Sweet Caroline(56)

“Oh, Caroline, it’s all messed up. All of it.” She sniffs and shudders.

“What’s messed up? Surely, it’s not that bad, whatever it is.”

“H-hen-n-er-ry.” Cherry’s shoulders shudder with each syllable.

“What about Henry?” Angling backwards, with Cherry’s forehead still buried against my shoulder, I wiggle my fingers at the tissue box until I tap the edge enough to pull the box forward. “Cherry, here.”

She steps away to blow her nose. “I’m probably making something out of nothing.” Pacing the length of the narrow office, she pauses, looking around. “Caroline, it’s lovely in here. You cleaned it up. I love the lamps.”

“I couldn’t stand the mess, or the overhead fluorescent light.” Crossing my arms, I lean my backside against the desk. “What’d Henry do?”

Cherry folds herself into the chair across from my desk. “I think Henry’s having an affair.”

“Cherry, no.” I shake my head. “Never. Not Henry. He loves you.”

She sniffs through a fresh batch of tears, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Things happen, Caroline, love fades. It’s just he’s been so elusive lately. I call him and he’s busy, distracted. A couple of nights a week, he comes home really late.”

“Honey, you know him. He’s a workaholic, trying to rebuild Granddad’s business.”

She dabs under her red, puffy eyes with a fistful of wadded tissues.

“Typically, yes. But over the past few months there have been in-consistencies. A few times, I even forced myself to drive by the office, and he wasn’t there.”

“Okay, then he’s with a client.”

“If only.” She shifts her gaze to my face. “The other night he told me he was meeting Foster Spears for dinner. Said I should eat without him. So, I put on my comfy clothes, ordered take-out, and went to Blockbuster. Who do I run into? Foster Spears.”

Cherry’s too sensible to see things that aren’t there. “Cherry . . .” I whisper. “Surely, it’s not what you think.” That rotten brother of mine. He best not . . . to Cherry.

“Caroline, please. Then tell me what to think. I’m begging you.” My steely, no-nonsense sister-in-law pleads with her tone, with her eyes. I’m unnerved. If Henry and Cherry fall apart, whose love can stand?

“I-I don’t know, Cherry. It has to be a misunderstanding.”

She jerks up from the chair to pace again. The heels of her designer pumps thud against the floor, hitting a loose board every time. Thud, clank, thud, thud, clank. “Every time I bring up the future or kids, he shuts me down, changes the subject. Sometimes, he pretends he didn’t hear me.”

“He’s always been skittish about kids.”

There’s a small knock on the door followed by the appearance of J. D.. “How’s it going?” He holds up his wrist with the watch.

“I’m sorry, J. D.” Cherry bends down for her handbag. “I inter-rupted your evening.”

“Wait, Cherry. J. D., we need a minute.” I leave him no room for debate.

With a reluctant pause, he pulls the door closed, and I face Cherry.

“Henry’s got issues. Mama’s wildness impacted him hard, different than Dad and me. But sweetie, he’s not a cheater.”

My sister-in-law presses her hand over her middle. “How do you know? Are any of us exempt? If Henry’s not cheating, then what is he doing?” She drops her hand to the doorknob, but it slips off as if she doesn’t have the energy to hold on. “I’ve watched other women when he’s around. They’re fascinated by him. He’s charming, good-looking, successful.” Her gaze lands on some obscure point beyond my shoulder. “He’s only a man, Caroline.”

I’m unable to connect with the idea of a cheating brother. “Henry has his issues, I’ll be the first to admit, but. . .” I want to think of something to lighten the moment. “Maybe he’s taking French cooking classes or training to have rock-hard abs and wants to surprise you.”

The suggestion barely garnishes a sad smile from the hopeless woman at my office door. “I need to let you go. Thanks for listening.” She turns the doorknob with one huge effort. “Do you think the gestapo chick at the podium will let me sit behind the counter and lis-ten to Mitch? Order an appetizer? I don’t want to go home yet.”

“Absolutely. Hey, Cherry, you’re welcome to join J. D. and me. It’s Bodean’s thirtieth.”

“Thanks, but right now, sitting alone at the counter, eating something deep-fried and listening to Mitch sounds really, really good.”

“Tell Mercy Bea you can stay as long as you want.” I follow Cherry into the kitchen where J. D. waits, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Keep me posted, Cherry. I-I’ll—” This part feels weird. I’ve never said it to anyone before. “I-I’ll pray for you.”

As J.D. and I climb into his truck, the air between us is taut. “Sorry, J. D. She needed to talk.”

He cranks the engine and shifts into reverse. One gun of the gas and we shoot backwards out of the Café parking lot. Dirt and sand billow in our wake. “It’s fine, Caroline.”

Then how come it doesn’t seem fine? I decide to wade in. “Is something bothering you? I mean, if we can’t pause to help family and friends because Bo’s having a party, then we need to—”