He watched as Dr. Nadu began to make his final stitches—such precision, as if every stitch had been planned even before the surgery began. Dr. Nadu tied off the final stitch and stood back, examining the young child’s neck as an artist would survey his canvas. He nodded his approval and walked from the room.
Jeffrey lingered behind for a moment, thinking of his own surgeries. The true artistry of his occupation had been lost long ago, buried in the mundane routine of facelifts and liposuction.
But Dr. Nadu was a master. There was nothing about him or this surgery that even bordered on the mundane.
It made Jeffrey question why he had thought himself so wonderful for so long.
Will’s buddies dropped him off back at his condo. He rode the elevator up to the third floor, and even before he got off, he saw the uniformed man standing by his front door.
“Are you William Wilcott?” the tall, lanky officer asked before Will even made it to the front door.
“You’re looking at him. I’m not in trouble with the law or Something, am I?”
“I’m here with an Order of Eviction. I have to escort you off the premises.”
Will laughed out loud. “Okay, the joke’s over. I’m tired of all this. Who put you up to it?”
The officer didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, son. I’d prefer the easy way. Would you open the door, please? You can get some personal items, and we’ll make preparations for the furnishings to be picked up.”
Thirty minutes later Will was standing in the hall, a duffel bag at his feet and a padlock on the door behind him.
chapter thirty
Mary Catherine was on her last nerve as she drove from North Charleston toward the Isle of Palms. Yesterday she had given another test, and again Nicole had refused to take it. There had been a showdown, a battle of wills exactly like the first one. But this time Mary Catherine was prepared. She had brought food—both lunch and dinner—and the two of them sat there for hours. The standoff ended with Nicole finally completing the test, but only because she had to go to the bathroom and was too proud to pee in her seat.
It wasn’t much of a victory, and it left Mary Catherine exhausted. On top of that, Nate had come in at God knows what hour last night and passed out on the sofa. When she got up this morning, he was lying there looking like a bum.
Apparently changing the locks affected his behavior for exactly one week. Then he went back to his “late hours” and “busy schedule.” She was tired, she was cranky, and she was suspicious. For her, not a healthy combination.
Mary Catherine dug in her bag for her cell phone and punched in his speed-dial number.
“You’ve reached Nate Bean. Don’t bother leaving a message. I don’t return them anyway.”
That message had always driven her insane. “Nate!” she shouted into the phone. “All I have to say is, you better get your behind home before I get there. Because mama ain’t happy!”
When she got home, the driveway was empty. She didn’t even bother pulling in. Instead, she drove down the coast looking for the red and black Jeep. She had bought it for him for a wedding gift. He had loved it and loved her in it. But that was a long time ago. He hadn’t paid any attention to her in months, and she was way past the point of being anxious or worried. Now she was mad.
She pulled into the sandy parking lot at the beach access where Nate spent most of his time, even though there was no sign of his Jeep. She could see the neon tips of surfboards and heads bobbing in the ocean.
“Where is he?” she hollered as she approached the water. Heads turned, and one surfer began to paddle his way to shore.
“Where is he, Tanner? Don’t lie. Don’t even think about lying. Tell me where he is—now!”
He reached an arm out in her direction.
She jerked her elbow away. “Don’t touch me. Tell me.”
“You really want to know?”
She had always hated Nate’s friends. Ever since they had showed up at the wedding in different shades of Hawaiian swim trunks, she had hated them. It was the picture of them that made it to the society page. She glared at him with the same look she used on Nicole. “You will regret not telling me.”
“He spends most of his time lately down at a beach house owned by one of the island’s new residents.”
“A woman?”
“A beautiful woman.” He smirked.
She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. “Where is it?”
“It’s the white one.” He nodded down the beach from them. “The one with all the glass.”
She turned and headed back to her car.
“While you’re being so high and mighty about honesty,” Tanner called to her retreating back, “why don’t you find out why he married you in the first place?”
She kept walking until she reached the car and then sped off in a cloud of sandy dust.
Nate’s Jeep was parked in the driveway, in full view of the street. He wasn’t even trying to hide. That made her even angrier. She pulled her VW to a whining halt on the other side of the street and got out, heading to the front entry.
“Nate Bean, you better get your sorry behind out here now!” She pounded on the French doors and tried to peer in, but sheer curtains blocked her view. She heard movement inside. She jiggled the door handle. More movement—a thud, a bang.
She had envisioned this scenario in her mind so many times, even though she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Behind that door, her husband was hopping around on one foot, trying to pull his pants up, and everything Elizabeth had ever said about him was true.
The door opened a crack and a pair of fake green eyes stared out. A halo of bleached blonde hair stirred in the evening breeze.
“Open the door now!” Mary Catherine demanded.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you think you are, coming to my house, carrying on—”
“I said open the door, sister!” Mary Catherine shoved. The door smacked the bimbo in the nose, and she let out a screech.
Mary Catherine careened past her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a brother who can fix that when you go in to have your next boob job.” She never missed a beat. “Nate Bean, get your sorry butt out here!”
She looked around. The room was all white, shabby chic. Mary Catherine detested shabby chic.
A door closed in the other room. She ran through the great room and flung open the door to the bedroom. French doors leading to the ocean lay wide open with the sheers blowing in the wind. Nate was trying to sneak down the stairs of the back porch.
She ran full throttle and launched herself onto his back. The force of her momentum brought both of them to the ground.
“Mary Catherine, wait. Please, just listen to me.”
“Shut up, you creep! Just get in the car!” She jerked him up and shoved him around the side of the house.
“I’m not going with you like—”
“Get in the car now!” She held out a hand, palm up. “Give me your keys.”
He complied, and she got into the driver’s seat of his Jeep. She left her VW on the street outside the bimbo’s house and roared off before he could get the passenger door closed. “You are a horrible excuse for a man,” she raged. “In fact, you’re not a man; you’re a worm! No, you’re worse than a worm; you’re the muck that lives inside of a worm!”
He reached out and tried to touch her. “Baby, this is nothing like what you—”
“Get your nasty paws off of me!” She swatted at him with both hands. “You’ve hoodwinked me for the last time!”
A horn honked. Mary Catherine looked up to see a sedan coming straight for them. She placed both hands on the steering wheel and jerked it hard back into her lane. Nate’s head hit the window. She didn’t care.
“You used me!” she cried.
“No, baby, I didn’t—”
“Don’t talk!” she said. “You cannot talk! You can never talk again! As of today, you are officially banned from ever sp
eaking to me again!”
Somehow she managed to find the house, but left the Jeep parked with two wheels on the front yard. She got out of the car and slammed the door. He followed.
By the time she got to the top of the front steps, a steady calm had returned to her. “You will not come into my house.” She turned and put out a hand to stop him. “You will stay right here.”
A moment later she came back with an armful of his clothes. She threw them out the door and went back into the house. For the next fifteen minutes she made multiple trips, and when she was through, every remnant of Nate Bean was lying in a heap at the bottom of the steps.
“How long, Nate?” she said. “How long were you going to pretend you loved me? Just until I got the money? Is that it?”
He stood there, clearly afraid to speak.
“Talk, you jerk.” Her calmness remained.
He tried to advance toward her. She extended her hand, and he stopped in his tracks. “I never pretended—”
“Shut up. At least now you could tell the truth. At least now.”
She headed back up the stairs, then stopped and looked at him one last time. “I did love you, Nate. With all my heart. You remember that, okay? One day when you learn how to become a man, remember that you took advantage of a really wonderful woman.”
And with that, Mary Catherine Wilcott stuck his car keys inside the top of her shirt and left the pitiful man to cart what he owned in this world away on foot.
It was the least she could do.
Elizabeth studied the stacks of depositions in front of her. She had traveled all over the South acquiring signatures and statements from Hazel Moses’s extended family. She had heard more childhood stories than anyone should ever have to endure. And not one member of the Moses clan opposed Hazel’s right to the house. Which was odd, considering her first conversation with Hazel. When the family received Hazel’s initial request for them to sign over all legal rights of the property to her, many of them had refused. They smelled the money of some rich developer, and they wanted their share of it.
Yet now they had all readily complied when Elizabeth had sat down with them. Maybe it was fear of an attorney, but Elizabeth sensed it was something else, something beyond her understanding. Someone else even. Someone who wanted Hazel to win. Someone who knew how to speak to hearts.
She couldn’t even believe she was thinking such a thing.
She pushed the idea aside. Hazel’s own deposition was scheduled for the end of the week, and Mr. Everett would be there, along with his lawyer. It was the one deposition they were adamant about being a part of. She stashed the papers she needed for her meeting tomorrow inside her briefcase.
Tomorrow was her last chance. She was going to interview this final cousin, twice removed, in Savannah. It was her last opportunity to get something—anything—that would serve the cause of Everett and Associates.
But as she looked at the piles of paperwork on her desk, part of her hoped that, against all odds, Hazel would prevail.
Will saw Olivia coming out of the library as he was heading back to the fraternity house for a late game of poker. He was currently over five thousand dollars in the red, but he assured the guys they’d get their money.
“Hey, Olivia, wait up and I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
She turned and gave him a cursory glance, then kept on walking.
He caught up with her and fell into stride next to her. “Why is someone as beautiful as you walking all alone?”
“Hello, Will.”
“She speaks.”
She didn’t respond.
“So, if we’re speaking, does that mean that you want to go out with me Friday night?”
She crossed the street and came to a stop at the edge of the side-walk in front of her dorm. “Will, I don’t know how else to say this to you. I’m not interested. You’re not my type.”
“What type could you possibly have that I’m not?” He positioned himself between her and the door and gave her his most charming grin.
“Will, get out of the way. Just let me go inside.”
“No, I want to know. What is your type? You’re the only girl around here who doesn’t turn her head twice when I walk by. Tell me why?”
“You really want to know?”
“I’m asking. So, yeah, I want to know.”
“Okay. First, you’re presumptuous and arrogant. Second, you’re an alcoholic. And third”—her gaze softened—“you’re the biggest waste of potential I’ve ever met. Here is a guy with every privilege, every opportunity to succeed, and you don’t give a flip whether you accomplish anything. You have no character. And that, Will, doesn’t interest me in the least. The only reason you think you’re interested in me is because I don’t fawn all over you when you cruise past me in your expensive sports car, or try to win me over with that beautiful, albeit egotistical, smile.”
“Did you just call my smile beautiful?”
She shook her head and groaned. “Good night, Will.”
“So, Friday?”
She didn’t even bother responding.
He watched her as she slipped inside. Waste of potential? He was nothing but potential. The girl had no clue.
As he walked back toward the frat house, he tried to think of an argument that would convince her, a mental list of his accomplishments over the last four years. It was a short list. Shorter than he expected.
chapter thirty-one
As he put the car in drive, Jeffrey felt a tugging in his gut. His divorce from Jennifer had been granted—with a reprimand to her for destroying property, a healthy financial settlement, and visitation rights for Jeffrey. The request had surprised her, enraged her. Clearly she thought he intended to use visitation just to get back at her. Time would tell the real story.
He was now free. He had given Gretchen the morning off, dropped Matthew at school, and called the hospital to tell them he’d be in a little later today. There were no surgeries scheduled this morning and no trauma patients, so unless something came through emergency and they paged him, he would have the morning to himself.
Jeffrey didn’t like golf and had never understood why he bought the house on Kiawah Island, but now he realized how much of a sanctuary the resort really was. Jasmine Porch was the perfect place for a quiet breakfast. He ate at a window overlooking the ocean, spoke briefly with a few other Kiawah residents, and read the paper while he downed three cups of coffee and a plate of eggs, grits, and crisp bacon.
He took his time driving, simply enjoying the leisurely pace of the morning.
Jeffrey had been over to Claire’s rental house only a couple of times since the funeral. She was doing remarkably well, all things considered—better than he was, he thought. He studied the pansies along the walkway. They were holding on diligently through the cold winter. The yard and planting beds were immaculately kept. He could see Claire’s artistic hand everywhere. Even though she’d only be here until her house was rebuilt, she had already put her touch on the place.
He rang the doorbell and waited.
“Jeffrey? What are you doing here?”
“Sorry I didn’t call, but I was hoping to surprise you.”
Her bare feet stepped back inside the house. “Well, you succeeded. Come in. It’s freezing out there.”
“Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
She closed the door behind him and led him to the sunporch at the back of the house, where a paintbrush and palette lay on the table next to a large canvas on a wooden easel.
“Were you working?”
“Trying to.”
He walked over to the canvas and studied the dark, abstract landscape. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re kind.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s absolutely stunning. Where is it going?”
“Oh, a gallery on King Street has requested two pieces. I’m hoping they will sell quickly and for a lot of money.” She chuckled.
“I’m sure they will
.”
He turned back to her, and they stared at each other awkwardly.
“So, why are you here?”
His face flushed slightly. A woman hadn’t made him blush since—well, he couldn’t remember when. “I have an invitation for you,” he said, the words rushing out like a sixth grader asking his first girl to the middle-school dance.
She shook her head. “What kind of invitation?”
“I know. You love jeans and sweat suits and comfortable stuff.
But I have a rather swanky affair Thursday night—a party for the contributors and board of the Home and Garden Tour. My father was head of the board for years, and Wisteria Plantation has been on the tour forever. I have to go. It’s fabulous food, wonderful dancing, and”—he pointed to himself—“very amicable company. Besides, you need to get out.”
“How do you know I haven’t gotten out?”
He stuttered slightly. “Well, I don’t, but I just assumed that maybe you’ve been in here working a lot, and I just wanted to give you a really nice evening. A nice evening for both of us.”
“I’m not sure, Jeffrey. I’ve always hated crowds.”
“Me too.”
She arched her eyebrows. “You are so full of it. You love these things. You’re in your element.”
He shrugged. “Okay, so I enjoy the occasional to-do. But I’d enjoy this one a lot more if you were there with me.”
“I don’t need anything complicating my life right now, Jeffrey.”
He edged closer to her, his hands in the pockets of his cashmere coat. “Trust me, Claire, I’m not here to complicate things. I just thought we could have a nice evening out. Two friends, a little dinner, a little dancing—”
She bit the inside of her jaw, a gesture he recognized as her thinking pose. “When did you say this was?”
He sensed her warming to the idea. “Thursday night. I could pick you up around six thirty.”
The Will of Wisteria Page 24