The Storm (Fairhope) (26 page)

Satisfied to have gotten the last word, my wave sent Brooke away with a stoned expression on my face. Wearing a look of defeat, she sprinted off, her tennis shoes pounding the floor. I wasn’t exactly proud of my behavior, but she deserved it.

Brooke turned one last time, her distraught gaze resting on the balled up note in my hand.

Brooke and the threatening note of the previous week forgotten for the moment, I relished the coldness of my iced orange juice. I fingered the edges of my right to sue notice from the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission of Alabama, the symbol of the first step of the journey I was no longer afraid to take. Folding the notice neatly, a sigh of relief escaped me. Shortly after Jack officially filed the lawsuit, Covington submitted a motion to dismiss based on a technicality, but it was denied. After we crossed that bridge, we were prepared for the case management conference, where necessary pre-trial conference dates would be set. With every step we checked off, my confidence grew.

A sense of wonder crept into my heart as I reflected on my sweet family over breakfast, after Andrew left half an hour early to help with an extra project at work. The hole in my heart that Grace’s death pierced would never truly heal, but my strength inched upward as the whisper and Andrew comforted me. Andrew’s fierce determination to care for me disproved my belief that my love for him could not grow, my feelings for him climbing to new heights. From his tender kisses on my cheek when he thought I was asleep, and his shameless humming of country songs in the shower, to the way chills shot up my spine when he breathed those three simple words: “I love you” … his presence entangled me in a romance that most women pray for. My heart melted nightly as I watched him gaze at Calla in her angelic slumber, stroking her tiny fingers and toes before turning out the light. I vowed to make every single waking moment I spent with the two people I loved most to count.

I also vowed to keep my precious memories of Grace alive for as long as I lived. To ease the burning in my stomach that prohibited me from sleeping at night, I needed to shatter Gavin’s silence, to find out what he needed to tell me that fateful morning. To find out what Grace kept hidden.

After my twenty-ninth birthday party, Gavin blatantly avoided me. He refused to return my texts, phone calls, and once, I am almost certain he ignored the doorbell when I brought dinner unannounced. Although I excused his actions initially, understanding his monumental loss, it was time to rekindle our friendship. His attempts to avoid me would come to an end today.

I walked into Sandra’s Place ten minutes late so he would have zero chance to see me first and bolt. With a gurgling Calla bouncing on my left hip, looking sharp in a smocked bubble that Holly’s youngest had grown out of, I slowly walked to the back corner where Gavin was sitting alone, his back to me.

“Gavin.” Resting my hand on his shoulder, I kept my voice even and friendly. I could not compromise my chance to reel everything I needed to know out of him. No matter what secrets he held, he was still the love of my best friend’s life, and I would always care for him.

“Jana?” The shock registered across his face, which quickly went white as he understood it was I, and not Andrew, who would be his lunch date. Being the clever devil I was, I texted him from Andrew’s cell the night before and forced Andrew to play along. Gavin glanced down at Calla, who grinned and flung her arms out to him.

“I should have known Andrew would never order chicken salad,” he muttered, knowing he was trapped.

I sipped the Coke that “Andrew” had ordered. “Gavin, I understand what you’re going through, but why are you avoiding
me
?”

“Because I know what you want, and I don’t want to tell you.” His blunt, brutal honesty almost knocked me off my seat.

“Why don’t you want to tell me now?” I struggled to keep my frustration at bay. “I loved her like a sister. You obviously wanted to tell me then.”

“Because I don’t want you to remember her that way,” he said sadly.

Anyone could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. I stared at him, dumbfounded. What could he mean by
that?

“Gavin…” I gulped. I handed Calla a toy to ward off fussiness. “There is
nothing
you could tell me that would change how much I love Grace. I know … that she was sick.”

His eyes downcast, he picked up his sandwich but dropped it without taking a single bite. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then repeated the gesture twice. Finally, he took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to meet mine.

“She tried before,” he admitted, and my mind wrapped around her last journal entry.

“…I want it to work this time when I try to end it.”

“She swallowed over fifty pills right before she got pregnant. She was off her meds since we were trying. Her stomach was pumped, and she went inpatient for a week. We … we told you guys we were in Destin. Your brother knows, but we asked him not to tell you. She
begged
me not to tell anyone.”

Daniel
knew?

Silent tears edged out of the corners of my eyes. “Go on,” I finally whispered.

“She was cutting herself, mostly on her stomach where no one could see. Some bipolar patients do that to cope with pain.”

My hand flew to my mouth, the memory of the deep slash on her arm surfacing.

“Once she got pregnant, things got better. But after Emma was born, she stopped sleeping, but it was strange because she was unusually happy. It was great at first. The house was always clean … but then she started getting so distracted. She—”

His tears started then, and I glared at the couple eating next to us who stared rudely. I’m sure they knew exactly who we were. The gossips of Fairhope spread the poison about the ex-cheerleader’s suicide and the hometown hero she left behind to care for their baby … and her best friend who found her dead, Senator Cook’s daughter-in-law who sued her former employer. There were few negative aspects about life in a small, trendy Southern town, but gossip at the speed of lightning ranked high on the short list.

“She left Emma in the backseat of her car when she went grocery shopping. It was only for a few minutes, but it was scorching outside. Emma … Emma could have died, Jana. Someone called 911…”

The tears that welled up started to spill over. “…and thank God you are a cop.”

He nodded, his face crumbled in despair. “A good friend of mine was called to the scene. He … he knew about her bipolar disorder. But I was frantic, Jana. I threatened to leave her if she didn’t get back on her medicine. I told her doctor, but Grace was over her head by then … she lied straight to his face and said she w
as
taking her medicine.”

The pain she must have felt took residence in my own soul, remembering the desperate need she had to feel “normal” and her inability to feel that way, no matter how popular she was or how many awards she won. I had not understood the seriousness of her disease, the reality that suicide was a true possibility.

I closed my eyes. And now it was too late.

“I needed to know Emma would be safe. Grace was so obsessed with breastfeeding and being the perfect little mother, trying to fit in with all the divas in this damn town.”

Gavin and I crouched in the middle of Sandra’s Place and emptied the pain in our hearts. I understood why he wanted to keep her secrets, but they were safe with me.

So he threatened to leave her. “Surely she understood
why
you threatened her.” I hoped he would find comfort in my tone as I squeezed his arm.

He shook his head vehemently. “No, she didn’t. She was the most manic I’d ever seen her. She hadn’t slept in maybe four or five days when she … when she…” His sobs drowned out the rest of the words he could not bear to speak.

Guilt spread through my body like wildfire, wondering what I could have done. How had I missed the signs? Desperately, I combed through my memory, recalling how “together” she had seemed. Her back seat bakery, her weight loss, her plans for the future…

What could have triggered her?

I didn’t want to ask, but there was only one thing I knew of that could have teetered her over the edge. The nagging in the back of my mind refused to disappear, and I decided I had no choice.

“Gavin, I don’t want to talk about this, but...” If I didn’t go there, her words would haunt me forever. “I saw something in her journal that day. It sounded like she was worried you were cheating. I know you, Gavin, and how good of a man you are … but…”

His tears stopped abruptly, and the tension that surfaced was contagious. With eyes widened with betrayal, shock registered in every crevice of his handsome face. “Jana … do you trust me?”

“Yes, Gavin, I do.” And, honestly, I did.

Calla purred happily, tossing her glowing ball up and down in the air, oblivious to our emotionally charged interaction, while I stared at my best friend’s widower with questions in my eyes.

“There is no one else, Jana. Grace was wrong, and I live a nightmare because the woman I loved thought I betrayed her. I know it was her illness talking, but that knowledge doesn’t give me relief.” He took a breath so deep that I saw his abdomen deflate. “Sometimes, I don’t think there will
ever
be anyone but her.” Before I could reply, he patted his pockets, whipped his cell phone out, and stood abruptly. “I’m on duty, and I have to get back to work. I’m glad we talked, Jana.”

Tears fell in straight lines over his cheeks, though his expression was solemn. After lingering by my side for a moment, he left wordlessly. Onlookers gawked at him as he bravely crossed the restaurant, staring at the raven-haired prince whose beautiful princess didn’t awaken with true love’s kiss.

The eerie feeling that Gavin still kept a secret refused to evaporate, and I wondered what the hell he was leaving out.

FALL PROMISED TO pay Fairhope a visit, however brief its stay would be. Summer’s heat still made its imprint on our skin, coloring us golden as September came to a close. Though it would be weeks before amber-colored leaves blanketed the ground, the twilight sky reflected fall’s majesty with its earlier sunsets.

Sadie and I nestled ourselves on a park bench with a view of the pier at the most southern point of Fairhope. With Calla resting gently on my chest, I listened to the cheerful laughter of our town’s children as they kicked soccer balls, sprawled out on blankets with books and slushies, and cast their fishing poles into the cerulean water, squealing at the sight of a prized catch.

“I’m glad you called.” Picking up on Calla’s cue for a bottle, I rustled in my diaper bag.

“Me too. Now that my parents moved to Mississippi, my brother’s house is a much shorter drive for breaks during the school year.” As the day set on the brink of dusk, I noticed the pale sprinkle of freckles that danced across Sadie’s nose. She was adorably cute yet astonishingly beautiful at the same time.

Sadie bookmarked her place in her novel and set it on the ground, crossing her legs Indian-style. “Jana, how are you coping? Behind your smile, I know you’ve got to be hurting…”

The unceasing pain of losing my best friend rushed to my face. Grace’s face haunted my once-beautiful dreams. In my twisted nightmares, she cut herself as I watched helplessly, her blood spurting everywhere. Naked, she cried out for me, but my frozen body refused to budge. Basked in horror, I watched her bright red blood drain from her body, mixing with the steaming water, as her spirit dissolved in a cloud of poisonous regret. It was the same every time, the nightmares plaguing me at least twice a week. When she drew her last agonizing breath, I woke soaked with sweat, screaming for her. Then I stumbled to the bathroom and retched in the toilet until I was so empty I shook.

“I miss her so much, and there is nothing I would not do to erase the image of her lifeless body from my mind.”

Sadie scooted closer to us, a sad look clouding her expression. “I can’t imagine.”

Memories flooded my mind. “She wrote the most beautiful poetry.”

Sadie’s smile dripped with honey, making faces until Calla cooed. “I’d love to read it sometime. Grace and I would have had that in common … not poetry, but writing. I like to write songs.”