7
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Marianne took Duffy’s boat across the lake to a remote inlet shaped like a deer leg—Deer Tick Bay. She and Carl preferred swimming there because the water was deep and the bottom more rocky than muddy, so the water stayed clearer. Marianne had never been afraid of swimming in the lake. Despite Frankie’s fascination with “bull sharks find their way into inland lake” stories, she never feared what was lurking in the waters of Lake Sackett. She wasn’t keen on getting her feet all mucky, though.
As the early light of dawn skated over the surface, Marianne slipped over the side of the anchored skip. She swam in shorts and a tank top, because if she was going to get into trouble, she wasn’t going to be found by emergency services in a bikini, thank you very much.
The water was chilly, even this close to summer, but the cold kiss of the lake against her skin chased away the blues she’d been feeling since talking to her father. She turned on her back, floating, letting her toes flutter. Her dark hair fanned around her like a cloud, rippling with the tiniest currents.
She’d missed this, being able to walk out her front door and right into the lake. No choking traffic, no frustrations before the relaxation. The absence of honking horns and barking dogs and sirens. Being able to see fireflies at night, the stars. She just rolled out of bed and into a quiet space. She felt safe there, the same way she’d felt safe her entire childhood. She loved the light and color in the city, but this was nice, too. She’d missed her family. They were loud and got in each other’s business and had too many opinions, but she’d missed seeing them every day. She’d always felt like the odd McCready out. It was never that they rejected her. Far from it. But she was interested in things that interested none of them. She wanted things none of them wanted. Their bewilderment put distance between them and her.
She valued being able to think, being able to focus on one thought at a time, even when they were all crowding for attention in her head.
Her daddy. How could her mother not just tell her what was going on instead of cryptically guilt-baiting her back home? She understood wanting Junior to be able to convey the news in his own way, but it seemed almost cruel not to give her a full picture of what was happening, to let her make the decision to come home on her terms. She felt like her mama was testing her character or something. And frankly, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to forgive Donna for a while.
What was she going to do? She’d spent some time consulting with Dr. Google the night before, and the information she’d found on late-stage prostate cancer had kept her from sleeping at all. Junior had tried to paint a happy face on it, but the prognosis was grim. And the next few months were going to be critical for him, as doctors determined how he responded to chemo and how aggressively they could treat him. How was she supposed to leave him, knowing what he would be going through? How was she supposed to sit in a classroom and concentrate on a lecture when she knew her father’s time was ticking away? She was sure the rest of her family would help. Duffy and Mama wouldn’t be taking care of Junior alone, but knowing that wasn’t the same as being there and being able to see him with her own eyes.
And all those doubts that had been plaguing her before Junior’s confession seemed to double. Did she really want to move her life so far away from her family, or was that a childish goal rooted in fear? Was everything really so much better in the city? Sure, easily accessible Starbucks and cell signals that didn’t depend on the weather were nice, but that seemed paltry compared to staring up at the clear morning sky like this. The friends she had in Athens were funny and always up for a night out, but they knew a carefully cultivated, surface version of Marianne. The career she had planned . . .
That was the sticking point.
“What in the hell are you doin’?”
Marianne jerked up, the shift of her weight at her hips sending her plummeting under the surface. Her head bobbed up and she sputtered water out of her mouth.
Carl was sitting in a canoe just a few feet away, his fishing gear already mounted on the bow. She’d forgotten how silent he was in that thing from years of practice sneaking up on fish. Carl’s hair was stuffed under the Braves cap. He was wearing his usual, jeans and a red Mason’s Towing shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He also wore a pretty unhappy expression—which was not shocking, really, considering the last time she saw him, she’d told him she’d skipped town at the very idea of being tied to him for life. Oh, and she’d done it in this very spot, ten feet away, in fact. So he was probably stomping down memory lane that very moment.
Pig the pit bull, however, leaped out of the canoe, barking sharply, and paddled over to her. The pit whined, licking at her face and pulling at her shirt as if he was going to tow her to shore.
“Pig, get back here!” Carl stood suddenly, the canoe wobbling back and forth under his weight.
But Pig would not be deterred from his lifesaving mission.
“I’m fine,” she told the dog, petting his sleek reddish coat. Pig paddled toward the shoreline and climbed onto the grass, violently shaking the water off.
Maybe that’s what she should do, crawl onto the shore and run away. Or maybe she could hold her breath long enough to swim under Carl’s canoe and escape into open water. Duffy would be pissed about losing his boat, but it was a risk she was willing to take. Marianne chewed her lip. No, her lung capacity wasn’t nearly what it used to be.
Bravado it was, then.
“I’m swimming.”
Carl scowled. “You’ve got the entire lake. You have to swim in the one place I fish?”
“No. You’ve got the rest of the year to fish here,” she said, throwing her arm wide and bobbing below the surface. The strokes to right herself brought her within touching distance of the canoe. “Fish somewhere else.”
“You don’t own the damn lake. You don’t even live here.”
“All the more reason to be a gentleman and let me enjoy it while I can.”
Carl whipped off his baseball cap. “You are the most frustratin’ woman I have ever met.”
“Well, right back atcha.”
Years later, Marianne would not be able to explain what possessed her to reach up and yank at Carl’s belt buckle. But it seemed right and justified at the time. Even when the canoe tipped and his eyes went wide as he lost his balance and toppled over the bow.
He hit the water with a huge splash. Pig barked happily and spun circles on the thick grass, like this was the best game ever. Marianne righted the canoe just as Carl’s head shot up through the surface.
“Are you nuts?” he shouted, treading water easily, even with his heavy boots on.
“Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to stand up in a canoe?” she asked, tossing the few pieces of unsecured fishing gear back into his boat. She snagged his cap as it floated by and tossed it in the canoe.
“What is wrong with you?” he yelled, holding on to the side of the canoe, his face just a few inches away from hers.
Carl’s green eyes bored into hers, staring right through her. And in that moment, the bravado broke. So many things were wrong with her, but all she could say was “I don’t know!”
Frowning, Carl yanked her close and kissed her, the water sliding cool and sweet between their lips. His mouth moved just like she remembered, hard angles and smooth curves, as if he couldn’t breathe without her. Marianne wanted to weep for her own stupidity, for what she’d lost and what she was getting a taste of now. Keeping one balancing hand on the canoe, she slid the other into his hair and wrapped her leg around his hip. He groaned, sliding his tongue between her lips, pulling her even closer. She slipped her other arm around his neck, her added weight dipping them deeper into the water. It closed over their heads and still, they just kept kissing. Carl’s grip on her back tightened and he lifted them back above the water.
Behind Carl, she heard a bark and a splash. And just as she opened her eyes
and turned her face, she saw an enormous canine tongue lashing out to swipe at Carl’s cheek. He yelped, “Aw, come on, Pig!”
Marianne burst out laughing as Carl wiped at his cheek. Pig nudged at her with his wet nose, but she gently pushed him back toward the shore. Carl leaned his forehead against hers, sighing deeply.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t be doin’ this. It’s not fair to you.”
“That’s never gotten in your way before,” he muttered, shoving away from the canoe and pulling her toward the bank. They flopped onto the grass. Staring at her, Carl emptied his boots of water and set them out to dry. Pig flopped his head onto Carl’s wet jeans, while Marianne tugged at her wet tank top to cover as much of her skin as possible. Carl scratched behind the dog’s clipped triangular ears.
“I deserved that,” she said.
“Yeah, you did,” he told her. “Now, what’s got you all wound up?”
She was quiet for a long while, trying to find the words. Saying it would make it real. Telling someone else would make it something she had to live with. “My dad’s sick.”
He nodded.
“You knew, too?” She threw her hands into the air. “What the hell? Am I the last to know?”
“In the family, yeah. No one else knows. But Duffy needed somebody to talk to.”
“Of course.” She sighed. “Can you tell me why no one thought I might need to know?”
“Nobody wanted to mess up your plans, not even me. I wanted you to go to school, Marianne. I wanted you to have the job you wanted, the life you wanted. I hoped that I would end up part of it. But even if I’m not, I still want you to have it. I’m not gonna lie, I was pissed at you. For a long time. And I was hurt the other night, when you told me you ran off because you thought I wanted to tie you down. But you did what you had to do to get what you wanted. And you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
“Magical unicorn,” she muttered.
He pulled a face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head into the crook of her neck. “I’m just sayin’, you went about it in a shitty way. But I realized a long time ago, I can’t exactly get mad at you when I did the same thing, pulling away from my family to protect myself.”
“It’s not exactly the same thing,” she retorted. “I mean, it’s not like there’s a risk of Uncle Bob hiding stolen tractor parts in my house when I’m not looking. Uncle Stan, maybe . . .”
He snorted. “We both had to be selfish assholes for a little bit. I just stopped sooner than you did.”
She huffed out a laugh and smacked at his chest. He caught her arms and wrapped them around his waist.
“I really missed you,” she said into his wet shirt.
“I missed ya, too.”
Pig whined again and tried to insinuate himself between them. Marianne wasn’t sure whether he was jealous of her or Carl.
“If it makes you feel any better, I couldn’t really date anyone else after you. It never felt right,” she said. “None of the boys I met made me laugh with random Elvis references. None of them believed in Sasquatch. And none of them could change a lightbulb, much less rebuild an engine.”
“That does make me feel better, thanks.”
“They were also too damn clean.”
“Okay, that hurts my feelin’s a little bit,” he muttered.
“You say that because you don’t hear the indecent things I think when I smell motor oil.”
He cackled and squeezed her tight. She melted against him. “It’s gonna be okay. Your dad. No matter what happens. It’s going to be okay. Your family can handle it.”
She nodded, face still pressed against his chest. “I know.”
“And when you head back to school, I’d like to call or e-mail ya every once in a while, if that’s okay. No pressure. It’s just, I didn’t like not talkin’ to ya.”
She nodded. “If I had stayed in town, do you think we’d be married already?”
“Hell naw,” he scoffed. “I’ve got to have my freedom, woman. I’ve got wild oats that need sowin’. I’da probably gotten around to marryin’ you in another ten years or so.”
She slapped at him again and he guffawed. He kissed her again, chaste and sweet, the kiss of teenagers making promises. He whispered, “I’da married you whenever you wanted to get married, wherever.”
“Would you have worn your baseball cap at the ceremony?” she asked around the lump in her throat.
“No promises.”
IT HAD TAKEN SOME CONVINCING to get E.J.J. to agree to let her lead a meeting on her own. The three Trinkitt kids sat on one side of the table. Burt Beacham and George Pritchett sat on the other. While Laurie Trinkitt was keeping up the perpetual stink eye, Lemm and Roy seemed much more relaxed. Burt looked considerably less stressed than E.J.J., who was sitting in the corner of the funeral home’s break room with a fire extinguisher. Uncle Bob was lurking somewhere out in the hallway, waiting for shouting or the sound of punching.
Marianne didn’t know whether the fire extinguisher was for clubbing or extinguishing purposes. She only hoped the meeting didn’t come to need either.
Marianne cleared her throat. “I appreciate everybody coming in this morning, before papers get filed and this situation with Miss Maisie’s funeral arrangements becomes a horrifying legal situation that drags on for months. I think we can all agree that what we want is a compromise that honors Miss Maisie and makes everybody comfortable, because we’re not going to be able to make everybody happy. Can y’all promise that you’ll at least hear me out and respond in a nonscreaming, noncrazy manner?”
Burt and Roy immediately nodded. Lemm said, “I might could.”
Laurie remained silent. Lemm kicked her under the table. “Fine.”
“My proposal is that we follow Miss Maisie’s request and cremate her, after a tasteful visitation for her friends. Half of the cremains can be sprinkled over the dam in a private ceremony, just like Miss Maisie requested. And then the other half should be sent to this company, Creative Cremation Solutions.” She paused to slide pamphlets to each of them. “They take cremains and compress them into beautiful, one-of-a-kind pieces of glass art. You will have a piece of your mama to keep with you, something to remind you of her, that you can sit with and talk to when you feel the need to talk to her. And you still honor her wishes. I have an order here for four pieces, in blues and greens, which I understand were her favorite colors. All you have to do is sign this, as well as the agreement for the visitation and cremation services, and I will send it off as soon as possible. And since you’re the first customer we’ve used this service for, we can offer you a fifteen percent discount.”
Marianne said the last bit in a rush, like she was running out of air. And frankly, that may have been a real problem, because she forgot to breathe halfway through her spiel. She watched as the Trinkitts looked over the pamphlets. Mr. Burt was already smiling.
“I think that sounds real nice,” Mr. Burt said. “Maisie would have liked that, bein’ turned into art.”
Roy cleared his throat, glancing at his brother and sister. “I think we can live with this.”
“Burt’s right,” Lemm said. “Mama would have liked it.”
Laurie opened her mouth and Marianne winced, ready for the onslaught that was sure to come. “Can you mix some purple into my glass piece?” she asked quietly, making Marianne’s eyes go wide. “Mama braided purple ribbons in my hair every morning for three years because I wouldn’t wear any other color.”
Marianne was surprised to find her eyes growing a little hot at Laurie’s show of actual human emotion. “Sure thing, Laurie. That’s no problem. So we’re settled then? Everybody’s happy?”
They all nodded. Mr. Pritchett winked at her.
“We can agree that we will all behave like adults a
t the visitation? We will be civil and polite and not throw each other into floral arrangements?”
They nodded again.
“I’m going to need verbal agreements,” she said.
Behind her, E.J.J. snorted.
After the chorus of yeses, she slid the papers across the table for signing. E.J.J. finalized some last-minute details regarding Miss Maisie’s funeral suit and the floral casket spray. Marianne stayed quiet, reveling in her win, hoping it wouldn’t all fall apart when the tears started.
E.J.J. pulled her into a tight hug when the mourners left.
“Good job, butterbean,” he said, grinning at her. “I couldn’t have done better myself. Probably wouldn’t have, since I’ve never even heard of turning cremains into pretties.”
“It just took a little research,” she told him. “There are so many interesting options for people who want a reminder of their loved ones—jewelry, art, glass. I bookmarked all of the web sites so you can look them up later.”
E.J.J. pursed his lips and stared at his granddaughter until she added, “I will print out all of the information that you need.”
“Thank you, hon.”
Uncle Bob pulled her into his arms. “I’m so proud of you! That was some really good work, shug. I didn’t think we’d ever find a compromise, but you got them to agree to it and I actually saw Burt and Lemm shake hands in the hallway.”
She grinned, feeling a slight pang of guilt for calling the Trinkitts “racist assholes” earlier. No one in Lake Sackett, or anywhere else for that matter, boiled down to anything so simple. The Trinkitts had been hurting, and people in pain were easy to mistake for assholes.
Bob rubbed his hands. “I can’t wait to see what you make of Gossie Barker’s visitation. Those yahoos haven’t made it through a family event without an arrest since the Carter administration.”
Marianne smoothed Bob’s lapels and smiled beatifically. “Uncle Bob, I love you, but I quit.”
“What?” Bob cried. Grandpa E.J.J. raised his brows but kept his expression neutral.