by Kate Merrill
“Are those balloons for me, Miss Diana?”
Diana was flustered and looked to Matthew for support. “Oh, oh, it looks like we’ve been caught out. Is it okay if Lissa gets her balloons one day early?”
In the meantime, Matthew quickly grabbed the shopping bags and held them behind his back, but Lissa wouldn’t be fooled.
“What are you hiding, Grandpa?”
“None of your business, girl.” He hefted the packages higher, out of reach, as Lissa began scanning Queen Vic’s interior for more surprises. She stood on tiptoes and checked the front seat.
“My birthday cake!”
Diana and Matthew groaned in unison.
“No secrets ’round here.” Matthew tromped around and opened the passenger door, just as Ursie lunged for the cake.
Diana collared the dog in the nick of time and handed Lissa the balloons. “You hold these tight, or else Ursie will eat your cake.”
“Okay, Miss Diana.”
Poor Matthew held the cake aloft in his right hand, the surprise packages in his left, then led the procession to the house. Diana realized that holding Ursie back was much like controlling a big black jumping bean, but somehow they all made it into the kitchen without incident. Matthew slid the cake atop the refrigerator and stowed the shopping bags out of reach in the utility cabinet, while Lissa carefully secured the balloon strings to the framework of a table lamp. Once the helium orbs were safely bobbing out of harm’s way, Matthew snatched the child under her armpits and swung her in the air.
“Shame on you, Punkin. Didn’t I tell you to stay put and tend to the fish?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” Lissa squealed. “But I saw you two kissing!”
Diana flushed with embarrassment, but suddenly realized she had more pressing challenges. She rushed to the stove, located a potholder, and eased the cast iron skillet off the burner. The room smelled delicious, like deep-fried hushpuppies and battered bass, which had just begun to smoke.
“Close call…” She turned a disparaging eye on the two at horseplay. “Never leave a stove unattended. Lucky you didn’t burn the house down.”
But Matthew and Lissa seemed unrepentant. He quit swinging the girl and put her down, butt first, on the linoleum. “No harm done,” he chuckled.
Lissa popped up and captured Diana’s hand. “I saw you kissing Grandpa. Is he your boyfriend?”
Diana sighed. She had two choices: continue in the role of sourpuss Grandma, or let it all go. She chose the latter, planted a big kiss on Lissa’s curly red head. “Yes, Lissa, your grandpa is definitely my boyfriend, and he acts more like a little boy every single day.”
Lissa let go of Diana’s hand and spun in delight. “Diana loves Grandpa, Diana loves Grandpa…” she chanted as she twirled.
Finally Matthew stopped the whirling dervish. “Enough of that. Where’s your mama?”
Lissa stood still and considered. “She’s in our room getting dressed.”
“That’s good, Lissa. Now I want you to go fetch her. Tell her dinner is served.” He gave the girl a little swat on the rump, and the child took off in the direction of the bedrooms. Once she was gone, Diana and Matthew heaved a sigh of relief.
“So, are you all right?” Diana began.
“Sure, how ’bout you?”
“I’m hanging in.” As their eyes locked in understanding, both wondering what had become of their future together, Diana longed for that celebratory bottle of wine she had wasted with Liz.
“I still want you to move in with me, Diana,” Matthew abruptly stated. “I want you to stay here tonight and never leave.”
She sank onto the nearest chair. “But you know, Matthew…”
He crossed his arms. “I mean it now, so please don’t argue. Anything else is nonsense.”
“What about Ginny and Lissa?”
“Plenty of room for everyone. Way I see it, Ginny can like it, or lump it.”
“Lump it?” Diana had to giggle, but Matthew was dead serious. She knew this by the aggressive set of his jaw and the tiny muscle twitching at the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, like it, or lump it,” he repeated.
Diana slowly got to her feet and moved to the stove. She hoped Matthew didn’t notice her hands trembling as she shifted the griddle back on the burner and picked up a spatula. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said at last. “If we all survive dinner without a crisis, I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I can ask.” He slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the tender skin at the back of her neck. “In the meantime, this is still my kitchen, so please move aside and let me cook. Otherwise no one will eat tonight.”
TWELVE
Headed for trouble…
Ginny and Lissa appeared while Diana was setting the table, and although she was still nervous about encountering Matthew’s daughter again, she sensed Ginny was even more apprehensive.
“Lissa, please go help Pop-Pop get up the food,” Ginny said.
“How come you call him Pop-Pop, Mommy?”
Ginny shrugged. “That’s what I called my grandpa when he was alive.”
“That’s stupid.” Lissa looked to Diana for affirmation.
“No, it’s not stupid,” Diana told the child. “I called my grandma Nana.”
“That’s stupid, too,” Lissa stated with less conviction. “But I’m still calling him Grandpa.”
Ginny did an eye roll. “Suit yourself, squirt, but if you don’t get in there and help him, you’ll be sorry.”
Lissa took off for the kitchen, and Ginny offered Diana a shy, grateful smile. “Thanks for backing me up. Lissa can be a pain.”
“No problem.” Diana noticed Ginny looked entirely different after a day at the lake. She was scrubbed and wholesome, and without the mascara and makeup she seemed much younger. Her freshly washed black hair was less punk, more Peter Pan, and her skin was tanned a healthy bronze. Her oversized yellow tee shirt and raggedy cutoff jeans made her seem like an innocent teenager, but the nose stud and the bottle of rum in her hand spoiled that illusion.
Ginny caught Diana staring at the bottle. “I suppose you’re like Trout. Don’t approve of my drinking?”
“No, I was hoping you’d share.” Diana smiled at the startled young woman. “I know Matthew doesn’t keep tonic in the house, but maybe we could dig up a couple of Cokes?”
“All right!” Ginny high-fived her. “And look, Diana, I’m sorry I behaved like an asshole this morning.”
Now it was Diana’s turn to do a double-take. “Forget it, Ginny. We got off on the wrong foot, so let’s start fresh.”
“You got it.”
So as the lake outside the dining room window darkened from sunset crimson to twilight blue, everyone enjoyed the sumptuous meal Matthew had prepared. Diana savored her rum n’ Coke, so did Ginny, and Matthew uttered not one word of objection. Diana had known all along that Matthew’s dislike of alcohol was not a moral issue, but rather he had never developed a taste for it. Ginny had experienced a father bitterly opposed to his daughter’s underage drinking, but far as adults were concerned, Matthew’s philosophy was live and let live.
“Can I tell you how we caught the fish, Miss Diana?”
As Lissa told the story they had heard three times already, Diana listened contentedly and decided all the Troutmans had benefited from their day together. Matthew and Ginny were brown, Lissa was pink, and whatever conflicts they’d experienced during the day seemed to have washed away with the waves. By the time they finished eating slices of birthday cake, Lissa was yawning and ready for bed.
“C’mon, Punkin, I’ll tuck you in,” Ginny said.
“She’s a cute kid.” Matthew bragged after his daughter and granddaughter left the room.
“Ginny or Lissa?”
“Both.” Matthew conceded. “Want some coffee?”
“Oh, yes, it’s exactly what I need,” Diana answered gratefully.
Soon all three adults were seated together on the sofa, Diana
in the middle. They balanced coffee cups on their laps and watched the local TV news. As Diana grew drowsy, she realized they had made it through dinner without a crisis, so now she was obliged to consider Matthew’s proposal that she should spend the night and never leave again. Whew. Maybe it was the calming effect of the liquor, but she had almost convinced herself that she could move in with Matthew and they’d all live together in harmony.
But then a breaking news story flashed across the television screen and captured her attention. Suddenly Diana was wide-awake. She snapped to attention as a uniformed Davidson policeman strung yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of someone’s front yard. The flowerbeds, bushes, and faux Tudor brick home were immediately familiar, as was the young boy with curly blond hair and a blue Duke cap. The boy looked scared as he pointed towards the back of the house, then gestured wildly to a plainclothes cop who was writing in a notebook.
Diana felt Ginny stiffen at her side.
A pretty African American news anchor from Channel 3 was covering the story. Her dark, expressive eyes were wide and her hand gripped the mic:
The sleepy college town of Davidson rarely sees a murder, so the violent stabbing of a young woman from the exclusive suburb of Highland Gardens has the village stunned in disbelief…
Diana gasped. “Look at that house, Ginny. Isn’t that your friend’s place?”
Ginny latched onto Diana’s elbow and squeezed hard. “Can’t be…” She stared at Diana, attempting to convey a pleading message with her eyes.
The newswoman continued: The body of Lori Fowler, twenty-four years old, was discovered by a neighborhood boy around noon…
The cameraman panned to a close-up of the kid in the cap, and Diana’s stomach churned as she realized this was the same boy who had skateboarded into Matthew’s truck. “Oh my God, Ginny, your friend Lori was murdered!”
“No way.” Ginny vigorously shook her head, her body trembled.
“Who is Lori Fowler?” Matthew sat forward on the couch as the broadcast continued:
Ironically, Miss Fowler was to be married next weekend, making this horrible death by stabbing doubly tragic. Local police are gathering evidence, but so far no suspect has been identified. Authorities are appealing to the public to come forward with any information pertinent to the case.
“Did you hear that, Ginny?” Diana could hardly catch her breath. “We have to call the police.”
“No, I can’t watch this!” Ginny sprang to her feet and turned off the television.
Matthew gaped at his daughter. “Lord, don’t tell me that’s the house where you two took the wedding gift this morning?”
Diana nodded. She felt stunned, disoriented. Ginny was pacing like a caged animal, and her frenetic motion made Diana seasick. “We went there, but no one was home. Right, Ginny?”
But Ginny could not answer. She made an odd, garbled noise deep in her throat, which might have been a sob, since her eyes were brimming with tears. “Look, I gotta go…” Ginny almost choked on the words. She snatched her purse and pulled out her car keys.
“You can’t drive, girl,” Matthew protested. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“Not nearly enough,” Ginny mumbled as she moved out the door.
“But where are you going?” Diana was right behind her.
“You can’t leave now. Tomorrow is Lissa’s birthday!” Matthew shouted as he charged the door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Ginny broke into a run. Seconds later, they heard her car start, and soon the red eyes of her taillights disappeared down the country road.
“What just happened?” Matthew’s voice reflected his rage.
“I think she’s in shock,” Diana said.
He pulled Diana back into the house, closed and locked the door. “But where will Ginny go? She doesn’t know anybody ’round here anymore.”
Don’t be too sure, Diana thought to herself as she visualized the classic Jeep she’d seen parked in the dead woman’s drive. She had imagined the Jeep belonged to Trevor, Ginny’s ex boyfriend, the groom who had just lost his bride.
“I hope she’s not headed for trouble,” Matthew said.
“But what can we do about it?”
Matthew drew her into his arms. “Nothing.”
THIRTEEN
Ginny…
Ginny didn’t need her GPS to find Trevor’s house. She could get there blindfolded, or in the middle of the night, like now. The moon was a white fingernail clipping hung above the black ridgeline of pines. It cast silver ripples on the lake when she crossed Perth Road Bridge and drove north towards Troutman.
She wiped away unwanted tears with the back of her hand and realized she looked a mess. She had always imagined this moment quite differently. Her reunion with Trev, after six long, tumultuous years, was supposed to blow him away. Ginny had fantasized each detail, seen herself wearing something hot and sexy, and visualized his admiration when he saw her expensive new ride---her fully-loaded forest green Subaru wagon. She knew he’d be impressed by her glamorous job in the Las Vegas casino, and he’d marvel at how well she had learned to play the guitar.
But her dream was not to be. Instead, she was a total wreck, both physically and mentally. Dressed in an ancient tee shirt and raggedy cutoffs, with no makeup and red-rimmed eyes, she looked every inch the stressed-out mother of a soon-to-be six-year old. Her Subaru was filthy with road dust, and any hope she’d had of presenting herself as the eat-your-heart-out ex girlfriend who arrived for his wedding just in time to make him understand how much he had missed, how badly he had screwed up by not choosing Ginny…that hope was dead. Dead as Trevor’s bride-to-be.
As Ginny drove through the sleeping suburbs and dark fields alive with cricket song, she visualized the bloody horror of Lori Fowler stabbed to death. The vision brought fresh tears of panic, and she could only imagine how devastated Trev must be feeling at that moment. She wished she had her baggie of little white chill pills, wished she had drunk more rum instead of sharing with Diana Rittenhouse, the unexpected woman who had recently come into her father’s life. She wished she could start over at age sixteen, and wished she had never come home.
But mostly she wished she could erase the awful image of Lori’s death.
Ginny hyperventilated as she slowed down to look for Dula Road. Clearly she was suffering from emotional overload, so she took a deep breath and willed herself to put the ugly present aside and think only of the sweet days.
Back then, horny young Ginny would tell her daddy she was going out with girlfriends, but instead she’d borrow the truck and sneak up to Trev’s place. Trev had worshiped her then, or at least he was awed by the fact that Ginny’s great grandpa Troutman had founded the little town where Trev grew up.
That small status made Ginny special, as did the fact that her mom had died of cancer. Trev’s parents had been killed in a car crash when he was eighteen, the year he graduated from high school. So he was an only child, an orphan, and she was an only child who was practically an orphan, and that made them soulmates. They found comfort in their mutual tragedies and comfort in one another’s arms.
Ginny slowed up when she saw the crooked old landmark oak looming in the pale moonlight. She made a sharp right onto Dula, and was part way down the rutted dirt road when she slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a rabbit blinded by her headlights. It scampered off to the side, where three newborn bunnies waited, and Ginny cursed the mating season and all creatures born of simple instinct. Animals got to live lives already programmed into their genes, ignorant of the complex human world where Ginny dwelled. Lucky them---no worries, no hard decisions.
At least Trev had achieved a measure of animal freedom. He was old enough to live on his own after his folks died, so he inhabited the family’s two-storied frame farmhouse and did as he pleased. Ginny remembered how a summer breeze would blow the lace curtains at the bedroom window as they lay naked and sweaty on the sheets. How good it felt to fuck like rabbits, until
they could no longer lift their heavy heads, or legs and arms, and how her belly quivered and sighed when the lovemaking was done.
If Ginny was famous because she was a Troutman, then Trev was infamous because he was a Dula. Like many others in that part of North Carolina, he claimed the Civil War murderer, Tom Dooley, as a direct ancestor. But Trev and Ginny were true outlaws. They lived free---screwing, eating, drinking liquor, smoking pot---until their young bodies were satiated.
She turned into Trev’s driveway and began the long ascent to his house, through the cornfields and cow pastures where Trev’s tall, lanky body turned bronze in summer. His thick, curly black hair and laughing blue eyes still danced through her dreams.
Ginny’s heart was pounding double-time as she looked for signs of life at the farm. She had been trying to call him all day, but he never answered the phone. God, where was he?
She pulled all the way up to the back door, then turned off the engine and killed the lights. She powered down her windows, and the chilled air from the car’s interior got sucked out into the humid night. She listened to insects buzzing in the overgrown yard and watched several moths commit suicide inside the porch lamp. Otherwise, everything was silent. The house was dark, no sign of Trev’s Jeep
No need to call his name, pound on his door, or lay on the horn. Because Ginny knew he was gone. She also knew he was in trouble.
Another image of Lori’s body pounded behind her eyes. Had Ginny come here because she wanted Trev, or had she come to warn him? She would never tell about seeing the Jeep in Lori’s drive, but Diana would almost certainly spill her guts to the cops. Either way, Ginny’s trip was futile, so there was only one thing left to do. She propped her arms on the steering wheel, lowered her head, and cried.
FOURTEEN