Save the Date

Chapter 22

22

There was a votive candle in a jar on their table, and the small flame lit Cara’s face in shades of pinks and peach as she leaned in, listening to him tell the end of the Jack and Zoey story. She had large, expressive brown eyes, and her nose had a weird little indent at the very tip, and her hair, which she’d worn up, was falling down, strands lightly touching the bare skin on her shoulders. Her lips were the color of ripe peaches. Or was that just the candlelight? She was wearing the same orangey-pink dress she’d had on the night of Ryan’s wedding.

Why am I telling her all this? Why does she care? Why do I care?

He cared because he’d been deserted, left behind. Because Zoey had found somebody else. Somebody better. And let’s face it, he cared because she’d beat him to the punch, leaving him before he could leave her.

But why should Cara Kryzik care about any of this? Maybe… because she’d been hurt, too. At least, that’s what Ryan had said. She was a good listener. Zoey never listened worth a damn. You’d start telling her something, and she’d interrupt, stepping all over your sentences, making you forget what you were talking about, turning everything around, until, inevitably, whatever you were about to say was somehow about her. Her day. Her crappy job. Her. Her. Her.

“Do you miss her?” Cara was asking.

“Who? Zoey?” He would have shrugged off the question, but there was something about this girl that made him speak the truth, even when it was painful.

“Maybe. Yeah, okay. Sometimes. And then she pulls some stunt, like letting hours go by before letting me know that Shaz has been turned in to the vet’s office, and I’ve abducted somebody else’s dog.”

She nodded.

“What about you?” he asked softly. “Ryan tells me you’re divorced. Pretty recently?”

Cara bit her lip and looked out the window. “Last April. Hard to believe it’s been a year.”

“Miss him?”

“No.” She fairly spat the word.

“Really? Never? How long were you married?”

“It would have been five years, but we split last year on Valentine’s Day.”

Jack grimaced. “Brutal.”

“It was also my birthday.”

“Shit,” he said softly.

“Exactly. He was a shit. Which is why I now have a dog.”

“A female dog,” Jack observed.

Cara took a long sip of wine and then a deep breath. “Hate to say it, but I’d better start thinking about heading home.”

“Really?”

Jack could have kicked himself. He’d struck a nerve, asking about her ex. What was he thinking? Never, ever, ask a girl about an ex. Was he that out of practice?

He put some money on the tabletop and stood, holding out a hand to steady her, as she pulled herself from the narrow booth. Her hand was small and warm, but her fingers were long, like an artist’s.

When she was standing, he released her hand, but rested his own, lightly, on the small of her back, as they made their way to the door. Doyle’s was packed now, with a din that drowned out anything they could have said, until they were back outside on the sidewalk again.

“Can I give you a ride home? My truck’s just parked over on Liberty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got the shop van parked in the lane behind the K of C.”

“Oh.”

***

His face fell, and Cara was secretly glad. They’d had a drink together. Just one. But she was starting to like him. Okay, she’d started liking him the day he brought Poppy back home, and apologized. And she thought just maybe, he kind of liked her.

“You could walk me back over to the van,” she offered. “I’m no fraidycat, but I definitely don’t like walking in these dark downtown lanes at night.”

“Good thinking,” he said. “You never can tell what kind of lowlifes are wandering around down here on a Friday night.” As they moved down the sidewalk, she hesitated, but then reached over and tucked her hand through his arm. “For safety,” she said gravely. “Because you really never can tell.”

He squeezed her hand, and gave her a sideways glance, and her smile was warm, as though they both shared some exciting new secret.

He could have covered the two blocks to the K of C hall in less than five minutes. Instead, he took his own sweet time. He strolled. It was a typical May night in Savannah, in the mid-eighties, and the scent of her light, flowery perfume wafted in the warm evening air.

She was walking slowly, too. “I’m a house voyeur,” she confessed, as they passed a stately town house. “I love walking around downtown, peeking in the lit windows. I want to see what kind of furniture people have, the pictures hanging on their walls, their wallpaper. My ex used to accuse me of being a peeping Tom. You ever do that?”

“No. Okay, occasionally. But I’m trying to see the molding profile, the staircase details, the old hardware, and the window casings.”

“I’m even worse when it comes to gardens. I’m forever riding down lanes, hoping for a glimpse into somebody’s courtyard. Someday, somebody’s probably going to see me peeking through their fence and sic the cops on me.”

“Like I tried to do after you followed me home a couple weeks ago?”

“I guess it’s lucky for both of us the cops had better things to do that night,” Cara said. They walked past Liberty Street and entered the lane that ran behind the Knights of Columbus hall. Jack took the opportunity to put a protective arm around Cara’s shoulder. Just in case.

“This is me.” The pale pink striped Bloom van was parked near the K of C’s back door. They heard music from inside. A group of men were standing just down the lane, talking loudly, their lit cigarettes making an arc in the inky night. They heard a loud metallic clatter, as something was tossed against a battered trash can.

“Party’s still going,” Jack said, nodding in that direction. “I think I recognize a couple of those guys from the wedding. Tommy Hart, the guy in the black fedora? He used to date Meghan.”

“I hope Bert’s gone home by now,” Cara said. “He’s been sober two years now, and I shouldn’t worry about him, I know, but it can’t be easy for him, being around parties and booze all the time, every time we do a wedding.”

“Want me to go inside and check on him?” Jack offered.

“No. He’s a grown-up. I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him. What about you, will you go back inside, to find your sister?”

Instead of answering, he pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her the screen. There was a text message—

Gone out with the girlz. Don’t tell Mom.

He grinned. “That’s Meghan for you.”

Cara reached in her bag for her keys, and he moved closer beside her, with his hand on her arm, and she realized, with a start, that he was probably going to kiss her. A little frizzle of electricity shot up her spine, as she realized she hoped he would.

She found the key and fit it in the lock. His hand touched her cheek, lightly, and he leaned down.

“Hey, asshole!” A man’s voice echoed in the lane. They heard glass splintering against concrete, and more voices.

“Drunks,” Jack said, shrugging.

“What the fuck? Man, that’s not cool!”

Jack jerked his head around to see what was happening.

More glass shattering. Shouts.

A door opened from a town house at the entrance to the lane, spilling light into the lane. They could see four men, clumped together, and a fifth man, sprawled on his back on the broken asphalt.

A shrill woman’s voice called from the back of the house. “Whoever’s out there I’m calling the cops. I mean it, I’m calling them right now!”

“Fuck you, bitch.”Coarse laughter. But the men slunk off into the darkness, like so many feral cats. All but the one, who was still on the ground, clutching his black fedora, curled up now in a fetal position. Even from where they stood, they could hear his groans of pain.

Jack sighed. “I better see if he’s all right.”

***

“Tommy?” Jack crouched over the fallen man. “You okay?”

Dumb question. Tommy Hart was definitely not okay. His nose was already a bloody, swollen pulp, and his left eye was closed, a ring of purple already blooming.

He helped the younger man to a sitting position.

Tommy held both hands to his face. “I’m fuuuuucked up.”

“I see that,” Jack said. “Did they hit you anywhere else?”

“No maan. Just my faaace.” The words were slurred. “I think my nose is broke.”

They heard the loud wail of a police siren.

“Will he be okay?”

Jack turned, and was surprised to see Cara, kneeling on the filthy, glass-strewn asphalt, at his side.

“His nose is probably broken,” Jack said succinctly.

Before he could say anything else, Tommy Hart, improbably, staggered to his feet. “I gotta go, man.” He swayed, and it looked, for a moment, that he might fall down again. Blood dripped down the front of his face, onto his white shirt.

“Whoa,” Jack said. He wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “You need to get your nose looked at.”

“Yeah. Later.” Tommy tried to pull away, but Jack held his ground.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I got to go,” Tommy insisted. He glanced toward the end of the lane. “Cops. I don’t need to be messing with the po-po.” He tried again to free himself from Jack’s grasp. “Come on, Jack. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Jack repeated. “You’re shitfaced. You can’t drive like this.”

The sirens were growing closer.

Tommy moaned. “I can’t get another MIP. They’ll pull my driver’s license. I’ll lose my freakin’ job. My old man will kill me.”

“Come on, then,” Jack said. “Let’s walk.” With his arm around Tommy’s shoulder, he force-marched him in the direction of the K of C hall.

Cara followed, unsure of her next move. She hesitated, then picked up the battered black felt fedora she found lying on the ground.

Jack banged hard on the K of C’s kitchen door, and a frightened-looking Hispanic man yanked the door open a few inches.

“Incoming,” Jack said. Silently, the porter held the door open wide enough for them to pass.

Jack shoved Tommy onto a rickety kitchen stool, went to the commercial ice machine, and scooped up a handful of ice, which he wrapped in a white terry dishcloth.

“Jesus!” Tommy yelped, as Jack held the cloth to his battered nose.

“How’d you get here tonight?” Jack asked.

“Huh?”

“Do you have a car here?”

“Yeah. Of course. I’m parked on the square.” Tommy looked up at him through his good eye. “I can drive.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack said. “You can’t hardly walk. No way I’m letting you get behind the wheel of a car. You still living at your mom’s place? On Wilmington Island?”

“I ain’t saying.”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I’ll just drop you off at the ER at Memorial. Let them deal with you.”

“No! Okay. We’re still in the same rathole in Spinnaker Cove.”

“That’s better. You ready to roll?”

Tommy shot Jack a hopeful look. “I could use a drink. For pain.”

“You could use a kick to the head,” Jack said. “You’re underage, probably got, what, a couple minor-in-possession citations already? And you think I’m gonna pour you another beer?” He pulled the boy to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Tommy stood, unsteadily.

“Keys?” Jack held out his hand.

“Fuuuuck.” Tommy dug them out of his pants pocket and handed them over.

Cara followed them to the front of the hall. It was nearly ten, but the party raged on. In the middle of the dance floor, Maya and Jared danced alone, bodies pressed close together, performing what Cara thought was a fairly credible tango.

On the sidewalk, Jack turned and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But this kid’s mom is an old family friend. Tommy’s not a bad guy, but he seems to attract trouble. I better get him loaded up. Want me to drive you around to your van?”

She looked over at Tommy, who’d draped himself over a parking meter, head resting on his chest. He seemed to be humming something.

“No need. Now that the bad guys are gone. What about you? You’re driving him all the way out to Wilmington Island? I could follow you out, give you a ride back.”

“Thanks, but no,” he said. “I’ll catch a ride back to town.”

“You’re sure?”

He touched her cheek lightly, his voice full of regret. “No. But that’s another story.”

Suddenly, with no warning, he pulled her close, his arms wrapped around her waist. He kissed her quickly. She’d had exactly two glasses of wine, but she felt dizzy, so she pulled him closer. His tongue slipped through her lips…

“Blllleeeechhh.”

Tommy was crouched on the curb, his head between his knees. “Bllleccchh.”

Jack released her, reluctantly. He shrugged. “Kids. Okay if I give you a call next week?”

She gave him another quick kiss. “You better.”