Part 8 (1/2)
”Me?” she asked, already rising and trying not to appear frightened.
The shotgun was heavier in her hands than she had expected, and when she tried to lift it, she became clumsy. He had been right about it being handsome, though-burled wood sidings and gold inlay detail-and she almost wished that Thom could see her now, looking like an outlaw in the picturesque suns.h.i.+ne.
”Like this,” Darius said, gesturing how she should hold it. ”Put the end there, against your right shoulder. Now, when you're ready, call 'pull.' Watch where the target is going, but don't waste time, got it?”
”Yes.” Cordelia mimicked his posture of a few seconds before: her stance wide, her shoulders braced, her gaze focused down the length of the gun. She listened to her father shuffle back across the stone, and took a deep breath as he yelled, ”Pull!”
She had to pull hard on the trigger, and barely noticed which way the yellow fruit went. The gun kicked back, and she couldn't help but gasp at the force with which it met her shoulder. Meanwhile, there was a great cawing of pigeons as they emerged from a large bush somewhat off to the left of the fallen grapefruits on the south lawn.
Big brown eyes wide, she turned to her father. ”That wasn't very good, was it?” she said.
Darius laughed, and smiled his toothy, charming smile at her. ”You like the truth straight without no chaser, don't you?”
”Yes,” she answered.
”It wasn't very good.” He winked and patted her shoulder. ”But you'll learn. It takes practice. And I don't have anywhere to be-do you have anywhere to be?”
The awful thought darted through her mind that he might be hinting at a certain road, where a certain young man was planning to meet her in not so many hours. Darius's smile was in place, however, and after a few seconds pa.s.sed, she wondered if she wasn't being a little paranoid.
And so she offered a simple ”no.”
”Well, then, let's see if we can teach you.”
She didn't improve immediately, but by the time they got to the bottom of the crate, Cordelia had managed to blow a few grapefruits out of the sky. Jones had never sent their coffee, but her father was being so attentive, so diligent in his instructions, that she didn't want to risk the growing sense of camaraderie between them by bringing up an unpleasant observation. After a while, he set the rifle down and said, ”I think you're ready to learn how to shoot a pistol.”
So they took the remaining grapefruits and lined them up on a low, whitewashed wall by the turquoise pool, and he showed her how to load the six-shooter. It felt heavier in her hand than she had antic.i.p.ated, and before she could reconsider, she heard herself say, ”Have you ever ... used one?”
”Used?” he laughed. ”I think I take your meaning. No, no, of course not-I told you, my business is not a violent one. And anyway, I am far too important to carry my own gun.”
”Oh ... of course.”
By then she had become rather obsessed with shooting targets, and she wanted badly to show him what a quick learner she was. She a.s.sumed a solid stance, raised both arms, narrowed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. The first shot hit its target, exploding pink citrus all over the wall. But the next few were misses, and in the end she only managed to hit two. She turned toward her father, to see what he would say, but he wasn't even watching. A far-off look had come into his eyes, and he was gazing north.
”That's enough, don't you think?” His tone had become low, almost weary. Her heart sank, and she wished that she could go back to a few minutes ago, when they had been joking and talking easily.
She tried her best to smile, even though she was disappointed their first afternoon together was going to be cut short. ”Yes-thank you for teaching me.”
He put an arm around her shoulder and patted it. ”You've got a good eye. You'll make a fine shot soon.” Then he took the gun out of her hand, opened the chamber, and dropped the casings onto the pool deck. ”You look sleepy, though. No more firearms practice when you're yawning like that.”
”I wasn't yawning,” protested Cordelia, who had not thought she'd shown any signs of fatigue-but he ignored her.
”Aren't you sleeping all right? Isn't the bed comfortable?” he demanded as they began to walk back up the steps toward the house. ”Whatever you need, just ask. I'll see that you get it.”
”Oh. Thank you.” Cordelia's cheeks flushed. ”But I'm sleeping very well, thank you.”
”Good! Good.” They had pa.s.sed back through the white curtains and onto the vast dance floor, which, Cordelia realized for the first time, couldn't get much use in a house where most parties required guests to stay outdoors. ”I hope I didn't bore you with talk of my business.” He paused, as if considering his words. The pocket doors were still open, and on the other side of the gleaming teak floor was the gloomy paneled s.p.a.ce that had been her first glimpse of the house. ”It's my hope you'll take an interest someday.”
Cordelia's eyebrows shot upward with surprise. ”I-I certainly would” was all she could think to say.
”Good. In my business, you have to read people, and sometimes, you have to know when to let them go. An old a.s.sociate, Duluth Hale, has been much on my mind these days. He was one of those I had to let go. He was a friend, and I let him get very close to my business, but he'll never be more than the personal bootlegger of middle-cla.s.s college boys and the odd roadhouse.” Cordelia's brow furrowed, but she remained silent, listening. ”He seduced a socialite, and she married him to make her parents angry, and eventually they let him supply the White Cove Country Club, which they own, just so they wouldn't have to worry about her anymore.”
”I read in a newspaper that you never go there-is that why?”
Darius nodded.
”Astrid and I went there for lunch yesterday. I'm sorry-I wouldn't have gone if I'd known.”
”That's all right. Miss Donal is a very high-cla.s.s young lady, and you should go wherever she takes you. The point is, you must be unsentimental and let go of deadweight, or else not kid yourself when one of your intimates cannot be trusted. You have that, I can tell-you know when to let go.”
She swallowed and tried to look sincere and worthy of his compliments. It felt as though he'd seen into her whole history-that he knew she had watched John Field flash by as she left Ohio, that she had stalked away from her oldest friend after a silly argument, the particulars of which she could not even quite remember. Her intention had never been to let go of deadweight, exactly-she had only done what she had to do-but then once she had, she'd risen effortlessly. There was a sadness to this realization, but there was also the comfort of being so completely, so mysteriously understood.
”Thank you.” Her voice was quiet, and this time she was voicing her grat.i.tude for all he had given her, the many things great and small.
”Now go put your head down, my dear,” he said. ”You look like you might collapse from exhaustion. We are having dinner together as a family tonight. Six o'clock. I've had enough of you young people carousing without me.”
”Oh, but ...” Blood rushed to her face, and though she so wanted to tell her father that she would love to have family dinner, she felt that she must let nothing stop her from meeting Thom. ”But I promised Astrid I would go to her mother's dinner party tonight.”
”Ah.” Darius shrugged, and he smiled magnanimously. For her the lie soured the afternoon a little, but he seemed unaware that anything was amiss. ”Don't worry, my dear. You enjoy yourself tonight, and we will have our dinner tomorrow ...”
Then he kissed her forehead and sent her up the stairs. She had nearly made it to the third story when she heard him call out, ”My girl is back.” When she glanced over the railing, he was nowhere to be seen, but she heard him calling, ”I always knew she'd come back to me!”
12
DOGWOOD, AS IT HAPPENS, IS EASIER TO SNEAK OUT of than into, a fact that applies to many places in this world but very few of life's situations. Among Cordelia's new possessions was a watch with a rectangular face and roman numerals, attached to her wrist with a delicate gold bracelet, and so she knew it was at precisely 5:49 that she discovered this to be true about her new home. She had taken a roundabout walk across the grounds, in a boatneck dress of midnight blue chiffon with a dropped waist and a low, open back, and snakeskin T-strap heels that kept sinking into the soft earth. Tonight she'd wanted to be pretty but not too attention-grabbing, and by the time she tiptoed past the turned back of her father's guard, she was confident that she had succeeded in that mission at least. He was leaning against the guardhouse, his gaze directed up the road, and it took only a little courage for her to dart past him in the opposite direction.
The traffic was spa.r.s.e at that hour, and everything around was quiet, so she listened as her heart's thudding became less loud, and she let her pace slow to an amble. Even her feet scarcely made a sound, for every step was cus.h.i.+oned by clumps of fallen pine needles. A breeze picked up around 5:52, and the sun cast a long shadow. She worried that Charlie or someone would come after her now, and also that it would be difficult to regain access to the Grey estate later. But by 5:56, when she went around the next bend, every tiny shard of negative thinking left her mind completely.
Thom was there already, wearing a white suit and tie, leaning against a gleaming black automobile. The dust around him had settled, and he had the air of having been there for some time already, though the waiting did not appear to have caused him any agitation. His arms and ankles were both crossed comfortably, and his chin was pointed up the road, in the direction from which she had come. When he saw her approaching, he grinned.
They both regarded each other for a moment, considering the right greeting. Then, before she could become nervous, she thrust forward her hand.
”So you're Darius Grey's daughter?” he said, still grinning, the skin of his palm pressing against hers.
”Yes, I guess I am.”
He whistled and let go of her hand. ”Everyone at the club was talking about you. I must know: What do do long-lost daughters do with their time while awaiting the moment of their joyous and unexpected returns, anyway?” long-lost daughters do with their time while awaiting the moment of their joyous and unexpected returns, anyway?”
Cordelia laughed, showing her broad white teeth. She wondered briefly what it was that Astrid had nearly told her about Thom, and then replied, ”Maybe I'll tell you when I know you better.”
”That's fair enough, I suppose,” he said, and then walked round the vehicle. Several seconds later, she realized that he was opening the pa.s.senger-side door for her, the way gentlemen were supposed to, and that she should come around the side, too.
Lowering herself onto the seat, she felt the sweet weight of his attention upon her. His stare was concentrated but nonetheless subtle and untroubled, and even after she had settled in he did not immediately close the door. Her breath rose slowly inside her, and she turned her face up toward him and blinked. He was almost too handsome to look at straight on, but she didn't have to for very long, because he grinned again and pushed the door shut. With the sound of metal against metal, she felt that she'd once again crossed over into another world-Thom's world, whatever that meant. Whoever he was, he certainly owned a fine automobile, and she took advantage of her brief solitude while he walked back around to the driver's side to run her hand over the soft leather upholstery.