Lost in Tennessee (40 page)

“That’s enough, Nancy. That’s enough. Excuse us, Butch.” Grant held his now-sobbing wife to his chest as he walked her out of the room.

It should be you in that casket.

Butch stood alone. The pretty room with heavy drapes called attention to the open casket in the front of the room. A stand at either end held a large cascade of spring flowers while other baskets sat arranged artistically along the walls.

Butch bowed his head and shuffled to the casket. Death hadn’t taken Fawn’s beauty. Staring at her, Butch didn’t have words. The songwriter, the poet who made his livelihood with words, had none to express his regret for her, for them. “I wish.” What did he wish? “I wish…I’d made different choices. If I had known the path led here, I would have made a change. I would have come to California. We didn’t love each other, but I would have done everything I could to protect you. I just…I didn’t know.”
So much worse the crime.

Butch squeezed his eyes shut as he forced down the guilt that swamped him. He swallowed hard, opening his eyes. Another face lay over Fawn’s, a face with cascading red hair surrounding it. “Katie,” Butch breathed, his stomach clenching. “No.” He ground his eyes shut again and swallowed the bile that burned its way up the back of his throat. The threats. The framing. The vandalism. When he opened his eyes again, Fawn’s peaceful face had returned, but Butch couldn’t rid himself of the vision of Kate’s face stilled in death.
You’re a monster.

B
utch struggled with composure as he stood next to his father-in-law. He bore the weight of the stares and whispers as he greeted those invited to usher Fawn into the next life. His hand felt like glass. How many more hands could he shake before his just shattered?

Weeks before, he’d stood next to Angie’s mother, accepting condolences and offering them in return. So many had come out for Angie, a person of no worldly consequence, while so few truly mourned for Fawn.
Who would grieve for Katie?

A shiver ran through Butch as the minister called those gathered to take their seats. Front row, Nancy sat on the center aisle, Grant at her side. Then came Randy with Butch next to him. The minister began with a prayer and a reading. Butch winced as the words selected to offer comfort were like fingernails on a chalk board.

Grant was called forward to speak about his daughter. He stood but faltered. He looked to his son. Randy rose instantly, accepted the paper from the shaking hand and stepped to face the gathering.

He cleared his throat. “These are my father’s words.” Randy took a breath as he focused on the paper in his hand. “Fawn came into the world in the backseat of my neighbor’s El Dorado. She wasn’t due for another two weeks, but Fawn had other ideas. Little did I realize that would be the theme of her life. Fawn had ideas. I always admired the way she pushed for more, for better, even as she was driving me insane. As we gather today to celebrate her life, I wanted to share what her life meant, so we could all keep a little part of her with us. I think Fawn would agree life isn’t the cards you’re dealt, it’s what you do with them. Whether you’re eight or eighty-eight, life is to be embraced, lived for the moment that is, not saved for one that may never come.”

Randy looked up from the paper, but in that instant, it was Tom’s face masked in anguish. “For myself, I’ll say I never imagined not having my sister. But as painful as today is, I’ll take it over a life in which she never existed.” Randy turned to the casket, removed a heavy bracelet that had been tucked up his sleeve and draped it over his sister’s hands. “I love you, little sister. My world isn’t the same without you.”

Butch pushed out of his seat, muttering apologies as he lurched up the aisle.

K
ate brushed her hair smooth and tied it with a band at the top of her head. She put on a dress, this one a fun, flowered print. It surprised Kate that she liked wearing dresses. Her body was free to move easily in the clingy material. They made her feel pretty. She was starting to get used to that, too. Kate applied a touch of pink to her lips then stood back to survey the results. The effect was simple but, she thought, attractive. Her only adornments were the diamonds in her ears, given to her by her family as a college graduation present, and the one on her hand, given to her by the man she waited anxiously for. She worried about him but hadn’t texted, respecting that Fawn’s funeral was something she couldn’t be a part of. So she planned. She made a reservation at a high-end restaurant then routed a drive to a secluded spot she’d found on Google Earth.

A car drove up the long driveway, almost sneaking past her it rolled so quietly. Kate checked her hair one last time and ran down the stairs. She slowed down, opened the front door, and walked down the wooden stairs to the concrete drive below. Butch sat in the car, his head on the steering wheel.

Kate swore quietly and moved quickly to the driver’s door, throwing it wide.

Butch turned his head, looking at her over hands locked around the steering wheel. “This is a mistake.”

She pried his hands from the wheel and pulled his head to rest on her stomach. She stroked his hair gently. “I know. I should have gone with you. Come inside.”

She led him into the house, sat on the corner of the couch, and held her arms wide. He needed to be held, loved, and she was just the woman for the job. “Butch, come here.”

Butch shook his head. “You’re right about me. I’m not a good bet,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He closed his eyes. “I need the ring back.”

Kate sat frozen, her arms drifting in space. A moment passed. He turned away. She dropped her arms, her brain hearing but not processing the words. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m saying you were right. It’s stupid for two people who have only known each other for a few weeks to get married. It’s a pattern I keep falling into. It’s not good for me. It’s not good for you.”

She shook her head and came to her feet, forcing her voice to be stern. “You’re not getting out that easily. You started this.”

“I started this. I’m ending this.”

Kate grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. “No. We are not over.” She caught his face in her hands and kissed him.

But he didn’t kiss her back. His lips didn’t move. His eyes didn’t close. His body didn’t respond.

Kate wondered where the sound went. The room suddenly had no color. She rubbed her palm over her breaking heart. “Butch?”

“I’m sorry, Kate.” He turned back toward the window. “A cab is here to take you to an airport. I’ve arranged travel back to Nashville or Detroit. Your choice.”

Kate stared at the back of his head, psychically willing him to turn around and tell her it was a stupid, fucked up joke.

But he didn’t turn.

She pulled the beloved ring from her finger and set it on the end table. Her sole focus became leaving as quickly as possible. In the bedroom she’d left minutes before, she scraped her toiletries into a bag. Clothes from her dresser were tossed haphazardly on top. She couldn’t look at the closet, where those pretty dresses hung. The tears were too close. She picked up her pace, knowing that in moments she would be a hot mess. In the dining area, she shoved her papers and laptop into a bag, draped her small purse across her body, and walked out the door.

She moved without seeing, down the stairs, into the waiting cab. The tears fell. She couldn’t stop them but didn’t cry out. She didn’t speak until a woman at the charter desk asked her where she was going.

“Home. I want to go home. Detroit.”

Kate had once thought you couldn’t die from emotional pain, but as she sat alone, thousands of feet above the ground, she understood you could. Life as she knew it had ended.

Hours and hours later, another cab dropped her at her office, the one she and Tom renovated themselves. In the dark of night, she let herself in, walked along the restored black and white tiles, and up the stairs. She ran up one final flight and out the door to the roof. She ran in a circle, wanting to escape the pain clawing at her heart. She stopped in the middle, dropping her head back and screaming at the top of her lungs.

Her legs failed and Kate collapsed to the rough roof, her throat burning as she cried out. On her side, with her knees pressed to her chest, Kate willed the night to take her.

T
welve hours did nothing to ease Butch’s pain. Neither did the bottle of Jack he found in a cabinet and a guitar he kept on hand. It didn’t help any more than telling himself over and over that he did the right thing for her. He paced the open floor of his cabin, guitar strapped to his body, fingers working the neck, but nothing except noise came out.

The shrill ring of the phone was a welcomed interruption.

Butch looked at the screen, for a second hoping it was Kate calling to cuss him out after seeing through his facade. But it wasn’t.

“Clyde, you’d better not be drunk dialing me.” Butch kept his voice light to keep all of the dark thoughts at bay. Hyde. His parents. His friends. Kate. At least he knew she was fine. She should be back in Detroit by now. Asleep in her own bed. Safe and sound.

“Clyde, after the night we’ve had, getting a good drunk on sounds like a great idea.” Jeb sounded as exhausted as Butch felt. “We’ve had a fire. We lost the barn.”

Butch held his breath. “Are you hurt? Mom, Dad, Tom?”

“The fire didn’t hurt anything but the barn.”

Butch kicked at a cabinet door. “What happened?”

“The girls Tom and I picked up at the bar were coming over for dinner. Tom set the grill up. I saw him do it. It wasn’t close enough to the barn to be a problem. We were in the kitchen. Tom scrubbed vegetables for the grill to go with the steaks. I went upstairs to get some candles for the table. I’ll tell you, Butch, I’ve never seen anything like it. The room was purple when the blue paint lit up with the red light from the fire. I raced downstairs. We got the tractor and some stuff out. It went up so fast. There was nothing to do but protect the house.”

“How bad?”

“It’s gone. Completely gone.”

Butch’s gut clenched, and bile rose in his throat. Whatever was going on, he’d done the right thing, chasing Katie away. He was right, no matter how wrong it felt. “All right. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Just you?”

“Kate and I broke up. She’s home in Michigan. Tell Tom, if he doesn’t already know.”

“Yeah. I will. Shit, Butch. Shit. I’m sorry, man.”

K
ate stood in the late nineteenth-century building she and Tom had renovated with the help of their family. R
ILEY
A
RCHITECTS AND
E
NGINEERS
was proudly displayed over the archway that led to the front door.

The place stood empty, except for Kate. Not unusual for a Saturday. Three floor-to-ceiling windows provided her second-floor office with intimate exposure to the hustle of the street below. Kate stood at a window in a thick sweater that did nothing to stop the chill that ran continuously through her.

In the week she’d been back, she’d slept here every night. She’d gone to the home she shared with Tom for clothes and moved into the small apartment on the third floor of the building. Tom’s house was one of her favorite places, but without him there, memories made the space too small.

Kate found that work cleared her mind. When she worked, she didn’t spend every moment wondering if Butch thought of her. Designing the new space for a not-for-profit gallery meant the tears stopped flowing enough for her to see. Her hands didn’t tremble when she prepared a proposal for a multi-use complex in Cleveland. Her breath came in and went out without a hitch while she reviewed material specifications.

Kate had simplified her life. Wake. Work. Sleep. Repeat.

The phone rang. Eight-thirty Eastern. Right on time.

“Hey, Tom.”

“How ya feeling today, Katie?”

“Kate. My name is Kate.”

Silence stretched. “The weather has been great. Everyone is working overtime, and we’ve nearly made up the time we’ve lost.” More silence. “It’s been a week. A solid week with no accidents, incidents, or fires. Jeb can’t explain it, but everyone is starting to relax and get back to normal.”

“That’s good.”

“It’s time for you to come back. As much as I hate to admit this out loud, you are better at managing the field work. We need you. I have a house for us, a cottage. It’s quiet with plenty of space.”

“I miss it, the everyday hustle.” Office life didn’t suit Kate. The quiet diplomacy of it gave her too much time to think. She liked being on the ground, where hours mattered and decisions needed to be made now. But could she return to Butch’s home town? She picked up a photo from her desk. It pictured Butch and a woman in a red dress. They sat at a table, their heads together in conspiracy. She wanted more than his attention; he wore his little boy smile. The corner date was before they had been engaged but after he’d declared them “exclusive.”

Kate set the picture down. “I don’t think I can see him, Tom. Not yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Tom said quickly. “He doesn’t come around, and his tour starts soon. He’ll be miles away for months.”

Tom had been careful with the subject of Butch. Kate knew Tom had moved out of Butch’s house into a cabin Jeb found for him. He, Jeb, and Butch had become friends in their own right, and it saddened Kate that Tom walked away from that because of her. She didn’t expect him to. She just didn’t want to be a part of it. Maybe in ten years they’d look back at this and laugh. Butch would be re-married, and she’d have her name on the most interesting buildings on the continent. They would survive. They would move on.

“All right. I’ll come.”

B
utch sat on the piano bench, his guitar cradled in his lap, playing the lineup for his tour. His fingers played the notes but the sound wasn’t right. He played them over and over but heard nothing but flat, deadened tones. He’d written the songs. If anyone should know how to play them, he should.

Butch’s head snapped up at the slam of a screen door. This was hard enough without interruptions.

Trudy’s heels clipped across the floor. “You will never guess who I saw at the grocery.”