Nesting Read online

  “Damn it, Kenny. You wanted to know where I been going. Now I want to show you.”

  “Can’t you just tell me about it while you drive me back?”

  “I want to show you. Please?”

  “Now ain’t the time, Dorianne. I got to get back.”

  “Martin won’t fire you or anything.”

  Kenny stared at her. Unfortunately for him, his gaze lingered on the pink frost that made her thin lips look full. It made him hot—how her lips looked less perfect after she’d gone down on him. She was a beautiful girl but especially so sitting in the old Ford, smudged from apologizing.

  “Damn it, Dori.”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Girl, you drive me crazy.” He sat up straighter in his seat. Then he figured, what the hell? If he did get in trouble at work, Dorianne would be apologizing all week long. “Okay, just drive.”

  Kenny stared out his window while Dorianne cruised down Highway 1. They passed his aunt and uncle’s road, and he caught a glimpse of Macy’s black Saturn in their driveway. He looked away real quick. One mistake with that girl years ago, and he had to spend the rest of his life pretending she didn’t exist.

  When Dorianne took the exit to get on the Bobby Jones Expressway, Kenny nearly shit. She’d always hated that road—the speeding drivers, the construction that didn’t end.

  She didn’t let on, but he was pretty sure she saw him double-check his seatbelt as she merged into traffic. And the easy way she did it showed him just how little he really knew. His wife was driving on Bobby Jones like it was nothing. Her knuckles weren’t even going white from vise-gripping the steering wheel.

  She drove them through a jumble of red lights, traffic, and turns, and before he knew it, they were parked in front of the Barnes and Noble.

  He couldn’t help himself. “You been coming to a bookstore?”

  She responded by nudging him. She was smiling, but her eyes flashed a warning. Then she twisted the rearview mirror toward her and damned if it didn’t break off in her hand. He would have yelled at her over it, but he was too busy noticing how it didn’t even make her miss a beat. She just held it up and fixed her lipstick.

  Dorianne set the mirror on the cracked dash like it belonged there and got out of the car. She stood by his door with her arms crossed over her chest.

  He played with her, acting like he wasn’t going to budge.

  “Kenny Brewer, you better get out here.”

  He laughed at how unconvincing she could be when she was trying to boss him. When he did get out, the door didn’t shut right the first time so he had to try it again. Then it slammed a bit too hard.

  Dorianne winced at the noise and clutched his arm with both hands, keeping him close. Not waiting for Kenny to be a gentleman, she rushed to the door and opened it herself.

  He stopped two feet inside the bookstore. “Damned place is huge!”

  “Shhh.” She said it like they were in church or something.

  She made Kenny sit in a chair that swallowed him whole. She handed him a Sports Illustrated and kept watching the information counter, her finger pads leaving damp ovals on the cover of True Confessions.

  It seemed like no time before Dorianne gave him a “psst” and nodded toward a tall, brunette employee who was typing into the computer at the information desk. She wrote something down for a customer who’d walked up behind her, and she glanced over at Kenny and Dorianne.

  Kenny had a fleeting thought that there was something sexy about her; he just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  The clerk made a phone call and glanced over at them as she talked.

  Dorianne leaned closer to Kenny. “I know she’s kind of tall for a Mason, but look at those hips.”

  He wasn’t going to look at that woman’s hips, or any other part of her. Instead he sat there, swallowed up by an overstuffed chair, and stared at his wife.

  “Kenny, you see her eyes? She’s got my daddy’s eyes. And his chin. There’s no doubt, is there?”

  He was numb. There was no other way to describe it. His wife had lost her freaking mind, and he just sat there. Dorianne skipped over to the woman, and he wished the chair really would swallow him up. He almost lost his ham sandwich and cake when Dorianne started talking to her.

  “Hi, Grace. Remember me? Dorianne Mason Brewer.”

  The woman muttered something and stepped away.

  Dorianne grabbed her arm, bony fingers sinking into freckled flesh.

  Oh, Lord, Kenny thought, here come the assault charges.

  “But, Grace, I told you about my daddy and your mama.”

  “Please,” the woman said, “quit harassing me.”

  Hearing that, Kenny knew Dori had gone too far. He freed himself from the damned chair and marched over to his wife. He put his best comforting hand on her shoulder, but she wheeled around.

  “Look at her eyes, Kenny. You can’t tell me those eyes aren’t Tyler Mason’s.”

  “Dorianne, please,” he whispered, his face getting hotter just knowing people were staring at them. “Let’s go.”

  “No, we aren’t going!” she said. “Why can’t you just accept that I got family other than you?” Her hands clenched into fists. “You may be able to keep me from having a baby, but you can’t deny me my sister.”

  The Grace woman squared her shoulders and breathed deep. “I am not your sister. I don’t know you or Tyler Mason, and I don’t care to know either one of you.” She turned to Kenny, teeth clenched. “The police are on their way. I suggest you get your crazy wife the hell out of here.”

  Kenny grabbed hold of Dorianne and wouldn’t let her shake him off. “Come on, Dori.”

  “But she’s my sister.”

  “No, baby, she’s not.” He held her wrist in his right hand, put his left arm around her waist, and propelled her out of the store.

  As they left, Kenny looked back at the woman. He saw that same stare Dorianne could give, like when she was mad about him tracking red clay in on his boots or making fun of her Shake ’n Bake. It must have been his turn for crazy, because for a minute, he would have sworn that Grace woman was staring at them with Tyler Mason’s eyes. They were the same eyes that peered over the top of a Bud can in the old photo stuck to their fridge with a Pizza Hut magnet.

  He looked from the door to the police car pulling up and back to Dorianne. Her wet eyes were her daddy’s eyes, and Grace’s eyes, but Kenny would never tell Dori that he’d seen it.

  So there they stood in the parking lot, police car in the background, Dorianne shaking and crying, and Kenny holding her.

  “It’s okay, baby,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She sobbed. “I’ll make it up to you. I will.”

  His heart hurt so bad for her. “No, Dori. No more apologizing.”

  She shook in his arms.

  “Swear you won’t be sorry for every little thing. You don’t got to apologize for everything.”

  “Okay,” she muttered.

  As far as the not apologizing went, he could only hope that, like usual, the girl wouldn’t listen.

  Chapter Four

  Do Over

  Macy listened to the message from Emma again, as she had a hundred times in the last few days. Her heart pounded. She should call Emma back. Or not. Crap.

  She hit the button to listen again. “Hey, Macy, it’s me, Emma. Listen, I really need to talk to you. Please call me back.”

  Macy hit the button for the next message. “Macy, hi, it’s Emma. I’m leaving town tomorrow. I’d really like to talk to you before I go. Please call me back.”

  According to the message, Emma would have left two days earlier. Macy felt dizzy. She needed to talk to Emma. Maybe Emma hadn’t left after all. Macy told herself that if she did call, and Emma was still in Augusta, Macy would ask her out to dinner. Then what? Tell her she was sorry, but there could never be that between them?

  She wished she could turn back time. She wanted a do-over, a
s her son Jeremiah often requested when they played games. If she could go back and fix things, she could undo that kiss. She would leave the cilantro at home that night and not be so flirtatious.

  Or, her do-over could have been very different. She could have gotten in the car with Emma instead of going into the bar. She could have gone home with Emma and explored the feelings she had whenever they stood close, or touched, or even just looked at each other from across the table at The Metro coffee shop or the blanket at their canal picnics.

  Before she could chicken out, Macy picked up the phone and dialed. “Be home, be home,” she chanted as the phone rang. She was startled to hear the message that the number she was calling was no longer in service. She knew she should have expected it; she’d waited too long to call Emma back, but it didn’t make it any easier to actually hear it.

  She dialed Emma’s cell number and received a similar message.

  There would be no do-over. Part of Macy wanted to cry; another part was relieved.

  †

  The man peered around the ivy-draped trellis, expectation obvious on his face. He gave Macy a shy smile. “Are you Brenda?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  He shrugged, smiled again. “Me, too.”

  Macy watched from her perch on the veranda as a handful of cars motored down Walton Way. The view was her favorite part of the Partridge Inn’s restaurant.

  She tried to count the calls from Emma that she hadn’t returned. She wasn’t as good with counting as Emma was, but she knew there were too many. She couldn’t blame her friend for leaving Augusta without saying goodbye. Emma had tried.

  Turning to look inside the bar, Macy sipped her beer and watched the guy waiting for his blind date. He was a little bumbling but in a cute way. He fiddled with his drink, checked his watch, and looked at Macy.

  The beer was bitter and cold, and it tickled Macy’s tongue.

  The man came over to her table and gave her a big, crooked smile. She smiled back, a practiced gesture.

  “I guess I’ve been stood up. Pretty sad when a blind date goes bad before it even starts.”

  “Brenda?” she asked.

  “Yeah. When I walked up, I was really hoping you were her.” He laughed ruefully. “And you truly aren’t?”

  “Truly.” Macy drew a line through the condensation on her glass.

  He stuck out his hand. “I’m Michael.”

  She hesitated before accepting his overture and responding, “Brenda. No, just kidding.” She laughed. “I’m Macy.”

  He released her hand. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  She did mind but didn’t say so. “I guess that’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re meeting someone?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  He set his drink down on the white tablecloth and sat opposite her. “It’s a beautiful night.”

  She nodded. The ceiling fan stirred the air, slightly shifting the fronds of a hanging fern.

  “So, what do you do?” he asked.

  “Accounting.” The irony was that she was pretty bad with numbers. “How about you?”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  He fiddled with his drink, clear and on the rocks, and looked up at Macy. “No wedding ring?”

  She studied her hands. “I’m divorced.” And very, very, not interested.

  “Kids?”

  “One. A son. Jeremiah.” Her face felt warm. She credited the beer for that. “He’s only five, but he’s quite the little man.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know you lit up when you said his name? I mean, really lit up.”

  Macy smiled.

  “There’s nothing sexier than a woman who gushes over her child.”

  She dismissed his comment. She dismissed him. Macy needed something, and for once she was sure it wasn’t approval from a stranger or validation from sex.

  “What are you doing out here tonight?” he asked.

  She hesitated. Why am I still sitting here with this man? “I’m hiding from my empty house.”

  “Empty?”

  “My son’s spending the night with his father, over at his grandparents’ house. It’s the first full night I’ve ever spent without Jeremiah.”

  “Ah, tough one,” he said.

  Tough in more ways than one. Macy was afraid that if she sat home, she’d end up driving over to check on J-man at Russ and Eileen’s, peeking in the windows at her former in-laws until the cops snagged her as a peeper. Or else she’d find herself online, one Google search after another, trying to track down Emma.

  “I should probably get going,” Macy said.

  “Maybe we could get together sometime.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” She just wanted to get in her car and drive.

  “Can I get your phone number?”

  “How about you give me yours, and I’ll call you,” she said.

  “That means ‘get lost.’”

  “No, that means give me your number and I’ll call you.” Part of her was irritated at him, but a bigger part was irritated with herself. She knew she’d have to call him, just to prove him wrong.

  Michael jotted his number on a napkin, then he walked Macy out and they said a polite goodbye.

  Macy pulled onto Walton Way, knowing where she was headed. Even though she hadn’t planned on going to Aiken, she knew as she left the Partridge Inn that she would end up there.

  The traffic on River Watch Parkway was light and fast. Macy rolled down her window and relished the feel of the air against her skin. The more the current ran over her arms, the faster she drove, until the sensation became almost too intense. Only minutes passed before she merged onto I-20, then crossed the bridge over the Augusta Canal and the Savannah River into South Carolina.

  The air rushed in, flirted, urged her on. She laughed out loud at the idea that she was thinking like one of Emma’s poems. She could hear the breathlessly long lines of a poem born at the river’s edge, scratched into Emma’s journal, and read aloud only after much editing on Emma’s part and much begging on Macy’s.

  Macy took what she hoped was the correct exit off the interstate and pulled out her cell phone. She speed-dialed Russ and Eileen’s. Eileen picked it up on the first ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey there.”

  “Oh, Macy. Hello.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean what’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You’ve got that tone in your voice.”

  “Well, Jack didn’t show. He said he got tied up at work.”

  “How’s Jeremiah taking it?” Macy steered into a gas station to turn around.

  “He’s building a birdfeeder with his grandpa. I don’t think it matters too much to him.”

  Macy could tell it broke Eileen’s heart to say that her grandson wasn’t dying to see her son. She pulled in under an Exxon sign. “Do you want me to come get him?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Let him stay. Russ loves having the boy around. Have you thought about what I said?”

  “Yeah.” Macy quickly pulled back onto the highway before she could change her mind and return to Augusta.

  “Now that your mother’s moved back to Burke County, don’t you agree that Jeremiah should come here after school?”

  Macy hesitated. She knew it was silly to worry about Russ and Eileen’s neighborhood. Timmy Jones had disappeared from his yard three houses away from their house, but that was nearly a decade earlier. And the speculation had been that his daddy had snatched him during a nasty custody battle.

  Macy took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think you’re right. We’ll start doing that instead of the afterschool program.”

  “Great, then it’s settled.”

  “Thanks, Eileen.”

  Macy turned into the parking lot at the bar and switched off her car. She watched as mostly men drove in and out.

  She’d been online to check out ga
y clubs outside of Augusta. The club had to be out of town, so she wouldn’t risk running into anyone she knew.

  The longer she sat, the more panicked she became about going in. When a Subaru parked beside her, she turned to see who was in the car. Two women—one with short hair and very red lipstick, the other wearing a T-shirt with block lettering: DYKE. These women were not Emma. Even if Emma were there, then what? Macy hadn’t realized she was staring until the short-haired woman whirled around. “What are you looking at?”

  Macy started the car and pulled to the other side of the building. A good-looking man emerged from a Jeep Cherokee and strode across the parking lot. It was one of the executives from Odom Construction, one of Macy’s employer’s biggest clients. What was I thinking? Aiken was still way too close to home. A queasiness roiled her stomach as the man disappeared inside.

  She yanked a Wet Wipe from the console between the seats and ran it over her face. The wipes were Emma’s thing. Emma was a bit of a germ freak, and it had rubbed off on Macy.

  “What am I doing?” She slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “This isn’t me,” she told her reflection in her rearview mirror.

  As she sped away, she thought about her mother. If she could see Macy now, she’d say she always knew there was something unnatural about her, more than just the darkness of her eyes.

  At a red light, Macy pulled out the napkin with Michael’s phone number on it. She was straight, and she’d prove it. She dialed the number and waited for the ring, for Michael’s deep voice, to feel something familiar stir inside her. Nothing. There was no signal, no service.

  “Damn it!” She hurled the phone onto the passenger-side floor. When the light turned green, she stomped on the accelerator.

  Macy hopped onto the interstate and tried to reach down to the phone. All she came up with were a few discarded Wet Wipes. She’d told J-man a hundred times not to throw them on the floor. He didn’t listen, but that was okay. When he looked at her with those sweet, searching eyes, she couldn’t speak harshly to him.

  That made her think about J-man getting in trouble at school. The teacher told the kids to put their fingers over their mouths to keep quiet. Jeremiah wouldn’t do as he was told. He tried to explain to the teacher that he’d have to wash his hands first. That night he was so proud when he told his mama he’d remembered what she and Emma had said about germs. The sound of their names juxtaposed had sent alternating waves of longing and regret through her.