Legacy (16 page)

“I think I tried to become a drunk for a while,” he admitted, the smile turning a little chagrined. “I never apologized for messing up those sheets in your spare room.”

“Oh Lord,” Corinne said, rolling her eyes. “I was so pissed at you for that.”

“I’m sorry….I know. Michael made sure I knew,” Wes admitted, wincing at the memory of Michael ripping him a new asshole. “He told me that if I was trying to become a drunk like my parents, I needed to get better at hiding it. He said I’d never fit in with them if I didn’t fake it.”

Wes’s mouth tasted the bitterness of the memory, but he was grateful to his best friend for finally holding him accountable. At least someone did.

“What surprised me, though, was that Mike had been watching me get wasted for a good eight or nine years before that lecture,” Wes said, meeting Corinne’s eyes. “He never told me how much it bothered him until my behavior affected you.”

Corinne’s eyes went wide with a kind of wonder, and she squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, I still drink,” he said, holding up his Abita. “But I haven’t been drunk since...I don’t really want to.”

A radiant smile stole over Corinne’s face, and Wes felt a rising sense of pride.

“Well, I never thought I’d say this,” she said, shrugging. “But I’m glad you puked on my sheets, Wes.”

Wes threw his head back in laughter, and Corinne joined him.

They carried their drinks down the slope of the lawn near where the bandstand and dance floor had been set up. Wooden folding chairs and tables had been laid out in little clusters at conversational distances around the dance floor, and Wes chose a table that was set further apart from the rest. Corinne let go of his hand when she sat, and although Wes wanted to reach for it again once he was settled beside her, he restrained himself.

“This is nice,” Corinne said, nodding toward the band that, at the moment, was playing a cover of Passenger’s “Patient Love.” The last rays of the sunset had painted the Vermilion River a color that resembled its name, and there was just enough of a breeze to keep away the mosquitoes.

Corinne was smiling now, relaxed and enjoying the evening, finally, and Wes breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, it is.” The tension of interacting with his mother and trying to explain his parents was forgotten. Wes realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease at his childhood home, and he smiled.

“What are you smiling about?” Corinne teased, smiling herself.

Wes shook his head. How could he explain to her that her presence had turned a place he usually hated into one where he could relax?

He was able to enjoy the music, the beer, the sunset, and Corinne’s smile for another 30 seconds before he saw Bethany Wallace crossing the lawn, headed straight for them.

“Aww, fuck,” he muttered before he could stop himself. Any peace he had felt evaporated in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” Corinne whispered, eyeing him anxiously. He met her look and never knew worse regret. He said the only thing he could.

“I’m sorry.”

Corinne looked up and registered Bethany closing in on them. Wes saw the moment that Corinne understood everything, her face hardening. He was a pig, and she would always think of him as a pig. No matter what he did for her, he couldn’t redeem himself.

“Hello, Wes,” Bethany said, ignoring Corinne and tossing her auburn curls over her shoulder. She fondled the plunging neckline of her black wrap dress and sipped her martini.

“Hi...” Looking at her sickened him. Bethany and Corinne weren’t even the same species. Of course, if Bethany was the lower life form, so was he. That thought only disgusted him more.

“It’s been a while since we last...
worked out
,” Bethany said, laying eyes on Corinne this time and stressing the words just for her.

Tormenting him was one thing, but insulting or offending Corinne was something else.

“Yeah, I’m done with private lessons,” he said, firmly. “I only see clients at the club.”

Both women reacted to this statement with surprise, Bethany’s face an ugly scowl and Corinne’s a look of unguarded curiosity.

Bethany recovered first, rolling her eyes.

“I know you better than that, Wes. You can’t stay away for very long,” she teased, absently stroking the expanse of cleavage that her dress revealed, reminding him, no doubt, of how much time he’d spent in the general vicinity. With shame, he remembered the night that Corinne accused him of smelling like this woman. What had she said?

Like Black Orchid and twat.

The memory stung like a slap. Why was it that he had to own each and every one of his sins in front of Corinne? He hadn’t been with Bethany since—nor with any woman, and he wished there were some way to say as much.

“Come on, Wes. When are you going to come by and put me through the paces again?” Bethany sighed, impatiently.

His collar was on fire, his disgrace burning and smothering him at the same time.

“I told you,” he choked through gritted teeth. “I’m done with that.”

To his shock, Corinne reached out a hand to him.

“Would you like to dance?”

Chapter 19

T
he band was playing Spandau Ballet’s “True” when Corinne clasped her fingers behind Wes’s neck and felt his hands settle at her waist. Wes and Corinne were among the youngest at the party, and the throwback brought dozens of couples to the dance floor.

It didn’t matter, as long as they could escape the company of that vile woman. Wes’s discomfort as she approached had been palpable, but Corinne had not been prepared for the flare of jealousy that ignited in her at the woman’s presence.

What does
that
mean?

She allowed herself to glance up at Wes who was looking down at her with undisguised awe.

“What?” she asked.

Wes frowned and seemed to weigh his words.

“You’re not gonna...call me a dick or a man-skank or anything like that?”

“No...” Corinne responded, hearing the irritation in her voice. “Do you
want
me to?”

She pushed back to step out of his arms, but he pulled her into him, holding her tighter, and shook his head.

“No. I don’t.”

She let him keep her close for a few seconds before gently putting inches between them again, but the sensation of his body pressed against hers stayed with her.

“I don’t want to be that person anymore,” she said, trying to reclaim the flux of their conversation. “The kind of person who judges others that way and treats them like shit.”

The expression of awe gave way to one of hesitant relief.

“Corinne...”

Wes closed his eyes for a second and gave just the slightest shake of his head. She felt her arms rise up on his shoulders as he took a deep breath, and when he glanced down at her again, a pulse of tension seemed to leave his body. Corinne couldn’t help but think that he looked unbelievably vulnerable, so deep were the depths of his eyes. Had anyone ever protected those depths?

He’d steadied her through two panic attacks and an awful nightmare; he’d shepherded her across town in the dead of night; he’d held her when sleeplessness threatened. With Wes, she was always protected. Here, in the circle of his arms, she was safe.

But who looked out for him?

Corinne sighed and then breathed him in. He smelled clean and warm, like cedar and cinnamon. It was a scent familiar to her, she realized, but here on the dance floor it took on something new, an added layer of life. Above her hands, still clasped behind his neck, she could feel the tickle of his hair. When she lifted two of her finger to touch its softness, Wes closed his eyes again and stilled, and an unmistakable look of suffering crossed his features.

And in that instant, Corinne understood.

For one perfect moment, she saw everything. She saw how beautiful he was. So beautiful that it hurt to look at him, and the only balm was to look more. She saw how she could open him with her touch. How he longed for it. She saw that he found her beautiful, too. That he ached to show her this without words. That their lips were only inches apart.

But when the moment closed in on them, Corinne shrunk back. She let go of him, and Wes opened his eyes just as she pulled away.

“I think I need...some water,” she panted.

“Corinne?” he asked, frowning. “Are you okay?”

Corinne clutched herself so that he couldn’t reach for her hand. She fled the dance floor and headed for the safety of their wooden chairs, sinking down as she started to tremble, but by then Wes was there, hovering over her.

“Could you please get me some water?” Her voice shook, and she couldn’t make herself look him in the eye.

“Yeah...I’ll be right back.”

Night had fully set, and she was grateful for the shadows that hid her. Her mind roiled with beastly fears, an infested sea, and she dared not look beneath the surface. Still, each one showed its ugly face to her in the moonlight.

What would Michael think of her, swooning in the arms of his best friend? If she loved him as much as she thought she did, how could she even notice another man? Who was she to do this? It was too soon. It was wrong.

And what about Wes? He was the rope that slowly pulled her up from the well of hell; if she allowed them to cross that line, what would happen after? Surely, he would cut and run. And where would that leave her?

Alone. All alone.

There was another fear, too. One that seemed to saturate all the others in its own blackness, one that she pulled away from it was so unbearable.

Friendship. They couldn’t have anything more than that. She had let her guard down too much, and now she needed some distance. Anything else risked her own annihilation.

Using a breathing exercise she had practiced in yoga that week, Corinne tried to calm herself, and it helped a little, but she dreaded Wes’s return because she had no idea what she would say to him.

Except when he walked up to her, carrying a glass of ice water, she didn’t feel dread anymore; she felt relief. Because she wasn’t alone. He was there, and he made her feel better—like he always did.

Wes handed her the glass with a concerned frown, and she was sure he’d question her, but when she took the water, he sat next to her without a word. She sipped. Her breathing had calmed, and she was no longer shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?”

Corinne looked at him to see if he was being ironic. He wasn’t, and she cocked her head in surprise.

“For freaking out.”

Wes studied her silently. She watched him take another deep breath, and he leaned forward with his hands on his knees as though he were bracing himself for something.

“I’m sorry for freaking you out,” he said, quietly. He looked sincere, as if he truly believed he was at fault.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Corinne said and meant it. “It was me.”

He watched her, looking unconvinced, but he must have decided not to press the issue because he shook his head again.

“Are you okay now?” he asked. “We can go if you need to.”

Corinne shook her head this time. Sitting there with him was all she wanted to do. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, and it was probably true that he felt the same, but none of that changed the fact that he was the person who made her feel safest. Knowing that she was attracted to him didn’t suddenly make her want to run away. In fact, knowledge was power, and if she understood herself—had prescience of the possibility for disaster—she could gird herself against it.

“No, I think I’m okay. Let’s just hang here for a little while.”

This statement seemed both to surprise Wes and set him at ease. His shoulders relaxed, and he sat back in his chair.

“You hungry?” he asked, looking hopeful. “I could fix us a couple of plates. You could stay right here.”

Corinne smiled. She wasn’t that hungry, but, of course,
he
was hungry. When wasn’t he hungry?

“Sure. That sounds good. Thanks.”

Wes pushed himself up from the chair.

“You want another cosmo?” Wes asked, echoing her smile.

Corinne shook her head again.

“Nah, just a plate. Thanks.”

He was about to turn and leave when a woman in the cluster of guests in front of them broke away and ran towards them through the shadows.

“Corinne!” she cried, sounding surprised and happy.

Corinne stood and found herself in the embrace of an old friend.

“Heather!” she squealed, hugging back.

Heather Lamarche and Corinne Granger had been stressed out art students together at UL freshman year. They’d often kept each other company afterhours in the studio space in Fletcher Hall, toiling to finish their latest assignments.

When Heather later switched to industrial design, they’d still meet for lunches and dinner dates when they could, but after Corinne’s honey blonde friend got a graduate fellowship at Ohio State, they’d lost touch.

But Heather had been home for the holidays when Corinne lost Michael.

“I never thanked you for coming to Michael’s funeral,” Corinne said, mustering her courage to say the words. At the service, she’d been in such a haze of grief, she had barely spoken to her old friend, and she couldn’t bring herself to get in touch with her afterwards. “And I’m sorry I never returned any of your calls or texts...I just couldn’t...”

“Oh, please stop,” Heather said, looking pained. “How are you doing now? You look great!”

Corinne felt herself blush, humbled by her friend’s ready forgiveness.

“I’m...getting better,” she hedged. “It’s been hard.”

Then she caught sight of Wes still standing by her side, a questioning look in his eyes, and she reached for his arm.

“Heather, I’d like you to meet my friend Wes Clarkson...He’s pretty much the reason I’m still in one piece,” she said, honestly, meeting his gaze for a moment and hoping he knew she meant it. “Wes, this is Heather Lamarche. We were in art school together.”

Heather and Wes shook hands, smiling warmly at each other.

“Clarkson?” Heather asked. “Is this your house?”

Wes was quick to shake his head.

“No, it’s my parents’ house,” he answered. The pinched look that came to his eyes was almost imperceptible, but Corinne caught it. “My father works with James Hargett, the guest of honor. I really don’t know the man.”

Heather smiled and shrugged.

“Me either. I’ve lived out-of-state too long to keep up with local politics. My sister is friends with his daughter,” she explained. “I’m just tagging along tonight.”

“Are you still in Ohio?” Corinne asked. “Have you finished school?”

Wes placed a hand over hers and squeezed it.

“I’ll let you guys catch up while I get us some food,” he said, excusing himself.

She watched him walk back to the house while she talked to Heather. He looked back at her once, she noticed, just checking in.

“I just finished with my MFA,” Heather was saying, drawing her attention back. “I have a few job offers, but I wanted to come back home for a little while before I settled on something.”

Corinne smiled, hoping to hide her envy. In a way, both of their lives were starting over, only Heather was looking forward to a fresh start while Corinne was trying to pick up the pieces.

“I’m glad you’ve made a stop home so I could make amends,” Corinne said.

“Nonsense,” Heather sighed, rolling her eyes. “Of course, if you want to make it up to me, let’s go out for a Girls Night like we used to while I’m still in town.”

Corinne bit her lip. The thought was more than a little scary.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Heather asked, eyes wide.

“No, it’s alright,” Corinne said, trying to shake off her nerves. “I’m just really getting back to a life that might just be considered normal. Of course, we should go out.”

Heather studied her.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you.”

“I’m sure,” Corinne answered, nodding. Only she didn’t sound very convincing.

“I tell you what,” Heather said, gently. “I should be in town through June at least. If you are ready to go out before I get back to the real world, call me, and we’ll make plans. If not, I’ll check on you again when I come home for Christmas.”

“Deal,” Corinne agreed.

Over her shoulder, Corinne spotted Heather’s friends waving manically.

“I think your party wants to you back,” she said, pointing. Heather’s eyes followed, and she gave a wry grin.

“Yeah, I think I’m the official purse-holder for all of the photo opps,” she said. “I’d better go.”

Heather grabbed Corinne in a hug again, and she gladly squeezed back.

“It was great to see you,” she said. “I’ll call. I promise.”

“Good,” Heather said, winking.

Corinne sat back down in her wooden chair to wait for Wes. The thought of mingling until he returned terrified her. She hoped that he would come back soon; she felt unmoored without him, which didn’t make her proud.

To keep herself from looking around desperately for Wes, Corinne watched the scene before her—the band, the couples dancing, the twinkling lights suspended over the lawn—and she let herself think about color.

The night sky could be captured in indigos, grays, and yellows. The dancers would be all black against a checkered floor of lime green and purple. The band begged to be painted light blue and gold.

She was picturing the lead singer of the band in hot pink when someone approached from behind.

“I see my son has left you all alone.”

Corinne jumped at the voice and turned to see Harold Clarkson standing over her shoulder.

“H-he’s getting me something to eat,” she said in a rush, craning around in her seat.

At this, Mr. Clarkson’s mouth formed a smile that did not reach his eyes, and he strode around until he stood in front of her. He carried a tumbler half-filled with amber liquor and ice, and he swirled it leisurely.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked, peering down at her. Corinne saw the resemblance between father and son, the same coloring, the same bone structure, but Mr. Clarkson had nothing of the genial, warm look in the eyes that Wes had, nor the fullness in the mouth that was always ready with a smile. Indeed, Harold Clarkson was thin-lipped.