chapter Sixteen
Heather’s sitting with her legs crossed in a rocking chair on the front porch when I return. She blows thick smoke into the misty air before returning a fat cigar to her painted lips. Then she plucks another out of the antique humidor on the table to her right and hands it to me, along with a box of matches that’s older than either of us.
For a long time we sit in silence, each trying to outdo the other with our smoke-puffing abilities. I manage to make a few rings like Uncle Robert taught me. He only ever smoked while fishing. Swore it kept the mosquitoes from eating us alive. Today it keeps my rage from eating me alive.
“So,” she says, tapping the ashes from the end of her cigar, “what do we do now?”
“Now we plan how to take down your mama once and for all. You in?”
“One hundred percent. Got a plan?”
“I need to know more about this Biloxi business, but yeah, I’ve got an idea.”
“What do you want to know?”
I rock back and forth in my chair a few times. “You willing to throw your whole family under the bus?”
“Not Daddy, no. But Mama and Geoffrey, yes.”
“Why not your daddy?”
“He’s basically a good man, just got stuck in a bad situation. He loved my mama but couldn’t make her love him. He’d bring her flowers and she’d complain that he was wasting money. He’d get a promotion and the first thing she’d ask was how much his pay raise was and how many more hours a week he’d be gone.” She sighs. “I’d watch his smile disintegrate and his shoulders slump as he trudged to their room to change clothes. Sometimes I’d follow him and sit on the bed while he’d yank off his tie. ‘Darlin’,” he’d say, ‘you do what makes you happy in life, ya hear? Don’t let anyone push you around, but don’t you go pushing anyone into what they don’t want, either.’”
“So clearly he doesn’t know about your psycho dominatrix side.” I dodge a punch to the arm and we both laugh—something we haven’t done enough of lately.
“No, he doesn’t, but he does know I love him and detest my mama. He might even be willing to help us.”
“Yeah?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Never know. He has reasons for wanting to see her get what’s coming to her. So what’s the plan, big guy?”
“Ever read Dangerous Liaisons by De Laclos?”
“No, but I saw the movie a long time ago.”
“Close enough. The Marquise de Merteuil, Glenn Close’s character, is a manipulative bitch, but at the end all her sins are revealed in public. She’s run out of town penniless, friendless, and she catches some horrible illness that leaves her blind in one eye and disfigured. Everyone agrees it would have been better if she had died.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Well, I don’t wish your mama dead–”
“I do.”
“Heather, you don’t mean that.”
“No? You only know the things she did to me that also involved you. There’s so much more. Believe me, it would be no skin off my teeth if I never saw her again.”
That throws me for a second. “Okay, but I’m not willing to bust out of this figurative prison just to go into a real one, so let’s keep the bloody murder fantasy to a minimum, shall we?”
Heather chuckles. “Yeah, okay. But I can still think about it, right? As long as I don’t say anything out loud?”
“Whatever makes you happy, sweet pea.”
“Thank you, Isaac. You’re so good to me.”
I shake my head and continue. “Anyway, the Mystics of Dardenne will be holding their annual charity golf scramble at the country club next week. Sounds pretty public to me, plus all her so-called friends will be there.”
Heather chews her lip for a few seconds before slowly nodding. “It could work. It gives you and me an excuse to be there, too.”
“Technically, I was kicked out of the society.”
“But I wasn’t, and you can come as my guest,” she says.
“Won’t that create a stir?”
“Isn’t that the idea?”
“Point taken.” Heather makes a good partner in crime.
“So, as you said, how do we reveal her sins?”
I take another long drag on my cigar. “She probably doesn’t have a paper trail, but she does love to rub everything in whenever I see her. Wouldn’t be too hard to get her to talk about what she did in high school, what she did at the ball with Juli, and then what happened the other night. If we can record her… What?”
Heather digs in her purse. “Voila,” she says, holding up a small digital recorder. “I use this for depositions. This is sort of the same thing.”
I put down my cigar to slap my knee. “You devious little minx. What else you got tucked away in that purse?”
She sticks her hand in, pretending to get it stuck. “Handcuffs, a mini-flogger, rope, extra panties. I’m kidding. Mostly. Close your mouth.” She laughs, but throws a very real pair of underwear at me.
“Um, right. Your mama loves to make me miserable, so email me those pictures, which I’m sure she thinks she can use to blackmail me. For what, I don’t know, but–”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Isaac, she wants you and me to break up. She wants both of us miserable. I’m positive she figured if Geoffrey showed them to me, I’d freak and never speak to you again,” she says.
“But you did just the opposite.”
“Damn right I did. Her games have gotten stale. I know how she thinks, but she hasn’t a clue how I think.”
“Neither do I, but I like your keeping me on my toes.” I nudge her foot with mine.
“That’s because you’re one of the good guys. Anyway, you were saying?”
“We can turn this around on her and use the photos to blackmail her instead. I’ll have to come completely clean, too, but I’m sick of hiding. Don’t mind putting my ego in the blender if it means she’ll leave my family alone forever.”
“We’ll have to move fast on this.”
“I’ll go talk to her at the shop tomorrow. Get it all on tape, then we can play it back Sunday at the scramble.”
“Okay. She’s usually there from about nine to maybe three,” she says.
“Perfect.” I fling her underwear back at her.
“So, now that we’ve planned to take down the viper, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Now that you’re here?” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“Ew, in your uncle’s house? That’s even weird for me.”
“My house now,” I remind her.
“And I suppose you want to christen it?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
“What did you have in mind?” She flings her black panties back at me.
“Something I’ve always wanted to do, but…”
“But what? Come on, tell me.”
“It’s kind of cliché.”
“Oh, pretty please? You’ve got me curious now.”
“Let me see your purse.”
She hands it over and I dig through it. Turns out she does have rope in there, along with a few other fun toys. “Paybacks are a bitch, sweet pea.” Her eyes widen at my evil grin, but before she can protest, I grab her hand, yank open the front door, and close it by pinning her against the glass with the full length of my body. She struggles a bit, but her heart’s not in it. Not according to the way her back arches, pressing her chest into mine, and not according to the quick pants escaping through her parted lips.
“I dare you to fight me,” I tell her. A wicked gleam appears in her eyes. I drink it in as I would a fine Scotch—slowly, deliberately, and without reservations. She struggles to bring up her knee between my legs, but that’s too predictable. I block her attempt by pressing my thighs against hers even tighter. Every square inch of her is trapped against either my body or the door. Still, she struggles and twists, wriggles and manages to bite my shoulder. The pain unleashes something I’ve kept under lock and key since the last time I was with Juli. It snaps its restraints, flips Heather over my shoulder, and hauls her into the parlor where I spent hours as a teen fantasizing about her.
Tonight, the fantasy becomes reality.
Turns out those Boy Scout knots are handy things when you’ve got a feisty blonde you want laid out on top of a piano, wrists and ankles secured to the mahogany legs. I stand back to admire my handiwork when it hits me that, in my haste, I forgot to undress her first.
“Hope you’re not too fond of those clothes, sweet pea. They’ve got to come off.”
“Isaac, these cost–”
“Don’t care. Actually, you talk too much. I want you mostly silent for this.” One shove and her skirt’s up around her waist, exposing her pink lace panties. To be honest, I’m surprised she’s wearing underwear at all. They’re so delicate, all it takes is one quick rip and they’re shredded. Heather’s quick intake of breath spurs me on. I finger the material for a few seconds before moving up to her head so she can see my smirk and feel my breath near her ear.
“Paybacks are a bitch, darling.” With that, I pinch her nose so her mouth is forced open. In that brief second her panties go onto her tongue—not far enough to choke her, but secure enough to keep her quiet. Her cheeks flood crimson. My cock approves.
“What shall I do with you, Miss Swann? Leave you here while I finish cleaning out the closets? Grab a camera and take some naughty blackmail photos of my own?” At that, her back arches off the piano and she squirms. “You like that?” She rolls her eyes in response. “Still such a brat. Let’s see if I can take you down a peg or two.”
Carefully, so I don’t break any of the antique ivories, I climb on top of the piano with her, hovering over her just enough that she can’t help but tense up while trying to bring our bodies together. I don’t let her. Instead, I kneel on either side of her hips while tracing her collar bone with the tips of my fingers. I can smell her reaction—she can feel mine against her stomach.
“I hate this shirt,” I tell her. My first instinct is to rip it off like her panties, but it’s overridden by my desire to torture her the way she’s tortured me, made me beg, humiliated me, and ultimately set me free.
The first button of her shirt slides open with ease. Same with the second. The third I open with my teeth and tongue, making sure to lick the salty sweat that’s formed in the hollow between her breasts. She pushes them at me, but I move on to the next button, repeating the move until her shirt falls open, revealing her small expanse of perfectly smooth, tanned flesh expanding and contracting with every labored breath. I draw a finger down her stomach to her navel, then further down, over her bunched-up skirt, and skim up the inside of her thighs with my thumbs. She writhes and makes a rather vulgar noise through her gag.
“Have something to say, dearest?”
She nods and bats her eyelashes. As soon as the gag comes out, she yells, “F*ck you!”
The gag goes back in before I reply, “I love you too, Heather.” At that, she stops struggling. I kiss the tip of her nose before sliding back down her body and carefully climbing down onto the piano bench once more.
Now, I’ve played at most of the biggest venues in the world—New York, London, Venice, Paris—sat at the most magnificently crafted pianos in existence. Nothing compares to my current vantage point. With the sheet music tray folded down, I’ve got a front-row seat and full access to the softest, sweetest, most beautiful lips I’ve had the pleasure of servicing. I can also see exactly how turned on she is by the small puddle forming under her ass.
The rain continues to pound outside, casting the room in dim shadows. I flick on the small Tiffany-glass lamp at my elbow. It throws off a yellowish tint that’s every bit as erotic as a candle. Heather wiggles a bit, so I check her feet to make sure they’re not cold and stroke her calves to calm her down.
Then I begin to play.
I start softly on the upper register of the keyboard, knowing she’s wondering what on earth I’m doing and how long I’m going to make her listen. I think she gets the idea when I move down a few octaves and the sounds reverberate through the frame of the piano. She moans during a pause in the music, so to push her further, I pick up the intensity and add pedal to rock the frame. No idea where this composition is coming from, but it’s definitely doing the trick.
Just because I can, I keep my foot on the pedal to sustain the chord, but stand and lean forward, starting with a few nips at her inner thighs and ending with a long, slow lick up her center. That’s the moment I learn that the sound of Heather whimpering through a gag is sweeter than any composition by the dead white guys I’ve spent my life studying. A few more strategic tongue movements and she’s nearly there. Because I’m enjoying being the bastard, I sit down and resume playing. Can’t help the chuckle that escapes when her arms and legs strain against the ropes holding her in place. I pinch the sweet spot where her inner thigh meets the bottom of her ass and she jerks then settles.
Once again I pound out low notes, making a mental note of her reactions. She presses her hips and bottom into the hard surface of the piano, obviously attempting to soak up all the vibration she can.
“Such a greedy little whore,” I tell her. Something that sounds very much like “I hate you” comes from behind the gag. This is too much fun. No wonder she had a blast kicking my ass and humiliating me. Oddly, though, this feels incredibly intimate, like not only is she physically laid bare and open for me, but because she couldn’t wiggle away when I told her I loved her, she’s being forced to think about it while I bring her to the edge and back again.
Part of me says this is happening so quickly, but it’s at war with the louder voice that admits I never stopped loving Heather, that this is a natural continuation of what we had as kids. Hope I didn’t freak her out again, unless it’s in a good way. From the noises she’s making, I’m confident this will end well for both of us.
When I’ve decided she’s had enough, I finish the song with a flourish, careful to employ the notes that resonate most. I carefully shut the keyboard cover, remove my shoes, and kneel on the bench. My hands find her hipbones as I slowly, carefully lick up all the moisture she’s dripped onto the surface of the piano. I move higher, lapping up every drop I’ve caused her to create, loving the taste and smell, knowing it was me, my music, my touch that was the catalyst. She positively quivers under my fingertips. I release a warm breath over her openings. It’s followed by a desperate cry.
“What’s that, sweet pea? You want more? I live to serve.”
She cries out again, so I take pity and use all my skills and enthusiasm to bring her to the edge, then watch, listen, and taste her crescendo and release. Her body arches and shakes, throat exposed, breasts flushed. It’s beautiful to witness her flying apart—something about it puts me back together.
When she’s finished, I carefully crawl onto the piano over her and pull her panties out of her mouth. She’s panting so hard she can barely choke out the words “Kiss me!” She greedily tastes herself on my lips. “More,” she says.
“As you wish.” Yeah, this is way too much fun. My shirt lands on the floor, but I take more time removing my belt. The sound of it sliding through the belt loops elicits a whole-body shudder from Heather, something I make note of for future exploitation. I’m painfully hard. Normally I’d be all about relieving that problem, but I’m almost reluctant to bring this to an end. I’ve had mind-blowing sex before. I’ve also made love in the most tender fashion. Never have I had both at the same time. What follows is truly a paradigm shift as we come together again and again, each climax stronger than the last, each one binding us together more completely than rope or even a ring.
Heather’s eyes roll back in her head and she goes limp. “Hey, sweet pea. Come back here. Stay with me.” I pat her cheek and wipe her damp hair off her forehead. She mumbles then her eyes fly open.
“I’m so sorry!” she says.
I burst out laughing. “About what? You just gave me the best compliment of my life.”
“How long was I out?”
“Just a few seconds. You need water and sugar.”
“Okay.” She nods, and with trembling hands I loosen the ropes around her wrists and ankles. The quilt on the sofa does little to stop her shivering as I wrap it around her shoulders before lowering her to the ground.
“Whoa there, onto the couch with you. I’ll be right back.” I kiss her forehead and head toward the kitchen. In the cupboard next to the microwave is Uncle Robert’s candy stash, right where it’s been for as long as I’ve been alive. A couple of chocolate bars, some butterscotch candy, and two bottles of water should do the trick. When I return to the parlor, Heather’s crying.
“Good tears?”
She turns her head and buries her face in the cushions.
“No, you don’t. Come here.” I force her to drink half the bottle of water and suck on the hard candy while her shakes subside. Despite the day’s heat, her skin is cold. “Did I have you tied up too long?”
She shakes her head. “Was perfect,” she says.
“Okay, then how about I hold you until you’re back on this planet?”
She responds by tucking her head under my chin. Honest to God, she couldn’t be any cuter and I couldn’t love her more. I gather her hair and twist it around my fingers, letting the long strands catch the light from the window. The rain’s backed off and a few rays of sunshine struggle to find a way through the clouds. I watch heavy drops fall from the porch roof to disappear behind the railing. When I turn back to Heather, she’s breathing softly against my chest, eyes closed, fingers curled around the edge of the quilt. Carefully, I lean back to rest my head, bringing her along with me. Her sigh is a lullaby meant for my ears only. It’s the last thing I hear as I join her in sleep.
***
Both the rain and the sun have completely disappeared when I wake. Only the small lamp by the piano remains on.
“You okay, sweet pea?”
The dark figure at the end of the couch nods as I stretch my arms over my head. My clothes are neatly folded on the floor next to me, so I slip them on and attempt to play it cool until my stomach growls.
She laughs. “I’m hungry too. Pizza?”
“Works for me.”
“Good, because I already ordered it. Should be here in ten minutes. Hope you like bacon and mushrooms.”
“Oh my God. I love you.” She laughs, but it’s tinged with uncertainty. I need to make her understand. “Okay, look. I know I freaked you out, but you had to know it was coming.”
“That’s a terrible pun.”
“Stop it, I’m serious. I’ll just keep saying it until you’re comfortable with it. I don’t expect you to say it back, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She looks away and rubs her wrists.
“Shit, did I hurt you?”
“What? Oh, hell no. That was fantastic,” she says, gesturing to the piano.
“Then talk to me. I thought you were fearless.”
“Isaac, this is just moving so fast–”
“I know.”
“But I don’t want it to slow down. That’s what scares me. It’s like we picked up right where we left off when we were in high school. Is that normal?”
“There ain’t nothin’ normal about you and me. Don’t roll your eyes.”
“I’ll grant you that. What I mean is, are we going to regret this? Is it just a rebound thing on both our parts?”
Hate to admit it, but it’s a fair question. “Normally I would say yes, but you and I have a history. In my case at least, I think it’s more accurate to say all my other relationships since you have been attempts at rebounding. Now, it feels like I’m finally back where I belong. Make sense?”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
“You love me?”
“Always have.”
“What’s not to love, right?” She bounces up from the couch and makes a face.
“Don’t run, Heather, and don’t put up a wall. I’m an expert at that and can spot it a mile away.”
Her shoulders sag. “Fine, fine. Guilty as charged, but you’ve got to understand that this is weird for me. I mean, I’d pretty much resigned myself to an arranged marriage made tolerable only by the sheer volume of money and a few friends with benefits.”
“Well, damn, don’t go settling for me when you’ve got all that at your disposal. You did not just stick out your tongue at me.” I lunge for her, but the doorbell rings.
“Saved by the pizza guy!” she says.
“Bet he’s not as cute as me.”
“Bet he doesn’t f*ck half as well, either.” With that, she swings open the door while I stand in the foyer with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.
Yes, I definitely love this crazy chick.
An hour later the pizza’s gone, I’ve met my month’s quota of bacon, and we’re rifling through the closet of the spare bedroom, which I’m convinced hasn’t been opened since the Reagan era.
“Shut the front door!” Heather pulls out a large green garment bag from the dusty recesses and hangs it over the top of the door.
“Careful, bats and moths might fly out of that thing if you open it.”
“Stop it. This came from Eden Bridal,” she says, brushing her finger over the logo.
“So?”
“So, my grandmother ran it for decades.”
“Cool.” I continue flipping through the hangers, looking for anything I can drop off at the thrift store.
“It is! The place burnt down when I was little and all the dresses, everything was destroyed.”
“Mob hit?”
“Probably. My grandmother kept her own dress in storage there. It went up in flames, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
She waves me off. “Ancient history. Still, I really liked my Nana Eden. My mom got all her stuff when she died, and heaven knows I’ll never see any of that now.”
“You think she’ll give it to Geoffrey?”
“I’m sure of it, and then he’ll throw it all in a Dumpster to spite me.”
“Your brother’s an asshat.”
“Yeah, well, he comes from a long line of them.”
I gesture to the green bag. “You gonna open it?”
“Absolutely.” Despite years of disuse and a heavy layer of dust, the zipper slides down like it’s brand new. The smell of cedar fills the room as Heather pushes back the sides of the velvet-lined bag. Inside is an ivory dress.
“Oh my gosh,” Heather breathes. “Look at that lace! And the satin’s in perfect condition. You think it was your aunt’s wedding gown?”
Instead of answering, I head into Uncle Robert’s bedroom, rummage around on the bed until I find what I’m looking for, and bring it back to Heather. I flip open the page and point. “I’d say so.”
Trapped under a layer of yellowed plastic is a photograph of my Aunt Angela standing in front of Chamberlain Episcopalian Church with a bouquet of magnolias in her hands. Besides a huge smile, she’s wearing the dress that now holds Heather’s attention.
“But that one’s full-length. This one’s short,” she says.
“Yeah, but look at the details. Thin straps, bow at the waist, and the lace pattern is the same. It’s just been shortened.”
“You know, I bet she had it shortened so she could wear it to other events. I’ve heard of women doing that,” she says. “It would make a great cocktail dress or even an Easter dress if you added a shrug or shawl.”
I nod. “Or it would still make a great modern wedding dress. Buddy of mine got married two years ago and his bride wore a shorter dress like this.”
“Tea-length,” Heather says. “So what are you going to do with it? You could probably get a good bit of money if you consigned it with one of the shops downtown.”
“Nah, I’ll hang on to it. Keep it in the family. Never know, might have a use for it someday.” When her jaw flaps open, I add, “Baby Jayne might want to wear it.”
“Oh, sure. That would be adorable,” she says, and spins away from me.
I suppress the chuckle that so desperately seeks release. It’s not every day that I fluster such a force of nature, though my average has gone up considerably today. Picturing Heather in that dress nearly knocks me on my ass. What a lucky bastard I’d be if–
“So what do you plan to do with this house? You going to live here?”
I shake my head. “No, as much as I love it and there are so many great memories, I think I’ll sell it.”
“Really? I understand why you’d want to keep the dress, but you’re going to stay in that death trap you live in now?”
“Death trap? It’s coming along nicely, thanks to the help of this cute blonde I know with a knack for interior decorating. Going to make my buddy an offer on it.”
“Isaac, be serious. That was one room. You know you’ll have to renovate every single inch of that house to make it livable.”
“I’m willing to put in the work. I liked doing the parlor, and besides, I’ve got some great memories in that house now. I have no intention of walking away from them. In fact, I’d love to make a bunch more.” Heather blushes. “I figure the profit from this place—plus some of the money in Uncle Robert’s accounts—will be enough to fix it up pretty well. Won’t be a palace, but there’ll be indoor plumbing that doesn’t rattle and a bed in each bedroom.”
“That sounds really nice,” she says quietly. “I always wanted to renovate an old house.”
“It’s your place, too, you know. My offer didn’t come with an expiration.”
“I appreciate that,” she says. Her fingers trail over the straps of the dress then she quickly zips up the garment bag again. “I need to go.”
“Go where?”
“I don’t know, just somewhere to think.”
“Ah, I understand. The adrenaline of earlier is fading and you’re getting all mushy,” I tell her, and tug a lock of her hair.
“Am not!”
“Are too!” She smacks away my hand and gathers her hair into a ponytail. “It’s fine. I’ve got a few more hours of work here, so our house is all yours if you need some alone time. Take a bath. Have a drink. Whatever you need, sweet pea. Just…do me a favor?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t overthink things. I’m a simple guy. Not into head games. If you want to know something, ask. Okay?”
She nods, and I place a kiss on her forehead.
After she’s gone, I open the garment bag again and take a peek. Sure, Baby Jayne might wear this someday, but I bet I can get someone else into it first.
***
Carter & Swann Antiques is nestled between an abandoned dry cleaner and a high-end photography studio. All three share a cracked parking lot with weeds and sand emerging from the sun-baked fissures. I step over a fire ant nest and take a deep breath before pulling open the door to the shop.
A small bell rings, signaling my entry, and cool manufactured air raises goose bumps on my arms. Hell is not hot—it’s a chilled meat locker that smells of musty clothes and pine cleaner. I reach into the front pocket of my shirt and press the button on the recorder. I also have my phone in hand as backup, but I don’t trust its weak microphone to catch everything I plan to say to this woman—and, hopefully, the confession that will bring her down.
Rows of knick-knacks stretch out to my left, while a glass counter covered in costume jewelry and an antique cash register is nestled among racks of minks and furs to my right.
“Hello! Welcome to Carter and–”
I’d like to say she chokes on her words, but I’d never be so lucky. Instead, the petite blonde quickly recovers, transforming into a lioness on the prowl. My fist clenches at her cocky smirk, but I remember the role I’m here to play and plaster on a fake smile in return.
“Well, well,” she says. “Look who’s come crawling back for more.”
“Hello, Marcie. So it was you that snuck into my bed. Thought so, though I wish I hadn’t been so drunk that I couldn’t enjoy it.”
She wiggles past a display of antique books and closes the distance between us. “You enjoyed it. You moaned like a whore, but you were such a p-ssy about your chin. By the way, how’s that healing?” She presses a finger to the wound. Despite the burn, I refuse to flinch.
“Doing pretty well, thanks to your daughter. Heather seems to have a magic touch.”
“My daughter. Yes, I’m sure her touch is magic, though I doubt you’ll be feeling much more of it.”
“Oh?”
“You clearly haven’t seen the pictures yet.”
“Pictures? Show me.” Not hard to work up a bit of anger despite being privy to her blackmail material.
“Not so fast. You haven’t thanked me for the privilege yet.”
“Privilege of what?”
“I did you a favor. I expect the proper thanks.”
“Again, for what?”
“You don’t take hints very well, do you? Not once, but twice I’ve spared you from getting too involved with my daughter—with our family. You’ve had the privilege of f*cking both of us, and I did you a favor by getting her out of the picture before you got too attached.”
“And I should thank you for that? Why?”
“Honey, you don’t need to be in my family’s business. Your Aunt Angela and her daddy had the chance, but turned their backs on their relations.”
“Explain.” I soften my demand by swallowing the bile that threatens and moving close enough to run my finger down her arm from shoulder to wrist. I say a quick prayer that the recorder in my pocket isn’t visible.
“Since when do you make the demands? Seems to me, young man, you are at a distinct disadvantage.”
I shake my head, feigning ignorance.
“Geoffrey’s already shown those pictures to Heather. Chances are you’ll never see her again. Can you imagine her humiliation when she finds out you screwed her mama? I’d give years off my life to see that exchange.”
“You’d enjoy seeing your daughter in distress? That’s pretty sick, and forgive me, but I doubt your reasons for doing me a favor.”
She waves off the accusation with a flick of a bangled wrist. “Believe what you want. I’m actually a very nice person.”
“So nice that you groped your daughter’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend?”
“You loved it, admit it.”
“So nice that you crawled into my bed on the eve of my uncle’s funeral and let me think I was sleeping with Heather?”
“You can’t be that dumb. You knew full well it was me.”
“Matter of fact, I didn’t. Had polished off a case of beer giving Uncle Robert a proper send-off. Kinda knew something was off, but I didn’t know it was you. What I want to know is, why?”
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons why not, but you seem to ignore them all.” She laughs, and the sound makes my skin crawl. For an instant, I’m in her driveway again, shaking and crying. “Do you know how badly you messed me up after what you did? It was technically sexual assault of a minor.”
“Oh please, enough with the dramatics, Isaac. You were a horny young man bent on ruining my daughter. I did what any mother would do to protect her daughter.”
“Protect her from what? She needed protecting from you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, is there a reason you came here today, other than to harass me in my store?”
“There is, actually.” Her face slackens when I hold up my phone and slowly scroll through the photos she took that night. “These photos—the ones you thought would send Heather running for the hills—they did the opposite. We’ve both seen them, and we both think you’re a psychotic bitch. I came here today to tell you to stay the f*ck away from us. You aren’t welcome at our house–”
“Our house?”
“Yes, our house, and you’re not to even speak to us in public. We want nothing to do with you, and be warned, you can’t hide what you’ve done forever. These things have a way of making their way to the surface.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No need. You did this to yourself. Just a matter of time before it explodes in your face.”
“Oh, Isaac, I love your naivety. Things only work that way in movies and books. This is real life and I’ll do as I please. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to take care of.”
“I’m sure you do. As it happens, so do I, though I can safely say my next task will be much more fruitful than yours could be.”
“Sugar, I don’t care.”
“You will.”
I turn on my heel and exit the store, but this time the bell above the door signals my escape. I think of Persephone rising to the surface to greet the sun after months of captivity. Like her, I plan to enjoy my impending freedom and turn this darkness into something worth celebrating.
***
“This could actually work,” Heather says, and grabs a hat off the hall tree in the foyer.
“Of course it will. Thought you were supposed to be the confident one?”
“Normally I am, but when it comes to my mama, you know she always gets the last word.” She adjusts her hat in the mirror, tipping it this way and that until she decides on an angle.
“Not this time, sweet pea. A good friend once told me to have a little faith. I need you to do the same today, okay?”
She slowly nods. “What a reversal.”
I pull her in tight for a hug. “Strengths and weaknesses, sweet pea. We complement each other, you know that? Think we know when to step up and when to back off. I needed you to be strong when Uncle Robert died, and now you need me to lead the way. I had a pretty good teacher, too.” I smile over her shoulder and marvel at our reflections, how completely opposite we are, but how perfectly we fit together.
She squares her shoulders, which does nothing to stop her foot from tapping, but I admire her determination all the same.
“You look great. Time to go,” I tell her.
The early morning air is already sticky, a sure sign that spring is quickly fading and will soon be replaced by endless days of triple-digit heat along the coast. We drive west, leaving behind the cooling canopy of Midtown’s live oaks to the more immature crepe myrtles and spindly pines of West Mobile. The winding path from the main road to the clubhouse is lined with magnolias just about to burst into bloom. A few precocious flowers release their sweet scent into the air and I think of how much Uncle Robert enjoyed this time of year. More than the ball, this was his favorite Mystics event, though golf certainly wasn’t his strong suit. Still, the proceeds always went to a children’s charity. I can see now why it meant so much to him.
“Heather, what charity are the Mystics sponsoring this year?”
“It’s called Olivia’s Hope.”
“What do they do?”
She looks out the window and mumbles something.
“Pardon?”
“They run the STOP campaign,” she says.
“And that would be…?”
“Stop, Tell, Overcome and Prevent.”
“I’m still not following.”
She sighs. “It’s a group that helps victims of childhood sexual abuse.”
“Well, that’s great.” Then it hits me. “Oh. I see.”
She puts a strong hand on my arm. “You’re not a predator, okay? We’ve been over this before.”
“No, it’s fine. I know I’m not, and there’s nothing I can do about those who think I might be. I know the truth. Juli knows the truth. Those who matter know. Actually, it’s perfect. It gives me another idea.”
“Okay, that scares me,” she says. “What are you planning?”
“It’ll be okay. I’m just going to do something I should have done a long time ago. You’ll have to trust me.”
She takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand. “I do.” Those two words are the confirmation I need. Everything’s going to finally be out in the open. No more hiding. No more shame. And for f*ck’s sake, no more guilt.
I park between a BMW convertible and a Lincoln. My muscle car stands out a bit amongst these more pretentious rides, but it’s a fitting reflection of my misfit status among these people as well. Funny how I was raised among them, but when it comes down to it, I have very little desire to associate with them. After tonight, I’m not sure whether or not that will change. Doesn’t matter. They’re going to listen, and they’re going to learn—learn that appearances can be deceiving. That’s something they should definitely be able to wrap their heads around.
Heather doesn’t wait for me to open her car door. She’s out in a flash, high heels tottering in the deep oyster-shell driveway.
“Sweet pea?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s no fire. Relax. Walk with me.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Nervous?”
“Pretty obvious, huh?”
“I’ve got you. Won’t let anything happen. Promise,” I tell her. “Did I mention how fantastic you look? I mean, you always look like a ten, but you’ve outdone yourself today.”
She blushes and pats down the skirt of her pale dress. “Are you trying to distract me, sir?”
“Maybe, but I also want you to know that I appreciate the effort you make, and that no matter what happens in there today, you can count on me to be in your corner. I’ve known what it’s like to be ostracized. There’s going to be fallout from this, and when it hits the fan, I’ll be right there next to you.”
She aims a tight smile at me as I hold open the door to the clubhouse. We’re greeted by a number of funny looks and some whispers, but it slides off like oil on water. I make a mental note of the venue’s layout. It’s changed since I was last here. The small stage and podium are to the right, with tables and chairs in the middle. The buffet and kitchen are on the left. The back wall is all glass, affording a clear view of the manicured golf course beyond.
Throughout are the very people who turned up their noses to me after this year’s Mardi Gras ball and the shitstorm that rained down. That I’ve got Heather Swann on my arm draws even more eyes my way, and I’m totally fine with it. I hope they get an eyeful, because they’re going to be seeing a lot more of us together if I get my way.
It’s especially gratifying to see the momentary look of sheer horror on Marcie Swann’s face when she spies us hand-in-hand. She’s speaking with Mrs. Green from church, who once again stops with a piece of gum halfway to her mouth. The woman really needs to work on her poker face.
Heather squeals and hugs a tall woman with long brown hair who looks to be around our age. She looks vaguely familiar but I can’t put a name with the face. I take the opportunity to glance around the room and see who’s here. Some of the golfers have already returned from their rounds, including Geoffrey Swann, his and Heather’s father Darryl, and standing next to the bar are Richard and R.J. Casquette, Juli’s dad and brother. I haven’t spoken to them since before the ball, so I have no clue how I’ll be received by them. I decide to steer clear. Instead, I wander over to the window and flip through some of the brochures set out by Olivia’s Hope.
The first one I pick up is pale blue and explains the STOP campaign. The S stands for stop. I guess I did that with Marcie. The T stands for tell. I should have done that, but didn’t at the time. O stands for overcome. Have I managed to do that? I think I’m in the middle of that process, though I’m not entirely sure the process ever truly ends. Finally, the P stands for prevent. Tonight, I plan to prevent Marcie Swann from ever taking advantage of anyone in my family again. I think of Baby Jayne and all the ways I’d dismember someone if they laid a hand on her.
“Can I answer any questions for you, sir?”
I look up into the gentle eyes of an elderly woman with dark wrinkles lining her face framed by white curly hair. The chains that hang from her glasses sway when she smiles and tilts her head.
“Yes, ma’am. Tell me more about what your organization does, please.”
She explains their mission, the children they’ve helped, and the programs they sponsor. “You know,” she says, “we’ve also helped adults who suffered trauma as children and adolescents. Sometimes it takes years of therapy. Sometimes all it takes is an understanding ear.”
I nod—my throat’s too tight to speak. The woman takes my hand, pries open my fingers, and removes the brochure I didn’t realize I’d crumpled. She whispers, “What’s your story, sir?”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “You’ll hear it later. Right now, I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Do you accept personal checks?”
She raises her eyebrows and nods once.
“You have an address I can send it to?”
“Of course. All our information is right here.” She hands me another brochure and winks. “Try not to destroy this one, but if you do, we have a website, too.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Although my family probably won’t be keen on me selling Uncle Robert’s house, I think they’ll approve of me donating part of the profits to Olivia’s Hope. I know Uncle Robert would certainly approve. “Listen, I do have a story if you want to hear it.”
I tell her the basics, and then I tell her my plan. We strike a deal.
“If Mrs. Swann threatens to withhold the money raised here today, not only will I match whatever’s been collected, but I also know a good lawyer who will fight it.”
That lawyer’s small arms circle me from behind. I smell Heather’s perfume and relax into her embrace. “Everything’s in place,” she says. “Mama’s going to announce the winners of the golf scramble, then the people from Olivia’s Hope are going to give a slide show on their group. When that’s over…”
“I know. It’s show time.”
“Yeah. You ready?”
“Absolutely.” I wink at the kind woman behind the table.
“Good, now let’s get a drink. I need something to calm these jitters. Normally I’d say ‘let’s f*ck,’ but since that’s not an option, alcohol will have to do.” With that, she pinches my ass and grabs my hand, leading me over to the bar.
By the time I’ve finished a couple of bottles of beer and Heather’s downed her mojito, the place is packed, all the teams having returned from the golf course. Heather spots her daddy and runs into his arms. He lifts her off the ground in a bear hug, and it reminds me that I have something I need to talk with him about, but for now I’m content to watch her eyes light up. She’s so beautiful when she’s happy and smiling. I only hope I can make her that happy as well.
“Isaac, come say hello.” She holds out her hand and I take it. I extend the other one to Mr. Swann.
“Sir, nice to see you.”
“Likewise. You’ve made my daughter very happy lately. Considering everything that’s been going on, that’s no small feat.”
I have no idea what to say.
“Daddy, don’t embarrass him!” She pinches his arm and he messes up her hair.
In the next instant, the room feels like the aftermath of a car accident—all sloshy, slow, and muffled. Hot breath hits my ear. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you’re leaving. Now.”
“Actually, he’s not, Mama,” says Heather, and time picks back up again. “He’s my guest, and as a member of this society, it’s my privilege to bring one. You want to make a scene out of it?”
It seems my plucky girl is back.
“Perhaps I should just show a few key people the photos on my phone,” Marcie says, reaching into her pocket. “Would you like to see, dear?” She hands the phone to her husband, who slowly scrolls through the pictures.
I am a dead man.
With each flick of his finger, the urge to run like hell gets stronger until it’s nearly impossible to stand still. Adrenaline prickles the hairs on the backs of my hands, while every instinct tells me I’m about to get clobbered by the person I most need on my side. Heather grasps my fingers and squeezes hard. Her gesture is a much-needed anchor, but I can’t stop my muscles from tightening, can’t slow down my rapid breathing. Mr. Swann appears calm on the outside—too calm—but I see a vein jump in his neck. Any second now he’s going to hand back the phone, loosen his tie, and ask me to step outside where I’ll be forced to let him beat me to a bloody pulp for having sex with his wife.
Finally, Mr. Swann hands back the phone. “Well, dear,” he drawls, “if you’re going to be a professional cougar, you better start hitting the gym more often. Your whoring ass isn’t what it used to be. Plus, these will make the divorce so much easier. Thanks for sharing.”
One, two, three times I blink before his words register.
Marcie does the same, but adds in a wicked blush and a clenched jaw. Her hand darts out and she slaps his cheek. It all happens so quickly, I don’t think many people noticed, but the ones that did are wide-eyed, while a couple snicker at her loss of self-control and Mr. Swann’s crooked grin.
“That was completely worth it,” he says to Heather. Marcie stalks off, stuffing her phone back into her pocket.
I stand perfectly still, afraid that if I move I’ll burst out laughing, or worse, throw up. If only I’d had some clever comeback like that the night she came on to me, this whole mess might have been avoided.
Mr. Swann is my new hero.
He and Heather bump shoulders and share a secret look I can’t decipher.
“That was perfect, Daddy.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, baby girl,” he answers.
I go from incredulous to confused to elated in point-five seconds. “You knew about the photos?”
“Of course he did,” Heather says. “You think I’d come here and take the chance that she’d spring them on him? With you here? I only pretend to be crazy, Isaac.”
“So…I’m not about to get my ass kicked?”
“Hardly,” Mr. Swann says. “I think you’ve been through enough, young man.”
Once my blood pressure comes down from the stratosphere, I remember what I need to talk to him about. “Can I speak to you a moment, sir?”
“Of course,” he says.
“Heather, do you mind?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Sure. I’ll just…go to the ladies’ room. But for the record, you’re freaking me out a little. Can I trust you two?”
“Completely,” I tell her. She smacks my shoulder but saunters off without a backward glance.
Mr. Swann takes a swig from his beer bottle then sets it down on the bar. “What did you want to talk to me about, son?”
I stand up straight and clear my throat.
Here goes nothing.
***
Twenty minutes and another beer later, the awards ceremony is underway, with Marcie playing mistress of ceremonies. Heather is safely tucked under my arm at a table near the back of the room. Her father sits on her other side, also avoiding direct eye contact with Marcie. His team didn’t do so well. Juli’s dad’s team, however, cleaned house. She and her mama are conspicuously absent from today’s event. I don’t think they were officially kicked out—like I was—but I imagine rubbing elbows with these people is just as uncomfortable for them as it is for me.
Come to think of it, she’ll be graduating in a couple of weeks, and after that heading to Boston to the New England Conservatory. I’m happy for her. Also happy that I can finally be objective about what happened between us. Briefly, I wonder how her daddy and brother will react to what I’m about to do.
My musings are interrupted when the table begins shaking. I reach over and place a hand on the top of Heather’s thigh to stop it from bouncing. She sends me a sheepish grin that makes my heart swell. Beside her, Mr. Swann takes in our exchange with a look of resigned contentment. I don’t know him well, but I like him. Hell, anyone who loves Heather as much as he obviously does is okay in my book. The fact that he loathes his wife is icing on the cake.
Awards out of the way, Marcie turns over the program to the lady from Olivia’s Hope that I spoke with earlier. She introduces herself as Mrs. Anne Christopher and repeats much of what she told me, but with the addition of a slide show featuring pictures of their facilities and carefully cropped photos of children of various ages. The music is sappy, but it touches something inside all the same. When it switches to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”, it feels like someone rammed a steel rod up my spine. If I had any doubt at all about what I’m about to do, it’s vanished.
“Normally,” Mrs. Christopher says, “that’s the end of our presentation, but today I have a special guest who would like to say a few words. I’ve heard his story, and I think you’ll want to hear it, too. It hits rather close to home, I’m afraid. I only ask for your patience and understanding. May I present Mr. Isaac Laroche.”
At first, there’s no sound at all. No one breathes; no one dares move. Then, mumbling and a huff from Marcie Swann.
“He is not part of the program and will not be speaking. He’s not even a member of this society anymore!”
“No, but he’s my guest,” Heather says. “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
“Me, too,” Mr. Swann adds.
I make my way to the front of the room, aware that every eye in the building is trained on the bull’s-eye on my back. It’s been there too long, for all the wrong reasons. That ends now. I can see it’s time to grow a pair and set things right. Time to admit what happened, own it, and place blame where it belongs.
I curl my fingers around the edges of the podium and take a deep breath. “I’m asking for your attention because there’s something that needs to be said so a number of us can move on with our lives, and so those who come after us can learn from our mistakes. I admit I’ve made a number of them in my nearly thirty years, but they all started after one event in high school.”
“This is ridiculous! Someone get him out of here,” Marcie yells. No one budges, so she charges the podium, ripping the microphone out of its holder. No matter. I stand up straight and project my voice.
“Many of you knew me when I was younger and that I dated Heather Swann. We were very close and I had hopes that we’d stay together even after I went to college. That didn’t happen. Marcie,” I wave in her direction, “caught us on the couch and threw me out of the house. Ya’ll might not know that she threatened me with a statutory rape charge, which was technically true, though it was consensual. Am I right, Heather?”
A few people shift in their chairs to get a look at her. “Absolutely,” she says.
“Marcie also threatened to have my family kicked out of the Mystics if I didn’t go far away to college. That’s why I ended up in Boston, among other reasons, and why I stayed out of Mobile for so long. But here’s the important part, and why Mrs. Christopher agreed to let me speak today.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Marcie raises the microphone like a weapon.
I muster the iciest, most menacing glare I can. “I would dare. Now sit down, before you make more of a fool of yourself.”
Mrs. Christopher pulls Marcie off to the side and forces her into a chair. Marcie slaps her hand away and mumbles, “…black hands off of me.”
I clear my throat. “After Marcie kicked me out of her house, she followed me to my car. I was seventeen, mind you. Not a child, but not quite a man, either. She came on to me.”
“Oh, please! That’s ridiculous.”
“She kissed me. Told me she’d pick up where I’d left off with Heather.” I squeeze my eyes shut and relive those moments. “She groped me through my pants and taunted me. When she kneeled down in the driveway and began to…perform on me, I started to cry. Mind you, she had been my Sunday school teacher and a mother figure within this society. She got very angry and said I’d made a huge mistake. Said I’d pay for it.”
I open my eyes. “She was right. I’ve paid for it. I was forced to leave the city I love, my family, my friends. I lost Heather, who I loved very much. I’ve failed at every relationship I’ve been in since. That was very much evidenced by what happened with Julianne Casquette.”
Her father and brother sit up straighter in their seats. Mr. Casquette’s face reddens until it matches his hair, while R.J. stares a hole through me.
“I’d like to formally apologize for that. Since Juli was seventeen, it wasn’t technically statutory rape, plus it was also consensual. I’d like to make that clear, because I’ve been labeled a predator, a pervert, and a pedophile. None of those things is true. I’m just a man who messed up. I wasn’t out for revenge and I certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone, unlike Marcie.”
“I have had enough of this! Get out. None of this is true, you sick bastard. You took advantage of my daughter.”
“He did not,” Heather says. “Play the audio, Isaac.”
But I’m already on it. I’ve plugged my flash drive into Mrs. Christopher’s laptop and loaded the program.
“Before I do, I need to tell you that there’s more. Messing up my young adulthood wasn’t enough for Marcie. She also tried to drive Heather and me apart while I was mourning the death of my Uncle Robert Cline. His funeral was just days ago, and Marcie saw an opportunity. I’ll let you listen for yourself.”
I press play.
“Well, well. Look who’s come crawling back for more.”
“Hello, Marcie. So it was you that snuck into my bed. Thought so, though I wish I hadn’t been so drunk that I couldn’t enjoy it.”
“You enjoyed it. You moaned like a whore, but you were such a p-ssy about your chin.”
The room breaks out into mumbles.
“Holy shit,” R.J. says. “Ew!”
Marcie makes a grab for the laptop, but Mr. Swann hooks her around the waist and holds her still.
“You’re going to listen to all of this, Marcie, and you’re going to be judged by your peers. Now hold still,” he says.
“Not once, but twice I’ve spared you from getting too involved with my daughter—with our family. You’ve had the privilege of f*cking both of us, and I did you a favor by getting her out of the picture before you got too attached.”
“And I should thank you for that? Why?”
“Honey, you don’t need to be in my family’s business. Your Aunt Angela and her daddy had the chance, but turned their backs on their relations.”
“Explain.”
“Since when do you make the demands? Seems to me, young man, you are at a distinct disadvantage. Geoffrey’s already shown those pictures to Heather. Chances are you’ll never see her again. Can you imagine her humiliation when she finds out you screwed her mama? I’d give years off my life to see that exchange.”
“You’d enjoy seeing your daughter in distress? That’s pretty sick, and forgive me, but I doubt your reasons for doing me a favor.”
“Believe what you want. I’m actually a very nice person.”
“So nice that you groped your daughter’s seventeen-year-old boyfriend?”
“You loved it, admit it.”
“So nice that you crawled into my bed on the eve of my uncle’s funeral and let me think I was sleeping with Heather?”
“You can’t be that dumb. You knew full well it was me.”
“Matter of fact, I didn’t. Had polished off a case of beer giving Uncle Robert a proper send-off. Kinda knew something was off, but I didn’t know it was you. What I want to know is, why?”
“Why not?”
“There are a million reasons why not, but you seem to ignore them all. Do you know how badly you messed me up after what you did? It was technically sexual assault of a minor.”
“Oh please, enough with the dramatics, Isaac. You were a horny young man bent on ruining my daughter. I did what any mother would do to protect her daughter.”
“Protect her from what? She needed protecting from you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, is there a reason you came here today, other than to harass me in my store?”
“There is, actually. These photos—the ones you thought would send Heather running for the hills—they did the opposite. We’ve both seen them, and we both think you’re a psychotic bitch. I came here today to tell you to stay the f*ck away from us.”
I shut off the audio and pull up the pictures. “My apologies for the language. Here are the photos she’s talking about. She took them while I was passed out, and I’ll warn you that this material is offensive.”
As humiliating as it is to see my drunk self projected on the screen, it’s worth it to hear the gasps and muffled squeals when Marcie’s wrinkled ass appears. Can’t hide my grin when Marcie blanches and realizes I just broke every rule of polite society—and probably a few state laws—by showing naked pictures of the sixty-something-year-old harpy who’s made my life miserable.
Heather begins to clap. “Bravo, Mama! You’ve always been an attention whore. Now everyone knows you’re a real one, too!”
I watch as Heather’s daddy releases his grip on Marcie and slowly walks toward me. We told him what we’d planned to do, but I’m not sure he realized exactly what it meant. There may still be a face punch in my future.
“Excuse me, son, I need the floor for a moment,” he says. I nod, grateful for this small miracle. “Marcie, we’ve been married more than three decades and with each one I realized more and more than I’d sold my soul to the devil. Well, it’s finally over. More than ever, I’m positive I want a divorce, and there will be no alimony thanks to these pictures. You can take your mob money and get the hell out of my house.”
“Actually, she can’t take her mob money,” I tell him. “It’s all tied into her ‘antiques store,’ which was technically in your name to throw off the IRS, correct?”
“Ah, you’re right, son. And since I just agreed to sell the building to you, Marcie no longer has a source of income or a place for her cronies to meet. Goodness,” he says, turning to his wife. “That leaves you nearly penniless, dear.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t bat an eye. Doesn’t even cry or yell or do any of the things I’d expect from Marcie Swann. She simply sits there immobilized while everyone in the room picks up their plates and drinks and scoots their chairs as far away from her as possible.
“Pleasure doing business with you, sir,” I tell Mr. Swann.
“Indeed, but I believe there’s one more, uh, transaction that needs to take place?”
I smile and shake his hand. “Yes, sir. This one’s easy.”
I hold up my hands to calm the room. Eventually, everyone settles down enough that I can speak. “One of the major side effects of Mrs. Swann’s actions was to drive apart two people who loved each other. Sure, we were just kids, but I can safely say neither of us went very long without thinking of the other. Heather Swann was my first love, and there’s nothing Marcie can do to change that. Neither can she change the fact that I still love her daughter. She’s not the same girl I knew in high school. She’s even better. In the short time we’ve been back together, she’s shown me tough love, brought laughter to my life, and been by my side during tragedy.”
Marcie opens her mouth, but everyone in the room turns to stare her down. She closes her jaws with an audible snap. I walk to the back of the room to the table where Heather sits alone, legs crossed at the ankle, nervously twirling a linen napkin in her hand.
“Isaac? This wasn’t part of the plan,” she whispers.
“Actually, it was. You just didn’t know about it. And yes, your daddy is in on this, too.”
Her eyes get wide. She holds her breath. She’s never been more beautiful.
I fall to one knee.
She blinks.
I take her hand.
She smiles.
I smile in return.
She cries a little.
“Heather, neither time nor distance nor the meddling of outside forces could keep us apart. Either fate or your stubborn determination brought us together again and I’ll always be grateful for this second chance. A lot has changed in the past year. I believe it was all to prepare me for reuniting with you, to make me worthy of you. I loved you when we were kids, and although we’ve both changed so much, I love you even more now. Your strong will, your ability to read me like a book, your kindness and your joie de vivre—I want it all.” I pause to take a deep breath and pull the small velvet box out of my blazer pocket. “Please do me the honor of marrying me?”
Somewhere in the distance, I swear Marcie Swann is emitting a death rattle.
Heather wipes her cheeks with her free hand and smiles. “Hell, yeah,” she says, then giggles. I smile and place the ring on her finger. It’s a perfect fit.
“It’s not as big as the rock that other guy gave you, but I think this one is more appropriate,” I tell her.
“It’s perfect,” she says. “Now come here.”
The room erupts into whoops and hollers and even a rebel yell when I stand, grab the back of Heather’s hair with one hand, her waist with the other, and pull her in for a deep, wickedly inappropriate kiss. She responds by biting my lower lip while her hands tug on the lapels of my coat.
The kiss ends when R.J. Casquette yells, “Get a room!” Glad he can have a sense of humor about this.
Mr. Swann shakes my hand. “I always liked you, even if I didn’t like what you were doing with my daughter. Don’t make me regret this,” he says with a wink.
“Not a chance.”
He and Heather share a warm hug that makes me wish I could tell Baby Jayne right now that she’s going to have a cool new auntie, and maybe a couple more cousins to play with down the road. My daydream is interrupted when Marcie stands and the room quiets. Her movements are lethargic as if she’s under water, and now more than ever, she looks like the aging debutante that she is. Guess I expected more of a fight out of her, so it’s a relief when she picks up her purse and trudges toward the door. Her life-long friends, acquaintances, and fellow Mystics move to the side, giving her a wide berth. Like I did, they finally recognize that she’s pure poison. God help the poor soul she chooses as her next victim.
Once she’s gone, there’s a collective sigh of relief.
That’s when it sinks in. We did it. We won. My shoulders feel a little broader, my back a little straighter. Couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if I tried, but why the hell would I want to? The best girl in the world just agreed to be mine.
After we accept our congratulations, I square things up with Mrs. Christopher and we say our goodbyes. I hold out my arm and walk Heather to the car.
“What are you smiling about, big guy?”
“Was just thinking how good Heather Laroche sounds.”
“Uh, it’s the twenty-first century, even in Alabama. Isaac Swann has a pretty nice ring to it, too.”
“You really expect me to share a name with your mama?”
She pauses with one leg in the car, one out. “Good point. Laroche it is. But I’m still going to make you wear an apron. Maybe only an apron. I already know you look good on your knees. I’ll give you a bucket and a sponge while you’re down there.”
I simply smile.
She looks up at me through her eyelashes. “I’m not going to scare you off, am I?”
“Not a chance, sweet pea.”
She pulls her leg back out of the car and stands before me. She may only come up to my chin, but I love the menacing look that spreads over her face.
“Good,” she says, wrapping her fingers around my throat. “This is going to be so much fun.”
For once in my life, I have absolutely no doubt.