CHAPTER 35

Alice-Ann stood, ignoring the pain already forming in her knees. “No, Carlton. . . . No. You have to listen to me.”

Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Just tell me, all right? Just go ahead and tell me —” He dropped his hand and stared at her. “All this was for nothing, right?”

“All what?”

“The house?” He shot a look in the direction of her hand. “The ring I’m assuming is still under your glove?”

She pulled her glove off to display the ring. “Of course it’s still here. I don’t —I understand, Carlton, that you’re upset that I went without telling you —”

“Even Nancy didn’t know. I went to your work today. Did you know that? As soon as I got back. I wanted to surprise you. I even took you some flowers, which, by the way, look great on Miss Portia’s desk. I wanted to walk back here with you.” He put his hands on his hips. “Man, did I look like a fool.” He spoke through clenched teeth.

Her heart burned inside her chest. Somehow, she had to defuse this. “You couldn’t look like a fool even if you tried, Carlton.”

“Well, they sure looked at me like I was. What kind of man doesn’t know his fiancée isn’t working that day?”

She took a step toward him. “The kind who left town when I was about to tell you and who didn’t come back when I thought you would.”

“So you are blaming me?”

“Of course not. Please listen to me. I didn’t have a chance to tell you and I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want the rumor mill to start grinding. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How about stay in Bynum?”

“You said it was okay with you if I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him, Carlton. I didn’t want anything to ever stand between the two of us. You and me.” Alice-Ann managed to gasp for a breath; the weight of the moment crushed her chest. “Carlton, there’s nothing between Mack and me. If you’ll just let me —”

“I guess when it’s all said and done, I’ll finally be the joke of Bynum.”

“Why would you —why would you become a joke?”

His eyes flashed. “He’s the real hero, isn’t he?”

And there it was. But was that his only concern? Or did it merely serve to complicate an already-difficult situation? She raised her hands, palms up, then let them fall dramatically to her sides. “What am I supposed to do with that? Say to that?”

Carlton’s jaw flexed and his brow furrowed as he thumped himself in the chest, where sweat glistened on hard muscle. “Look at me, Alice-Ann.”

“I am looking at you, Carlton.”

“I mean take a good look. What do you see?” He scoffed. “I’m a hometown hero because I got hit in the head. And why did I get hit in the head? Because I didn’t have the good sense to get out of the way.” He pointed out the window as though Mack stood there, as he had in her dream a thousand and one nights ago. “But him? Mack? He’s the real hero. Good ole Mack got shot down over the Pacific by enemy planes. Bobbed around in the water in eyeshot of the Japanese and managed not to get picked up by them but rather by an American submarine where he suffered for weeks on end, waiting to get to a hospital.” He wiped his face with his hand. “And then . . . then . . . he’s laid up for another few weeks until someone spots him in a mess hall. And now he’s come back to Georgia for a few more weeks or months or who knows how long and —” He stopped himself. His voice had become unrecognizable to Alice-Ann and she wondered if possibly to himself as well. He took several deep breaths, blowing them out, then bent over and pressed his hands against his knees as though doing so was the only thing keeping him up. Keeping him breathing, even.

“You make it sound like he planned this to hurt you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”

“And then you head off to Savannah to see him —” he began, as though the other words hadn’t been spoken.

“Because —”

Carlton stood straight. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what, Carlton?”

He looked around the dust-filled room, his eyes finally resting on the pile of wood near his feet. “You’ve got to make up your mind, Alice-Ann. Him or me.”

She thought she had. Truly thought she had. That she would come home from Savannah —Mack had released her heart back to her . . . back to Carlton —and after telling Carlton the truth, they’d live happily ever after.

She’d thought God had delivered her from her distresses. She’d thought he’d heard her prayers.

After Carlton’s ultimatum, she stumbled out of the house, her world upside down. She made it to the end of the walkway, then turned left instead of right. Right would take her to Nancy’s. Or on into town, where she was sure she could find someone to take her home.

But she turned left instead because more than a ride home, she needed to walk. Needed to think. Needed to pray. She could always turn around and head back up the hill to town. Always find a ride later. Not that it mattered now. Nothing mattered now.

She walked between the manicured front lawns of the homes and the skinny dogwoods and azaleas —no longer in bloom —and tried to reason it all out. Her head was so full. Too full.

How could it be that in such a short period of time, she’d learned so much about the adults around her? About herself?

No life goes unscathed, that much was for sure.

She’d had no idea until she’d ridden into town with Papa about Miss Portia’s onetime affection for him and how he’d loved her mother more. But her mother had died too early in life, everyone said. And Alice-Ann agreed.

Miss Portia had remained alone all of her life, never having found true love again. Or had she? Maeve seemed convinced that Miss Portia and Mister Dooley had some sort of romance going. But if that were the case, they’d never been open about it, and that —to Alice-Ann’s way of thinking —was the saddest part of the story.

“If only my mother,” Alice-Ann whispered into the cool night air, “if only my mother were here, she could tell me what —”

If Earlene Branch were still alive, Alice-Ann wouldn’t be walking on this dark stretch of sidewalk where only a car or two passed this time of the evening. Inside these homes, families gathered around their supper tables. Or they’d all finished up. Blackout shades would soon be pulled and childhood bedtime prayers would be prayed.

Alice-Ann didn’t have her mother, no. Of course, she had Aunt Bess, who, like Miss Portia, had lost her one true love. Though in time, hers might have seen the light and turned from his wicked ways. Maybe.

She stopped walking. The house she stood in front of had a short brick wall in front. She sat upon it, feeling the cold like ice water through her bones. She’d left her coat on the floor of the house, the one that was supposed to have been hers and Carlton’s, and she wished she’d thought to grab it.

She wished she’d thought to —

Alice-Ann buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Why even think this way? She felt the pool of tears against her cheeks as she realized she’d end up like Miss Portia and Aunt Bess. Alone. Her one true love had slipped through her fingers like water.

He’d given her an ultimatum. How could he have done that? How could he have been so cruel as to not at least listen to what she had to say about her visit with Mack? Was this the kind of man he really was? Impulsive and quick-tempered?

No. She’d never seen anything remotely like that in Carlton. Not in all the years she’d known him. Other than the night after church when he’d driven her home, stopping first on a dirt road between two fields.

Carlton had been afraid then.

Alice-Ann might not be the smartest girl in Bynum, but she was smart enough to know that anger didn’t come riding into a person’s heart on its own horse. Anger came from something else. Another emotion. And Carlton’s anger had ridden in on a horse called Fear.

Fear of losing her. Her.

“I love you so much,” he’d said to her that night, his words agonizing. “I couldn’t bear losing you.”

She sniffled as she brushed her tears away from her cheeks. Fear was something she understood now too. Losing Carlton was more than she could bear. To complicate matters, Carlton was afraid of being found out. That the whole town —the one that had dubbed him a hero, though he’d never sought that label —would find out the truth.

Carlton was a proud man who’d fallen into a trap. She understood that, too. Only that afternoon, when she’d had the opportunity to speak up right at the beginning of her visit with Mack, she’d chosen silence.

Sometimes not saying anything at all was more dangerous than opening your mouth.

She knew that much and she knew it well. She also knew that she had to fix this. Somehow . . . she’d make him understand. Somehow.

Alice-Ann started back toward the house —their house —keeping her eyes as best she could on the sidewalk. The half-moon cast such a faint glow over Bynum, but she knew she could make it back if she focused. And when she got back, she’d force Carlton to listen. She’d sit on him if she had to —not that she could ever match his strength. But she’d at least try. She wasn’t going to lose him without a solid fight.

A set of blackened headlights came down the street. Hoping not to be noticed, she looked back to her feet and kept walking, praying she blended well with the shadows. But then the car slowed and rolled to a stop against the curb next to her.

“You left your coat,” Carlton said after he’d slid across the front seat and rolled down the window.

She felt her brow furrow. “Is that why you came?”

“Get in the car. You can’t walk home and it’s turning cold out here.”

“I can find a ride, Carlton. And I’m fine, thank you.”

“Get in the car, Alice-Ann.” The tone of his voice told her he wasn’t kidding.

Neither was she.

She got in and he scooted back behind the steering wheel and reached for the gearshift. “Wait,” she said, grabbing his hand.

She moved closer as he looked first from their hands to whatever lay outside the windshield. “We can’t just sit here.”

“Yes, we can. If we have to, we can. Because I’ll do whatever it takes, Carlton, to get your attention long enough to tell you what I think. Long enough for you to stop listening to the voices inside your own head so that you can hear mine.”

He turned to look at her, his face more a blank slate than that of the man she loved and knew. “All right.”

“I have one question. I’m only going to ask it once but I’m going to ask that you please answer with complete and total honesty.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Alice-Ann. I’m not about to start now.”

She raked her teeth over her lips. They’d gone dry and she was sure they no longer held even the faintest hint of seaside coral. “Are you afraid?”

“Of?”

“Losing me? You said once that you couldn’t bear to lose me. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

He returned his stare to whatever lay outside the windshield.

“Well?”

Carlton looked at her again. “I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer me one first.”

“Okay.”

“Honestly.”

“Honestly,” she affirmed.

“Were you —are you —in love with Mack? Or only with the idea of him?”

She smiled and her lips quivered. Oh yes. Carlton was afraid, and that put them on equal footing. “I was never in love with Mack, Carlton. I’ve only been in love once in my life —I know that now.”

Because Mack helped me see it, not that I can tell you that. Not yet. Not now.

She squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He breathed out a smile. “Maybe I’m the one who should have gone for the walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when your daddy said that a man needs to take a walk sometimes? Have a little talk with Jesus, as the song goes?”

Alice-Ann loved that song. “I remember.” She turned his palm up. “I’m sorry, too, Carlton,” she said, as she ran her fingers over it, felt the calluses that had formed over the past few weeks of working on the house. She pressed her lips against them, and his fingertips twitched with the intake of his breath. “You are my one true love, Carlton Hillis,” she said against the hard skin. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She looked up at him. “You see me as . . . beautiful. You —you know who L. Frank Baum is . . .”

He chuckled lightly. “What does L. Frank Baum have to do with anything?”

“Never mind.” She chuckled. “And you make me laugh. You take me into the deepest part of your heart and you allow me to be a part of it. Your heart beats and mine finds its rhythm. I’ve never had that before. Before you.”

He pulled his hand away from hers and brought it to the back of her head. “No,” he said. His fingers wove through her hair, the tips brushing the edge of her hat. “I’m not afraid of losing you, Alice-Ann. I’m terrified of losing you. As much as you love me, multiply that by a hundred —a thousand or a million —and that’s where my heart is.” He shook his head and his eyes twinkled. “Who would have thought that the scrawny, freckle-faced, funny-toothed kid my sister used to hang out with and giggle like schoolgirls with —”

She swatted at him. “We were schoolgirls, Carlton Hillis.”

He kissed her, his lips lingering only a moment. She knew, to keep them safe. “But not anymore.”

“No,” she whispered. “Not anymore.” She leaned back so as to look at him fully. “Did you know that you are the only man I’ve ever kissed?”

He leaned against the driver’s door and the moonlight fell over his face. “You don’t say,” he said, his expression showing that he was quite pleased.

“Yep.” She waited, then said, “And I want you, Carlton Hillis, to be the first. The last. The only.”

His hands found hers again and his fingers played with the ring. For a moment, he looked more boy than man and she saw in his face the children they’d one day bring into the world. She sighed into the thought.

“I think I can arrange that,” he finally said.

Alice-Ann smiled. “And you’ll marry me?”

“Oh yes, ma’am, I will. If you think you can put up with me.”

“Only if you promise to start taking a few walks and having a few talks . . .”

“Yes’m. I can most definitely do that.”

“Then I can put up with you, all right. I’ll put up with you and we’ll put all this nonsense behind us. We’ll have a good life. And a God-centered marriage. And we’ll have lots of children who —”

Carlton laughed. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, drawing her close. She laid her head against his chest and listened for his heartbeat, strong and steady, then felt her own catch up to it. “How many children are you thinking?” he asked her, and the low rumble of bemusement rose from deep within.

“Well, I don’t know. How many would you like to have?”

He thought a moment. “Three. Two girls and boy. The boy first, so he can look out for the girls.”

“Or the girls first so they can keep the boy straight if he ever goes off course.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

She nodded as the stress of the day drained out of her. “Well then, Mr. Hillis,” she said, craning her neck to look at him.

He peered at her. “Yes, Mrs. Hillis,” he teased.

“I only have one thing more to say.”

“What’s that, buttercup?”

She grinned, kissed the stubble along his jaw and chin, and said, “Bob’s your uncle.”