Читать книгу Happily Never After - Kathleen O'Brien - Страница 11

“BRIAN, STOP. I’d like to drive by Jacob’s house one more time, just to be sure he didn’t end up all alone.”

Kelly’s ex-husband, who was giving her a lift home from the dealership, where she’d just deposited her car for service—no one who knew Lillith was likely to postpone routine maintenance anymore—made an annoyed sound.

Even so, he obediently slowed the car and signaled for a right-hand turn.

“What’s the problem?” He glanced over at her. “I thought you said Beckham was keeping an eye on Jacob.”

“I think he is, but I just want to be sure. Tom is—” She was silent a moment, watching the commercial buildings give way to masonry cottages, and then to elegant brick houses with wide, well-manicured lawns. Jacob and Lillith had been able to buy in one of the best Cathedral Cove neighborhoods. Not the truly elite old-money enclave by the river, where the Mellons still reigned, but close enough.

“Tom is what?” Brian sounded grumpy. He had moved to Cathedral Cove and opened up his sporting-goods store only about six years ago, and, like many newcomers, he seemed to think the story of Sophie’s wedding was about seventy-five percent trashy fiction.

And even if it was true, his sympathies naturally lay with Tom Beckham—one, because Tom was just a regular guy, comparatively speaking, and two, because everyone knew those Mellons were a bunch of inbred freaks.

Kelly sighed. “Well, after what he did to Soph—”

“It was ten years ago, for God’s sake,” Brian broke in. “You don’t know what the guy is anymore.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, not in the mood to fight. Besides, Brian’s down-to-earth practicality had always been his most appealing quality. She had felt very comfortable, very safe, in the two years of their marriage. “He’s an unknown quantity. That’s why I want to check.”

“Fine. We’ll check.”

But when they got to Jacob’s street, she could immediately see Tom’s expensive silver sedan in the driveway. She knew it was his because it had been the only car remaining on the street when she had left Jacob’s house after doing the dishes. Also, it had Atlanta license plates, and it just screamed overpaid big-city lawyer.

Tom must have pulled it into the driveway sometime after she’d gone. That had a settled-in feeling, and she relaxed a little. Jacob was probably fine for tonight.

“I guess Tom did stay,” she said softly. “Good for him.”

“Of course he did,” Brian said. “Guys don’t walk out on their buddies.”

She glanced at him with a wry smile. “Just on their women? Well, you should know.”

“That’s right,” he responded archly, and she could see the white of his teeth as he grinned in the darkness. “Especially if their women are cold-hearted bitches.”

She chuckled. This was an old joke with them, as comfortable now as a well-worn sweater. After two years of a pleasant but fire-free marriage, Brian had confessed that he’d fallen in love with Marie Eller, his lovely, loyal accountant. Kelly had been sad but not quite heartbroken. She knew Brian deserved a passion she simply didn’t feel—and apparently Marie could give him that.

What she’d told Tom today was true. She and Brian had divorced without acrimony, and they’d never stopped being friends.

In fact, right now Marie was the one who was giving Brian a hard time. Last month, she had asked him to move out, telling him she needed “space” and time to think. He was pretty upset, but handling it in his usual sensible way, working hard and hoping for the best.

“Okay, boss-lady, now where? Shall we do the official Sophie’s Wedding World Tour? We’ve checked on the runaway groom. Shall we go by the House of Usher and see how the rest of the weirdos are doing?”

Kelly had heard people call Coeur Volé “the House of Usher” before. She supposed it was inevitable. The Mellons were reclusive, the structure was Gothic and Sophie’s story offered such great fodder for the imagination. But it always seemed a bit cruel to her. It made a joke of things that she knew weren’t funny.

But she decided to ignore it. He didn’t mean anything, really. The working class always bashed the snobbish old guard. She’d done it herself, before Sophie had picked her for a friend.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ve had enough drama for one day. Did I tell you Samantha came by to see Jacob? She wasn’t at the service, but she stopped in at the house afterward.”

“Yeah? Did she bring her crazy brother?”

Kelly settled onto the truck’s sensible cloth seats and shut her eyes. Brian had owned this pickup ever since she first met him, and the familiar smell and rhythmic rocking were relaxing.

“You mean Sebastian?” She shook her head sleepily. “No, Sebastian lives somewhere in North Carolina. He’s not even in town.”

“Yes, he is.”

She opened her eyes. “What are you talking about? Sebastian is back in Cathedral Cove? How do you know that?”

“I saw him. Today, in the store. I sold him a hunting knife and a pair of sneakers. Too bad he didn’t want to buy a gun. I would have loved to do a background check on that one. I’ll bet we’d find that he’s been in more loony bins than his sister.”

She sat up straight. “Sebastian is back?”

“That’s what I said, like three times now.” He cut a quick glance her way. “What’s wrong with that? He’s weird, but no weirder than the rest of them.”

“But…” She felt a tightness in the pit of her stomach. What a coincidence that Sebastian should come home right now, just when Lillith died, just when Tom showed up for the first time in ten years.

And Lillith had told Kelly that Sophie was back, too. If all of it was true, this would be the first time the whole Mellon family—and Tom Beckham—had been in Cathedral Cove together since the wedding.

She braided her fingers in her lap. It just didn’t feel right. It felt downright unnatural, as disturbing as if she had looked up and seen the stars crawling out of their prescribed places, sliding slowly into some new, mysterious configuration.

Could this be what Trig had meant when he’d said, “He’s dangerous when he’s angry”? Could he have meant Sebastian? Kelly had seen Sebastian angry only a few times during their teenage years, but it had been a sight to remember. Trig, living next door, might have seen even more.

Was it possible that, in his foggy, incoherent way, Trig had been trying to tell her something important?

“Talk to me, Kel. What’s the big deal about Sebastian being home?”

She tried to focus, to articulate her vague anxieties. “It’s just that…if Sebastian’s here, and Tom’s here…” She paused. “I wonder if he knows Tom’s here?”

“So what if he does? You think Sebastian will hunt down Tom Beckham and kick his ass for what he did to sister Sophie ten years ago? Cripes, will you people ever let that damn story go? It’s over, for God’s sake. Get a grip.”

She told herself that Brian probably was right. Even lava-hot emotions could do a lot of cooling down in a decade. At the time of the jilting, Sebastian had been very defensive for Sophie. But though Sebastian and Sophie had been inseparable as young people, they must have grown apart through these past few years.

Sophie had spent so much time in institutions. And Sebastian, Kelly had heard, had married out in Raleigh. He had children and a career, stockbroker or something. Obviously, at least to some degree, he had moved on.

They were nearing the Mellon house now. She could see the tower from here. It was completely dark tonight. But that didn’t mean it was empty, only that the lights were out. She shivered, thinking of someone standing up there, in the shadows, looking down.

How much could you see from there?

Could you see the foot of the East River Bridge?

“Brian,” she said suddenly. “Will you sleep at my place tonight? I’ve put a bed in the guest room, so you wouldn’t have to take the sofa.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Spooky old dump finally starting to give you the creeps?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just that—”

She thought of the waiting, silent trees around her studio. She thought of Lillith’s face covered in blood, and Trig standing in Jacob’s kitchen, talking cryptically about God and danger.

To heck with saving face. Tomorrow she’d be strong. Tonight she needed a friend. “Yes.”

Brian drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Well…. Marie won’t like it.”

“Oh.” She tried to control her disappointment. But the idea of being out there alone tonight, with no car… “Never mind, then. I wouldn’t want to cause trouble between you two. If you think you shouldn’t—”

“I never said that. I just said Marie wouldn’t like it. Maybe that’s a good thing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A little jealousy might be exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Thanks,” she said, almost ashamed of the relief that coursed through her. She definitely had to get back to being tough tomorrow. “I appreciate it, Brian. I really do.”

She turned her head and stared out the window. They were approaching the spot where Lillith had hit the tree. In a minute they would have to cross the East River Bridge, over to the area unofficially known as the “Left Bank.” Over there, the houses were smaller, funkier, just starting to come back from a long economic down-slide.

Tight zoning was a luxury the Left Bank couldn’t afford. Artsy yuppie condos were haphazardly mixed in with coffee shops, antiques mini-marts and New Age candle boutiques. Beyond the Left Bank lay the rural fringes, where your neighbors were mostly trees, or people who owned guns and horses and dogs named Zeke.

It was out there that Kelly had bought her new place, a surprisingly charming run-down cottage with a detached garage that made the perfect studio. So though she definitely lived, in Cathedral Cove parlance, far, far on “the wrong side of the bridge,” she loved it. Most of the time.

Just not tonight.

“Look,” Brian said. “Someone has already put up a marker for Lillith.”

Kelly saw it at the same time. On the side of the road, just a couple of feet from the tree, a waist-high circular sign stood, announcing to all passersby that tragedy had visited this spot.

Through the years, she’d seen a hundred roadside markers just like this one. But they had always seemed comfortably impersonal, just small, circular plaques that said Drive Carefully, sometimes decorated with crosses, sometimes with flowers, depending on how recent the accident had been. She had always driven by without much more than a generic whisper of sympathy.

But this one was different. She wondered who had put it there. It hadn’t been there this morning.

Jacob hadn’t been in any shape to think of such a gesture. Someone had, though. At least four arrangements of flowers clustered on and around it—and an elaborate floral wreath had been hooked over the top of the sign, like a crown or a halo.

And there was something else. Was it a ribbon? There was very little wind tonight, and yet the thing—was it fabric?—was fluttering oddly, so light it seemed to defy gravity.

She squinted. What was that, draped over the left side of the wreath, undulating, as if it were alive and trying to get her attention?

It looked almost like a streamer of fog, or moss…or…

Something cold gathered around her heart. No, it couldn’t be that.

The breeze was playing with it.

“Brian, stop,” she cried.

He sighed even as he put on the brakes.

“Now what? Come on, Kel, I’m tired. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until—”

But she had already opened the car door and climbed out. She couldn’t hear the end of his sentence.

She walked over to the marker and took the soft, fluttering, weightless scrap into her numb hands. She turned it over. She traced its familiar, exquisite pattern with disbelieving fingers.

It wasn’t fog or moss. It was exactly what she had thought it was.

It was a piece of lace from Sophie Mellon’s wedding dress.

MARY JO’S CAFÉ AND SWEET SHOP was charming from the street side, all hanging baskets of red geraniums, green awnings and shiny black wrought-iron tables and chairs.

But from the alley out back, it looked like any other strip retail business, just a no-frills utility door, an over-filled Dumpster, a teetering stack of wet wooden palettes and an empty plastic bag bumping up against the wall, shoved around by the wind.

Kelly pulled into the dead-end alley, did an automatic three-point turn to leave her minivan facing out and then cut the engine. Here under the trees, it was cool and damp and dirty. The twilight was a mournful blue.

She suddenly wished she’d put this chore first on her list today, not last.

But she had to stop this foolishness. She wasn’t by nature a coward, though she certainly had been acting like one ever since Lillith’s death.

Like last night. Asking Brian to stay had been ridiculous. He had sacked out in the guest room, exhausted from his own long day, the minute they got to Kelly’s place. She’d spent another several hours in the studio, working, essentially alone anyhow.

Still, it had been nice to know another human being was nearby.

He’d taken her to get her van as soon as the dealership had called, and then, as pleasantly as ever, they’d gone their separate ways. They’d both had a million things to do.

Now she was tired. But Kelly had promised Mary Jo she’d return all the café trays they’d used for the funeral food, so, in spite of the eerie blue shadows in the alley, she had to do it.

The café was still open—it would be serving dinner till ten—but most of the other stores on the street were already closed. The only two cars in the alley were Mary Jo’s Honda and Kelly’s minivan, which wasn’t glamorous but was convenient for transporting the big sheets of stained glass she needed for special projects.

Kelly had called ahead, so Mary Jo was waiting for her at the utility door. They unloaded the trays efficiently without much chatter and stacked them in the café’s kitchen.

“Thanks for bringing the stuff back,” Mary Jo said as she walked Kelly to the van. “I can use it tonight. You know what weekends are like.”

Kelly nodded. And they walked the rest of the way in silence. Apparently Mary Jo didn’t feel like making small talk any more than she did.

Maybe Mary Jo realized, just as Kelly had, that handling the funeral food had been the last little chore they’d ever do for Lillith.

After the accident, the first day or two had brought a mercifully numb shock. After that, the details of the funeral had been hectic and distracting.

But now it was over. Life went on. And they had to face that it went on without Lillith.

When they got to the van, Mary Jo hugged her. “Did you get that starter looked at?”

Kelly smiled. “Yeah. Transmission needed work, too. Two thousand dollars altogether. But at least it starts right up.”

“Ouch.” Mary Jo grimaced. “Well. Take care.”

“I will.” Kelly watched as Mary Jo turned and walked slowly back to the store. She didn’t look as if she had enough energy to get to the door, much less shepherd her café through the dinner rush. Tragedy had so many repercussions, big and small.

“Oh—wait—” Kelly said suddenly. “I meant to ask you. Have you heard anything about Sophie being back in town?”

Mary Jo turned. She shook her head. “No. Dale over at the Texaco came in for lunch today, and he said he’d seen Sebastian, which surprised me. It’s been a couple of years since the Mellon heir graced us with his presence, hasn’t it? But Sophie? No. As far as I know she’s still an inpatient.”

Kelly thought about mentioning what Lily had said, but decided against it. And there wasn’t any point asking Mary Jo about the scrap of lace. Mary Jo hadn’t been a member of the wedding party, so she would never have seen Sophie’s dress anyhow.

So Kelly just said goodbye again and watched Mary Jo go back inside. Then she opened the door of her van, eager to get out of this alley now that she was alone. Something was rummaging behind the Dumpster, but Kelly couldn’t see what. The limp blue twilight had lost its struggle with darkness. Only small patches of light lay between long, black stretches of shadow.

Definitely time to go. Besides, if she went straight home now, she could put in a good four hours on the wine-shop project, which was falling seriously behind.

But darn it. Down at the front end of the alley, a large refrigeration truck had pulled in, blocking the exit. Behind her, the alley came to a dead end, so she’d have to wait.

Maybe the driver would make his delivery quickly. In the meantime, she could at least check on the glass in the back. With her keys still in her hand, she circled the van and opened the hatch doors.

She’d had special slots installed in the cargo area so that she could transport sheets of glass safely. Today, all the slots were filled.

The wine-shop project was the most challenging commission she’d ever landed—a tunnellike entryway for the upscale establishment, with lush stained-glass grapevines winding on both sides, and even on the ceiling.

This afternoon she’d picked out half a dozen sheets of the most beautiful green full-antique glass. It had cost a fortune, virtually eliminating any hope that this project would turn a profit. But the glass had such extraordinary linear striations, which would produce grape leaves so textured and real no customer would walk through that entryway without reaching out to touch them.

She hadn’t been able to resist. Anyhow, if this project turned out to look as spectacular as she hoped, it would be worth its weight in permanent advertising.

She adjusted a couple of boxes so that everything was wedged in snugly, and then, hearing an odd noise behind her, she turned.

Trig Boccardi was standing only about four feet behind the truck, a glower on his heavy face, erasing what little good looks he had left from his high-school glory.

Unnerved, Kelly glanced around. Mary Jo’s café was the last store at the dead end. Unless he had climbed over the alley fence, or come out of the café kitchen, he had pretty much materialized out of thin air.

“Hi, Trig,” she said neutrally. She whisked shut the van’s cargo doors. She didn’t like to have those pricy sheets of glass exposed to anyone as unpredictable as Trig. “Where’d you come from? You startled me.”

“You took it.” Trig’s brows hung low over his eyes. “Didn’t you?”

She didn’t like his tone, which was strangely aggressive. And, as usual, he wasn’t making sense. “I don’t know what you mean. Took what?”

“The lace. You took the lace from the wreath. Don’t pretend you didn’t. I saw you do it.”

Kelly’s stomach tightened. He had seen her? He had been watching her? From where? No wonder she’d had such a creepy feeling about spending the night alone.

How often did he do that?

“Yes,” she said. “I took it.”

“You shouldn’t have. It’s not yours.”

She glanced toward the front of the alley. The refrigeration truck was still there. But that wasn’t all bad. It meant that somewhere nearby was a truck driver, too. Just in case.

And Mary Jo was just inside the café. She’d come out if she had any idea something was wrong. Kelly began to move around the van a little, toward the driver’s side. Toward the horn.

“You shouldn’t have taken it,” he repeated. He had followed her all the way around, still staring intently.

“Why not?” She paused by the door, wishing she’d left the window open so she could just reach in and touch the horn. She tried to read his expression, unsure whether he was very sad, or very angry—or maybe even a little frightened himself. “Did you put the lace there, Trig?”

He recoiled. “Of course not. She put it there.”

“She? Who?”

He blinked several times, always a sign that he was agitated. “You know who. It’s hers.” He advanced a step. “She’ll be mad that you took it.”

Behind her back, she began to rearrange her keys in the palm of her hand, so that the metal points stuck out between her fingers. Trig was big and muscular, but his thinking was slow, and she hoped his reflexes were, too.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. I was just surprised when I saw it, and I wasn’t thinking. Maybe I should put it back.”

He thrust out his hand. “I’ll put it back. You shouldn’t have taken it.”

Did he think she carried it with her everywhere she went? “I don’t have it with me,” she said. “Don’t worry about it, Trig. I’ll take care of it later.”

“No,” he said. He took another step, his head ducked low, like an animal who was considering an attack. She’d never appreciated how much like a bull he actually looked, with that bulky body and that triangular head.

The groan and grind of gears just ahead told her the truck was leaving. Taking advantage of the distraction, she pulled open the door and climbed quickly into the driver’s seat. Shutting herself in, she rolled down the window and looked sternly at Trig.

“I want you to go home now, Trig. And I want you to leave me alone.”

He put his hand on the door. “No,” he said harshly.

“Yes,” she said, putting her keys in the ignition and turning over the engine, which, thankfully, started right up. Suddenly the two thousand dollars she’d paid the dealership seemed like a bargain.

“You have to go home now. And listen to me, Trig. I don’t know why you were watching me the other night, but I want you to stop it. You can get in a lot of trouble for things like that.”

He frowned, backing away a couple of inches, as if her stern tone startled him. He shook his head, a jerky and uncoordinated denial.

“I wasn’t watching you,” he said thinly. He blinked several times. “I was watching her.”