Page 82 of The River We Remember

“Garnet—”

She laughed. “Oh, Brody, you should see your face. You look like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Do you really think I’m so petty? I’m glad you had a good time. I’m just a little worried about what Evangeline Madison might have on her mind now. You’re practically dating.”

“It was one evening, and I just gave her a ride.”

“I understand. But does she? Brody, you might need to do a little clarifying before you break that woman’s heart.”

“I’m breaking no one’s heart.”

She looked at him in the dim light, suddenly not so playful. “Is that so?”

The words had been there, almost in his throat, his confession of all the sin he’d been hiding for so long. He’d almost been free. Now he shoved them back down inside, back into that dark place.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you, Garnet. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Is that true, Brody? Tell me you don’t find her attractive.”

“Do we have to have this conversation now?”

“We don’t have conversations in any other way, Brody.”

“And whose fault is that? I’m not the one who won’t leave my marriage.”

“You have no idea how complicated it is.”

“And you don’t know me at all, do you?”

He sat up and watched a moth flutter about the lantern on the loft floor. A moment later, he felt her hand on his back.

“You’re the best thing about my life, Brody. If I lost this, I don’t know what I’d do.”

It was what she always said. It was like a little key to the lock that secured the chain around his heart, that kept him hers. But deep down, Brody knew it wasn’t true. He’d seen the look on Garnet’s face when she was with her children, and it was anything but unhappy. He’d heard his mother speak so very often of how cheerful Garnet was, how much joy she brought to the house. And not all that long ago of how happy she made Tom. Maybe the marriage itself wasn’t always a wellspring of perfect happiness, but it didn’t seem to Brody to be at all an awful thing. It was her life. And really, truthfully, painfully, Brody understood that she was content with it.

She kissed his shoulder. Kissed the scars on his back, one by one, as if each was beautiful to her. Kissed the long rope of knotted tissue along his neck where once a bayonet had cut. Kissed his chest where old cigarette burns stood out like pale stars against a paler sky. Kissed his belly and then slid lower.

They made love again, and this time Brody let the oblivion that Garnet offered with her body swallow him whole.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THE SECOND FUNERAL in Jewel that week took place on Friday afternoon, only seven days after Jimmy Quinn’s chewed-on body had been found caught up in some driftwood along a bank of the Alabaster River. The service was held in the Church of Saint Ignatius, and although it was as grand and solemn an occasion as any held in that sanctuary, those who attended, Charlie Bauer among them, did not seem nearly as grieved as those who’d turned out the day before to mourn Ruth Coffee. James Patrick Quinn might have been the wealthiest landowner in Black Earth County, but Charlie believed that Ruth Coffee, who’d been a simple teacher all her life, had been richer in so many ways. Both the service and the visitation that had preceded it were closed-coffin affairs. The mortician Fred Brown was good at what he did, but he was not a miracle worker.

Charlie went to the funeral, not because she had any final respects to pay James Patrick Quinn but rather from a professional curiosity. Although she wanted to see who was there, she was far more interested in who was not.

Most of Quinn’s immediate family were present, though they didn’t all sit together. Marta and her children occupied a pew on the right side of the aisle, Terry Quinn and his wife and children on the left. Charlie saw them exchange words but couldn’t hear what was said. They didn’t appear to be words of mutual condolence, however. Terry Quinn was very much like his father, full of bluster, even in that place that was supposed to engender quiet humility. His wife, whom Charlie had never seen before, wore a fine black dress and pearls and a black hat with a veil that fell across her entire face. Whenever she lifted the veil, Charlie could see that she looked drawn and tired.

There was something that troubled Charlie about the service, and when it was over, she corralled Brody Dern, who had come dressed in his uniform.

“A minute of your time?” she asked.

The casket had been carried out by pallbearers, men who’d been Quinn’s fellow parishioners, and row after row, those in attendance were released, some to follow to the cemetery, others to prepare the meal that would be served in the church fellowship hall, after the burial.

“Kind of surprised to see you here, Charlie,” he said. He looked a little haggard, and Charlie wondered if he was ill.

“Have you seen Fiona McCarthy?” she asked.

She was talking about Quinn’s daughter from his first marriage. As far as Charlie knew, after the young woman had fled town following the scandal of her pregnancy and hurried marriage, she’d never returned to Jewel.

Brody scanned the sanctuary, which was emptying quickly.