One More Knight

Chapter 6

July 4/5, 1977

Dear Diary,

It’s almost morning. So much has happened, but I don’t want to write about it. I just can’t right now. Maybe tomorrow. Right now I can’t even see straight, let alone think.

Thought for the Day: If you ask me, thinking is highly overrated.

Troy woke up in a state he could only think of as confused well-being. He couldn’t figure out how he could have behaved so badly and feel so good about it.

Here he was in a sleazy Alabama motel room, listening to the shower running in the bathroom and a woman banging around in there and dropping things, a woman he barely knew but had driven all the way from Georgia yesterday to bail out of jail and wound up spending what was probably one of-if not the most- incredible nights he’d ever spent in the company of a woman in his life. If that wasn’t reprehensible conduct, he didn’t know what was.

He just wished he could stop grinning whenever he thought about it.

About then Bubba, who’d been sitting at attention over by the door, happened to notice he was awake and came ambling over to give him a good-morning lick. And since Bubba hadn’t exactly been raised to be a house dog, Troy figured the first order of the day was going to be to take him out for a walk.

He was pulling on his pants when he heard the water shut off, and a moment later the bathroom door opened and there stood Charly with a little bitty towel knotted around her waist. She was holding another towel across her breasts and squeezing water from the ends of her hair with the end of it. Water droplets spangled her shoulders and arms and the fronts of her thighs. He hadn’t really had a chance to notice last night, but now he saw that her legs were long and looked as if she either walked a lot or worked out regularly. It was a sight to put a hitch in his breathing.

“Oh, good,” she snapped, “you’re up. I was startin’ to worry about that dog of yours. I was going to take him for a walk myself, but I thought the shock of seeing a naked woman running down the road with a bear on a leash might be too much for this town to handle.” Her voice was scratchy and sardonic. He found it stimulating as burlap on his auditory nerves.

He walked toward her, grinning and thinking about how good it was going to feel to kiss her, all fresh and wet from the shower. But the look she gave him made him change his mind about that. He could read all sorts of things in her eyes, most of which added up to one thing: the Charly Phelps who had woken up in his bed this morning was prepared to deny any and all knowledge of the wanton stranger who’d taken over her body last night. Which didn’t really surprise him. If he’d given it much thought, he probably would have expected it.

She dipped her head toward his bag, which was sitting on the dresser. “I don’t suppose you might have something in there that I could put on?”

He scooped up the bag, opened it and held it out to her. “Help yourself. How ’bout boxers and a T-shirt?”

“It’s a start.” She peered warily into the bag as if she thought it might have an unpleasant surprise hidden in it, then took it from him and backed up into the bathroom and shut the door.

Troy stood there and looked at the place where she’d been for a minute or two, then huffed out a breath. “Well, okay. You’re welcome, darlin’.” He pivoted, clapped his hands and said briskly, “Hey, ol’ Bubba, whaddaya say you and me go take us a little walk?”

Okay, he wasn’t surprised. But he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.

In the bathroom Charly propped Troy’s overnight bag on the sink and peered over it at the faceless blur in the steamed-up mirror. She reached toward the glass with the towel she’d been holding across her breasts…then slowly withdrew her hand without wiping away the fog. The prospect of looking herself in the eye didn’t hold much appeal this morning.

Selfish… irresponsible. She heard the words again, in her father’s cold, unfeeling voice, along with another word she’d last heard more than twenty years ago. Shameless

It was true. She was all of those things, and more.

A cold, hard knot took shape in her chest, and a cold, hard voice whispered in her ear things she’d tried for twenty years not to hear. Selfish, irresponsible…shameless. You don’t deserve…

A pair of eyes took shape in the mirror’s foggy blur-not her own ambiguous hazel, but darker ones, blue, with heavy lashes and laugh creases-kind, compassionate eyes. Nice eyes. Beautiful eyes. Troy’s eyes. When they’d looked into hers, she hadn’t felt shameless, or selfish, or undeserving. She’d felt beautiful, sexy, desired.

And I used him.

She closed her eyes on the vision and rocked herself slowly, dizzy with shame and remorse. It was true. Like some use drugs or alcohol, she’d used Troy, as something to dull her own pain, to help her forget, to get her through the night. Jack Daniel’s would have been a better choice-at least she’d only have a hangover to worry about this morning. But-oh. God, this was a person. A human being, and a pretty decent one, as far as she could tell. What was she going to do about him now? How was she ever going to get them back onto a casual footing?

Especially, a hard, practical inner voice reminded her, when she still needed him. There were still some things she had to have his help in order to do.

The fogged mirror was clearing. It was her own eyes that stared back at her now, bloodshot and puffy, but determined. Oh, yes, there was still something she had to do. And she was sorry-truly sorry-but she was going to have to go on using that nice, decent man for a little while longer. There was simply no one else she could turn to.

But no more of what happened last night, she told herself firmly. That was unforgivable. I won’t let that happen again.

As if in denial, a shiver coursed through her. Her nipples pouted. Her body’s secret places throbbed and tingled, mocking her.

Jimmy Joe cradled the phone and looked over at his beloved, who was standing at the window watching traffic flow by on the Atlanta Beltway far below. He could tell just by looking at her that she was ticked off. “Well, that was Mama,” he said. “She just heard from Troy.”

“So I gathered,” said Mirabella stiffly.

He walked over to her, put his arms around her from behind and pulled her back against him. “Is all that freeway traffic makin’ you homesick for L.A.?”

“Huh? Not a chance.”

“Look,” he said in a cajoling tone, rocking her, “I know you’re disappointed with Troy for runnin’ off like he did and leavin’ the nursery job half-finished-” he paused when she snorted “-but I think maybe you’re gonna forgive him when you hear what he’s doin’ instead.”

“He told your mom he was going to Alabama.”

“Yeah, but you’re never gonna guess who he’s with in Alabama.”

She turned in his arms, scowling suspiciously. “Who?”

“Your friend Charly.”

Mirabella’s mouth dropped open. “Charly! But that’s-Charly? What’s she doing here? What’s she doing in Alabama?”

Jimmy Joe didn’t even try to stop himself from grinning; it wasn’t often he got to see his beloved dumbfounded. “Mama didn’t say. What she told me was, Troy said to tell you that your friend Charly was in Alabama, and that she was havin’ some problems over there and he was gonna stay on awhile and help her out.”

“But-but what kind of trouble? And why-?”

“And that’s all she told me,” Jimmy Joe said gently but firmly. “Marybell, honey, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

She twisted out of his arms and sat down dazedly on the bed, “Charly…and Troy? I don’t believe it.”

Jimmy Joe was still grinning. “Sort of interestin’, though, ain’t it?”

Still confounded, Mirabella said, “Mmm…” then did a double take and flashed him one of her looks. “Oh, no-no way. That’s impossible. Out of the question. Charly and Troy? Never in a million years.”

It was her most stubborn, know-everything look. He could see she was primed for a good argument, which was fine with him. Arguing with Mirabella had a stimulating effect on him.

He went and sat down on the bed beside her and said, “Come on, now. Why not? You’ve met Troy, and from everything you’ve told me about Charly, seems to me they might just hit it off pretty good.”

“Well,” said Mirabella, thoughtfully chewing her lip, “for starters, he’s Southern.”

“Well, hell-”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but there’s just no way in the world Charly would ever let herself get mixed up with somebody from the South. No way.”

“I know somebody else woulda said that about six months ago,” Jimmy Joe said mildly; it wasn’t in his nature to take offense.

Which was something he knew Mirabella was still getting used to. So he wasn’t surprised that she had to look into his eyes for a long measuring moment to find the reassurance she was searching for before she went on, flushed and earnest, “No, you don’t understand. Charly hates everything about the South. She grew up in Alabama, in some little tiny town-she actually ran away from home when she was sixteen. She swears she’d sooner die than ever go back.”

“The South’s not all country roads and rednecks,” Jimmy Joe argued. “You know that Troy’s seen more of the world than most people. He knows his way around.”

Mirabella was quiet for a moment. Then she let out a breath and shook her head. “It’s not just that. I mean, I love Charly-she’s a wonderful person. She’s funny and smart and has a heart of pure mush-”

“Sounds like somebody else I know.”

She laughed softly, and for a minute or two he thought she might be ready to call it quits on this particular discussion. But there was still more she wanted to say, and after too short an interlude, she gave him a gentle push and went determinedly on, “but the point is, she does a good job of keeping that fact a secret.” She paused. “Charly… protects herself. She has fun, she dates a lot of guys, but she never lets it get too serious, you know? She never lets herself care too much. Never lets herself…”

“Love?”

“Well…yeah.” She was looking into his eyes, and Jimmy Joe could see that she was thinking about how close she’d come to being in that same condition herself, and feeling the wonder and awe of her own miracle all over again. It was something he had no trouble understanding, since it was his miracle, too.

She gave her head a shake, pulling herself away from her own scary thoughts. “What I think is, something happened to Charly when she was young, and that’s why she ran away. I think she must have gotten hurt somehow. I don’t mean just some broken love affair-I mean really hurt, you know? So badly that I don’t think she’s ever gotten over it. I think she’s just made up her mind she’s not ever going to let herself get hurt again.”

“Minds can be unmade,” Jimmy Joe reminded her, dipping his head until his lips found the sweet, fragrant softness of her neck.

“Mmm…never happen…” Her words grew slurred; she moved her head slowly back and forth. “Charly’s pretty stubborn.”

Jimmy Joe chuckled. He could feel her begin to tremble as he laid her gently back against the cushion of his arm and whispered against her lips, “Never underestimate the power of a Starr.”

“Breakfast first,” said Troy as he backed the Cherokee out of the Mourning Springs Motel parking lot. “And a gallon of coffee. Then the car.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it; Charly had been all for going out and chasing down her rental car first thing, and it was taking some doing to dissuade her. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get her suitcases back, but he also knew what blood sugar could do to a body when it bottomed out.

“Jeez…” She gave in with poor grace, muttering and swearing, and with conditions of her own. “All right, here’s a Burger King-we can go through the drive-through.”

“You kiddin’?” Troy glanced in the rearview mirror at Bubba, who he knew was going to be panting and drooling all down the back of the middle seat at the mere mention of Burger King. “That fast-food stuff’ll kill you, don’t you know that? Naw, what we need is some real food.”

Her snort was ripe with sarcasm. “By which, being Southern, I imagine you mean grits.”

He smiled good-naturedly but didn’t say anything for a second or two, not being exactly sure which she was feeling sarcastic about-the South, or the grits. Then, squinting into the morning sun, he said, “Okay, then, you bein” Southern-”

“Ex!”

He could have told her there was no such thing, that it was almost a scientifically proved fact that you could take the girl out of the South, but no way in hell you could ever take the South out of the girl. But the mood she was in, he thought maybe he’d best make that point some other time. So he nodded and conceded, “Ex-Southern. So what do you eat with your eggs, California? Quiche?”

“Hash browns,” she snapped, and threw him a bitter look, like a disappointed child. “Preferably those little greasy stuck-together patties they give you at fast-food places.” He laughed. She studied him for a while, then said, “No smoking, no fast food-so, I suppose you’re some kind of a health nut, too.”

“Too?”

“Mirabella.” She sat back with a resigned sigh. “She’s always getting after me about my eating habits.”

And that was something that just about boggled Troy’s mind. He kept trying to imagine those two headstrong, feisty women-the Mirabella he knew and the Charly he’d just met-being best friends. He decided such a volatile combination would have to be either highly entertaining or highly hazardous to a person’s health. Either that, or there were facets to both women he hadn’t discovered yet. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he’d like to. Especially after last night.

“Way I see it,” he drawled, “you only get one body. I try not to abuse mine, is all.”

He could feel her studying him again. It gave him a pleasurable little tingle to think she might be wondering about some of his undiscovered facets. He thought to himself, Darlin’, if you’ll show me yours, I’ll show you mine…

After a moment she said, “So, is it true? You’re a SEAL?”

“Used to be.” He glanced over at her, but she had turned her head and was staring out the window, gazing at the buildings they were just passing.

“Mourning Spring High School,” he said, reading the letters on the sign at the base of the flagpole as it flashed by. “That where you went to school?”

“For a while.” Her voice seemed faraway, and had that hollowness he’d heard before. “Never graduated.”

“Never graduated?” He frowned, thinking she probably hadn’t meant it just that way. “How come?”

“Moved.” Her voice had a new, bright edge, an artificial lightness. She turned her head toward him again, giving her hair a little flip that made him think of his own high-school days, of bands playing Queen’s “We Are the Champions” and cheerleaders flirting.

“Hey, I bet you were a jock-football player, right? Hell, I’ll bet you were the quarterback.”

“Shows how wrong you are.” Troy grinned, still riding on those memories, allowing himself to strut a little. “Wide receiver. All-conference, junior and senior year-voted best hands in the state.”

“That I can believe.”

He thought she probably hadn’t meant to say it like that, with her voice going husky and a catch in her breathing. But suddenly there was silence, except for Bubba’s panting, which sounded too much like heavy breathing and didn’t help matters. And if she hadn’t meant to say it like that, she sure knew right away that she had. She put her head back against the seat and whispered under her breath-most likely swear words, if he knew her. And he thought he was beginning to, a little.

At first he thought the best thing would be to ignore it. But the silence kept getting thicker and heavier, and his mind, looking for ways to fill the vacuum, kept wanting to give him reminders of the very things he was trying to forget. He found himself growing light-headed.

So he finally said, “Hey, look-it happened. It’s not like it’s gonna go away if we don’t talk about it.”

Her body jerked slightly, and she turned her head to give him an angry glare. “I hope you don’t think I do-”

He held up a hand and stopped her right there, then shook his head and growled, “I can’t believe you’d even say that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did think it,” she countered in an edgy voice. There was a pause, and then she gave a tight, high laugh. “I mean, God, I wish I could say it was because I’d had too much to drink. But I don’t think one light beer would do it, do you?”

“You had too much of somethin’,” Troy muttered, narrowing his eyes and staring straight ahead through the windshield. Like trouble, stress and heartache, maybe.

And the worst of it, as far as he was concerned, was that he still didn’t know why, or what in the hell it was all about. He wished to God he had it in him to just come right out and ask, but he kept telling himself it was her business, not his.

He let out a breath through his nose, calling on all his patience and self-control. “And I…took advantage of the situation. That’s not something I’m proud of. But on the other hand I don’t feel particularly inclined to apologize for it, either. Unless you feel like I ought to.” He looked over at her, issuing the challenge. “You want me to?”

“What?”

“Apologize.”

“No!” She threw him a furious look, then put her head back against the headrest and finished it on a soft exhalation. “Of course not. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t yours, either.”

“Okay,” she snarled, “so it wasn’t anybody’s fault It just happened.”

“Yeah, it did. And you want to tell me why we’re sitting here tryin’ to attach fault to something that felt so damn good?”

They were just coming into the town square, on a Saturday morning as bright and blue and sunshiny as an Alabama June day knows how to be. Out there in the park, people were going about their business, kids playing ball, old folks sitting in the sun. And inside the Cherokee where they were sitting the atmosphere was as charged and sultry as it had been in the night with the lightning flickering and the thunder growling and one hell of a storm coming on.

Some of the growling was coming from Troy’s stomach, and it wasn’t all from hunger-at least, not the bacon-an’-eggs kind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charly shake her head, then look down at her hands, which were all knotted up in her lap. But she couldn’t find anything more to say, and neither could he.

Troy found a shady parking place on the square across from Kelly’s and pulled into it. While he was rolling down windows and explaining the program to Bubba, and trying to get him to understand that all that howling and carrying on wasn’t going to change things one bit, Charly sat and stared through the windshield at the sign that said Kelly’s Kitchen.

She told herself she was behaving like a child. More accurately like the emotionally racked teenager she’d once been. It was time she remembered that that girl, Charlene Elizabeth, didn’t exist anymore. It was time she remembered who she was now-C. E. Phelps, Attorney-At-Law, according to the brass letters on the door of her plush-carpeted offices on the twentieth floor of a downtown L.A. high-rise. And time she started demonstrating some of the character that had gotten her to that place.

She knew that the first thing she was going to have to do was come to some kind of understanding with Troy. And that in order to do that, she was going to have to level with him-at least up to a point. She owed him that much. Okay. She knew it was the right thing to do, and she’d made up her mind to do it. She just hadn’t realized how hard it would be to work up the courage and self-control to make it possible.

By the time Troy had finished sweet-talking his dog and was giving her an “Are we getting out or what?” look, she was ready. Or thought she was.

“I…” It was a false start, but enough to stop him in the act of reaching for the door handle. She cleared her throat and tried again, in a voice still too raspy for the calm, in-control image she was trying for. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

He gave a faint “Here we go again” sigh. “What for?”

She could feel his eyes on her, but couldn’t bring herself to meet them. Instead she went on looking at the Kelly’s Kitchen sign. “Please understand-I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to explain.”

“No need-”

“Yeah, there is. I shouldn’t…” She tried to take a deep breath and was surprised by the pain-physical pain, this time. She’d forgotten the seat-belt bruise. Because of it, her voice was an air-starved whisper. “I had some things…happen yesterday.”

“I kinda got that idea,” Troy said dryly.

She held up a hand. “But that’s no excuse. It’s my problem. I shouldn’t…have dragged you into it.”

He gave a soft huff of laughter. “I don’t recall doin’ any kickin’ and screamin’.” He paused, then added, “Well, maybe a little screamin’.”

Ah, damn. She didn’t want to smile. She bowed her head and looked at her hands and tried her best to hide it, but his chuckle was like a sensual massage along her auditory nerves. And then she felt his hand on her shoulder, pushing upward to nudge under her hair and his fingers gently probing the tense places in her neck. Heat crept up into her throat and cheeks, and oozed down into her stomach and pooled in the sensitized places that still remembered that touch…

“Feel like talking about it?”

She wanted to. She really did. She’d intended to. She’d thought she was ready to tell him, that she’d talked herself into it. But now… Maybe it was his hand, the way he touched her, the incredible gentleness of it, but suddenly there was a dangerous ache all through her, and a useless lump where her voice should be. She knew if she talked about the past in this fragile, vulnerable state, she would almost certainly cry. And that was something she had promised herself she would never do again. Ever.

There was only the softest whisper of an exhalation to betray Troy’s frustration when she firmly shook her head. And she was sorry, truly sorry.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” was all he said, and gave her neck a gentle squeeze before he took his hand away.

Charly had been half hoping Kelly Grace wouldn’t be there for the breakfast shift. There was a lot she didn’t feel like explaining this morning, not the least of which was her companion. But no such luck. They’d just gotten themselves seated in a booth and were looking over menus when Kelly came out of the kitchen and spotted them.

She yelled out, “Charlene! I was hopin’ t’ see you this mornin’!” and intercepted the teenage waitress who was headed their way, coffeepot in hand. “Here, April honey, I’ll take that-this here’s an old friend a’ mine. Hey, how’re y‘all doin’ this mornin’? How’d it go yesterday? I sure have been thinkin’ about you…”

And of course, all the time she was talking away a blue streak to Charly, her eyes were about to eat Troy alive.

Resigned to the inevitable, Charly muttered introductions.

“Hey, Troy.” Kelly Grace offered him her Miss America smile along with the hand that wasn’t full of the coffeepot, oozing Southern femininity from every pore. One thing Charly had forgotten about was how that girl could flirt.

And like any true son of the South, Troy was naturally eating it up, taking her hand like it was the Lady Guinevere’s and he was Sir Lancelot.

Then all of a sudden he got very still. He stayed that way for a second or two, then looked over at Charly and muttered, “Kelly…Grace. You’re kiddin’, right?”

Charly picked up her coffee cup and dipped her head to hide her smile, but Kelly Grace squealed with delight and slapped Troy playfully on the arm.

“No, sir, she is not! Isn’t it just awful? You have to understand, my mama is a strange person. She claims she didn’t plan it that way at all, says she never even made the connection until she saw it written down on my birth certificate, and by then it was too late.”

She plunked the coffeepot down and shifted gears. “Where you from, Troy? I know I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Troy told her he was from Georgia, and she echoed it in a tone of pure amazement, as if she thought he must be talking about the one in Russia.

“He’s helping me out,” Charly reluctantly explained. “I had a little accident last night-”

“An accident!” Kelly Grace’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my Lord, was that you? A couple of the troopers were in here this mornin’, talkin’ about some woman goin’ off the highway last night, up by the spring, but I never dreamed-My Lord, Charlene, are you all right? You’re not hurt, or anything…”

“I’m fine.” Charly gave her chest a reflexive rub. “Just a seat-belt bruise.”

At that, there was a faint, strangled sound from Troy. She threw him an inquiring glance, and found that his eyes were riveted on her chest, his face pale and a muscle working in his jaw, looking as horrified as if she’d just sprouted a third breast. And it dawned on her that what he must be feeling was guilt-for not having thought to ask, in all the time they’d been together, if she might be injured. For all the things they’d done and all the ways he’d touched her. For forgetting to be gentle.

Pictures flashed through her mind; sensations reprised themselves all over and through her body. A strange warmth flooded through her, totally unexpected and indefinably tender. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that she hadn’t thought about it, either, that he hadn’t hurt her-far from it. But in present company all she could do was gaze at him, and hope he would read those things in her eyes and take it no further.

“My Lord, Charlene, why didn’t you call me? I would’ve been glad to help. Or you could have called…” Kelly Grace stopped suddenly, looking confused.

“Kelly, I didn’t know your number,” Charly reminded her, regretfully tearing her eyes away from Troy’s.

“Oh, my Lord, that’s right! I should have given it to you yesterday. Don’t know why I didn‘t-I surely meant to. Charlene and I go way back,” she explained to Troy, giving him a companionable nudge. “We were best friends back in high school. Oh, that reminds me…I was hopin’ I’d see you again. Brought these with me, just in case.” She plunged her hand into a pocket of the denim skirt she was wearing, brought out several snapshots and dropped them on the tabletop. “Got to lookin’ at ’em last night. Sure does bring back memories.”

Then she hesitated, coffeepot in hand, while her natural effervescence seemed to go flat. She tried to pick it up again in her usual friendly way, but it sounded forced now, and uncertain. “Well, listen, I got pies in the oven-guess I better let you alone, hadn’t I? Let you get you some breakfast. Let me see if I can get April to come take your order, okay? I’ll be seein’ y’all later.”

She hurried away, and it seemed to Troy as if she was fleeing from the memories she’d left behind on the table.

He sipped his coffee in silence as he watched Charly reach for the photographs and slowly, almost as if it was against her will, spread them out in front of her. He couldn’t see her eyes; she was looking down so that her lashes shielded them like curtains. But it seemed to him her face was unnaturally still, and a lot paler than a California girl’s should be.

He watched, and waited, while questions backed up in his throat, and his manners and upbringing choked them off like a too tight collar.

The little waitress-a high-school kid, by the looks of her-came to take their order and refill their coffee cups. When she’d gone away again, Troy reached over and casually picked up one of the snapshots. “Who’s this?” he said, “Charlie’s Angels?”

She acknowledged that with a crooked grin. “Hey, it was the seventies-what can I say?”

“You’re the dark one, right?”

“Naturally.”

“And the Farrah Fawcett blonde is…?”

“That’s Kelly Grace.”

“Uh-huh. And the two jocks in the football jerseys?”

She hesitated, then reached across the table and pointed. “That’s…Bobby Hanratty. He and Kelly got married. She says they’re divorced now-have two kids. And that’s Richie. I went out with him for a while. This was the homecoming dance. We were juniors-Kelly Grace was junior-class princess that year.” Her voice seemed oddly flat, Troy thought, for somebody reminiscing over her happy youth. And she kept her eyes downcast. He wondered if it was to keep him from seeing the sadness in them.

He bared his teeth in a smile. “Yeah? Princess, huh? Why does that not surprise me? And the next year-queen, I presume?”

She shrugged and her voice went from flat to edgy. “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here then.”

“So,” he probed, unable to stop himself, “that’s when you moved away?”

“Right.”

He waited, his pulse tapping like an impatient foot, but there was nothing more. So he touched the photograph once more. “Who’s the fifth wheel? The guy in the band uniform?”

There was a long pause, and it seemed to him that she had to unstick the words from her throat before she could say them. “That’s Colin.” She reached across the table and took the snapshot from him, tucking it under the rest as she made a small neat pile of them and set them aside. “He was…a friend. He lived next door. We…grew up together.” And suddenly her voice had gone soft, with a kind of tenderness in it that for some reason made something twist and knot up under Troy’s belt buckle.

“Where is he now?” he asked her, trying hard to keep it casual.

Her eyes met his, shadowed and deep as the woods in summer. “He died.”

“Aw, hell,” said Troy softly, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She lifted a shoulder, and her eyes shifted downward once more. “It was a long time ago.”

He nodded, though he knew how little that mattered. He’d lost friends himself, a few under circumstances that had given him reason to know how it was to wake up in the middle of the night, cold with self-doubt and self-blame. And how sometimes the smallest thing could send him back there, to the place where the guilt and second-guessing waited in ambush.

“How did it happen?” he prodded gently.

“An accident.” The words made a small sticking sound.

And he understood that, too. He knew how hard it could be to talk about. And how important it was to do it anyway.

But before he could encourage her further along those lines, little April, the waitress, was there at his elbow, saying nervously, “Excuse me, sir, but is that your dog that’s doin’ all that howlin’ out there?”

So then he had to go out and try to bribe poor ol’ Bubba with the promise of a double cheeseburger if he’d calm down and let them eat their breakfast in peace. By the time he got back, their food had arrived. And naturally Charly jumped on that distraction like a duck on a june bug, energetically critiquing the selection of jellies, the doneness of her eggs, the temperature of the toast, the size of the holes in the pepper shaker as if those details were the most important things in the world to her.

And maybe, Troy thought, in a way, just then they were. Because what they were, it looked like to him, were sandbags she was using in a last, desperate fight to hold back the flood of memories she was scared to death was going to drown her.