Mason furiously wiped his eyes. “Damn it,” he muttered. He wiped them again but the road was still blurry in spots.
“Uncle Max. Uncle Max.” It became a chant for him until the road was no longer blurry is spots. It was completely blurred.
Knowing he was risking his life and the life of innocent people tooling around, he swung left onto a dirt road. It led up to a chained gate. Mason pulled the car to a stop and turned off the engine. His body drooped into the seat like a wire had been cut.
“Oh, God, Uncle Max. How could you?” And Mason let loose the grief, sorrow and anger he’d bottled up inside for so many years. He wept, he pulled his hair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes trying to stop the flow of tears. Although he would never admit it, the crying jag had eased his grief but he was disgusted with himself over the flow of tears and snot. As he started to calm, he searched the car for tissues.
“I can count on you, Raeanne,” he said as he dug out a small pocketbook size pack of ten tissues. He pulled the package open and cleaned his face. Sighing long and hard, he laid his head against the head rest and closed his eyes.
And now I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Carol.
But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. He had bigger problems than that. He’d never cried for his uncle. Not when his body had been found, not at the wake and not at the funeral. Max Battersea was buried on the home farm. Churches didn’t smile on suicides so the family had never asked. They chose the two huge live oaks at the north property line. Max was buried right between them.
Mason hadn’t been out there since the funeral. Twenty-seven years. He’d never seen the headstone his mother bought. Wondering how his mother had handled her grief, he thought about talking to her. Maybe she had some insights into the why. That was all he wanted. He wanted to know why one of his favorite people on earth had left him without even a last spin in his arms or a last bedtime story. Even at five years old, he would have had one last memory to cherish through the dark times.
He’d never said good-bye. “Why should I? He never said good-bye to me.” He rubbed a hand down his face. God! Why am I mired in…He heard a car pull in behind him. He quickly plucked another tissue from the package, wiped his eyes and his nose and shoved the used tissues between his seat and the console. Composing himself, he watched Carol in his side view mirror as she approached his door.
“Hey, Carol. What are you doin’ here?” He went for the casual, just-hanging-out tone of voice.
“Looking for you. I called Dixie.”
Grimacing inside, he smiled up at her. “Why?”
“She’s worried about you. As am I.”
He shrugged. “Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.” Now.
“You weren’t when you left the beach.”
Annoyance crept up on him. Getting out of the car, he stalked away then back. “I left because I didn’t want to talk anymore.” He threw his hands in the air but caught Carol’s tiny flinch.
“Come on. Don’t do that. I hope to God you’re not afraid of me.”
She turned red and hung her head. Harry stuck his head out the window and whined. She signaled to the dog. “Knee-jerk reaction,” she mumbled.
Mason rubbed his face. Again. “Not him, too. Everything’s fine, Harry.” The dog whined again. “Please tell him I’m not hurting you.”
“But you are,” she said softly.
“I’m not even touching you!” His raised voice made Harry bark. Mason sighed heavily. “How am I hurting you? My hands are at my sides.”
She lifted her head. Calm now, she gave a wry smile. “I’ll tell you this once because I think it’s important for you to understand what the people around you feel when you don’t share your feelings.”
“Wha—”
She lifted one hand to stop him. “They feel like they don’t matter to you. Not enough for you to lean on them. I know you think doing things for them is enough. But it’s not, Mason. Sometimes they need to be allowed to help you.”
Teeth clenched against the burn in his throat, Mason breathed through his nose for a moment. When he was sure he wasn’t going to cry like a girl again, he relaxed. A little. “The people in my life know I love them. I do anything and everything I can to help them.” He didn’t know why but Carol looked disappointed. “What?”
“You don’t listen.”
“I heard every word you said.” His temper ignited. He squashed it. This is not the time for anger.
“You didn’t hear me say they need to help you once in a while.” She glanced over the chained gate. “I think mothers can get by without being blatantly needed because they understand the male ego. That’s what my mother told me. I think she was right. My father would bumble around when he was troubled.” She grinned. “He was so inept when he was upset. My mom would let him bump into walls for a day or two and then chat to him until he told her what was bothering him. She’d make suggestions, he’d pick one and—bingo!—problem solved.” She looked at him and her smile disappeared. “We don’t have that kind of relationship, but you and Dixie do. Maybe you should talk to her.”
Turning, she walked back to her car. She got in, started the engine and reversed down the dirt road. Checking both ways, she backed into the street and drove away. All while his mind spun desperate thoughts and formed outlandish ideas to make her understand he loved her but he wasn’t built to dump his problems on others. He was strong and he had his pride. He could handle it all on his own. He would handle it on his own.
Realization flooded him and he staggered. He loved her? How could he love her? He’d known her less than forty-eight hours! And he managed to piss her off, walk out on her and disappoint her. It had been a tumultuous forty-eight hours. He shook his head. It was just lust. He couldn’t wait to get back to his garage. Greasy engines, plugged carburetors and rusty mufflers were a lot easier to deal with than women and emotions. Especially women who were loved. By me.
He jumped into his car and backed out fast enough that his front end sounded like a wind chime. Reaching the street, he headed after Carol in the butt-ugly rental.
His nerves were jumping. His stomach was filled with wild turkeys evading a shotgun blast. His brain raced as fast as his car. He slowed when he realized he was heading to the resort not knowing if she would be there. Dixie’s place was between him and the resort. He took the next turn and headed for Dixie’s place.
“Mason!” Dixie exclaimed when he pulled into the yard. She stepped up to his car as he got out. “I was worried about you when Carol—”
“Yeah, Carol. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She called like two minutes ago to say she found you and you were, uh…”
“I was what?”
“Um, found?”
“Dix. Spill it. I’m in no mood for games.”
Dixie planted her fists on her hips. “Okay. She said you were upset and shut down.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
She glared at him. “That you wouldn’t listen to reason or share your feelings.”
He shook his head. “She wasn’t being reasonable either. She wanted me to spill—” Cutting himself off he looked away.
“Uh, excuse me? Spill what?” She had a hard gleam in her eye. Typical smug Dixie Rose.
“Never mind.” He got in the car just as Brand came out.
“Hi!”
“Bye!” Mason waved at the confused Brand. But he kept going.
If she isn’t here, he thought, she’s back at the resort. “I hope.”
The drive only took about ten minutes but he felt he’d been driving for hours by the time he turned in to the parking lot. He slowed and cruised the lot looking for her blue, four door rental.
“There!” He parked next to it and jogged inside.
Without stopping at the desk, he took the stairs since he was too stirred up to wait for the elevator. Anticipation was crushed when no one answered his three knocks. He went back down the stairs and headed for the desk.
“Miss Lee? Is she in?”
“I don’t know, sir. If she’s not in her room she sometimes walks Harry along the beach in front of the parking lot.”
“Thanks.” He took off wondering if everyone knew the damn dog’s name.
Traipsing around the resort property gave him a good sense of what it was all about. Pools, tropical plants and atmosphere, the Gulf and swimming pools. Unfortunately it did not give him a sense of where Carol was. Normally he wouldn’t so much as lean against his car but tonight he sat on the trunk lid.
He wished he smoked so he’d have something to do with his hands besides tug on his hair or run them over his face. “At this rate I’ll be bald and have rash on my face before I see her.”
A woof sounded in the distance. He lifted his head but didn’t see her. Or the dog. Looking back down at his hands, he played with the thread he’d tugged out of a seam.
Until Harry’s face appeared between his legs.
“Hello, Harry. Did you enjoy your walk?” Harry kept wagging but he added a tilted head. “I should say your ‘hike,’ right?” He reached out and rubbed the bottom of Harry’s doggie grin.
“Hello, Mason.”
He hesitated but lifted his head. “Hello, Carol. I was hoping Harry wasn’t out on his own. He’s too young to be running around without a chaperone.”
“Why are you here, Mason?”
“I, uh, decided I wanted to talk some more.”
“Hmm. What if I don’t feel like talking anymore?”
He looked down at his hand under Harry’s chin. “You’re not that mean.”
He heard the sigh. Saw her feet shuffle around a bit. Watched the leash grow taut on Harry’s collar. “Back, Harry.” Harry backed up.
Mason slid off the trunk lid. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you could put Harry in the kennel or whatever and we could take a walk.”
“I’m walked out and Harry stays in my room. Come up and we can sit on the balcony. It’s a nice view of the Gulf.”
“The Gulf.” The word ignited a memory. His uncle yelling at his mother. He squinted at Carol. “He came home from the first Gulf War a changed man.”
She took hold of his hand. “Come inside, Mason.”
He and Harry bracketed her as they walked inside and made their way up the stairs and to her room. She opened the door and they went in. Mason noticed how she and Harry interacted as she took his leash and collar off. But first the vest came off. It seemed to relax the dog from guard duty. Waiting patiently while she gave the dog some water and a treat, he looked around the room. It was very nice.
“I’m going to have a soda. Want one?”
“Sure. Have anything but diet?”
She held out a Sprite and a Coke. He took the Coke. As expected, she backed out of the little fridge with a diet Coke. She unlocked and opened the sliding glass doors and stepped out. He followed and sat across from her at the tiny table. He sighed. Holding back the flood of words waiting to be spoken, he enjoyed the silence.
“What did you want to talk about?” Carol finally asked.
“I think you were right about me and Uncle Max.” He stared out at the water lapping softly against the sand. I’ve come a long way in forty-eight hours. “I never grieved for him when he committed suicide.”
“Why do you always say it that way? Committed suicide instead of died.”
He shrugged. “Just to remind myself it was his choice. He didn’t just die. He shot himself in the head. He never said good-bye, never told anyone what his plan was. He didn’t do anything but pull the trigger.”
“Maybe he was under the influence.”
“No one ever said he was.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“No. I never asked anything or said anything.”
“Then maybe there are circumstances you’re not aware of.”
“He used to live in our house. He was my mother’s brother. He was family.” He shut up before his voice cracked. Was his voice slurred when he yelled at Mom?
“You can be intimate with someone, in love with them, and not know very much about them.”
He wanted to say, I know, because I love you but don’t know you very well. But he had to get through this before any declaration could be made. If it could be made.
“My uncle was a happy go lucky guy. He played with all the kids. He enjoyed spending time with my parents. He was happy. Then he went to fight in the Gulf War. And came home a changed person. He stayed in his room a lot. He was moody, grouchy and didn’t want to play with the kids.”
“He didn’t want to play with you.”
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t want to play with me.”
“You remember a lot about him, don’t you?” She tilted her head like Harry did sometimes.
“I do. He was my whole life growing up.” Until he moved out.
“How old were you when he died?”
“What does that matter?”
“When a child—”
“All right, all right. I was five.”
Shocked silence was the only answer he got. He glanced at her. She was staring at him.
“That’s awfully young to lose someone that close to you. I’m surprised you remember so much about him.”
He shrugged. “I have a lot of pictures, too.”
Carol set her drink on the table and reached out to touch his hand. He knew if he pulled back she would be as mad as a wet cat. But he quickly realized he didn’t want to pull back. Instead, he turned his hand over and wove his fingers between hers.
“You have to get more information, Mason. You need to find out all the details or this will hang over your head the rest of your life.”
He stiffened. It hit him in his shoulders and neck but wasn’t as bad as before. He was healing, slowly, and wanted to get the stitches out as soon as he found someone with a pair of sharp scissors. And he didn’t want any details. It would crack his reality and put him right back to that horrific day that his best friend and uncle died.
“I don’t know. I’d need to talk with my mother and I’m not going to see her until the next holiday.”
“What about Dixie?”
“Dixie? She was younger than me.”
“But she knows more about it because she talked to your mother. She asked questions and she got answers.”
He stared at her. “Dixie?”
“Yeah, Dixie. Your sister who lives on this island.”
He blinked.