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“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll contact the Better Business Bureau.”
His expression grows serious. “We’ll wait until the weather turns cold before deciding what you need.”
“I was a Girl Scout, Fry. I like being prepared. I’ll pay for a cord of wood, but I expect you to take care of the chimney sweep and space heaters.” I don’t give him a chance to argue. “Now, are you here for a reason?”
Fry appears confused, as though he can’t remember why he came. Then he snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot. My wife made you a chocolate chip pound cake.” He retrieves the cake from the front seat of his truck and hands it to me. “It freezes well if you want to cut it into chunks for later.”
I lift the cake to my nose and sniff. “Smells delicious. Thank you. And please, thank your wife.”
I should feel guilty, but I don’t. He tried to pull a fast one over on me. Besides, his wife is the one who made the cake. I carry the cake inside with my head held high. I’m proud of myself for standing up to him.
EIGHTEEN
WILL
I’m distracted during my therapy session on Friday morning. I can’t stop thinking about my plans with Julia for later in the day. I’m imagining our sunset boat ride with Julia perched beside me on the leaning post when Clemmy brings up the subject of Bert, jerking me out of my reverie.
I sit up straight in my chair. “Who told you about Bert?”
“You did. You’ve mentioned him several times.”
I sink back down in my chair. “Oh. I didn’t realize it.”
She cocks her head to the side, her blue eyes like daggers on me. “Because he’s at the forefront of your mind.”
I look away from her piercing stare at the Beaufort River. There is not a cloud in the periwinkle sky, and the sun’s rays are shimmering off ripples in the water. The conditions will be ideal for a ride in the ocean this evening.
I let out a heavy sigh. “I guess subconsciously, Bert is always at the forefront of my mind. I will eventually tell you about the accident, but does it have to be today?
She holds her hands out, palms up. “No time like the present.”
I slowly rise out of the chair. “Do you mind if we walk? The movement will make my confession less painful.”
Clemmy gets to her feet. “Whatever works for you, Will.”
Leaving the porch, we head across the expanse of grass towards the water. “Bert was my best childhood friend. My only childhood friend. His were the only parents who allowed him to hang out at our House of Horrors.”
“Because of your mother’s drinking problem?”
I nod. “Word gets around. Especially in a small town. Everyone knew about her drunken tirades. Even Bert was afraid to spend the night.”
“That must’ve been difficult for you?”
“Truth be told, I was ashamed of my mother. I couldn’t bear for anyone to see what went on in our house. But Bert was different. He never judged us.”
“He sounds like a genuine friend.”
“Bert was the best.” I stop walking when we near the river’s edge. “One night, when Bert and I were fifteen, we attended a party we had no business going to. Some kids in the grade above us had broken into an abandoned house. I’ve never been much of a drinker. Even as a teenager, I shied away from booze. I was always afraid I’d turn out like my mother. I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol that night. But Bert got sloppy drunk.” My throat thickens, and I pause to collect myself. “He was making a fool of himself, and I tried to get him to leave. We were standing on the second-floor deck. I attempted to drag him over to the steps, but he refused to go. We wrestled, and Bert crashed into the railing. The wood was rotten, and he fell to the ground. He broke his neck on impact.” My voice breaks, and I can’t continue.
Clemmy places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”
I swipe at the tears in my eyes. “I was inconsolable. The paramedics, who were unable to calm me down, strapped me to a gurney and drove me to the hospital where I was admitted to the psych ward. Because they assumed I’d been drinking, they refused to sedate me. They neglected to check my blood alcohol content.”
The therapist’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Yep. They assumed the police had breathalyzed me. I was in the hospital for ten days. The worst part was missing Bert’s funeral.” I inhale an unsteady breath. I’m on the cusp of breaking down, but now that I’ve started telling the story, I can’t stop until I get it off my chest. “The police charged me with manslaughter, and everyone at the party that night volunteered to testify against me. All kinds of rumors circulated. Some of them even claimed I’d been drunk and picked the fight with Bert.”
