The Seacrest (18 page)

Chapter 39

July 20th, 2013

4:30 P.M.

W
e drove into the deserted cemetery, slowly following the grassy lane around sections of headstones until we came upon Jax’s and Cora’s plots. The silence was eerie and except for a slight sea breeze that wafted through the branches in the old maple trees overhead, nothing moved.

Libby got out and touched my elbow, pointing up the hill. “Much as I want to scream at Jax myself, I’ll be up there. I want to visit my grandpa.” She wandered off, and I wondered if she knew I needed to be alone to face my demons.

I approached the graves, my legs suddenly leaden. The closer I got, the angrier I felt. It bubbled inside me, pinwheeling through my brain.

“Jax, I hate you, you cheating son of a bitch. And you, Cora,” I turned to face her stone. “How could you? How could you do this to us? How could you betray me?”

A small part of me felt somewhat guilty, knowing in the past few days I’d faced a number of unpleasant truths about myself, including my submerged feelings for Libby. But I ignored it and soldiered on. It felt good to vent.

I paced back and forth in front of the headstones. “You told Libby I made all those girls pregnant?” I raised my arms to the heavens. “Why? What did I ever do to hurt you so bad that you’d want to destroy my life?”

It built now, surging within me. “Sixteen years, you bastard! Sixteen years you put Libby and me through hell on earth. You broke her heart. My heart. You tore apart two kids that were madly in love.”

I turned to Cora’s grave, seeing her Audrey Hepburn look-alike angel face. So sweet. So cute. So devious. “Do you know what he did, Cora? Did he tell you all his secrets while he had you between the sheets?” I pushed away a sudden image of Jax impaling my wife, and turned in a circle, glancing toward the bluff. “Did he whisper the awful truth to you before you went over those cliffs?”

I went cold for a minute, wondering about the scenario again, turning back to Jax’s grave. “Wait a minute. Did you do it on purpose, Jax? To smother your guilt about killing our family? And to take the last living member of mine over the edge with you? Was it an accident? Or did you do it on purpose?”

I scanned the area to be sure no one had approached and could hear my crazy ranting. Still quiet, no cars nosed around the tombstones and no mourners carried flowered wreaths to graves. Libby kneeled on the far hill near her grandfather’s stone.

“I loved both of these women, Jax. And you stole them from me. First Libby. Then Cora.”

“And you, Cora.” I frowned. “I know. I’m sorry. Maybe I
didn’t
love you enough. Maybe it showed somehow. But damn it, woman! I tried. I gave it my best shot.” The sun dipped lower, flickering through the trees. “But you should have talked to me. Told me how you felt. You should have faced me, Cora. If you loved Jax, I would have…”

I realized in that moment why she couldn’t tell me about her affair. If she loved Jax, if she’d told me, I would have gone ballistic. My crazy hatred for him had consumed my adult life, and when I thought back on it, she’d heard about it almost every day of our marriage. If she told me, God knows what I would have done.

I certainly wouldn’t have forgiven her like a kindly soul and agreed to a divorce. Well, maybe in time. Maybe I would’ve slunk away like a wounded deer and died in the woods. But it’s more likely I would have gone for Jax’s throat and…who knows? Was I capable of murder? Could I have killed him in a rage that blasted through the past decade? Rage that sprang from all my losses? All the hurt?

Could I have done such a thing?

I hung my head. “Okay. So maybe I wouldn’t have listened. But you still should have told me if you were unhappy. That, you could have done. Instead of leaving me feeling like the ignorant cuckolded husband who blithely goes about his business thinking everything’s fine.”

 I ran my fingers through my hair. “Jax?” I laughed bitterly. “I know you’re in Hell. Did you drag my poor Cora with you? Or are you finally mingling with your own brand of demons?”

Exhausted, I slumped inside, as if I’d reached a turning point. Something inexplicable happened to me in that very instant I stood on the grass by the graves, with the stiffening sea breeze building and swirling around me. A sense of peace worked its way through me, comforting me, soothing me.

Was it God?

I looked to the heavens, surprising myself by speaking the word aloud. “Lord?”

Could it be?

Or, maybe it was my parents. Or Eva. Their graves lay here, too. Maybe their spirits lingered or were called from Heaven by my distraught cries. Could they have heard me? For a moment, I felt embarrassed at my tirade. I had no control at all. I was such a loser.

Again, soft and mellow, comfort flowed through me.

I relaxed inside, smiling toward the clouds. “Thank you.”

Simultaneously relieved and spent, I turned to Libby’s figure and gently waved, signaling I was ready to go.

Chapter 40

December 29
^th
, 1997

10:30 A.M.

I
peered out the window at the car climbing steadily up the driveway. “They’re here!”

Jax grunted from his spot on the sofa, and I rushed to the front door.

“Come on, Jax.”

My faithful beagle had jumped to attention, even though my brother hadn’t. Now the dog circled my feet with excitement. I leaned down to pat his soft ears. “It’s the baby, Mr. Jingles. She’s coming home. You have to be very gentle with her, now. Don’t lick her too much, okay?”

He raised his big brown eyes to mine as if he understood every word, and I believed he did.

I opened the door and walked outside into the crisp cold air. I’d shoveled and salted the walkway and parking area earlier, and it looked good. Safe. Clear. Dry.

“Hi, Mom. Welcome home.” To my own surprise, my voice wavered. Sure, I was a teenager. Sure, I was cool. But I’d really missed having my mother around, and even if Jax was too unflappable to show it, I thought he’d missed her, too.

“Hi, sweetie.” She hugged me and grinned, looking much perkier and brighter than the day of the birth, then turned around to pick up the baby in the new car seat. “We’re home, Eva.” She carefully lifted her with a blanket loosely draped over the top to keep away the cold.

My father handed me the suitcase and a plastic hospital bag bulging with supplies. “Let’s get her inside, Mary.”

I followed. He guided my mother’s elbow and she carried the baby as if she held a porcelain doll, which in a way, I guess she did. A delicate new baby girl. It was pretty cool, in spite of what Jax had been saying all week about stinky diapers and baby food splashed on the walls.

He actually got up from his permanent spot on the couch to greet them at the door, and took the bag from me, half-heartedly helping.

When my mother laid her in the bassinet we set up in the kitchen and folded back the blanket, Jax frowned. “Whoa. She’s so tiny.”

My mother laughed. “She’s only four days old, honey. She’ll grow.”

“Why’s she so red?” he added, with his usual lack of tact.

My father grew defensive. “She’s a newborn, son. They all look like that. You boys looked just like little Eva. Except maybe she’s a tiny bit prettier.” He smiled, ruffled both of our heads, and then turned to lean over the baby. His nose wrinkled. “Ought-oh, Mary. I think she needs to be changed again.”

Jax rolled his eyes and backed up with his hands held high. “I told you, little bro. It’s just starting.”

My mother gave Jax a look of disbelief, then picked up the baby. “Come on, Finn. At least I know you’ll want to learn how to take care of your little sister.”

I followed her upstairs to the baby’s room—all yellow and white with cute elephants on the wallpaper. And that very day, I learned how to diaper a baby.

Chapter 41

July 20th, 2013

6:30 P.M.

W
ith the horses, dogs, chickens, and cats all fed and watered, Libby and I respectively returned to our homes to shower. Me, to the cottage, Libby to her expansive still-pink fairy tale bedroom in the mansion.

I stripped out of my stinky barn clothes and entered the cool shower, soaping up and lathering away the perspiration and dust, trying not to think of Libby doing the same thing.

I imagined her long dark hair streaming down her back and felt a shudder of desire.

Would her skin feel as soft, just as it had when I’d been with her all those years ago?

Would her long legs wrap around me the same way, the same perfect fit?

I tried not to picture her gorgeous body, with all its curves and my favorite, mysterious sweet spots, but I couldn't get it out of my mind and suddenly ashamed, felt like a prurient teenager. I chastised myself, realizing the woman was a wounded soul who’d been caught in the clutches of the worst form of betrayal, in spite of the fact that it had been a false understanding based on my brother’s horrible lies.

When I finished, I shaved again to get rid of the five o’clock shadow, and the phone in the living room rang. I dried the shaving cream from my face and ran to pick it up.

“Mr. Finn?”

I recognized Fritzi’s voice right away. “Fritzi? Everything okay?”

“
Ja, alles ist gut
.” She paused. “I make a nice clam chowder with biscuits. You come and have some, okay?”

“Sounds great.” I glanced at my near-empty refrigerator. “I’m down to no food again, anyway.” I thanked her and hung up, then went back to the closet to pick out some clothes. I found a nice pair of khaki shorts in the back of the closet that Cora had bought me and I’d never worn, and a light blue short-sleeved shirt. I knew I was doing it for Libby, and hoped she’d join us for the chowder.

I wasn’t disappointed.

Libby was there when I pushed through the screen door, wearing clean cutoff shorts and a yellow blouse.

She looked a bit surprised when I came in and reached around Fritzi for a bowl in the cabinet.

“Finn?” Libby said, as if completely caught off guard.

I smiled at her. “That’s me.” I set the bowl down and turned back to her. “Fritzi invited me, too. Is that okay?”

“Oh.” She flushed. “Of course it is. You’re welcome to join us.”

Fritzi filled my bowl with aromatic chowder, and I grabbed two biscuits from the basket on the table, which ended up being the flakiest I’d ever tasted.

“Incredible, Fritzi. You oughtta be a cook, or something like that.”

“You are a bad man, Mister Finn!” She laughed, smacked the back of my head, and bustled around the kitchen, keeping herself busy so as not to worry about “the mister,” who she kept talking about the entire time. “The Mister likes his clam chowder with thyme from my garden,” she said, eventually dishing up a second helping for me.

“What?
Your
garden?” I laughed. “You mean, my garden,” I said through a mouthful of biscuit. “I planted it. I weed it.”

“But I pick from it.” She chuckled and tut-tutted at me, wagging a finger. “You are bad, Mister Finn.”

Libby laughed. “It won’t be your garden for long. You’ll be a berry farmer before long.”

Fritzi oohed and ahhed. “
Ja
? You are going to live back at your old family house? When are you going?” Suddenly she frowned. “Oh. That means…” With a sob, she covered her face. “You are leaving us?
Nein!
”

I jumped up and patted her shoulder. “Oh, Fritzi, don’t be sad. I’ll be back all the time. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

She sniffled a little and went to the corner to blow her nose, turning back when she’d tucked the tissue into her sleeve. “When? When do you leave us?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. We need to hire a replacement. A trainee. Or something like that. I can’t leave my horses and gardens in just
anyone’s
hands.”

Libby sat up. “
Your
horses?”

I grinned. “Well, yeah. They feel like mine.”

She got up and brought her bowl and glass to the sink. “Well, you can afford to buy your own horses now, buddy boy.”

I sighed and thought about it. “I guess I could. Hey, maybe I will. Would you sell me Popeye? I love that horse.”

She frowned. “Hell, no. I’d never sell my old pal. He’s the best horse in the barn for a beach ride.” With a small smile, she went on. “But if you want, we can take a ride right now. It’s a beautiful night.”

I finished my soup and drained the glass of milk. “Sounds good. Let’s go. I need to get some fresh air.”

We thanked Fritzi and walked toward the barn. This time, the tension seemed to evaporate and we walked as if we’d been good friends for the past decade, as if we hadn’t been torn apart by my creep of a brother. Occasionally when we walked, her hand brushed mine.

I didn’t push it. Much as I wanted to take her hand in mine and never let go, I held back. She wasn’t ready.

Maybe I wasn’t ready, either.

A lot had happened in the past few weeks. I had to be in some state of rebound, or whatever they called it. I pictured headlines in my mind, imagining how they’d portray me in a movie or book. Man loses wife. Man loses brother. Grief stricken widow seeks solace. Angry at life. Furious, really. Discovers all kinds of shocking secrets. Is completely betrayed by the last two members of his family.

I smiled at my idiocy.

Hell.

What did it matter if my feelings were appropriate? I knew they’d been real since I was a teenager. It’s not like I suddenly fixated on Libby after losing Cora and Jax.

Right?

I gave myself permission to love her again, even if it was just in my head and if she never returned the feelings. They were authentic, all right. I’d just done one helluva job suppressing them for the past sixteen years.

We reached the barn and quickly went to work brushing our mounts. Securing them in the crossties of the big barn aisle, we worked on removing dust from their bodies and combing out the tangles in their manes and tails until their coats gleamed and their manes curled in perfect cascades.