The sheriff continued. “Penny Thatcher claimed that she saw Jane run from your truck, shaking and crying. There’s only one reason why you’re not in handcuffs.”
My wife,I thought, before he even said her name.
“Scarlett. Like I said, she called me this morning before the sun was up. She told me about the problems you’ve been having with Jane Jones, the break-ins and the theft of her pictures. After you left this morning, she asked her father to have a security system installed in your place.
“Jane came to the station with her accusations, and after, she was caught on video in your house, stealing pictures. That’s when she admitted to months of breaking in, taking your pictures, and the assault being a lie. I believe her when she said that you threatened her, though. You wanted the picture she stole back.
“I hear things—this is my town. You might not have done the crime this time, but give it time. It’s in your blood. You don’t deserve that girl. She comes from a good family, a good background, and she’s the type to be proud of. She was right for my boy, for Nick. After he died, you still went after her—knowing how he felt. She was interested in him too, before the accident. Hemade her laugh.” He took a step closer, our eyes locking. “It’s only a matter of time before you hurt her. You’ll follow in your daddy’s footsteps—fooling around, drinking, and breaking that girl’s heart. It’s a pity Scarlett couldn’t see you for what you are. I still search the faces of children without fathers to this day, just waiting to see those eyes in another bastard that you left behind. If I ever catch wind of it, it will be my obligation to tell her.” He shook his head. “How Everett and Pnina ever allowed her to marry you will always be a mystery to me.” He spat by our feet.
Stone straightened up and relaxed some when Everett slapped a big paw on his shoulder.
“Joe!” Everett said, patting. “I thought I heard my name. I’m assured that the awful situation with Ms. Jones is settled now?”
“We were just discussing that.” Stone smiled at me.
“Good,” Everett said, nodding seriously. “My son is a good man.” He left Stone’s side, coming to stand beside me, putting the hand on my shoulder. “He makes our Scarlett a happy woman. That’s all a father can ask for. And I’d hate to see his good name besmirched because of unrequited lust. From what my guy tells me, this is not the first time Ms. Jones has filed a false report.”
Stone looked like he’d rather eat shattered glass then to reply with an answer—his good name.
“Ah well, these things happen from time to time. As long as the truth has been set free.” Everett squeezed my shoulder. “We consider ourselves lucky to have him as part of our family.”
“Yeah,” Stone muttered, eyes hard on mine, but the smile still on his face. “One lucky bastard, indeed.”
* * *
Elliott James Poésy
Into the house and gate of heaven,
to enter into that gate,
and dwell in that house where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling,
but one equal light; no noise nor silence,
but one equal music.
Son. Brother. Best Friend.
I leaned against Elliott’s tomb, narrowing my eyes against the sunburst breaking around the towering oak tree, ribbons of Spanish moss weaving throughout the leaves. The moss waved as a surge of winter wind blew past. The smell of history drifted by, tangy and foreboding, along with the scent of cold earth and fresh flowers from a newly placed bouquet—a fleeting moment in time, felt bone deep. Time never mattered as much as it did here.
Everett insisted that we pay Elliott a visit like we used to do. He roused up a bunch of our old friends, and there we stood, hovering around the chilled marble, drinking beer and swapping stories about his son’s life.
Elliott could never hear music, but he was infatuated by the beat of it. He would have us write down lyrics to the songs he felt the most, and then he would memorize them—hum what he imagined the song sounded like.
One of his favorite songs was “Soulshine” by The Allman Brothers. Mitch sang the song then, each man lost to his own thoughts, to his own life and mortality. Everett messed Mitch’s hair when he was done, thanking him. Mitch looked to the sky, holding his beer high. “You can HEAR it now, Eli!”
“You’re not going to join them?” Everett asked me, as the group walked toward Nick’s tomb.
“No,” I said, tapping the bottle against the marble. “Not today.”
He settled next to me, both of us looking toward the light, still hiding behind the tree. The air felt even colder in the shadows of the long, stretching branches of the oak. He took a pull of his beer. The sweet smell lingered on his breath when he sighed. “Don’t mind Joe. He’s lost a lot in life. His wife. His unborn. His son. You can see how that could make a man hate. But he hates the wrong one. His trouble is with Luca, not you. He’s so blinded by it that he can’t see through his own emotions.”
He placed the bottle in the pack it came in then grabbed another. He handed me a fresh bottle, and I placed my empty one next to his. “I lived. Nick died.” I shrugged. “He has a right to hate me.”
Everett gazed toward the rays of broken light, a hard look coming over his face. His hair was a similar color to Scarlett’s. Lighter though, and now the sides were overtaken by grey. The wind lifted the longer top pieces, revealing even more silver. “A man will feel as he must,” he said. “My son died. His son died. One of you lived. That is something to be thankful for.” He used his bottle to motion to the cemetery. “After Elliott died, Scarlett came out here morning, noon, and night. We couldn’t force her to leave. She’s headstrong, like my mother. Pnina likes to think Scarlett is all her side, but I know better. There were times I wondered if she’d die from the heartache of it.”
I remembered those times all too well. I sat in the shadows, listening to her talk to him as if he was still here, and it ate me up inside that I couldn’t go to her, offer whatever comfort I could. But I had my doubts. I had wondered if she hated me because she saved me and not her brother.
