“Maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty. This is going to sound cruel, Wyn, and I don’t mean it that way, but if Callie doesn’t make it, no one needs to know. You can make amends in other ways. This way, your life won’t be ruined. You won’t be in the courts for years.”
Wyn stepped on his cigarette. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. What if someone else finds out? If I confess now as opposed to later, it might not go so hard on me. Jesus, don’t forget eagle-eye Brie. She’s going to be like a bloodhound. If she even thinks something isn’t right, she’ll go the whole nine yards.”
“There’s nothing for her to find out. She’s going to read the police report, and she’ll make some noise; then she’s going to get on a plane and go back to her life in San Diego. I’m not saying she won’t think about this a lot, but she does have a life and a job she obviously loves. Stop using the word confess. It makes me nervous.”
Wyn fished for a second cigarette. “You might be right about Brie, but what about Bode? They’ll be on the horn with him soon. He’s going to come charging back here. Hell, you know Bode. The police are his friends. Everyone in town is Bode’s friend.”
“He’s not God, Wyn. He’s a damn fine attorney, but that’s as far as it goes. It’s my job to look ahead to any problems that might crop up.”
“Are you telling me you’re prepared to deal with Bode Jessup, one-on-one, if he comes back here? Attorney to attorney is what I mean. For Christ’s sake, Kal, he can run rings around you—you said so yourself! The Judge loves him. You better think about that. Look, I see this blowing up in my face somewhere along the way. I screwed up. I want to make it right. The worst thing Bode can do to me is beat me senseless—and Kal, I deserve it.”
“It all comes down to money, Wyn. The insurance will pay off for the mother and child. They’ll pay off for the Caddie. They’ll pay the hospital bills for Callie for a very long time. They’ll give you and Seagreave loaner cars until you get new ones. They even pay for funerals. Your legal fees will be honored. It’s all about money, Wyn.”
“The hell it is. It’s about honor—mine. I killed those people, not Callie, and now she might die because I was like every other drunk who thinks he’s in control. If you’re not going to drive me, I’ll walk.”
“What if Callie dies, Wyn? You said that was a possibility.”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“How will you deal with Bode if Callie dies? He’ll be your worst nightmare come to life. Bode will accept things as they are, but not if you change your story and Callie dies. Decide now, Wyn.”
“There’s Pearl to consider, too.”
“What about Pearl? What can she do? She’s an ignorant black woman who can barely read and write. Think about this, Wyn. You can call in every specialist in the world. You can make things easier for Pearl. You can give Callie the finest care there is.”
“It won’t change what I did, who I am,” Wyn said, his shoulders shaking with torment.
“That’s true, but you can go on to make a better life for yourself. You can educate others about drinking. You’re real good about crusades. Make this your personal crusade and you’ll be South Carolina’s next governor. Instead of ruining four lives, you’ll have saved one. Yourself. If Callie recovers, it will be because of all you’ve done. Bode can’t find fault with that.”
“Governor?” Wyn said weakly.
“Down the road. I see the U.S. Senate first. We talked about this before, Wyn.”
Wyn’s shoulders straightened imperceptibly. “And you’ll be my lieutenant governor?”
“That was our plan.”
“And if I go to the Senate?” He was dreaming. He wasn’t having this conversation.
“Your most trusted aide. I’ll be working behind the scenes to pave the way for the time you agree to run this state. Don’t go weak on me now.”
“Then you’ll have a hold over me for the rest of my life.”
“That’s stupid talk, Wyn. We’ve been friends since we were six years old. If that’s how you think of me, I’ll drive away from here right now. Look at me,” Kallum said, as he placed both hands on Wyn’s shoulders, “and listen to me carefully. It is not in your own best interests to change your story at this point in time. From now on, refer all inquiries to me. That goes for the police, the insurance company, the Judge, Bode—anyone who even mentions this accident Now, do we have a deal?”
Kallum wasn’t his friend. Jesus, how could he have been so damn blind? He wished he was man enough to stand up to him, to follow through with his decision to go to the police. He would do exactly what Kallum said because he didn’t have any guts. He wished he could die, right then, that very second.
“All right,” Wyn said wearily.
“I thought you’d see it my way,” Kallum said coolly. “I think you should go back inside and comfort the ladies. I’ll wait out here for Brie to come back.”
It was an order, Wyn thought in stunned surprise. It used to be the other way around. Actually, he never gave Kallum orders; he simply suggested certain things. He stared at the man he’d called friend for so many years.
Kallum was tall, lean, and fit. He had pale blue eyes enhanced by contact lenses. Callie called them summer blue eyes. His short, wheat-colored hair was just long enough to be brushed back carelessly. However, Wyn knew he blow-dried it daily and then spritzed it with something called Freeze & Shine. When the goop dried he ran his fingers through it and voilà!—the ultimate in casualness. He’d never seen him in anything but white shirts, open at the neck or buttoned with a tie. His clothes came from Armani, Ralph Lauren, or Brooks Brothers. He boasted of owning nine pairs of Brooks Brothers shoes. Once, Callie had naughtily suggested they should break into Kallum’s town house and steal all the tassels. Callie had said a lot of things about Kallum. Now he was going to have to try and remember them. Suddenly, Wyn didn’t like Kallum.
His life was changing in front of his eyes, and he didn’t have the guts to stand up for himself.
He wasn’t fit to kiss Bode Jessup’s feet.
An hour later Wyn knew he was in the way. Neither Pearl nor Sela wanted him in the small waiting room. Well, he wasn’t going to leave. He had as much right to be here as both of them. More, since today was to have been his wedding day.
“How long are you planning on staying here?” Wyn asked.
“Until my baby wakes up,” Pearl said.
“Until they boot me out,” Sela said. “You better give some thought to notifying the guests that the wedding is off. How long are you going to stay?”
“As long as I have to. I’ll call the Judge at six o’clock. Miss Nela can phone round all the guests and tell them. It will give her something to do. What does Brie hope to . . . to learn at the police station?”
Sela shrugged. “You know what a methodical mind she has. I guess she wants a copy of the report so when we call Bode and he starts asking questions, we have the answers.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
Sela smiled disdainfully at Wyn. “If you were Bode, would you come back? Ah, I see by the look on your face you would. Then I guess you have your answer.”
“The doctor told me he’ll talk to me at noon today. When the shift changes I’m going to speak with the charge nurse and then I’m going home to change.” He addressed his next comment to Pearl. “Do you mind if I bring some clothes to the manor house and leave them there? That way I won’t have to go all the way to Beaufort to shower and change.”
Pearl looked at him for a long time before she answered. “The house belongs to you, Mr. Wyn. I’m the one who needs to ask you if you mind if I go back and forth to change.”
“Oh no, that’s—Well, maybe it is, but it doesn’t mean anything: I’ll have Kallum deed it back today. Tomorrow, today is Sunday. It’s your home, Pearl. Then it’s all right with you if I shower and change? I can use Callie’s room.”
“It’s your house, Mr. Wyn. You can’t be giving it back. Miz Callie wanted you
to have it. It’s not right to give it back. Miz Callie don’t know what’s going on,” Pearl said flatly.
“Guess you have your answer, Wyn,” Sela said, staring ahead of her. “Brie and I will be availing ourselves of your hospitality until it’s time for us to leave.”
The hours dragged by.
Brie returned at four-thirty in the morning to plop down next to Pearl. She handed over the string bag.
Wyn stirred himself long enough to ask, “What did you find out?”
Brie snorted. “You were there. What do you think I learned?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I asked.”
“I learned that Mrs. Seagreave was seven months pregnant. The baby died. Mr. Seagreave asked the investigating officer for Bode Jessup’s address. Guess he wanted to engage him. He started to suffer chest pains and had to be admitted to this very hospital. Mrs. Seagreave’s parents live in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and are on their way. It’s a tragic, nasty business. I have the insurance agent’s name and phone number. I’m going to call him first thing in the morning. The investigating officer had the feeling the agent thought there was something odd about the accident. Do you know what that might be?”
Wyn felt light-headed. He was reliving the accident, second by second. He shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Do you mean some kind of funny business?” Sela said harshly. Pearl’s head jerked upright, her licorice eyes full of silent accusation.
Wyn wanted to confess to all wrongdoing right then and there. He wanted to drop to his knees and tell these three cold-eyed women how sorry he was. His eyes started to fill. He wiped at them angrily and did his best to stare them down. In the end all he could do was jam his hands in his pockets, and pace about the room.
“I’m going to see if I can find out anything about Mr. Seagreave,” Brie said.
“Why? What’s wrong with you, Brie? Why do you have to keep doing things like this? I, for one, would rather not have known, right now, about Mrs. Seagreave’s pregnancy. Don’t we have enough to deal with as it is? When the sun is out, things aren’t . . . they don’t seem so terrible. What I mean is, I’m not trying to make light of this. It’s just that . . . Oh, go on. Do what you have to do,” Sela said wearily.
“I intend to,” Brie said, walking away.
Wyn watched her go. And the body count can go to four if Mr. Seagreave dies. Kallum, you son of a bitch! I should have gone to the police.
“What does that mean, Miz Sela?” Pearl asked anxiously.
“What that means,” Sela said gently, “is, if Mr. Seagreave dies from his heart attack, Callie is responsible for four deaths.”
Pearl lumbered to her feet. She hobbled over to where Wyn was staring out at the dark night. “You need to be telling Pearl how this happened that my chile is responsible for all these deaths. Miz Callie is a good driver. She’s careful and she don’t drive fast. Bode said she was good, so you need to tell me all about how this happened.” Her hands on the string bag quivered.
“She misjudged the depth of the curve. Mrs. Seagreave ran a stop sign—at least I think she did. Callie didn’t like driving the Cadillac. It was too big a car for her to handle. That’s all I know.” You lying sack of shit. Pearl’s God is going to fry your ass in hell. Get it together, Archer, Pearl’s just an old woman who sees problems where there are none.
“My chile didn’t do that—what you just said. Miz Brie don’t believe it neither.”
“Do you think I’m lying, Pearl?” Thank God his voice sounded properly outraged. She had her panties in a wad because the manor house was turned over to him. That’s what this was all about. Jesus, he’d just offered to deed it back. Did she want his blood? He had to look her in the eye now because she was going to say something to him. For one brief second he thought he was going to drown in the dark licorice pools.
Wyn backed up a step when, without taking her eyes off him, Pearl waved her arms up and down, ever so gracefully, up and down the length of him. Jesus Christ, she was probably putting an impotency curse on him. She stared at him a few seconds more before she returned to the leather bench.
“What did you do?” Sela hissed to Pearl. “Besides scare the hell out of him?”
“I gave him pain and sorrow.”
“You didn’t!”
“Yes’m, I purely did. The same pain and sorrow my baby is feeling.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s in pain. I’ll give you the sorrow part, but personally, I’d like to see him double over or something similar,” Sela whispered. “I think Callie told him the wedding was off, and they were arguing and she . . . lost control or something like that: Of course he isn’t going to admit to that.”
“That’s not what happened,” Pearl said quietly.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Not yet. I’ll have to wait for Lazarus to tell me.”
“Pearl; don’t start that spirit thing again.”
“If you don’t want to hear, then why do you ask me?”
“Pearl, it was an accident. I know how much you love Callie, and it’s hard for you to accept what happened. None of us are perfect. Things happen. Accidents . . .” Her voice trailed off lamely.
Pearl folded her hands and closed her eyes.
Brie stood in the open doorway. We’re like a family, she thought, waiting to hear about a beloved family member. She wanted to cry. But cops didn’t cry, at least in public. She wished Bode was here. Bode would . . . what would Bode do? He’d be sitting here just the way Pearl and Sela were sitting. Maybe he’d be standing at the window staring out at the night like Wyn was doing. Or, maybe he’d be standing here in the doorway dreading telling them what she was about to confide.
“Steven Seagreave is down as DOA; that means dead on arrival. It was a coronary. He was only thirty-seven years old. It doesn’t seem right to die so young. But his family is gone. Maybe God wanted him to die. There’s a reason for everything. You always say that, Pearl.”
Pearl’s eyes remained closed. Sela picked at the bloodred polish on her nails. Wyn’s back stiffened, but he didn’t turn from the window. Brie sat down. Tears dripped down her cheeks.
“What are we going to do?” Sela asked.
“I don’t know. Call Bode when we go back to the house?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, Brie. Maybe we shouldn’t call him—I mean, not yet. I truly do not think Bode could handle this. The wedding proved too much for him. Maybe we should wait, keep Pearl company.”
“God, I’m tired. I think you’re right. We can decide later on if it looks like Pearl . . . we’ll talk to her. It has to be her decision. You know how she feels about people trampling over what she calls her private business. I’ll tell you one thing, though. I want to be here when Wyn talks to the doctor. He said noon. Let’s go home and shower and have some coffee.”
Pearl refused to go with them.
Wyn nodded curtly when Brie told him they were leaving. “I’ll be going shortly myself. Is it okay to leave Pearl alone?”
“I think she wants to be alone right now. We won’t be long.”
“Take as long as you need. I’m going to stop by the Judge’s house. I should be back here myself by ten.”
They didn’t say good-bye.
Pearl’s worn, callused hands plucked at the threadbare string bag in her lap. It was an old bag, belonging first to her great-grandmother, then her grandmother and then her mother. It was the only thing her mother had to hand down to Pearl, and she treasured it as much as she treasured her love for Bode and Callie and the girls. The bag had been mended by her ancestors, oftentimes with strands of vines that grew in the live oaks; bits of hemp and string, all with minuscule knots holding the contents secure.
Pearl looked around the quiet waiting room as her fingers sought those tiny knots. She counted quietly, seeming to gather a measure of comfort from the little lumps. The string bag was lined with a square of flowered material from a flour sack, its pattern
faded and worn. Each generation sewed a new lining. She’d meant to replace the lining, even had the square of material from one of Callie’s old dresses, but she’d never done it.
Pearl turned now, her huge body shielding the bag and its contents from the two people sitting in the far corner of the waiting room. Her eyes were closed, her fingers busy now with the two small leather pencil cases that had once belonged to Bode and Callie. Who would she leave this string bag to when she passed on? She had no blood children. To leave it to Bode would cause Callie to cry. To leave it to Callie would bring sadness to Bode’s eyes. She wanted to cry, needed to cry, but she couldn’t do it here in this quiet room with the shiny floors that smelled like a medicine bottle.
She didn’t like this place. Lazarus hadn’t liked it either. He’d made her promise not to bring him here if he got sick. She should have let Lazarus give her a baby. Don’t think about Lazarus and death, she told herself. Think about Miz Callie lying so still upstairs in that terrible room with all the machines.
The snap on one of the leather cases opened without a sound. It was softer than butter, almost twenty years old. Callie didn’t even know she’d saved it. Bode didn’t know she had his either. Bode’s case was the one with the secret papers. Callie’s father had given them to her on a bright sunny day, long before he died. He’d said, “You keep these, Pearl, until I ask for them.” It was understood that it was not to be spoken about, and she’d honored that promise. Whoever it was that would get her string bag would also get the papers. They would read them, but she’d never know what they said because she’d be dead.
The papers weren’t important now. It was the buttons, all forty of them, all but one with four holes, that were going to make her baby sit up and smile.
It had taken her years to save up forty buttons. Some were from Bode’s shirts, some from Callie’s dresses, two from Lazarus’s shirts that she washed once a week. There was one from Callie’s mama’s prettiest dress and one from her father’s dress jacket. She’d snipped it off his dead body before they closed the coffin for the last time. It was probably, she thought, the most powerful button in the pencil case because it only had three holes in it. A three-holed button was magic in itself. Her fingers played with the buttons until she located the black one with three holes. She’d never used it before, never used any of the buttons because there was no need. With Lazarus, there had been no time. One minute her man was talking to her and the next minute he was lying on the ground, dead as the last leaf in winter.
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