“What are you doing here first thing on a Monday morning?”
“I called out sick.”
“You called out sick? Or you are sick?”
“All right, have it your way. I’m playing hooky.”
Josiah hunched deeper into his jacket and squinted up at the sky. “Seems like you could’ve picked a better day for playing hooky. Better place, too.”
Dovie nodded. “Maybe. But I needed to come.”
“So what’s got your nose all swollen up like that?”
“I’m just having a bit of a week, is all.”
“Anything I can do?”
Dovie sighed and shook her head, not sure how much of yesterday’s revelations she was willing to share. “Something happened, Josiah. Something I never saw coming, and, well . . . nothing’s what I thought it was.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t think I can. Not yet.” She paused, feeling fresh tears tugging at her throat. “But thank you.”
Josiah eased down beside her and pulled off his hat. “I can see you’re hurting, and I’m guessing whatever’s knocked the breath out of you probably has to do with your young man, but let me ask you a question. Long as I’ve been knowing you, you been saying you wanted answers. Now that you’ve got ’em, would you rather not know?”
Dovie closed her eyes, sitting with the question. After a moment, she shook her head. “No, I’d rather know. Nothing’s more painful than not knowing. When you don’t know, you just invent things in your head, and you keep reinventing them, so there’s never any closure.” She paused, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she went on. “I did take your advice about one thing, though. The other day, you questioned my motives in helping Dora. You thought I might be mixing up my grief with hers, and it made me think. So, the other day, I told her about the letters. And then I read some of them to her.”
Josiah’s eyes widened. “You trying to kill her, or something?”
Dovie couldn’t help grinning. “No, I’m not trying to kill her, but you had a point. The letters weren’t mine, and neither was the decision about whether or not Dora knew what was in them. It wasn’t pretty, but I’m glad I told her the truth. I know it sounds strange, but I think Dora’s glad, too. I just hope she still feels that way after I read her the last two letters. She made me swear that if I did find something, even if it was terrible, I’d tell her. And they are pretty terrible.”
Josiah mouth opened, then closed again. But Dovie wasn’t letting him off the hook. “What is it? You were going to say something. What was it?”
Josiah let out a long sigh. “I got something for you. Been holding on to it since the weekend. Only now I’m not sure I ought to give it to you.”
Dovie felt something skitter in her belly. “It’s another letter, isn’t it? From Alice?”
“Not just one letter. It’s a whole bagful. The plastic kind with the zipper thingy. They were hauling stuff out to that big Dumpster on Saturday afternoon, and there they were, sitting on top of one of the piles. I didn’t say nothing, just picked up the box and headed out to the Dumpster with it.”
Dovie’s mouth fell open. The thought of Alice’s letters lying at the bottom of a Dumpster was both startling and terrible. “Josiah, you didn’t!”
“No, I didn’t. I stuffed the whole bag under my jacket when I got out there, then snuck it out to my car. That’s where it is now, in the trunk. It’s yours if you want it. If not, it’s going in that Dumpster. Probably what I should have done in the first place.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Josiah shrugged. “Don’t know, really. Been working here more years than I can remember, and I ain’t never taken a thing that didn’t belong to me. And I wouldn’t have taken those letters, except you went and got yourself mixed up with an old lady and a dead girl, and I know sure as I’m sitting here that you ain’t gonna let it rest until you’ve pulled every last thread loose.” He paused, cocking an eye at her. “Plus, I guess I believe like you do. They ain’t mine.”
Dovie closed her eyes, trying to imagine an entire bag of letters, and what those letters might contain. News that might help Dora find peace, or more anguish and guilt? She opened her eyes to find Josiah watching her.
“So, what you think? You want ’em? Feeling like you do right now, after learning whatever it is you just learned? You still think it’s a good idea?”
“Maybe not, but I promised her, Josiah. No matter what it was, no matter how bad. I can’t not bring them to her.”
Josiah let out a long breath of disappointment or frustration, perhaps both. “Wait a few minutes, and then meet me in the parking lot over on the south side. But after that, I’m done. I mean it.” He stood, giving the brim of his hat a curt tug. “You’re a good girl who’s going through some things, which is the only reason I’m in this at all. But it’s time to put a stop to this foolishness, Dovie. Time to be done with dead people.”
She watched him as he turned and walked away, ducking behind a thick screen of oaks and disappearing from sight. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She could still decide not to go after him, let him do what he wanted with the letters—toss them or burn them—as long as she didn’t have to decide. She could look Dora in the eye and tell her the trail was cold, that there was nothing more to know. But she had made a promise. Rising from the bench, she turned down the path and headed for the south parking lot.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Austin grabbed a pen and a pad of Post-it notes from the desk and began to scribble. After a moment, he peeled off the top sheet, crumpled it, and stuffed it into his pocket before trying again. Another try. Another aborted attempt.
Get a grip, man. It’s a note. Not a marriage proposal.
After a third try, he was satisfied. Peeling the sheet off the pad, he pasted it to the phone where Dovie was sure to see it. He was turning to leave when he heard a voice out in the hall—female and vaguely familiar.
“Girl, what are you doing here? I thought you were sick. You sure look sick. In fact, you look like hell. Is it the flu?”
It was the girl he’d spoken to in the lobby, the one who told him Dovie was out sick. And he’d wager the family fortune it was Dovie she was talking to. Things were about to get awkward.
“It’s not the flu, Theda. I’m just . . . I’ll be in tomorrow. I came to grab a couple of files. Then I’m going home.”
“Good. Rest is what you need, honey. Oh, and soup. Hey, before you go in I ought to warn you—you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“I was on my way to the cafeteria when Austin Tate showed up. I told him you were out sick, and that I’d be happy to give you a message, but he asked if he could leave it himself.”
“So you just let him go back to my office?”
“Of course I did. I didn’t think I needed to worry about him stealing your stapler. Besides, he’s—”
“A Tate?”
“I was going to say fine. But yeah, that works, too.”
Austin stifled a groan. Awkward was now officially in the rearview mirror, and they were coming up on just kill me. There was some unintelligible grumbling, an exchange that fell somewhere between heated and vaguely annoyed, but he couldn’t make out the words, and maybe that was just as well.
Finally, he could hear Dovie again, her voice petulant and louder now, mingled with footsteps, as if she were hollering down the hall. “If you were my secretary I’d fire you!”
Theda’s reply floated back, crisp and matter-of-fact. “If I was your secretary, I’d quit. Go home and eat some soup.”
And just like that he found himself in the crosshairs, still working on something clever to say when Dovie walked in and pinned him with her denim blue eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
Jesus, she did look terrible. She wore swe
ats and no makeup, and her hair was scraped into something loosely resembling a ponytail. But it was more than just the hair and clothes. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull, her nose a shiny shade of pink, and she looked completely wrung out, as if she’d been through the kind of storm that had nothing to do with wind and rain. If he had to make a guess, he’d say she’d been to the cemetery again.
“Your friend was right,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “You do look like hell. What’s wrong?”
She straightened, lifting her chin. “Nothing’s wrong. I had a bad night, that’s all. I just came in to pick up some work and then I’m going home.”
“You look like you could use some rest. Or a good stiff drink.”
The chin came up another notch. “What are you doing here, Austin? I thought we agreed it would be better if we steered clear of each other.”
“Actually, I can’t remember us ever agreeing on anything, though we did have a few good moments the other night at McCrady’s—before I ran you off, that is.”
Dovie’s eyes slid from his. “I don’t suppose you’re used to women walking out on you in restaurants.”
“No, as a matter of fact. You were the first.”
“What are you doing here?”
He reached for something clever to say, then abandoned the idea, pointing to the Post-it instead.
Dovie peeled the yellow sheet from the phone, reading the scribbled words aloud. “Any chance for renewing our truce?” Her head came up sharply. “Are you serious? All we do is bang heads. I think it’s better if we maintain a safe distance. Your secretary’s been very efficient, and most of the gala stuff is done. There’s really no need—”
“I’m not here about the gala. I came to ask a favor.”
She eyed him warily as she wadded up the note and tossed it in the trash. “What kind of favor?”
My mother has a birthday coming up—her seventieth—and I want to get her something special. She loves art, but I don’t know where to start. I know a good sailboat when I see one, good music when I hear it, but when it comes to telling a good painting from a bad one, I’m clueless. I was hoping you’d help me find something she’d like.”
“You want me to pick out your mother’s birthday present?”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
Dovie stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “Worth my while?”
“You really don’t know how to flirt, do you? I meant I’ll take you to dinner. Or try to, if you think you can stand my company long enough to stay in your chair. You can do all the talking.” He flashed his best smile. “Don’t think of it as a date. More like a bribe.”
If she found him charming she hid it well. Instead, she closed her eyes, splaying the fingers of one hand out on the desk, as if to steady herself. When she began to sway, he stepped around the desk and laid a hand on her arm.
“I thought you said you weren’t sick. You should be home in bed.”
She shrugged free of his hand and took a step back. “I’m not sick. I just didn’t get much sleep last night, and then forgot to eat. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like . . . How do you forget to eat?”
“There was . . .” The words dangled as her gaze slid away, lingering on the bust in the corner. After a moment, she shook her head as if trying to dislodge a thought and brought her eyes back to his. “I’m fine.”
“Something’s happened,” he said, knowing in his gut he was right. “Something to do with William.”
“How did you . . .” She blinked heavily, once, twice. “Never mind. I’m going home.”
Austin caught her arm as she tried to push past him. “Yes, you are. But first you’re going to eat something, or you won’t make it home.”
He was surprised when she let him steer her out through the office doorway and down the hall. And even more surprised that she didn’t protest as he led her through the lobby, down the steps, and out onto the sidewalk. “There’s a little café across the street called Sips. They don’t have a very large menu, but what they do have is good. They do a great cappuccino, too, though I think we should rule out caffeine for the time being. Can you make it across the street?”
She stared at him, pale and wide-eyed, like one of those people on the Weather Channel who had survived some natural disaster only to learn they’d lost everything they owned. She managed something like a nod, and he took her arm again.
The lunch crowd was already beginning to thin as they entered the café and chose a booth near the back. Dovie was already looking skittish, as if she might bolt at any moment. He flagged down their waitress, a plumpish redhead named Kelly, and asked her to bring a sweet tea and some breadsticks. Kelly took one look at Dovie, dropped two menus on the table, and headed for the kitchen.
“I recommend the she-crab soup,” Austin said, pointing to the specials board behind the counter. “Some of the best in town, believe it or not, and it’ll help warm you up. In the meantime, nibble on a couple breadsticks.”
Kelly dimpled prettily as she set down the requested tea and breadsticks. “Have y’all decided?”
“Dovie?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you decided?”
She blinked heavily. “Oh, um, soup. I’ll do the soup.”
“That’s all? Just soup?”
Dovie nodded mutely, then ducked back behind her menu.
“Two of the she-crab,” Austin told Kelly. “And bring us a turkey and Brie on sourdough.”
When they were alone again, he peeled back the cloth from the bread basket and pushed it to Dovie’s side of the table. “Eat.”
He watched as she picked up a breadstick and began to nibble the end. By the time their order arrived she had put a small dent in the basket, though he doubted she’d tasted a bite. When Kelly returned to place the soup and sandwich in front of her, she looked up in confusion. “I didn’t order a sandwich.”
“I did. Bon appétit.”
She laid her hands on either side of her bowl, but didn’t pick up her spoon. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Being nice.”
He grinned, his own soupspoon halfway to his mouth. “You’re insinuating that I’m not usually nice?”
Her eyes fell, hovering on her bowl. “Please don’t be clever. I can’t deal with clever right now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of . . . whatever’s going on.” He waited a beat, pressing further when she didn’t respond. “What is going on?”
“Nothing is going on. It’s nothing.”
“If it was nothing you wouldn’t look like that.”
She looked up, her expression defensive. “Like what?”
“Like you just found out the boat you’re rowing is taking on water. And don’t deny it. I know that look—and that feeling.”
“You?”
“You think because my last name’s Tate I’m immune to the things that hurt other people?”
“I just meant you don’t seem like someone who’d be . . . vulnerable.”
“I’m not—now. But we were talking about you. You’re not in a good place.”
“And you care because . . . ?”
“Because I’m a person, and you’re a person. Does it have to be more than that?”
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” she shot back.
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Dovie. I don’t even know what’s going on. But I’d like to. You’ll feel better after you’ve talked it out.”
He waited then, holding his breath. If she was going to walk out, this was when she’d do it—the moment of choice. The time you decided to either run away or make the truth real by saying it out loud. He’d chosen the former all those years ago, and had been paying ever since. He hoped Dovie w
ould choose differently.
She was studying him now, still clutching her soupspoon as she sized him up, wondering if she could trust him, wondering why she’d even want to. But there was something else in those eyes, something he recognized all too well, the temptation to pour out her pain, to spill her guts to someone whose judgment she didn’t give a damn about.
“I know why William killed himself.” She said it quickly, like yanking a bandage from an old wound. “Last night, I . . . I was talking to a friend of his, and I finally understand. No, that isn’t right. I still don’t understand. But I get why he did what he did.”
He was quiet for a moment, letting the words settle between them. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To know why?”
“I thought I did, but now . . .”
“There was someone else?”
Dovie’s mouth hung open a moment. “You knew, didn’t you? Somehow you guessed it. That’s what you were hinting at the night I walked out of McCrady’s. Did you know him?”
“William? No. But there were things you said that tipped me off. Like him traveling so much, but never taking you with him. You both having separate places, and you never going to his. It just felt . . . off.”
“Why?”
He weighed the question a moment, perhaps a moment longer than he was comfortable with, before deciding to say what he was thinking. “Because when a man’s lucky enough to have someone like you in his life, he’d have to be crazy to go two feet without you, let alone to New York or San Francisco. He’d want you with him all the time. He’d want you there when he fell asleep and when he woke up. Unless there was another woman he wanted more, which is pretty hard to imagine.”
Dovie put her spoon down and pushed her bowl away. Her eyes glittered with tears as they met his. She dashed them away. “There was someone he wanted more, but it wasn’t another woman.”
“Oh.” It was all he could think to say, though somehow he wasn’t astonished.
“Yes, oh. A friend of his who lived in New York.”
“Did you think I’d be scandalized?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Guys are funny about stuff like that. The macho thing, I guess. I thought you might be one of those.”
Love, Alice Page 21