Previously Loved Treasures (Serendipity #2)(38)
Before Max reached the outskirts of South Rockdale, Susan had already walked across to the courthouse and filed the will for probate.
~
On the drive back to Rose Hill, Doctor Payne did not say a word. When Max asked if he was going to tell the others what had transpired, Payne feigned interest in a magazine article about high-rise buildings in Panama City. The silence angered Max more than a simple yes or no. The angrier he got, the harder he pressed the accelerator. At one point they sped through a stretch of farmland going ninety miles per hour, and Max came within inches of hitting a cow that had wandered onto the roadway.
When they arrived at the house, Payne climbed out of the car and slammed the door with such finality the car vibrated for a full ten seconds.
That evening when the residents gathered at the dining room table there was no mistaking the fact that Doctor Payne had moved to Caroline’s camp.
“Unfortunately, Susan Schleicher was of no assistance,” Max said. “She was under the mistaken impression I was James and—”
“It’s over,” Payne cut in. “Over. There is no grey area. No ‘yes, but.’ No ‘what if.’ Ida left her entire estate to Caroline, and that’s that.”
In an effort to save face, Max said, “It may come to that, but I didn’t actually get to finish my conversation with—”
Payne leaned across the table and stuck his face in Max’s. “It’s over! The woman threw your pompous ass out of her office! Can you not understand that—”
“She threw him out of her office?” Harriet snickered.
“Whoa, boy,” Louie guffawed. “That’s what I call an ass-kicking!”
Max banged his fist against the table. “Enough!” Then he stood, kicked his chair over, and left the room.
It was more than a week before he returned to the table.
~
The anger settled on Max like black coveralls, and he went for days at a time without venturing from his room. When Caroline rapped on the door asking if he’d like a sandwich or slice of a store-bought pie, he told her, “Stop bothering me!”
In the days that followed Max seldom came to breakfast, and on the rare occasion when he did come to supper he was foul-mouthed and nasty. He told Laricka her grandsons had the look of pigs and implied Harriet was easier than a street prostitute. Caroline he called a swindler and a disgrace to the Sweetwater name.
For more than two weeks Max’s anger simmered at a hair’s breadth below the boiling point, but it exploded the night Caroline made a beef stew. Max, having had several shots of vodka before dinner, was in an ornerier than usual mood. He took a large piece of beef in his mouth, then moments later spat it onto the floor. “You call this a stew? It’s not fit for dogs.”
Clarence rushed over and gobbled the meat on the floor, then approached Max and nosed his arm looking for seconds. Without thinking twice, Max backhanded the dog and sent him sliding across the floor.
Caroline jumped out of her seat and rounded the table in three long strides. In that single moment all conversation and the clatter of silverware came to an abrupt halt.
Taller than Max and quite possibly stronger, she reached out, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and yanked him from his seat. “Clarence is my dog!” she screamed, her face hovering over his. “And if you ever lay a hand on him again, I’ll run a knife through your miserable heart!”
Panting hot angry bursts of air in his face, she held onto Max for a moment, dangling him in the air. When she finally let go, he dropped into the chair with a thud.
Too much water had passed beneath the bridge. Too much anger had built up. The weeks of resentment bubbled inside of Max, and he lashed out.
“Some shithole dump this is,” he said bitterly. “You care more about a dog than you do the people who live here.”
As angry as Max was, Caroline was now angrier. “Yes,” she answered through clenched teeth. “I do care more about Clarence than you!”
Max mumbled something under his breath, and then Caroline finished her thought. “If you don’t like it, leave!”
Max rose from the table and walked off.
~
The next day Max installed a deadbolt lock on his bedroom door. From that day forward the room remained locked, whether he was inside sleeping off another bender or outside stumbling toward the Owl’s Nest to tie one on.
Caroline Sweetwater
Yesterday if you told me I could get angry enough to do what I did, I would have laughed in your face. Me? I’d say. A person whose very nature is to be peaceable?
I’ve spent my life stepping back to avoid an argument, and I always believed I was doing what needed to be done to hold life together. Now, looking back, I realize I was just being stupid, sticking my head in the sand and hoping trouble would pass me by.
The thing is trouble doesn’t pass you by. It stays and hovers over your head like a storm cloud full of teardrops and heartache. I’ve been living under that cloud for way too long. I should have given voice to my anger a long time ago, but I didn’t. Stupid, I know.
I think back on how Greg did things that should have been unforgivable and how I squashed my own hurt just so I could forgive him. Not only did I forgive him, most times I didn’t even argue the point. The sad truth is I was afraid of losing Greg the way Mama lost Daddy. The thought that I’d be better off without a man like him never even crossed my mind.