“Oh, no,” Candy murmured. She shook her head and closed her eyes.
“He called me ‘boy.’” Turner heard the stiffness in his own voice. “Your father asked me who I thought I was and said I’d never get anywhere with you because you’d been ‘raised right.’ Then he told me to stay within my own race.”
Candy gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth and widened her eyes.
Turner chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, I know. But when he finally put you on the phone, I went ahead just as planned. I asked you to go out with me that Friday night. Do you remember what happened?”
She shook her head quickly, her hand still covering her mouth.
“You pretended you didn’t hear me. You started laughing even though I hadn’t said anything funny, and that’s when I knew for sure your daddy had to be standing over your shoulder. You told me you had to go because your family had company and that you’d see me at school. Then you hung up on me.”
Candy’s hand fell away from her mouth but she continued to shake her head from side to side, like she didn’t want to believe it. Then she bit down so hard on her bottom lip that Turner half expected to see blood.
“Now do you remember?”
“I … I didn’t hear what my daddy said to you before I got to the phone. I didn’t know he—” Candy struggled for air. Her entire body began to shake, like she was freezing. “I just knew what he’d do if I … no wonder he … that whole night was so awful and … Oh, God, Turner. I am so sorry!”
He nodded. Somehow, after all this time, her apology didn’t bring any relief. It hardly seemed to matter, in fact. Candy’s reaction had been so intense that he was more worried about her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m glad we got that out in the open. I better go.”
“What?”
She grabbed her sandals and popped to a stand. “Please forgive me,” she said stiffly, looking down at him. “I had no idea I’d hurt you like that. It makes me sick to know you’ve been carrying that memory around all these years.”
Turner retrieved his shoes and socks and stood up with her. “Hey, that’s life.”
“Yeah, and life can suck, especially any part of it that involves Jonesy Carmichael. The happiest day of my freakin’ life was the day I drove out of this town and…” Candy stopped herself, her jaw tightening with the effort. “My daddy wasn’t a good person. Let’s just leave it at that.”
She began to walk away, heading down the dock, her long and curvy body outlined in what little twilight remained. Turner stared at her retreating form. “So that’s it?” he asked. “You’re just going to run away from me, too? Just like you run away from everyone?”
Candy turned around. He knew right away that she was crying. “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you again, and that’s what would happen if I gave in to this, Turner. I am not staying in Bigler. I can’t. I won’t. And you have this whole life here, Turner, this important, real, wonderful—”
He’d only taken a few steps when she straight-armed him. “Don’t. Please. Just let me go.”
Turner stopped. It was plain to him that whatever pain he’d been harboring all these years from his brief contact with Jonesy Carmichael was probably nothing compared to what Candy carried, and yet she’d always seemed so carefree, so joyous and fun-loving. He’d never guessed.
“Please don’t go, baby,” he said.
She laughed, wiping away her tears. “I’m not anybody’s baby and, like it or not, I’m not going anywhere for three months. I promised Lenny I’d stay on at the diner that long. So you’ll see me around.” She forced a smile. “Take care of yourself and keep your eyes open for happiness, because I know you’ll find it. You’re the kind of person who deserves it.”
Candy turned and began to jog toward her car. For a moment, Turner remained frozen where he stood, her last comment echoing in his head. And then it hit him—she was absolutely right. He did deserve to be happy. And the only thing that had brought him any happiness in the last four years of his miserable life had been Candy’s touch. Her kiss. The feel of her body pressed against his. The sound of her laugh.
He ran, catching up to her immediately. He spun her around by the shoulders. She stared up at him, her face shining wet with tears and her lips quivering.
“I don’t care about any of it, Candy. I want you, and I’m not letting you walk away.”
She shook her head in refusal even as she grabbed him by the back of the head and crushed her mouth to his.
Turner dropped his shoes to the ground. His immediate thought was that if this were a good-bye kiss, then nothing in the world made any sense. Candy’s lips were hungry and determined. Her tongue slid over his, hot and wet and greedy. Her hands were everywhere—his ass, his back, his thighs. So he gave it all right back to her, and then some.
Turner’s brain exploded with yearning as his body burned with desire. He wanted more. He wanted it harder. Hotter. He was suddenly aware of how simple everything was, how the whole vast, complex universe suddenly fit into that small spot of grass on the edge of Newberry Lake where he stood in his bare feet, where everything Turner had ever wanted and needed and everything that had ever mattered to him just narrowed down to the sensation of her body against his. The kiss they shared was seamless, flowing, full of need and sadness and joy. It was full of love.
And then it was over.
Candy slapped her palms against his chest and pushed him away, hard. “No more,” she sobbed, looking around to locate her car in the darkness. “I can’t do this. I would rather die than hurt you, Turner. This can’t happen. Do not—”
He took a step toward her.
“Do not come after me. Promise me you won’t.”
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. Turner shook his head.
“This is not what I want, don’t you get it?” Candy swung her arms out to her sides as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “This is not the life I want! You are not what I want!”
With that, she turned and ran to her car. He was so stunned by her words that this time, he didn’t follow.
* * *
Candy pulled into the Cherokee Pines parking lot and checked the time on her cell phone—eight fifty-five. She had a little over an hour to kill before she could return to Jacinta’s apartment, not counting the extra fifteen minutes she’d need to add as insurance. She didn’t want to walk in on anything Hugo-related. She was strong, but she wasn’t that strong.
Though the night air was hot and heavy with moisture, air-conditioning wasn’t an option in her car. Even if it worked, which it never had, she didn’t have the gas to keep the engine running. She’d be cruising into work tomorrow on fumes as it was. So Candy found a blanket from the assortment of personal belongings in the backseat and spread it out on the hood of the old Chevrolet. She climbed up and stretched out, folding her arms behind her head against the glass windshield. She took a deep, deep breath, and felt her belly quiver.
She’d been crying the whole drive back from the lake house, and felt strangely alive from the experience, like her nerves were overly sensitive and her blood was overly oxygenated. Maybe she just wasn’t used to it. Maybe that’s what crying did to people. All she knew was she hadn’t cried that hard in her whole life, and it had swept through her like an electrical storm.
In fact, while driving past the tannery, trying to see through her tears, it occurred to her that this might be why she swore she’d never come back to Bigler—because she’d end up face-to-face with all the crap she’d left behind.
That’s why she’d made that deal with herself twelve years before and had never looked back. She’d told herself that the day she and Cheri left Bigler, North Carolina, was the day her life began, that none of what happened in Bigler had been real. When she arrived at Florida State, Candy had had her first intoxicating taste of creating an identity for herself from scratch. No one there knew her as Jonesy and Jacinta Carmichael’s girl from a nothing town in the middle of nowher
e—the pretty cheerleader who baked cakes. She discovered she could be anyone and anything she chose, and that’s what she did.
She got to do it again when she transferred to Miami and again at Central Florida. She was hooked. And she was aware that she’d looked for the same kind of thrill after college when she began building businesses only to sell them. The beauty of it was she got to start with a blank slate every time. Each new venture was a fresh start. No history. No past decisions she’d have to make room for in the present.
The pattern continued in her and Cheri’s real estate endeavors. Candy had seen each new property as a new beginning. Each house could be renovated, redecorated, and resold, and the profits would pay for the next go-around.
It was the rhythm of Candy’s life. And she’d loved it.
So of course staying in Bigler wasn’t an option for her. Of course this place would never bring her satisfaction.
Her eyes darted to the single-story brick structure lit up like the governor’s mansion. She chuckled to herself. It was actually a perfect place for her mother. She seemed truly happy here. As happy as Candy had ever seen her, in fact.
Candy stretched out her long legs and laced her fingers over her stomach. It was true that Jacinta had never been a horrible person or a bad mom. She wasn’t Mother Teresa, but she’d always been there for Candy, working at the family insurance office only during school hours. Her mother did all the usual stuff—helped her with homework and drove her to cheerleading practice and taught her the fundamentals of baking. The problem with Jacinta was that even when she was with Candy, she was only half present. The other half was all about Jonesy. Her mother was either mulling over how she’d succeeded or failed at managing Jonesy’s temper at the office that day, or planning ahead about how she’d manage it when he got home that evening, or actively engaged in managing it. The result was that Candy always felt like an afterthought to her own mother.
Her father had been mostly a mystery to her, and the older she got the more she realized he was doing her a favor by not being home much. Owning an insurance agency gave him cause to work long hours, as her mother always reminded her, and part of being a self-made man was being an active member of the community. So there were Lions Club meetings, Rotary Club, the Salvation Army board of directors, the chamber of commerce, and his many years on the Cataloochee County Board of Commissioners. It always struck Candy as odd that out in the world, people considered her father an important man.
At home, to Candy, he was just an angry man. All the time. At the cable news broadcast. At the editorial page of the Bigler Bugle. At the two Bs Candy got on her report card. At high taxes. At stupid customers. At the blacks. At the Mexicans. At her mother for making his Jack and Coke too strong or too weak. Jonesy Carmichael was mad at life.
Candy suddenly shivered, though there was no breeze and it was so warm that a thin sheen of perspiration covered her face.
No, she told herself. She wouldn’t go there. Not now. Not ever. It was a long time ago. It was over. And in the scheme of things—compared to what some girls had been through—it wasn’t all that bad. All her daddy ever did was give her a few slaps to her face. Sometimes he took the strap to her backside. Or the hawthorn branch to the back of her legs. There were a few hurtful words, yes, but never much blood.
She knew the act of harming her wasn’t his favorite, anyway. What he enjoyed most was the buildup, describing to her in vivid detail exactly what would happen if she crossed him. That was Jonesy Carmichael’s forte.
So when Candy learned that her father had died of a heart attack behind his desk in the middle of a rant against someone or something—no one seemed to remember the topic at hand—her reaction had been one of numbness. Jacinta called with the news. She told Candy he was being cremated and that it wasn’t necessary for her to come home for the memorial service if she was too busy.
She was too busy.
Looking up at the newly dark sky, Candy thought again about the evening so long ago, when Turner called to ask her out. Now she understood why the phone call had slipped her mind. It was just a small piece of what became a long and horrible night—the worst of her life. Turner’s brave and sweet request had been the spark that set off a chain reaction of explosive rage. No wonder Candy had forgotten all about it. Compared to everything that followed, Turner’s call was nothing.
Of course, there was another reason she’d forgotten all about it. The night had never happened, right? It was part of a life she’d convinced herself hadn’t been real. It was a lot easier that way.
And yet …
Candy placed her hands behind her head and adjusted her position on the hood of the car. She couldn’t help but wonder—what if?
What if Jonesy hadn’t answered the phone that night? What if she’d had a chance to talk to Turner without her father standing over her? Would she have agreed to go out on a date with him? What were her real feelings for him all those years ago? What would she have said if the words she spoke were her words, not those of Jonesy Carmichael?
That was a no-brainer, Candy knew. She would have said yes.
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shooting star jet across the horizon. The flash was so bright and clear that she sat up in surprise, her mouth open in wonder. It was several moments before Candy could stop grinning. She hoped Turner had seen it.
Oh, no. Candy let her face drop into her palm. What had she done? Only an hour before she’d told Turner she didn’t want him. Didn’t want him! When had she become a flat-out liar?
Because here she was, wishing he’d seen what she’d seen, wishing he’d experienced the same beautiful, magical moment she had. That meant she’d made a wish on a shooting star, and her wish was for him.
What a giant mess she’d made of this.
Candy took a few minutes to fix her face as best she could, using a corner of the blanket and some lip gloss, then headed into Cherokee Pines. Gerrall buzzed her in, all smiles, and came around the edge of the front desk with a big bunch of daisies in his hand. He held them out to her.
“Pretty flowers for a pretty lady,” he said.
“Oh!” Candy didn’t reach for them right away. She didn’t want to take them because she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. But she was going to have to deal with him for two weeks, and so far he was the only human being in the joint who seemed happy to see her. Maybe he was just being friendly. So she took them with a simple “thank you.”
Gerrall had noticed her hesitation, however, and something dark passed through his expression. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.
“You surprised me is all.” Unfortunately, Candy knew she sounded as stiff as she felt.
“Well, you don’t have to take them if you don’t like them,” he snapped. His thin shoulders sagged as he returned to his desk chair.
“No. No, I like them. It’s just I wasn’t expecting flowers. Thank you very much, Gerrall.”
He shrugged.
“Well, good night,” Candy said, heading down the hallway, knowing that she was so exhausted that it wouldn’t even matter if her mother was still “entertaining” the hell out of Hugo in there. She’d just put in a pair of earplugs and call it a night.
Chapter 9
Life began to settle into a pleasant enough routine for Candy, considering she was stuck in Bigler.
Every morning, she joined Jacinta and her friends for an early breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and orange juice. Some of the women proved to be quite sweet, and invited Candy to join in their bridge games on Monday and Thursday evenings. Jacinta didn’t seem thrilled with the idea but didn’t object, either, which struck Candy as some kind of breakthrough. The men, including the always dapper Hugo, asked Candy if she’d like to join them in a game of bocce ball out on the lawn.
Each Tuesday and Saturday evening Candy made herself scarce, as agreed. Since she couldn’t afford a movie or even a box of popcorn, she rediscovered the joy of the second-floor public readin
g room of the musty old Cataloochee County Public Library on Main Street, where she spent hours thumbing through magazines, poring over cookbooks, and eventually registering for a library card—using Cheri’s lake house address as her own. She roamed around town, too, checking out the art galleries and craft shops that catered to tourists headed into Smokey Mountain National Park. She idled away a few hours stretched out on the hood of her car, thinking, remembering, and keeping an eye out for another shooting star.
And each morning on her way out the front door, at six forty-five on the dot, she exchanged pleasantries with God’s gift to retirement home management—Mr. Wainright Miller—who managed to remain unpleasant every damn time. One morning, he informed Candy that her rights as a temporary guest were limited. “Any planned leisure or recreational activity is designed for the benefit of our senior residents only,” he said.
“So no bocce or bridge for me?”
“That’s correct,” he said, his upper lip twitching.
“Even if I’m invited?” Candy asked, keeping her smile in place.
“They’ll forget they invited you. I suggest you do the same.”
“Have an awesome day, Mr. Miller,” she said, deciding that if that chubby tight-ass ever had the audacity to set foot in Lenny’s Diner, Candy would personally see to it that his coffee tasted funny.
And every evening when she returned, Gerrall was waiting for her—with a gift. First it was a DVD of some TV crime show she’d never heard of, about some middle-aged teacher who learned he has cancer and decides to sell drugs for a quick profit. Next, it was two Almond Joy candy bars and a can of Fresca, which Candy figured was just about as mixed a message as you could give a girl. Then it was a solid silver key chain featuring a big letter C, and she decided she had to put a stop to it.
“Gerrall, please don’t buy me gifts. You are very sweet, but I don’t want you spending your money on me, okay? You’re a young man starting his career and you should be saving whatever you can.”