Page 68 of No Kind of Hero
Maybe he was a jerk. No, heknewhe was a jerk. But it didn’t matter that he’d been inside her house tonight instead of waiting outside her window. It was exactly the same, and so was he.
Sucker for women.
He’d left. Left her here like she was part of it. She was hurt, and she was mad. And not just at Melody and her mother.
She headed back into the entryway, through the living room where she’d never played, because her toys had been confined to the family room and her bedroom, and out to the deck. Everybody else was still eating, still talking. Her dad had refilled the wine glasses as if that would make it better.
“Did Evan leave?” her mother asked. “Or is he upstairs with the baby? Sometimes they just need to cry it out.”
“No,” Beth said. “He left.” She sat down again, looked at her steak and her wine, but didn’t pick up her fork or even her glass.
“I think we made him uncomfortable,” Melody said. “I’m sorry. I guess itisa sensitive subject. I shouldn’t have referred to it, but I wasn’t sure, and it’s so awkward when you don’t know.”
“You couldn’t have known,” her mother said.
Something bizarre was happening in Beth’s body. A numbness, a prickling in her arms, and a strange heat. As if her blood were actually boiling in her belly and migrating to her head. It took her a second to recognize what was going on. It wasn’t a stroke. It was rage. Like in another few seconds, she’d have fire shooting from her eyeballs.
It was as if the words were coming from somebody else. Or maybe they sounded so strange because they were being forced out through her tightened throat. “Oh,” she said to Melody, “I think you could have known. I think youdidknow. Evan was never involved with Dakota. Her big brother’sdead,do you realize that? He was about all she had, and he’sdead.”She looked at Brett Hunter and said, “He died in combat. He died a hero. He left a dad who loved him. He left a sister who’d been in foster care alone, who’d had a rough time. And he left a best friend who would’ve done anything for him, including look out for Dakota. That was Evan. Even before Riley died, Evan was there for Dakota. I’m sure you remember that, Melody. Maybe you never asked yourself why that was. And after Riley died? Evan stepped up more. That doesn’t make him less than some people. It makes him more. It always will.”
Melody’s color was a little higher, her voice a little tighter. “Well, see, that’s all I needed to know. That’s all I wasasking.Brett wanted to know about Blake, and I wasn’t sure Evan was the person to ask, because Dakota isn’t painting with Evan now that she’s moved in with Blake. It was a perfectly obvious interpretation, and I’m not the only one who’s made it.”
“Which you’d know.” This rage . . . it was crazy. She could have lifted a car. She could have thrown Melody over the deck. “Because you’ve been talking about it. Why? What do you care? What did Dakota ever do to you?”
Melody still had shiny dark hair, and she still had a pretty face and a prettier body. She was prettier than Beth all the way around, and men liked her better. Then and now. But at least she didn’t look perfect anymore. Something to do with her expression.“Idon’t air dirty things at the dinner table,” she said. “At aparty.If I did, I could tell you exactly what she did.”
“And I could tell you that I don’t believe you,” Beth said, “and I never have. I could tell you why Dakota isn’t painting with Evan, too. It’s not hard to know. All you have to do is look around and drop your prejudice.” She told Brett, “Dakota Savage is Native American. She’s also always been poor. Some people seem to think that matters.” She was on a roll now, telling Melody, “Why isn’t she painting? Because she’s an artist, she’s doing great with that, and she’s going to make a major name for herself before she’s through. But she doesn’t talk about that, or about Blake, because it doesn’t make her feel better to make other people feel worse. She’s never had anything, and she still doesn’t need to look down on anybody now that she has a kickass careerandan NFL quarterback. Her life isn’t a competition.”
“So she’s perfect. Right,” Melody said, just as Michelle said, “Honey, this isn’t the time or the place. Your language.”
Beth put her napkin on the table. “This is exactly the time and the place. I’m so tired of this. We aren’t in the . . . the nineteenth century. We aren’t in England. Nobody here is some kind of lord. All anybody has is some money, and so what?”
“I think it’s a little more than that,” Candy put in. Still looking unruffled, but she wasn’t that way inside. Beth could hear it. “There are some things that matter more than money. Things like behavior and reputation and decorum. Things like manners.”
“Screw reputation,” Beth said. “Screw decorum. I’m calling out unkindness. I’m calling outrudeness.If that’s what I see, I’m saying so.”
“Beth,” her mother said sharply. “Stop.”
“No. I won’t stop.” The red mist had gone and the tears were about to show up. She wanted her voice to be cold and even. She wanted to shut down the emotion the way Evan did. But she couldn’t. Her voice was shaking when she said, “I’m done with this. I’m done with everythinglikethis. I brought a guest tonight, and my guest deserved courtesy. Isn’t that what manners are supposed to be? They’re not an . . . an excuse to be snide, like if you do it with a smile it doesn’t count. All this is? It’s snobbery. The same kind of snobbery that’s followed Dakota all her life. It’s stupid, it’s cruel, and it’s wrong, and from now on? I’m calling it out. Maybe that’s going to get me uninvited. Maybe I’ll never join the Friends of the Lake or the Library Fund. And I’ll live with that. I don’t care.” She turned to her father, who hadn’t said anything, and asked, “Can I borrow your car for tonight, Dad? I need to go.”
It wasn’t her dad who answered, though. It was Brett. “I need to leave myself,” he said. Totally calm, but there was something behind his eyes, like a smile was trying to escape. “I’d be happy to give you a lift wherever you need to go.” He put just a little emphasis on the “wherever,” like he knew exactly where he’d be driving her.
“Oh,” Melody said. “Weren’t we planning to take that tour, so you could drive the shoreline? I could use some calm after all this drama, and I’ll bet you could, too. I’m sure none of us expected this.”
“Another time,” Brett said. He stood and shook hands with Beth’s father. “Thanks for having me.” More handshakes around the table, finishing with Beth’s mother. “Wonderful dinner,” he said. “And superb insight.” If Beth hadn’t been watching, she’d have missed the wink, the flash of a smile. “Unexpected but welcome. It’s always good to take the temperature of a place, to see the dynamics. Just as important as the location. I’d say I got a good look under the hood tonight.”
Brett Hunter had a great car. Surprise. A Porsche Cayenne SUV. Black. Sleek, powerful, and as understated as a Porsche could ever be. Kind of like the man himself.
Beth didn’t say anything when she climbed in, other than, “I appreciate the ride.” To tell the truth, she didn’t trust her voice. Now that it was over, her arms and legs were showing an alarming tendency to shake, and her teeth had actually begun to chatter.
Brett shot a look at her and flipped a switch on the console. “Seat heater,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “You can get over that, and I won’t roast.”
She laughed, wishing it didn’t have an edge of hysteria. “You’re a surprising man. You act like that’s just another day at the office.”
He pulled out onto the road and took the turn into town. “Because it is. Emotions run high when the developers come to town. Fascinating things, people.”
“Lab rats?”
Another quick, amused glance. “Maybe. Dirty secret—I majored in psychology in college. Figured it’d come in handy for law, not to mention that political career I don’t have. I hear you’re an attorney yourself.”
