“Dustin Livingston?” Something in Jill’s voice made Seth turn her way. Wariness shone from her bright-blue eyes. “What you asking about Doc for?” She narrowed those eyes slightly.
“We were friends. Played together when I lived here. I wondered if he’s still around. How he’s doing.”
Jill parked the truck and opened the driver’s door, hawking a loogie on the dry red dirt. “If you were truly friends, you’d know, wouldn’t you? Or did you just stop thinking about this place after you hightailed it to Chicago?” She pronounced the name “She-cargo.”
Once more at a loss, and taking her well-aimed accusation like a knife to the gut, Seth crawled out of the truck, lugging his computer. Jill leaned against the hood, offering no help while Seth struggled with his luggage and shopping bags, leaving them piled on the steps. “Do you have a key?” he asked, waiting patiently by the front door.
Jill rolled her top lip in disgust. “This is Possum Kingdom, Georgia, city boy. We don’t lock our doors.” Without further ado, she leapt back into her Silverado and flung up a spray of red dirt back to the main road.
“Nice meeting you too!” Seth snarled. He proceeded to cough, choking on airborne dried Georgia clay. When he reached for his phone to vent his spleen via the Internet, he realized Jill hadn’t returned his iPhone.
“HOW’Dit go?” Dustin asked, tidying up after sending his last patient
home for the day. “Did you get Seth settled in at Irene’s?”
“He’s dumb as a rock and won’t last a week,” Monica replied,
“but it went okay.”
Dustin heaved a weary sigh. He’d held out hope of Irene’s
nephew simply being a late bloomer who’d somehow magically grown up to be the Jack the passel needed, come to claim his rightful place. Better Indian than Chiefwas Dustin’s personal motto. He’d fought long and hard not to be Irene’s second-in-command, and only the threat of her appointing an ambitious lesser male had convinced him to step up to the plate on atemporarybasis—four years ago when he’d graduated from med school.
Monica pulled him close, momentarily cutting off his air. The woman didn’t know her own strength. “Don’t worry, he won’t challenge you. He’s not truly one of us.”
“He is and he isn’t. His parents had him tested early. His dad passed on a dormant strain of the virus. They hoped it would become symptomatic during puberty. Since Irene never mentioned any frantic calls from Seth’s grandmother, I’m supposing it didn’t. Another infusion of fresh virus might help, but since he was raised outside the community, I don’t picture Seth volunteering to let someone take a bite of his arm anytime soon.” Dustin’s heart clenched at the memory of a younger Seth, and how close they’d been.
“If he’s not the type to stick around, with any luck, maybe he’ll sell the house and have his ass back up north by month’s end.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Their leader’s only kin being a naive half blood left the passel up for grabs. And though Dustin didn’t want to assume the title of “the Jack” and the mantle of leadership any more than Monica wanted “the Jill,” if he didn’t announce his intention to assume control or name a successor within three full moons, there’d be war. Dustin’s hands were full enough with his looking after the health of the townsfolk, and Monica often asserted that “I don’t want to even be responsible for a houseplant, let alone the likes of Junior Timmerman.” She often added, “Though if I had to choose between the two, I’d pick a rhododendron, they’re smarter.”
A chirping sounded from the vicinity of his assistant’s back pocket. “What’s that?” he asked.
Monica stepped away, fishing out a sleek, state-of-the-art phone. “You’ve talked about him endlessly over the years. I figured I’d give you a reason to go visit while he’s here. Get those old warm-and-fuzzy feelings out of the way the moment you realize the childhood friend you loved grew up into a heartless asshole.” She placed the stilltweeting device in his hand and sauntered away, whistling “Dixie.”
Chapter 4
ONCEthe roar of the Silverado’s engine died, Seth found himself surrounded by the kind of quiet that could never happen in the city. Funny thing was, even though he’d lived in Chicago for most of his life, something about the rural setting felt like home. Birds chirped from the magnolia trees, and unseen things in the grass twittered and whirred. No honking horns, no constant rumble of engines, no people calling to each other from a distance. A breeze stirred the uppermost branches of the oaks he clearly remembered climbing once upon a time. After his initial fear of being alone eased, Seth found himself breathing deeply of clean country air. Home. This was home.
He imagined his eight-year-old self running through the side yard, or swinging from the front porch swing. If he took a short walk, no doubt he’d find the barn through the trees behind the house. His auntie had raised chickens when he’d lived here with her and his parents— he’d often helped his dad collect eggs. A faint recollection came back of asking Auntie why his parents lived with her, to which she’d replied, “I’m teaching your mother… things.” He’d supposed she meant cooking and cleaning, since his mother’s attempt to make Auntie’s homemade buttermilk biscuits usually resulted in rock-hard, charred stones of burnt dough.
With a resigned sigh, Seth scooped up his grocery bags. He took a deep breath and tugged on the door, half expecting to find the lock secured, despite Jill’s assurances to the contrary. The door opened and Seth stepped through, immediately thrust back in time.
A funky smell assailed his nostrils. How long had the place been shut up? A few weeks? It definitely needed a good airing out.
The sitting room appeared precisely as he remembered, with an old rocker in one corner and firewood stacked neatly by the hearth. The settee had been old even twenty years ago. An elaborately carved grandfather clock used to tick off the minutes in this room. Seth remembered pulling the chains every morning to wind it.
He placed his bags on the polished hardwood floor, then crossed the room in six long strides to open the door on the clock’s belly. A fine layer of dust marred the glass. The place begged for a good cleaning. Seth’s slovenly reputation came honestly; however, even he had limits. He wound and set the clock, the steadytick tocksending yet another wave of nostalgia washing over him.
After putting the clock to rights, Seth explored the room at leisure, longing filling his heart as he examined the old family photos displayed on the mantel, several featuring Seth and his parents. His chest constricted painfully as he gazed at the man and woman who lived on in his memories. What would life have been like if they hadn’t died?
A few newer photos appeared out of place among the old. One was a group shot, with Auntie in the middle, surrounded by what most might assume to be a large family grouping. But other than himself, she didn’t have any relatives that Seth knew of. The pain in his heart grew, along with guilt. He’d been too busy living his life to spare much thought for the woman who’d once sung him to sleep, and had comforted him after his parents’ death. His grandmother hadn’t liked Aunt Irene, though he’d never quite figured out why. After his grandmother’s death, he’d simply put off reaching out or visiting, telling himself, “Soon.” He’d receive a fabulous opportunity for a photo shoot, catch a cold, or simply forget, and postpone the trip once more. Now it was too late.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Irene,” he told the empty room. Shivers darted up his spine at having broken the quiet.
He studied the picture, spotting Jill standing to his great-aunt’s right, a handsome red-haired man on the left. Another picture snagged his attention: a newspaper clipping, encased in a frame, containing his Auntie Irene, Jill, and the man. Bringing it closer he read, “Local leaders Irene McDaniel, Monica Sims (Ha! Her name isn’t Jill!),and Dr. Dustin Livingston.” What kind of leaders they were or what they’d done to earn them a spot in the newspaper remained a mystery. Chamber of commerce, maybe? Once again Seth felt keen disappointment in himself for not making more of an effort to connect with his father’s only relative.I’m the last. And alone.
Wait! Dr. Dustin
