An hour later he pulled off the highway to gas up. He got out of the car and stretched his legs while the station attendant filled the gas tank, then cleaned the windshield.
Tripp leaned against the car and surveyed his surroundings. It was an interesting bit of irony to spot a sign that read Best Burgers In Town.
He paid the attendant. “Is it true what the sign says?”
The man answered with a toothy grin. “Yep. Everythin’ they serve is good.”
“What the hell…why not?” Tripp parked the station wagon in front of the red brick restaurant.
He took a seat by the window. A waiter brought a tall glass of water.
“Stranger in town?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“Small town like this, anybody new sticks out like a sore thumb. What’ll you have?”
Tripp ordered a rare burger, fries, and cola. “Extra pickles, no onions.” The waiter didn’t bother to write down the order.
The meal came, and it looked delicious. A layer of glistening hamburger juice covered the top of the toasted bun.
The waiter set a fresh bottle of ketchup and mustard in front of Tripp. “You remind me of a hound dog who’s lost his way home. ’Course, it’s none of my business.”
Tripp bit into the burger. As much as he’d like to talk about Honey Belle and his feelings of betrayal and bewilderment, he glanced around at the other diners. “If a fellow planned to spend the night in this town, where would you recommend?”
The waiter pulled at his chin as if thinking. “Well, if I was the fellow, I’d stay at the Dogwood Inn B&B. It’s run by Mrs. Amelia Lee-Throckmorton, reputed to be the great niece, several times removed, of General Robert E. Lee. There’s a little plaque in the front yard telling the history of the place.”
Absently, Tripp watched the cola glass sweat a water ring around the place mat. He’d take a picture of the Inn and of Mrs. Amelia Lee-Throckmorton to send to his mother. She’d always fancied herself a distant relative of the famous Civil War general.
Thoughts of the camera reminded him he’d never taken a photo of Honey Belle. He quietly admonished himself. The only image he had to rely on was memory.
He inclined his head toward the window. “Where will I find the Dogwood House?”
Chapter Twenty
Tripp turned out the lamp. He lay staring up at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head. Thoughts of Honey Belle’s disappearance remained foremost in his mind.
She had fascinated him from their very first meeting—the day she’d requested a ride in his convertible. There was more, too. He was charmed by the way she displayed her emotions with childlike ease. When she was sad, she cried, and when she was happy she laughed.
Their relationship had gone beyond friendship. He’d fallen in love, hopelessly enamored with her. It was heartbreaking to think Honey Belle had simply put on a good act and hadn’t actually loved him at all.
He lay for hours trying to figure out what had changed between them. He’d asked her to marry him, and she had accepted. He’d flown to Massachusetts to take care of a registration glitch in his class schedule, and with the promise to return to South Carolina within the week. She’d promised to wait. He’d tried to telephone her to share the news about the apartment he’d rented within walking distance of the campus.
He rolled to his side. So many questions. Why had she lied about living on Barrington Street? Carla had answered that one—Honey Belle lived in the seediest section of Charleston.
In fact, according to Carla Biggers, Honey Belle was an uneducated high school dropout. Did any of that matter to him? No. Did it matter to his family? Absolutely.
Was his father involved? The evidence was inconclusive.
“Time to give it a rest, Tripp, old boy. Put Honey Belle Garrett out of your mind and get on with the living.” Tripp plumped the pillow under his head. His primary focus—law degree, first. Falling in love again—on hold, indefinitely.
And when Honey Belle’s image began to fade, he closed his eyes.
****
Tripp was up at six and washed down his breakfast with two cups of coffee. He arrived in Massachusetts and drove straight to the apartment he had rented.
For the next two years, he concentrated on his law degree. During that time he dated a few women. He became serious with one, a political science major with chocolate brown eyes and hair the fiery red of a setting sun.
Although they dated and had good times together, he never came to feel about her the way he did Honey Belle.
But neither did he forget Kathryn Sutterfield. They would sometimes forego the frat parties and spend the entire evening and all day Saturday in bed, holding each other and making sensual erotic love until they were both fully satisfied.
He’d come close to proposing marriage. She was a perfect fit in every way. Beautiful and intelligent. The daughter of a United States senator.
The Christmas before graduation, he’d taken Kathryn to South Carolina to meet his parents.
Over a nightcap, the Judge said, “Senator Sutterfield could certainly advance your career, son.” He gave a knowing wink.
“What are you suggesting, Father?”
“A holy union, of course.”
“I like Kathryn. I don’t love her.”
Judge Hartwell pshawed. “You’ve got the monkey by the tail, son. You’ll need a wife who will complement your career. Don’t throw away the opportunity. As for love…well…you’ll grow into it.” He tossed back the bourbon, then grimaced at the liquor’s bite. “In the meantime, your Uncle Jake is holding a place for you in the firm—not as partner, mind you. You’ll have to work your tail off for that.”
“I’m not ready to settle down, Father.”
“You’re almost twenty-five, son. Sowing wild oats is one thing; advancing your career is more important.”
Tripp set his glass on the fireplace mantel. It’d been two years, and Honey Belle still owned his heart.
“Marriage shouldn’t be considered a duty. Duty is no substitute for love.” Neither was sex—no matter how good it was between him and Kathryn.
“Listen to me, son. Duty is everything, especially when it comes to making a good match to advance you up the ladder.”
“Is that why you married mother—out of duty—because of her family name?” With a scowl, Tripp clenched his fists inside his pants pockets. “Good night, Father.”
When he opened the door to his bedroom, Kathryn greeted him, wearing nothing but a smile. She patted the mattress as if extending an invitation.
He walked to the chair and gathered the silver negligee draped over the arm. “I’ll not disrespect my mother. Not on Christmas Eve, and not in her house.”
Kathryn swung her shapely legs over the side of the fourposter bed. She stood on tiptoes as she molded her body to Tripp’s. “I find such old-fashioned virtue…charming. Darling, I—”
He stood arms akimbo while she continued in a pouty voice, “I’m sorry. Truly.” She accepted the nightgown and slid it over her head, allowing it to freefall down her slender frame. “Don’t be angry.”
“I’m not.”
“I love you, Tripp, but sometimes when you look at me I get the feeling you’re seeing someone else. It’s like you’re waiting for her to pop up out of thin air. Who is she—someone from the university?” The indignant bite to her voice was evident.
“There’s no one, Kathryn. Go to bed.”
“I’m a woman, Tripp—I know these things.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as if to release the tension. “Tomorrow is Christmas. It has always been a special holiday for my mother. I’ll not have her upset, so let’s not argue.”
She lifted his hand and placed it against the flat of her stomach. “Marry me, Tripp.”
His gaze traveled down to her belly. He’d always been careful to use a condom. Still there was always that one percent chance. “How far along?”
S
he tossed her head, the magnificent mane of hair swirling around her face like a red cloud. The mischievous glitter in her brown eyes and the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips sent shock waves of relief through him. He knew that look.
“Don’t look so worried, darling, there are no babies in our immediate future.” She nibbled his bottom lip. “Fair warning, if you don’t accept my proposal—” She left the threat open.
Tripp didn’t like threats. He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “Good night, Kathryn.”
“It was a joke, Tripp. Can’t you take a joke?”
He laughed harshly. “Which one—about being pregnant, the marriage proposal, or the warning?”
She danced around him, her fingers spider-walking up his arms. “I’ve always dreamed of a June wedding.”
His mouth went taut. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him goodnight.
****
Tripp enjoyed watching the childlike glow on his mother’s face as she opened each of her Christmas presents. He cut his eyes away from his mother to focus on Kathryn. The color of her angora sweater turned her eyes mahogany; the neckline was cut square and exposed her throat and shoulders. When she bent over him to accept a gift decorated with a festive bow, a filigree locket on a long gold chain slipped into the mysterious shadow between her full breasts.
As if she felt his gaze, Kathryn drew back. A tiny telltale pulse beat in her throat.
He felt a bit bemused as a sensuous smile graced her perfect features. Today she wore her hair free, curling around her smooth shoulders. Her pouty lips were colored a frosty pink. He had the distinct feeling she was up to some mischief.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Tripp’s mother inquired.
Kathryn’s face flushed as if with amusement as she carefully removed the bow from the gold-wrapped oblong box. “It isn’t the right size for an engagement ring.”
Tripp knew she was teasing his mother. Kathryn lifted the box and shook it. “Hmm, it doesn’t rattle. Perhaps it’s a diamond necklace. What do you think, Mother Hartwell?”
Tripp narrowed his eyes. He didn’t approve of Kathryn’s title for his mother.
It was too late for him to regret his choice of Christmas gifts for Kathryn. She was teasing him, teasing his mother as she made a show of tipping up the lid and peeking inside the box.
His mother clapped her hands together. “Oh, isn’t this the most fun? Open it, dear…do, or I’ll simply perish from curiosity.”
At some point his father had joined them. Tripp accepted the cup of whiskey-laced eggnog. His father whispered, “She’s a fine catch, son.”
“Kathryn is self-centered and temperamental.”
The Judge winked. “All the makings of a politician’s wife.”
Squeals of delight erupted from Kathryn. She dropped the gift box and held up two plane tickets. “This is the best pre-honeymoon gift a girl could possibly ask for.” She extended two tickets to Paris for the Judge and Tripp’s mother to see.
Her next words shocked Tripp into silence. “I officially declare June 21st as our wedding date.”
The Judge bellowed. “This calls for a celebration. Pearlie Mae, we need more eggnog.” Tripp wanted to shrug off the vigorous clap his father placed on his back.
Anger washed over Tripp like a riptide. His father said, “Go ahead, son. Don’t be bashful, give my future daughter-in-law a kiss.”
Tripp pulled Kathryn against his chest. He spoke in a low-toned voice, “You conniving little bitch. You know damn well those tickets are an early graduation present.”
She mewed, “Look at the sparkle in your poor demented mother’s eyes. Shall I tell her it was a joke?”
In a pretense of nuzzling Kathryn’s neck, Tripp whispered through clenched teeth, “Don’t even think of hurting my mother.” He clasped Kathryn’s hands until she grimaced against the painful grip.
The Judge cleared his throat, breaking the tension between Tripp and Kathryn. “Since this is Christmas and a day of celebration, and you kids have announced your future nuptials, now is as good as any to reveal my own surprise.”
His father appeared nervous, unsure, his shoulders tense, his body rigid. “Senator Eugene Coppersmith is retiring due to illness. I’ve thrown my hat in the ring for his seat. Come January, I’ll set up my campaign headquarters. I know I can depend on your support, son, and yours, too, Kathryn.”
Tripp glanced to where his mother sat on a brocade stool next to the Christmas tree. Like a contented child, she laced and unlaced bright red and green ribbons through her opened fingers.
“What about Mother? It’s stressful enough being the Governor’s wife. How will she handle the added stress of being the perfect senator’s wife?”
There was a certain strength and dignity about his mother when she looped her arm around Tripp’s. “Why does everyone talk as if I’m not in the room?”
Tripp pinned a smile on his face. “You seemed preoccupied, Mother.”
To his surprise, his mother’s eyes twinkled. “The fog that covers my brain comes more often and seems to last a little longer before it decides to lift. I’m not worried, though. I’ll always have you and Pearlie Mae to look after me. And your father will make a fine senator.”
With a dreamlike air, Mary Alice loosened her hold on Tripp’s arm. He thought her eyes pleaded with Kathryn as she lifted the young woman’s hands into her own. “I won’t always be here to look after my son. You’ll take care of him for me?”
As the two women stared at each other, he knew by the expression on their faces that both were confused and unsure. His mother’s smile wobbled.
The silence made him uncomfortable. His voice grew gentle as he lifted his mother’s hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’ll always be around to take care of me, Mother.”
Her mood seemed to change. She bit her lip. Tears clung to her lashes. She looked at her husband. “Harland, I’ll do my best to never embarrass you.”
Tripp was relieved when Kathryn loudly announced, “It’s Christmas, and I propose a toast.” She placed a crystal goblet in Mary Alice’s hand. “Here’s to Bah Humbugs, to good times, and to a bright and prosperous future for us all.”
Mary Alice Hartwell raised her glass. She offered a salute to her son and husband and then to Kathryn. “In the words of Tiny Tim, may God Bless us one and all.”
Tripp’s father lifted his glass. “Hear…hear.”
“Come on, Mother Hartwell, let’s sing Christmas carols.” Kathryn walked to the baby grand in the corner of the parlor decorated with twinkling lights and fresh pine boughs. Tripp offered her a smile of appreciation.
****
Outside, the evening skies had darkened like a shade coming down, and thousands of twinkling stars glittered in the inky sky. The air was cool—perfect for a Christmas evening.
Tripp was tired, but for some reason he was in no hurry to seek his lonely bed. Instead, he decided to go for a walk. A sense of loneliness gripped him and held him captive. The feeling wasn’t all that new, but the intensity was. Like a thirst that couldn’t be quenched with one draft, like a hunger that couldn’t be sated with one taste, he longed to hold Honey Belle in his arms.
Little clouds of warm air escaped with each breath he blew out. He gazed up at the heavens. Orion the Hunter was visible. Tripp remembered the pleasure he’d felt over Honey Belle’s excitement when he’d pointed out the constellations to her.
The week before Christmas he had driven to Shanty Groves and talked with a few neighbors, in hopes someone would remember Honey Belle and her family. Everyone he spoke to was new to the dilapidated neighborhood. None remembered a beautiful blonde girl with a name as sweet as her personality.
“Folks in Shanty Groves, they come and they go. Rent is cheap ’nuf. When folks ain’t working and can’t pay, the landlord kicks ‘em out. Comin’ and goin’, that’s the way of it. ’Course a young feller like yourself, driving a fancy sports car and all, wouldn’t know ’bout hard times.�
�
Tripp thanked the man whose calloused, gnarled hands had shown a lifetime of hard work. Then a sudden thought struck him, born of his subconscious suspicions. “Do you think anyone would remember seeing a black limousine parked in front of that house?” He pointed to the dwelling that looked as tired and worn as the man standing before him. To where Carla Biggers had driven him two years ago—to where Honey Belle had been too ashamed to bring him to meet her family.
The old gent guffawed. “Look around you, mister. You think anybody in their right mind would drive a limousine down here to Shanty Groves?”
Tripped opened his mouth. Closed it again. The old gent had made a valid point. Shrugging his shoulders, Tripp thanked the man for his time.
“Sorry, young fella. Wish I coulda hep’d you.”
It seemed Honey Belle had dropped off the end of the earth. Tripp had lowered his eyes to a patch of sandspurs. He felt forlorn as hell when he returned to his car and drove back to town.
A brisk wind drew Tripp from his wistful thoughts. He shivered and pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck.
He looked up as a light in an upstairs bedroom winked on. The silhouette of a woman framed the window.
Kathryn.
Eventually, the light went out.
Only then did he make his way back to the house and up to his own room.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two months later, in February of 1966, at the age of twenty-five, Tripp passed the bar and received his juris doctor degree.
The plans for a wedding created a stir in the Hartwell and Sutterfield households. This wedding could mean family unity or political division. Tripp wondered which it would be. His father was a staunch Democrat and his soon-to-be father-in-law an even stauncher Republican.
His marriage, a gamble, was here. June 21st. The magical date Kathryn had announced on Christmas Day. The grim reminder ate at him, forcing him to admit he had hopes for this marriage. Except for the black-and-white picture of the life growing inside Kathryn’s womb, he wasn’t exactly sure what those hopes were—buried under a colorless outlook. He didn’t love Kathryn, and she didn’t love him. But he wanted her.
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