Authors: Kimberly Belle
29
“OH, GOOD GOD.
Would y’all please cover that thing up?”
I open my eyes, but all I see is the morning light and Jake’s chest and arms, clutching me to him. I twist my head around and focus in on Lexi. She’s standing in the doorway to the hall, one hand shielding her eyes.
“Cover what thing up?” I say.
As Jake and I are both stark naked, our bodies twined around each other on the couch, Lexi could be talking about one of many things, mine or Jake’s. But judging by her bit-back grin and the way her fingers are spread just wide enough to peek through, I assume she’s not offended by his. He stirs beside me, and the last remaining corner of the blanket covering us drops to the floor.
Lexi waves her hand in our direction, giving up all pretense of not peeking and taking a healthy look at Jake’s goods. “All of that. And here.” She thrusts out my iPhone. “This thing won’t shut up.”
Shit. Wide-awake now, I spring off the couch, hop over the blanket and coffee table and sprint across the room to Lexi and my phone.
I snatch my phone from her fingers and check the messages and missed calls. Seventeen total, all of them from our brother.
“It’s Bo,” I say, flicking through the texts. “Looks like he heard about last night.”
“Figures.” Lexi peeks around my bare shoulder. “Mornin’, Jakey. Hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your toothbrush.”
There’s a long pause, then Jake’s controlled voice. “Now why would I mind you using my toothbrush?”
“I didn’t think so.” She points a finger toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Help yourself.”
Lexi shuffles off to the kitchen, and I switch to the voice mails, listening to them one by one. For someone who’s learned to rein in his emotions tighter than Lexi’s favorite pair of jeans, Bo’s messages are downright histrionic—on a scale of one to ten, clocking in at somewhere around forty-seven. His mood ping-pongs from shocked to furious to despaired to elated and back to shocked. In some of them, the only sound I hear is his sobbing.
Even through all the blubbering, it doesn’t take me long to figure out that for Bo, Dean’s adultery is equivalent to Dad’s redemption. Unlike Lexi, Bo sees the affair as indisputable proof of Dad’s innocence. Dean slept with Ella Mae means Dean lied means Dad didn’t commit murder. It’s as simple as that. Maybe I should get him to explain his theory to Lexi.
I call him back, and he picks up on the first ring. “Is it true? Was Ella Mae sleeping with Dean?”
Jake comes up behind me and cocoons us both in the blanket, and I lean into his warm chest. “Yes.”
A loud thump booms down the line, then, “Fuck!”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay, dammit. I’m about as far away from okay as you can get. I believed the motherfucking next-door neighbor over my own father!” Another crash, followed by a good ten seconds of racking sobs. “How could I have been such a
shit?
”
“I’m going to have to get back to you on that one, sweetie, because I did the same thing. Look, calm down, okay? I’ll come over there, and we’ll figure this out. Are you at home?”
He sputters out something that sounds like yes.
“Where’s Amy?”
“At a medical conference in Florida.”
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. Though Amy might be able to stop Bo from tearing up their house, she would probably not know what to do with all his new emotions. I look around for my clothes.
“Stay put, okay? I’ll be there in thirty minutes, tops.”
“Everything all right?” Jake says after I’ve hung up. His breath tickles the skin behind my ear.
I think about the mess Bo is making of his house and puff out a dry laugh. “Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
The vulnerability in his tone slices into my skin, and I know what he’s asking. I twist around in his arms and snake my hands around his neck, pulling his warm body to mine. “I’m still staying. Even though right now I have to go.”
“Let me know how it goes?”
I’m about to nod when there’s a loud crash from the kitchen, then Lexi’s sugar-sweet voice. “Sorry, Jakey. I’ll buy you another one.”
“Please,” Jake whispers into my hair, “take your sister with you.”
* * *
By the time Lexi and I make it all the way over to Church Hill, Bo has pretty much demolished his living room. Books and papers and magazines litter the carpet next to the overturned couch, its pillows flung clear across the room. Lamps and pictures lie in pieces on the floor next to a sniveling Bo, just as messy, just as broken, in a T-shirt and yesterday’s work pants. Lexi shoves him under the shower while I clean up as best I can, and then we load him in the backseat of the car and head off for home.
As soon as we crest the hill on Maple Street, I notice two things are off.
First of all, Cal’s here. On a Tuesday morning, when he’s supposed to be sweet-talking the judge and jury in a courtroom a hundred miles away. My heart hammers out a beat in triple time until I remember I just checked my phone, and then it thuds to an ominous stop. No get-home-now messages from Fannie means Cal’s not here because of my father. I mentally prepare myself for a tongue-lashing.
The second thing is the street is empty. No cars, no media vans, no people. The protesters are gone. The only sign they were ever here is a patch of stomped-down grass, a few stray Starbucks cups scattered over the asphalt and a scarlet
A
spray painted across the front of Dean’s house.
On the passenger seat beside me, Lexi snorts. “Do you think whatever idiot did that thought it stood for
asshole?
”
I park behind Cal’s Buick and twist in my seat to face Lexi and Bo. “Okay, so a couple of things before we get in there. Dad looks awful. His skin’s orange and he’s really skinny, so don’t freak out when you see him. He sleeps a lot because he’s doped up on morphine, and when he’s awake, he’s not always lucid. If he gets confused, the best thing to do is just remind him where he is and who you are, okay?”
Bo’s eyes go wide. “He’s not going to remember me?”
“He remembers all of us, just not all the time. Now I need both of y’all to take a deep breath and put on your game faces, okay?” I reach for the handle on the door and swing it wide, not waiting for either of them to disagree. “Let’s go.”
Bo and I climb out of the car, but Lexi doesn’t move. I lift both hands in an are-you-coming? gesture through the front windshield. She rolls her eyes and gets out, but she takes all the livelong day, lagging behind Bo and me with heavy steps as we make our way to the front door.
And then on the porch, her feet grow roots.
“Go on in,” I say to Bo. “We’ll be right there.”
He nods, sucks in enough oxygen to pop a lung, then steps inside and breaks down. Through the door I hear him bawl something in loud, unintelligible bursts, but Dad must understand at least some of it because he says, “It’s all right, son. Come here.”
“I liked our brother better when he was on emotional lock-down,” Lexi jokes, but her heart’s not in it. Her voice is off by a good octave, and her mouth is sloped in a way I recognize from last night, right before she threw up.
“Lex, you can do this.”
She looks at me, and her eyes are wide and wet. “I don’t think I can.”
“I swear to you this is the hardest part. After you get that first hello out of the way, it’s all smooth sailing from there. I promise.” I offer her a hand. “Come on. We’ll go in together.”
She doesn’t nod, but she clamps her fingers around mine. “Don’t let go.”
I don’t tell my sister she has my hand in a death grip and I couldn’t let go even if I wanted to. Instead, I smile and squeeze back. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You and me, remember?”
I give her arm a little tug and push open the door. Lexi makes a squeaking sound when she spots the fake Persian, but she doesn’t stop moving, mostly because I don’t give her the chance. I lead her into the living room, where Bo is weeping on the chair next to Dad’s bed. My brother’s back is hunched, his forehead pressed to the mattress, and Dad’s bony hand rests on top of Bo’s head. And judging from Dad’s expression, Bo’s sins have been...well, if not forgiven then at least forgotten.
“See?” I whisper to Lexi. “Piece of cake.”
In fact, if I were Lexi I’d be more afraid of Cal, glaring at us both from the armchair by the window. I swallow down my smile when he doesn’t return the gesture. Jeez. You’d think he’d at least thank us for the lack of protesters on the front lawn.
Dad motions Lexi closer. Her viselike grip on my hand tightens, but she complies.
“Law, if you aren’t the spittin’ image of your mother.”
His speech is a little slurpy around the edges from the morphine, but he couldn’t have chosen better first words. Lexi’s mouth curves upward, just a teeny bit, but enough to let him know she sees them as a compliment, and that she’s pleased.
“Sit down, girls. Now that you’re all here I have something to say.”
Bo looks up, blinking. Lexi and I shed our coats and sink onto the couch.
“I’m not stupid. I know what you kids thought of me these past sixteen years, and I know there’s a not-so-small part of you that still thinks it. But nothing puts matters into perspective like dying. I’m not looking for your trust or belief or anything else you can’t give. I’m just grateful you came.”
I don’t know if it’s the pain meds talking, or if Dad’s really had a change of heart. I look over at Cal for a clue, but his face is stone, his lips thin and tight, and his gaze is lasered onto Lexi.
She leans back on the couch, crosses her arms and legs and purses her lips. Her silence speaks volumes, but so does the fact that she stays put. Though she’s not ready to apologize for presuming Dad’s hand in Ella Mae’s death for the past sixteen years, she’s no longer certain enough to leave, either. What was it she said to me last night? Reasonable doubt is doubt all the same, and Lexi is still holding on to hers.
Dad notices, and so does Cal. He stands and points to the back of the house. “Lexi, can I get a quick word with you? Bo and Gia, you, too.”
Lexi and I exchange a glance, and her expression matches mine. Whatever Cal has to say, it’s going to be neither quick nor pleasant. He marches us into the kitchen, and Fannie grins at us from the sink, where she’s washing dishes. Her smile plummets at Cal’s expression, and she drops the sponge onto the counter and skedaddles out the other door. God bless her, the woman has a particular talent for knowing when to slip away.
As soon as she’s gone, Cal whirls around to face us, and his anger is directed at me. “What part of don’t go around talking about the affair didn’t you understand?”
“Don’t look at me. I only told Lexi.”
And Jake,
I think, but that’s beside the point. The point is, Lexi is the blabbermouth and I’m not taking the blame.
Cal swivels his head to Lexi, and his brow lifts in a silent
Well?
She hikes a casual shoulder. “I don’t see the problem. People would’ve found out sooner or later. There’s not a soul in this town who can keep a secret for more than five minutes. Except maybe Ella Mae, but look where that got her.”
“How? How would they have found out, if it wasn’t for the two of you barroom busybodies?”
Lexi grows a good three inches under his condescending tone. “I hardly think being the victim’s stepdaughters qualifies us as barroom busybodies, Cal. We are Dad’s children. We have every right to talk about his case, whether in a barroom or my own living room. What I don’t understand is why you haven’t. From what Gia told me, you’ve not only withheld information from judge and jury, but also from the three of us. We deserve to know what you do, even if you don’t think we’ll like what we hear.”
“This isn’t about you. It’s never been about you. The only reason I didn’t tell you or anybody else about Ella Mae’s affair was to protect your father.”
“Sorry, but how is that protecting Dad, when Ella Mae was sleeping with the star witness?”
Cal loses what has always been a short supply of patience. “Keep your voice down, dammit. Ray doesn’t know who the affair was with. Hell, I didn’t know until Gia told me last week. But now, thanks to the scene you two made last night, the whole dadgum town knows.”
“Not the whole town,” Bo corrects, ever the realist.
Cal gives him a look.
“So now what?” I ask. “We go in there and tell Dad about Dean?”
“No. No one tells. What do you think that would do to him when he realizes Dean Sullivan stole more than sixteen years of his life?”
Bo and I bob our heads, but Lexi shakes hers. “Somebody keeping secrets is what got us into this mess in the first place. Dad deserves to know the truth.”
“In a perfect world I might agree, but this situation is about as far away from perfect as you can get. My baby brother is in there on his deathbed, and I’m not about to tell him something that will push him over the edge any quicker.”
“I can’t keep this a secret, Cal. It’s not fair to—”
“You will not mention Dean Sullivan’s name in this house again. Are we clear?” When she doesn’t respond, Cal leans forward, clamping down on his lips so she knows he’s serious. “You broke your daddy’s heart sixteen years ago. Do not, I repeat do NOT, break that dying man’s heart again. Do you hear?”
After an eternity, Lexi sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t agree, but I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
With Cal satisfied, we file back into the living room, where Fannie has supplied us with homemade lemon pound cake. Outside the window, a procession of cars pulls into view and slows to a stop by the mailbox. One by one, the protesters file out. I flick a watchful glance at Bo and Lexi, worried at how they’ll respond to the hateful cries of death and justice, but the cries don’t come. Outside, silence hangs heavy in the air.
And then Fannie does a double take out the window. “Well I’ll be. Would you take a gander at that?”
I crane my neck and follow her gaze to a colorful mound on the front lawn. “What is that?”
“I do believe it’s flowers.”
“Flowers?” I pop off the couch and move closer to the window, squinting to get a better look at the pile of red and yellow and pink and green bouquets wrapped in shiny cellophane. A group of creamy cylinders lines the edge of the driveway, their soft lights flickering in the March morning. “And are those candles?”