Tab Bennett and the Inbetween (4 page)

“They count,” Francis said quietly. “But we’ve still got the most important one.”

The conversation ended abruptly when they came into the kitchen and saw me. I stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. Francis got red and George went white. No one said a word for one long, tense minute.

George recovered first, nodding in my direction he asked, “How is she?”

“Why are you asking him when I’m right here?”

Robbin looked at me. “She’s shaken up but otherwise she’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you take her home?” Francis asked. “Weren’t you told to take her home?”

“What were you two just talking about?” Anger, mixed with leftover adrenaline made my voice louder than I wanted it to be.

“When?” George gave me a dazzling smile, the kind that always got him out of trouble with almost everyone else; it had no effect on me.

“Just now,” I said. “When you were yelling in the foyer because you didn’t know I was here.”

Francis didn’t give him a chance to answer. “That didn’t happen,” he said, shoving George toward the back door. “We weren’t talking about anything. Now we’re going out to look for Matt.”

“Come back here! Who’s Alexander?” Francis slammed the door shut and they disappeared into the trees without slowing down or looking back.

I turned to Robbin just as he picked up his glass and gulped down the rest of his scotch. “Do you know what were they talking about?”

“I don’t know anything. Ask your grandfather if you want to know.” Then he emptied my glass too.

“I have asked him. Now I’m asking you.”

Robbin stood up and grabbed my hands, holding me in front of him. “Ask him again. He has to tell you now. You just have to ask the right question.”

“What’s the right question?”

He shook his head and let go of my hands. “I can’t tell you.”

Even Robbin was part of it, whatever it was. I could put up with a lot of things but that was too much to take. I backed up to the door, then turned and ran upstairs.

********

Rivers’ room, the one she and I shared growing up, the one she’d lived in until the day she died, was at the end of the hall on what we’d always called the girls side of the Manor’s second floor. It was a mess, clothes and shoes and magazines everywhere, all thrown around and piled up. Her desk was cluttered with a heap of books and papers. There was a pile of folded laundry she wouldn’t have put away even if she was alive to do it sitting on top of her dresser. I can’t even begin to count all the times she and I bickered about her side of the room and her inability to keep it clean. It seemed so petty in the face of the terrible gnawing ache I felt as I looked around and knew she was never coming back.

I went into the bathroom we had once shared and turned on the shower, letting the water get as hot as I could stand before I slipped in under the spray and proceeded to cry my eyes out. For her, for Molly and Becky, and for myself too—for fear of the unknown thing that was lurking in the woods waiting for its chance to kill me.

I was combing my hair when I heard Pop call my name.

He had carved out a small space for himself on Rivers’ bed. He was such a fastidious man, so careful in his grooming, so utterly wrinkle free; he looked uncomfortable and silly sitting there amidst the rubble.

“Robbin told me I would find you up here. I would like to talk to you about what happened in the yard this afternoon and about what you overhead George and Francis discussing afterwards.”

“Really?” I didn’t believe he had it in him to offer straight answers. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for the big reveal.

He nodded. “This is a difficult time for you and I fear there are more difficult times for you ahead. Things are confusing to you now but after your sister’s funeral we will sit down together and everything will be explained. I know your trust in me is shaken, but I must ask you to take me on faith for a while longer. Will you give me one more day before everything is explained?”

I started laughing hysterically – with tears and everything. It was the kind of laughter where no one can tell if you’re delighted or devastated and even you aren’t completely sure.

“You probably don’t remember this, but one night when I was five, on one of those rare nights when you were actually home in time to tuck us into bed, I asked you why I had no mother – why none of us had a mother – and how we’d all come to live at Witchwood Manor. You said ‘your mothers have gone on and although they may wish otherwise, they can never come back. You and your sisters and cousins live here because you are very lucky. Someday, when you are grown and the time is right, you will ask me again and when you ask, I will tell you your mother’s story.’ You want another day, Pop? Take two. Hell, take a week. I’ve already waited twenty years.”

The church was packed when we arrived the next morning. Every available seat was taken and a few people were standing at the back. I couldn’t help but wonder who was at the funeral because they loved Rivers and who was there because they loved witnessing the tragedy and misfortune of others.

 “Do you think she even knew this many people?” I asked, looking around at the crowd. “I don’t think she did. She definitely didn’t like this many people.”

Robbin shushed me and pointed toward the front of the church where Pop was standing next to a dove gray casket draped in pale pink roses. It was a prop. After the way she died, it would have been cruel to bury her. Francis assured me it was empty; Rivers had been cremated the day before.

Pop’s back was straight and his eyes were clear. He looked sad but composed standing beside the empty box. When he began to speak, his voice was strong and calm and commanding. “Like all the women in the Bennett family,” he said, his voice easily filling the sanctuary, “Rivers Louisa Bennett…”

“Died young,” I concluded in a whisper.

Robbin shushed me again.

“What? It’s true. The women in this family have an unfortunate habit of dying early. That’s all I’m saying.”

Francis, who was standing at the other end of the pew, leaned forward to give me an admonishing look over the top of his dark sunglasses. I was surprised to see he was wearing them until I noticed that George and Matthew had on similar pairs, that even Robbin had the aviators I’d given him for Christmas tucked into the pocket of his jacket. I didn’t have mine. I wouldn’t need them. I didn’t have another tear left in me.

I turned to the front, intending to give Pop my full attention – or at the very least to look like I was. I heard him say, “Her passing leaves a hole in our hearts that will never be filled.” I heard Matthew try – and fail – to stifle a sputtering sob. I heard the door open at the back of the sanctuary.

Like the other mourners and/or gawkers, the latecomer was dressed all in black. His coat looked expensive and soft and he had a brilliant aqua blue scarf tied around his neck. He was tall with broad shoulders and blond hair that just brushed against his collar. He had full lips, high cheeks bones, and a jaw that was both strong and delicate. He was the kind of beautiful that makes you look, then stare in disbelief.

“Tab?” Robbin whispered, gently tugging on my hand. “You OK?”

“Do I seem OK to you?” I gave the man in the aqua scarf one last look and then sat down, dropping my hymnal into the basket at the end of the row. I was dimly aware that I was behaving terribly but I couldn’t help myself. It was too much death, too much loss in too short a time. The brain and the heart reach a place where they’ve taken all they can stand and then they shut down. Disassociation is the soul’s only defense mechanism. Nothing could touch me; I wasn’t even there.

********

I’ve always found the custom of gathering for a starchy lunch after burying a loved one a little strange. I guess all the heavy food and whispery voices are supposed to be a comforting reminder that life goes on, but I find the way the death and burial become secondary to the potato salad deeply, deeply unsettling.

After the funeral and the service at the cemetery where we had each dropped a rose into the grave, the last thing I felt like doing was making small talk about what a sweet girl Rivers was. All I wanted to do was go back to the cottage, take off my funeral suit, and get into the bath.

“All right,” I said, steeling myself for the miserable hour ahead of me. “Let’s try to get in and get out. No food, one drink, and then we’re leaving out whichever window isn’t too heavily guarded.”

Robbin’s short bark of laughter had no humor in it. He was frowning at me when I turned to look at him. “Ready?” I asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” He sighed and got out of his truck, walking around the front to open my door. “You know I love you, right? I want you to know that, to always believe it, OK? No matter what else happens do you promise to always remember that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone – anyone – else?”

The strange intensity of his voice was making me nervous. “Um…sure?”

“Then let’s get this over with.” He grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the truck.

“Let’s get this over with,” I echoed, marching up to the stone stairs. It took me a minute to realize that I was alone. When I turned, Robbin was still standing by the truck. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m gonna wait here.” I could tell by the way he looked at me that he was considering throwing me over his shoulder and making a run for it, that he was wondering how far we’d get. He smiled and said, “Go on. I’ll be here when you come out.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “I need you.”

He laughed again, that same bitter bark. “Not anymore you don’t.”

“Are you breaking up with me at my sister’s funeral?”

“Tabitha?” I turned toward the sound of my grandfather’s voice to find the blond man from the church standing on the porch. He stared at me with a look of frank curiosity in his blue eyes. When he smiled I forgot about Robbin. I forgot about Rivers. I wanted to run up onto the porch and throw myself into his arms. I had a sense of what that would feel like, being close to him. I knew how he would smell, like the sea and leather with a touch of cotton candy for sweetness. I couldn’t wait to inhale my first breath of him.

I ignored anyone who talked to me on the way to the porch. Maybe I mumbled ‘hello’ or possibly ‘go to hell’ as my friends and neighbors tried to offer their condolences. I honestly have no idea. Everyone was just a thing between him and me until finally I was standing in front of him.

“Tabitha, this is Alexander,” Pop said. “Alexander, this is Tabitha, my youngest granddaughter.”

“Hi.” Strange things were happening to my body. My cheeks were hot and flushed. I could feel my heart beating much faster than normal. Breathing was an effort. I couldn’t take my eyes away from his. Not that I wanted to; there was nothing else I cared to look at.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held his hand out to me and I looked at him for a moment before taking it, as if some part of me knew what would happen once I did.

Touching him was like a shock of static electricity. It felt like that, sharp and painful, but good too. I couldn’t believe how incredible it felt to touch him. I looked up at him and he was looking down at our hands too. Then he looked at me and laughed.

And that’s when I completely lost touch with reality. Before I knew what was happening I was against him, reaching up to press my lips to his. I felt his lips part and his hands on my bottom as he lifted me closer. The kiss deepened. My legs wrapped around his waist like it was their habit. He turned so he could hold me between his body and the front door without his lips ever leaving left mine. I slipped my hand under his coat and he moaned as my hand brushed low against his stomach.

I didn’t think about anything but him. He filled up my head and left no room for anything else. The fact that my cousins and my grandfather, not to mention my fiancé, were all watching me dry hump a stranger at my sister’s funeral in front of everyone we knew didn’t stop me from liking it when he pulled his lips away from mine and started nuzzling my neck.