LITMIR.BIZ

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Thompson was a retired nurse and she ran with me to where Billy Tom had laid Stuart on the grass. Regrettably there was no need for medical assistance. She confirmed my worst suspicion; Stuart was not returning to his good life in the Corvette lane.

      “Someone has to go downriver to get Charlie.” My teeth were chattering like castanets, making it hard to get the words out.

      “Charlie?” Mr. Thompson asked.

      “Yeah, he was teaching Stuart to ski and he dropped off in the water over that way.” I nodded toward Charlie’s location.

      Looking back on it, I think I scared Mr. Thompson half to death. The way he jumped into his boat and sped off, he must’ve thought he was about to find another dead body.

      It seemed like an eternity, although it was probably just a matter of minutes before he returned with Charlie.

      “Oh, Charlie.” That was all I could say before I broke into tears.

      “It’s okay. I promise, it’ll be okay.” He sank down on the grass where I was huddled in one of Mrs. Thompson’s blankets.

      Damn, I was cold.

      “Listen to me,” Charlie commanded. “It wasn’t your fault.”

      He enveloped me in an embrace. He was warm. He was safe. And my world had just imploded.

      

      “Sweetheart, are you all right?” Much to my surprise, Daddy was sitting on the ground next to me. Where had he come from?

      I looked up and was astonished to see a fleet of fire and police vehicles.

      “I’m taking you home.” Daddy pulled me to my feet and propelled me in the direction of his cruiser. “Come on, boys, I’ll drive you home, too. Tomorrow will be plenty of time to talk about what happened.”

      Chapter 7

      It had been two days since the accident, but every time I closed my eyes there it was, running again and again like a bad movie. Stuart’s eyes were open and sightless, and his ear almost touched his shoulder. Would I ever be able to get that sight out of my mind?

      All my life I’d been the queen of guilt—I felt guilty, or perhaps a better word was responsible—about situations that were way beyond my control. For instance, I felt horribly guilty when Mary Alice didn’t have a date for the junior prom and I did. He happened to be a total dork, but he was still a date.

      Then there was the case of the taco stand that went out of business. Somehow I convinced myself that if I’d stopped there more often, the guy might still be around. In general, the guilt was annoying but bearable. This fiasco had taken it to a new plane.

      “I got some of your favorite sweet rolls at the Dixie Delite.” Mama was standing in my bedroom door holding a bakery box. She was doing her best to cheer me up. In fact, my parents were spoiling me rotten. On one level, it was nice. On another, it was making me crazy. Instinctively, I realized I had to get out of bed and face the situation. However, knowing and doing were two entirely different things.

      “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

      I could tell by the smile on her face, she was delighted that I was slowly, but surely, coming back to life. My mood was actually rather strange. Sometimes I felt perfectly fine and then it would hit me like a brick. I was to blame for a person’s death. That’s when I’d plunge into depression.

      I trudged to the shower. Even when things got really bad, there was something rejuvenating about an orgy of hot water.

      Before I made it down the stairs, I heard voices in the kitchen. Could that be Charlie? I hadn’t seen him since the day Daddy took him home to help explain the situation to his parents. He had to be feeling as bad as I did. So why hadn’t I called him?

      Although Daddy said the official coroner’s decision was an accidental death, and there wouldn’t be an inquest, I was sure the Morrisons were worried silly. Their boat and their son were involved.

      However, he hadn’t been driving the boat. I had.

      “Hi, Charlie.” He was sitting at the table with my mother, munching on a sweet roll.

      “Hey, Sunshine. You’re looking better,” he replied between bites.

      That exaggeration required a very unladylike snort. “Better than what?” I was wearing my rattiest shorts, my hair was wet and pulled up into a ponytail, and I didn’t have on a dab of makeup.

      Mama put a glass of milk and a pastry on the table in front of me. The combination of warm cinnamon and sugar jump-started my taste buds. All of a sudden, I was ravenous.

      By the time I’d plowed through three Dixie Delite specials, I was stuffed.

      “I see your appetite’s returned,” Charlie teased. “Why don’t you ride down to the dam with me?”

      “Okay.”

      “Mrs. Boudreaux, we’ll be back in a little bit.”

      Mama had always been impressed with Charlie’s manners. The guy could charm the birds out of the trees, and regardless of their age, people of the female persuasion were particularly susceptible to his charisma.

      “That’s fine,” Mama said. She likely would’ve agreed to anything that got me out of the house.

      “How are you feeling, really?” Charlie asked after he parked in a gravel spot near the river.

      For some inexplicable reason he entwined his fingers with mine.

      “I guess I’m okay. How are you doing?”

      He shrugged. “I feel like crap. He was my responsibility. I knew he couldn’t ski, and I also knew he was the kind of guy who’d take dangerous chances. I should’ve told him to get lost, but I didn’t.”

      Charlie looked so sad I reached out to touch his cheek. “Neither one of us is to blame. You didn’t have any idea he’d act that stupid. And I was being careful, I know I was. That’s what my brain says, anyway. My heart tells me something different.”

      He nodded. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Only someone who was there would understand.” We stared at each other for a long time before Charlie continued.

      “I feel so responsible.” I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. “He died. He’s not here anymore and that’s heartbreaking.”

      “Sunshine.” Charlie traced the path of the tear with his finger. “Please don’t cry.” He put his arms around me. “It’s my fault. I should’ve told him to go home.” He rubbed my back.

      “It was an accident,” he said. “Honestly it was. I’ve been worried about you. I didn’t see it happen, and later he was covered up with a sheet. I’d never met him, so I didn’t have any personal connection with him.”

      “I didn’t really know him, either. The one date we had was a disaster. He kept wanting to put his hands where I didn’t want him to, and when he wouldn’t take no for an answer I kneed him in the, uh, you know.”

      “You kneed him?” Charlie asked with a chuckle.

      “Guilty.”

      “Oh, boy,” he said with a grimace. “Remind me not to make you mad.”

      His comment broke the oppressive mood that threatened to overwhelm us. “Come with me,” Charlie said.

      Once we got out of the car, he pulled me to the base of the dam. I thought we were going down to the water; however, he made a right turn before we got to the concrete.

      “This is my secret spot.” Charlie gestured at a bower of green hidden by a large willow tree. “I come down here when I need to meditate.”

      He was wearing a sheepish little-boy expression that

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