“All the right things to say,” she muttered, nodding and looking at the bourbon as it dissolved into her drink and turned the liquid from a sparkling tan to a deep copper.
“What the hell does that mean?” he yelled, startling her. “You don’t believe me? I was honest with you, CiCi—those weren’t easy things to say to Jana, and they sure as hell weren’t easy to say to you. And now you say—what?—I’m lying?”
She put her finger on the key, which had remained on top of the table. CiCi slid the small object to the edge of the table. “Take it.”
“Are you really—this is how it ends?” he spluttered. “CiCi, please believe me. Please trust me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in a raspy whisper. She pulled her legs up to her chest, clutched her drink, and looked away.
She had trusted him. God, she wanted to keep trusting him.
But that image of Walker and Jana on the porch was burned into her retinas.
As was his admission that he did love Jana. That was the important part. That’s all she heard.
Because the friends stuff was bullshit. Experience had taught her that hard lesson. Her ex-husband had given her the same line when she’d started to suspect he was cheating on her with his ex-girlfriend. And she’d heard her mother tell the story of how her father had claimed he’d only been friends with his ex-wife.
Lies.
Walker reached into his pocket, pulled out his own keys and removed CiCi’s house key. He placed it next to the key already on the table.
“There,” he said, and pointed to it. “Take it. I can’t bear to think you don’t trust me with it. But you can keep my key. I don’t want it back.” He left the porch and stopped after a few steps into the yard. “Remember two things, CiCi. First, I’m not leaving you. You’re the one pushing me away. I came over here to try to make things right. Second, I… I love you,” Walker said, his voice breaking.
He left, but not through the back yard, instead taking a path around to the front of the house, and was gone.
CiCi was shivering even though it was close to ninety degrees. She threw back her drink, drained it, and reached for the flask. Picking it up, she shook it to assess how much Garnet Center Cut still remained.
She heard a tiny splash and began to unscrew the cap. But something held her back.
CiCi looked at the flask, and the memories of the night Walker gave it to her started coming back to her.
Leaving the few drops still in it, CiCi screwed the cap on again, put her head in her hands and wept.
Chapter 32
After drowning her sorrows on the porch for a considerable amount of time, CiCi retreated indoors and fell onto the couch, alternately sleeping and crying during the remainder of that horrible afternoon. She finally called a friend for support.
Within twenty minutes, Hannah was on her doorstep along with Lila. After hugs all around, Hannah declared that it was not good for CiCi to hole herself up at home and time with the girls was what she needed.
“But I don’t feel like going out anywhere,” CiCi groaned as they pulled out of the driveway.
“Then to Casa Davenport it is,” Hannah declared.
Hannah took them all to her house for pizza and beer. “Or, of course, Garnet if you’re so inclined,” she said as the three women walked into the house.
This offer made CiCi weepy, thinking of the time she’d had pizza and bourbon with Walker. She didn’t explain the sudden reappearance of tears (she’d gotten it together a little bit in the back of the car), and Lila ushered her into the kitchen and told her to sit at the table. They’d already called for pizza delivery from the car, and it was expected to arrive soon.
Hannah asked who wanted bourbon, and both Lila and CiCi readily chose it instead of beer. “Go on outside to the deck and I’ll bring it out,” Hannah said.
The setting was lovely, even though CiCi felt miserable. Hannah’s sprawling backyard rolled down in a lush green expanse to Old Crow Creek, the stream traveling a twisty route northward, and in the far distance to the west, the Knobs loomed in a fine mist of midsummer haze. To the south and behind them was the distillery, and the smell of the mash was prevalent that evening. CiCi idly wondered whether Walker was there or at home. With Jana.
Hannah was outside in a few minutes toting a tray laden with a bottle of Old Garnet, unopened; three glasses; an ice bucket and tongs; and a small flask, which was wrapped in dark brown leather and embossed with a large, ornate D.
“If you want water, I’ll go get some,” Hannah said as she took a seat and reached for the bottle of bourbon, “but it’s already so hot that this ice is gonna melt fast anyway.”
Neither CiCi nor Lila wanted water and filled their glasses with ice.
“What’s with the flask?” Lila asked as Hannah replaced the now-opened bottle of Garnet on the tray.
“That,” Hannah said, pointing to the flask with a broad smile across her face, “is a rare gem. Pun intended.”
“Garnet Center Cut,” CiCi said.
Hannah’s arm hovered in midair as she reached for the ice. “How’d you know that?”
“Walker… he… told me about it,” was all CiCi got out before she dissolved into another wave of tears.
Lila pulled CiCi into a hug, and CiCi blubbered like a baby on her friend’s shoulder. The doorbell rang, and Hannah retreated indoors, leaving the sobbing CiCi in Lila’s care.
Lila gently peeled CiCi away from her chest. “Want to talk? I only know what Hannah told me, and that was pretty vague.”
CiCi spluttered through the same version of events she’d provided Hannah, ending with Walker returning her key but not taking his. She didn’t mention the last words Walker had said to her as he’d walked away.
She sniffed and grabbed a cocktail napkin off the tray. “You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”
“No, I’d say you’re frightened. And I can get that, CiCi, believe me. It takes time to get over being scared, to be able to trust again.”
“So you’re saying if you can do it, anyone can?” CiCi joked.
“No, but I will tell you that living life scared really sucks.”
The flask was left untouched as Lila poured from the bottle. CiCi found comfort in the sweet warmth of the bourbon even though the taste and sensation reminded her of Walker. Hannah’s flask remained on the table, and the object brought to mind her own nearly empty vessel back home.
“I hope you’ll still help me with my classes this upcoming school year,” Lila said, pulling CiCi from her self-pitying thoughts. “I need you as much as I did last year. You were great.” CiCi muttered something self-disparaging, but Lila rejected her comments. “You’re wonderful with the kids and you enjoy history,” Lila told her. “I want to take the kids on an extended hike this year along Old Crow Creek to the reputed proposal spots. I’m going to focus a lot on folklore this year, and the Old Garnet origin myth is a perfect example.”
“Will Walker be involved?”
“I hope so, since he’s the master distiller and has already learned so much Old Garnet history. But if you’d rather not be around him, I’ll understand,” Lila said sadly.
And be epically disappointed in you, was Lila’s tacit yet clear message.
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Will you?” Lila asked pointedly. “Can you?”
“I’ll try,” CiCi said unconvincingly.
“Don’t let it define you, CiCi.”
“Let what define me?”
“Fear.”
“It’s not easy to get away from it,” CiCi said, now irritated.
“I know,” Lila acknowledged gripping her glass. She looked with unfocused eyes at the creek. “But I finally figured out that fear doesn’t define us, but rather our response to it.”
“You make it sound like a choice.”
“Of course it’s a choice! Our reactions are always a choice! Our circumstances can be dire, but our choices—there are always choices, CiCi—they giv
e us something incredible.”
“What?”
“Power,” Lila said. “Power to forgive, to ignore, to love.”
Lila took another drink, and CiCi poured a little extra bourbon into her glass when Hannah appeared with the pizzas. After devouring the food, the trio lounged on the deck, watching the sun melt behind the Knobs and gossiping about high school friends and thinking up silly ideas for Rachel’s baby shower. She felt better when Hannah dropped her off at home near eleven that night, and she thanked them and pulled both of her friends into a tight, teary hug on her front steps.
“Anytime,” Hannah said after the required group hug. “Just promise me that you’ll take care of yourself and won’t hide in your house. And remember we’re here for you. But for the record, I think you’re being stupid,” Hannah concluded.
“What?” CiCi and Lila said in unison.
“I know you saw Walker hugging Jana. But he doesn’t love her, CiCi. He loves you. The man wouldn’t take his key back from you.”
“Hannah,” Lila said warningly. “Not the best time…” She put a hand on Hannah’s arm, trying to tug her gently away from the front of CiCi’s house and to the car.
“No, now,” Hannah said, shaking Lila away. “I almost lost Kyle because I was an idiot and ran away from him, angry and confused. I can’t keep my mouth shut and watch one of my dearest friends make the same mistake,” she said, tears in her eyes. Hannah pulled CiCi into another hug. “Don’t run away, don’t let him go,” she whispered in her ear.
Hannah and Lila left, and she was alone.
And she felt it in every fiber of her being.
She ached. Every muscle seemed to throb, from the top of her head to her feet. Her heart hurt. And it was as though her body couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to properly breathe rather than taking in raspy, desperate breaths.
CiCi retreated to her bedroom and fell into bed without changing clothes, hoping but doubting that sleep would overtake her and the horrible day would at last be dead.
Finally, some good news.
“I can’t believe it!” Harriet cried into the phone that following Monday morning. “I thought you’d get monitoring slapped on you for sure! I’ve never heard of a situation like this.”
The final audit report had been issued by the state auditor, and CiCi’s office had actually escaped.
The report was mildly critical of a few practices, but found no financial malfeasance and reported in glowing terms how well CiCi got along with her staff, other courthouse personnel, and the judges. Rachel and Brady were quoted in the report, and their words reduced CiCi to tears. Rachel had said CiCi was “as devoted a public servant as I have ever met.” Brady had echoed his wife’s sentiments by acknowledging that CiCi was a friend, but that she was “competent, trustworthy, and always has my back.”
With the report’s release, what had been one of the biggest crises of her public service career was relegated to an annoying memory.
So while the audit was over and the freaky gods of fate had smiled on her, she hardly felt cheered by the news; CiCi was still very upset about Walker. He’d tried to call and text on Sunday, but she hadn’t replied, and he’d stopped trying to contact her at all by that evening.
But he still hadn’t asked for his key either.
Yet that Monday following their breakup, CiCi had little time to indulge her confused emotions; she had to focus on being the elected Craig Circuit Court Clerk.
Judge Craft had a multiday murder trial that had been set for the next two weeks beginning that Monday, and the event had attracted significant press attention. And since she was an elected official working in the courthouse daily, she would have a major presence and role during the trial, making sure the press didn’t get out of line and helping with bench clerk duty as needed. There was one small silver lining in the work ahead. Serious trials usually went late, so she wouldn’t have to go home during these sad days—the worst of the heartbreak—to an empty house and even emptier heart. Work would be a refuge.
But by the second week of the trial, CiCi wanted to strangle the attorneys and was reasonably certain she could get Brady to help. The rude antics of counsel put everyone on edge, needlessly prolonging the trial due to a basic inability to play nice and get along. As a result, CiCi decided to act as bench clerk most of the time, saving her staff from the rudeness and pressure of the courtroom.
But being in the courtroom that much took its toll. Long hours sitting in trial left her physically and mentally weak. She had never recovered from the post-breakup and post-audit anxiety and was going to need several days off after the trial to rest and start to feel like herself again. She was tired, achy, and irritable, and her periods had become irregular again.
She blamed stress for what she recognized as yet another flare-up of her condition and knew she would soon need to make an appointment for a checkup. At the end of every trial day, which usually was well after six o’clock, she plodded home, fell onto her couch, and tumbled into a sleep which afforded her little measure of actual rest.
Because during those sleepless interludes, she started to reassess her rejection of Walker.
She missed him as though she’d lost a part of her own soul, and she knew she’d been a fool.
And her friends’ words were haunting her. It was time to move beyond the fear of rejection and abandonment. Or at least face it and not deny it.
Walker hadn’t tried to contact her for days, and that was devastating. And even though he still hadn’t requested his key, his silence did not necessarily translate into a desire to reconcile.
He was waiting on her to make the first move. He wanted her to come to him.
And she was okay with that. She’d been the one not to act like an adult. So she guessed he needed a demonstration of maturity on her part.
She could do that. Because she loved him.
But how and when to approach him?
CiCi’s time and energy had been severely constrained with the trial and then going home every night exhausted. She didn’t want to reach out to him in such a compromised physical and mental state. Not yet. She needed to regroup and take care of herself first.
So tired of being tired, she finally went to her gynecologist one morning, intuitively knowing her ails had something to do with her female anatomy. CiCi was pleased to see Miranda Chaplin, her doctor who had helped her through horrible bouts of endometriosis. Miranda wasn’t a Bourbon Springs native but had established her Craig County practice shortly after getting out of medical school. Originally from Perryville, she’d often told CiCi that living in Bourbon Springs still felt like living in her hometown since it was only thirty minutes away and the terrain was similar. Miranda had been the subject of much sympathy in the previous year when her fiancé, Prentice Oakes, a partial owner of Commonwealth Cooperage, the company which supplied barrels to Old Garnet, had left her at the altar.
“Have you done a pregnancy test?” Miranda asked, looking at her with one eyebrow raised.
“As if, Miranda,” CiCi spat out.
CiCi then got the lecture that if she’d been sexually active within her last cycle, it was at least theoretically possible.
And after they drew blood, it became more than a theoretical possibility.
“But… but… I always thought there was no way that I could…,” CiCi stuttered.
She was sitting in a small, uncomfortable chair next to Miranda, who was making some notes.
“Never say never,” Miranda said. “It was highly unlikely. But not impossible.”
After getting a lecture from Miranda on prenatal care and assurances that the bit of bourbon she’d consumed would not be harmful to the baby, CiCi scheduled another appointment for four weeks out and went home. She was exhilarated and terrified, and sat on her couch the rest of the morning, deciding to wait to go into work that day, if at all. She was digesting the biggest shock of her life.
Because how was she going to break this news to Walker?
And now that she was pregnant—would he think that she’d lied to him about not being able to have a child?
Oh, God—he’d think she was no better than Jana.
What if he didn’t believe her when she told him she was expecting? He’d been through this very thing before in a twisted way with Jana—except Jana had never been pregnant. She’d used that as a carrot to get him to come back.
CiCi still wanted him back. And she obviously had to tell Walker he was going to be a father. But how? Would he reject her outright as a liar? Or would there be that shadow of doubt about her motives and veracity as he ostensibly yet coldly accepted her story? She thought the latter would be the worse situation. She could see how he would claim to believe her, if for no other reason than he knew he needed to be nice to her since she was going to be the mother of his child.
And yet he’d keep his distance, always wondering whether he could trust her.
CiCi didn’t tell a soul. Not Hannah or Lila or Rachel. This was not a piece of news to be shared with anyone except her doctor and then Walker. And she needed time for the reality of her situation to sink in; she was on the edge of denial about what was happening to her. Several nights she cried herself to sleep, missing not only Walker but her mother. Of all the people in the world, CiCi knew that only her mother would’ve been able to understand her pain.
The week stretched on as the trial finally came to a close one late Thursday. By the time Brady charged the jury and sent them out with instructions, it was nearly six in the evening. She was sitting with Brady in chambers around a conference table along with Kyle. The sheriff usually didn’t stick around for any old jury trial, but since this was a murder case with emotions running high as well as press interest, Kyle had been around more than usual, like she’d been over the past two weeks. They’d just ordered dinner from Over a Barrel for themselves and the jury; the jurors were sequestered since they were in deliberations and couldn’t be released until a verdict or mistrial was declared.
“I’ll have Carver go get the food,” Kyle said, referring to his most hapless, although sweet, deputy sheriff. “I don’t want to leave the courthouse with that jury out.”
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