Accidental Happiness (22 page)

“Do you have time now?” he asked. She tried to think of what he meant. “I’ve got an office in the back section of the church,” he went on. “ There’s a window where we could watch your daughter play out here. The church secretary, Mary, is in today. She could keep an eye out for her too.”

Reese felt her hands begin to tremble. Not so bad, but uncomfortable, distracting. The thought of that building, of going inside.

“I don’t really do churches,” she said. She glanced at him. He didn’t seem surprised or offended by the remark. She let herself relax a little. “The buildings. I don’t go in. And I should get back to a friend who’s had a rough time at the dentist. But, maybe, sometime . . . I’m staying at the marina on Creekside Road, but I’ll be moving into a cottage near here, over on Sullivan’s Island, in a couple of weeks.”

Angel walked up beside them, still breathing hard from her play. Her color was high, full of the excitement, the rise and free fall of a swing.

“Would you like me to meet you over at the marina? Maybe tomorrow? Are you free during the day?”

“Tomorrow I am,” she said. “I have to work the rest of the week. That’s a long way for you to come.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Tomorrow then. Maybe ten-thirty in the morning? At the coffee shop near the restaurant. No one will be there midmorning. It’ll be a quiet place to talk.”

“Great,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

A woman walked up just as they finished their plans. Reese looked at her. Pretty, but thin. She seemed fragile and sad.

“This is my wife, Diane,” the preacher said. “Diane, this is Reese Melrose. She and her daughter came out to the cemetery. She’s related to Benjamin Melrose.”

A wife. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still seemed a shame. Reese realized that she’d hoped there was more to his offer than counseling and coffee.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Melrose,” the wife said. “I didn’t know him but I read about it when he was killed. It was a terrible accident.”

Reese nodded. The woman regarded her with open suspicion. That preacher’s wife thing didn’t guarantee any smiles from this one. Reese had seen animals that had been mistreated. In Diane Hanes’s eyes, Reese saw the look of some of those animals. Reese couldn’t help believing that whatever had gone wrong in her life, it was her own damn fault. Her husband seemed nothing but solid and good.

“Are you just visiting?” the woman asked.

“Actually, we’re moving near here.” Reese laid her hand light on Angel’s shoulder. “This is Angel, my daughter.”

The woman’s face softened. “Hi, Angel. I’m Mrs. Hanes.” Reese noticed a little too much emphasis on the “Mrs.” part, but maybe she had imagined it.

“We have to get back,” Reese said, suddenly feeling the need to flee.

“Tomorrow at ten-thirty, then,” Preacher Hanes said. His wife glanced over at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Ten-thirty.” Reese opened the car door for Angel. As she came around to the other side, Andrew Hanes got there first, opened the driver’s side door for her to get in.

Reese smiled. She didn’t bother glancing to the side where his wife still stood. She knew the expression she would see if she bothered to turn her head. She’d seen that look before. And she felt ashamed admitting, even to herself, that it pleased her to think it could happen again.

22

Gina

“W
here are you?” Derek sounded concerned when I answered the phone. He knew I’d gone to Lane’s to confront Reese. A couple of hours had passed, I realized, but it seemed like minutes.

“I’m still at Lane’s house,” I told him. “I haven’t seen Reese. She went off somewhere with Angel.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. His concern shifted and he sounded vaguely irritated.

“Sort of. Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Well, those pancakes are wearing pretty thin. We’d talked about getting some lunch.”

I didn’t want to think about food. I wasn’t even sure I could swallow anything. But I did want to be with Derek. In a matter of hours he’d become someone I longed to be near. A tiny part of me still felt wrong, wanting that. As if the desire for time with someone else meant a betrayal of Ben. And my fidelity or lack of it to Ben’s memory led me to the biggest question that remained.
Did he cheat on me?

“Gina . . . hello?”

“I’m here,” I said. “Sorry I spaced out. I was just thinking that I better stay here. I don’t want to miss Reese. I have to put this to rest.”

“Okay. How ’bout I bring some sandwiches over there? The vendor brought a fresh batch in downstairs this morning. Is turkey all right?”

“That sounds good.” The thought of him showing up at the door made everything else seem easier. “Lane’s got some soda, so just bring sandwiches, maybe a bag of chips.”

“Does Lane eat meat?”

I looked over at my sleeping friend, still out of it on the couch. I smiled in spite of myself.

“Not unless she can drink it through a straw,” I said.

“What?”

“She went to the dentist this morning. Just bring stuff for you and me.”

“Be there in a minute.”

After I got off the phone, I sat on the couch and waited; didn’t know what else to do, really. Lane slept. Even Georgie curled up for an afternoon siesta. But I stayed fully alert. My mind jumped from one thought to another, but none of them made much sense.

“Is she an addict?” I mumbled to myself, voicing the most likely explanation for what I’d found in Reese’s bag, and there seemed to be no explanation for why she’d have them sent to me. I pulled the invoice out of my pocket. My name, care of the Ship’s Store, and . . . my credit card. I was sure the last four numbers—the only ones to show up on the order—matched mine. I went to the kitchen and pulled out my wallet. My Visa was gone. Holy shit. People went to jail for doing that sort of thing. I put the invoice back in my pocket and tried to push the questions out of my head. I had to deal with one thing at a time, and while the stolen card presented a problem, my biggest concern remained Angel and Ben.

The need to sort out the necklace, the truth about their relationship, had to stay my first priority. Reese’s problems, addiction or God knows what, would have to come second. Of course, it would become
my
problem if anyone tracked down illegal drugs that had been mailed to me.

I walked to the front window and looked outside. The loud hum of the air conditioner made the comings and goings of the marina a silent narrative, something like an old movie. I saw Derek come out of the deli beside the Ship’s Store and I felt a strange sense of anticipation. I hadn’t quickened at the thought of something, anything, in a full three months. Maybe even longer than that; it was hard to remember. The feeling came new, as if even the memory of happiness had been erased from my mind. Maybe it had been. Maybe I would experience life after Ben as a series of firsts. The same way life had finally begun again after Elise died. A different life entirely. I could see my existence laid out in segments. Two were completed, the third just beginning. And for a moment it seemed that all pure happiness occurred accidentally, without the opaque weight of expectation.

“Hey,” Derek whispered as he came in the door. I motioned him to the kitchen. The last thing Lane would want was an audience as she slept.

“Any sign of Reese?” he asked.

“Nothing. I don’t know where she would go for this long. She hasn’t kept up with anybody around here, as far as I know.”

I held off telling him about the package in Reese’s things. Saying it out loud obligated me to deal with it in some way. I wasn’t ready to deal with it, with whatever it meant.

“Maybe they went grocery shopping, something simple,” he said.

“Maybe,” I told him, “but I doubt it. Nothing Reese does is that ordinary.”

We ate our sandwiches out of the wrappers, didn’t bother with plates. I felt as if we were playing house, sitting at a real table, looking around at a full pantry, a fridge that held more than yogurt and beer without becoming crowded. I’d had all of it with Ben and it had never seemed remarkable then. But that had been somebody else’s life; that had been a person who believed that Ben couldn’t lie.

Sitting with Derek, pondering the miracle of adult domestic maturity, it was as if I’d regressed to a younger station in life since Ben had been gone. In other ways, I felt ancient since becoming a widow. No wonder I felt so messed up; the schizophrenic existence of widowhood had become difficult to negotiate.

“Gina?” He looked serious. “Do you want me here when you talk with her? I’ll stay. I’ll go. You make the call.”

“It’s got to be the two of us, just me and Reese. Maybe if you could take Angel for some ice cream. I don’t think Lane is going to be up for babysitting this afternoon.”

He nodded, took a bite of sandwich. I couldn’t tell if being relegated to a service-oriented task disappointed him. He wanted to be part of my life, my inner life where it got messy and complicated. Most of those parts of me weren’t so new. They existed before I became a widow. Ben hadn’t wanted to be inside my head. He took the view that problems, funks, and all manner of downers could be overcome with a good game of tennis, a long afternoon sail. I never minded that approach. I wasn’t much of a talker myself. But I felt strangely open to letting Derek in on the soft insides of my thoughts. This shift in my own perception startled me a little, made me nervous.

“We’re going a little fast,” I said, blurting it out without warning or context.

“What do you mean?” He looked appropriately bewildered.

“Us, whatever we are.”

He smiled, looked sly and shy at the same time. “Darlin’,
last week
was fast. I thought I was the soul of restraint last night.”

He made me laugh, defused the neuroses before they became large and explosive.

“I mean emotionally,” I explained. “I’m relying on you. I’m trusting where we are when I don’t even know where we are. We’ve had one wild . . . not a date, I don’t know what it was. And a really special night that ran into morning. Now I feel like—”

“Gina,” he stopped me. “I’m here. I’ve wanted to be here for weeks. None of this is spontaneous for me. It’s taken you a while to come around, to even see me that way. And,” he added, “with good reason. You’ve been through a lot. I’m not blaming you. And I’m not pushing you. I’m here. I’m solid.”

Solid. If he was so solid, why did I feel shaky? My perspective was shot, so I went with my gut. We sat catty-cornered at the edge of Lane’s dinette and I leaned over the sandwiches and the soda. I kissed him, felt the surprise of his mouth, new again, even though I’d initiated the kiss, even though I’d been with him just hours before. His lips opened slightly; I could feel his breath going into my mouth. It seemed to travel warm through me, touching nerves that had long grown cold. Without analyzing why it felt good, I let it be what it was, and the yielding left me weak.

“Okay,” he said, his face still close to mine. “I guess that’s a yes on going out with me again.”

Reese and Angel came through the door. Hot air from the afternoon followed them, cut through the air-conditioned room, effecting a brief change in the Freon-charged climate. Still, Reese looked cool in her loose blouse and skirt.

“Hey.” I tried to sound casual as they made their way into the den.

Lane was awake, but still pretty groggy. Derek and I sat on the floor, as
Headline News
repeated itself through a second cycle of identical stories. The world should change a little faster. If nothing else, out of courtesy to cable news.

“What have you two been up to?” I asked.

“We went to see Ben.” Angel kept her eyes on mine, a direct volley that I found impossible to return. She wanted me to react, but I stared at the child, rendered mute by the bold announcement. I felt my cheeks go warm, could see the two of them weeping over Benjamin’s grave, and I registered a rush of irritation.

“That’s nice,” I finally managed.

“Angel wanted me to see how pretty it is at the cemetery,” Reese said, shooting a harsh look in the girl’s direction.

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” I forced the words from my mouth, refused to let an eight-year-old—not even eight yet—get the best of me. “It’s the perfect spot, really.”

An uncomfortable murmur of consensus followed, then silence.

“Listen,” I said, after a several long seconds, “Maxine called me this morning. The family that had the place rented through Labor Day has had to cancel. The realty company has a cleaning crew coming through today, and Maxine’s going out there this afternoon to pick up a few things she needs to take home.”

“The good china?” Reese became her least likable self when Maxine’s name entered a conversation. I wondered how Reese living in a cottage her former mother-in-law owned could possibly work.

“She said you could move in tomorrow, if you like,” I said, ignoring her remark. “She’s worked out terms, the rent, liability, and all that. She’ll meet us in Mt. Pleasant at the realtor’s office in the morning and sign everything.”

“Us?” Reese asked.

“Yeah. Since I—”

“Right,” she said. “I forgot. You’re the grown-up in this arrangement, signing off on my credibility as a human being. Why is Maxine even coming? Can’t they do this without her?”

“Maybe she wants to be there. Maybe she’s trying to make an effort.”

“That would be a first.”

She sounded pissed. Far from the gratitude she’d displayed after her dicey conversation with Maxine. What the hell was I thinking, helping her?

“I can lay off if you want to work this out with her yourself.” I’d had about enough.

“I’m sorry.” Reese backed down. “This isn’t easy for me to do.”

I got up, took empty glasses of soda back to the kitchen without answering her.

“So,” she said, finally, “she’s really letting us do this, huh? What’s the rent?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, Maxine said the realtors were horrified, so it can’t be that much.” I came back in and sat down beside Derek on the floor. Reese leaned back on the couch. She looked uncomfortable, physically ill-at-ease, and Angel stayed near.

“Well, I’ll need to pay her after my first paycheck,” Reese said. “I’ll get a little from the shifts I worked this week, but I’m cash-poor until I start working regularly. I hadn’t counted on moving in this soon. It’s going to be a hike, driving back and forth to work from there.”

“It’ll all work out,” I said, for lack of anything better.

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Reese looked weary. I studied her eyes, her movements; tried to discern if she was high. The pills were way down on my list of issues, but I didn’t want to deal with her if she seemed irrational. But she looked the same as always to me. Flaky, but she didn’t need substance abuse to make her odd. I was angry with Reese, had been angry before she came in, and the field trip with Angel to the grave didn’t make me feel more charitable. But I had to get a handle on myself. I couldn’t go into my discussion with her on a hostile note, or she’d never open up, tell me the truth.

“Mom can’t go in the morning,” Angel announced as a delayed response to our conversation about the cottage.

I wondered what I was supposed to say in response. She was clearly addressing me. Derek stayed quiet, looked vaguely amused for some reason, which ticked me off even more. It wasn’t a fucking game.

“Why’s that, Angel?” Lane spoke up. Even she sounded terse. Her post-torture patience wasn’t up to the usual standards.

“ ’Cause she’s got a date with the preacher.”

I had to admit it was getting interesting.

“What preacher?” I couldn’t help myself. The conversation was a train wreck, but a damned fascinating train wreck.

“The one out where Ben is buried.”

Andrew Hanes? What was she up to with that?

“I don’t have a
date,
” Reese insisted. “I’m meeting him for coffee. Just to talk over some things.”

“He’s really, really married, Reese. Preachers tend to take that kind of thing seriously,” I told her, just in case it mattered.

“I know that,” she snapped back at me. Lane had closed her eyes again and Derek slipped into the kitchen to clean up our wrappers. “I met his wife. She’s lovely. I needed some . . .” She stopped. “Well, people talk to preachers. You’re not the only one having a hard time with all that’s happened.”

“I thought you didn’t do the whole religion thing.” I gave up on civility. The woman was predatory.