The Wedding Circle Page 16

  He took off the safety, positioned the barrel underneath his chin, and put his finger on the trigger. Then he shut his eyes and began to count backward silently toward a destination unknown—the ultimate departure.

  Ten . . .

  Nine . . .

  Eight . . .

  Seven...

  Six . . .

  Five . . .

  Four . . .

  But he stopped just before he got to three and opened his eyes.

  No, he suddenly decided. This was just not the right spot for leaving. He had a better idea. Cleaner. Simpler. No pain. No spatter. None of that grisly television forensic stuff that most of America swore by now.

  He put the gun away, turned the key in the ignition, and mentally said good-bye to the lake as he backed up the car, heading toward the comfortable home he had built for himself during the plushest of his Marina Bar and Grill days. Those days when he had had Peri by his side, crunching the numbers ever so efficiently for him. It would only take him ten or fifteen minutes to get there, and then, without a great deal of fanfare, it would all be over.

  Once he arrived, it flashed into his head with a clarity he had never before experienced just why he had insisted on adding that expensive closed garage to his house plans. Originally, he had only wanted an open carport—nothing fancy—just the extra space to organize and hang up all his yard work and other manly tools. He had seen the “turn on the car in a closed garage and go quietly to sleep” trick depicted hundreds of times in movie after movie over the years. There was really nothing much to it. It seemed to be universally touted as a quick and painless way to end it all. So that was the way it was going to be.

  Yes, this is the way it’s gonna be, he was thinking to himself once everything was in place and humming along a few minutes later. Particularly the engine humming along inside the closed garage. What was that other sound he was hearing? Was it coming out of his mouth? Was he actually humming a tune for this grand finale of his? Well, how about that? It was “The Eyes of Texas.” They were upon him once again. He imagined they were the eyes of Jefferson, Texas—his boyhood home—as a matter of fact. On this, his last, livelong day.

  “Are you—are you an angel?” Harlan Lattimore managed to ask the image now slowly coming into focus. It began to become clear to him that he was staring at a pretty young female face of some sort. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, and she was all in blue scrubs, smiling down at him.

  “No, Mr. Lattimore. I’m just your nurse—Myra,” the soft female voice said. “Welcome back. Looks like you’re gonna make it.”

  He made an effort to stir, but the IV drip in his arm and other telemetry drastically restricted his movement.

  “There, now, Mr. Lattimore. You just relax and don’t try to move. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “Where—where am I?”

  “In triage in the emergency room at Cherico Memorial.”

  Harlan looked around to the extent he could and frowned. “You mean I’m not dead?”

  The nurse laughed gently. “Not according to our definition of the word. But you did come close. You were saved in the nick of time.”

  “How? You mean carbon monoxide doesn’t work anymore?”

  The nurse pointed to the white curtain providing the triage room with what little privacy it had. “Well, there’s someone out in the hallway who’s been waiting to see you for a while now. If you feel up to it, we could let him come in and visit with you just briefly. But not too long now. You need to get lots more rest after what you’ve just been through.”

  Harlan frowned deeply. “Okay . . . I guess.”

  Nurse Myra pulled back the curtain, and Mr. Parker Place slowly entered, smiling gently.

  “What? You?!” Harlan managed, his tone sounding both puzzled and slightly annoyed.

  “Hope you’re feeling better, Mr. Lattimore,” Mr. Place said. “They tell me you are, anyway.”

  “You’re the last person on Earth . . . how the hell . . .” But Harlan tailed off, his surprise overwhelming him.

  “Just one a’ those quirks of fate, I guess,” Mr. Place told him. “Peri told me all about your closing down the restaurant and leaving town, and when I got off work at The Twinkle tonight, I decided to drive out to your place and wish you the best in Texas, tell you no hard feelings and all that kinda stuff, you know. At least I hoped we could tidy things up that way. I didn’t know how it would turn out—in fact, I’m pretty sure if I’d told Peri I was gonna do it, she would’ve told me to stay the hell away. But I decided to give it a try anyway.”

  “How lucky for you, Mr. Lattimore!” Nurse Myra said in a patronizing tone peculiar to certain caregivers.

  But Harlan was shaking his head, his eyes barely open. “I . . . still don’t understand what happened.”

  “I just put two and two together, Mr. Lattimore,” Mr. Place continued. “You didn’t answer the doorbell when I got to your house, but then I heard your engine running in the carport. Don’t ask me how, but it just came into my head what was going on. I dialed 911 on my cell, and the paramedics got to you in time.”

  “Just barely, though,” Nurse Myra added. “A minute or two more, and you wouldn’t have made it.”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t even begin to pry your garage door open or tear a hole in it,” Mr. Place added.

  Harlan snickered. “Well, I had the deluxe model installed. You know, the kind made of metal with the fancy electronic opener and all that good stuff.”

  “Practically a safe room, huh?” Mr. Place continued.

  But Harlan made no effort to disguise his conflicted feelings. “More like a death room as it almost turned out. And maybe it would’ve been for the best if y’all had just let me go.”

  Mr. Place remained remarkably composed. “I did what I had to do, Mr. Lattimore. If anyone else had happened by, they would’ve done the same thing. Life is important, you know.”

  “Does Peri know about this?”

  “Not yet,” Mr. Place told him. “Do you want her to know?”

  Harlan thought for a while, gazing over at his telemetry to distract himself momentarily. “Since I wasn’t successful at offing myself, I’d say no. Could you—will you keep this between us?”

  Mr. Place nodded with a gracious smile on his face. “Of course. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

  “Well, then . . . thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Harlan was groping for the right words but couldn’t seem to find them. All of the poisonous feelings he had carried around for so long for Mr. Place seemed to have been sucked out of him by the effectiveness of his emergency room treatment. Suddenly, both his head and veins were clear. He was freed of his demons. Finally, he said, “I’m still leaving town, you know.”

  “I figured you were.”

  “But I . . . I feel I should thank you for making that even possible.”

  “You’re very welcome, Mr. Lattimore. I’m glad I could be there for you, even though I had no idea things would happen the way they did.”

  Then Nurse Myra stepped between them. “Well, I think that’s about enough for now, Mr. Lattimore. I don’t believe you’re quite ready for a full-blown press conference.”

  Mr. Place was about to make his exit when he turned at the curtain. “Don’t worry too much about your future, Mr. Lattimore. I got a feeling your hometown of Jefferson is gonna welcome you back with open arms.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said, managing a hint of a smile. “The open arms and eyes of Texas.”

  13

  A Farewell to Palms

  “We desperately need a new place to live,” Maura Beth said to Jeremy as she surveyed the cornucopia of wedding gifts that were taking up all the space on her little dining room table. These days, the two of them were eating their meals on bamboo TV trays while they sat on the living room sofa. It was fun and cozy as a temporary measure, but hardly suited to the long haul.

  Maybe the wedding would be a smal
l one in relative terms, but those who could not attend had sent their presents as etiquette required. Miss Manners would have been proud. The “loot,” as Jeremy kept calling it jokingly, was impressive so far: a crystal punch bowl, complete with cups and ladle; a crock pot; various pieces of silverware and china; a blender; a set of steak knives; bath towels; and any number of gift certificates to restaurants and department stores. Of course, there just had to be a clunker or two. The most obvious was the oversized, framed black-and-white photograph of herself that Cudd’n M’Dear had offered up.

  “Can you believe this?!” Maura Beth had exclaimed, after unwrapping it and thrusting it in Jeremy’s face. “She must be the most self-absorbed person in the entire known universe!”

  Jeremy had looked it over and drawn back dramatically. “Geez. It was one thing to hear all those stories about her. But it’s quite another to actually see what she looks like. She’s not very attractive, is she?”

  “Well, that part she can’t help,” Maura Beth had continued. “The homely part’s in her genes. Her eyes are too far apart, her nose is too big, and when she smiles with those long bicuspids of hers, she looks like she’s getting ready to bite your neck. You have to play the hand you’re dealt, of course. It’s just that she’s chosen to make everyone pay attention to her every second she’s around. I suppose it’s her revenge. She’s just a wearying person, that’s all. You’ll find out when she shows up.”

  “Then you must never leave my side,” Jeremy had added. “My natural charm can only go so far.”

  The fact remained, however, that Maura Beth’s Clover Street efficiency seemed more cramped than ever with the wedding presents taking up residence, and they still had made no progress in finding a larger place for themselves to live after they returned from their honeymoon. Although newly married couples were forced to do it all the time, Maura Beth did not want to continue fighting Jeremy for closet space and bathroom time. In short, they both needed some breathing room.

  “I have a feeling something will turn up,” Jeremy said, standing beside the table full of gifts with his arm around Maura Beth’s waist.

  She turned and gave him a skeptical frown. “And that’s based on what? We’ve scoured Cherico from top to bottom, and there’s just nothing out there. Every apartment we’ve looked at is as small or smaller than this one, and all the houses are out of our price range and way more space than we need right now. Maybe we’d be able to afford them in another lifetime.”

  “Buck up, Maurie. If you could be patient enough to put up with Councilman Sparks all these years, you can tough it out a little longer until we find just the right place to start our new life together.”

  Maura Beth managed a smile, but it lacked conviction. She didn’t want to have to tell him all the things that had been building up inside. Such as she was annoyed he never cleaned up his pepper-like whisker remains in the sink after shaving; and, worse, kept rearranging her clothes in the closet, including sometimes throwing the coat hangers on the floor after he was done with them. Somehow, she had envisioned that someone so romantic and chivalrous would be tidy and organized in his personal habits. But that was simply not the case. Not to mention that she probably did little things that annoyed him, but he was too much of a gentlemen to call them to her attention.

  However, it would all disappear the minute they abandoned her little efficiency that was barely practical for one. What a relief more closets and a second bathroom would surely provide!

  Miss Voncille was in tears as she and Locke were driving out to Teddy Bower’s Green Thumbery late in the afternoon. She had been inconsolable since she had made the decision, and all Locke could do was say soothing things to her every now and then, hoping she would pull out of it. But they had dutifully taken pictures of each and every one of the potted palms that graced her house on Painter Street, and now they were finally on their way to convince Teddy Bower to buy them all.

  “Well, I don’t have too much demand for potted palms normally,” he had told Miss Voncille over the phone when she had first sounded him out on his interest. “People think they’re too much trouble, what with all the watering and such. In fact, you’re the only one who ever had me order ’em over the years. I really don’t know what I’d do with fourteen of ’em.”

  However, Miss Voncille had been so choked up she could barely speak. “But you . . . you must find good homes for all of them. I’d do it myself, but there just isn’t time.”

  Teddy’s empathy was sadly lacking. “Geez, Miss Voncille, it’s not like they’re puppies.”

  That had caused her to pull out all the stops, unleashing her wrath upon him. “Now, you listen to me and you listen good, Teddy Ray Bower. These palms mean a great deal to me—more than you’ll ever know or understand. They’re not just plants I bought from you. But I have to be practical about this. I’m moving into Locke’s house on Perry Street soon, and there’s simply not enough room there for all my palms. Something’s got to give, and I’m giving you the chance to make a little money on these creatures that have been so dear to my heart all these years!”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand,” Teddy had said, his tone properly meek after being thoroughly chastised. After all, he had been one of Miss Voncille’s history pupils way back when, and he was still conditioned to straighten up and obey when she barked orders at him. It was either that or be sent to the principal’s office. “Why don’t you take some pictures so I can see what kinda shape they’re in? Then, we’ll see what we can do out here at the greenhouse. I’ll look forward to your visit.”

  But the closer they got to the Green Thumbery, the more apprehensive and conflicted Miss Voncille became. Of course she knew by now that Frank Gibbons was never coming home from Vietnam. Over forty-five years had passed, and his MIA status remained unchanged. It was all long over and done with, and this clinging to the potted palms as a way of honoring Frank’s disappearance in the jungles of Southeast Asia had served its purpose. She was now Mrs. Locke Linwood, and it would be a dishonor to her new husband to fill his home— now their home—with these tropical remembrances of things past.

  But if Teddy Bower agreed to take them—well, all but one, since she and Locke had agreed to make room for the largest on his back screened porch—would she truly be able to say good-bye to them for good? Oh, maybe one or two of them might turn up in the homes of friends as a pleasant surprise, but she couldn’t count on that. She had to be prepared to accept them as out of sight, if not out of mind.

  “You know, Locke,” she told him, sniffling as they turned on to the gravel road leading to the Green Thumbery, “I’ve really doted on those palms as if they were my own children. Isn’t that silly?”

  “I don’t think so. You were just trying to keep Frank’s memory alive. You said his letters to you about the beauty of the jungles over there inspired you.”

  “Oh, it was more than that,” she added, calming herself with a deep breath. “He told me he wanted to come home to a house full of palms. Now, will you listen to me? I’ve bored you to death with these stories about Frank over and over again. It’s for the best that I make a clean break.”

  Locke reached over and patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t beat yourself up so, Voncille. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “But I do so want Teddy to find good homes for all the palms. It would break my heart if he let them dry up in their pots and die.”

  Locke chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I expect he’s a better businessman than that, and I expect he’ll do his best to accommodate you. Pamela and I always found him to be quite reputable in our dealings with him. Why, he found us all those crepe myrtles in the front yard for a bargain, and we never had any trouble with any of the houseplants he sold us. Not a one of them ever shriveled up and died. I think he named his business real well.”

  Of course, Miss Voncille knew that Teddy Bower wasn’t the issue. Her emotional stability was, and she had hit the nail on the head with this “clean break” business.
“That he did, and I just need to get over myself. That’s all there is to it. So, I guess the next thing we need to decide is when to tell everyone that we’re married. I can’t believe we’ve kept it hidden this long.”

  “Well, I think we pretty much have to now,” Locke said, raising his voice slightly over the crackling noises the tires were making on the gravel below. “Tomorrow the ‘For Sale by Owner’ sign goes up in your yard. That’ll get all those tongues wagging for sure.”

  “Won’t it, though?”

  Locke thought a minute longer, and then said, “Okay. Tonight, we start letting everyone know we eloped. I’ll call Carla and Locke, Jr., and you can call Maura Beth and all the rest of your Cherry Cola Book Club gang, and you know it should spread like wildfire from there.”

  Miss Voncille momentarily turned to watch the forest of pine trees flashing by, as all sort of thoughts filled her head. Wow! She was really uprooting herself pretty late in life—palms, house, and all! But forget finding homes for the palms for a moment. What about her beloved house on Painter Street? True, it would remain close-by, and she and Locke could drive over and see it from the street any time they wished. But what about the character of the people who might buy it? Would they take the same loving care of it that she had? Or would they paint it some awful, gaudy color and even redesign it from stern to stern so that it was no longer even recognizable? All in one stroke, she would be saying farewell to a huge chunk of her life, and she knew she would never be able to get it back again once she let it go.

  She came out of her reverie just as Locke pulled up in front of the long row of opaque greenhouses that constituted the Green Thumbery; there was also an amusing, homemade painted sign featuring—what else?—a gigantic green thumb. Teddy Bower stood in the middle of the gravel parking lot, waving at them with an inviting grin plastered on his fleshy face. Miss Voncille found herself marveling at how much some people could change over the course of a lifetime. As her pupil many decades ago, Teddy had been the ultimate string bean, forever swallowed up by his clothes. Now, far too many extravagant meals later, he was always seen in overalls that looked one size too small. Or maybe they didn’t make overalls any larger than the ones that seemed to be bursting at the seams trying to contain his bulk. In any case, he was a massive, lumbering presence wherever he went.