“You know what? I’ve been lying for you, too, Amanda, and I’m tired of it. But I’m still your mother and you can talk to me.”
“Yes, Mom.” In her voice she heard the petulant echo of her teenage self and hated herself for it.
“Is something going on with the kids that I should know about?”
“No. The kids are great.”
“Is it Frank?”
Amanda rotated the handle on her coffee cup to the opposite side.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No.” Amanda’s voice was flat.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No,” she said again.
“What’s going on with you, Amanda?”
For some reason, the question made her think about Dawson, and for an instant she was back in Tuck’s kitchen, basking in Dawson’s attention. And she knew then that she wanted nothing more than to see him again, no matter what the consequences.
“I don’t know,” she finally murmured. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”
After Amanda went up to shower, Evelyn Collier stood on the back porch, staring at the fine layer of mist that hovered over the river. Normally, it was one of her favorite times of the day and had been, ever since she was a girl. Back then, she hadn’t lived on the river; she’d lived near the mill her father owned, but on weekends she used to wander out to the bridge, where she sometimes sat for hours, watching the sun gradually dissipate the mist. Harvey had known she’d always wanted to live on the river, and it was the reason he’d bought the house only a few months after they’d been married. Of course, he’d bought it from his father for a song — the Colliers owned a lot of property back then — so it hadn’t been a terrible stretch for him, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that he’d cared, and she wished he were still around, if only to talk to him about Amanda. Who on earth knew what was going on with her these days? But then Amanda had always been a mystery, even as a girl. She had her own ideas about things, and from the time she could walk she’d always been as stubborn as a warped door on a humid summer day. If her mom told her to stay close, Amanda would wander off the first chance she got; if she told Amanda to wear something pretty, Amanda would skip down the steps wearing something from the back of the closet. When she was very young it had been somewhat possible to keep Amanda under control and on the right track. She was a Collier, after all, and people had expectations. But once Amanda became a teenager? Lord knows, it was like the devil had gotten into her. First Dawson Cole — a Cole! — and then the lies and sneaking out and the endless moodiness and fresh responses whenever she tried to talk some sense into her daughter. Evelyn’s hair actually began to turn gray from the stress, and though Amanda didn’t know it, if it wasn’t for a steady supply of bourbon, she wasn’t sure how she would have made it through those awful years.
Once they’d managed to separate her from the Cole boy and Amanda went off to college, things started to improve. There were some good, solid years, and the grandchildren were a delight, of course. Sad about the baby girl, just a toddler and a beautiful creature, but the Lord never promised anyone a life without tribulation. Why, she’d had a miscarriage herself a year before Amanda was born. Still, she was pleased that Amanda had been able to get back up on her horse after a respectable period of time — Lord knows the family needed her — and even take up some noteworthy charity work. Evelyn would have preferred something a little less taxing, like the Junior League, perhaps, but Duke University Hospital was still a fine institution, and she didn’t mind telling her friends about the fund-raising luncheons Amanda hosted, or even her volunteer work there.
Recently, Amanda seemed to be slipping back into her old ways — lying like a teenager, of all things! Oh, they’d never been all that close, and she’d long resigned herself to the fact that they probably never would be. It was a myth that every mother and daughter were best friends, but friendship was far less important than family. Friends came and went; family was always there. No, they didn’t really confide in each other, but confiding was often just another word for complaining, which was usually a waste of time. Life was messy. Always had been and always would be and that was just the way it was, so why bother complaining? You either did something about it or you didn’t, and then you lived with the choice you made.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Amanda and Frank were having problems. She hadn’t seen much of Frank in recent years, since Amanda usually came alone, and she did recall that he liked his beer a little too much. Then again, Amanda’s own father had been awfully fond of his bourbon, and no marriage was entirely blissful. There’d been years when she could barely stand the sight of Harvey, let alone want to stay married to him. If Amanda had asked, Evelyn would have admitted that, and she also would have reminded her daughter in the same breath that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. What the younger generation didn’t understand was that the grass was greenest where it’s watered, which meant that both Frank and Amanda had to get out their hoses if they wanted to make things better. But Amanda hadn’t asked.
Which was a shame, because Evelyn could tell that Amanda was only adding more problems to an already troubled marriage — the lying was part of that. Because Amanda had been lying to her mom, it wasn’t hard to surmise that she’d been lying to Frank as well. And once the lies started, where did they end? Evelyn wasn’t sure, but Amanda was obviously confused, and people made mistakes when they were confused. Which meant, of course, that she’d have to be extra vigilant this weekend, whether Amanda liked it or not.
Dawson was back in town.
Ted Cole was standing on the front steps of the shack, smoking a cigarette and idly staring at the meat trees, which is what he always called them when the boys came back from hunting. A pair of deer carcasses, gutted and skinned, was strung up on sagging branches, and flies were buzzing and crawling over the flesh while the innards pooled in the dirt below.
The morning breeze made the rotting torsos rotate slightly, and Ted took another long drag on his cigarette. He’d seen Dawson, and he knew that Abee had seen him, too. But Abee had lied about it, which pissed him off almost as much as Dawson’s bold-as-you-please appearance did.
He was getting a little tired of his brother, Abee. Tired of being ordered around, of wondering where all the family money was going. The time was coming when old Abee just might find himself staring down the wrong end of the Glock. His dear brother had been slipping lately. The guy with the box cutter had nearly killed him, something that never would have happened even a few years ago. It wouldn’t have happened had Ted been there, but Abee hadn’t told him what he’d been planning, and that was just another sign that Abee was getting careless. That new girl of his had him all twisted up — Candy, or Cammie, or whatever the hell she called herself. Yeah, she had a pretty face and a body that Ted wouldn’t mind taking some time to explore, but she was a woman and the rules were simple: You wanted something from them, you got it, and if they got angry or gave you lip, you showed them the error of their ways. Might take a few lessons, but in the end all women came around. Abee seemed to have forgotten all that.
And he’d lied to him, right to his face. Ted flicked his cigarette butt off the porch, thinking that he and Abee were going to have a little come-to-Jesus soon enough, no doubt about it. But first things first: Dawson had to go. He’d been waiting a long time for this. Because of Dawson, his nose was crooked and his jaw had been wired shut; because of Dawson, that dude had made a crack about Ted’s condition that Ted couldn’t ignore, and nine years of his life had gone up in smoke. No one screwed with him and got away with it. No one. Not Dawson, not Abee. No one. Besides, he’d been looking forward to this for a long, long time.