by Eva Charles
It’s not her business, and I don’t want to involve her, so I don’t answer. “Leave it on my desk. I don’t want a paper trail.”
“No paper trail sounds right up my alley. Need help?”
“Nope.”
It’s after midnight and I’m still boozing, but Tallulah’s has mostly cleared out. Delilah’s in the bathroom when it happens. Some stupid bastard plays that stupid fucking song by Lady Antebellum. The one Kate likes. The one she sings when she thinks no one is listening. The one she got off on in the bathtub—thinking about me.
I’m sure it was one of the drunk college girls singing the lyrics in the corner who played it. But it doesn’t matter. It hurts like a sonofabitch.
I drain my beer while the force invades, raining pain that blinds me. I’m out of my mind, desperate to fight back. My life, or at least my sanity depends on it.
I grab the baseball bat that Beau keeps behind the bar. Then toss a credit card near my empty glass—"Put whatever the cost is on it. Repair it, buy a new one, whatever you need,” I tell him, following the music to the back of the room. When I get there, I lift the bat and take a swing, and then another and another, beating the shit out of the jukebox—until it stops playing the damn song—until Delilah wrenches me away.
“What is wrong with you?” she cries, yanking my arm.
I’ve been in real battles, with live munition and formidable opponents. My system doesn’t overreact. The altercation with the music box was satisfying, but not enough to get the adrenaline flowing. My pulse barely registered it. “Didn’t like that song.”
“That’s all you have you have to say for yourself?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe she didn’t send the photo to the newspaper? Gabby doesn’t believe she did. Neither does Josh.”
“Gabby chooses to see the good in everything. Josh is green. But yeah. I’ve considered it.” I’ve looked at every possible alternative—desperate to find a different answer. “I haven’t seen anything that leads me to any other conclusion.”
“Maybe you need to keep trying, because it’s a bad idea to be wiping out innocent jukeboxes all over Charleston. They’re practically extinct as it is.” She lets go of my arm.
“I’ve heard what Gabby and Josh think. What do you think?”
She pauses for a few seconds. “Sometimes geese quack like ducks.”
I have no patience to decipher low country talk right now. “What the hell does that mean?”
“The odds are it was her, but everything isn’t always as it appears. Especially when bad men have power and money to throw around. They can turn ground beef into Salisbury steak, nap it with a tasty brown gravy and everyone gobbles it up like it’s the best thing they ever ate.”
Delilah knows that lesson better than most people. I run my palm over a scruffy jaw. “Call Chase Wilder in the morning. I know you’ve already talked to him about getting the photos taken down, but ask him to trace the digital prints. Unless the person who leaked the photo was exceptional, they left prints. Although I couldn’t find any.”
“Already talked to Chase. He’s been conducting a forensic analysis for a few days.”
“On his own?”
“Apparently, JD already asked him to find out who leaked the original image. Did I mention Chase doesn’t think it was Kate?”
“Has he found evidence to support that it wasn’t her, or is that his tiny dick talking?”
“No evidence yet.”
39
Kate
After I left Lucinda, I spent hours thinking about her tragic love story. What would have happened if she fought for her public defender? Her true love. How might it have changed the course of her life? Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but she would always know she tried. Not having done anything must make the regrets harder to bear.
Somewhere around two in the morning, I decided I wasn’t giving up on Smith. There’s too much about him that I love. I don’t want to be a seventy-year old woman full of remorse. It doesn’t matter how full my life becomes. I’ll always be left wondering if it would have been fuller with him.
I’m at the library before it opens. Lucinda is always here early. We talked for a long time at dinner, but I want to give her the key, and hug her once more before the toddlers come in for story time.
I tap on the glass door to get her attention. “Good morning,” she says, opening the door for me.
“Good morning. I only have a few minutes.”
“I don’t like that you’re not making any stops between here and Boston.”
“I’ll take breaks, and I’m thinking I might stop in DC to say hello to some of my old colleagues. Here’s the spare key and the alarm code. I have nothing to hide, but please don’t go into the house alone. It’s not safe.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. A young woman like you should be hiding a few things in her drawers.” She winks, clutching a long strand of pearls. She really is too much. “I know we already talked about this, but remind me. When can I expect you back?”
“Two weeks. Could be a little longer.”
She pulls me into a hug. For such a powerhouse, there’s nothing to her. I feel her ribs through her light cardigan. “Don’t worry about anything here. You take care of your father and set him straight. Do not give in to any sob stories, or I’ll have to make my way to Boston and that will just be unpleasant for everyone involved. We each create our own destiny and we live with the consequences.”
I squeeze my eyes tight. She’s right. And if I hadn’t already decided to come back for Smith, her words would have spurred me there.
She pats my back before releasing me. “I’ll keep an eye on Sinclair while you’re away, make sure there are no floozies getting too close to him. But I suspect there’s nothing to worry about in that regard. Although he wouldn’t be the first man to act stupid.”
I’m prepared for stupid. We’re finished in his eyes, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he got right back up on the saddle—so to speak. I have no illusions. My plan is to be the last woman he has sex with. The rest is out of my control. When I get back, I’ll see to any floozies myself. “How did you know?”
“That you weren’t done with him?”
I nod.
“I recognize the look. And you don’t strike me as the type of woman who needs to touch the fire to know it’s hot.”
After we say goodbye, I walk the two blocks to the coffee shop where I’m meeting Gabby. It’s strange not to have Josh or Ty lurking. But it also feels like a new beginning.
I see Gabby as soon as I walk inside the shop. I didn’t expect Delilah to be with her, but try to rein in my surprise.
“I asked Delilah to come along,” she says after our hello. “It was a last-minute decision, otherwise I would have emailed you.” Gabby clasps her hands together, her index fingers sticking straight up, pressing against one another. “I have a long history of trusting people I shouldn’t trust. I don’t always agree with Delilah, but I value her opinion.”
She’s not pulling any punches. It stings, but I suppose it’s fair.
“It’s nice to see you both,” I say, sliding into a seat across from them.
“We ordered coffee for the table,” Gabby says, pouring me a cup. Her manners are so ingrained, she can be gracious even after making it clear she doesn’t trust me. I pull the wrapped package from my bag but leave it on my lap. I’m having second thoughts about the gift. Not because Delilah is here wearing a charming don’t-fuck-with-me look, but because it seems ill-advised now.
“I asked you to meet me because I want to apologize in person. I took the photograph that appeared in the paper. I actually took a few photos that day. I’m very sorry.”
Gabby doesn’t seem surprised, and I can’t read Delilah. “Why, Kate?” Her brow is furrowed. “That’s what for the life of me, I can’t understand.”
“In hindsight it seems so foolish. I’m not sure I can distill it into word
s. It was never really about words. It was all about a feeling.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I was out for a walk, when I saw you blowing bubbles with Gracie near the pond. You were both so happy.”
I’m struggling with tears now, but I’m determined not to cry. I don’t want to seem even more pathetic than I am. “Something about watching you with your daughter called to me. I cherish the photographs I have of my mother and me. I wanted to capture that moment. I wanted you to have it. I wanted Gracie to be able to look at the photo when she got older—and see the beauty of the moment.”
My heart is filled with regret and sorrow, but my motivation had been pure. “At the time, it seemed like a nice way to thank you for all your trouble. I never meant for it to fall into anyone else’s hands.” I hand her the wrapped package. “This is for you—I totally understand if you don’t want it—it’s not the same photo that was published.”
“If you didn’t do it,” Gabby asks softy, “then who did?”
I wish I knew. I’ve made dozens and dozens of calls, but no one has been able to give me an answer. “I have no idea.”
Gabby nods, then unwraps the package. Her fingers gloss over the glass lightly, and she smiles, gazing at the photo. “Apology accepted,” she says softly.
I release a small breath, but the relief lasts for mere seconds. “Why should we believe you?” Delilah asks, pointedly. Clearly, she isn’t accepting apologies.
I return her hard stare. “Because it’s the truth. Because even if I hated all of you, which I don’t, I would never do anything to betray Smith.”
“I’m not easily swayed by misty eyes,” Delilah says, her own blue eyes as cutting as her words.
Gabby places her hand on Delilah’s wrist. “Hush.”
I glare back at Delilah, unwavering. It sounds easier than it is. “What could I have possibly gained by sending that photograph to the paper, anonymously? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It never did.” Gabby’s voice is resolute, and although she’s not the final arbiter, I’m grateful for her generous spirit.
“I think you were currying favor with an editor or publisher,” Delilah says callously. “You wanted something from them, and what better way to ingratiate yourself than to send a photograph of the never-seen-in-print, Grace Wilder, the former president’s only grandchild? That’s what I think.”
I think you’re a mean-spirited bitch. That’s what I want to say. But I know this is about more than a photo. This is about her loyalty to Smith, and I can’t hate her for it. “You’re entitled to your opinion,” I answer curtly, before turning to Gabby. “I’m leaving for Boston, and I need to get on the road.”
“Smith has been away on a project,” she says. “Does he know you’re leaving?”
I shake my head. “No—we haven’t spoken since the day the photo was published.”
“This is goodbye?” Gabby tilts her head. “I hope not, Kate.”
“I hope not, too. I hope you’ll forgive me and that we can be friends at some point. But either way, I have family matters to take care of in Boston, and then I intend to come back for Smith—for our relationship.” I hold my head high—screw Delilah. “I’m not giving him up without a fight. I don’t know how to make amends for something I didn’t do, but I’ll have a lot of time in the car to think about it.” I place my folded napkin on the table beside the coffee mug. “And I’ll expect an apology from him, too. He flew off the handle without bothering to hear my side of the story.”
“When will you be back?” Delilah asks, her tone less severe.
“Two weeks, give or take a few days. Please don’t talk to Smith about this. I want us to be able to work it out ourselves.” Neither woman agrees to keep quiet, but I’m through groveling and begging for today.
“When you get back and you’re settled, will you still consider volunteering at Georgie’s Place?”
“Are you sure you still want me?”
“I never believed you sent the photos to the paper. It never made sense to me.”
“Not that it matters,” Delilah chimes in, “but I’m coming around to that way of thinking, too.”
The olive branch she holds out is from a young tree, but the sapling has potential to sprout roots if tended carefully. I don’t allow my pride to squander the opportunity. “It matters to me.”
“Are you driving straight through?”
“Not sure. I might stop in DC on the way.”
After a round of goodbyes, and a dire warning from Delilah about the dangers lurking in rest stops along the highway, I leave historic Charleston.
40
Kate
On my way out of the city, I pass the sign to Albert’s Island. I haven’t been back to St. Maggie’s since Father Jesse heard my confession. Since he called Smith a devil. It still makes me furious.
I dutifully completed my Penance assignment, and owe the priest my conclusions: I don’t believe Catholicism requires me to choose between a man I love and a faith I love, but if it comes down to a choice between Smith Sinclair or the church, he wins. It’s not even close.
At the traffic light, I bang a ‘uey, as New Englander’s say, and take the left onto the island road. It will add to my late start, but I’m going to pay Father Jesse a visit and get everything off my chest before I leave, because when I return to Charleston, I’ll be focusing on new beginnings.
While I wait for Virginia to open the rectory door, I sense eyes watching me. I glance over my shoulder, but don’t see anyone.
Virginia greets me with a warm smile. “Hello, Kate. What a nice surprise. Come in.”
“How are you?” I ask, following her into the reception area. It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw her.
“Good. We’re all good. Father Jesse isn’t here. Can I help you with something?”
“When do you expect him?”
“Not for several days.”
“Oh—I didn’t realize he was away.” Well, this puts a crimp in my plan to tell him off.
“It’s the only two weeks he takes for himself all year—readying his soul for the Feast of St. Magdalene. It’s just a week away. Father Martin, from St. Ray’s downtown has been filling in while he’s been gone. But he’s only here for Sunday Mass. If you need something—”
“I don’t need anything.” I don’t want to get into the reason for my visit with Virginia. “I came to say goodbye.”
She pales, propping herself against the back of an upholstered chair. “Where are you going?”
“To Boston. I’ll be gone for a couple weeks myself. I’ll talk to him when I get back.” As soon as I get back.
“You can’t go,” she pleads. “Father Jesse—you can’t go without saying goodbye to him. He’ll never forgive me if I let you go.”
She seems genuinely afraid of his reaction. “I’ll only be gone for two weeks,” I assure her. “Then I’ll be back.”
“Let me make you a cup of tea before you go.”
She’s frazzled and behaving oddly. More oddly than usual. “No, thank you. I can’t stay.”
“Let me try to reach him,” she says, waving her hands around. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. Please. Just wait while I call.”
Another five minutes isn’t going to kill me. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I don’t want to make it worse. “Sure.”
She places the call, getting more and more agitated with each ring. “He didn’t answer,” she mutters, staring out the window. “The reception is poor there, and the calls don’t always go through.”
“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
Her eyes dart to mine. She seems more alert now. “I don’t feel well,” she says, placing a hand on her chest. “I hope it’s just a bad case of indigestion. Would you help me upstairs before you go? Father Jesse keeps antacid in the kitchen.”
She’s still clutching her chest, and I’m a little nervous to leave her like this. “I can run up and get it if you tell me where it is.”
> “It’s easier if I show you.”
I follow her upstairs and into the kitchen. “It’s in that cupboard. Down there.” She points to a lazy Susan in the corner.
I crouch down and open the cupboard, turning the top tray. “I don’t see—”
41
Kate
My limbs are so heavy I can’t move them, and my head is pounding. Where am I? Somewhere dark and musty.
There are voices in the distance. Father Jesse and Virginia—I think. St. Maggie’s. I must be at St. Maggie’s.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” the woman says. “I wanted to give her tea with Petey’s sleeping medicine. But she wouldn’t take it. I wanted to make you proud.”
“You did, little slave. You made your Master very proud. I’m going to reward you later. But first, we need to make sure she wakes up.”
Master? Little slave? It can’t be Father Jesse and Virginia. I must be mistaken. The throbbing in my head makes it hard to think. Maybe I’m dreaming.
The heavy footsteps come closer. Maybe whoever they belong to will bring me some Tylenol for my headache. And some water. My mouth is so dry.
“Magdalene.” Someone nudges my arm, brushing cool fingers across my forehead. “Magdalene, wake up.” I try to open my eyes but the lids are so heavy, they don’t budge. “Father Jesse. Help me.” I feel my lips move, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
“She’s stirring a bit,” he says, “but she’s not ready to wake up. Let’s give her a little more time. Why don’t I give you your reward while we wait? Would you like that?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Prepare yourself, then bring me your collar.”
“In front of Kate?” Kate. Yes. I’m Kate.