Adelaide Confused (29 page)

I was in a parking lot,
surrounded by ancient oak trees, and just beyond them was the Fort
Frederica Visitor Center.

I’d been to Fort Frederica
once shortly after arriving on the island. It had been uneventful,
which for me was the appeal. I’d been surprisingly patient that
day.

Usually I wouldn’t welcome
a tedious narrative, but I’d been lonely, so I sat through a film
which briefly detailed the fort’s history. I didn’t remember much,
except thinking that Oglethorpe had made some poor decisions. And
after that I’d bought a fridge magnet from the small gift shop,
walked the museum in about seven seconds, and went outside to look
at the crumbling remains of the colonial settlement.

This trip would be
different. For starters, I arrived by popping out of Beagban’s
truck, giving the nearby family a little shock. I ignored their
spluttering and walked slowly to the entrance, approaching it as
one might approach a cranky lion.

I opened the door just wide
enough to stuff half my head inside. An employee manning the front
desk began to ask if she could help me with something. I scowled at
her, removing my head to let the door slam shut.

I hadn’t seen Beagban. And
though it was a small center and I could see from one side to the
other, that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there. He could be watching
the film, though I couldn’t imagine him filling one of those narrow
theater chairs with his excessive girth. But maybe he was into that
kind of thing, war stuff. There had been a battle nearby, something
to do with a marsh.

I moved aside, letting the
family go in. I paced, trying to decide what I should do next. It
all depended on Beagban’s motive. If he was here to brush up on his
battle history then I would have little luck finding proof against
him. But if there was another reason he had come, something I
couldn’t fathom, then I should definitely look into it, stealthily
of course.

In the end I just couldn’t
picture Beagban enjoying his leisure time at Fort Frederica, the
hardware store more like. So I removed myself to a secure location
on fort grounds. I should skim over that bit as I didn’t go in and
pay for the privilege, sneaking around the side rather.

The town had been made of
tidy lots, organized into a grid. Many foundations remained
outlined in stone. Plaques were scattered around, dotting the flat
shock of green grass, as did a few remaining oaks. I quickly walked
to a copse of trees on the right, hurrying to get my bearings where
I wouldn’t be easily seen.

I considered moving further
to the right and hiding behind the barracks. I felt conspicuous
being so close to Broad Street, the main walkway. The town might
have been long dead, but the tourists were not, and I couldn’t help
but grimace at the clusters I saw all around me. Hopefully the bugs
would drive them off.

I was halfheartedly looking
around, confused about what I should do exactly, when I spotted
him. It was too far away to see much detail, but I knew it was him.
He made the fine hair on my body stick up, and not in a sexy way.
Heading towards the river, he walked at a quick pace, disappearing
from view when he rounded the fort’s magazine. The magazine was
where the ammunition had once been stored. Fort Frederica’s was a
still standing box of brick and tabby, and by far the biggest
attraction. It sat right on the water’s edge with a replica cannon
parked beside it. A good spot for picture taking. To some it was
interesting, but no one would walk so fast or with such
determination to see it. It just wasn’t that exciting.

Beagban was up to something.

A sense of urgency settled
itself on my shoulders, and I wanted to go charging after him. But
as much as I didn’t want to miss whatever he was up to, I didn’t
want to get caught more. So I walked to the magazine in a rather
roundabout way, sidling up from the north beneath a cover of
drooping branches. It was the opposite end of where I believed
Beagban to be.

My body was drumming with
adrenaline as I huddled cowardly beside the craggy stone wall.
Beagban could be on the opposite side, but he could also be just
around the corner. I had to check.

Taking a deep breath,
wondering why I never made a last will and testament, I looked
and...

Nothing.

No sign of Beagban and not
a single tourist behind the magazine, unusual as it was a lovely
view. Only a few yards away the tough long grass took over, growing
in both the marsh and sand where the land dropped off. And just
beyond that was the river. Today it matched the sky, blue for
blue.

I skirted around back
tucked tight up against the wall. Half of me expected Beagban to
walk around the corner at any minute, another half was worried I
had already missed him. Perhaps he’d gone back to his truck. The
thought was as irritating as it was relieving. But no, I heard a
wisp of conversation carried on the wind.

I instantly recognized
Beagban’s gravelly baritone, but the other voice took a moment to
place. And when I did I knew this risky trip had been worth
it—provided I didn’t get caught.

I didn’t stop creeping
closer until I could hear clearly. Raina Thompson’s severe chilly
voice seemed to ring off the stone. “—instructed to take things
from here, you’re to do nothing.”

“
Hurst wouldn’t keep me
here if he didn’t want me to do something,” Beagban
challenged.

“
And who do you think gave
me these orders?” Raina rebuked. “To Lars you’re a tool and nothing
more.” I felt her signature contempt rising. “And not much use at
that,” she taunted. “What’s happened to your arm?” It sounded like
she knew exactly what had happened to his arm.

“
I can manage just fine
without the arm,” Beagban ground out.

She scoffed. “Don’t bother
threatening me unless you’re willing to go against Lars.” She
paused, sure in the knowledge that he was not.

I had no such confidence.
On the contrary, I could feel Beagban’s anger growing and knew from
experience that there was nothing Beagban despised more than a
situation out of his control. Being mocked by a woman didn’t help,
it only chafed his pride. But all he said was, “I’ll find the
book.”

“
No,” Raina said with
strident sharpness. “I’ll find the book. You just stay out of the
way.”

Beagban might have mumbled
something, but I couldn’t make it out. I’d already moved away,
sensing the conversation had reached its peak. It had actually
reached its finish. I knew because when I walked out from behind
the magazine I could see Raina Thompson’s imperious figure moving
stiffly for the parking lot, and behind her Beagban stalked like
the murderer he was.

I waited for them to go,
and then I waited some more. I knew what I had to do next, and
honestly, it was as daunting a task as following Beagban had been.
I had to call Francesca. I needed a ride.

Based on Francesca’s
emotions, I made a simple diagnosis: she didn’t know how to forgive
me. The fact that I needed to be forgiven at all was somewhat
irksome, as I still maintained that I was innocent of all
accusations and wrongdoing. All right, I didn’t
really
put in a
good word for her with Reed. I’d done just the opposite. But it was
for her own good. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell her
that.

In fact, I couldn’t tell
her much of anything just then because she was studiously ignoring
me, and doing a bang-up job at that. She gripped the wheel with two
clenched fists, posture rigid, while staring straight ahead. Her
body language proclaimed loud and clear that I was to leave her
alone, that we were not friends. But her emotions betrayed
her.

After phoning from inside
the visitor center, I had waited, wondering if she would come.
She’d given no clear response, choosing to hang up on me instead.
But she had come, and she’d missed me too. I could feel it, but I
could also feel something separating us, a rotting cavity in our
relationship. I wasn’t sure how to breach it, and as I said,
Francesca wasn’t prepared to try.

The thing about our
friendship was, it was somewhat skewed. Francesca tended to take
initiative. It was she who first approached me when I’d started
working at the Crowne, asking if I’d like to go out shopping with
her. I had declined on principle, wondering why the Megan Fox
look-alike from behind the front desk had deigned to notice me. But
she only got trickier after that.

It started with some subtle
coaxing. She’d wheedle me into lending her things, sometimes
stopping by my house unexpectedly to drop them off. I got used to
her, assuming she was presumptuous, the type that infringed on
everyone. But a huntress by nature, Francesca could feel my
weakening resolve and began to press me, trying to get me to join
in on errands and other activities. Before I knew it I was picking
out nail polish, going to see chick-flicks, and even swapping
clothes. Only then did I realize that Francesca did not open up to
everyone, and that her enthusiastic befriending extended only to
me.

During my second summer on
St. Simons, Francesca had convinced me to go to the beach. Gritty
hot sand squelching beneath my sandals, the sun roasting my
complexion to cancer, not to mention the plethora of townies and
tourists that congregated along the shore, each brimming full with
emotion—none of those things enticed me. But somehow she convinced
me, connived me, to go. And I’d lost my bracelet.

One of my many sisters had
braided me a wrist cuff of soft leather. It wasn’t like she was my
favorite sister or that the present had a special, sentimental
meaning. I’d simply worn it for so long that I had grown attached.
But then it had slipped off while I was walking along the beach
that day. It had felt like losing my last link with
home.

I’d been disappointed but
resigned that it was gone forever. Francesca had not. She told me
to stay with our towels while she wandered back the way we came,
asking and searching for my cheapo jewelry. She had even managed to
recruit a few people (good-looking men) to the cause. They’d quit
tossing around their football to help. And together they’d found it
snagged on the tall grass along the wood plank walkway. It’d been
no worse for wear.

Had the situation been
reversed, I would have sympathized with Francesca’s loss,
commiserating at the ill luck, but I would never have gone after
the bracelet. She was not only the better friend, but the friend
with all the initiative.

Francesca was the leader,
not me. So how in the hell were things going to get fixed between
us if she wouldn’t even try?

The silence stretched on. I
gave a few vague directions to my car, purposefully avoiding the
fact that it was parked behind her mother’s home.

More silence. I caught
myself daydreaming of all the tragic accidents that might befall
me. My car wrapped around a tree, Francesca rushing to the
hospital, delivering hiccupped apologies through copious tears at
my bedside. I may have even imagined the untimely death of one of
my beloved siblings, but only so I could fantasize over how shitty
she’d feel for being mad at me then.

Guiltily, I cleared my
throat, preparing to make another attempt at conversation so as to
avoid my heathen thoughts. “Lovely weather, don’t you
think?”

Francesca turned her head
just long enough to glare, but again, her emotions belied her
attitude. She was interested in whatever I said, tense and
attentive throughout the whole drive. But there was also a
self-imposed constraint keeping her quiet. Her pride at
work.

It was just a matter of
pushing the right buttons. “You haven’t asked how I got separated
from my car.” I paused for a moment, though I hardly expected her
to reply. “Someone gave me a ride, it was unexpected, and I suppose
I wasn’t really thinking when I went along.”

Her feelings had sharpened.
She was curious, and it didn’t take my empathic abilities to know
it.

“Aren’t you going to ask whose car it was? Or
maybe you want to know if it was Reed’s car?” I suggested.

“
Why would I want to know
that?” I ignored the hostile tone and took the comment for what it
was—a subtle prompt to continue.

“
I can’t think of a good
reason, but then I’m not the one who loses all rationale when it
comes to Reed Wallace.”

She wanted to retaliate,
but instead favored me with another fierce look before punishing us
both with more silence.

“
Oh. You’re not going to
say anything,” I said, dryly adding, “how surprising.”

“
Where do I go now?” she
bit out harshly.

No point in avoiding it any
longer. “To your mother’s,” I admitted.

“What!”

“
To your mother’s!” I
shouted back.

“
What were you doing at my
mother’s house!”

“
Watch the road!” I
screamed.

Francesca jerked to face
the road as she veered back into the right lane. “Did you two talk
about me?” Her voice was shaking with scarcely contained anger, but
I felt its full force.

There was no trace of
emotion in my own voice when I answered, “Not everything is about
you,” avoiding the question.