Text message, two days later:
Voicemail, later that day, 4:30 P.M.:
“I’m just getting ready to leave work. I’ve got a whole bucketful of Snickers and M&Ms so I’m ready. I guess I should say
He hadn’t asked her to return the call this time. What did that mean? Did he just want to call and hold forth on the life and philosophy of Brantley Kincaid, as pertains to Halloween candy and airplane drinks? Like some oral history blog?
That night, per Missy’s direction, Lucy and the other book club girls dressed as characters from Alice in Wonderland, with Missy as Alice, Tolly as the Queen of Hearts, Lanie as the Mad Hatter, and Lucy as the Cheshire Cat. Along with the spouses, they took the children Trick or Treating and then went back to Missy’s for chili and football watching. It was a loud fun chaotic night.
There was no reason to feel alone. But she did.
The Cheshire Cat was a far cry from Jasmine.
Brantley did not call again for a week.
Voice mail, a week after Halloween:
“Hey, Lucy. I got a dog. My golf buddy got a divorce, and started acting a little crazy. Then he got a girlfriend who was too young for him, as divorced, crazy-acting, golf buddies will do. This girl was not so young that she wasn’t legal but she had no sense. So she had acquired a dog as a fashion accessory. Except you can’t hang a dog on a peg like a hat, so I took the dog. It wasn’t hard. I told her if she didn’t give me that dog that I’d call her daddy and tell him she wasn’t staying in that fancy apartment he is paying for. I guess it never occurred to her that I don’t even know her daddy’s name, much less his phone number. Speaking of phone numbers, dial mine, why don’t you?”
Voicemail, the next day:
“Lucy, this is Brantley. I have faced that you apparently do not want to talk to me. I don’t really understand why, but I can take a hint—though it took me long enough. I thought we had a really nice time when I was in Merritt for the Follies. But maybe you’re seeing someone. I’ll be honest . . . if you’re not, I’d still like to hear from you.” He laughed a little. “Hell, I’d like to hear from you, anyway. I might be able to take you from him. But unless I hear from you, I won’t bother you again. I don’t want to turn into stalker man, though it may be too late for that. But cut me some slack, Lucy. I like you. Maybe you could just call and tell me you don’t want to talk to me. Or text me.”
But she couldn’t do that. To say she didn’t want to talk to him would be a lie and if she called, they’d end up talking and she’d end up—well, somewhere she could not be. So she didn’t call and that was that—what she had been trying to accomplish. It was for the best. She wondered if she really had heard the last of him, but when the days stretched to a week and then two, it was clear he had given up.
She wondered how close her voicemail box was to being full and how long she could save his messages.
At 7:05 A.M. two Saturdays before Thanksgiving, the ringing of Lucy’s cell phone woke her. Who could be calling this early on a weekend? A beep signaled that she had a voicemail. She reached for the phone to listen.
“Lucy Mead, I have decided that I am not really accepting of not hearing from you. I deserve to hear from you face to face that you don’t want to talk to me. Wait. I don’t. I don’t deserve that. But I want it and it feels like the same thing to me. So I am on my way to see you. I’ll call when I get there.”
She jumped straight out of bed. Oh, hell. Double hell! Where was he? Why couldn’t he have said how far away he was? She might have several hours but who knew? He could be five miles away. But surely not. Surely he did not leave Nashville at four o’clock in the morning.
Still, she couldn’t chance it. If those phone messages had almost done her in, seeing him would be her complete undoing. She could not be Brantley Kincaid’s distraction while he decided what he wanted out of life.
She had to get out of here. Where to go, where to go? It didn’t have to be for long—just until tomorrow night. He’d give up by then. He had to go to work on Monday, after all, and so did she. She’d go to Oxford, Mississippi, to her parents’ house. They were on sabbatical from Ole Miss. There was a doctoral candidate house sitting while they were in Tibet, but it was still their house, therefore hers. She’d call the girl on the way. She’d say—well, it didn’t matter what she’d say. She didn’t have to say anything, explain anything. She had a key and a right to be there.
First, she needed to dress. She’d laid out her clothes for the gym—yoga pants, sports bra, and a t-shirt. And a hoody because it was cold in the mornings now. That would do. Shit. She needed to pee and there was so little time. She threw on the clothes and ran to the bathroom, socks and cross trainers in hand. The toilet was as good a place as any to sit while putting on shoes and socks. She should have thought of that little time saver years ago.
Okay. Calm. She’d need some things. Not much, but some. Her luggage was in the attic. No time for that but there was a canvas boat bag in the closet. She grabbed it and headed for her vanity.
Toiletries first. Where was that cosmetic bag? Here, but what did it matter? A handful of this, a handful of that. Underwear. Socks. The shoes she had on would do. Okay. Real clothes. One outfit was plenty. She’d be back tomorrow night. A pair of jeans and that lightweight red cotton sweater should be fine. If not, she had the hoody and the t-shirt she was wearing. It didn’t matter if she wore them twice. All that mattered was getting out of town before he got here.
Almost to the finish line. Cell phone. Purse. Did she have cash? Not much, but plenty of credit cards. Her phone started to ring. She crammed it in her hoody pocket and threw open the front door—where she ran right into Brantley. He held a dog leash in one hand and his phone to his ear with the other.
The phone in Lucy’s pocket went to voicemail.
Brantley said, “Hello, Lucy Mead.” Then he turned off his phone and hers beeped, signaling that she had a message.
Chapter Four
Lucy knew there was very little chance of remaining collected in this situation, but she intended to try.
“Hello, Brantley. How are you this morning?” she said as if she ran across him on her porch every morning of the week, as if he had made no attempt to contact her since he was last in Merritt.
