Blindsighted Page 14

  He flinched at her words. “You think that’s all they were about?”

  “I don’t know what they were about, Hank,” Lena said. “We didn’t talk about that part of her life, okay?”

  “I know that.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?”

  He did not answer. “You’re not the only one who lost her.”

  “When did you hear me say that I was?” Lena snapped, standing.

  “It just seems that way,” Hank said. “Listen, Lee, maybe you need to talk to somebody about this.”

  “I’m talking to you about it right now.”

  “Not me.” Hank frowned. “What about that boy you were seeing? Is he still around?”

  She laughed. “Greg and I split up a year ago, and even if we hadn’t, I don’t think I’d be crying on his shoulder.”

  “I didn’t say you would be.”

  “Good.”

  “I know you better than that.”

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” she snapped. Lena left the room, her fists clenching as she took the steps upstairs two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  Her closet was filled mostly with suits and slacks, but Lena found a black dress tucked in the back. She pulled out the ironing board, stepping back, but not in time to miss the iron slipping off the shelf and smashing into her toe.

  “Damnit,” Lena hissed, grabbing her foot. She sat down on the bed, rubbing her toes. This was Hank’s fault, getting her worked up this way. He was always doing this kind of thing, always pushing his damn AA philosophies about closure and sharing onto Lena. If he wanted to live his life that way, if he needed to live his life that way so that he did not end up shooting himself full of dope or drinking himself to death, that was fine, but he had no right to try to push that onto Lena.

  As for his armchair diagnosis of Lena being jealous of Nan, that was just ridiculous. Her entire life, Lena had worked to help Sibyl become independent. It was Lena who had read reports aloud so that Sibyl did not have to wait for Braille translations. It was Lena who listened to Sibyl practice her oral exams and Lena who helped Sibyl with experiments. All that had been for Sibyl, to help her go out on her own, to get a job, to make a life for herself.

  Lena opened the ironing board and placed the dress on it. She smoothed the material, remembering the last time she had worn this dress. Sibyl had asked Lena to take her to a faculty party at the college. Lena was surprised but had agreed to go. There was a clear line between college people and town folks, and she had felt uncomfortable in that crowd, surrounded by people who had completed not only college but also gone on to get higher degrees. Lena was not a country bumpkin, but she remembered feeling like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Sibyl, on the other hand, had been in her element. Lena could remember seeing her at the center of a crowd, talking to a group of professors who seemed to be really interested in what she was saying. No one was staring at her the way people did when the girls were growing up. No one was making fun of her or making snide comments about the fact that she could not see. For the first time in her life, Lena had realized that Sibyl did not need her.

  Nan Thomas had nothing to do with this revelation. Hank was wrong about that. Sibyl had been independent from day one. She knew how to take care of herself. She knew how to get around. She may have been blind, but in some ways she was sighted. In some ways, Sibyl could read people better than someone who could see because she listened to what they were saying. She heard the change of cadence in their voices when they were lying or the tremor when they were upset. She had understood Lena like no one else in her life.

  Hank knocked at the door. “Lee?”

  Lena wiped her nose, realizing that she had been crying. She did not open the door. “What?”

  His voice was muffled, but she could hear him loud and clear. He said, “I’m sorry I said that, honey.”

  Lena took a deep breath, then let it go. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  “I’m okay,” Lena said, turning on the iron. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

  She watched the door, saw the doorknob turn slightly, then turn back as it was released. She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

  The Brock Funeral Home was packed to the gills with Sibyl’s friends and colleagues. After ten minutes of shaking hands and accepting condolences from people she had never met in her life, Lena had a tight knot developing in her stomach. She felt like she might explode from standing still for too long. She did not want to be here, sharing her grief with strangers. The room seemed to be closing in on her, and though the air-conditioning was low enough to keep some people in their coats, Lena was sweating.

  “Hey,” Frank said, cupping her elbow in his hand.

  Lena was surprised at the gesture but did not pull away. She felt overwhelmed with relief to talk to someone familiar.

  “You hear what happened?” Frank asked, shooting Hank a sideways look. Lena felt a blush of embarrassment at the look, knowing that Frank had pegged her uncle for a punk. Cops could smell it from a mile away.

  “No,” Lena said, escorting Frank to the side of the room.

  “Will Harris,” he began in a low tone. “Somebody threw a rock through his front window.”

  “Why?” Lena asked, already guessing the answer.

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked over his shoulder. “I mean, Matt.” Again the shrug came. “He was with me all day. I don’t know.”

  Lena pulled him into the hallway so they would not have to whisper. “You think Matt did something?”

  “Matt or Pete Wayne,” he said. “I mean, they’re the only two I can think of.”

  “Maybe somebody in the lodge?”

  Frank bristled, like she knew he would. She might as well have accused the pope of fiddling with a ten-year-old.

  Lena asked, “What about Brad?”

  Frank gave her a look.

  “Yeah,” Lena said. “I know what you mean.” She could not say without a shadow of a doubt that Brad Stephens might not like Will Harris, but she knew that Brad would cut off his own arm before he broke the law. Once Brad had backtracked three miles just to pick up some trash that had accidentally blown out of his car window.

  “I was thinking of talking to Pete later on,” Frank said.

  Without thinking, Lena checked the time. It was a little after five-thirty. Pete would probably be home.

  “Can we take your car?” she asked, thinking she could leave hers for Hank to take home.

  Frank looked back into the parlor. “You wanna leave your sister’s wake?” he asked, not hiding his shock.

  Lena stared at the floor, knowing she should feel ashamed at the very least. The fact was, she had to get out of this room with these strangers before grief took hold and she became too paralyzed to do anything but sit in her room crying.

  Frank said, “Meet me around the side in ten minutes.”

  Lena walked back into the room, looking for Hank. He was standing by Nan Thomas, his arm around her shoulder. She felt herself bristle, seeing them together like that. He certainly had no problem comforting a complete stranger, no matter that his own flesh and blood was not ten feet away from him, alone.

  Lena went back into the hallway to get her coat. She was slipping it on when she felt someone helping her. She was surprised to see Richard Carter behind her.

  “I wanted to tell you,” he said, his tone hushed, “that I’m sorry about your sister.”

  “Thanks,” she managed. “I appreciate that.”

  “Have you found anything about that other girl?”

  “Matthews?” she asked before she could catch herself. Lena had grown up in a small town, but she was still amazed at how quickly word got around.

  “That Gordon,” Richard said, giving a dramatic shudder. “He’s not a very nice boy.”

  “Yeah,” Lena mumbled, trying to move him along. “Listen, tha
nks for coming tonight.”

  His smile was slight. He realized she was moving him along, but obviously he did not want to make it easy for her. He said, “I really enjoyed working with your sister. She was very good to me.”

  Lena shifted from one foot to another, not wanting to give him the impression that she was looking for a long conversation. She knew Frank well enough to know he wouldn’t wait for very long.

  “She enjoyed working with you, too, Richard,” Lena offered.

  “Did she say that?” he asked, obviously pleased. “I mean, I know she respected my work, but did she say that?”

  “Yes,” Lena said. “All the time.” She picked out Hank in the crowd. He still had his arm around Nan. She pointed them out to Richard. “Ask my uncle. He was just talking about it the other day.”

  “Really?” Richard said, putting his hands up to his mouth.

  “Yes,” Lena answered, taking her car keys out of her coat pocket. “Listen, can you give these to my uncle?”

  He stared at the keys without taking them. This was one of the reasons Sibyl had gotten along so well with Richard, she wasn’t able to see the condescending looks he gave. In fact, Sibyl seemed to have the patience of Job where Richard Carter was concerned. Lena knew for a fact that Sibyl had helped him get out of academic probation on more than one occasion.

  “Richard?” she asked, dangling the keys.

  “Sure,” he finally said, holding out his hand.

  Lena dropped the keys onto his palm. She waited until he had taken a few steps away, then scooted out the side door. Frank was waiting in his car, the lights out.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Lena said, getting in. She wrinkled her nose when she smelled smoke. Technically, Frank was not allowed to smoke around her when they were on the job, but she kept her mouth shut since he was doing her a favor letting her ride along.

  “Those college people,” Frank said. He took a drag on the cigarette, then chucked it out the window. “Sorry,” he offered.

  “It’s okay,” Lena said. She felt odd being dressed up and in Frank’s car. For some reason, she was reminded of her first date. Lena was strictly a jeans and T-shirt girl, so putting on a dress was a big deal. She felt awkward wearing heels and hose, and never knew how to sit or where to put her hands. She missed her holster.

  “About your sister,” Frank began.

  Lena let him off the hook. “Yeah, thanks,” she said.

  Night had fallen while Lena was in the funeral home, and the farther away from town they got, the farther away from streetlights and people, the darker it got in the car.

  “This thing at old Will’s house,” Frank began, breaking the silence. “I don’t know about that, Lena.”

  “You think Pete had a hand in it?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank repeated. “Will worked for his daddy, maybe twenty years before Pete came along. That’s something you shouldn’t forget.” He reached for a cigarette, then stopped himself. “I just don’t know.”

  Lena waited, but there was nothing more. She kept her hands in her lap, staring ahead as Frank drove out of town. They crossed the city line and were well into Madison before Frank slowed his car, taking a hard right onto a dead-end street.

  Pete Wayne’s brick ranch house was modest, much like the man. His car, a 1996 Dodge with red tape where the taillights used to be, was parked in the driveway at an angle.

  Frank pulled the car up to the curb and cut the headlights. He gave a nervous laugh. “You all dressed up like that, I feel like I should get your door for you.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Lena countered, grabbing the handle in case he was serious.

  “Hold on,” Frank said, putting his hand on Lena’s arm. She thought he was pushing the joke, but something about his tone made her look up. Pete was coming out of his house, a baseball bat in his hand.

  Frank said, “Stay here.”

  “The hell I will,” Lena said, opening her door before he could stop her. The dome light came on in the car, and Pete Wayne looked up.

  Frank said, “Good going, kid.”

  Lena bit back her anger over the nickname. She walked up the driveway behind Frank, feeling stupid in the high heels and long dress.

  Pete watched them coming, keeping the bat at his side. “Frank?” he asked. “What’s up?”

  “Mind if we come in for a second?” Frank asked, adding, “Brother.”

  Pete gave a nervous sideways look to Lena. She knew these lodge people had their own special code of language. What exactly Frank meant by calling Pete his brother, she had no idea. For all she knew, Frank was telling Pete to hit Lena with the bat.

  Pete said, “I was just going out.”

  “I see that,” Frank said, eyeing the bat. “Little late for practice, ain’t it?”

  Pete handled the bat nervously. “I was just putting it into the van. Got a little nervous about what happened at the diner,” he said. “Thought I’d keep it behind the bar.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Frank said, not giving Pete a chance to respond. He walked up the front steps and stood at the front door, waiting for Pete to catch up, hovering over the other man as he fumbled with his keys in the lock.

  Lena followed them. By the time they reached the kitchen, Pete was noticeably on guard. His hand was wrapped so tightly around the bat that his knuckles had turned white.

  “What’s the problem here?” Pete asked, directing his question toward Frank.

  “Will Harris had a problem this afternoon,” Frank said. “Somebody threw a rock into his front window.”

  “That’s too bad,” Pete answered, his voice flat.

  “I gotta say, Pete,” Frank said, “I think you did it.”

  Pete laughed uncomfortably. “You think I got time to run down and toss a brick through that boy’s window? I’ve got a business to run. I don’t have time to take a crap most days, let alone take a trip.”

  Lena said, “What makes you think it was a brick?”

  Pete swallowed hard. “Just a guess.”

  Frank grabbed the bat out of his hand. “Will’s worked for your family for nearly fifty years.”

  “I know that,” Pete said, taking a step back.

  “There were times when your daddy had to pay him with food instead of money because he couldn’t afford help otherwise.” Frank weighted the bat in his hand. “You remember that, Pete? You remember when the base closed and y’all almost went under?”

  Pete’s face flushed. “’Course I remember that.”

  “Let me tell you something, boy,” Frank said, putting the tip of the bat squarely against Pete’s chest. “You listen to me good when I tell you this. Will Harris didn’t touch that girl.”

  “You know that for a fact?” Pete countered.

  Lena put her hand on the bat, bringing it down. She stepped in front of Pete, looking him in the eye. She said, “I do.”

  Pete broke eye contact first. His eyes went to the floor, and his posture took on a nervous stance. He shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. When he looked up, it was Frank he spoke to. “We’ve gotta talk.”

  13

  Eddie Linton had purchased acreage around the lake when he first started making money from his plumbing business. He also owned six houses near the college that he rented out to students, as well as an apartment complex over in Madison that he was always threatening to sell. When Sara moved back to Grant from Atlanta, she had refused to live in her parents’ house. Something about moving back home, living in her old room, smacked of defeat to Sara, and at the time she was feeling beaten down enough without the constant reminder that she did not even have a space of her own.

  She had rented one of her father’s houses her first year back, then started working weekends at the hospital in Augusta in order to save up a down payment for her own place. She had fallen in love with her house the first time the realtor showed her through. Built in a shotgun style, the house’s front door lined up directly with the back door. Off to the sides of the l
ong hallway were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small den on the right, with the living room, dining room, another bathroom and kitchen on the left. Of course, she would have bought the house if it had been a shack, because the view to the lake was phenomenal from the deck off the back. Her bedroom took full advantage of this, a large picture window flanked by three windows that opened out on either side. On days like today, she could see clear across, nearly to the university. Some days, when the weather was right, Sara took her boat into the school dock and walked to work.

  Sara opened the window in her bedroom so she could hear Jeb’s boat when he got to the dock. Last night had seen another soft rain, and a cool breeze was coming off the lake. She studied her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. She had chosen a wraparound skirt with a small floral print and a tight black Lycra shirt that fell just below her navel. Already, she had put her hair up, then let it back down. She was in the process of pinning it back up when she heard a boat at the dock. She slipped on her sandals and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine before walking out the back door.

  “Ahoy,” Jeb said, tossing her a rope. He tucked his hands into his orange life vest, affecting what Sara supposed he thought was a jaunty sailor look.

  “Ahoy yourself,” Sara answered, kneeling by the bollard. She put the wine and glasses down on the dock as she tied off the line. “Still haven’t learned to swim, have you?”

  “Both my parents were terrified of the water,” he explained. “They never got around to it. And it’s not like I grew up near water.”

  “Good point,” she said. Having grown up on a lake, swimming came second nature to Sara. She could not imagine not knowing how. “You should learn,” she said. “Especially since you’re boating.”

  “Don’t need to know how,” Jeb said, patting the boat as he would a dog. “I can walk on water with this baby.”

  She stood up, admiring the boat. “Nice.”

  “Real babe magnet,” he joked, unhooking the vest. She knew he was teasing, but the boat, painted a deep metallic black, was sleek and sexy, with a dangerous look about it. Unlike Jeb McGuire in his bulky orange life jacket.