But even then she was paralyzed, unable to bring herself to move.
“I love you,” she whispered into the silent room, feeling her future being swept away like so many grains of sand, a future that already felt almost like a dream.
16
Marilyn Bonner stood in the kitchen of the farmhouse, idly watching the workers make adjustments to the irrigation system in the orchard below. Despite yesterday’s downpour, the trees still needed to be watered, and she knew the men would be out there most of the day, even though it was the weekend. The orchard, she’d come to believe, was like a spoiled child, always needing just a bit more care, a bit more attention, never quite satisfied.
But the real heart of the business lay beyond the orchard, in the small plant where they bottled the jellies and preserves. During the week, it housed a dozen people, but on weekends the place was deserted. When she’d first built it, she could remember townspeople whispering that there was no way her business could support the cost of such a facility. And maybe it had been a stretch at the time, but little by little the whispers had been silenced. She’d never get rich making jelly and jam, but she knew the business was good enough to pass down to her kids and allow them both a comfortable living. In the end, that was all she’d really wanted.
She still had on the same outfit she’d worn to church and her visit to the cemetery. Usually, she changed immediately after returning home, but today she couldn’t seem to summon the energy. Nor was she hungry, and that was unusual, too. Someone else might think she was coming down with something, but Marilyn knew well enough what was bothering her.
Turning from the window, she inspected the kitchen. She’d had it renovated a few years ago, along with the bathrooms and most of the downstairs, and she found herself thinking that the old farmhouse had finally begun to feel like home — or rather, the kind of home she’d always wanted. Until the renovation, it had felt more like her parents’ house, a feeling that didn’t sit well with her as she’d gotten older. A lot of things didn’t sit well with her as she struggled through adulthood, but as hard as some of the years had been, she’d learned from the experiences. Despite it all, she had fewer regrets than people might imagine.
Still, she was bothered by what she’d seen earlier that day, and she debated what to do. Or even whether she should do anything at all. She could always pretend that she didn’t know what it meant and let time do its magic.
But she’d learned the hard way that ignoring a situation didn’t always work out for the best. Reaching for her purse, she suddenly knew what she had to do.
After cramming the last of the boxes into the passenger seat of the car, Candy went back inside her house and removed the gold Buddha statue from the living room windowsill. As ugly as it was, she’d always kind of liked it, imagining that it had brought her luck. It was also her insurance policy; and lucky or not, she planned to pawn it as soon as she could, knowing she’d need the money to start over.
She wrapped the Buddha in some newspaper and put it in the glove compartment before stepping back to survey her packing. She was amazed that she’d been able to get everything into the Mustang. The trunk could barely close, the passenger seat was piled so high it would be impossible to see out the side window, and items had been stuffed in every nook and cranny. She really needed to stop the Internet shopping. In the future, she’d need a bigger car, or quick getaways would be that much more difficult. She could have left some items behind, of course. The cappuccino maker from Williams-Sonoma for instance, but in Oriental she’d needed it, if only to feel like she wasn’t living completely in the sticks. A little touch of the city, so to speak.
In any case, this part was done. She’d finish up her shift at the Tidewater later tonight, then hit the highway, turning south as soon as she reached I-95. She’d decided to relocate to Florida. She’d heard a lot of promising things about South Beach, and it sounded like the kind of place she might end up staying in for a while. Even settle down. She knew she’d said that before and it had yet to work out that way, but a girl had to dream, right?
Tip-wise, Saturday night had been a bonanza, but Friday had been disappointing, which was why she’d resolved to stick it out one last night. Friday night had started out well — she’d dressed in a halter and short shorts, and guys were practically emptying their wallets trying to get her attention, but then Abee had showed up and ruined everything. He’d taken a seat at a table, looking sick as a dog and sweating like he’d just walked out of a sauna, and he’d spent the next half hour staring at her with that crazed expression of his.
She’d seen it before — a kind of paranoid possessiveness — but Abee brought it to a whole new level on Friday night. For her, the weekend couldn’t end soon enough. She had the sense that Abee was on the verge of doing something stupid, maybe even dangerous. She’d been sure he was going to start something that night and maybe he would have, but fortunately, he’d gotten a call on his cell phone and had left the bar in a rush. She’d halfway expected to find him outside her front door on Saturday morning, or waiting for her at the bar on Saturday night, but strangely, he hadn’t shown up. To her relief, he hadn’t shown up today, either. A good thing, considering the loaded car made her plans pretty obvious, and it was clear that he wouldn’t be too happy about the idea. Although she didn’t want to admit it, Abee scared her. Scared half the bar on Friday night, too. The place had begun to clear out as soon as he entered, which was why her tips had dried up. Even after he left, the crowds had been slow to come back.
But it was almost over. One more shift and she’d be out of here. And Oriental, like all the other places she’d lived, would soon be nothing but a memory.
For Alan Bonner, Sundays were always a little depressing, because he knew the weekend was almost at an end. Work, he’d decided, wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Not that he had much of a choice. His mom was big on him making his own way in the world or however she phrased it, and that was kind of a bummer. It would have been nice had she hired him as the manager at the plant, where he’d be able to sit in an air-conditioned office issuing orders and overseeing things as opposed to delivering snacks to convenience stores. But what could he do? Mom was the boss, and she was saving that position for his sister, Emily. Unlike him, Emily had actually graduated from college.
It wasn’t all bad, though. He had his own place, courtesy of Mom, and the utilities were paid by the orchard, which meant any money he earned was pretty much his own. Even better, he could come and go as he pleased, a definite step up compared to the years he’d lived in the house. And besides, working for Mom, even in an air-conditioned office, wouldn’t have been easy. First, if he worked for her, they’d be around each other all the time, which neither of them would have enjoyed. Taken together with the fact that Mom was kind of a stickler for paperwork — never one of his strengths — he knew things were better the way they were. For the most part, he could do what he wanted, when he wanted, with evenings and weekends entirely his own.
Friday night had been especially fun, because the Tidewater wasn’t nearly as crowded as usual. Not after Abee showed up, anyway. People couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He’d stayed at the bar, though, and for a while, it was downright… pleasant. He could talk to Candy and she actually seemed interested in what he was saying. Of course, she was flirty with all the guys, but he’d kind of gotten the sense that she liked him. He’d been hoping for more of the same on Saturday, but the place had been a zoo. The bar was packed three deep and every table was filled. He could barely hear himself think, much less talk to Candy.