“A Bloody Mary, just a light one, for the hangover. It’s no excuse. I know that.”
“You’re sure about the person who was killed? I mean if you left--”
“I’m sure.” He hesitated. “There was someone else, a passenger.”
Livie raised her brows.
Cotton told her about Nikki.
“But how could you, how could you just leave her alone with her mother who was--? When you were the one who--?”
“I already had one DUI conviction when I was nineteen and I knew when the cops found out about it, I’d go to jail. I figured they’d probably get me for murder. I lost it. I panicked. I left.” Cotton pressed his palms down on his thighs.
“I don’t believe this.”
“I couldn’t either.”
“So you drank from then on? All this time?” Livie’s voice rose. “I was terrified, Cotton. I was sick at heart and so angry. Did it never occur to you how I would be effected, how others would be, your friends, your mother? The people who worked for you?”
He apologized again. He didn’t know what else to do. He said, “I know it must have--”
“No! You don’t know!” She flailed her arms as if she might hit him and he wished she would. He wished it were that simple. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, but he understood she wouldn’t allow that.
“I never knew you, did I?” Livie flung the words at him. “You were never honest with me.”
“The guy I was until our wedding day?--the one you dated and who you were engaged to?--he thought he knew who he was. He thought he was good enough to be married to you, to make a family with you.” Cotton looked at her. “I wanted that more than anything in the world, Livie, but I screwed up in a way that was so huge even I couldn’t live with myself, not sober anyway. How could I expect you to?”
“If you had called me, if you had let me know what happened and waited there, I would have come. I would have stayed with you. I would have helped you deal with it.”
“That’s what I was afraid of; that’s why I didn’t. Why should your life be wrecked?”
“So you left instead.”
“You deserved someone better.”
She shook her head. “Don’t make this about me, how good I am versus how terrible you are.”
“C’mon, Livie, what sort of life would it be, me in prison, you waiting out here?”
“So you made my choice for me and you think you did me a favor?”
They sat through a length of battered silence.
“Those people, the Latimers, they deserve to know the truth, too,” Livie said.
“I’m going there this evening to Nikki’s party. After that, I’ll tell Wes.”
“He’ll call the police.”
“I guess, or he might take care of it himself.”
“What do you mean?”
Cotton told her about the robberies that had led Wes to borrow a gun. He said, “I don’t know if he gave it back or not.”
“That’s who’s after you, isn’t it? The woman who called--?”
“She was my AA sponsor in Seattle. She went a little overboard--”
“But you just said Wes Latimer has a gun and he’s still grieving and angry about how he lost his wife. Cotton, your sponsors are right, you should turn yourself in, let the police handle it.”
Cotton said he’d think about it. He set the key in the ignition. “I’ll drive you home now, if you’re ready.”
Livie said. “After you left, I lost our baby,”
Chapter 21
His eyes widened and she watched as comprehension came over him. He didn’t want it; she could see in his gaze that he was hunting a way out, but there was only simple evidence of the truth, an arrow of harrowing knowledge that sank its tip into his heart. Deeper, into his core. His head fell hard against the seat back. Livie heard the rasp of his breath. She saw the tears bead the corners of his eyes and raised the back of her hand to his cheek.
He caught it, brought it to his chest and turning, gathered her into his embrace. They held each other without speaking and there was nothing in that well of time and space except two parents grieving the loss of a child they had made from their love. Livie felt oddly comforted that she was no longer alone with her grief. Cotton shared it now; he felt it too in the marrow of his bones the way Livie did and he always would the way she would. No matter what else happened.
She pulled away, but stayed within his arm’s length, letting him touch her cheek, trace the path of her tears. He cleared them from the rim of her jaw, then cupped his palm against her neck. “I wish we could go back, do it over.”
“But that isn’t possible, is it? We aren’t the same people anymore.”
He broke away from her with a groan.
“I wasn’t perfect either,” she said and when he looked a question at her, she told him about her loneliness and the way it drove her up the walls of despair until there was nothing to do but become someone else. Someone in a red dress. Someone who didn’t care. She told Cotton about Joe. She said she was having a baby and that since she’d found out, the fever, the awful dark mood was gone. Every bleak vestige. She didn’t feel it anywhere inside herself anymore.
“It’s a relief,” she said.
He didn’t say anything at first, but his face was ash; his face bore a collision of emotions. “It’s so much worse than I thought.” He reported this as if he were surveying the untold damage in the aftermath of a storm.
“But it’s over now. It was crazy, I was crazy for so long, but you know, I found out I’m stronger than I thought. I found out I’m not my mother.”
Cotton grimaced. “She and Kat hate me.”
“I’m sorry.” Livie’s smile was rueful.
Cotton lifted her hand, addressed it. “If there was ever anything I could do to help you--” He stopped, pressed his fingertips to his eyes.
And Livie knew he was struggling against tears again the way she was and she waited. She made herself breathe. In her mind, she said: Please. . . . And she meant it as a prayer for them both. “What will you do now?” she asked.
“I’m going to take care of business the way I should have six years ago,” he answered.
“I know the sheriff in Lincoln County,” she said, because she thought she understood he meant to turn himself in. “The accident happened on Route 119, right? I’m pretty sure JB’s the one who would have jurisdiction. I could call him for you and let him know you’re coming, but I think you should have a lawyer first.”
“I’ll call Nix,” Cotton said.
#
Livie closed her front door and leaned back against it, mouth tingling from Cotton’s kiss, body alive with its memory of his touch. She was full, overfull of his smell, the sound of his voice . . . his sweet one-cornered grin. The sensation of his palm was still warm on her neck and she put her hand there, sorry for her longing, saddened and enticed by it. She fought an urge to open the door and call him back. He shouldn’t go alone to the sheriff. Her mind produced images: Cotton in handcuffs, Cotton locked in a cell. How could she allow him to face that alone? But it wasn’t her place to stand beside him.
Not anymore.
She forced herself through the routine of evening chores, freshening the water in the hen house, collecting the eggs. She called Kat who had left an anxious message on her cell phone.
“I’m not kidnapped,” Livie said.
“What happened?” Kat demanded.
“Nothing. I’m really tired. Can we do the postmortem later?”
“I think I should come there.”
“No, I’m fine, honest. Where’s Mother? She isn’t answering her phone.”
“Really? Huh. I guess she’s out, probably with whatshisname, you know.”
“Kat?” There was something too offhand in Kat’s response, something too contrived and it raised the hair on Livie’s arms. “What’s going on? What is Mom doing?”
“Nothing that I know of. I mean she was worried when we le
ft you at the cemetery with Cotton. We both were, but you’re home now so--”
“I’m all right. I’ll call later, okay?” Livie hung up before Kat could argue.
She tried her mother again, got her voice mail and tossed aside her cell phone.
She thought of calling JB to see if Cotton had arrived, but he had asked her not to. He didn’t want her smoothing his way. He had instructed her to forget him, as if their almost marriage, almost life, had never happened. As if now that she knew what had prevented him from appearing at her side on their wedding day, she could dismiss it as nothing more substantial than a nightmare.
A simple switch she could turn off in her mind.
That terrible collision.
The fact that he’d run.
What was she supposed to do with all of it? She knuckled her fist to her mouth. She had such an awful feeling, a sense of things spiraling out of her control or anyone’s control. She caught the sound of engine noise. That old Mercedes? But no, it was Charlie’s truck. She was disappointed and relieved and when she heard Charlie shout from the porch, “Livie gal, you decent?” she opened her door to him and lost her composure.
Charlie got one look and opened his arms. “It’s okay, gal,” he murmured, “let it out now, just let it all go.”
#
When she had recovered, while Charlie made grilled cheese sandwiches for their dinner--he insisted Livie had to put something in her stomach--she told him about Cotton, what he’d done, where he’d fled to afterward. She found a tissue and blew her nose and said, “He’s devastated, Charlie. He wants so badly to make it right.”
“Nothing he can do is going to give that woman her life back.”
“No.”
“I think he’s got a hell of a lot of nerve coming here, raking it all up.” Charlie banged the griddle down on the burner and adjusted the flame.
“What should he do, now that he’s sane and sober and facing it? Burn in hell?”
“I would think you of all people--”
“If you want me to hate him, I can’t.”
Charlie maneuvered the spatula under the sandwich, flipping it, flattening it. The air was redolent with rich smells of cheese and butter and Livie’s stomach waffled in revolt.
“Forgiving him doesn’t mean I condone what he did,” she said. “But people make mistakes--”
“Once I left a man to die. In Viet Nam. We were under heavy fire, jungle fog so thick you couldn’t see two feet. I tried to get to him and couldn’t. I had a hard time living with myself after that. When I got back to the States, I went to see his family.”
“What happened?”
“They told me it was all right; they understood; they forgave me. I thought I would feel better, but I didn’t. Still don’t. There’s not a day that goes by, I don’t think of him lying there, helpless, dying alone.”
“But that was war. You aren’t responsible--”
“Cotton wants to make amends, he stands a better chance of that if he’s locked up, if he pays the debt.” Charlie looked at Livie over his shoulder. “Do you see what I’m saying?”
She went to him and put her hand on his back.
“I know how Cotton feels inside, Livie, how cut up he is. That’s all I’m trying to say.” He flipped the toasted sandwich onto a plate, expertly halved it with the spatula blade and handed it to her. “Not that I’m defending the guy,” he added.
Livie carried her plate to the table and sat looking dubiously at it. She wondered if she could eat. She wondered if matters of justice and compassion and mercy could ever be as simply resolved as Charlie seemed to think. She wondered if he or Cotton would ever feel free. She took a small bite of the sandwich and said, “Mom called you didn’t she? That’s why you came over.”
“She was worried after she left the cemetery.”
“She didn’t have to be.”
“Look, Livie, when I heard where you were, that you were with Cotton alone, I called JB.”
Livie started to protest.
Charlie cut her off. “None of us had any idea what he had in mind. He’s a fugitive, for Christ’s sake and there’s that woman, the one who said he’s got somebody after him.”
“That was his sponsor who called JB.”
Charlie looked at her.
Livie explained. “Cotton seems to think she was being dramatic, but if Wes Latimer were to figure out who Cotton is-- But Cotton’s turning himself in so he’ll be safe now.”
“But he’s not there. He not at the sheriff’s office.”
Livie set her sandwich half on her plate.
“You know JB ran his name through the computer.”
“You said nothing came back.”
“Not until a couple of days ago, a report out of New Mexico. Some farmer there called the police on an old truck he spotted pushed into a ravine. It turned out to be Cotton’s and it was pretty much totaled, but while they were hunting around inside, they found a cell phone under the driver’s seat.” Charlie put together a second cheese sandwich and settled it onto the griddle. He told Livie to eat. “Before it gets cold.”
But she couldn’t. “It wasn’t Cotton’s cell phone?”
“Nope. Belonged to Latimer’s wife.”
“Oh, no--”
“A warrant’s been issued for Cotton’s arrest.”
Livie pushed her plate away. The smell was nauseating.
“JB sent a couple of deputies out to the cemetery to get him, but by the time they got there, both of you were gone.” Charlie flipped the second sandwich onto a plate and carried it to the table. He sat across from Livie, caught her glance from under his brows. “Everybody was real glad to hear about it when you showed up here, little gal.”
“But this is so ridiculous,” Livie flung her hands wide, “the way everyone is making Cotton out to be some kind of-- I don’t even know--”
“It’s not right, the way Cotton comes sneaking around at all hours of the night. He slept on your porch, for God’s sake, right outside your door.”
“You told JB about that.”
“Your mother did. I just verified it was true, that Cotton was here, way too early for a social visit. And he was wearing my shirt,” Charlie added darkly. “Now he’s taken off again. Seems to be what he does best.”
“I have to find him.” Livie stood up.
“What? No, that’s JB’s job.”
Livie held Charlie’s gaze.
“I know it’s hard. You want to believe in him, but he’s not the man you thought.”
“I think he is, somewhere inside, he still is.”
“Look, maybe while he was talking to you, he had every intention of doing the right thing, he meant every word, but then when he got away--” Charlie shrugged. “It’s hard to face up to your responsibility sometimes, you know? Hell, he’s spent the last six years trying to avoid it. You said he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror. He’s probably a hundred miles from here by now, warming a barstool.”
“They’ll find him, JB and his deputies, and they’ll arrest him.” Livie sat back down.
“Sure they will. I doubt he’ll get far.”
She brought her hands to her face and shook her head. She didn’t believe Cotton was gone again. She had seen something in his eyes, something committed, a kind of brick-hard resolution that said he was through with running. She said, “I can’t just sit here.”
“So, we’ll play a game of Parcheesi. I’ll let you whip the pants off me the way Stella does.”
“Do you remember Razz?”
Charlie stopped eating. “The McKesson’s dog?”
“Remember what Nancy said?--that the driver who hit him ought to be shot.”
“People can get pretty riled, go off the deep end.”
“Yes,” Livie said. “They can.” She stood up, pushed in her chair. She said she was going out to make sure she’d latched the hen house door.
Charlie carried their plates to the sink and turned on the water.
/> Livie scooted into the hall, picked up her purse and her cell phone from the table and left by the front door closing it softly behind her. She slid into her car and maneuvered quickly around Charlie’s truck.
“People can get pretty riled, go off the deep end.” Charlie’s warning echoed through her mind.
At the end of her driveway, she paused and looked back at her house. He was coming, shouting at her to wait. But she couldn’t wait. There wasn’t time.
Chapter 22
He didn’t expect Livie to invite him in and she didn’t. But when he bent to kiss her outside on her porch, she allowed it, even clinging to him for a brief passage of moments and then she was gone. The screen door was shut, the front door was closed and he was alone with nothing more than the memory of her scent, the sense of her mouth under his. He felt the yielding pressure of her hip, the fullness of her breasts. He wondered how he could live without her.
And yet he knew there was no possibility of them being together, that he’d killed any chance of that as effectively as he’d murdered Joan Latimer. Anita would tell him to get off the pity pot. But it wasn’t pity; it was fact. Truth. Reality. He couldn’t change it. Nothing he ever did was going to undo the consequences of his actions. All the bad shit would still be all the bad shit.
Cotton didn’t think about it when he stopped and bought the pint of Jim Beam. He tossed it into the passenger seat, yanked off his tie, loosened the collar of his shirt, and then drove aimlessly. He thought of finding a meeting. Calling Sonny. Anita. He checked his watch. Nikki’s party had started an hour ago. He should go there, but when he reached the interstate, instead of north he headed south to Galveston Bay. He parked and walked down to the beach. When he and Scott were kids, they’d come here a lot with Delia. On occasion, like at the lake, she’d brought out her paints, set up her easel, but more often, they’d run wild while she lay on a towel stuporous from the heat and gin. But she’d laughed at their antics; sometimes she’d buried them in the sand. He wished now he’d brought her ashes here. She would have liked that.
The Ninth Step Page 22