Lindsay approached Jonah’s ancient coffee maker. Jonah had had the machine as long as Lindsay could remember and it had long been a bone of contention between them. Chunks of coffee grounds would somehow insinuate themselves into the brew, rendering the beverage that emerged more akin to a hearty soup than to coffee. Lindsay had gone so far as to purchase new coffee makers for Jonah for three Christmases running, but he always returned them, saying, “The old one works just fine. You just need to know how to finesse it.”
Lindsay removed the coffee pot and filled it with water. She put in a filter with fresh grounds—grounds that she knew would soon be sticking in her teeth. The noise of the machine and Lindsay’s movements roused Jonah, who rubbed his eyes and sat up. He observed Lindsay’s appearance with surprise. Her face was bruised on one side where she’d struck the wall. Her greasy hair coiled listlessly around her ears. The hospital gown that covered her top half clung unattractively to her sweaty torso. Warren’s oversized motorcycle pants drooped low around her hips.
“You’ve looked better,” he said.
“I’ve felt better,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. She gestured to the Bible, “Any answers in there?”
“All the answers are in there, honey, as you well know.” They smiled at each other, and for a brief moment they let themselves be soothed by the smell of coffee and the early morning sunlight that streamed in through the window. “What did you do to your leg?” Jonah asked. She had hiked up the motorcycle pants, and the bottom of her cast was now visible.
“It’s not broken,” Lindsay replied. Jonah raised his eyebrows inquisitively, but Lindsay waved his unspoken questions away with a shrug. “Long story. But since you brought it up, can I borrow your hacksaw?”
##
Half an hour later, Lindsay and Jonah sat in matching lawn chairs, drinking chunky coffee in the shade of the carport. A steady breeze was now blowing from the southeast, replacing the wet heat with a wet cool. Lindsay’s cast lay in roughly-hewn pieces at their feet, like shards of ancient pottery. Lindsay had showered and changed into some clothes that she found lurking in the dresser of her former bedroom—a stonewashed denim miniskirt topped off with a Coors Lite t-shirt that she’d cut the collar out of. In her teens, Lindsay had favored the kind of clothes that would needle almost any parent—fishnet stockings, heavy metal t-shirts, midriffs—and Jonah, in particular, used to find her wardrobe infuriating. Lindsay wondered if she had subconsciously left this outfit behind in his house as a taunt. When she’d left for college, with no one there to care or complain, she gradually shifted her wardrobe to jeans and sweatshirts. These days, when she wasn’t at home wearing pajamas or running clothes, she wore boring, sensible clothes and shoes with good arch support.
Lindsay and Jonah had managed to avoid discussing the imminent visit of Sarabelle and Swoopes while they were removing the cast. Now, however, a silence had descended, and the subject loomed large between them. “Did they say when they are going to be coming?” Lindsay finally asked.
“Just said sometime today,” Jonah replied laconically.
Lindsay grew serious. “You need to know who you’re dealing with, Dad. The police think this Swoopes guy is really dangerous.” As she spoke, a violent gust of wind roared through the carport, as if to dramatize her words.
“That’ll be Amanda.” Jonah looked toward the low horizon.
“What? Who’s Amanda?”
“The hurricane. Hurricane Amanda is supposed to make landfall around Cape Hatteras sometime this morning. She’s supposed to reach here by tonight. Category 1 or 2. It’s been all over the news.”
“I haven’t been following the news lately,” Lindsay said. “I bet Aunt Harding will stay on the island.” Jonah nodded. Lindsay’s willful old aunt had ridden out many hurricanes on the Outer Banks. She battened down the hatches of her little bungalow like Captain Ahab making ready to confront the white whale. It usually took at least a Category 3 and a direct order from the National Guard to get her to consider evacuating to the mainland. Jonah and Lindsay had long ago ceased to worry for her safety. Another gust of wind blew in, bowing the pine trees like obedient courtiers. Lindsay waited for the rush of the wind to die down before she brought the subject back to Swoopes. “Did you hear what I said, Dad? There’s a warrant out for this guy’s arrest.”
Jonah shook his head solemnly from side to side. “I don’t want to call the police, if that’s what you’re suggesting. That wouldn’t be fair to your mother.”
Lindsay threw her hands up. “Please don’t talk about what is fair to her. And please don’t refer to her as my mother.”
“She is, and always will be, your mother.”
“Don’t you think she stopped being my mother when she left? Or when she manipulated me for years? Or how about when she robbed my house the other day?” Lindsay said fiercely.
“She needs our forgiveness.”
“Jesus Christ, Dad, why don’t you ever stand up for yourself? When are you just going to tell her enough is enough?
“I will not hear you using that kind of language in my house.”
“I can’t believe that you are going to sit there and scold me about my language without saying a word against the thieving, drug-addicted slut who you had the misfortune to conceive a child with!”
“Lindsay Sarabelle Harding! Have you forgotten the commandment to honor your father and mother?”
“What about honoring your children? Huh? What about not abandoning them? Not lying to them? Not breaking promises to them? Not stealing from them? Maybe Moses ran out of space on the tablets for those commandments, or maybe they were just so goddamn obvious that he didn’t think they needed to be written down!”
Jonah and Lindsay confronted each other like raging bulls. They were perched on the edges of their lawn chairs, their angry faces just inches apart. As usual, Jonah was the first to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. He sipped his coffee with a meditative calm, like an old man in a roadside diner. “We have to show your mother that we are better than that. She needs us to be shining examples of right living.”
Lindsay ignored the white flag that her father was trying to raise. She could see only a furious red. “What about what I need? Have you ever considered that I might need you to stand up to her, if not for yourself, then for me?” Lindsay stomped inside the house and pulled the keys to Jonah’s old Buick off the hook next to the back door. She stormed past him and got into the car. Jonah rose from his chair but didn’t try to stop her. Before she drove away, she rolled down the car window and shouted, “In every relationship I’ve ever had, I’ve let myself be used and lied to. Guess what you’ve really taught me! Guess what you’ve really been a shining example of!” There was a squeal of tires as Lindsay sped away down the road, into the low clouds of the gathering storm.
Chapter 47
Lindsay drove toward her house, still fuming after her argument with her father. She knew that she probably wasn’t in the right, but for once she didn’t care. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if there was a right and a wrong side to this argument. The problem of how to confront wickedness had baffled philosophers and politicians throughout history, and it wasn’t going to be solved in a lawn chair argument between a pair of stubborn North Carolina pastors. The wind gusts that pushed in on the vanguard of the storm buffeted the car. Greenish-black clouds had begun to stack up on the horizon; the first bands of Amanda’s wind and rain would be moving in soon. Lindsay found the gathering storm soothing. It was as if the weather understood her plight and was doing its best to reflect her dark mood. She rolled down the window, took deep breaths of the cool air, and began to calm down. As her anger subsided, she felt a creeping sense of worry about leaving Jonah alone to face Sarabelle and Swoopes. Half a dozen times, she considered turning the car around. In the end, however, her bitterness triumphed and she pulled the Buick into the driveway of her house, alongside her ancient Toyota. She let herself in, trying her be
st to ignore the trailing strands of yellow crime scene tape and the smears of Joe’s blood that were still visible on the front porch.
Inside the house, the air was as thick and claustrophobic as a greenhouse. Insects buzzed lazily around the rooms, their droning alternating in pitch as they approached or flew away. A moth fluttered past. A breath of air stirred the stillness, like a leaf dropping on the surface of a puddle. Lindsay followed the source of the disturbance to the bathroom, where the half-repaired window stood wide open, screenless. John’s toolbox lay open on the bathroom floor. She closed the bathroom door with a sigh. That moment just before Joe had been shot was the last slice of normal life that she could remember. Every event since then had plunged her deeper into a whirlpool of physical and psychological pain.
Lindsay changed out of her rebellious teenager outfit and pressed the button to check the messages on her answering machine. The machine responded in its monotone 2001 Space Odyssey voice, telling her that the memory was full. She tried a number of other buttons, but succeeded only in accidentally deleting all the messages. Her cell phone—along with her purse and the keys to her car—was still in her locker in the chaplain’s office. She was anxious to hear news of Joe and of Buford Bullard, and even more anxious to flee the stifling hothouse of her own bursting mind. She decided to return to the hospital. She prayed that Anna had finished her shift and gone home. If Lindsay could avoid her, she might be able to temporarily stave off the inevitable haranguing she would get for deserting the hospital and removing the cast.
##
Lindsay had retrieved her belongings from the chaplains’ office. No one was around, and no messages awaited her on her cell phone. She made her way to Joe Tatum’s room. Her quiet knock on the door was met with silence. She opened the door slowly. The room stood as empty and still as an open grave, with a gloomy light filtering in through the closed curtains. Lindsay’s stomach knotted and she scanned the room, looking for a trace, a clue that would tell her if Joe was okay. Joe’s chart dangled from a hook at the foot of the bed. As she scanned it, she exhaled deeply—from what she could understand, it seemed that all was well. He had been scheduled for a routine, follow-up CT scan, and had probably been taken to the radiology department. She checked with Angel, the duty nurse, who confirmed this and told Lindsay that John and Rob had gone home to try to get some sleep.
Lindsay’s next port of call was Buford Bullard’s room, where the scene was the polar opposite. Versa and all her children and grandchildren crammed into the tiny space. The room was like a circus tent—with flowers, balloons, noise, and people. There was barely enough space for the door to swing open when Lindsay entered. In the center of it all sat Buford Bullard, looking drained and anemic, but conscious, and wearing a broad grin. When Versa caught sight of Lindsay, she parted the sea of people and hurried to embrace her. Versa squeezed Lindsay to her substantial chest; the embrace was like quicksand, soft and suffocating. Lindsay winced. She still bore the bruises of her previous night’s encounter with Drew and the concrete wall. Her little cry of pain was muffled in the flesh of Versa’s wide bosom. When she finally released Lindsay, Versa spun her around to face the room. “Buford, honey, you owe your life to this little person here,” she said. “Doctor Peedie says she’s the one that figured out about them pills.” With that, the quicksand hugs began afresh, as each Bullard took a turn wringing Lindsay like a wet sponge. Lindsay had no opportunity to protest or explain that her findings hadn’t really done anything to alter Buford’s prognosis.
When at last the hugging and thanking mercifully ceased, Kimberlee waved her hand and cleared her throat, trying to get her family’s attention. “Excuse me, y’all. Ahem. Excuse me.” The chattering and noise showed no signs of abating, however, so Kimberlee climbed up on a chair and shouted, “Hey! Pipe down, y’all, I’m trying to tell you something.” Silence finally descended. “I’ve been wanting to tell you all for awhile, but with one thing and another, I just couldn’t. I really wanted to wait until they locked up the son of a bitch who killed my Vernon, but now, with Silas getting released, it looks like justice might not come for a long while yet. And I know that the police still haven’t definitely given Momma the all-clear about how she poisoned Daddy. But they were a lot more civilized toward her than they were toward me, and I know we all took that as a good sign. Anyway, with the soap opera it’s been lately, I don’t know if there ever is gonna be a perfectly right time. And with Daddy being awake, now seemed as good a time as any. So, well, there isn’t any other way of saying it…I’m pregnant!”
There was a collective scream from the Bullard women, which brought to mind the rebel yell of a Civil War battlefield. The women and children surged forward, their reactions ranging from congratulatory, “You are gonna be the greatest mom!” to chastising, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us before!” to commanding, “Get down off that chair this minute, before you fall down and hurt my grandbaby!” When the news spread through the Bullards that Kimberlee was carrying twins, another collective scream rose from the chattering gaggle.
In the excited rush toward Kimberlee, Lindsay and Keith were pushed to the back of the group, near the door. Lindsay caught Keith’s glance. Rivers of tears streamed down his cheeks as he watched his family rejoice. Lindsay had seen lots of tears in her time, but these were particularly pitiable. “You okay?” she asked.
Keith nodded. “It’s just, you know, Vernon won’t be here to see them born. They won’t know who their daddy was. Poor Kimberlee. I feel real bad about that. Breaks my heart.” Lindsay put a comforting hand on his shoulder. His flesh, even through the tight-woven cotton of his dress shirt, was strangely hot and rigid, like a brick that had been baking in the sun. Lindsay shuddered involuntarily at the unexpected sensation. Keith held her gaze for a long moment. In his eyes, Lindsay discovered a language she couldn’t read.
Chapter 48
The Bullards’ celebrations were drowned out by a gust of wind that rattled the windows of Buford’s hospital room. The lights flickered briefly and the women’s voices fell. Versa walked to the window and gazed out into the storm. Although it wasn’t yet noon, the sky was as dark and grey as a November evening. “Keith, honey, you’d better go along to the restaurant and tell Dirk and them to shut up early. Can’t be much business coming through anyway.”
“Why do I need to go out there, Momma? I can just call them on the phone. Dirk knows what to do,” Keith replied petulantly.
“It would do some good for you to show your face out there. We need to make sure everybody knows that it is still Bullards Family Barbecue Restaurant.”
“Well, then, why can’t one of the girls go?”
“Are you are or aren’t you the manager of the restaurant? You need to deliver the good news about Daddy in person. I’m sure the staff’ll all be anxious to hear,” Versa turned her back on Keith to close off further argument. Keith sighed and then shuffled out of the room like an obedient dog. Lindsay left a few moments later, too distracted by her own thoughts to fully share in the Bullards’ celebrations. She walked down the hospital corridor pondering her next move. Even now, Sarabelle and Swoopes could be at her father’s house. Would they hurt him? Should she try to enlist Warren’s help? She was so caught up in her own mind that she didn’t notice Anna and Rob until they were standing almost directly in front of her.
“Ground Control to Reverend Harding,” Rob said, waving his hand in front of her face.
“Oh, hi guys.” Lindsay mustered a smile. “How’s Joe?”
“Unbelievably…himself.” Anna shook her head in amazement. “In fact, he wants to go home tomorrow. And he is being such a pain in the hospital’s collective ass that they are talking seriously about letting him go. John and Rob are going to stay with him until he is discharged to make sure he stops ‘accidentally’ letting his hospital gown fall open in front of the female nurses.” She glanced at Lindsay’s now cast-free leg. “You and Joe must be vying for the top spot at the Patient Noncomplianc
e Awards. Next time I’ll superglue the cast to your skin.”
“I will rest. I promise. Soon. Right now, though, I have things to do,” Lindsay said.
“Like what? Lurk around the hospital on your day off?” Rob raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Speaking of social lives, and lack thereof, tell me about your date with Dr. Drew Checkoway. Anna said you guys took a bath together!”
“Anna has put a creative spin on the truth I’m afraid. Basically, Drew tried to force-feed me with healthy food, I flashed a stadium full of people with my see-through dress, and then he almost knocked himself unconscious escaping from a rampaging squirrel.”
“Come on, Linds!” Anna interrupted. “That is not at all what happened! Drew said he had a really nice time with you. He said he thinks you’re really sweet.”
“Uh-oh,” Rob said. The playful glimmer was suddenly extinguished from his eyes. “You didn’t tell me he said ‘sweet’. Sweet is not good. Kid sisters are sweet. Old ladies with little knitted coin purses are sweet. Dates should be ‘hot’ or, at worst, ‘fun’.” He paused in the midst of his semantic analysis. “Wait, you talked to Drew about their date? When?”
“I don’t know. Yesterday or this morning. It just came up. Drew and I were in the break room,” Anna replied, blushing slightly at the mention of his name.
Rob, ever sensitive to the subtle ebbs and flows of other people’s emotions, gasped. He pointed an accusatory finger at Anna. “You have a crush on Drew!”
“No, I don’t! I’d never do that! He’s Lindsay’s,” Anna protested.
“You like him! You like him! You like him!” Rob’s voice had none of its accustomed mischief. Anna was his friend, of course, but it was clear that he would disavow her in an instant for Lindsay’s sake. One of the things that Lindsay loved the most about Rob was on display now—he had decided long ago that the only one allowed to torment Lindsay was him. If he ever sensed that she was in real emotional danger, he protected her with the ferocity of a mother badger defending her cubs.
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