The Best of Me(84)

He watched as Ted grabbed a tire iron from the workbench. Heaving it high above his head, he brought the tire iron down on the front windshield of the car with a scream. Then he began hammering the hood, denting it immediately. He smashed the tire iron into the headlights and knocked off the mirrors, but he was just getting started.

For the next fifteen minutes, Ted tore the car apart, using every tool at his disposal. The engine, the tires, the upholstery, and the dashboard were crushed and slashed to pieces, Ted venting his fury at Dawson with manic intensity.

A shame, Abee reflected. The car was a beauty, a serious classic. But the car wasn’t his, and it made Ted feel better, so Abee supposed it was for the best.

When Ted was finally finished, he started back toward Abee. He was less wobbly on his feet than Abee expected and was breathing hard, his eyes still a little wild. It occurred to him that Ted might just point the gun and shoot him out of sheer rage.

But Abee hadn’t become head of the family by backing down, even when his brother was at his worst. He continued to lean against the truck with studied nonchalance as Ted approached. Abee picked at his teeth. He examined his finger when he was done, knowing Ted was right there.

“You done?”



Dawson was on the dock behind the hotel in New Bern, boats in the slips on either side of him. He’d driven here straight from the cemetery, sitting at the water’s edge as the sun began its descent.

It was the fourth place he’d stayed in the last four days and the weekend had left him both physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Try as he might, he couldn’t envision his future. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the endless stretch of weeks and years seemed to hold no purpose at all. He’d lived a specific life for specific reasons, and now those reasons were gone. Amanda, and now Marilyn Bonner, had released him forever; Tuck was dead. What should he do next? Move? Stay where he was? Keep his job? Try something new? What was his purpose now that the compass points of his life were gone?

He knew he wouldn’t find the answers here. Rising from his spot, he trudged back to the lobby. He had an early flight on Monday and knew he’d be up long before the sun so he could drop off the rental car and check in. According to his itinerary, he’d be back in New Orleans before noon, and home not long after that.

When he reached his room, he lay down on his bed fully clothed, as adrift as he’d ever been in his life and reliving the feel of Amanda’s lips against his. She might need time, Tuck had written, and before slipping into a fitful sleep he clung to the hope that Tuck was somehow right.



Stopped at a red light, Jared regarded his dad in the rearview mirror. He must have been trying to pickle himself, Jared decided. When he’d pulled up to the country club a few minutes earlier, his dad had been leaning against one of the columns, his eyes bleary and unfocused, and his breath alone could have fueled the gas grill in the backyard. Which was probably the reason he wasn’t talking. No doubt he wanted to hide how drunk he actually was.

Jared had gotten used to these kinds of situations. He wasn’t as angry about his dad’s problem as he was sad. His mom would end up in one of her moods, though—trying to act completely normal while her husband lurched around the house dead drunk. It wasn’t worth the energy to get angry, but he knew that beneath the surface, she’d be boiling. She’d do her best to keep her tone civil, but no matter where his dad ended up sitting, she’d settle herself in a different room, like that was a perfectly ordinary thing for couples to do.

Things weren’t going to be pretty tonight, but he’d let Lynn deal with that, assuming she got home before his dad passed out. As for him, he’d already called Melody and they were going over to a friend’s to go swimming.

The stoplight finally turned green, and Jared, preoccupied by the image of Melody in a bikini, pressed down on the accelerator, unaware that another car was still speeding through the intersection.

The car slammed into his with an ear-shattering crash, spraying glass and metal shards everywhere. Part of the door frame, mangled and bent, exploded inward toward his chest in the same instant that the air bag inflated. Jared jerked against the restraints of the seat belt, his head whipping around as the car began to spin through the intersection. I’m going to die, he thought, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to make a sound.

When the car finally stopped moving, it took a moment for Jared to understand he was still breathing. His chest hurt, he could barely move his neck, and he thought he was going to choke on the overwhelming odor of gunpowder from the air bag’s deployment.

He tried to move but was hit with searing pain in his chest. The door frame and steering wheel were wedged against him and he struggled to free himself. Squirming to the right, he was suddenly released from the weight pressing down on him.