Uncharted (13 page)
Susan tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “They should teach good manners everywhere. Unfortunately, civility isn’t part of the curriculum these days.”
The wind picked up, bringing with it soft spatters of rain that caught in Susan’s lashes and blurred her eyes like tears. Karyn pulled an expandable umbrella from her voluminous shoulder bag and fumbled with the mechanism. “You two can share with me. No sense in all three of us getting wet.”
“You all can share it; I’ll be fine.” Ignoring the threat of the rain, Susan stepped out of the line and walked directly toward David’s widow. Let the raindrops streak her makeup and paint black lines down her face. Let her hair frizz and go limp; let this silk suit suffer water stains.
She’d been dreading this moment for years, but she wasn’t a coward. She’d meet David’s wife and offer her condolences; she’d stand in silence and suffer whatever humiliation the offended wife chose to dish out.
But please, God, not in front of Karyn and Lisa. Keep them occupied with
that stupid umbrella; don’t let them overhear.
Julia Lawson was petite, dark haired, dark eyed. She was probably still in her thirties, for her face bore no sign of those telltale nasolabial folds that eased onto any face past its fortieth birthday.
Susan waited until an old man teetered away on his cane, then she cut in front of a young couple and extended her hand. “Excuse me for breaking in line, Dr. Lawson, but I had to speak to you away from the group. I’m Susan Dodson. David knew me as Susan Brantley.”
She searched the widow’s eyes and braced for a flare of condemnation. The woman might tell her off; given her emotional state, she might shout or faint or curse—
But Julia Lawson took Susan’s hand and managed a tremulous smile. “David said you were beautiful. Thank you for coming. I’d like you to meet our son, Nicholas.”
Susan stood on the sidewalk, blank and amazed, as David’s wife dropped her hands to her son’s shoulders. Did she not understand?
“Nicholas”—Julia bent so Susan couldn’t see her face—“this is Mrs. Dodson. She was a friend of your father’s. He . . . loved her very much.”
Yes, she understood, but only the slight waver in Julia’s voice, betrayed their shared secret. The woman’s composure shocked Susan so completely she could only blink at the boy in astonished silence.
Nicholas offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Susan took his hand and struggled to find appropriate words. “Nice to meet
you
,” she finally said, feeling like an adolescent schoolgirl. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
And suddenly Karyn was talking to Julia while Lisa spoke to the boy. Susan took a step back, wet and stunned and envious of Julia Lawson’s composure, position, and motherhood.
And her youth. Her youth most of all.
Mark followed the black limo that carried Julia Lawson and her son into an exclusive neighborhood. He whistled between his teeth as he eased the Mercedes through a security gate. David must have been raking in money with a pitchfork. The houses in this neighborhood had to sell for over a million. The wife wasn’t bad looking, either, though she was definitely not Mark’s type.
In the passenger seat, Kevin sat with his elbow propped on the armrest, his fingers curled around the handhold mounted above the door. He hadn’t spoken since the graveside ceremony, where they’d stood in respectful silence as the pastor dispatched David’s soul with a prayer and a reading of the Twenty-third Psalm.
“Looks like David didn’t do too badly for himself,” Mark said, glancing at Kevin. “What do you think these houses go for?”
Kevin looked at him, his eyes abstracted, but they cleared as the question registered. “I don’t know. One point five, maybe? But I’m judging by Atlanta standards.”
Mark nodded. “We don’t have many of these gated neighborhoods in my area. A few golf communities are springing up south of us, but I live on the beach. We’re starving for land in east-central Florida.”
“That so?” Kevin smiled, but his tone gave him away. He was being polite, dutifully making conversation like so many of the women Mark met. Didn’t matter whether he encountered them in a bar or the church choir room, when they weren’t interested, they gave him short answers and the same smile Kevin was wearing.
Mark followed the line of cars around the block and looked for a place to park. “Of course,” he continued, “I have a great place. Forty-two hundred square feet, amazing beach view, a lake behind the house. Got a couple of gators out back that are practically pets.”
That
caught Kevin’s attention. “Alligators?” He turned to look Mark in the eye. “Since when did you start wrestling alligators?”
Mark shrugged. “I like the ugly beasts. Nobody else will feed ’em—in fact, feeding gators is against the law. If gators get fed regularly, they lose their fear of humans, and that’s not a good thing. But there’s only about five houses backing up to this pond, so I figured what’s the harm? Might as well give the wildlife a break.”
Kevin snorted with the half-choked mirth of a man who was trying his best to be serious. “You haven’t changed, have you? You’ve always thought rules apply to everyone but you.”
Mark laughed too. “Hey, it’s not like I enjoy breaking the law. Stupid laws deserve to be ignored.”
He spied an empty curb on the side of the road, slanted the Mercedes next to it, then cut the engine.
“Thanks for the ride,” Kevin said, his hand on the door. “Will you pop the trunk so I can get my bag?”
“You staying overnight?”
“Hadn’t planned on it, but I thought I’d bring a bag just in case. It all depends.”
“On what?”
“The temperature inside the house. If Karyn’s frosty, I’m flying back tonight.”
Mark clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Man, I thought you two would make it.”
“So did I . . . but some things don’t work out the way we plan.”
They stepped out of the car. Mark paused to pull up his trousers and check out the wide two-story with a sloping roof over the door. Two bay windows with leaded glass were set off by copper hoods; French doors led into a side garden that would probably bloom with roses come spring. The place was impressive without being imposing—the kind of home Mark would expect David to provide for his family.
He waited until Kevin came around the car, then they approached the house together. Mark rang the bell. A young woman, blond and pretty, opened the front door.
“Come in,” she said, her eyes gentle and sober. “Dr. Lawson is in the living room.”
They stepped inside, but Mark had little interest in talking to Julia Lawson. He was about to pursue the pretty blond when he spied Lisa through the opening to the dining room. She was standing beside a table heaped with enough cold cuts and salads to feed an army of mourners.
Kevin could fend for himself. Mark smiled, hiked up his trousers, and strode toward his old girlfriend, who looked better now than she ever had in college. “Lisa,” he said, opening his arms.
She looked up, eyes wide, and gave him a barely civil smile. “How are you, Mark?” With one hand firmly clamped onto her buffet dish, she leaned toward him in a one-armed embrace that wouldn’t thrill even a monk. “It’s good to see you.”
She shifted her gaze to a plate of deviled eggs. “Have you had something to eat?”
He dropped a hand to her arm. “I was thinking maybe you and I could slip out and grab some dinner.”
Her gaze flew into his. “Just the two of us?”
“Well, sure.”
Her face twisted in a phony wince of remorse. “I’m afraid not, Mark. I want to see everyone on this trip. Besides”—she gestured to the spread on the table—“there’s enough here to feed us for three days. You ought to grab a plate.”
He stood rooted to the carpet as she followed the curve of the table and drifted out of reach. Lisa, Miss Fussy Pants, turned
him
down? As casually as if he were nothing more than an old neighbor, she’d told him to buzz off. Why? Did she think he was desperate? He wasn’t. He’d had women beg at his feet, pleading with tears, saying things they never dreamed they would say . . . because he proved himself powerful; he demonstrated his control.
Though Lisa
thought
she knew him, she didn’t. But she might. One day, if she was lucky, she’d see the real Mark Morris.
While a stream of mourners filed through the house, Karyn joined Susan, Mark, Lisa, Kevin, and John Watson in the cozy family room. After exchanging hugs and smiles, they sat in a circle and filled in the missing years. Karyn sat on a sofa, her arm draped over Susan’s shoulder, Lisa’s head resting on a pillow in her lap. John Watson sat in David’s easy chair and smiled indulgently, like a father happy to be reunited with his children.
Karyn looked around the circle and thought that they’d come back together as easily as bits of Velcro. The way they were clinging to each other, you’d never know they’d been apart for twenty years.
“I’ve been busy,” Lisa said, lifting her head. She propped herself up on one elbow. “I’ve been running a preschool, as you probably know, and serving as a layperson at my church. Anything having to do with kids, I’m there. I lead the children’s choirs and run the Vacation Bible School.” She gave them a shy smile as she fell back to the pillow. “I’ve received a couple of awards over the past few years, so I guess I’m helping somebody.”
As the group murmured their congratulations, Mark waved his hand. “I guess I’ll go next. I’ve got three dealerships now, and we’re the largest luxury car lot in Brevard County. If you need a new car”—he winked at Karyn—“I’m the guy to see.”
Karyn covered her repulsion with a polite smile. “Fortunately,” she said, lifting her voice to be heard above the others’ laughter, “we don’t drive in Manhattan. It’s a hired car or a cab for me.”
“
Well
.” Mark pulled his mouth into a prissy, pretentious expression. “If you’re going to be
that
way about it—”
“Seriously,” Karyn said, looking around the circle. “It’s not practical to own a car in Manhattan.”
She had the feeling she was digging herself into a hole until Kevin jumped into the conversation. “I’m still in Atlanta,” he said, stating what everyone had already heard, “churning out candy.”
“Bet the dentists love you,” Lisa quipped.
Kevin flashed a grin. “We keep them in business.”
Karyn stroked Lisa’s hair, content to say nothing while she studied the dear faces of her friends. Why on earth had she let these people slip away? Twenty years had passed, but these people had once been as close as siblings. Mark had teased her; Kevin had loved her; with Susan and Lisa she had shared gossip, makeup tips, and secrets of the heart. They had traveled together in Kevin’s old VW van, often driving as far as Montgomery and Mobile to sell books. On Saturday mornings they had manned tables and sweltered outside local grocery stores while their FSU peers slept off hangovers.
On graduation day they had sworn they would never let each other slip away, but somehow they had. Life, with its failures and shameful secrets, had intruded on their good intentions, and Karyn had not been willing to share the difficult things with people who’d known her in younger, happier days.
How like David to bring them together again.
She exhaled in quiet relief when Kevin avoided describing the bitter breakup of their marriage, saying instead they had “called it quits” in ’95.
“We still keep in touch, of course”—he sent her a weak smile from across the room—“because we’re raising Sarah together. She’ll be fifteen tomorrow.”
Karyn’s lips curved at the thought of their daughter. Though she and Kevin had ended their marriage on a bitter note, she would never regret having Sarah. In many ways, looking at her daughter was like looking in a mirror—like Karyn, Sarah was petite, blue eyed, and enthusiastic. She dreamed of being an actress and a veterinarian. She collected causes like other girls collected stuffed animals, and like her father, she thought she could move mountains.
“Last year,” Karyn said, edging into the conversation, “I got called to Sarah’s school because she had cut an entire week of classes. When the headmaster confronted her with her unexcused absences, Sarah launched into a story about this red-tailed hawk whose nest had been removed from the cornice of an apartment building overlooking Central Park.”