19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Anson
W e had a full house for dinner the Saturday after I got back from Savannah. Apparently, Alma and Tyler were still together, though it was obvious to anyone who saw them that Tyler would rather be anywhere other than with my sister. I couldn't understand either of them. Tyler should grow a pair and marry the girl he loved, and Alma should respect herself enough not to be with a man who only paid attention to her because his daddy forced him to.
I had talked to Conner Henderson, Tyler's father, who was adamant that he'd disinherit his son if he didn't marry Alma. My sister would make a terrific society wife—she'd wear that mask to perfection, and since I knew Conner was planning on running for governor, he wanted the Larue name behind him.
In Georgia, our family name carried weight. We'd been in the state for generations, and even though some of our histories were sordid—such as a governor who was vocally pro-lynching, a judge who was pro-segregation, and a senator who had fought against every equal rights bill that ever came across his desk—we were still powerful.
My uncles and cousins who were part of the Larue family tree were established businessmen, lawyers, state senators, and mayors…and we even had an NFL pro. Generations of playing in the upper echelon of Georgia society made Alma Larue an attractive candidate for a daughter-in-law for a man with political ambitions.
Also at dinner were Pete and his wife. I'd asked Mama to invite them.
I intended to find time with him after dinner to talk about what Nova had revealed. I didn't believe her. I couldn't . I knew Pete. But I had to hear his side of the story, and give him the opportunity to defend himself.
The voice inside my head, the one I presumed to be my conscience, reminded me that I never heard her side that night, seven years ago, and never gave her a chance to speak for herself. I shook the guilt away.
Bailey was being extra affectionate because I'd spent the previous night alone. She'd wanted me to come to her place or let her come over and stay at mine, but I'd declined both possibilities. She took it as what it was, me wanting distance from her.
"Darlin', you want me to freshen your drink?" She rubbed my arm.
I smiled and nodded. It wasn't Bailey's fault that I'd agreed to get engaged to her. She'd always had a thing for me—ever since forever, and she'd pursued me relentlessly. I'd finally given in. It had made me feel good to have a woman as beautiful as Bailey chase me down. Then it had given me a shit ton of pause that beneath the beauty, there didn't seem to be a whole lot of… anything .
Most of the women I'd dated were as tedious as her, but they were transient. A few months of fucking, and we'd move on. But I was supposed to marry Bailey. I'd have to spend my days and nights with her for endless years.
It was becoming more and more apparent to me that I'd be breaking off my engagement to her. I'd hurt her, my sister, and my mother. I'd hurt Bailey's mother and sisters. I'd give the gossipmongers a whole hell of a lot of fodder.
But wasn't it better than marrying her while I was still in love with another woman?
Since I saw Nova, one thing was clear to me; I'd never gotten over her. She was the reason none of the women I slept with had any staying power. I was measuring them against Nova. Bailey had finally gotten through more out of familiarity, rather than any real emotion attachment.
"I can't believe that you're allowing that b…woman to work on Sentinel Heights," Pete exclaimed. Presumably Bailey filled him in on Nova King. I hadn't been paying attention to the conversation at the table, but I could guess how Bailey had presented the situation. She was feeling insecure and had spent the day trying to convince me to ask Nina Davenport for a new project manager.
I told her I'd think about it. But I wasn't going to do that. I wouldn't be able to. No matter how pathetic it made me, this way, I got to see Nova regularly for the next few years—and I couldn't lose that opportunity.
"Can we not talk about her," Mama admonished. "I'm tired of her being discussed at every meal."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Larue," Bailey apologized, confirming that she'd started the hate on Nova chatter.
"I'm sorry, too, Mrs. Larue," Pete's wife Maria sat primly as she spoke in her high and mighty tone. "But I agree with Pete, this just ain't done. Everyone in Sentinel is talkin' about it. They're plannin' to bring a signed petition to Anson to have her removed. We're all worried that she's going to be stealin' and whorin' again."
The years had not been kind to Maria. After having two kids, her body had not snapped back, which would be fine, but she didn't look healthy. Her face was pale and blotchy—and the meanness that made her famous in high school was now unflatteringly etched on her face.
"She's not a whore," I spoke calmly, even though it enraged me. Nova had been a virgin when I took her. The woman I saw now was living her life independently. She wasn't living off a man.
" Please , you know she got to the position she has at Savannah Lace on her back." Bailey picked up her wine and took a sip like she was discussing the weather and not eviscerating another person.
"Nina Davenport only hires women, Bailey, so who the fuck do you think she's fuckin'?
"Language, Anson," Mama cried out. "We don't speak like that at my dinner table, and you know that."
"Sorry, Mama," I said without meaning it. She was okay with an innocent woman being called a whore but had a problem with the fucking F word? Talk about having your priorities all screwed up.
"Their clients are men, aren't they?" Bailey sneered. "Besides, she isn't even good at her job."
"Diego thinks she is damn good." I had no idea why I was defending Nova, but there it was.
She shrugged. "We all know why he thinks she's damn good."
I frowned. "Why?"
Alma giggled. "Because…you know…they're both black."
"God, Alma," Tyler groaned. "Can we get through one meal without you making a racist remark?"
"I'm being honest, not a racist," Alma countered. "And I was bein' honest about that waitress in Atlanta. She was slow 'cause she was—"
"Enough." I slammed my hand on the dining table.
I looked at Mama, who didn't seem to be affected at all that racist comments were being made at her dinner table. Like I said, fucking fucked up priorities.
"Diego is Latino, not black," I corrected Alma. "And, I concur with Tyler; I'd like to get through one fucking meal in my house without you or Mama or Bailey sayin' something derogatory about someone's race, socioeconomic status, or anythin' else ."
I held up a hand when Mama was going to say something about my language. I really didn't have the patience. It appeared that all our family dinners were devolving into arguments these days.
"Pete, can I interest you in a whiskey in my office?" I dropped my napkin on my plate. I'd eaten most of the salmon before my family decided to make me uncomfortable with their disgust for everyone who wasn't like them.
Pete rose. "Yeah. Sure."
The sheriff looked nervous as we sat on the porch that opened into my office with glasses of good Tennessee Whiskey.
"As you already heard, I met with Nova." I watched him intently as I spoke.
He shrugged. "So?"
"She told me a few things about what happened to her in jail all those years ago." I took a sip of my drink, feeling uncomfortable because Pete wasn't relaxed, not at all. He was jumpy and already appeared defensive, and I hadn't even asked him anything.
"Like what?" he demanded, his face contorting with anger and fear.
"Did you leave her alone in a jail cell with Raymond Carre?" As soon as the words were out, I knew she hadn't lied. It was written all over my friend's face.
He cleared his throat. "Well, it wasn't quite like that."
"Okay, tell me what it was like." Fire roared through me. I wanted to pound my fists into Pete.
He looked at his drink. "She tried to run away."
I raised both my eyebrows in disbelief. "An eighteen-year-old, scared-as-hell girl tried to run away?"
"An eighteen-year-old thief who'd been stringin' you along for nearly a year did," he countered.
He was right. If I could believe she stole, I had to believe she'd try to run. My jaw clenched. I waved a hand, silently asking him to go on.
"The phone was ringing off the hook, and I just shoved her into a cell. I had things to deal with."
I was ready to beat the crap out of Pete. "How long did it take you to deal with things ?"
He had the decency to look guilty. "I don't know…a while."
I focused on breathing. She hadn't lied. If she didn't lie about this, maybe I should believe her about everything else.
"Did you really find jewelry in her apartment?" I asked, and I saw a flash of hurt in my friend's eyes.
"Are you accusin' me of somethin', Anson?"
"Yeah, I am. Did you frame her?" I asked.
He looked baffled. "How'd I even do that? I didn't conjure up the jewelry or create the security video from thin air."
He looked sincere enough. "Did Carre rape her?"
Pete now looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him. "I don't know. She was…he beat her up. I was going to let her go. I'm going to be honest with you about that 'cause I felt like she was already punished."
I remembered what Nova had told me. " Three broken ribs, a black eye, a split lip, a concussion, and bruises all over my body. "
"I hadn't expected someone to show up. Then an ADA, her lawyer, and freakin' Emmett Bodine's fixer all get there, ready to break down the cell door to get to her. The Governor's chief of staff calls someone who calls my father, who calls me." He shook his head wearily. "I made a deal with the ADA. I let her go, and she didn't press charges on me for…well…the Carre thing."
"Why didn't you just tell me what happened? Why say the ADA thought there wasn't enough evidence?" I asked.
He looked contrite. "I was ashamed, alright. You're my best friend, Anson, and I couldn't get that girl behind bars for you. I couldn't get you justice."
I wanted to kill him for putting Nova in harm's way. She didn't deserve that for stealing. That wasn't justice. But one thing was sure; she had paid for the wrongs she committed. She was desperate, I knew that. It was my fault for showing her the jewelry and letting her see the PIN for the safe. The jewelry she took was worth nearly thirty grand. It wasn't the money. I didn't give a shit about that. It was the dishonesty, it was her lack of trust in me, it was her not loving me, it was her wanting the Larue name and money like everyone else.
"She didn't go to the hospital here, or I'd have heard about it." I looked at my empty glass of whiskey, feeling tremendously old and tired.
"They took her elsewhere. I don't know where," Pete admitted. "I was scared I was going to lose my job. I'm sorry, Anson."
"You never followed up to find out what the state of her injuries were?" I asked.
Pete frowned. "Why would I? Look, I know it went to hell in a handbasket that night, but she deserved everythin' she got for playin' you." He sighed deeply. "I talked to Bailey, told her what the fuck went down. And she said you wouldn't care, that you'd actually be happy about it. That you hated Nova. I didn't need more people to know. You understand, right?"
Everything inside me went cold. Bailey had known and never told me. She'd known , and she'd treated Nova the way she had when she saw her again. She didn't have an ounce of compassion for a woman who may have been raped. She didn't know that Nova hadn't been, neither did Pete, who hadn't cared to even find out.
"No, Pete, I don't understand." I stood up and looked down at him. "She stole, yes, but she didn't deserve to be brutalized by a bigoted rapist— you caused that. I don't know whether you did it on purpose or by accident or—"
"Come on, Anson, you asked me to make sure she got hurt." Pete pushed his chair back, stood up, and got right in my face. "You said, I quote, 'I wanna make sure she pays a heavy price for fuckin' with me.' I made sure of that. So, don't turn around and give me your sanctimonious bullshit. ‘Cause that's you bein' a hypocrite."
I had told him that I wanted Nova to pay. I was angry, hurt, heartbroken. But I didn't want her to be assaulted.
"What would have happened if the ADA and her lawyer didn't get her out, Pete?" I asked, feeling a frisson of fear. This was the Deep South—people here sometimes flew the Confederate flag and thought Juneteenth and Martin Luther King Day celebrations were a sham, a way to satisfy the less worthy.
"I was goin' to run her out of Sentinel." Pete jutted his chin out belligerently.
"And what if she went to…I don't know a lawyer, and got you into trouble?"
He snickered. "She wouldn't do that. They never do. You think I don't know how to run my county? The criminal element is sometimes better handled by us than going through the bullshit system."
Here I was, stomping down racist remarks at my house, and one of my closest friends had just admitted that hurting Nova wasn't an isolated incident. This was his modus operandi .
I felt the whiskey I'd just drunk just about ready to come right back up.
"Pete, we're done," I said softly.
"What's that supposed to mean, Anson?"
"You should go." I walked to the end of the porch, and leaned with my forearms resting on the railing. I stared at the perfectly manicured garden in the twilight, feeling utterly empty.
"Anson, we've known each other all our lives. You going to throw that away for that two-bit—"
"You should stop talking and leave," I cut him off. There was no heat in my tone, just finality.
"Are you sleepin' with her again?" He yanked my arm so I'd face him. "You cheatin' on Bailey?"
"I don't cheat, Pete. That's more your style," I hit back. "Maria know how you keep fuckin' around on her? She know how you sleep with all the hookers in town?"
Pete hit me then, a punch that I didn't take on my nose but on my jaw. He'd gotten soft and pudgy. Drank too much. Smoked too much. Ate too much. He cheated on his wife, and was always short of money because he gambled. He'd run dry of any friend who'd loan him any money because we all knew what he'd do with it. He probably thought he was superior to Nova King, who worked hard and had elevated her life. He probably thought he was my equal because we knew each other since way back when, and his last name reeked of old Georgia.
"You do that again, I will have your ass arrested," I said coldly. His fist came back up, but I easily stopped him with my hand. He gave up quickly, knowing he wouldn't win in a physical match-up with me.
"You're gonna lose Bailey over this," he sneered.
I shrugged. "I think it's the other way around. Bailey is losing me 'cause I'm already done with her."
"Why?" Pete looked horrified. "Is this 'cause I told you she knew about Carre?"
I didn't reply, but he got his answer all the same.
"Hey, don't take this out on her, okay? The fault is yours. You trusted that bitch, and—"
"You call her names again, and I will run you out of town. It's an election year, Sheriff . Don't make me support your opponent." To be honest, I was already considering doing that.
Pete took two steps back. Pissing me off wasn't going to help him, and he knew that. He'd lost his temper, and he knew there was no going back from what he'd said and done.
"We've known each other for—"
"A long time," I finished for him. "Doesn't mean shit, Pete."
He spun on his heel, and walked into the house. I stayed on the porch and emptied the bottle of whiskey. No one bothered me, probably because Pete told them about our conversation.
I had to deal with Bailey, and then I needed to apologize to Nova. I'd lived all these years with the certainty that she was in the wrong—only to find out now that I'd fucked her entire life up, and for what? Thirty thousand dollars' worth of jewelry?
I should've talked to her about it, tried to understand her, kept her out of prison, and made sure she never got into such a situation again.
Shoulda! Coulda! Woulda!
I had nothing but regrets.