Dig Deep My Grave

by Cheryl Honigford

  Hap glanced at her sidelong, a smile slipping back onto his face. After all, she’d always been impressed with his feats of derring-do in the past. There was a hopeful lift to his eyebrows now, a light in his eyes. She could almost see the thoughts marshaling in his head. They could go back to the way it had been between them that summer eight years ago—as if nothing had happened. He wanted that. He wanted her. Renewing what they’d had would be like slipping into a warm bath. Except that Vivian wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d matured, moved on. And despite that echo of long-dormant passion, she could never forget how he’d treated her at the end.

  And besides, there was Charlie now. Charlie was good. Charlie was honorable. Charlie was who she wanted.

  Hap moved closer to her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin against hers. “And while I’ve been gone, you’ve been making something of yourself, eh? Next stop Hollywood?” he said.

  She only nodded. Her throat felt like it was coated in dust.

  He whistled with admiration. “I always knew you’d do something big, Viv. You always had that extra something special.” He ran his fingertips lightly up her forearm, raising gooseflesh in their wake. Then he leaned down toward her, his lips brushing her temple as he spoke. “You know, I still think about you. About us. How good we were together.”

  Vivian stepped backward and pulled her arm from his grasp.

  “I’m with someone,” she said.

  His rakish smile remained, though his eyebrows drew together in incredulity.

  “That dime-novel detective?” His head cocked to the side as he studied her. So Hap had been keeping tabs on her as well, she thought. He hooked two fingers under her chin and lifted it.

  Vivian forced herself to meet his gaze, if only to prove that she could do it and not falter. She saw lust in Hap’s green eyes. Lust and calculation and a certain knowing calm behind it all.

  He thought he could snap his fingers, and she would melt into a puddle at his feet. The Hap of her memories had been suave, dazzlingly charming, and full of amusement, but there was a hardness to him now. The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. This Hap was only wearing those qualities like a mask. Perhaps it was what he had seen in Europe, in Spain with the rebels, she thought. Perhaps it was that he realized he was very near forty with nothing to show for his life thus far. His once-effortless charm had twisted and become a sharp thing. Or perhaps she’d imagined all of it to begin with.

  “I know we parted…on bad terms, and I regret that. I’d like a chance to try to explain. I think you’d like that too.” His voice was low. He leaned down toward her then, lips parted, and Vivian sidestepped him with a jerk of her head.

  “I have to go,” she said. She turned and started toward the house without waiting for his reply, the leaves squishing under her heel, the whir of the cicadas in her ears.

  Hap didn’t follow. He didn’t call after her. Knowing, of course, like she did that he’d have another chance to win her over. No doubt he thought he would. He thought Vivian was still that confused, angry, rebellious girl who had been putty in his hands that summer. He thought he would always get what he wanted.

  Well, he’s wrong, she thought. He’s wrong.

  Chapter Three

  Vivian’s skin prickled as if she’d been standing too close to a bonfire. Hap had always done that to her. That prickly feeling used to make her smile, used to make her breath come fast with anticipation. She should feel nothing, she reminded herself. He’d disappeared and hadn’t contacted her for eight years. Then again, maybe he truly did want to explain what had gone so horribly wrong that summer. And, God help her, she wanted to hear it. She needed to hear that explanation.

  Vivian sat alone in the quiet garden on the side of the house far from the party. She let the sun warm her skin until she calmed herself, until she stopped wondering how Hap had come to be here. Then she climbed the porch steps at the side of the house and made her way slowly around the wraparound porch. Charlie was leaning against the railing at the front, facing away from her. Such a strapping man, she thought. And all hers. How did she ever get so lucky?

  She’d been surprised by Hap, that’s all. He’d startled her, and all those unresolved feelings from her past had bobbed to the surface. Vivian knew now that any lingering feelings she had for Hap were nothing compared to what she felt for this man in front of her. She stepped to Charlie’s side and leaned against the railing next to him.

  “Hello there, handsome,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Come here often?”

  Charlie didn’t smile at the joke.

  Vivian cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to suggest an early departure when Charlie interrupted. He pointed toward the far side of the lawn, eyes narrowed.

  “Who’s that man to you?”

  Vivian followed Charlie’s glare, and her smile faded. “Oh, that’s just Hap,” she said, careful to keep her voice light. Her stomach clenched reflexively at the very recent memory of his fingers on her arm, his breath on her temple. The thought ran round and round in her mind like a dog chasing its tail: It’s not over. No matter what you think. It’s not over.

  “And what is ‘Just Hap’ to you?”

  Vivian turned to study Charlie’s expression. It was as hard as his tone was icy. He was angry. With her. About Hap Prescott. How on earth had Charlie heard about Hap Prescott?

  “He’s an old friend, I suppose,” she said, trying to sound breezy. Her fingers closed around the porch railing. She looked out over the lawn as she spoke. “No direct relation of mine, you see. Or anyone’s, really… Uncle Bernard’s ward, I suppose you’d call him. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  She glanced sidelong at Charlie. All of that was a carefully curated version of the truth. Charlie narrowed his eyes as he continued to stare out onto the lawn and spoke without looking at her.

  “Let me rephrase the question, then. What was he to you?”

  Vivian felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Her eyes inadvertently darted toward where Hap was standing talking to Gwen. As she watched, Hap leaned down and whispered something into the girl’s ear. Even from this distance, Vivian could see Gwen’s coquettish blush. Hap, the cad, she thought bitterly. Up to his old tricks. Maybe that’s what this was all about. Charlie had heard a rumor of their long-ago relationship, and his jealousy had carried him away.

  “Charlie, that was a long time ago. Long before I met you.” She chose her words carefully. She smiled, looking up at him through lowered lashes. But she could see that her flirtatious charm would have no effect this time. He was well and truly steamed. She sighed and lowered her voice, leaning in toward him. “I mean, you didn’t think that before you I’d never… Well, that you were my fir—”

  Charlie held his hand up and silenced her with a grimace. “Of course I didn’t, Viv. But someone like him?” He glanced back toward Hap and Gwen.

  Vivian was glad to see that Constance had now joined their discussion, wedging her thin frame between the two of them. “I was young and stupid then,” she said. She was thinking more so every minute.

  “And ‘then’ was…?”

  “The summer after my father died.”

  Charlie’s blue-green eyes tracked Hap as he moved through the crowd now, the furrow between his brows deepening.

  “God, Viv, he had to have been in his thirties even then.”

  The words Don’t be silly almost tripped off her tongue, but she stopped them. She didn’t want Charlie to think she was defending Hap Prescott with her careless, flippant remarks. And she wasn’t, was she? Of course not. She narrowed her eyes at Hap across the lawn. He had been at least thirty years old then. Jesus, she thought. He hadn’t seemed that old at the time. He’d just seemed worldly, mature, a man who knew his mind. A man who’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him.

  Vivian exhaled through her nose. She could feel her own ire grow
ing. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. I wasn’t a kid, and he didn’t prey on me, Charlie.”

  He turned to her, eyebrows raised. “Then what he said was true?”

  Vivian’s stomach clenched. She felt her hands grow cold. So that’s how he’d found out, she thought, from Hap himself. When had that happened? She hadn’t even known the man was here herself until ten minutes ago.

  “That depends on what he said,” she responded carefully.

  Charlie’s jaw was set. “He congratulated me on catching such a prize. And then asked me if you were still a spicy little minx.”

  Vivian blinked. A spicy little minx?

  “And he made it known that he had shared—what did he call them?—‘a couple of good tussles’ with you himself.”

  Vivian felt like she’d been sucker punched. All of the air rushed out of her lungs.

  Her mind worked furiously on how to repair this situation. The language Hap had used was disrespectful, but she couldn’t deny the crude truth in them. If she’d acted out before her father died, then she’d really kicked it into high gear after he was gone—especially that summer here at Oakhaven when she was seventeen. Though it was immensely insulting to characterize her affair with Hap as a couple of “good tussles.”

  But something told her that admitting this wouldn’t exactly make the conversation with Charlie any easier—or allay any of his jealousy. No doubt Hap wanted Charlie to know that he’d beaten him to the punch and was a presumptive rival for Vivian’s affections now that he was back. And he likely hadn’t expected Charlie to share their conversation with Vivian herself. The presumption in all of it made her suddenly, intensely angry. How dare he?

  “I should’ve clocked the son of a bitch,” Charlie said.

  “No!”

  Charlie’s expression darkened.

  “I mean, not that he didn’t deserve to have his nose broken,” Vivian said. “But you were right not to cause a scene. You’d have been sent packing…right back to Chicago.”

  “Maybe not such a bad idea.” Charlie looked off into the distance.

  Vivian stayed quiet. She knew enough about Charlie and his temper to know that saying anything in an attempt to smooth things over would only serve to stir him up.

  “Look, Viv.” He paused, exhaled, and then turned to face her. “I don’t care what you may or may not have done in the past…or who you may have done it with. But I don’t especially enjoy having it thrown in my face at a goddamn garden party.”

  Vivian knew that the unspoken undercurrent of his statement was that he regretted even being at that goddamn garden party in the first place. Which, of course, was her fault. She’d dragged him here, if not kicking and screaming, then certainly under duress. He’d come solely to make her happy, and now she felt miserable about making him feel so miserable.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on his forearm and was relieved when he didn’t immediately shake it off. “I didn’t know Hap would be here, and I certainly didn’t know he’d…stir up the past. He’s a fool.”

  “Well, if that fool says one more thing about you, or so much as glances in your direction, I’ll shut him up for good.” A surprised laugh escaped Vivian’s mouth, but Charlie’s eyes were cold. “I won’t have you spoken about in that way.”

  His voice was low and menacing. If she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t deflect this anger and keep the two men on opposite sides of the lawn at all times, then this garden party would turn out to be a god-awful mess after all.

  She scanned the crowd, noting that Hap was standing with David and Lillian. Then she grabbed Charlie’s arm and tugged him in the opposite direction. When Charlie’s temper was up, it was best to distract him from the issue at hand. She turned on her heel, stopping just in time to keep herself from knocking over a spindly woman in a loud, flower-print dress, holding a large and sweaty Gin Ricky. Vivian stopped short, Charlie bumping into her back like a falling domino.

  “Oh, hello, Aunt Wilhelmina,” she said, pasting a smile to her face. “Lovely to see you.”

  The woman’s mouth gaped slightly as she glanced from Vivian to Charlie over Vivian’s shoulder. She narrowed her watery eyes at him and shook her head. How long had she been standing there? Had she heard any of their conversation? No, of course not, Vivian thought. Aunt Wilhelmina was ninety-three and deaf as a post. That scowl was just her permanent expression.

  Constance appeared and took the older woman’s arm. “There you are,” she said to Wilhelmina. She glanced at Vivian and Charlie with one dark eyebrow raised.

  Vivian sidestepped her great-aunt and Constance without a word, pulling Charlie along with her. Bar the breach of etiquette, she thought.

  They needed some time alone. She needed to explain all of this to Charlie. She needed, in a way, to explain it to herself. She pulled him gently past the swarm of partygoers to the back of the estate where the towering oaks and poplars turned the yard into a cool glade. She ducked into the oriental pagoda under the shade of a giant, overhanging burr oak. It was an elaborately carved wooden structure with a steep, peaked roof. Charlie’s eyes flitted over the intricate carvings along the roof’s edge: dragons and birds and large flowers with sweeping, pointed petals. It was exotic and not in keeping with the Victoriana gingerbread of the main house. It was dark inside and blessedly cool.

  “This was originally the Siam pagoda from the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building at the ’93 Columbian Exposition,” Vivian said, answering a question he hadn’t asked.

  Charlie’s dark-blond eyebrows still met over the bridge of his nose in a scowl. Vivian wasn’t sure he’d heard her, but she kept on anyway. Anything to take his mind off Hap and what he’d said. Anything to smooth that wrinkled forehead out again.

  “My grandfather bought it after the fair and carted it wholesale up here. That was en vogue at the time—to pillage exotic objets d’art from the exposition. The Ceylon teahouse was disassembled and put back together just down the shore from here.” She motioned vaguely to the vast wooden building on the bluffs to the east. She was blathering, but she couldn’t stop herself. “It’s now the Maytags’ summer home. Quite nice. I was there once about five years ago. They have special things built into the walls to keep snakes from slithering up them. Handy in Ceylon, I suppose, but hopefully not so useful here in Wisconsin…”

  Charlie had turned away from her, and her heart climbed into her throat.

  “Charlie, for God’s sake, tell me what you’re thinking.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but she was unable to bear the tension any longer.

  Charlie exhaled and ran a palm down the pole nearest him. He glanced at her and then away. “What I’m thinking is that when you bring me to things like this, I’m reminded of how very different we are.” He craned his neck to gaze up at the elaborate, soaring pointed roof of the pagoda. “Summer cottages on the lake. Siamese pagodas in the backyard…” he said with a rueful shake of his head. He looked away from her, his voice low as he said the rest. “And I’m afraid that you’ll come to your senses one day and give me the heave-ho.”

  Vivian almost laughed. She couldn’t help it. But then she realized how serious Charlie was, and her stomach dipped. Did he really think she’d leave him for some stuffed-shirt bank president if she only got the chance? Good lord, did he think she actually wanted someone like Hap, after the way he’d treated her? She moved forward and put both palms on Charlie’s chest and stared deeply and unblinkingly into his beautiful aqua eyes.

  “You’re on my level, Charlie Haverman.”

  He looked down at her, his expression solemn. “I don’t have any money, Viv.”

  She sighed and bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile at his sincerity. She knew he would take her amusement precisely the wrong way. Of course she knew he didn’t have any money, and she didn’t care. Why would he ever think she would?

  “Money
makes absolutely no difference to me,” she said.

  And that was true, but perhaps not exactly in the way Charlie thought she meant it. Money, to a large degree, didn’t matter to her because she was currently in possession of more money than she could ever use in her lifetime. She’d inherited her father’s secreted, mostly ill-gotten fortune on her twenty-fifth birthday this past January. She had more than enough money for the both of them.

  Not that she’d told Charlie about it. It had been five months since she’d acquired a small fortune, and she hadn’t been able to break the news yet. Every time she tried, something like this would come up. Something to remind both of them just how different they were, and she knew the money would only cause a rift between them.

  Charlie wasn’t the type to be overjoyed at the prospect of becoming one of the idle rich, a playboy type who could sit back while his woman held the purse strings. That was an impossibility in the dynamics of their relationship, and Vivian knew that. She just had to work out a way to let him know about her inheritance without hurting his ample pride and ruining everything between them in the process.

  “I don’t have any social standing,” Charlie said, his tone taken on a teasing lilt.

  Her hands snaked up his chest to latch together at the base of his neck, where her thumb rubbed lightly up and down among the closely shorn hair at the nape. “Ask me if I give one whit for social standing.”

  “Any standing then? Because I’ve never had any standing as far as I can tell.” He smiled then, and she sighed with relief and kissed the tiny dimple that formed at the corner of his mouth. Then she lowered her head and nuzzled into his chest. She inhaled the spicy citrus of his aftershave and waited a moment for the turn in Charlie’s mood to really take hold.

  “How about we just let bygones be bygones?” she said softly, glancing up at him.

  “As long as Hap Prescott is a bygone.”

  “Of course he is. He’s been a bygone for years. You, however”—she trailed a fingertip down the side of his cheek—“are right here in my arms.” She stood on her tiptoes and planted a long, slow kiss on his mouth.