by Nicole James
“How about you? It must be hard for you, too.”
Justin’s eyes glazed. “Yeah.” It was all he could get out before his throat closed up and then Summer’s arms were around him.
“At least we know what happened. And the man that did this is dead.”
“Yeah. I wish I’d put a bullet in his face when I had the chance.”
“Thank you for coming. If you hadn’t seen him drive by with me in the back-”
“Don’t, honey. Don’t think about it. It’s over. You’re safe now.”
They broke apart and Summer squeezed Justin’s hands. She looked over to where Steve had been talking to the officer, but didn’t see him. Scanning, she spotted him standing near the graves again, his shoulders shaking, and then he dropped to his knees. She couldn’t bear to see him in such pain and she started to go to him. Justin stopped her.
“Let him grieve for her. He needs to say his goodbyes. He never did,” Justin said quietly, looking at Steve.
Summer looked up at Justin and saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes. They both had loved her. “Are you okay?”
Justin looked down at her. “I’ll be fine. I let her go a long time ago.”
Finally, after some time, Steve stood up. Summer walked over and put her hand on his back. He turned and lifted his arm. She immediately tucked under it, pressing up against his side as he pulled her close. “Let’s go home.”
He nodded.
A trooper offered to give them all a ride back out to the highway, but they decided to walk out. It was a quiet, almost peaceful walk, and it gave them the time to process all that had happened and to start to come to terms with the knowledge of what had happened to Rita.
When they emerged from the woods, there were several patrol cars parked out on the highway, their lights flashing. Jessie was standing by one of them. When she saw them, she ran up and hugged her father and Summer. Cary had waited with her while she had given the investigators her own statement.
After their reunion, Steve walked over to Justin’s tow truck and stopped him before he left. “Justin, I just wanted to thank you and…”
“Hey, you don’t have to thank me.”
Steve looked in his eyes a moment and then looked back toward the woods, where he’d just discovered his wife’s body was buried. “About Rita…I’m sorry I ever thought you had anything to do with it.”
“I thought the same thing about you, so I guess we’re even.”
Steve nodded, not sure what to say.
“Hey…stop by the shop sometime, okay?” Justin offered, hoping they could be friends again.
Steve smiled and nodded. “Count on it.”
Justin got in his truck and pulled away and Steve walked back to Summer, Jessie and Cary. “Cary, would you mind taking Jessie back? There’s someplace I need to take Summer.”
“Sure. No problem.” Cary took Jessie by the hand and they walked to his truck. Summer looked at Steve questioningly. “A man called and said a teacher by the name of Connie Jean Walker rented a place near here. He gave me directions.”
Summer nodded. “I remember everything now, Steve.”
He looked at her and nodded. “That’s good. Umm…he said your purse and things were still there. Do you want to drive up and get them?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
They got in the truck. Steve pulled out the piece of crumpled paper that he had crammed in his pocket and followed the directions to the cabin. They pulled up, and Steve saw a blue sedan parked next to the cabin, leaves piled up on it. “Is that your car, Summer?”
“Yes.”
They got out and walked up the steps onto the front porch. Summer turned the knob, and the door opened. They stepped inside.
Steve looked around the place. It was small, but neat. He saw her purse sitting on the kitchen table. He also noticed several paintings leaned against the wall. Walking over to them, he studied them. “More of your paintings,” he said, turning to look at Summer.
She smiled. “Yes, I’m an art teacher, back in Savannah. I rented this place for the summer months, so I could paint.”
Steve nodded, not sure what to say to her. Things felt strange between them now that she remembered her other life, the life she’d soon go back to. “I didn’t know if you’d want to come back to the farm or stay here…now that you know…”
She looked around the place and then at Steve. After a long moment, she softly said, “I saw him.”
“Saw who?” Steve frowned, not knowing what she was talking about.
“I was hiking. It’s just over that ridge…where we were.”
Steve stared at her.
“I saw him. Wilcox. He had her…the waitress, Darlene. He was…” She looked away, her voice catching.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”
She shook her head. “I need to,” she whispered brokenly.
“Okay, then,” Steve said gently. “Tell me what happened…that day.”
“I came over the ridge and saw them.” She looked down at the floor, remembering. “He had her down on the picnic table and he was…” She stopped, swallowing. “He was raping her. I…I must have made a noise, because he looked up and saw me standing there, up on the ridge. And then he came after me. I was so scared. He shot at me. I fell. That’s when I blacked out.”
Steve took her in his arms and held her until she calmed down. After a few minutes, she pulled back out of his arms. She looked around the place and then at Steve. “I think this place has lost its appeal for me, after everything. I’d rather come back to the farm, if that’s okay with you?”
“Of course. Why don’t you pack up your things? I’ll carry out your paintings.”
She smiled and nodded.
Steve watched her walk into the bedroom, and he began gathering up her paintings. He noticed some paintbrushes and paints next to the sink, and then he saw a ring…lying on top of a neatly folded dishtowel. It was a diamond engagement ring. He felt a huge knot form in the pit of his stomach. “Summer?”
“Yes?” she answered from the other room.
“Can you come here?”
She walked out and looked at him. He nodded toward the sink, and she looked over. The smile faded from her face when she saw the ring, right where she’d left it when she’d taken it off to wash out her paintbrushes…a lifetime ago.
Steve turned and walked out with her paintings.
Summer looked after him, not knowing what to say, how to explain a life she’d had before she’d met him. Looking back at the ring, she thought of Mark, the man she’d been in love with, the man she’d planned to marry next year. She picked it up and slipped it on her finger, but it didn’t feel right there anymore.
A half-hour later, the truck was loaded down with her belongings, and they were standing next to her car. She was going to follow him back in her car.
Steve looked over at Summer and asked, “So, a teacher, huh? What grade do you teach?” He was determined not to mention the ring, the ring that was now back on her finger. He knew the sooner he accepted the fact that she had a life to go back to, the better off it would be for both of them.
She smiled. “First through fifth grade. Each grade gets art class once a week. I wish it were more, but there have been so many cut-backs in educations, I supposed I should be lucky they’ve kept an art program at all. The kids are great, though. I love it.” And then the smile faded from her face. “They must be wondering what happened to me. And my family…Steve I have to call home, they must be worried sick.”
He handed her his cell phone and watched as she punched in a number. She put the phone to her ear, listening. A moment later, he heard her say, “Mom, its CJ. Yes, it’s really me. I’m okay, Mom. Please don’t cry.”
Steve walked back to his truck to give her some privacy. He opened the driver’s door and got in, leaving the door open. He sat there, his body half twisted out of the vehicle, one boot on the floorboard and one on the
running board. His wrist dangling over the steering wheel. He stared off at the horizon. She was going to leave. He’d told himself all along that he knew this was what would eventually happen. But now that he was actually facing it, it hit him. It hit him hard.
About ten minutes later, Summer walked over to the truck. She was brushing tears from her cheeks, but smiling. “They’re all ecstatic that I’m alive,” she said, handing Steve back his phone.
He took it from her and nodded. “You ready to go?”
She was hurt by the way he was acting, like they were strangers, like what happened between them had never happened. “Steve, I-”
“CJ, it’s getting late. I need to get back.”
She couldn’t believe how bad it felt to have him call her CJ, instead of Summer, and the way he was withdrawing from her emotionally tore her apart. “Yes, of course.” She turned back to her car, her eyes filling with tears.
*****
The next morning, Summer woke early to make breakfast, as she usually did. Only this time would be the last time. She was leaving in a couple of hours and driving back to Savannah.
She started the coffee and looked out the kitchen window. The lights were on in the dairy barn. The guys were already milking. She stood looking at the scene, knowing it would be the last time she saw it and a deep sadness crept into her heart. This place had somehow become home and it had a piece of her heart.
She turned away and began mixing up a batch of biscuits. When she had them in the oven, she went back upstairs and got the watercolor painting she had hidden in her closet. It was one she had painted of the farmhouse when no one was around. She carried it into Steve’s bedroom and laid it on the bed. It was her goodbye gift to him.
Looking around the room, she missed him already. She noticed one of his flannel shirts draped over the bedpost. She picked it up and brought it to her face and inhaled. It still carried the scent of him. She buried her face in it and cried.
She didn’t want to leave. She wished he’d ask her to stay, but she knew he wouldn’t. She put the shirt back and wiped her eyes and went back to the kitchen and finished breakfast.
It wasn’t long before the time to leave came. Her car was loaded and everyone was outside saying their goodbyes.
Summer hugged Jessie, rocking side to side. She whispered in her ear, “You take care, sweetheart. And I want you to promise me you’ll see that counselor. This is going to take some time to get over, but you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I promise.”
“And take care of your father for me, okay?”
They broke apart.
“I will,” Jessie told her.
Next was Cary. They embraced.
“You take care of her, Cary. She needs you now,” she whispered in his ear.
He nodded, holding her tight. “I will. You can count on it.” He let her go.
Next was Pop. Summer hugged him, too.
“I’m gonna miss you, gal,” he informed her. “You brought this place to life.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Pop.”
And then she was standing in front of Steve. They looked at each other a moment and then he took her in his arms for a hug. There were so many things they both wanted to say, but neither of them said a word. The words stuck in their throats.
The hug ended and Steve finally said, “Be safe.”
Summer nodded. “Thank you…for everything.”
He just nodded, his throat closing up.
She turned, got in her car and drove away.
Steve stood and watched, long after everyone else had already gone back inside. He watched until her car disappeared and there was only a plume of dust left on the road.
Then he turned and walked up the steps of the front porch. The screen door squeaked as he went inside. He went upstairs to his room. He needed to be alone for a while. When he walked in his room, he saw the painting lying on his bed. He walked over, picked it up and studied it, already knowing he would hang it over his bed. His knees buckled and he sat down on the bed, knowing the ache in his heart was going to be with him for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CJ sat at the dressing table in her bedroom at her parents’ home in Savannah’s historic district. She was brushing her hair and putting on the last touches before she went down to dinner. Her parents had invited Mark over and he was due any minute.
There was a knock on the door and her mother swept into the room. “Darling, are you almost ready? Mark just arrived.”
CJ turned to look at her mother. She was an attractive woman. Her blonde page boy cut was shot through with gray, but her face was still young, her blue eyes still sparkled and her figure was still slim. She was dressed in a lovely gold tweed suit that Coco Chanel herself would have approved of. The heels she wore were high, showing off her still slim legs. CJ only hoped she looked as good when she was her mother’s age. She smiled at her mother. “Yes, Mother. I’m ready.” She finished putting in a pair of diamond stud earrings that Mark had given her last Christmas.
Her mother walked over and picked up the robe that CJ had left lying on the champagne satin coverlet of the queen sized Louis XIV bed. She turned and carried it into the walk-in closet and hung it up. “You really need to learn to pick up after yourself, CJ.”
CJ turned and walked over to the French doors that led onto the balcony that overlooked the gardens. She leaned her head against the glass. What she saw in her head was not the lush gardens her mother meticulously maintained, but rather fields of corn and hay from another place close to her heart.
“I swear, CJ. It’s like you don’t hear a word I’m saying.”
CJ turned and looked at her mother. “I’m sorry, Mother. What did you say?”
“Never mind, dear. Let’s just go downstairs to dinner, shall we?”
“Yes, of course.” CJ followed her mother out of the room and downstairs.
They found Mark and her father sitting in the parlor with drinks in their hands. They both stood when the ladies walked in.
“There she is. The love of my life,” Mark exclaimed, taking CJ’s hand in his and kissing her. “You’re looking lovely tonight, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.” She sat on the sofa next to him.
“Can I get you both a drink?” her father asked, rising from his chair.
“Vodka Gimlet for me, dear,” her mother replied, taking a seat.
“I’ll have a chardonnay, Dad,” CJ replied.
“Coming right up.”
“So, Charles has been telling me his grand plans for a career in politics, Dorothy,” Mark informed CJ’s mother, taking a sip of his drink.
“Oh, he has, has he?” she queried, looking over at her husband.
“Darling, I just told him I was thinking of running,” Charles said, defensively. He brought over the drinks and handed them each one.
“Dad, what’s this about?” CJ questioned, looking from him to Mark.
“Your father just informed me he’s running-” Mark began.
Charles cleared his throat loudly.
Mark smiled. “Correction, thinking of running for State Representative.”
“Daddy, are you serious?” CJ asked.
“Well, I’ve been approached by several people in the party and asked to run.”
“Why that’s wonderful!” CJ exclaimed.
“Wonderful?” her mother choked, almost spitting out her drink. “How can you say that? Do you have any idea how awful these campaigns can be?”
“Well, no…I mean…” CJ didn’t know what to say.
“Never mind. They’ll be no more talk of this tonight. I don’t want to spoil dinner,” her mother replied.
A servant appeared in the entry. “Dinner is served, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Cynthia. We’ll be right in,” Dorothy addressed the servant. She turned back to Charles. “I mean it, Charles. No more of this ridiculous talk. We have our CJ home again, and I don’t want anything to spoil it.”
>
“Yes, dear,” he replied with a smile. He downed his drink and stood up. “Let’s eat, shall we?”
They all moved to the dining room. Mark held a chair for CJ and then sat across from her.
“Dr. Willis said that CJ is perfectly fine,” Dorothy announced to the men.
“That’s wonderful, darling. He certainly put her through enough tests this week,” her father said.
“I tried to tell him I was fine now,” CJ protested.
“CJ, darling, you had major head trauma and amnesia. We can’t be too careful,” Mark advised.
“I saw the paintings you brought back, the ones you did this summer. They’re quite good, you know. Have you seen them yet, Charles?” Dorothy asked her husband.
“No, no I haven’t. I’d love to see them after dinner.”
CJ smiled at her father. Her parents had always encouraged her art.
“Of course, they’re good. Our CJ did them, didn’t she?” Mark drawled, cutting into his prime rib. “Although, they may be the last she has time to paint for a while.”
“What do you mean?” CJ asked, putting her fork down.
“Well, with the wedding and all, and then once you’re my wife, you’ll have plenty of other things to occupy your time other than silly hobbies.” Mark continued eating, not a clue as to the hurt he’d just caused.
“Silly hobbies?” CJ repeated.
“Now, now, you know I only meant you’ll have a husband and home to take care of. And soon, children, I hope,” Mark explained, taking a sip of wine and smiling at his future in-laws.
Dorothy looked from Mark to her daughter, but didn’t say anything. Charles kept his head down, waiting for the explosion. It didn’t take long.
“I hope you don’t think I’m going to be some 1950’s era wife and homemaker,” CJ challenged. “You’ll be sadly mistaken, dear.”
“Well, of course not, sugar pie. You’ll have all your charity work and social obligations,” Mark continued.
“And my teaching,” CJ finished.
“We’ll see,” he replied.
“We’ll see?” CJ questioned.