Ghost Moon (21 page)

‘‘Gosh, we’re going to sell out in an hour,’’ LeeAnn said after fifteen minutes of brisk business had depleted their stock by about a quarter. It was the first chance they’d had to talk since Olivia had sat down.

‘‘Oh, no, everybody rushes over here first to get the really good stuff, like Mrs. Ramey’s caramel cake and Louise Albright’s chocolate chunk cookies. Once they’re gone, the other things usually last awhile.’’ It was amazing how fast she had gotten back into the swing of life in LaAngelle, Olivia reflected, answering LeeAnn with knowledge gleaned from years of attending the Fall Festival. Except for Sara, it would be easy to imagine that her nine years away had never been.

‘‘I keep forgetting you grew up here,’’ LeeAnn said with a laugh. ‘‘Since we went to high school together, I can’t seem to get it out of my head that you’re from Baton Rouge like me.’’

‘‘Olivia, do you have any of Lurleen Sprewell’s brownies left? My boys like ’em something fierce, but I’m late getting here tonight.’’

Olivia looked up at the speaker, Augusta Blair, with a smile. She was a contemporary as well as a friend of Callie’s, and Olivia had known her, as she had the greater portion of the town, for most of her life. The boys she referred to were her three sons, grown now and all employed in various capacities at the Boatworks.

‘‘Let me look.’’ A glance around the table and then at the inventory underneath revealed two red paper plates piled with brownies, covered with plastic wrap and tied with Lurleen Sprewell’s signature big red bows. Olivia produced them. ‘‘Sure do.’’

Mrs. Blair paid with a pleased smile, and carried her purchases away. The next customer in line was Father Randolph. He wanted a chocolate cake, but wasn’t particular as to the cook. Knowing that, of the ones left, Ellen Gibbs’s was probably the best, Olivia sold it to him. After that, she was so busy that she barely had time to exchange more than a word or two with her customers, almost all of whom she knew. When the second shift arrived, she surrendered her seat to them with relief.

‘‘What are you going to do now?’’ LeeAnn asked, as they emerged together from the back of the booth. Olivia flexed her neck, which was stiff from looking up at customers for an hour, took a deep breath of the warm night air, and smiled.

‘‘Check on Sara. She’s helping out with the cakewalk.’’

‘‘I’m going to go find Tom’’—her husband—‘‘and Michael.’’ Michael was LeeAnn’s five-year-old son. ‘‘See you later.’’

Olivia echoed her farewell, then headed toward the elementary school where the cakewalk was taking place in one of the classrooms. Light shone through every one of the two-story building’s uncurtained windows, and Olivia could see people milling around inside. Besides the third grade’s cakewalk, each grade had its own fund-raiser. Olivia knew that inside the school were a doll-walk, a dart throw, a silent auction, a coin toss, and a pet beauty contest, and there were many other activities as well. A constant stream of people moved in and out of the main entrance.

Weaving through shifting throngs of townspeople, glancing at the booths on either side, Olivia exchanged greetings left and right but paused only once, to join the crowd at the dunking booth. Seth was seated on the platform, yelling good-natured insults at the beefy young man who was getting ready to hurl a baseball at the flat metal disc, which, if struck properly, would drop him into the tank of water above which he perched. He was already wet, his hair plastered to his skull, his plain white T-shirt clinging to his chest. Olivia watched, a smile lurking about her mouth. If she was not mistaken, the man throwing the baseball was a Boatworks employee. The informality between employer and employee, the kind of banter that Seth was exchanging with him, was what made the Fall Festival fun. Seth spied her, grinned, waved—and promptly went down with a gigantic splash as the baseball struck the disc with a bang. Laughing, Olivia watched as he surfaced, slicking his hair back with both hands and shaking the water from his face.

‘‘Lucky shot!’’ he yelled after the thrower, who was retreating with a wide grin and the prize of a stuffed animal. Another hopeful had already taken the winner’s place, baseball in hand. Seth hoisted himself back into position on the platform. Water streamed from his body. Olivia’s gaze moved over him as he yelled insults at the newcomer, noting how the wet T-shirt clung, revealing the broad strength of his shoulders and the solid muscles of his chest. His trunks were black and shiny-wet. Below them, he had an athlete’s knees and calves, tanned and faintly fuzzed with hair. Long, narrow bare feet dangled above the pool. Her heartbeat quickened. There was, simply, nothing she could do about that. But she could move herself out of the way of temptation. A month of working for Seth, of having easy access to him every day, had taught her the wisdom of that. When he came near, she went elsewhere. It made life much less complicated.

CHAPTER 31

ACCORDINGLY, OLIVIA TURNED HER BACK on the dunking booth and walked on toward the elementary school. Sure enough, in moments her pulse had returned to normal. Her attraction to Seth was pure folly, and if she resisted it resolutely enough it would, sooner or later, go away.

She really needed to start seeing someone, she told herself. Olivia made a face, thinking about the candidates. Lamar Lennig still called her twice a week to ask her out, and Carl had also made it clear that he admired her. There were other possibilities, too: some of the Boatworks’ employees who were available and interested, according to Ilsa, and a brother-in-law of Lee-Ann’s, with whom LeeAnn wanted to fix her up.

‘‘Olivia, would you drop this off by Linda Ryder at the beanbag toss? Jamie needs to go potty.’’ The speaker was Hailey Fragione, a pretty brunette of about her own age who had grown up in LaAngelle. Hailey, having gone to the local high school, had not been a friend of hers while they were growing up. In fact, they’d barely known each other. But now, hanging on with one hand to a Ziploc bag filled with change and a struggling-to-escape toddler with the other, she turned to Olivia as she would have to any other young mother of her acquaintance.

Olivia realized that her return to LaAngelle was no longer the nine-days wonder it had been at first, for which she was thankful. She was once again simply a citizen of the town.

‘‘Sure,’’ she said, accepting the bag, which was surprisingly heavy. Hailey thanked her with a smile thrown over her shoulder as she was dragged off by her child. The beanbag toss was about a dozen booths farther along. She would drop it off, then go check on Sara.

The theme of this year’s Fall Festival was FrancoFete, in accordance with the statewide celebration to honor the three hundredth anniversary of France’s establishment of a colony in the Louisiana Territory. The colors of the French flag were everywhere, from the bunting adorning the booths to the balloons tied to the trees, and the fleur-de-lis abounded, too. White Christmas lights were strung between the booths, lighting the area and dividing the soccer field to the side of the elementary school, where most of the outdoor booths were located, into a series of impromptu walkways.

The picnic tables that had been set up under a huge white tent on the blacktop front parking lot of the elementary school were filling up with people who had ordered box suppers from the school cafeteria. A band playing zydeco music serenaded the diners. In the distance, strains of contemporary rock from the dance in the high school gymnasium could be heard. This close to the dining tent, though, the zydeco all but drowned the other out.

‘‘Olivia! All by yourself?’’ The voice, and the hard male arm that slid around her waist, belonged to Lamar Lennig. She glanced at him, surprised, instinctively resisting his hold, and he grinned down at her as he held on tight. ‘‘Hello, beautiful!’’

‘‘Actually, I’m with the family.’’ Olivia succeeded in twisting free. He rocked back on his heels—she saw that he was wearing the cowboy boots again, with tight jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tails tucked in—and stuck his thumbs in his belt loops. His black hair waved around his face and his dark eyes twinkled at her. He was undoubtedly handsome, what a lot of women would term a hunk, and he stirred not the tiniest bit of response in her.

‘‘Family, huh?’’ Lamar looked around at the crowd milling past, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of skepticism. ‘‘You must have gotten lost, then.’’

‘‘I’ve been working in the Cook’s Corner. My shift just ended, and I’m on my way to fetch Sara.’’

‘‘Let me buy you dinner first.’’ He reached out, touched her mouth with a hard forefinger, and smiled at her. ‘‘For old times’ sake.’’

Old times
with him were just what she wanted to forget.

‘‘No, thanks, Lamar.’’ She stepped back, smiled, shook her head, and started to walk away.

‘‘Hey, wait a minute.’’ Catching her arm, Lamar pulled her back around to face him. He was frowning, and his dark eyes were intent on her face. ‘‘I don’t mind a chick playing hard to get, but this is getting stupid. What do I have to do to get you to go out with me, get down on my knees and beg?’’

‘‘Nope.’’ Without making a big production out of it, Olivia tried to pull her arm free. When he wouldn’t release her, she sighed. The only thing to do was very gently set him straight. ‘‘Let me go, Lamar. You can’t talk me into going out with you, not now, not ever. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.’’

‘‘What do you mean by that?’’ His eyes narrowed at her, and his hand tightened on her arm.

‘‘I mean I’ve changed. I’m not the girl you used to know. I’m a mother now, a straight arrow, a homebody. I’d bore you to tears in an hour.’’

‘‘Baby, the way you look, you could never bore me.’’ He moved closer, gripping her other arm as well. His gaze ran suggestively up and down her body before fastening on her mouth. As a seventeen-year-old, she would no doubt have found such an open display of desire sexy. As a twenty-six-year-old, she was just plain annoyed by it.

Olivia glanced around. Although literally dozens of people she knew were nearby, she didn’t know them well enough to be able to use her eyes to signal her wish for a tactful rescue. The music prevented them from overhearing what was being said, even if anyone was paying attention, which no one seemed to be. She was in no real danger in the midst of such a crowd, of course, and almost certainly in no real danger from Lamar in any case. She had only to tell him to let her go convincingly enough, and he would. Wouldn’t he? She hoped so. If he forced her to make a scene, the ensuing gossip would linger for weeks.

‘‘Let me go, Lamar.’’ The words were a quiet order.

‘‘If you let me buy you supper.’’

‘‘Thanks, but no.’’ It was a definite refusal, as she tried again—subtly, so as not to attract too much notice—to free herself from his hold.

‘‘Tomorrow night, then.’’ He was no longer smiling, and his eyes had grown hard.

‘‘Thanks, but no.’’

‘‘Next Friday? Or Saturday?’’

‘‘I don’t think so. But thanks.’’

‘‘In other words, get lost?’’

Olivia was losing her patience. ‘‘Something like that, yeah.’’ She succeeded in pulling her arms free. The flesh above her elbows where his fingers had dug in stung a little, and she guessed she would have marks there later.

‘‘Think you’re too good for me now, Olivia?’’

This was definitely starting to get ugly. Olivia shrugged, and turned away without replying. Lamar stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

‘‘Baby, I’ve
had
you, remember? And if I was the daughter of the town slut turned suicide, I wouldn’t think I was so all-fired high and mighty.’’

Ordinarily, the reminder that she’d been fool enough to sleep with him would have stung. But she was too stunned by what had come after. She gaped at him soundlessly, her lips parting, her eyes growing huge.

‘‘Get the hell away from her, Lamar.’’ The voice, with its dangerous, quiet threat, and the hands that came down on her shoulders, belonged to Seth. The solid strength of his hands tethered her, held her still, kept her upright. She drew strength from them, from the knowledge that Seth was behind her, even as she felt the color leach from her face and the world beyond the three of them blur.

Lamar looked over her head, his expression belligerent. Olivia knew he was looking at Seth, felt the silent clash of wills, saw the sudden flicker in Lamar’s eyes as he gave way. His mouth tightened, his gaze fell, and then without another word he turned on his heel and walked away.

Olivia was left standing there, staring after him, feeling as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

‘‘Seth . . .’’ she said piteously.

‘‘Livvy.’’ Seth turned her around to face him. A glance must have sufficed to reveal the shock she had suffered, because his jaw tightened along with his hands.

‘‘Lamar said . . . he said . . .’’

‘‘I heard what he said.’’ His voice was grim. He looked quickly around, at the crowd of friends and neighbors brushing by on either side without casting more than an occasional casual glance toward the drama being played out in their midst.

‘‘Seth . . .’’ She wanted to ask if it was true, but she couldn’t get the words out. Her mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. Her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe.

‘‘We can’t talk here.’’ With another glance around, he let go of her shoulders and caught one of her hands instead, his fingers entwining with hers. ‘‘Come with me.’’

He started walking and she went with him, still mindlessly clutching the plastic bag full of change. He responded to the greetings that came his way with a smile and a wave, but never slowed his pace. Olivia, on the other hand, could neither smile nor wave. She felt like a zombie, sleepwalking through the night.

He led her away from the festival, away from the music and lights and people, around the far side of the school to a gray metal door that led into the gym. The gym was deserted. Lit by fluorescent fixtures high overhead, it was a cavernous space with a highly polished wood floor and metal bleachers folded back against three of the white-painted concrete block walls. She followed him across the basketball court to an alcove at its far end. The entrance to the locker rooms, girls’ and boys’, were on either side of the alcove. Seth pushed open the door marked BOYS, and pulled her in with him.

Like the gym, the locker room was deserted. Olivia barely registered the banged-up gray lockers that lined the walls, the gray-and-white-and-scarlet tiled floors, the showers and toilet facilities in another room off to the left. Even the smell—of damp, dirty socks and disinfectant—didn’t reach her. Olivia would have gone anywhere Seth took her. That he had chosen to take her into a boys’ locker room was immaterial.

‘‘Give me a minute to get dressed, okay?’’ Only then did Olivia notice that he was still wearing the soaked T-shirt and shorts, with shower thongs on his bare feet. With the part of her mind that remained capable of noticing such things, she thought,
he must be freezing
—and indeed, she could just see the tiny puckered nubs of his nipples pressing against his wet shirt. The air-conditioned building was much cooler than the warm night outside, and she thought she felt goose bumps springing up along her arms. Looking up her arm from where his hand was joined with hers, she saw that it was so.

‘‘Sit down.’’ Seth pulled her to one of the long, closely spaced wooden benches with which the room was furnished and gently pushed her down on it. Setting the Ziploc bag on the bench beside her, Olivia obediently sat, leaning forward, bare knees together, hands clasped on top of them. Giving her a frowning glance, he moved a few paces away and opened one of the long, narrow lockers. His clothes—khaki pants, navy polo shirt, underwear, socks and shoes—were inside.

‘‘Seth.’’

Bunching his clothes in one hand and holding his shoes in another, he turned to look at her.

‘‘Is it true?’’ Her voice was thin, high. Her eyes met his with silent entreaty.
Please let it be a lie.
But she knew already that it wasn’t.

‘‘Livvy . . .’’ He didn’t have to say anything more. She’d known him too long. The answer was written all over his face, as it had been ever since Lamar had said the thing. Still, she had hoped against hope. Her eyes widened as if from a blow, and her mouth went suddenly dry. She licked her lips, trying to moisten them. Her chest felt as if it was being crushed by lead weights.

‘‘Jesus Christ, Livvy, it was twenty years ago.’’ Seth dropped his shoes on the floor with a clatter, his clothes on the bench nearest him, then yanked his wet T-shirt over his head, dropped it on the floor and replaced it with the dry polo shirt. Olivia was so upset that she barely registered the brief sight of him dressed only in trunks. She retained only a blurred impression of a wide, strong-looking chest with impressive muscles, and a wedge of brown hair. Then Seth stepped over the bench on which the rest of his clothes lay, and stood for a moment in front of her. Her head was bent, but she felt him looking down at her, sensed his concern.

‘‘He said—my mother was a
suicide
?’’ Hard as it was to move, she tilted her face up to ask the question, knowing she could read more in his expression than he would tell her. He met her gaze, his eyes narrowed, his mouth tight. She knew that he hated her pain, and his helplessness in the face of it.

‘‘Livvy.’’ He sank down on the bench directly opposite her, so close that their knees almost touched, and leaned forward to take both her hands in his. She met his gaze, reading anger and sorrow for her in his blue eyes.

‘‘Seth, please tell me. I need to know.’’

‘‘You don’t need to know. You never needed to know.’’ His voice was rough. His eyes were dark with the reflection of her distress.

‘‘Seth . . .’’ The rest of her plea trailed away unspoken. He knew her well enough. He could read it in her eyes.

‘‘Okay. Okay.’’ He glanced away from her, wet his lips, and looked back. ‘‘Your mother apparently just walked into the lake one night. She’d gone to bed earlier. Uncle James had been away for a couple of days, traveling on business. He got home a little after midnight, went up to see his wife, discovered she was missing, and started looking for her, first in the house and then outside. There were a lot of people in the house that night, and everybody eventually spread out to search the grounds. Big John found Selena floating in the lake. Charlie tried to revive her—he’d been at the house with Belinda—but it was too late. Her death was later ruled a suicide.’’

Olivia closed her eyes and held on tightly to his hands, which were the only warm things in a suddenly icy world. After a moment she opened her eyes and looked at him. That bare-bones account was undoubtedly designed to save her pain, but it left too much out.

‘‘But why?’’ she asked. ‘‘Why did they think it was suicide? Couldn’t it have been an—an accident?’’

His eyes as she met them reflected her misery. ‘‘She was still wearing her nightgown when she was found. There was no reason for her to be anywhere near the lake at that hour of the night. And—and they said she’d been depressed in the weeks before it happened.’’