The Best of Me

As Ted writhed on the floor, Dawson reached for the gun, leveling it at Ted.

"I told you not to come back."

Those were the last words Ted heard before his eyes rolled up, the blinding pain causing him to pass out.

As much as he hated his family, he couldn't bring himself to kill Ted. At the same time, he wasn't sure what to do with him. He supposed he could call the sheriff, but once he left town he knew that, trial or not, he wasn't coming back, so nothing would happen to Ted anyway. Dawson would still be tied up for hours, giving his account of events, which would no doubt be met with suspicion. After all, he was still a Cole and he had a record. No, he decided, he didn't want the hassle.

But he couldn't just leave Ted out here, either. He needed medical attention, and dropping him off at the medical clinic would no doubt involve the sheriff again. Same thing with calling an ambulance.

Reaching down, he rummaged through Ted's pockets, finding a cell phone. After flipping it open, he punched some buttons and pulled up the contact list. A few names in there, most of which he recognized. Good enough. He fished around again for the keys to Ted's truck, then jogged out to the garage and gathered some bungee cords and wire, which he used to truss Ted up. Then, after the sun went down, he slung his cousin over his shoulder.

He carried Ted down the drive and tossed him into the bed of the truck. Then he climbed into the driver's seat, started the truck, and pointed it in the direction of the parcel of land where he'd been raised. Not wanting to draw attention, he shut off the headlights as he made his way to the edge of the Coles' property before stopping at the NO TRESPASSING sign. There he dragged Ted from the bed of the truck and propped his cousin against the post.

He opened the phone and hit the entry labeled "Abee." The phone rang four times before Abee answered. Dawson could hear loud music in the background.

"Ted?" he shouted over the noise. "Where the hell are you?"

"It's not Ted. But you need to come get him. He's hurt bad," Dawson answered. Before Abee could respond, Dawson told him where to find Ted. Hanging up, he tossed the phone to the ground between Ted's legs.

Back in the truck, he accelerated off the property. After disposing of Ted's gun in the river, he figured he'd swing by the bed-and-breakfast right away and grab his things. Then he'd trade out cars, leaving Ted's truck where he'd originally parked it, and find a hotel outside Oriental, where he could finally shower and eat before turning in for the night.

He was tired. After all, it had been a long day. He was glad it was over.

9

Abee Cole's stomach felt like someone was branding it, and the fever had yet to break, making him think that he should probably ask the doctor about his wound the next time he came into the room to check on Ted. Course, they'd probably want to admit him, too, and that wasn't gonna happen. Might bring up questions that Abee didn't feel like answering.

It was late, coming up on midnight, and the hospital had finally begun to quiet down. In the dim light, he looked over at his brother, thinking that Dawson had done a real number on him. Just like last time. Abee thought he was dead when he'd found him. Face covered in blood, arm bent sideways, and all he could think was that Ted had gotten careless. Either that, or Dawson had been waiting for him--which got him to thinking that maybe Dawson had plans of his own.

Abee felt the pain flare in his gut, triggering waves of nausea. The hospital wasn't helping. It was like a damn furnace here. The only reason Abee was still in the room was because he wanted to be around if Ted woke up, so he could find out if Dawson was up to something. He felt a shiver of paranoia but assumed that maybe he wasn't thinking straight. The antibiotics had better kick in, and soon.

The night had gone to hell, and not just because of Ted. He'd decided to swing by and see Candy earlier, but by the time he got to the Tidewater, half the guys in the bar were crowding around her. One look was enough for him to know that she was up to something. She was wearing a halter top that showed off everything she owned and a pair of shorty shorts that barely covered her rear. When she saw him walk in, she instantly got all nervous, like she'd been caught doing something wrong, and she sure as hell didn't seem happy to see him. He'd wanted to drag her out of the bar right there, but with so many people around he decided that might not be such a good idea. Later, he knew, they'd talk and she'd see the light of day. No question about that, but for the time being, it was better to figure out exactly why she'd been acting so guilty when he'd walked in. Or rather, who she was feeling guilty about.

Because that's what was going on, clear as day. Some guy at the bar, no doubt, and even though he was still light-headed with fever and his stomach was on fire, he was going to find out exactly which one of them it was.

So he'd settled in to wait, and after a little while he'd identified someone who just might be the one. Young guy, dark hair, flirting just a little too much with Candy for it to be a casual thing. He watched her touch his arm and give him an eyeful of her cleavage when she brought him his beer, and he'd just gotten up to take care of it when his phone started ringing, with Dawson on the other end. The next thing he knew, he was pounding on the steering wheel as he made his way to the hospital, Ted sprawled in the seat behind him. Even as he raced to New Bern, he pictured Candy with that cocky loser, taking off her halter top and moaning in his arms.

Right now, she was getting off work, and the thought filled him with rage. Because he knew exactly who was walking her to her car, and he couldn't do anything about it. Right now, he had to find out what Dawson was up to.

Ted drifted in and out of consciousness throughout the night, drugs and the concussion keeping him hazy, even when he was awake, but by midmorning the following day, all he could feel was rage. At Abee, because he kept asking whether Dawson was going to come after him; at Ella, because she kept whining and worrying and sniffling; and for the whispering he could hear from his kinfolk in the hallway, like they were wondering whether they should still be afraid of him. Mainly, though, the rage was focused on Dawson, and Ted lay in the bed, still trying to figure out exactly what had happened. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital was Dawson standing over him, and it took a long time for him to make any sense of what Abee and Ella were telling him. By the end, the doctors had to put him in restraints and were threatening to call the police.

He'd been acting calmer since then because it was the only way he was going to get out of here. Abee was in the chair and Ella was on the bed beside him. She kept fussing over him, and he stifled the urge to backhand her, even though he was strapped to the bed and couldn't do it even if he tried. Instead, he tested the straps again, thinking about Dawson. He was going to die, no doubt about it, and Ted didn't give a rat's ass about the doctor's recommendation that he stay another night for observation, or his warning that moving around might be dangerous. Dawson might be leaving town at any minute. And when he heard Ella start to hiccup through her sobs, he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Go away," he said. "I gotta talk to Abee."

Ella wiped her face and exited the room without a sound. When she was gone, Ted turned toward Abee, thinking his brother looked like crap. Red in the face, sweating. The infection. Abee was the one who needed to be in the hospital, not him.

"Get me out of here."

Abee winced as he leaned forward. "You going back to get him?"

"It ain't over."

He pointed to the cast. "And just how you gonna get him with your arm all broken up like that? If you couldn't get him yesterday with two good arms?"

" 'Cause you're going out with me. First you're going to bring me home so I can get another Glock. Then you and me are going to end this."

Abee leaned back in his chair. "And why would I want to do that?"

Ted held his gaze, thinking about Abee's earlier stream of anxious questions.

" 'Cause last thing I remember before I blacked out, he told me that you were next."

10

&nbs

p; Dawson ran on the packed sand near the water's edge, halfheartedly chasing the terns as they darted in and out of the waves. Despite the early hour, the beach was crowded with other joggers and people walking their dogs, kids already building sandcastles. Beyond the dune, people were on their decks drinking coffee, feet propped on the railings as they enjoyed the morning.

He'd been lucky to get a room. At this time of year, hotels at the beach were usually booked solid, and it had taken a few calls to find a place that had a cancellation. His choices were to find a room around here or at a hotel in New Bern. And since the hospital was located in New Bern, he decided it was better to remain farther away. He would have to lie low. Ted, he suspected, wasn't about to let this go.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop thinking about the dark-haired man. If he hadn't gone after him, he would never have known that Ted was lying in wait. The image--the ghost--had beckoned to him and he'd followed, just as he had in the ocean after the platform had exploded.

The two incidents chased each other around in his brain, an endless loop. Saving his life once might have been an illusion, but twice? For the first time, he began to wonder if the visits by the dark-haired man might have some greater purpose, as though he were being saved for a reason, even if he wasn't sure what that might be.

Trying to escape his thoughts, Dawson increased his pace, his breaths coming harder. He removed his shirt without slowing down and used it as a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. He zeroed in on the pier in the distance, resolving to run even faster until he reached it. Within minutes, the muscles in his legs were burning. He pushed on, trying to focus narrowly on driving his body to the limit, but his eyes kept flicking from side to side, unconsciously scanning the beachgoers for a sight of the dark-haired man.

After reaching the pier, instead of slowing down he maintained his pace until he got back to the hotel. For the first time in years, he finished his run feeling worse than when he'd started. He bent over, trying to catch his breath, no closer to any concrete answers. He couldn't help feeling a sea change in his internal world since he'd arrived in town. Everything around him felt indefinably different. Not because of the dark-haired man or Ted or because Tuck had passed away. Everything felt different because of Amanda. She wasn't simply a memory anymore; she'd suddenly become undeniably real--a vibrant, living version of the past that had never really left him. More than once, a young version of Amanda had visited him in his dreams, and he wondered whether his dreams of her would change in the future. Who would she be? He wasn't sure. All he knew for certain was that being with Amanda made him feel complete in a way few others would ever know.

The beach had reached its quiet hour, early morning visitors heading back to their cars and vacationers yet to spread out their towels. The waves rolled in a steady rhythm, the sound hypnotic. Dawson squinted toward the water, thoughts of the future filling him with despair. No matter how much he cared for her, he had to accept that she had a husband and children. It had been hard enough to end it once; the thought of ending things again seemed suddenly unbearable. The breeze picked up, whispering to him that his time with her was running out, and he started toward the lobby, drained by the knowledge and wishing with all his heart that things could somehow be different.

The more coffee Amanda drank, the more fortified she felt to deal with her mother. They were on the back veranda, overlooking the garden. Her mom was sitting posture-perfect in a white wicker chair, dressed as though she were expecting the governor to drop by for a visit, and dissecting the events of the previous night. She seemed to delight in finding endless conspiracies and hidden judgments in the tones and words her friends had used during dinner and bridge.

Thanks to the extended bridge game, an evening that Amanda had expected to last an hour, maybe two, lasted until half past ten. Even then, Amanda sensed that none of the others really wanted to go home. Amanda had begun to yawn by that point, and she really couldn't recollect what her mom was talking about. As far as she could tell, the conversations were no different than they'd been in the past, or than those in any other small town for that matter. Talk ran from neighbors to grandchildren, to who was teaching the latest Bible study or how to properly hang a set of curtains or the escalating price of rib roast, all seasoned with a bit of harmless gossip. The mundane, in other words, but leave it to her mother to raise the conversation to the level of national importance, no matter how misguided. Her mother could find fault or drama in her closet, and Amanda was just happy that her mom hadn't commenced her litany of complaints until after Amanda had finished her first cup of coffee.

What made focusing even more difficult was that she couldn't stop thinking about Dawson. She'd tried to convince herself she had everything under control, but then why did she keep visualizing the fall of his thick hair over his collar, or the way he looked in his jeans, or how natural it felt as they'd held each other in those first few moments after he'd arrived? She'd been married long enough to know that those things were less important than simple friendship and trust, forged by common interests; a few days together after more than twenty years wasn't long enough to even begin to form those bonds. It takes a long time to grow an old friend, and trust is built a single moment at a time. Women, she sometimes thought, had a tendency to see what they wanted to see in men, at least in the beginning, and she wondered whether she was making the same mistake. Meanwhile, as she pondered these unanswerable questions, her mom was incapable of silence. She kept droning on and on--

"Are you listening to me?" her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Amanda lowered her cup. "Of course I'm listening."

"I was saying that you need to work on your bids."

"It's been a while since I've played."

"That's why I said you should join a club, or start one," she prompted. "Or didn't you hear that part?"

"I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind today."

"Yes. The little ceremony, right?"

Amanda ignored the dig because she wasn't in the mood to argue. Which was exactly what her mom wanted, she knew. Her mom had been working herself up all morning, using the imaginary skirmishes of the night before as justification for the inevitable invasion.

"I told you that Tuck wanted his ashes scattered," she explained, keeping her voice steady. "His wife, Clara, was cremated as well. Maybe he saw it as a way for them to be together again."

Her mother didn't seem to hear her. "What would one wear to something like that? It sounds so... dirty."

Amanda turned toward the river. "I don't know, Mom. I haven't thought about it."

Her mom's expression was as still and artificial as a mannequin's. "And the kids? How are they?"

"I haven't talked to Jared or Lynn this morning. But as far as I know, they're fine."

"And Frank?"

She took a sip of her coffee, stalling. She didn't want to talk about him. Not after the argument they'd had last night, the same one that had become almost routine for them, the same one he would have already forgotten. Marriages, both good and bad, were defined by repetition.

"He's okay."

Her mom nodded, waiting for more. Amanda said nothing.

In the silence, her mom straightened the napkin in her lap before going on. "So how does this work today? You just dump the ashes where he wanted you to?"

"Something like that."

"Do you need a permit to do something like that? I'd hate to think that people were just allowed to do it anywhere they wanted."

"The lawyer didn't say anything, so I'm sure it's all worked out. I'm just honored that Tuck wanted me to be part of whatever he'd planned."

Her mom leaned forward slightly and smirked. "Oh, that's right," she said. "Because you were friends."

Amanda turned, suddenly tired of all this--her mother, Frank, all the deceptions that had come to characterize her life. "Yes, Mom, because we were friends. I enjoyed his company. He was one of the kindest people I've ever known."

&nb

sp; For the first time, her mother seemed discomfited. "Where is this ceremony supposed to take place?"

"Why do you care? It's obvious you don't approve."

"I was just making conversation." She sniffed. "There's no reason to be rude."

"Maybe I sound rude because I'm hurting inside. Or maybe it's because you've yet to say anything supportive about any of this. Not even an, 'I'm sorry for your loss. I know he meant a lot to you.' It's what people generally say when someone close passes away."

"Perhaps I would have if I'd known about this relationship in the first place. But you've been lying about it all along."

"Did you ever stop to consider that you're the reason I had to lie in the first place?"

Her mom rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't put the words in your mouth. I wasn't the one sneaking back here. You made the decision, not I, and every decision has consequences. You need to learn to take responsibility for the choices you make."

"You don't think I know that?" Amanda felt herself flush.

"I think," her mom said, drawing the words out, "you can be a little too self-centered at times."

"Me?" Amanda blinked. "You think I'm self-centered?"

"Of course," her mother said. "Everyone is, to a degree. I'm just saying that you take it a bit too far sometimes."

Amanda stared across the table, too stunned to speak. That her mother, of all people--her mother!--was suggesting this only fueled her outrage. In her mother's world, other people had never been anything but mirrors. She chose her next words carefully. "I don't think it's a good idea to talk about this."

"I think it is," her mother responded.

"Because I didn't tell you about Tuck?"

"No," she answered. "Because I think it has something to do with the problems you're having with Frank."

Amanda felt herself flinch inside at the comment, and it took everything she had to keep her tone and expression steady. "What makes you think I'm having problems with Frank?"