Good Dirt

One More Night

One More Night

I t is Henry and Avery’s last night in the village. They have packed all but the essentials. Put gas in the car. Lolled on the sofa together, looking at maps on Avery’s tablet. But now, Avery has stepped out of the shower to find Henry gone. She wants to be sure that he’s feeling all right. The doctor has warned her to keep an eye on him, since he’d hit his head. She sees that Henry has left the front door ajar, but his camera and phone are still sitting on the dining room table. Avery walks outside and heads toward the only light that she can see from the darkened yard. The kitchen in the main house is blazing with light, and Henry and Ebony are clearly visible inside.

Funny, Avery thinks. Just that morning, before going to the beach with Ebby (as Ebony asked her to call her), Avery was reading a new article about relationships. Many rebound relationships had been known to develop into love and long-term commitments, the author wrote. But there was a but. For the person on the rebound, lingering, often negative, feelings from the previous love story could stand in theway.

While the partner on the rebound might be seeking only relief and a boost in confidence from the new affair, the other person might be wholly invested in building a long-lasting relationship. Nothing new there, thought Avery. But the article quoted actual figures. A study that reflected a fundamental imbalance. Rebound relationships rarely lasted more than three months. Avery pulled the cap off of her felt-tip pen and wrote an X next to that last point in a paper notebook. She nodded to herself. She and Henry had already been together for four months. They were still on vacation together. They’d been making new plans.

But now, approaching the open windows of the main cottage, Avery sees Henry holding Ebby by the shoulders. Henry has raised his voice. She can hear him saying never stopped …and she can guess the rest of the sentence. He is shaking his head, now. He panicked, he says. He was a shit. Yes, Henry, Avery thinks, stepping closer to the house, you are a shit. And you, Chastity Avery Williams, have been deluding yourself. She turns to go back to the guest cottage.

Until Ebby begins to shout.

And because Avery has always been a curious person, always driven by a need to know how people’s minds and hearts work, she stops and turns back, stepping closer to the window, just beyond the reach of the light.

Ebby realizes she’s yelling. She promised herself she wouldn’t make a scene, whatever Henry had to say, but she wasn’t expecting any of this. At first, she absorbed the full hit of learning what had led him to abandon her on their wedding day. But the more she thought about Henry’s omissions, the less she was able to control her reaction.

“You just walked away,” Ebby says.

“Let me explain,” Henry tells her. Ebby turns her back to him. He puts a hand on her elbow, but she keeps her arms folded tight across her middle. Henry moves to face her and ducks his head to try to look her in the eyes, but she refuses to meet his gaze.

“So you changed your mind about our relationship. A little late, I might add. But you still could have demanded answers about the shooting.”

Henry is murmuring now. It is a wordless kind of contrition that only a lover should be allowed to use.

“This is how you treat someone you were supposed to marry?” Ebby is fighting the urge to cry.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Henry says. “I told you, he’s my father’s childhood friend. I needed to find another way to learn more.”

“And when, exactly, did you try to learn more? Was that before or after you left me and my parents standing there, in our garden, like fools?”

Henry is pulling at Ebby’s crossed arms, now, but she bats him away.

“No!” Ebby says. She hears how her voice has sunk into her chest, weighted with bitterness. “You did have a choice. You were supposed to choose me, but instead you chose some guy who played poker with your father.”

“Bridge,” Henry says.

“What?”

“Bridge, not poker.”

“Are you kidding me, Henry? Do you think I care which game?” Ebby feels a wave of sadness wash over her at the thought that Henry has found yet another way to disappoint her.

Why did Henry say that? Ebby’s right. It doesn’t matter. Henry looks down, now, feeling the heat in his face rise to his forehead.

“Don’t do that,” Ebby says. Her voice unnerves him. “Don’t look away from me. You’re the one who wanted to have this conversation. You chose your family’s comfort over my family’s desperate need—no, our fundamental right —to know. You decided that your people were worth more than my people. And there I was, thinking that I was one of your people.”

“Just give me a chance to finish, Ebby?”

“Finish what? Making excuses? My brother was murdered. He was just a kid.”

Ebby is weeping, now, and Henry wants to hold her, but she keeps pushing at his chest, pounding a fist against his breastbone. She’s not really hitting him. It doesn’t hurt. But she is breaking him apart.

Looking through the window, Avery sees that Ebby is crying, and Henry is trying to wrap his arms around her. Ebby keeps pushing him away but Avery sees it all anyway. She sees how well Henry and Ebby must have fit together once, even as they are struggling with each other now. She sees what love must have looked like for Henry and feels the dagger of disappointment sink deep into her chest.

Once again, Avery turns away, and this time, she vows she won’t turn back. She has been so engaged in the scene unfolding before her that she does not notice, until she turns, that there is a tall, narrow-looking man with a head of frizzy curls standing next to her. She sees something soft and pastel-colored dangling from one hand. A sweater, maybe.

“Bonsoir,” he says.

Avery opens her mouth but finds she cannot speak. She swallows and nods. She has no idea who this stranger is, but she doesn’t feel threatened. The man is beautiful, and physical beauty has a way of disarming people. She is merely speechless. She walks toward the guest cottage. When she reaches the front door, she turns back to see the stranger leaving the yard and stepping into the road that leads back to the village’s main place . Avery hears the faint strains of music coming from that direction. There is a band playing out there tonight. She had thought to convince Henry to go. But now, she goes into the bedroom to finish packing her bags.