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  And wouldn’t that thought wreak havoc with the rest of my day?

  I turned on my heel. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Rafe said behind me.

  “That’s Collier,” Dix said when I reached him, “isn’t it?”

  I nodded, throwing a glance over my shoulder. Rafe had struck up a conversation with the grave diggers, two men who had loitered nearby until everyone else left, and who were now preparing to shovel all the dirt back into the hole on top of Marquita’s coffin. As we watched, Rafe grabbed one of the shovels and began working.

  “What’s he doing?” Dix said.

  Penance, I thought. What I said was, “Marquita worked for him. He feels bad.”

  “And so he’s helping to bury her?”

  “I guess maybe he feels it’s all he can do. Too little too late, but something.”

  Dix didn’t answer. “You ready to leave, sis?”

  “Sure,” I said, and turned away from Rafe, and from Marquita’s grave, toward the Range Rover.

  We drove out of the lot in silence. It was empty now, except for a couple of cars parked at the far end. Two of the women from the funeral were clustered near them, chattering, while their kids played hide and seek or tag, zooming around the cars and the adults. One little imp almost careened right into the Range Rover so Dix had to stand on the brakes. A few spaces farther over, I recognized Yvonne McCoy’s tight skirt and read hair leaning into the passenger window of a small white foreign car. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for Rafe to leave.

  “I guess that’s where Yvonne went, too,” Dix said as he maneuvered the Range Rover out of the lot and onto the road. “Up the hill to talk to Collier.”

  “Maybe.”

  “They had a thing, you know. In high school.”

  I nodded. “I know. She told me. He did, too.”

  My brother glanced at me. “You talk to him about stuff like that?”

  I glanced back. “I talk to him about all sorts of things. He’s easy to talk to. I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think of me.”

  Dix didn’t answer for a second. “That must be nice,” he said eventually.

  “You have no idea. You’re a man; it’s not the same. No one expects you to be perfect.”

  “Except Sheila.”

  “Well... maybe so. But I always have to worry about looking the right way, acting the right way, saying the right things, not saying the wrong things... it’s exhausting.”

  “I thought you liked all the fuss. You know, the finishing school, the debut, the dresses...”

  “I don’t mind any of that. I mind not being able to say what I think, and that I’m not allowed to have dessert when I go out to dinner. I like cheesecake, dammit, and it’s not fair that Todd gets to scarf it down while I have to settle for black coffee!”

  Dix looked at me. “Is that why Sheila won’t eat dessert when we go out?”

  “Probably. Or maybe not. You two are already married. Sheila’s probably allowed to eat dessert. I’m not. Don’t want a prospective husband to think I’ll be expensive to keep. Or that I don’t care about my figure.”

  “Right,” Dix said. “Does Collier let you eat dessert?”

  “I’m sure he would. He made me take a piece of cheesecake home once, when I wouldn’t eat it then and there. It’s been too ingrained in me that I have to eat like a bird when I sit across the table from a man.”

  “But you can talk to him?”

  “Most of the time. About most things. Like everyone else, there are some things that are off-limits. It’s just not the things that most people don’t like to talk about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well... most men like to talk about themselves. Their jobs, their hobbies. Rafe doesn’t. He won’t tell me anything about himself. But I can ask him about almost anything else, and he’ll answer.”

  “Like?” Dix said, and then thought better of it. “Never mind.”

  “That’s probably safer.” Considering that the topics Rafe and I had tackled ranged from frigidity to bondage to murder to breaking and entering. And in the process, he had told me a fair amount about himself; he just hadn’t realized he was doing it.

  Of course, I’d told him a whole lot more about me, fully cognizant of what I was doing. Sometimes the words just fell out of my mouth, but it wasn’t like I didn’t know that he had that effect on me. If I really cared what he learned, I’d stay away from him, or at the very least keep my mouth shut.

  “By the way,” I added, since I wanted very much to steer the conversation away from Rafe, “Yvonne likes you, you know.”

  Dix looked at me, incredulous, and for a second the car drifted across the median, before he pulled the wheel back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She likes you. Or she used to, in school. She knows you’re married, so it’s not like you have to worry about her making a pass at you, but she told me she’s always liked you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “Please don’t tell her I said so.”

  He gave me an exasperated look. “When am I going to talk to Yvonne McCoy again, sis?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but if you happen to go into Beulah’s for lunch or something, please don’t mention it. She probably wouldn’t mind, and it wasn’t like she told me to keep it a secret, but just don’t say anything, please. To anyone. Not even Sheila, the next time you two get into a knock-down, drag-out fight and you want to say something to upset her.”

  Yeah, right. Like my perfect brother and my equally perfect sister-in-law would ever get into a screaming and hair-pulling argument.

  “Don’t worry,” Dix said, “I won’t.”

  He dropped me off outside the office, and I got into the Volvo and headed for the Martin mansion. With, I admit, some trepidation. This would be the first time I’d seen mother since I’d declined—or didn’t accept—Todd’s marriage proposal, and I wasn’t looking forward to the show-down.

  Talk about knock-down, drag-out. Not that mother is ever anything but unfailingly polite and absolutely ladylike, of course. She doesn’t raise her voice, she doesn’t use bad language, and she isn’t mean or rude. She was just very disappointed, and let me know it.

  “I’m sure you know best, Savannah.” Delivered with a sigh. “Of course it is important that you feel ready to get married again. I wouldn’t want you to go against your conscience, darling.”

  “But...?”

  “No buts. Just... I fail to understand how you cannot feel ready to marry Todd. You have known him your entire life. He adores you.”

  “I know he does,” I said. The problem was that I didn’t adore him. Not the way I should if I planned to spend the rest of my life with him.

  “Are you afraid that he will—” Her voice dropped, “be unfaithful?”

  I stared at her. “Todd? Of course not!”

  “Oh.” Mom raised her voice out of the delicate range again. “I just thought, since I know how devastating it was for you to discover Bradley’s adultery...”

  It had been. I’d been beside myself. An absolute basket case. Once the dust settled, though, I had realized that I was upset not so much because my husband had slept with someone else as because he’d found me wanting. It was the failure that was galling to me, not the loss of Bradley’s love, of which there had been very little to begin with. It was my pride that was hurt, not my heart.

  “I’m over that,” I said. “It was his loss. And I’m not worried that Todd’s going to cheat. He’s not the type.”

  “What are you worried about, darling?”

  At this point it was after dinner, and we were sitting in the formal parlor, on Great-Aunt Ida’s uncomfortable turn-of-the-(last)-century sofa upholstered in peach velvet, sharing a post-dinner drink. Mother was having sherry, to my white wine.

  I twirled the stem of my glass between my fingers, watching the pale wine swirl, wondering how mother would react if I told her the truth
. If for once in my life I didn’t beat around the bush or use pretty, inoffensive euphemisms, but instead spoke plainly. Like I did the other night. I spent two years faking orgasms for Bradley. I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life.

  Mother would likely faint.

  I sighed. “Our marriage had problems before Bradley was unfaithful. It didn’t come out of nowhere.”

  Mother sipped her drink. “What do you mean, darling?”

  “He was dissatisfied with me. So he went and found someone else.”

  “What could possibly dissatisfy him?” mother sniffed. “You were a wonderful wife, Savannah. Beautiful, polished, gracious, a good hostess...”

  “He was dissatisfied with our sex-life,” I said.

  For a second, mother gaped like a goldfish out of water, her cheeks flushed. She closed her mouth, then opened it again. Took a breath. “That’s... I mean... Really, Savannah! That’s rather personal, isn’t it?”

  “You asked,” I said, taking a sip of wine. I wanted to gulp a mouthful, or better yet, toss back what was left in the glass, but if I did that, mother would have a reason to be shocked. “By the way, Todd told me that you and Bob Satterfield have been dating.”

  It was mother’s turn to take a fortifying swig of her sherry.

  “Dix said he’s known for a while,” I added. “I guess I’m the only one who didn’t know. When did I stop being part of the family?”

  “It’s not that we didn’t want you to know, darling,” mother demurred. “We didn’t make an announcement. It’s just that the others are around more. If you had moved back here after the divorce...”

  Instead of striking out on my own in Nashville. Yes, I knew the drill. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it.

  “If you’re dating Bob Satterfield, wouldn’t me marrying Todd be sort of incestuous?”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say, Savannah,” mother chided.

  Perhaps. But... “That’s how I feel about Todd, though. Like a brother. Not like a man I want to spend the rest of my life with. Or a man I want to share my bed with. If you’re sleeping with Sheriff Satterfield, surely you can understand that.”

  Mother turned as red as a cherry, and came close to choking on her drink. “Savannah...!”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” I said defensively, “but it’s important, you know. Bradley left me because of it.”

  “I’m sure it was Bradley’s failing and not yours, darling,” mother managed. She was still flushed, and looked like she’d rather be anywhere else right now, than here with me having this conversation. I took pity on her, and put my glass down on the table and rolled to my feet.

  “I think I’ll go out for a while.”

  “Now?” Mother glanced at the window, where darkness was pressing against the glass. “It’s late.”

  “Not that late.” Only just going on eight o’clock. “I’ll be careful.”

  Mother got to her feet, too, and followed me into the hallway. “Where are you going, darling?” I could sense the hopeful question she didn’t ask. To see Todd...?

  “Just out. For a drive. I need some air.”

  “Oh,” mother said, disappointed. “All right, darling. You have your key?”

  “Of course. But I won’t be long. I’m just going to...” I hesitated, “drive around town for a little while.”

  Mother nodded.

  “I’ll be back within the hour. And if I’m not, I’ll call.”

  “All right, darling,” mother said again. And this time she smiled.

  At some point during the afternoon, I had looked up Yvonne McCoy’s address in the Maury County telephone book, and now I plugged it into the GPS navigation system and started driving.

  After a few minutes, I passed Beulah’s Meat’n Three. It was still open, but the parking lot was deserted. It’s a breakfast and lunch place mostly, and doesn’t get a big dinner crowd, and what dinner business they’d had was over now. I slowed down as I drove past, to peer through the lighted windows. All the tables looked empty, and the waitress who was leaning on the counter talking to the cook wasn’t Yvonne.

  She lived in small community called Damascus, not too far from Rafe’s other teenage conquest, Elspeth Caulfield. I drove past Elspeth’s house on the way to Yvonne’s, as a matter of fact. A big, dilapidated Victorian house in dire need of some paint and new windows. It was dark except for a single lighted window on the second floor, sort of like the cover of a Gothic romance. All it needed was Elspeth in a flowing white nightgown running through the yard, terror etched on her face.

  Yvonne’s house was much smaller, a little 1950s crackerbox in a neighborhood of others. Vinyl siding, a flat facade, and a little carport off to one side with a small, white Nissan parked underneath. I slowed down. There was no sign of Rafe’s black Harley-Davidson anywhere. Yvonne’s lights were on, though, and with the windows rolled down, I could hear loud music, or maybe the television.

  I hesitated, my foot on the brake. Should I drive past, or should I actually stop and get out and sneak up to one of the windows to see if Yvonne was alone? Was it enough that I didn’t see Rafe’s bike, or did I want to make extra-sure he really wasn’t here? Was it possible that he might have parked somewhere out of sight, so no one would know he was visiting, and that’s why I couldn’t see the Harley?

  Would he bother to stay out of sight, when everyone knew Yvonne’s reputation? Or was it his own he’d be protecting?

  I made a slow circuit around the block just to make sure he hadn’t parked nearby. There was no sign of the bike. No sign of any other cars, either, other than the ones parked in the driveways. Rafe sometimes drives a black Town Car that he borrows from his buddy Wendell. I didn’t see that, either. Going past Elspeth’s house a second time, I noticed the tail end of a light-colored car parked behind her house. Another white Toyota or Honda; there sure were a lot of those around. The light was still on in the upstairs window. Elspeth’s bedroom, most likely. Maybe she was reading.

  But at least Rafe wasn’t there. He’d told me, in no uncertain terms, that he’d steered clear of Elspeth after that initial misguided occasion when he slept with her. She’d been hounding him forever—some need to save him from himself, Rafe thought, or maybe the preacher’s daughter just wanted to walk on the wild side—and she continued to pursue him after the fact. I wondered, not for the first time, whether she really had gotten pregnant and had an abortion afterwards, like Todd had suggested. Or merely a nervous breakdown at the thought of never seeing him again.

  Yvonne’s house looked the same when I came back. Lights on, TV blaring, car in the driveway, no sign of Rafe’s bike. I pulled the Volvo to a stop on the corner and got out. Looked around. Everything was quiet. Nobody else was out and about, and no one was looking at me through their windows. I started down the sidewalk, my heels clicking softly on the pavement.

  Yes, I was still wearing my skirt and blouse and high heels from the funeral. Way to go, Savannah; go sneaking through someone’s yard in Italian leather slingbacks!

  Then again, the heels were pretty well shot already, from walking around the graveyard in them earlier. I wasn’t too worried.

  Yvonne’s house was low to the ground, but not so low that I could see through the front windows. When I got to the backyard, though, the ground was a little higher, and I could see inside. The kitchen window was shorter than the rest, and too high, but I could see into the back bedrooms. There were two: one was pristine and clearly unoccupied, with the bed neatly made and the chair in the corner pristine with a needlepoint pillow.

  The other bedroom was a different story. There, the big bed was unmade, and there were clothes on practically every surface, including the floor. Yvonne’s work uniform from earlier was lying in a pile on the carpet next to the black hightop sneakers she’d had on at the funeral. There was a bra hanging from the drawer pull on the bureau—it was black and lacy—and piles of discarded clothes everywhere. The top of the bureau was littered with earrings and bracelets
, hairbrushes and combs, cough drops, rubber bands, and all the other items a woman keeps in her bedroom. There was no sign of Rafe.

  Yvonne was in the living room; I caught just a glimpse of her profile through the doorway. She was curled up on the sofa, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and she was laughing, probably at the TV. There were fuzzy slippers on her feet, and she was dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, so I thought it safe to assume that she was alone. If Rafe had been here, or been expected, she’d either be stark naked or severely dolled up.

  I got back in the car and turned the Volvo back toward Sweetwater.

  Chapter 17

  From where I was, the Bog was a thirty minute drive. I had to go back down the Pulaski Highway to Sweetwater, then through Sweetwater and out on the south side. I spent the time talking to myself about what I was doing and why.

  The last time I drove through the night, from Sweetwater to Nashville after Todd’s proposal, I hadn’t realized, consciously, where I was going until I found myself outside the house on Potsdam Street. This time I had no illusions about that. I’d gone to Yvonne’s house to see if Rafe was there. Now that I knew he wasn’t, I was on my way to see him.

  Not to sleep with him. That was a complication I didn’t need again. Not when the first time was still playing on a continuous loop in my head. I just wanted to see him. Talk to him. Make sure he was OK. After all, he was all alone in the Bog, in a trailer that didn’t even have electricity or running water anymore...

  I almost missed the turnoff in the dark, and had to stand on the brakes and then reverse a few yards before I could turn the nose of the Volvo down the track that led to the cluster of trailers and shacks. I parked in the open space between the houses and looked around. Just like every other time I’d been here, there was no sign of life. And pitch black, once I’d turned the headlights off. Eerily so. There were no street lights down here, no moon tonight, and no lights in any of the trailers. Nor surprisingly, since no one lived here.

  The Collier trailer was also dark, and my heart was beating hard as I closed the car door and picked my way across the rutted ground, around the corner to the carport and the back door. There was no sign of the Harley-Davidson, and also no answer when I knocked. I waited a minute, my breath stuttering the whole time, and knocked again. The skin at the back of my neck crawled; I felt like the dark was full of staring eyes, and I braced myself for the door to open like last time, and for Rafe to yank me inside.