“I knew it!” Naomi says. “You are a thief. I thought there was something sketchy about you when I caught you using my computer the other day? How much did you steal from the inn, Rhett?”
“I didn’t still a dime from the inn,” Everett says to Naomi, and to Louie, he adds, “And I have touched none of your money.”
Everett risks a glance toward the door. Presley is gone. When did she leave? How much did she hear?
Stella massages her temples. “This sounds like a personal matter to me. Everett . . . Rhett . . .whatever your name is, go home. Take the rest of the night off. We’ll talk in the morning.”
Everett is crossing the room on his way out when he hears Stella say, “Martin, politely escort our guests back to their rooms.”
Everett, to avoid the lingering partiers, follows the road around the main building to the front. His vision blurred by tears, he stares at the sidewalk as he walks home. He craves a drink. Town Tavern is closed. He’ll go to the market for beer or wine. A memory from two years ago comes flashing back. He’s lying drunk and bloody from a bar fight at his parents’ front door. The door opens and his mom is standing over him. She’s shaking her head, her expression twisted in a grimace. You’re better than this, Rhett.
Everett hurries inside to the safety of his apartment. He throws open his window and straddles the sill. Town Tavern is open for brunch on Sundays but closed on Sunday nights. Downtown is quiet with few cars on the road and only a scattering of people walking home from the party.
So, Carla has decided to go through with the pregnancy. He’s going to be a daddy. Shouldn’t he have experienced something when he saw her baby bump? A tug at his heartstrings or butterflies in his gut? But he feels nothing for this child. No tenderness or pride or concern for its wellbeing. Is that because he feels nothing for the baby’s mother? Or is it because he’s a vile human being like his old man?
An honest and hard-working woman, a friend he’s known most of his life, is having his child out of wedlock, and all he can think about is another woman. Presley is lost to him now. He’s almost certain of it. He could try to explain. But what’s the point. A relationship between them would never work. He and Presley are nothing alike. Everett comes from redneck trash, and Presley from wealth and privilege.
The sound of his guitar echoes throughout the silence as he fine-tunes his latest masterpiece, his best work yet, a song he calls “Raven” about a red-headed beauty who has stolen his heart. He sees Presley’s shadow on the sidewalk below long before her body comes into view. With head bowed and shoulders slumped, she doesn’t look up at him, even though he’s certain she can hear him. A moment later, her apartment door closes with a thud, and light spills through the window.
He continues to play his guitar and sing into the wee hours, not for Presley but for himself. He’s lost his way, and he’s counting on his music to guide him back.
Everett, unshowered and unshaven and wearing sunglasses to hide his black eye, goes to the bank when it opens at nine the following morning. He never transferred any of Louie’s money to his mother. His conscience wouldn’t let him, not until he knew for certain Louie owed him the money. Withdrawing the full three thousand dollars in cash from his account, he continues down the street to the library.
He checked his email sporadically over the weekend whenever he could sneak away from the inn. On his last visit to the library yesterday before the party and still having heard nothing from his mom, he sent her an urgent message asking her to please let him know she’s okay. Today, thankfully, he has an email from her waiting in his inbox. The message is brief: Call ASAP.
Panic sets in and he hurries to the checkout counter.
“Can I use your phone?” he asks Rose. “I have an emergency and I need to call my mom.”
Rose’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes his black eye.
“Please, Rose! I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
She lowers her gaze to the desk phone. “Is it local?”
Everett shakes his head.
She removes her cell phone from the pocket of her pink cardigan and slides it across the counter to him. “Go outside to make your call, and don’t forget to bring me back my phone.”
“I won’t. I promise.” He gives her his most genuine smile. “Thank you. And my mom thanks you.”
Outside, he paces the sidewalk in front of the library while waiting for his mom to answer. He calls three times before she finally picks up. In a suspicious tone, she asks, “Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Mom.”
She begins to cry. “Oh, Rhett.”
“What’s going on, Mom? Are you okay?”
“No, son, I’m not okay.”
The bottom falls out of his stomach. “Where are you?”
“In the hospital. Your father went off the deep end. After beating me into a coma, he suffered a massive stroke.”
Everett grips Rose’s phone tighter. “Is he—”
“Yes!” she sobs into the phone. “He’s gone.”
Everett stops pacing. Is she seriously sad the bastard is out of their lives? “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but you’re better off without him. You know that, don’t you, Mom?”
Her voice is meek. “Yes. I know that. He nearly killed me. I’m just so emotional right now. The doctor has me on a lot of painkillers. I really need you, Rhett. I hate to ask you, but can you please come home?”
Everett hates that she has to ask. “Of course, Mom. I’ll be there tonight. Tell me the extent of your injuries.”
A rustling sound comes over the line, and his mom says, “The doctor just walked in. He
