Compulsion

by Martina Boone

  Barrie dropped her eyes. “I got the feeling it was all Cassie’s idea.”

  “Then why did Wyatt follow you to the Resurrection?”

  “Maybe for the same reason I want to go to Colesworth Place. Have you been there? Aren’t you the least bit curious?” Barrie turned back to watch the columns receding. “And maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him about the night Lula left.”

  “If he’ll tell you.”

  “You suppose Cassie’s play is any good?”

  “It doesn’t have to be good. You’ve met Cassie. She could hold an audience captive reading a nutrition label.”

  Of course she could. Barrie stomped down a jealous pang and reminded herself she was the one who had asked for Eight’s opinion. Girls who looked like Cassie owned a room the moment they walked into it. Eight might claim he didn’t know Cassie well, he might not trust Cassie’s family or her motives, but he wasn’t indifferent to her. How could he be?

  And how could it already matter this much?

  The wind swept Barrie’s hair into her face, but she didn’t bother to hold it back. Colesworth Place vanished as the boat puttered around the bend. Here the river emptied into the sound, and the smell of the water changed.

  “You never answered me before,” Barrie said, “about what you want.”

  “What I want changes all the time.”

  “Not the important stuff. Come on. You owe me.”

  Eight adjusted the rudder, and they detoured around a sandbar exposed by the outbound tide. He was silent so long, Barrie started to think he wasn’t going to answer at all. But he knew so much about her, and she deserved at least a crumb.

  “All right. Two things,” he said. “One, I hate the Beaufort gift, and two, I’d get rid of it if I could.”

  “Neither of those count. I’d pretty much figured them out already. Tell me something personal. Something real.”

  “I didn’t want to like you as much as I do,” he said. “Is that real enough for you?”

  Barrie turned her face back into the salty spray and tried to decide if Eight’s declaration was an insult or something to celebrate.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Barrie’s expression must have registered her confusion. Eight shook his head and leaned toward her with one hand still on the rudder. “Hold on. I phrased that wrong. What I meant was more that I wasn’t expecting to like you as much as I do. Which implies I wasn’t expecting to like you at all, and I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t have any expectations.” He sighed and gave her a rueful grin. “I’m still not saying it right, am I?”

  The boat rocked in the choppy water, and the spray on Barrie’s face now carried the sting of salt. “What are you trying to say?”

  “That I like you, but I’m going to California at the end of next month.” He steered toward the marina in front of the lighthouse. “I’ve wanted to get away from Watson Island for so long, I can’t remember not wanting it. Now, for the first time, there might be a reason to stay, and it’s too late.”

  Too late? That summed it all up, didn’t it?

  They were passing the strip of beach where Eight had shown her the turtle’s nest. Beyond it, the sound turned to ocean, and a jumble of umbrellas and tropical towels dotted one of the public beaches, echoing the chaos in Barrie’s mind. Turning back to Eight, she caught him in three-quarter profile: his straight nose, his stubborn chin, his eyes wary on her as if he weren’t sure what she would do. She wondered what he would look like in the dead of winter when his tan faded and his hair darkened. But she wouldn’t see him then.

  Last night he had talked about meeting someone for dinner, but she had been too focused on seeing Cassie to pay attention. “You mentioned a recruiter,” she said.

  “Yeah, I got a baseball scholarship to play at USC—Southern California, not South Carolina. Around here those two are easily confused.”

  “Free hint. California’s a whole lot farther away.” Too far.

  But Barrie refused to feel dismay. She refused to want him to stay. That would confuse things further. She had only just met him, and he was being nice to her because . . . Oh, who knew why? Because of the Watson-Beaufort connection Cassie had mentioned, maybe.

  “And after college? Are you coming back?”

  “If I did, Dad would want me to join the family business. I’m not cut out to be a lawyer.” Eight said the word as if it had four letters. “I was lucky to get the minimum grades for my scholarship, which I needed so Dad couldn’t threaten not to pay when he found out what I was going to do. . . .”

  Barrie waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “Does it matter that much? Aren’t there other jobs you could do here?”

  “Not for a Beaufort. Law goes with our gift the same way finding investment opportunities goes with yours. Beauforts know how to negotiate settlements, pick juries, make deals.” Eight steered the boat toward the harbor, and pointed suddenly off to their right. “Look,” he said.

  Barrie turned in time to see a dolphin glide back beneath the waves and reemerge. One, then two, then five or six sleek gray bodies arced and knifed below the surface, again and again, until they were only splashes in the distance.

  “I wish it were that easy to get away. This place makes me claustrophobic,” Eight said. “I’m dyslexic. You know what that is?”

  Barrie nodded. “It makes it hard to read because you see the letters jumbled.”

  “It’s not that I couldn’t manage if I wanted to. Plenty of dyslexic people are doctors and lawyers and whatever. But that just isn’t me. I don’t want it enough to work that hard, and the whole town expects things from me that I can’t deliver. My dad expects things. If I stay, I’ll always be a failure when I don’t meet those expectations, and I’d rather do something I am good at. Something that makes me feel good about myself.”

  The longing etched into his expression just then, the defiance and the slight hoarseness in his voice . . . those more than the words made Barrie want to reach out to him, to touch him and somehow know the right thing to say to make him feel better. But her mind was a mess of elusively swirling words.

  Unlike her, Eight wore confidence like a second skin. How could she have missed seeing that he had the same insecurities she had? Maybe if she had bothered to look beneath his beautiful-boy exterior, she would have seen his doubt. Recognized it.

  His intensity, the set of his shoulders, the thrust of his jawline, all looked suddenly different, like a deceptively simple piece of abstract art that revealed new layers of meaning and emotion when considered from an alternate angle.

  She wanted to tell him she knew how he felt. How she had never been enough to interest Lula. Never been enough for Lula.

  “Why baseball?” she asked instead. “Or is that just to get through college?”

  He gave her a smile so wide, it was as if she’d given him a present on Christmas morning. “Thanks for not telling me why I’m wrong. I hate pity. And, no, it isn’t just for college. It’s not a lifetime career, but I want to play in the majors, then open a restaurant when I retire. Maybe I’ll be a celebrity chef and feed people exactly what they want.” He grinned even wider. “There’s no right and wrong in fish or chicken, and in baseball everyone knows what everyone wants. A run or an out. Maybe a walk. When I’m on the pitcher’s mound, people are too far away for me to read. I don’t have to worry what’s fair or unfair. I don’t have to decide if I should try to help them get what they want.”

  Barrie had never stopped to think whether she should find an object once she became aware of it. At least not until she’d arrived at Watson’s Landing.

  “I thought the gift didn’t give you a choice?” she asked.

  “That’s another downside to growing up in a family of lawyers. You learn to twist the gift so you give people what they want in a way that helps you instead.”

  “So you’re saying that you manipulate people.”

  Eight slowed the engine to a purr and pulled into the marina. “If Dad can’t arg
ue you into doing what he wants, he’ll maneuver you into it. I try not to be that way, but I can’t not know what I know.”

  That was probably the closest he was going to come to giving her an apology. She couldn’t really blame him for his gift—which didn’t make it any easier to live with.

  “What you need,” she said lightly, “is a twelve-step program. Mind Readers Anonymous.”

  Eight darted a glance at her, and then he nosed the boat into a slip and jumped out to tie it off.

  Barrie stowed the life jacket and stood on shaky legs. Her head pounded, and she was grateful when Eight reached down to help her up onto the solid dock. She kissed him. Just a peck, but he would have known she wanted to do that anyway. She wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised, but she wasn’t sorry. What he had told her couldn’t have been easy for him to say.

  They wound through the marina. Sailboats and a few big tourist yachts bobbed gently on one side, separated from the working vessels on the other. Rows and rows of fishing boats bristling with antennas and radar dishes looked rusty and weathered. Except for one just preparing to pull out, which was conspicuously sleeker, cleaner, and more powerful. Wyatt stood on its deck, talking to a man with a tattoo of a face on the back of his head. Wyatt fell silent when he caught sight of Barrie and Eight. His stare held none of the friendliness he had shown the night before.

  “Come on.” Eight took her hand and pulled her down the dock.

  They left the marina and turned along the boardwalk, then walked a few blocks to a clapboard building hung with a green-and-gold sign: RIVERBANK FARM AND MARKET. Red-faced toddlers reached through the bars of a corral to pet a trio of miniature horses, while a shaved llama with a puffball face chewed its cud from behind a chain-link fence. Along the side paddock, older children lined up for rides on a pair of ponies decked out in straw hats that had been slipped over their ears.

  “I thought we were picking up steaks. Do we have to kill the cow?” Barrie tried to ignore the fact that people were gaping at her the same way the kids looked at the animals on display.

  “No worries. The stuff inside is dead already, apart from the odd crustacean and the fish-eyed locals.”

  Curiosity followed them into the building. Strangers stopped and chatted, gossiped, pried. At the meat stand an old woman in a yellow housedress, brown socks, and sandals counted out change for her purchases one coin at a time, while the younger woman with her watched Barrie and Eight with open speculation.

  The old woman plunked the coins down onto the butcher-papered counter. With a last glance at Barrie, her companion loaded their white-wrapped packages into a bag.

  “Come on, Granny,” she said, catching the old woman’s elbow. “We’d best get back.”

  The old woman hobbled a few steps, then peered at Barrie. “I heard Lula’s daughter was coming home,” she said, drawing out every word. “You are a welcome sight.”

  “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Price.” Eight spoke more loudly than usual.

  The old woman waved her hand at him without shifting her attention from Barrie. “I thought I was going to have to come up to the Landing to get a look at you, honey. Not that I’d have minded. Don’t see near enough of your aunt.” She paused and gave a wide, nearly toothless grin. “But of course, you don’t have any idea who I am, do you? I taught Pru and your mama both. Every one of the Watsons for two generations. Broke my heart to think Pru was going to be the last of you, her ending up alone, dying alone in that prison of a house.”

  Goose bumps prickled down Barrie’s spine.

  “Granny!” The younger woman cast an apologetic look at Barrie. “Gawd. Don’t mind her, now, sugar. She’s eighty-seven and as stubborn as a cross-eyed mule. It’s hard to rein her in sometimes, and her mind gets stuck back in the past. Glory days, you know.”

  “You hush up, Lily Beth. I’m not back in diapers yet.” Mrs. Price pulled her arm out of her granddaughter’s grasp.

  Lily Beth leaned closer, but her voice was still loud enough for everyone around them to hear. “Watch what you say, Granny. You’ll give the poor girl the wrong impression about her family, and she’s only just arrived.”

  “It’s fine.” Barrie glared at Lily Beth, but the woman was too oblivious to notice. “So you taught my grandfather, too?” she asked.

  “Along with his brother, Luke, and your grandmother.” Mrs. Price nodded at Eight. “And your great-aunt Twila, matter of fact, Eight Beaufort. Although sometimes I doubt I taught any of them much. None of them could concentrate on anything except each other.”

  “Twila and Emmett, you mean?” Eight asked.

  “No, dear.” Mrs. Price gave a slight, delighted shake of her head, her eyes twinkling as if she enjoyed the gossip. “Twila was in love with Luke Watson from the beginning. Course Luke was always a little wild. Not bad, mind you, just needed settling down. Emmett, on the other hand, he could never bear for Luke to have anything for himself. Didn’t matter if it was a football or a pencil. If Emmett couldn’t have it, Luke wasn’t going to have it either. The man might as well have been a Colesworth.”

  “Granny!” Lily Beth’s face reddened, and she wound her arm around Mrs. Price’s elbow. “Come away now.”

  Mrs. Price looked back at Barrie. “Your grandmother was too good for Emmett. And your aunt Pru, she was a saint for staying all those years. You tell her I said hello. Tell her to come and see me, when she has a chance.” Mrs. Price snatched Barrie’s wrist and regarded her intently. “Remind her Emmett’s dead and gone, and it’s time she started living.”

  Barrie gave an uncomfortable nod, and Mrs. Price dropped Barrie’s hand. “I always did like Pru best, you know. People may pretend they liked Lula, but Pru was always the kind one. Like Luke. Funny how there was one in every generation. I can’t help wishing it was Pru who had gotten away and Lula who was the one chained to that house.”

  Barrie was grateful when Eight wrapped his arms around her.

  “Not actually chained,” Lily Beth hurried to explain, as if Barrie and Eight were dense. Her fingers dug into the paper-thin skin of Mrs. Price’s arm. “Come on, Granny. This is Lula’s daughter you’re talking to. Apologize and let’s go.”

  “It was a metaphor, dear.” Mrs. Price winked at Barrie. “I taught English for nearly fifty years. You’d think my own granddaughter would understand figurative language. Still, it’s true enough. Emmett lost Luke, Twila, and Lula. He was damned if he was going to lose Pru, too. Never mind he was the reason they all stayed away in the first place, you mark my words. Dead to Emmett might as well be dead to everyone. The pompous old ass.”

  “You all right?” Eight’s chin rested lightly on Barrie’s hair as they watched Lily Beth pull Mrs. Price away. His warmth felt good against her aching head.

  “Do you mind if we come back for the steaks later?” she asked.

  “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

  Briefly, Barrie wondered if he already knew, if it was even worth explaining. She decided not to think about it. If she spent all her time trying to analyze what Eight knew and what he didn’t, the extra brain-drain would make her even more conversationally challenged than she already was.

  “It seems to me that if Pru ended up being punished when Lula left, she at least deserves to know why Lula ran away. I want to go see if Julia can find that letter.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Julia’s house, a two-story home set on stilts, was close to the beach on one of the palm-tree-and-rhododendron-dotted side streets. She answered the door dressed for tennis, her face and hair windblown and damp as if she’d recently finished playing a match.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She held the screen door open an inch, apparently unsure whether she wanted to invite them in or close it in their faces.

  Barrie put on her most winning smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I keep thinking about that letter you got from my mom.”

  “You’d better come in.” Julia’s voice came out with a sigh. “I was going to
call Pru later, only . . .”

  “Only what?” Barrie prompted.

  Julia led the way into a large family room with pale blue paneled walls and white furniture that matched the Wedgwood plates hanging on the walls. “Have a seat,” she said, waving them toward an overstuffed sofa crammed with pillows. “Can I get you a lemonade? Sweet tea? Cheerwine?” She smiled at Barrie’s confusion. “That’s a soda. Cherry flavored.”

  “No, thank you,” Barrie said, but Eight nudged her with his foot and raised his eyebrows at her. “Or maybe . . . could I have a glass of water?”

  “Me too,” Eight said.

  Barrie waited for Julia to disappear into the kitchen. “What are you kicking me for? I thought we’d get this over with quick.”

  “She hasn’t made up her mind what she’s going to tell you.”

  “You think she found it?”

  “She wishes she’d never remembered the letter or mentioned it to you. I don’t know if she found it or not, but why else would she wish we weren’t here?”

  “Maybe she’s having an affair with the tennis instructor and he’s hiding in the kitchen,” Barrie said. “Come on. Put yourself in her shoes. Losing something so important and worrying about confessing to Pru, and how Pru’s going to react . . . Can’t you see why she’d hesitate?”

  Julia came back with the water and a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies. “I baked these earlier. You’re probably getting hungry, aren’t you? My kids are always ready for a snack about this time of the morning.” She lowered herself into the love seat kitty-corner from the sofa, and picked at a cookie.

  “I lied when I said I was going to call Pru, you know. The truth is, I probably wasn’t going to call at all.”

  “So you found the letter?” Barrie leaned forward and braced her forearms on her knees, wishing she was positive she wanted the answer to be yes.

  “I got to thinking about places I don’t normally get into,” Julia said, “and I remembered the box of birth announcements and congratulations cards I’d put away after my son, Devon, was born. That was about ten months after Lula’s funeral.” She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s still so hard to believe. That she could have been alive all this time. I wish I’d seen her even one more time.”