The curtains in the bed-and-breakfast were thin, and sunlight woke Dawson only a few minutes after dawn. He rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep, but he found it impossible. Instead, he stood and spent the next few minutes stretching. In the mornings, everything ached, especially his back and shoulders. He wondered how many more years he could continue working on the rig; there was a lot of accumulated wear and tear in his body, and every passing year seemed to compound his injuries.
Reaching into his duffel bag, he grabbed his running gear, dressed, and quietly descended the stairs. The bed-and-breakfast was about what he’d expected: four bedrooms upstairs, with a kitchen, dining room, and seating area downstairs. The owners, unsurprisingly, favored a sailing theme; miniature wooden sailboats adorned the end tables, and paintings of schooners hung on the walls. Above the fireplace was an ancient boat wheel, and tacked to the door was a map of the river, marking the channels.
The owners weren’t yet awake. When he’d checked in the night before, they’d informed him that they’d left the delivery of flowers in his room, and that breakfast was at eight. That gave him plenty of time before his meeting to do what he needed to do.
Outside, the morning was already bright. A thin layer of haze on the river hovered like a low-level cloud, but the sky above was a brilliant blue and clear in every direction. The air was already warm, foretelling hotter weather to come. He rolled his shoulders a few times and was jogging before he hit the road. It took a few minutes before his body began to feel limber and he settled into an easy pace.
The road was quiet as he entered Oriental’s small downtown. He passed two antiques stores, a hardware store, and a few real estate offices; on the opposite side of the street, Irvin’s Diner was already open for business, with a handful of cars parked out front. Over his shoulder, the fog on the river had begun to lift, and breathing deeply, he caught the living scent of salt and pine. Near the marina, he passed a bustling coffee shop, and a few minutes later, with the stiffness almost completely gone, he was able to pick up his pace. At the marina, gulls circled and sounded their calls as people carried coolers to their sailboats, and he jogged past a rustic bait shop.
He passed the First Baptist Church, marveling at the stained-glass windows and trying to recall whether he’d even noticed them as a child, before searching for Morgan Tanner’s office. He knew the address and finally spotted the placard on a small brick building wedged between a drugstore and a coin dealer. Another attorney was listed as well, though they didn’t seem to share the same practice. He wondered how Tuck had chosen Tanner. Until the call, he’d never heard of the man.
As downtown Oriental came to an end, Dawson turned off the main road, branching out onto neighborhood streets, running without any particular destination in mind.
He hadn’t slept well. Instead, his mind had cycled endlessly between Amanda and the Bonners. In prison, aside from Amanda, Marilyn Bonner was all he could think about. She had testified at the sentencing hearing, and her testimony underscored the fact that he’d not only robbed her of the man she loved and the father of her children, but also destroyed her entire way of life. In a breaking voice, she’d admitted that she had no idea how she was going to provide for her family, or what would become of them. Dr. Bonner, it turned out, had neglected to buy life insurance.
Eventually, Marilyn Bonner lost the house. She moved back in with her parents at the orchard, but her life continued to be a struggle. Her father had already retired and had early-stage emphysema. Her mom suffered from diabetes, and the loan payments on the property ate up almost every dollar the orchard brought in. Because her parents needed almost full-time care between them, Marilyn was able to work only part-time. Even when she combined her small salary with her parents’ social security, there was barely enough to cover the basics, and sometimes not even that. The old farmhouse they lived in was beginning to fall apart, and the loan payments on the orchard eventually fell into arrears.
By the time Dawson got out of prison, things had become desperate for the Bonner family. Dawson didn’t learn of that until he went to the farmhouse to apologize almost six months later. When Marilyn answered the door, Dawson barely recognized her; her hair had turned gray and her skin looked sallow. She, on the other hand, knew exactly who he was, and before he could say a word, she began screaming at him to leave, shrieking that he’d ruined her life, that he’d killed her husband, that she didn’t even have enough money to fix the leaking roof or hire the workers she needed. She screamed that the bankers were threatening to foreclose on the orchard, and then that she was going to call the police. She warned him never to come back. Dawson left, but later that night he returned to the farmhouse and studied the decaying structure; he walked the rows of peach and apple trees. The following week, after receiving his paycheck from Tuck, he went to the bank and had a cashier’s check sent to Marilyn Bonner for almost the entire amount, along with everything he’d saved since he’d gotten out of prison, with no note attached.
In the years since then, Marilyn’s life had gotten better. Her parents eventually died and the farmhouse and orchard passed to her; though it had been a struggle at times, she’d slowly been able to make up the outstanding loan payments and carry out the necessary repairs. She now owned the land free and clear. She’d started a mail-order business a few years after he’d left town, selling homemade canned preserves. With the help of the Internet, her business had grown to the point where she no longer worried about paying the bills. Though she’d never remarried, she’d been dating an accountant named Leo for almost sixteen years.
As for the kids, Emily graduated from East Carolina University and eventually moved to Raleigh, where she worked as a manager in a department store, preparing most likely to take over her mom’s business one day. Alan lived in the orchard in a double-wide that his mom had purchased for him and hadn’t gone to college, but he had a steady job and in the photographs that were sent to Dawson, he always seemed happy.
Once a year, the photographs arrived in Louisiana along with a brief update on Marilyn, Emily, and Alan; the private detectives he’d hired had always been thorough but had never pried too deeply.
He sometimes felt guilty about having the Bonners followed, but he had to know whether he’d been able to make even the smallest positive difference in their lives. That’s all he’d wanted since the night of the accident, and it was the reason he’d been sending checks monthly for the past two decades, almost always through anonymous offshore bank accounts. He was, after all, responsible for the greatest loss their family had experienced, and as he ran the quiet streets he knew he was willing to do whatever he could to make amends.
Abee Cole could feel the fever inside him making him sick, and he shivered despite the heat. Two days ago, he’d taken his baseball bat to a guy who had provoked him, and the guy had surprised him with a box cutter. A dirty one that left an evil-looking slash yawning across his gut. Earlier this morning, he noticed green pus oozing out, smelling like a sewer despite the drugs that were supposed to help. If the fever didn’t break soon, he had half a mind to take the bat to his cousin Calvin, since he’d sworn the antibiotics he’d stolen from the veterinary office would work.
Right now, though, he was distracted by the sight of Dawson running on the opposite side of the street, and he considered what to do about him.
Ted was in the convenience store behind him, and he wondered whether he’d spotted Dawson. Probably not; otherwise he’d be rushing out of the store like a wild boar. Ever since he’d heard that Tuck went toes up, Ted had been waiting for Dawson to show up. Probably while sharpening his knives and loading his guns and checking his grenades or bazookas or whatever the hell other weapons he kept at that rat hole he shared with Ella, that little tramp whore of his.
Ted wasn’t quite right in the head. Never had been right. Just a bundle of rage, that one. Nine years in prison hadn’t taught him how to keep it in check, either. In the past few years, it had gotten to the point where it was almost impossible to keep Ted in line, but as Abee often reflected, that wasn’t always such a bad thing. It made him an effective enforcer, ensuring that everyone involved in producing crank on their property followed his rules. Ted scared the crap out of everybody these days, family included, and that suited Abee just fine. They kept their noses out of Abee’s business and did what they were told. While he didn’t particularly care for his younger brother, Abee did find him useful.
But now Dawson was back in town, and who the hell knew what Ted was going to do. Abee had figured that Dawson would show up on account of Tuck dying, but he hoped that Dawson would have had the sense to stay just long enough to pay his respects and leave before anyone knew he’d even come home. That’s what anyone with a lick of sense would have done, and he was sure that Dawson was smart enough to know that Ted wanted to kill him every time he looked in the mirror and saw that crooked nose staring back at him.
Abee didn’t give two licks what happened to Dawson, one way or the other. But he didn’t want Ted creating unnecessary trouble. It was hard enough to keep things going already, what with the Feds and the staties and the sheriff poking their noses into the family business. It wasn’t like the old days, when the law was afraid of them. These days, the cops had helicopters and dogs and infrared and snitches everywhere. Abee had to think about such things; Abee alone had to plan for such things.
Thing was, Dawson was a lot smarter than the meth-head tweakers Ted usually dealt with. Say what you want about Dawson, but he’d beaten the crap out of both Ted and his daddy when both of them were armed, and that meant something. Dawson wasn’t afraid of Ted or Abee, and he’d be prepared. He could be ruthless when necessary, and that should have been enough to give Ted pause. But it wouldn’t, because Ted wasn’t going to be thinking straight.
The last thing he needed was for Ted to be sent away again. He needed him, what with half the family tweaking and prone to doing stupid things. But if Abee couldn’t prevent Ted from going off the rails when he saw Dawson, Ted just might find himself standing before the judge again. The thought made his stomach burn, compounding his nausea.
Abee leaned over, vomiting onto the asphalt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Dawson finally disappeared around the corner. Ted still hadn’t come out. Abee gave a mental sigh of relief and decided not to tell him about the sighting. He shivered again, his gut on fire. Jesus, he felt like crap. Who would have thought the guy was carrying a box cutter?
It wasn’t like Abee was trying to kill the guy — he just wanted to send a message to him and anyone else who might be getting ideas about Candy. Next time, though, Abee wasn’t going to take a chance. Once he started swinging, he wasn’t going to stop. He’d be careful — he was always careful when the law might get involved — but everyone needed to understand that his girlfriend was off-limits. Guys better not look at her or talk to her, let alone get any ideas about getting into her pants. She’d probably get huffy, but Candy needed to understand that she was his now. He really didn’t want to mess up that pretty face of hers to make a point.
Candy wasn’t sure what to do about Abee Cole. Sure, they’d gone out a few times, and she knew he probably thought he could boss her around now. But he was a guy, and she’d figured out guys a long time ago, even bull-headed types like Abee. She might be only twenty-four years old, but she’d been on her own since seventeen, and she’d learned that as long as she wore her blond hair long and loose and stared up at guys with that look, she could pretty much make them do whatever she wanted. She knew how to make a man feel fascinating, no matter how dull he might really be. And for the past seven years, it had served her well. She owned a Mustang convertible, courtesy of some old guy in Wilmington, and a small Buddha statue that she displayed on her windowsill, which was supposedly made of gold and was from a sweet Chinese man in Charleston. She knew that if she were to tell Abee that she was running low on cash, he’d probably give some to her and feel like a king.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. She wasn’t from around here and hadn’t known who the Coles were when she’d arrived in Oriental a few months ago. The more she’d learned about them, the more uncertain she felt about letting Abee get too close to her. Not because Abee was a criminal. She’d taken a coke dealer in Atlanta for almost twenty thousand dollars over a few months, and he’d been as delighted with their overall arrangement as she’d been. No, it partly had to do with her discomfort around Ted.
They were often together when Abee came in, and frankly, Ted scared her. It wasn’t just the pockmarked skin or brown teeth that freaked her out; it was more his overall… vibe. When he grinned at her, there was a gleeful malevolence about it, like he couldn’t decide whether to strangle her or kiss her, but thought that both would be equally fun.
Ted had given her the serious creeps from the get-go, but she had to admit that the more she’d gotten to know Abee, the more she worried that the two were cut from the same cloth. Abee was getting a little… possessive lately, and that was beginning to scare her. In all honesty, it was probably time to move on. Drive north to Virginia or south to Florida, it didn’t really matter. She’d leave tomorrow, except that she didn’t have the cash to make the trip yet. She’d never been good at holding on to money, but she figured that if she really worked the customers at the bar this weekend and played her cards just right, she could earn enough by Sunday to get the hell out of here, before Abee Cole even realized she was gone.
The delivery truck lurched from the centerline to the shoulder and back again, the result of Alan Bonner trying to free a cigarette by bouncing the pack against his thigh while simultaneously trying not to spill the cup of coffee he had wedged between his legs. On the radio, a country song was blaring, something about a man who’d lost his dog or wanted a dog or liked eating dogs or whatever, but lyrics had never been as important as rhythm, and this tune had serious rhythm. Add in the fact that it was Friday, which meant he had only seven more hours of work time left before the long, glorious weekend ahead, and he was already in a good mood.
“Shouldn’t you turn that down?” Buster asked.
Buster Tibson was a new trainee with the company, which was the only reason he was even in the truck, and all week long he’d been complaining about this or asking questions about that. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.
“What? You don’t like this song?”
“It says in the manual that playing the radio loud causes distractions. Ron mentioned that specifically when he hired me.”
That was another annoying thing about Buster. He was a stickler for the rules. It was probably why Ron had hired him.
Alan finished tapping out the cigarette and stuck it between his teeth while he searched for his lighter. Thing was wedged deep into his pocket and it took a bit of concentration to keep the coffee from spilling as he began to dig it out.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s Friday, remember?”
Buster seemed dissatisfied with his answer, and when Alan glanced over he noticed that Buster had ironed his shirt this morning. No doubt he’d made sure that Ron had noticed. Probably went into the office with a notepad and pen, too, so that he could write down everything Ron said while simultaneously complimenting Ron on his wisdom.
And what about the guy’s name? That was another thing. What kind of a parent named their kid Buster?
The delivery van lurched onto the shoulder again as Alan finally freed his lighter.
“Hey, where the hell did you get the name Buster, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s a family name. On my mom’s side.” Buster frowned. “How many deliveries today?”
All week long, Buster had been asking that question, and Alan had yet to figure out why the specific number was so important. They delivered nabs and nuts and chips and trail mix and beef jerky to gas stations and convenience stores, but the key was not to speed through the route, or Ron would just add more stops. Alan learned that last year and he wasn’t about to make that mistake again. His territory already covered all of Pamlico County, which meant driving endlessly along the most boring roads in the history of mankind. Even so, this was far and away the best job he’d ever had. Way better than construction or landscaping or washing cars or anything else he’d done since he graduated from high school. Here, there was fresh air blowing through the window, music as loud as he wanted, and no boss constantly breathing down his neck. The pay wasn’t half bad, either.
Alan cupped his hands, steering with his elbows while he lit his cigarette. He blew the smoke through the open window. “Enough. We’ll be lucky if we finish.”
Buster turned toward the passenger window, speaking under his breath. “Then maybe we shouldn’t take such long lunches.”
The kid was seriously irritating. And that’s what he was — a kid, even if, technically, Buster was older than him. Still, the last thing he wanted was for Buster to report back to Ron that he was slacking off.
“It’s not about the lunches,” Alan said, trying to sound serious. “It’s about customer service. You can’t just run in and run out. You have to talk to people. Our job is about making sure our customers are happy. That’s why I always make sure that I do things by the book.”
“Like smoking? You know you’re not supposed to smoke in the van.”
“Every man’s got a vice.”
“And blasting the radio?”
Uh-oh. The kid had obviously been compiling a list, and Alan had to think fast.
“I just did that for you. Kind of a celebration, you know? It’s the end of your first week and you’ve done a great job. And when we finish up today, I’ll make sure Ron knows that.”
Mentioning Ron like that was enough to make Buster quiet down for a few minutes, which didn’t seem like much, but after a week in the car with the guy, any silence was a good thing. The day couldn’t end soon enough, and next week he’d have the van to himself again. Thank God.
And tonight? That was all about getting the weekend started right, which meant doing his best to forget all about Buster. Tonight he’d end up at the Tidewater, a hole-in-the-wall just outside town that was almost the only place nearby that offered any kind of nightlife. He’d drink some beer, play some pool, and if he was lucky, that cute bartender might even be there. She wore tight jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and she leaned forward in her skimpy top whenever she handed him a beer, which made it taste that much better. Same thing Saturday night and Sunday night, too, for that matter, assuming his mom had plans with her longtime boyfriend, Leo, and didn’t drop by his double-wide like she had last night.
Why she didn’t just marry Leo was beyond him; maybe then she’d have better things to do than check on her grown son. What he didn’t want this weekend was for his mom to expect him to keep her company, because that just wasn’t going to happen. Who cared if he was a little worse for the wear on Monday? By then, Buster would be in his own delivery truck, and if that didn’t call for a little celebrating, nothing did.
Marilyn Bonner worried about Alan.
Not all the time, of course, and she did her best to keep her worries in check. He was an adult, after all, and she knew he was old enough to make his own decisions. But she was his mother, and Alan’s primary problem as she saw it was that he always opted for the easy path, which led to nowhere, instead of the more challenging path that had a chance of turning out better. It bothered her that he lived his life more like a teenager than someone who was twenty-seven years old. Last night, when she’d dropped by his double-wide, he’d been playing a video game, and his first reaction had been to ask whether she wanted to give it a try. As she stood there in the doorway, she’d found herself wondering how she could have raised a son who didn’t seem to know her in the slightest.
Still, she knew it could be worse. A lot worse. The bottom line was that Alan had turned out okay. He was kind and had a job and never got into trouble, and that was pretty good, in this day and age. Say what you want, but she read the papers and heard the scuttlebutt around town. She knew that a lot of his friends, young men she’d known since they were boys, even some from the better families, had descended into drug use or drank too much or even ended up in prison. It made sense, considering where they lived. Too many people glorified small-town America, making it seem like a Norman Rockwell painting, but the reality was something else entirely. With the exception of doctors and lawyers or people who owned their own businesses, there were no high-paying jobs in Oriental, or in any other small town for that matter. And while it was in many ways an ideal place to raise young children, there was little for young adults to aspire to. There weren’t, nor would there ever be, middle management positions in small towns, nor was there much to do on the weekends, or even new people to meet. Why Alan still wanted to live here was beyond her, but as long as he was happy and paid his own way in the world, she was willing to make things a bit easier for him, even if that meant she’d had to buy a double-wide a stone’s throw from the farmhouse to get him started off in life.
No, she didn’t have any illusions about the kind of town Oriental was. In that way, she wasn’t like the other blue bloods in town, but then losing a husband as a young mother of two tended to adjust your perspective. Being a Bennett and having attended UNC didn’t stop the bankers from trying to foreclose on the orchard. Nor did her family name or connections help her support her struggling family. Even her fancy economics degree from UNC didn’t buy her a pass.
In the end, everything came down to money. It came down to what a person actually did, as opposed to who they thought they were, which was why she couldn’t stomach the Oriental status quo anymore. These days, she’d hire a hardworking immigrant over a UNC or Duke society belle who believed that the world owed her a good living. The very notion probably struck people like Evelyn Collier or Eugenia Wilcox as blasphemous, but she’d long since come to view Evelyn and Eugenia and their ilk as dinosaurs, clinging to a world that no longer existed. At a recent town meeting, she’d even said as much. In the past it would have caused a commotion, but Marilyn’s was one of the few businesses in town that was actually expanding, and there was nothing much anyone could say — including Evelyn Collier and Eugenia Wilcox.
In the years since David had died, she’d come to treasure her hard-won independence. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and she had to admit that she liked being in control of her own life, without anyone’s expectations getting in the way. She supposed that was why she’d rejected Leo’s repeated marriage proposals. An accountant in Morehead City, he was smart, well-to-do, and she enjoyed spending time with him. Most important, he respected her, and the kids had always adored him. Emily and Alan couldn’t understand why she kept saying no.
But Leo knew she’d always say no, and that was okay with him, because the truth was they were both comfortable with the way things were. They’d probably see a movie tomorrow night, and on Sunday she’d attend church and then visit the cemetery to pay her respects to David, as she’d done every weekend for nearly a quarter century. She’d meet Leo later for dinner. In her own way, she loved him. It might not be the kind of love that others understood, but that didn’t matter. What she and Leo had was good enough for both of them.
Halfway across town, Amanda was drinking coffee at the kitchen table and doing her best to ignore her mother’s pointed silence. The night before, after Amanda had come in, her mom had been waiting in the parlor, and even before Amanda had the chance to sit down, the questions had begun.
Where have you been? Why are you so late? Why didn’t you call?
I did call, Amanda reminded her, but instead of being drawn into the incriminating conversation her mom obviously wanted, Amanda mumbled that she had a headache and that what she really needed to do was lie down in her room. If her mother’s demeanor this morning was any indication, she was obviously displeased by that. Aside from a quick good morning as she’d entered the kitchen, her mom had said nothing. Instead, she went straight to the toaster, and after punctuating her silence with a sigh, she popped some bread in. As it was browning, her mom sighed again, a little louder this time.
I get it, Amanda wanted to say. You’re upset. Are you done now? Instead, she sipped her coffee, resolving that no matter how many buttons her mom pressed, she wouldn’t be drawn into an argument.
Amanda heard the toast pop up. Her mother opened the drawer and pulled out a knife before closing it with a rattle. She began to butter her toast.
“Are you feeling any better?” her mom finally asked without turning around.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on? Or where you were?”
“I told you, I had a late start.” Amanda tried her best to keep her voice even.
“I tried to call you, but I kept getting your voice mail.”
“My battery died.” That lie had come to her last night, on her way over. Her mom was nothing if not predictable.
Her mother picked up her plate. “Is that why you never called Frank?”
“I talked to him yesterday, about an hour after he got home from work.” She picked up the morning paper, scanning the headlines with studied nonchalance.
“Well, he also called here.”
“And?”
“He was surprised you hadn’t arrived yet,” Amanda’s mother sniffed. “He said that as far as he knew, you left around two.”
“I had to run some errands before I left,” she said. The lies came way too easily, she thought, but then she’d had a lot of practice.
“He sounded upset.”
No, he sounded like he was drinking, Amanda thought, and I doubt if he’ll even remember. She got up from the table and refilled her cup of coffee. “I’ll call him later.”
Her mother took a seat. “I was invited to play bridge last night.”
So that’s what this was about, Amanda thought. Or at least part of it, anyway. Her mom was addicted to the game and had been playing with the same group of women for almost thirty years. “You should have gone.”
“I couldn’t, because I knew you were coming and I thought we’d have dinner together.” Her mother sat down stiffly. “Eugenia Wilcox had to fill in for me.”
Eugenia Wilcox lived just down the street, in another historic mansion that was as gorgeous as Evelyn’s. Though they supposedly were friends — her mom and Eugenia had known each other all their lives — there’d always been an unspoken rivalry between the two of them, encompassing who had the better house and the better garden and everything in between, including which of them made the better red velvet cake.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Amanda said, sitting back down again. “I should have called you earlier.”
“Eugenia doesn’t know the first thing about bidding and it ruined the entire game. Martha Ann already called and complained to me about it. But anyway, I told her that you were in town and one thing led to another and she invited us over for dinner tonight.”
Amanda frowned and put down her coffee cup. “You didn’t say yes, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
An image of Dawson flashed in her mind. “I don’t know if I’m going to have time,” she improvised. “There might be a wake tonight.”
“There might be a wake? What does that mean? Either there’s a wake or there isn’t one.”
“I mean that I’m not sure if there is one. When the lawyer called, he didn’t give me any specifics about the funeral.”
“That’s kind of strange, isn’t it? That he wouldn’t tell you anything?”
Maybe, Amanda thought. But no stranger than Tuck arranging for Dawson and me to have dinner at his house last night. “I’m sure he’s just doing what Tuck wanted.”
At the mention of Tuck’s name, her mom fingered the pearl necklace she was wearing. Amanda had never known her to leave the bedroom without makeup and jewelry, and this morning was no exception. Evelyn Collier had always embodied the spirit of the Old South and would no doubt continue to until the day she died.
“I still don’t understand why you had to come back for this. It’s not as if you really knew the man.”
“I knew him, Mom.”
“Years ago. I mean, it’s one thing if you were still living here in town. Maybe then I could understand it. But there was no reason to make a special trip down here for it.”
“I came to pay my respects.”
“He didn’t have the best reputation, you know. A lot of people thought he was crazy. And what am I supposed to say to my friends about why you’re here?”
“I don’t know why you have to say anything.”
“Because they’re going to ask why you’re here,” she said.
“Why would they ask?”
“Because they find you interesting.”
Amanda heard something in her mother’s tone she didn’t quite understand. As she tried to figure it out, she added some cream to her coffee. “I didn’t realize I was such a hot topic of conversation,” she remarked.
“It’s really not that surprising if you think about it. You hardly ever bring Frank or the kids with you anymore. I can’t help it if they find it strange.”
“We’ve gone over this before,” Amanda said, unable to hide her exasperation. “Frank works and the kids are in school, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t come. Sometimes, daughters do that. They go visit their mother.”
“And sometimes, they don’t see their mother at all. That’s what they really find interesting, if you want to know the truth.”
“What are you talking about?” Amanda narrowed her eyes.
“I’m talking about the fact that you come to Oriental when you know I won’t be around. And that you stay in my house, without so much as even letting me know about it.” She didn’t bother to disguise her hostility before going on. “You didn’t realize that I knew about it, did you? Like when I went on the cruise last year? Or when I went to visit my sister in Charleston the year before that? It’s a small town, Amanda. People saw you. My friends saw you. What I don’t understand is why you believed I wouldn’t find out.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t,” she said, raising a perfectly manicured hand. “I know exactly why you came. I might be older, but that doesn’t mean I’m senile. Why else would you be here for the funeral? It’s obvious you came here to see him. And that’s where you went all those times you told me that you were going shopping, am I correct? Or when you said you were visiting your friend at the beach? You’ve been lying to me all along.”
Amanda dropped her gaze and said nothing. There was really nothing she could say. In the silence, she heard a sigh. When her mom finally went on, her voice had lost its edge.
“You know what? I’ve been lying for you, too, Amanda, and I’m tired of it. But I’m still your mother and you can talk to me.”
“Yes, Mom.” In her voice she heard the petulant echo of her teenage self and hated herself for it.
“Is something going on with the kids that I should know about?”
“No. The kids are great.”
“Is it Frank?”
Amanda rotated the handle on her coffee cup to the opposite side.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No.” Amanda’s voice was flat.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” she said again.
“What’s going on with you, Amanda?”
For some reason, the question made her think about Dawson, and for an instant she was back in Tuck’s kitchen, basking in Dawson’s attention. And she knew then that she wanted nothing more than to see him again, no matter what the consequences.
“I don’t know,” she finally murmured. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”
After Amanda went up to shower, Evelyn Collier stood on the back porch, staring at the fine layer of mist that hovered over the river. Normally, it was one of her favorite times of the day and had been, ever since she was a girl. Back then, she hadn’t lived on the river; she’d lived near the mill her father owned, but on weekends she used to wander out to the bridge, where she sometimes sat for hours, watching the sun gradually dissipate the mist. Harvey had known she’d always wanted to live on the river, and it was the reason he’d bought the house only a few months after they’d been married. Of course, he’d bought it from his father for a song — the Colliers owned a lot of property back then — so it hadn’t been a terrible stretch for him, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he’d cared, and she wished he were still around, if only to talk to him about Amanda. Who on earth knew what was going on with her these days? But then Amanda had always been a mystery, even as a girl. She had her own ideas about things, and from the time she could walk she’d always been as stubborn as a warped door on a humid summer day. If her mom told her to stay close, Amanda would wander off the first chance she got; if she told Amanda to wear something pretty, Amanda would skip down the steps wearing something from the back of the closet. When she was very young it had been somewhat possible to keep Amanda under control and on the right track. She was a Collier, after all, and people had expectations. But once Amanda became a teenager? Lord knows, it was like the devil had gotten into her. First Dawson Cole — a Cole! — and then the lies and sneaking out and the endless moodiness and fresh responses whenever she tried to talk some sense into her daughter. Evelyn’s hair actually began to turn gray from the stress, and though Amanda didn’t know it, if it wasn’t for a steady supply of bourbon, she wasn’t sure how she would have made it through those awful years.
Once they’d managed to separate her from the Cole boy and Amanda went off to college, things started to improve. There were some good, solid years, and the grandchildren were a delight, of course. Sad about the baby girl, just a toddler and a beautiful creature, but the Lord never promised anyone a life without tribulation. Why, she’d had a miscarriage herself a year before Amanda was born. Still, she was pleased that Amanda had been able to get back up on her horse after a respectable period of time — Lord knows the family needed her — and even take up some noteworthy charity work. Evelyn would have preferred something a little less taxing, like the Junior League, perhaps, but Duke University Hospital was still a fine institution, and she didn’t mind telling her friends about the fund-raising luncheons Amanda hosted, or even her volunteer work there.
Recently, Amanda seemed to be slipping back into her old ways — lying like a teenager, of all things! Oh, they’d never been all that close, and she’d long resigned herself to the fact that they probably never would be. It was a myth that every mother and daughter were best friends, but friendship was far less important than family. Friends came and went; family was always there. No, they didn’t really confide in each other, but confiding was often just another word for complaining, which was usually a waste of time. Life was messy. Always had been and always would be and that was just the way it was, so why bother complaining? You either did something about it or you didn’t, and then you lived with the choice you made.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Amanda and Frank were having problems. She hadn’t seen much of Frank in recent years, since Amanda usually came alone, and she did recall that he liked his beer a little too much. Then again, Amanda’s own father had been awfully fond of his bourbon, and no marriage was entirely blissful. There’d been years when she could barely stand the sight of Harvey, let alone want to stay married to him. If Amanda had asked, Evelyn would have admitted that, and she also would have reminded her daughter in the same breath that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. What the younger generation didn’t understand was that the grass was greenest where it’s watered, which meant that both Frank and Amanda had to get out their hoses if they wanted to make things better. But Amanda hadn’t asked.
Which was a shame, because Evelyn could tell that Amanda was only adding more problems to an already troubled marriage — the lying was part of that. Because Amanda had been lying to her mom, it wasn’t hard to surmise that she’d been lying to Frank as well. And once the lies started, where did they end? Evelyn wasn’t sure, but Amanda was obviously confused, and people made mistakes when they were confused. Which meant, of course, that she’d have to be extra vigilant this weekend, whether Amanda liked it or not.
Dawson was back in town.
Ted Cole was standing on the front steps of the shack, smoking a cigarette and idly staring at the meat trees, which is what he always called them when the boys came back from hunting. A pair of deer carcasses, gutted and skinned, was strung up on sagging branches, and flies were buzzing and crawling over the flesh while the innards pooled in the dirt below.
The morning breeze made the rotting torsos rotate slightly, and Ted took another long drag on his cigarette. He’d seen Dawson, and he knew that Abee had seen him, too. But Abee had lied about it, which pissed him off almost as much as Dawson’s bold-as-you-please appearance did.
He was getting a little tired of his brother, Abee. Tired of being ordered around, of wondering where all the family money was going. The time was coming when old Abee just might find himself staring down the wrong end of the Glock. His dear brother had been slipping lately. The guy with the box cutter had nearly killed him, something that never would have happened even a few years ago. It wouldn’t have happened had Ted been there, but Abee hadn’t told him what he’d been planning, and that was just another sign that Abee was getting careless. That new girl of his had him all twisted up — Candy, or Cammie, or whatever the hell she called herself. Yeah, she had a pretty face and a body that Ted wouldn’t mind taking some time to explore, but she was a woman and the rules were simple: You wanted something from them, you got it, and if they got angry or gave you lip, you showed them the error of their ways. Might take a few lessons, but in the end all women came around. Abee seemed to have forgotten all that.
And he’d lied to him, right to his face. Ted flicked his cigarette butt off the porch, thinking that he and Abee were going to have a little come-to-Jesus soon enough, no doubt about it. But first things first: Dawson had to go. He’d been waiting a long time for this. Because of Dawson, his nose was crooked and his jaw had been wired shut; because of Dawson, that dude had made a crack about Ted’s condition that Ted couldn’t ignore, and nine years of his life had gone up in smoke. No one screwed with him and got away with it. No one. Not Dawson, not Abee. No one. Besides, he’d been looking forward to this for a long, long time.
Ted turned and went back inside. The shack had been built around the turn of the century, and the single overhead light that dangled from a string barely broke the shadows. Tina, his three-year-old, was perched on the ratty couch in front of the television, watching something from Disney. Ella walked past her without saying anything. In the kitchen, the skillet was coated with a thick layer of bacon grease, and Ella went back to feeding the baby, who sat there squealing in his high chair, his face covered in something yellow and goopy. Ella was twenty, with narrow hips, thin brown hair, and a fan of freckles on her cheeks. The dress she wore did little to hide the bump in her belly. Seven months along and feeling tired. She was always tired.
He grabbed his keys from the counter and she turned.
“You goin’ out?”
“Don’t be buttin’ into my business,” he said. When she turned around, he patted the baby’s head before making for the bedroom. He removed the Glock he kept beneath the pillow and tucked it into his waistband, feeling excited, feeling like all was right in the world.
It was time to take care of things once and for all.