The Final Victim(18)

"Where?" 'There." He pinches an imaginary inch.

She shakes her head. "I don't see a gut, but even if you had one, I'd think it's cute."

"Really? Then keep making potato salad and those homemade biscuits you gave me yesterday. By Christmas I'll look like Santa." He leans in and plants a kiss on her cheek as she pours milk into a sippy cup for Cam.

"Daddy, is it Christmas? Is Santa coming?" the little boy asks as his father swings him up into his arms.

"Not for six more months, and only if you're good," Jed tells him. "Which means no more flushing tiling! down the potty."

"What about pee pee?"

"Pee pee, yes. Anything else, no."

"What about-"

"Hey, you're about to sabotage the potty training, Jed," Mimi warns, taking Cameron from him with a laugh.

'Just trying to prevent having the plumber here twice in one week," he says, retrieving his brown paper bag lunch from the fridge and heading for the back door. "See you all in the morning."

"Be safe," Mimi calls after him, same as always.

"Don't worry," he replies, same as always, before he closes the door.

But she does worry. She can't help it. Safely sheltered in their cozy, two-bedroom canal-side home every night after dark, she doesn't like to think of him out there working on the damaged bridge under the glare of construction spotlights.

So many things can happen. There are deadly gators and poisonous snakes in the surrounding marshland not to mention heavy equipment that can malfunction or tip and crush a person. Jed's seen that happen, and worse, in his decade as a construction worker. But he stopped telling her horror stories early on, realizing that what might entertain a casual girlfriend could scare off a potential wife.

Mimi can't bear the thought of anything happening to Jed. He's her whole world-he and Cameron.

Nor does she like to think about how close she once came to losing both of them.

But Jed doesn't know about that, or about the weighty secret she's determined to carry to the grave.

If he ever found out…

"Cookie, Mommy!"

"Okay, okay, Cam."

Hurrying to the cupboard for the package of store-brand chocolate-sandwich cookies, she forces away the terrible, haunting memories that are never far from flooding her thoughts.

Charlotte helps herself to the heaping platter of hush puppies the waitress has already set before them. She breaks open a plump, warm puff and slathers it with honey-sweetened butter.

Her husband smiles across the table at her. "I knew you had to be hungry."

"A little."

"Promise to eat while I'm gone?"

"I'll try."

"I'll be back before you know it," he says again. "It's only for the weekend. I got that first flight out on Delta Monday morning."

"I know. I just wish you had invited Aimee here instead. Or that I could be going with you. I'd love to meet her."

The smile fades from Royce's eyes. "I wish the same thing. But Aimee says she isn't ready to meet you yet. I'm lucky she even wants me."

Charlotte nods. She supposes she can't blame the young woman for resenting not just the father she blames for a multitude of sins, both real and imagined by her bitter mother, but also the new wife and family in Royce's life.

"Well, sooner or later, I'll come with you and we'll get to meet. Not just Aimee, but your mom, too."

Her mother-in-law is in a New Orleans nursing home, too frail to travel. Royce usually makes an effort to see her when he goes back. Charlotte has never met her, and isn't in any hurry to, given Royce's tales of her mounting senility, near-deafness, and constant ill-temper.

"We'll make the trip," he promises. "Maybe for Mardis Gras. That's a good time to go."

"Well, be sure to tell Aimee she's welcome to visit any time," Charlotte reminds him, reverting automatically to her inherent Southern hospitality. "Especially onc4 we're back home." Oh, to be back home. "And I hope she likes the brooch and earrings."

"She'll love them. Thank you for picking them out." "It was fun. You know how much I love to shop." "And you know how much I love you for being open-minded about my daughter." Royce picks up her hand! and kisses away the crumbs that cling to her buttery fingers.

"I love you for the same reason, especially now that mine is such an insufferable little wench," Charlotte' tells him with a grin.

"Oh, I remember Aimee at that age, before the divorce. Lianna will come through this stage just fine. Next thing you know, she'll be a gracious young lady fit for the Remington family portrait." "Somehow I find that hard to believe." 'Trust me." "I do."

And now that Grandaddy is gone, Royce is the only person left in Charlotte's world whom she does trust.

Certainly nobody else deserves it: not the daughter who lied just last week about where she was going and with whom; not the family members who might as well be strangers now in their midst; not the general contractor who repeatedly assured them they'd be back home in Savannah by February, then May, and now August.

Suddenly, Charlotte feels utterly consumed by exhaustion. She leans back in her seat, pressing a hand against her lips to mask a yawn. "You're tired."