Chapter Eighteen
Bailey Rae pushed open the door to the Fill ’Er Up Café, the bell chiming its signature gas station–style tone. She scanned the packed noontime crowd full of familiar faces but didn’t see Martin. Her lunch date.
Even though the Fill ’Er Up was the logical place to meet him, she also appreciated the opportunity to say a quick farewell of sorts to the place that held such special memories of Russell, with all the stories he’d told her about his family’s time owning the place—until he and Winnie needed to sell it off to pay Russell’s medical bills after the barn fire.
Maybe his injuries presented yet another reason Winnie had hoarded cash.
Bailey Rae paused at the register, rusty road signs on the wall calling to mind old landmarks. “Kinsley, have you seen Martin Perez? The game warden? I’m supposed to meet him here for lunch.”
So far, Bailey Rae had done a good job of avoiding overlong goodbyes or too much nostalgia as she packed up her life in Bent Oak. The tug of melancholy now surprised her, in the place where she’d worked for years.
Behind the counter, the teenage waitress looked up from her phone. “He’s at an outdoor table by the river. I didn’t think we would see you in here before you moved.”
“I can’t resist one last dish of fried catfish before I leave town,” Bailey Rae said with a smile as she snagged two menus.
Her heart squeezed as she threaded her way around the tables toward the door leading to the outside seating area.
A wall of warm air hit her, made bearable by the strategically spaced misting fans.
A dock stretched out back, where clientele were invited to walk down the planks and pitch leftover hush puppies and fries to fatten up the catch for another day, drawing in schools of bluegill, largemouth bass, and of course, catfish.
Winnie had taught her to throw in a line here when the place was still a gas station.
She’d sworn the best fish were caught using a good old-fashioned cane pole, like the kind used by the two teens dangling their feet off the end of the dock. Bailey Rae curled her toes in her sandals. Winnie had taught her how to bait her own hook and cheered with the first catch.
They’d eaten fried catfish for supper that night, surprising Russell who’d driven into town for a checkup.
His arm had been giving him trouble, and there had been talk of another surgery.
Years later, Winnie had told her how fishing together that day had helped distract her from worrying about Russell since he’d insisted on driving himself.
She would miss the restaurant. She’d told herself she would be carrying the spirit of the place with her, but the plan felt muddier now. As a child, she’d found it easier to leave a place by distancing herself ahead of time.
Not the healthiest of coping strategies, but it was too late to rewire her synapses now.
Martin waved to her from a picnic table closest to the water’s edge, standing as she drew nearer. “I went ahead and ordered tea and fried pickles. I’m learning to like them.”
Laughing, she tucked onto the bench and unrolled her napkin from around the silverware. “Before you know it, you’ll start speaking with a drawl.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, one eyebrow raised. “Hey, since Gia came to see you yesterday, I stopped by the police station this morning and asked around about Ian Abernathy, just to check if there’s been any headway on his location.”
“And?” She gripped the picnic table until splinters dug into her palms.
“Authorities had hoped Ian would show up for his brother’s memorial service, but no luck.
” He tapped a packet of sugar into his iced tea.
“Rumor has it that Ian and his brother Owen had a big falling-out before he went fishing. The police are investigating if it might not be an accidental drowning after all.”
So much turmoil and violence in one family. Thank heavens Gia had broken free. “She mentioned staying away from the service too. How sad that she and Cricket had to miss it out of fear of Ian.”
He reached across to ease her hand loose and link their fingers, his thumb circling the inside of her wrist. “You did a great job helping her make a fresh start. If you ever decide to give up the restaurant business, you have a real calling. There sure are plenty of people in need of assistance around here.”
The words landed like a brick in her gut, mirroring all the ways she’d second-guessed herself lately.
She squeezed his hand until his thumb stopped moving. “Martin, I’m leaving Bent Oak. You know that.”
Frustration flickered in his deep brown eyes, and he leaned closer. “What about whatever is happening between us?”
Did he really think she was like some lovestruck girl putting aside her dream college to follow him?
She understood he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, he was very much the best of the best. Even so, she couldn’t stem the disappointment at his pressure.
She’d intended to keep her personal vow not to be like Yvonne.
“Martin, I have my future mapped out. If you’re coming to the Myrtle Beach area, let me know. We can see the sights, go out. I don’t want to lose touch, but I am leaving.” She kept her voice kind, but firm. “Now, what were you planning on ordering for lunch?”
1981
Libby’s battered face looked worse now than it had in the barn.
That nightmare was still too close to the surface, physically as well as emotionally.
As I stepped deeper into her hospital room, I stifled a gasp and tried to school my features not to let the horror show.
For an instant, I even stopped worrying about Russell as I took in her eye swollen closed and the shaved portion of her head with at least a half dozen stitches.
I had a million questions I wanted to ask but knew I’d have to limit myself since my friend was in no condition for an interrogation.
Still, maybe we could clear up a few things. A quick check of her roommate confirmed the woman was sleeping and on some kind of breathing machine. Libby and I could talk freely.
As soon as that uncharitable thought crossed my mind, I winged a silent apology to the poor woman and pulled the privacy curtain between the beds. “How do you feel?”
“Like my life fell apart,” Libby croaked, her voice barely more than a whisper with each word tugging at her split lip. “At least it takes my mind off all this.” She motioned to her face, two of her fingers splinted together.
If I’d ever required assurances that what we did at the network was important work, I had plenty of it right here in my poor friend’s condition.
“You’re alive and you’re free. Focus on that.” I still measured what I said on the off chance someone might hear something, anything.
“How is Russell?” Libby asked, a tear teetering on the edge of her one open eye.
Tears weren’t too far away for me either. I only just managed to hold them back, saving them for the shower later where I could wash away the acrid scent of smoke and terror.
“Doing well. They set his collarbone, and he’s resting comfortably.
” I knew I had to give her a snippet of information to keep her from probing, but I left out any mention of his punctured lung.
Libby had enough to worry about. The rest could wait until emotions were less tender.
“The nurses’ station said I can visit him in a few minutes.
I just wanted to pop in to tell you I love you, dear friend, before you go to sleep.
Thea is going to look after Keith and the new girl.
She is committed to staying awake and keeping a vigilant eye on both teens. ”
Libby let out a weak laugh. “Thank you.” Her chin began quivering. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I thought I saw Fred around town recently but convinced myself I’d imagined him. That he was just a ghostly figment of my guilty conscience.”
A ghost. I’d discounted Libby’s worry over seeing a “ghost,” growing complacent. Another thing Annette never would have let happen. Lesson learned.
Run like hell from ghosts.
I placed a careful hand on her arm, opting to keep her calm for now. We could unpack our mistakes later. “After so many years, who would have thought he would find you now?”
“I should have realized he wouldn’t give up.
” Her feet twitched under the sterile white blanket, as if running in place.
“A month before I left, he took my boy and barricaded himself in a hunting shack. He swore if anyone came in, he would shoot them, himself, and my son. Eventually, he calmed down and came out, but I knew in that moment I couldn’t take the risk again, not with my child’s life.
That’s when I started planning to leave in earnest.”
“Libby, I’m so in awe of how brave you were then and now.” Even as Libby shared the chilling moments from her past, the words stirred a memory of my own.
My mother once told me—in a lighthearted tone—about the time she wanted to kill herself.
But she didn’t want people to see her messy house.
So she cleaned. Then she worried about how she would look when people found her, so she showered, changed, and styled her hair.
Next, she wanted to make one more special moment with her daughter and sat with me on the sofa to read a book.
As we explored the Velveteen Rabbit’s urge to become real, she realized her house was clean, she looked her best, and her little girl was such a quiet toddler.
And my mother’s urge to take her own life faded.
She would tell the story jokingly, a drink in one hand and a cigarette burning to ash in the stone ashtray. Everyone would laugh. I would join in.
Why had it taken me so long to see her hidden message to her daughter and any other females out there? Maintain a clean house, stay pretty as a peach, and keep your children quiet. The stakes for doing otherwise were high. Life or death.