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Every lie.
Nash couldn’t seem to stop it. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Deep down, he was hoping that his brain would find something. Some shred of truth that would make the ache in his chest go away. But no revelation arrived. And when hunger finally broke the cycle, he got up from the rocker and drove into town for groceries.
DuPont was a midsize town—not so small that he knew everyone, but not so big that he wouldn’t run into a few people who would recognize him.
“Well, if it isn’t Nash Beaumont!” The bearded guy in the blue vest grinned broadly as Nash stepped through the sliding doors of the Walmart. “I didn’t think I’d see you back in this Podunk town. How’s Deacon doing? Tell him that I sure miss our high school days together.”
Just the mention of his brother had guilt tightening Nash’s stomach. He should’ve called Deacon and explained things. Of course, the newspaper article would explain it all. And maybe that was why he hadn’t called Deacon or charged his cell phone when it died. He couldn’t stand to hear the disbelief and hurt in his brother’s voice.
“He’s good, Jimmy,” Nash said. “How are you doing?”
“Good, but not as good as the Beaumonts.” He thumped him on the arm. “You boys were always lucky sonofabitches. And how much luckier can you get than owning a lingerie company?” He leaned closer and spoke in a not-so-soft whisper. “I hear those supermodels trot around buck-naked backstage of that fashion show. Is that true?”
“Not quite buck-naked, but close enough.”
Jimmy’s eyes glazed over. “Holy shit. Like I said, you’re lucky sonofabitches.” He paused and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, besides what happened with Melissa. That was about as unlucky as you can get.”
Not having the energy or inclination to talk about Melissa, Nash grabbed a shopping cart. “Well, it was good seeing you, Jimmy.” He hoped Jimmy would get the hint. Unfortunately, he left his station by the door and followed him.
“I hate to say it, man, but even though you were my good friend’s little brother, I had my doubts that you were innocent. Especially after Melissa ended up taking all of her mom’s sleeping pills. But then I started dating Jolene Montel, who works as an accountant for the mental health-care facility. She’s a couple years older than me, but a sweet little thing who has the nicest ass—”
“Look, Jimmy,” Nash cut him off, “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Oh, sure, sure. I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry for blaming you, because Jolene said that Melissa was nuttier than a can of Planters peanuts long before you had sex with her.”
Nash stopped the cart by a tower of cereal boxes and turned to Jimmy. “What do you mean?”
“I guess Melissa was a patient of one of the psychiatrists at the clinic for years and had tried to kill herself twice before—a fact that her parents were able to keep hush-hush at the trial due to that doc-patient privacy thing. And Jolene really couldn’t say anything because that’s her job and all. But she said she would’ve spoken up if they had found you guilty.” He glanced back at the door. “Well, I better get back to work. My boss can be a real pain in the ass.” He walked off, leaving Nash more than a little stunned.
Nash should’ve felt some kind of redemption in knowing that Melissa had mental issues long before the night in the hotel. But he didn’t feel better. He just felt sad. Sad for Melissa. And sad for her family. And sad for all the years he’d blamed himself for her death.
No longer hungry, he grabbed only the bare essentials—milk, bread, eggs, sugar, and tea—before heading to the liquor department. Once he got back to the fishing shack, he had every intention of doing some serious damage to the bottle of Johnnie Walker. But after only one shot, he felt sick to his stomach, so he screwed the cap back on and made a jug of sweet tea. He had just poured himself a mason jar full when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. He carried his drink out to the porch and watched as a Mercedes pulled next to the house. He didn’t recognize the car, but he recognized his father behind the wheel.
The Mercedes was brand new and pimped out with flashy gold trim and hubcaps. And when Donny John stepped out of the car, he wore almost as much gold as his vehicle. Several chains hung in the open collar of his white shirt, a watch and bracelet cuffed his wrists, and a ring that could easy be awarded to a Super Bowl victor graced one pinkie finger. And the hoop he normally wore in his ear had been replaced with a huge diamond. Leave it to Donny John to thoroughly enjoy his new status as father to billionaire sons.
The sight would’ve normally annoyed Nash. He and his father had never been what you would call close. Some said it had to do with the fact that they were too much alike. Of all the boys, Nash looked most like his father and had a way with people and with women. But Nash knew it had more to do with what happened after his mother had died. Donny John had given up on life and his sons. Nash had a hard time forgiving him for that. Yet today, Nash didn’t feel annoyed. He just felt relief. He didn’t know where the emotion came from, but it was there, settling around him like a warm blanket on a cold autumn day. It seemed that even bad dads were still dads, and seeing them made you think that everything was going to be okay—even if it wasn’t.
“How did you know where to find me?” he asked.
Donny John flashed a smile. “Deacon called and said that you’d gone missing, so I took a chance.” He held open the door, and a hound dog jumped out. Blue had been Nash’s dog before the move to San Francisco. So it wasn’t surprising that the dog let out an earsplitting howl when he saw Nash and raced around the corner of the porch and up the steps to greet him. The big paws on Nash’s chest and the wet tongue on his face released a swell of emotion that had been sitting in his chest like a bag of wet cement.
“How ya doin’, boy?” His voice cracked as he set down his tea and pulled the dog closer to scratch his ears.
“He’s missed you.” Donny climbed the steps. “He spent the entire night howling at the moon the day you and Grayson left to join Deacon in San Fran.”
“I’m sorry, boy,” Nash said and continued to scratch Blue’s ears, “but you wouldn’t have been happy in a city without any coons and ducks to chase.”
“That dog does love to chase things. He treed my new neighbor’s cat just when I was about to get a dinner invitation, and the woman has ignored me ever since.”
Nash sat down in one of the rockers. “You moved?”
“I had a house built in that new subdivision just outside of town. Four bedrooms and three bathrooms, just in case my sons want to come visit.” He glanced around. “And I can tell you that it’s a darn sight better than this old shack.”
“I like this old shack. In fact, I’m thinking about living here.”
Donny John studied him for a long moment before he nodded at the glass sitting on the railing. “You got any more of that tea?” Without waiting for a reply, he opened the squeaky screen door and went inside. When he came out, he took the chair next to Nash. Nash expected him to start talking. Donny John had always been a talker. But instead, he just rocked and sipped his tea that was no doubt laced with some of the whiskey. After a while, Blue pulled away from Nash and flopped down between the chairs, lowering his head to his paws.
Nash picked up his tea and joined the rocking, the creak of the chairs keeping time with the chirps and buzz of the evening insects. When the last of the sun spilled across the porch like warm honey from a spoon, Donny John finally spoke.
