say-so.”

  I swung around and scowled at him. “Why are you doin’ this?”

  “Why do I do anything?” He raised his hands in question. “You said it yourself, and you were right. I would do anything to protect my family. Even protect you from yourself.”

  With a huff, I walked back into the house. It was a monstrosity of wealth, a sterile monochromatic space where everything was in its place. Jessie was inside, no doubt listening to our conversation, like the rat he was, his shoulder holster with a silver firearm in plain sight. I scowled at him, and he tipped an imaginary hat at me and grinned. I sniffed, then marched into my father’s study and searched until I found a weathered address book. Daddy was old-school when it came to things like phone numbers. Even though he had everyone saved into his phone, he liked a hard copy as a backup in case he lost his cell. As I flipped the pages looking for Calla’s number, I promised myself I would memorize phone numbers from now on. No more being stranded for me.

  I grabbed my father’s landline and put the sleek cordless phone to my ear after dialing her number. Calla answered on the second ring. “Granddaddy?”

  “I need a ride back to town. Pronto. Can you skip out on work?”

  A long pause. “Bernice? Are you—”

  I didn’t have time for pleasantries. “Can you come to get me or not, butterbean? If you can’t, I’ll call Eunice.”

  “Um, sure. But why isn’t one of the drivers bringin’ you back?”

  I looked over my shoulder and found my father leaning against the doorframe to his office. “Because Mufasa won’t let me leave.” He shot a big toothy grin at me. Yes, yes, you’re a scary predator. But you’ve met your match, Daddy dearest. Joe will be back!

  “Ahhh,” Calla replied in a knowing voice. “Do you need a Wallflower rescue?”

  “I need Joe, if you must know. But I’ll settle for you since he’s still in Tennessee.”

  She burst out laughing and said something I couldn’t hear. “We’ll be there as soon as possible!”

  Fifteen

  Tell her yourself

  JOE ROLLED TO a stop outside a weathered brick building in the heart of historic Savannah, Georgia. Located on River Street, the building faced the Savannah River. The street was bustling with tourists as Joe made his way around to the front from the back alley. The air around him was scented with brine and sweet molasses mixed in from the candy shops. He scanned the old brick structure as tourists bumped his shoulder. It was three floors tall, with green shutters and two shop fronts. One shop housed a vintage clothing store named Frock You. Joe smiled at the name and the woman who no doubt came up with it as a dig at her old man. His eyes drifted to the other shop. Hawthorne Investigations was boldly displayed on the window. Moving to the door, Joe grabbed the brass doorknob and pushed it open. Cold air assaulted his heat-worn body, making it easier to breathe in the humid climate. Three sets of eyes turned his direction when he entered. Devin Hawthorne, Nate Jacobs, and Bo Strawn all jerked their heads in greeting.

  “Tell me you were able to clean up that audio,” Joe growled without preamble.

  Devin nodded. “I did. It confirmed your account.”

  Joe exhaled long and slow, then filled his lungs again with less effort than he’d been able to since he’d spoken to Devin the night before. He’d been on the road half the night and most of the day, stopping only for fuel. He’d made the seven-hour drive in six, arriving just after lunch. His bones were tired, his mind exhausted from worry, but he was ready for a fight. Rage had driven him through the exhaustion, kept his mind clear of fatigue. His sole focus the entire trip was getting to Bernice.

  “Where is she?” Joe asked.

  “At the mansion on Hilton Head Island,” Devin answered.

  Now that he could prove his innocence to Bernice, the adrenaline that sustained him through the long night began to wane, and he felt every one of his years. But he had one more ride to make, then he could curl up beside Bernice and rest with her in his arms.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, turning to leave.

  “He won’t let you waltz in there and take her,” Devin stated.

  Joe turned to the younger man and raised a brow. “Did you let that stop you?”

  Devin smiled. “Nope.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Joe pulled open the door and kept going. All three men followed him. “I’ll see if Calla can get us in,” Devin mumbled, pulling out his phone.

  Bo headed for a black F-150 Super Crew, mumbling, “I’ll drive.”

  “Calla’s not answerin’,” Devin said as Strawn backed out, weaving through traffic up the ramp until they hit Bay Street.

  “I’ll call Poppy,” Nate said and whipped out his phone.
When she didn’t answer, he looked at Devin. “That can’t be good.”

  Bo punched a button on his dash, and an electronic voice asked which number he wanted to dial. “Call Sienna,” Bo ground out.

  The call rang twice before she answered, then the cab filled with a woman’s irate voice. “This is ridiculous, Granddaddy,” a woman—who Joe thought sounded like Calla—shouted.

  “Sienna?” Bo growled.

  “Hold on. Cali’s tearin’ her grandfather a new one. I don’t want to miss this. She’s fired up.”

  Bo shot a look in Devin’s direction. “They’re at the mansion,” he said with exasperation. “Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

  Nate grumbled a muted, “Fuck,” beneath his breath. “We should have seen that comin’. We’ve gotten lax after two months of peace.”

  Joe started to chuckle. The stories Devin had relayed to him meant those men had to stay vigilant at best, but Bernice’s voice rang out through the speakers, stopping him. “I don’t care who this woman is or what she has to say. I told you this mornin’ that I trust Joe.”

  His heart skipped at the adamance in her voice. She’d been shown a damning image of him and his ex-wife, and she still believed in Joe. Fuck, but he loved her. Would thank God every day until the day he died that he’d found her. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this woman, and he didn’t care. He planned to grab hold and never let go from this day forward.

  What tension remained for the confrontation ahead drained from his body at hearing her defense of him. There would be no fighting with Bernice to believe him. He didn’t even need the audio, though he’d damn well play it for her father.