Cathy absently added some seasonings to the bowl, repeating her question, “When were you going to tell us?”
“I don’t know,” Sara answered. “We just wanted to get used to the idea first.”
“Don’t expect your father to any time soon,” Cathy advised. “You know he has firm ideas about that sort of thing.”
Bella guffawed. “That man hasn’t set foot in a church in nearly forty years.”
“It’s not a religious objection,” Cathy corrected. She told Sara, “We both remember how devastating it was for you when you found out Jeffrey was catting around. It’s just hard for your father to see you broken like that and then have Jeffrey waltz back in.”
“I’d hardly call it a waltz,” Sara said. Nothing about their reconciliation had been easy.
“I can’t tell you that your father will ever forgive him.”
Bella pointed out, “Eddie forgave you.”
Sara watched as all the color drained from her mother’s face. Cathy wiped her hands on her apron in tight, controlled movements. In a low voice, she said, “Lunch will be ready in a few hours,” and left the kitchen.
Bella lifted her shoulders and gave a heavy sigh. “I tried, pumpkin.”
Sara bit her tongue. A few years ago, Cathy had told Sara about what she called an indiscretion in her marriage before Sara had been born. Though her mother said the affair had never been consummated, Eddie and Cathy had nearly divorced over the other man. Sara imagined her mother didn’t like being reminded of this dark period in her past, especially not in front of her oldest child. Sara didn’t much like the reminder herself.
“Hello?” Jeffrey called from the front hall.
Sara tried to hide her relief. “In here,” she yelled.
He walked in with a smile on his face, and Sara assumed her father had been too busy washing her car to give Jeffrey any serious grief.
“Well,” he said, looking back and forth between the two women with an appreciative smile. “When I dream about this, we’re usually all naked.”
“You old dog,” Bella chastised, but Sara could see her eyes light up with pleasure. Despite years of living in Europe, she was still every inch the Southern belle.
Jeffrey took her hand and kissed it. “You get better looking every time I see you, Isabella.”
“Fine wine, my friend.” Bella winked. “Drinking it, I mean.”
Jeffrey laughed and Sara waited for a lull before asking, “Did you see Dad?”
Jeffrey shook his head just as the front door slammed closed. Eddie’s footsteps were heavy down the hallway.
Sara grabbed Jeffrey’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said, practically dragging him out the back door. She asked Bella, “Tell Mama we’ll be back in time for lunch.”
Jeffrey stumbled down the deck steps as she pulled him to the side of the house and out of view from the kitchen windows.
“What’s going on?” He rubbed his arm as if it hurt.
“Still tender?” she asked. He had injured his shoulder a while back and, despite physical therapy, the joint continued to ache.
He gave a half shrug. “I’m okay.”
“Sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his good shoulder. She found herself unable to stop there and put her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, loving the smell of him. “God, you feel so good.”
He stroked her hair. “What’s going on?”
“I miss you.”
“I’m here.”
“No.” She leaned back so she could see him. “This week.” His hair was getting long on the sides and she used her fingers to tuck it behind his ear. “You just come in, drop off some boxes and leave.”
“The renters move in Tuesday. I told them I’d have the kitchen ready by then.”
She kissed his ear, whispering, “I’ve forgotten what you look like.”
“Work’s been busy lately.” He pulled away a few inches. “Paperwork and stuff. Between that and the house, I don’t have time for myself, let alone seeing you.”
“It’s not that,” she said, wondering at his defensive tone. They both worked too much; she was hardly in a position to throw stones.
He took a couple of steps back, saying, “I know I didn’t return a couple of your calls.”
“Jeff,” she stopped him. “I just assumed you were tied up. It’s no big deal.”
“What is it, then?”
Sara crossed her arms, suddenly feeling cold. “Dad knows.”
He seemed to relax a bit, and she wondered from his relief whether he had been expecting something else.
He said, “You didn’t think we could keep it a secret, did you?”
“I don’t know,” Sara admitted. She could tell something was on his mind but wasn’t sure how to draw him out. She suggested, “Let’s walk around the lake. Okay?”
He glanced back at the house, then at her. “Yeah.”
She led him through the backyard, taking the stone path to the shore that her father had laid before Sara was born. They fell into a companionable silence, holding hands as they navigated the dirt track that cut into the shoreline. She slipped on a wet rock and he caught her elbow, smiling at her clumsiness. Overhead, Sara could hear squirrels chattering and a large buzzard swooped in an arc just above the trees, its wings stiff against the breeze coming off the water.
Lake Grant was a thirty-two-hundred acre man-made lake that was three hundred feet deep in places. Tops of trees that had been in the valley before the area was flooded still grew out of the water and Sara often thought of the abandoned homes under there, wondering if the fish had set up house. Eddie had a photograph of the area before the lake was made and it looked just like the more rural parts of the county: nice shotgun-style houses with an occasional shack here and there. Underneath were stores and churches and a cotton mill that had survived the Civil War and Reconstruction, only to be shut down during the Depression. All of this had been wiped out by the rushing waters of the Ochawahee River so that Grant could have a reliable source of electricity. During the summer, the waterline rose and fell depending on the demand from the dam, and as a child, Sara had made a habit of turning off all the lights in the house, thinking that would help keep the water high enough so that she could ski.
The National Forestry Service owned the best part of the lake, over a thousand acres that wrapped around the water like a cowl. One side touched the residential area where Sara and her parents had houses and the other held back the Grant Institute of Technology. Sixty percent of the lake’s eighty-mile shoreline was protected, and Sara’s favorite area was smack in the middle. Campers were allowed to stake tents in the forest, but the rocky terrain close to shore was too sharp and steep for anything pleasurable. Mostly, teenagers came here to make out or just to get away from their parents. Sara’s house was directly across from a spectacular set of rocks that had probably been used by the Indians before they were forced out, and sometimes at dusk she could see an occasional flash of a match as someone lit a cigarette or who knew what else.
A cold wind came off the water and she shivered. Jeffrey put his arm around her, asking, “Did you really think they wouldn’t find out?”
Sara stopped and turned to face him. “I guess I just hoped.”
He gave one of his lopsided smiles, and she knew from experience that an apology was coming. “I’m sorry I’ve been working so much.”
“I haven’t gotten home before seven all week.”
“Did you get the insurance company straightened out?”
She groaned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he said, obviously trying to think of something to say. “How’s Tess?”
“Not that, either.”
“Okay . . .” He smiled again, the sun catching the blue in his irises in a way that made Sara shiver again.
“You wanna head back?” he asked, misinterpreting her response.
“No,” she said, cupping her hands
around his neck. “I want you to take me behind those trees and ravage me.”
He laughed, but stopped when he saw she was not joking. “Out here in the open?”
“Nobody’s around.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“It’s been two weeks,” she said, though she hadn’t given it much thought before now. It wasn’t like him to let things go this long.
“It’s cold.”
She put her lips to his ear and whispered, “It’s warm in my mouth.”
Contrary to his body’s reaction, he said, “I’m kind of tired.”
She pressed her body closer. “You don’t seem tired to me.”
“It’s gonna start raining any minute now.”
The sky was overcast, but Sara knew from the news that rain was a good three hours away. “Come on,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. She stopped when he seemed to hesitate. “What’s wrong?”
He took a step back and looked out at the lake. “I told you I’m tired.”
“You’re never tired,” she said. “Not tired like that.”
He indicated the lake with a toss of his hand. “It’s freezing cold out here.”
“It’s not that cold,” she said, feeling suspicion trace a line of dread down her spine. After fifteen years, she knew all of Jeffrey’s signs. He picked at his thumbnail when he felt guilty and pulled at his right eyebrow when there was something about a case he was trying to puzzle out. When he’d had a particularly hard day, he tended to slump his shoulders and speak in a monotone until she found a way to help him talk it out. The set he had to his mouth now meant there was something he had to tell her but either did not want to or did not know how.
She crossed her arms, asking, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeated, staring at Jeffrey as if she could will the truth out of him. His lips were set in that same firm line and he had his hands clasped in front of him, his right thumb tracing the cuticle of the left. She was getting the distinct feeling that they had been down this road before, and the knowledge of what was happening hit her like a sledgehammer to the gut. “Oh, Christ,” she breathed, suddenly understanding. “Oh, God,” she said, putting her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the sickness that wanted to come.
“What?”
She walked back down the path, feeling stupid and angry with herself at the same time. She was dizzy from it, her mind reeling.
“Sara—” He put his hand on her arm but she jerked away. He jogged ahead a few steps, blocking her way so she had to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Who is it?”
“Who’s what?”
“Who is she?” Sara clarified. “Who is it, Jeffrey? Is it the same one as last time?” She was clenching her teeth so tight that her jaw ached. It all made sense: the distracted look on his face, the defensiveness, the distance between them. He had made excuses every night this week for not staying at her house: packing boxes, working late at the station, needing to finish that damn kitchen that had taken almost a decade to renovate. Every time she let him in, every time she let her guard down and felt comfortable, he found a way to push her away.
Sara came straight out with it. “Who are you screwing this time?”
He took a step back, confusion crossing his face. “You don’t think . . .”
She felt tears well into her eyes and covered her face with her hands to hide them. He would think she was hurt when the fact was she was angry enough to rip out his throat with her bare hands. “God,” she whispered. “I’m so stupid.”
“How could you think that?” he demanded, as if he had been wronged.
She dropped her hands, not caring what he saw. “Do me a favor, okay? Don’t lie to me this time. Don’t you dare lie to me.”
“I’m not lying to you about anything,” he insisted, sounding just as livid as she felt. She would find his outraged tone more persuasive if he hadn’t used it on her the first time.
“Sara—”
“Just get away from me,” she said, walking back toward the lake. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe how stupid I am.”
“I’m not cheating on you,” he said, following her. “Listen to me, okay?” He got in front of her, blocking the way. “I’m not cheating on you.”
She stopped, staring at him, wishing she could believe him.
He said, “Don’t look at me that way.”
“I don’t know how else to look at you.”
He let out a heavy sigh, as if he had a huge weight on his chest. For someone who insisted he was innocent, he was acting incredibly guilty.
“I’m going back to the house,” she told him, but he looked up, and she saw something in his expression that stopped her.
He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. “I might be sick.”
“Sick?” she repeated, suddenly panicked. “Sick how?”
He walked back and sat down on a rock, his shoulders sagging. It was Sara’s turn to follow him.
“Jeff?” she asked, kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong?” Tears came into her eyes again, but this time her heart was thumping from fear instead of anger.
Of all the things he could have said, what next came from his mouth shocked her most of all. “Jo called.”
Sara sat back on her heels. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, her vision tunneling. In high school, Jolene Carter had been everything Sara wasn’t: graceful, curvaceous yet thin, the most popular girl in school, with her pick of all the popular boys. She was the prom queen, the head cheerleader, the president of the senior class. She had real blond hair and blue eyes and a little mole, a beauty mark, on her right cheek that gave her otherwise perfect features a worldly, exotic look. Even close to her forties, Jolene Carter still had a perfect body— something Sara knew because five years ago, she had come home to find Jo completely naked with her perfect ass up in the air, straddling Jeffrey in their bed.
Jeffrey said, “She has hepatitis.”
Sara would have laughed if she had the energy. As it was, all she could manage was, “Which kind?”
“The bad kind.”
“There are a couple of bad kinds,” Sara told him, wondering how she had gotten to this place.
“I haven’t slept with her since that one time. You know that, Sara.”
For a few seconds, she found herself staring at him, torn between wanting to get up and run away and staying to find out the facts. “When did she call you?”
“Last week.”
“Last week,” she repeated, then took a deep breath before asking, “What day?”
“I don’t know. The first part.”
“Monday? Tuesday?”
“What does it matter?”
“What does it matter?” she echoed, incredulous. “I’m a pediatrician, Jeffrey. I give kids— little kids— injections all day. I take blood from them. I put my fingers in their scrapes and cuts. There are precautions. There are all sorts of . . .” She let her voice trail off, wondering how many children she had exposed to this, trying to remember every shot, every puncture. Had she been safe? She was always sticking herself with needles. She couldn’t even let herself worry about her own health. It was too much.
“I went to Hare yesterday,” he said, as if the fact that he had visited a doctor after knowing for a week somehow redeemed him.
She pressed her lips together, trying to form the right questions. She had been worried about her kids, but now the full implications hit her head-on. She could be sick, too. She could have some chronic, maybe deadly disease that Jeffrey had given her.
Sara swallowed, trying to speak past the tightness in her throat. “Did he put a rush on the test?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” she confirmed, not a question. Of course he didn’t know. Jeffrey suffered from typical male denial about anything relating to his health. He knew more about his car’s maintenance history than his own well-being a
nd she could imagine him sitting in Hare’s office, a blank look on his face, trying to think of a good excuse to leave as quickly as possible.
Sara stood up. She needed to pace. “Did he examine you?”
“He said I wasn’t showing any symptoms.”
“I want you to go to another doctor.”
“What’s wrong with Hare?”
“He . . .” She couldn’t find the words. Her brain wouldn’t work.
“Just because he’s your goofy cousin doesn’t mean he’s not a good doctor.”
“He didn’t tell me,” she said, feeling betrayed by both of them.
Jeffrey gave her a careful look. “I asked him not to.”
“Of course you did,” she said, feeling not so much angry as blindsided. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you take me with you so that I could ask the right questions?”
“This,” he said, indicating her pacing. “You’ve got enough on your mind. I didn’t want you to be upset.”
“That’s crap and you know it.” Jeffrey hated giving bad news. As confrontational as he had to be in his job, he was incapable of making waves at home. “Is this why you haven’t wanted to have sex?”
“I was being careful.”
“Careful,” she repeated.
“Hare said I could be a carrier.”
“You were too scared to tell me.”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“You didn’t want me to be upset with you,” she corrected. “This has nothing to do with sparing my feelings. You didn’t want me to be mad at you.”
“Please don’t do this.” He reached out to take her hand but she jerked away. “It’s not my fault, okay?” He tried again, “It was years ago, Sara. She had to tell me because her doctor said so.” As if this made things better, he said, “She’s seeing Hare, too. Call him. He’s the one who said I had to be informed. It’s just a precaution. You’re a doctor. You know that.”
“Stop,” she ordered, holding up her hands. Words were on the tip of her tongue, but she struggled not to say them. “I can’t talk about this right now.”