Carolina Home

by Virginia Kantra

  “Try, and I’ll kick your ass,” Matt said.

  Sam grinned. “Relax. Your girlfriend’s safe from me. She’s not my type anyway.”

  Matt rubbed his jaw. He would have said Allison was exactly Sam’s type. They had the same advantages, the same background; classy, moneyed, privileged.

  “Too much like dating my sister,” Sam said.

  Sam’s half sister Chelsea was the princess of the family, with sweet ways and an even sweeter smile. Matt winced. She was also barely twenty-one.

  “I would never hit on your sister,” Matt said. “Any more than you would hit on mine.”

  Sam started to say something. Shook his head.

  “What?” Matt said.

  “Nothing.”

  Matt narrowed his eyes. “You never did.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Meg wouldn’t have anything to do with you. She’s too smart.”

  “Too smart for both of us.”

  “Besides, if you touched her back then, I’d have to kill you.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Sam’s eyes danced. “You better hope Hot Teacher doesn’t have a brother.”

  “She does. They don’t see each other.”

  “Uh-huh. Since when did you start exchanging family histories with your dates?”

  Matt shrugged. “It came up.”

  “Listen to you. She’s got you wriggling on the line and you don’t even know it.”

  Matt frowned as he carried his coffees a hundred yards down the waterfront to Fletcher’s Quay.

  Sam was just yanking his chain about Meg. About Allison.

  Maybe he did enjoy Allison’s company. Maybe he had gotten into the habit of looking for her at the end of the day, of dropping by to see her at night. That didn’t mean he was hooked.

  So he’d filled up her gas tank. Big deal. She’d gotten up twice in the dark hours before dawn to fix scrambled eggs and coffee before he stumbled home.

  So what if she was spending time with his son? Hard to avoid that, given her job. She’d actually gotten Josh interested in some after-school project, writing for the paper.

  But these were only minor course adjustments, Matt told himself. He was hardly sailing off with her into the sunset.

  He could want her, he could enjoy being with her. But he’d learned the hard way that he was better off if he didn’t need her.

  If he didn’t let himself depend on anyone but family.

  “JOSH, DO YOU have your lunch?” Tess asked before she could stop herself.

  Josh grinned tolerantly, bending to kiss her cheek. “Yep. Packed it last night. Thanks for breakfast, Grandma.”

  She smiled up at him, her tall, beautiful grandson. “My pleasure.”

  She stood at the back door to watch him walk the garden path to Lindsey Gordon’s waiting car. He looked so much like Matt at the same age that her heart gave a little squeeze. He waved before he climbed into the car, but she could see he’d already left her in his head, all his attention focused forward, on the girl, on the road, on whatever it was that occupied the thoughts of teenage boys. Sex, probably. She hoped he and that girl weren’t getting too serious.

  Tess made a small sign of the cross, a blessing in the air, as they drove away, the way her own mama used to fifty years ago.

  One child down, one to go.

  She turned back to Taylor sitting at the kitchen table, wearing an oversize shirt and jeans, Luke’s cap planted defiantly on her blond head. Where it would remain, Tess knew, until Taylor crossed the school threshold.

  “Almost time to go, honey,” Tess said.

  Taylor looked at the clock on the stove. “I have eight more minutes.”

  Tess smiled. She considered it a healthy sign that Taylor felt acclimated enough, secure enough, to object to a change in her routine.

  “I need to make an early start this morning,” Tess said. “I’m leaving right after I drop you off.”

  Taylor’s blue eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”

  “Just over to the mainland.”

  “For how long?”

  Tess looked up from her to-do list, alerted by the child’s suspicious tone. Of course. Too many adults in Taylor’s short life had left and not come back. It was enough to give anybody trust issues.

  Or nightmares.

  She brushed a hand over Taylor’s head, pretending not to notice how the girl stiffened under her touch. “Not long. I’ll be back before you’re home from school.”

  “Why do you have to go?”

  “Well…” Now Tess was the one to check the clock.

  Why did children always start conversations at the most inconvenient times? Right before bed or when guests were coming or while you were on your way out the door? Matt and Meg and Luke had been the same.

  But you had to talk when they were ready, Tess thought. And Taylor hadn’t ever been ready before.

  “I have an appointment in Beaufort,” Tess said, trying to sound breezy and failing. “With Kate Dolan.” The lawyer. “Your mom’s boss.”

  Taylor’s small, pale face pinched. “Are you going to give me back?”

  Tess’s jaw dropped. “Give you back?”

  “To Grandma Jo.”

  “No.” Tess was genuinely shocked. “Never. Your daddy wants you to stay with us, baby. You live here with us now.”

  Taylor’s bony shoulders became a fraction less rigid. “Okay.”

  Tess drew a deep breath, conscious of having blundered, unsure how to make things right. She had never had to live through the knock at the door, the car at the curb, the two Marines waiting on the porch with grave faces and the news: Killed In Action. But she understood Taylor’s fears. Living on base, Tess had seen that car pull up to other curbs, the grief detail stand on other porches. She’d delivered cakes and casseroles, offered hugs and tears, prayers and practical help to other families whose fathers would never come home. Sometimes the best you could do was to listen.

  “Is there anything you want to talk about, honey?”

  Wary blue eyes surveyed her from under Luke’s Marine cap.

  Tess tried again. “About your dad or, well…anything? Your mom?”

  Taylor shook her head.

  Something was wrong. Tess felt it in her bones. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t define it, couldn’t dismiss it.

  I need to know, Tess thought, but she couldn’t force Taylor to open up to her. Matt was just as much in the dark as she was. Luke didn’t know anything. Anyway, Tess didn’t want to worry him while he was in a war zone with a bunch of vague suspicions that might not amount to anything at all.

  She knew the Simpsons. Ernie liked to drink too much on a Friday night and Jolene was a little scattered, but she had a good heart. They’d made their mistakes as parents, letting that boy of theirs run roughshod over the little kids, letting Dawn run wild. But then, Luke had run a little wild, too, and Tess herself hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to stop him.

  Taylor fed bacon to Fezzik under the table while Tess pretended not to see. But she couldn’t look the other way on this conversation.

  This afternoon she was taking her questions to the lawyer. Perhaps Dawn had confided in her.

  Tess studied her grandchild’s down-bent head. “Everything’s going to be all right.” It was a promise. “I just want to talk to Miss Dolan.”

  No answer.

  Tess supressed a sigh. “I figured while I was over there I’d do some shopping in Morehead City,” she said lightly. “We have a big group this weekend, the Kellers. It’s their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They’re coming to stay with their kids and grandkids and I want to get some special touches to put in their room. I thought while I was at the mall I could pick up that comforter we looked at for your bedroom.”

  Taylor shrugged.

  Tess refused to be discouraged. She had hoped that decorating Taylor’s new bedroom would help the child feel at home. “Did you see something in the catalog you like better?�
��

  “No, it’s okay. At least it’s not pink.”

  “Right,” Tess said. “Because pink would show dog hair.”

  Taylor snorted and stuffed the last of her toast in her mouth.

  A wave of pure love swept over Tess. Taylor was tough. She would be all right. They all would be all right.

  Girls could bounce back from almost anything. Look at Meg. It was boys you had to watch and worry about, who carried their damage silently inside.

  While Taylor scrambled to get ready, Tess indulged herself by adding a few girly items to her list: T-shirts, a hoodie, maybe a pair of leggings. Nothing pink. Meg hadn’t been a fan of pink, either.

  “Can I have a piece of cake?” Taylor asked as they drove to school.

  Tess slanted a look at her granddaughter riding shotgun. “What cake?”

  “The wedding cake.”

  The Kellers. “It’s an anniversary party, honey. Cakes are just for newlyweds.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…It’s tradition. So the husband and wife start their new life together with a little sweetness.”

  Taylor slumped in her seat. “That’s dumb. If I was having a party, I’d want a cake.”

  “You’re right,” Tess said. “After fifty years, you deserve a cake.”

  Fifty years. She and Tom had been married forty.

  Maybe while she was at the mall, she’d hit Belk’s lingerie department, do some shopping of her own. Tess smiled to herself. Tom deserved something, too, for putting up with her for all these years.

  And he’d never been a fan of cake.

  “You have a good day!” she called as Taylor slipped out of the car. “I’ll pick you up after school.”

  She stayed at the curb to watch Taylor drag off her hat and march into the building, shoulders straight under the straps of her backpack.

  Tess pulled out of the car pool line, already revising lists in her head, reviewing what she would ask Kate Dolan. The Spinners’ “Then Came You” played over the radio, the way it had that summer when Tom walked into her parents’ restaurant.

  Tess cranked up the volume and drove down island toward the bridge, singing loudly and out of key along with the radio.

  THE LONG LINE on the port side twitched as the baitfish darted frantically beneath the surface. The Sea Lady II was fourteen miles out in the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, finally catching some action.

  Up on the bridge, Matt watched as the tip bent and the line took off. He yelled to Scott, the nearer of their two passengers. Scott grabbed at the rod, fumbling as he tried to jam the butt end of the rod into his fighting belt.

  Matt shook his head. The lighter rods made for a better fight, but the thirty pound test line reduced the margin for error. “I’m going down,” he said to Tom. “He’s going to lose it.”

  The radio crackled behind him as he came off the bridge. Scott had braced his knees against the side of the boat as the line screamed out, the big fish fighting for freedom.

  “Tighten the drag just a little,” Matt coached. “That’s the way.”

  Pump and reel, pump and reel, recovering the lost line. One minute. Two. Their other passenger, Bill, hung over the side, watching the battle.

  As Scott cranked, Tom descended from the bridge. “We’re heading back to shore.”

  “Screw that,” Scott puffed.

  Bill glanced over his shoulder. “No way. He just hooked this baby.”

  Matt turned and saw his father’s face, gray and set as concrete. “What?”

  The old fear—of a knock on the door, of a Casualty Assistance Officer in dress blues coming up the walk—hollowed Matt’s chest. “What is it? Is it Luke?”

  Or—a fresh wave of panic—one of the kids.

  Josh.

  Tom met his gaze. “Your mother.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “There’s been an accident.”

  “SO BOTH MEN try to conceal their crimes.” Allison perched on her desk, gently swinging her feet, addressing her fourth period class. “Dimmesdale becomes an articulate, inspiring minister. Bigger becomes a brutal murderer. Is that a function of individual choice? Or are they simply fulfilling the roles society created for them?”

  She was encouraged by the way her students flung themselves into the discussion.

  “Dimmesdale tries to confess. He even tells Hester to, you know, name the kid’s daddy.”

  “Because he doesn’t have the balls to do it himself.”

  “At least he doesn’t chop her up and put her in the furnace.”

  A tap on the door interrupted them. She glanced toward the hall. Principal James Oates’s ruddy face peered through the glass into her classroom.

  Sliding from her desk, Allison hurried to the door. “Mr. Oates.”

  “Miss Carter.” Oates was a large, gentle, rather remote man with a ginger mustache, his round face folded in serious lines. “I’d like a word with Joshua Fletcher. Tell him to bring all his things.”

  Her students nudged each other with their elbows and shifted in their chairs.

  Allison flashed a glance at Josh. He shrugged, all innocence.

  “Of course.” Allison lowered her voice. “Is anything wrong?”

  He blinked. “I think it would be best if I talk to Josh first. I’ll speak with the staff later today.”

  A rush of protective feelings washed over her, fierce and surprising. She took a step forward, crowding Oates back, into the hall. She closed the classroom door behind them, fueling the noise inside. “Josh isn’t in trouble, is he?”

  “No, no.” Oates hesitated. “Well, I guess I can tell you.”

  She caught the faint emphasis on the last word. Tell her because she was Josh’s teacher? Because she was sleeping with Josh’s dad? She didn’t know. She didn’t care as long as she could help Josh.

  “Matt Fletcher called,” Oates said. “Tess Fletcher was involved in a car accident on the mainland this morning. Matt needs Josh to watch his cousin Taylor after school.”

  Allison sucked in a distressed breath. “Oh, no. Is she…Is Tess…”

  “Alive,” Oates said. “But it’s pretty serious. Carteret General life-flighted her to the trauma center in Greenville. Matt and Tom are driving up there to be with her.”

  MATT WATCHED THE waiting room clock outside the surgery doors, his eyeballs gritty and his hands cold. Sometimes he paced and Tom sat. Sometimes he sat while Tom paced.

  He needed to move. His heart pumped with adrenaline. His skin crawled with frustration. He wanted to do…something, anything, to fix this. But he was useless, his hands tied by ignorance and lack of training.

  The dread of not knowing pressed on him even harder than the weight of helplessness.

  The three-hour trip from Fletcher’s Quay to Pitt County Memorial Hospital had stretched like a nightmare. But at least while Matt was driving he’d been able to focus on traffic. At least he’d had something to do.

  He jammed his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t even call out on his phone. Cell phone reception in the building was crap. He’d called his sister from the cafeteria when he’d gone downstairs to fetch the coffee that sat, cold and unnoticed, at his father’s side. He’d finally gotten through—briefly—to Josh, telling him Grandma was okay, the doctors were doing everything they could, Josh should watch Taylor, Matt would call again soon. He and Tom had agreed there was no point in contacting Luke in Afghanistan until Tess was out of surgery.

  Nothing he can do, Tom grunted, closed inside his own pain. Don’t worry him.

  Matt retreated to the window and stood staring out at the parking lot. Nothing any of them could do until they knew for sure that Mom…That she…

  He rubbed his bristly face as if he could scrub away his fear. Head-on collision with an SUV. The other guy’s fault. Damn drunk driver, dead on the scene, since his stupidity had extended to not wearing his safety belt. Tess had suffered blunt abdominal trauma with internal bleeding, the nurse had explained when Matt rejoined Tom after parking th
e truck.

  The words rolled over them like boulders, crushing in their import. Chest tube. Pelvis. Fracture. Hemorrhage.

  Tom had signed everything the nurses put in front of him, his face lined and aged, his words and movements rigidly controlled. Matt had no idea how much his father actually comprehended. He took the clipboard to read the forms himself, chilled by the standard warnings. Whatever they did to his mother beyond those closed doors might not work. All procedures carried the risk of bleeding. Complications. Infection. Death.

  Assuming her injuries didn’t kill her first.

  Matt glanced again at the clock. Where the hell was the nurse? She’d promised to come back as soon as she knew what was going on inside, promised the doctor would be out to talk to them soon. But the minutes bled by, and no one came.

  Tom’s hands shook. He gripped them together between his legs, his elbows resting on his knees, staring sightlessly at the carpet. Matt couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this. Not when Meggie broke her arm trying to fly from the garage roof, not even when he’d come home from the Gulf. For the first time in his life, his father looked frail. Old.

  He was a tested combat leader, trained for battle in uncertain and chaotic conditions. Military families prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.

  But none of them were prepared for this.

  Men who made their living from the water developed a certain fatalism, broader than acceptance, deeper than faith. The sea giveth and the sea taketh away.

  But Matt had never imagined in a million years that his mother might be taken from them so soon. Tess was their rock, their anchor, calm in crisis, constant through moves and deployments. Without her, they were lost. Adrift.

  Matt swallowed the ache in his throat.

  “Dad.” He touched Tom’s arm, searching helplessly for the magic words, his mother’s words, that would make everything all right. “What do you need? What can I do?”

  Tom met his gaze, his eyes like stone. “Pray.”

  ALLISON SQUARED HER shoulders and knocked on the cottage door. The sound of crashes and explosions from the television inside penetrated to the stoop.

  The last time she was here, she’d been invited for Sunday dinner. Now the woman who had welcomed and fed her was fighting for her life.