I pause, letting the guilt stab deep and then fade a little before I start. This is where I have to pretend that my marriage was great, when the last time I saw my wife alive, she was running out the front door into the rain as I shouted, I wish to God I had never married you! It was the biggest mistake of my life!
I clear my throat. “She died in a car accident. Three years ago.”
It’s barely more information than I shared a couple of minutes ago. Will she recognize it as a stalling tactic?
She turns in her seat to watch me as I pull away from the curb and drive to the end of the street. “What was she like?”
“She was…” I haven’t had to talk about this for so long, I’m out of practice. “She was a middle school teacher. We met while we were in college.”
“At Duke?”
I laugh. “No. I never went to Duke. My friend got me that shirt as a joke. I put in a couple of years here at UNC Asheville, then dropped out to start my woodworking business. Alice stayed and got her teaching degree.”
“How long were you married?”
“Five years.”
“No kids, I take it.”
“No.” I swallow. “Alice had a miscarriage and…” Things weren’t the same between us after that, although I’m not admitting that part. Still, I left the sentence hanging, so I finish, “she didn’t get pregnant again.”
“Infertility issues?”
More like disinterest. “Something like that.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her watching me, dissecting my words. This is why we can’t have anything long term. I’d always feel like she was trying to unearth my secrets. That spark, that beautiful spark, never turns off.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any long-term significant others?”
“No,” she says, and I glance over to see her slight smirk. “It’s like you said. I’ve never been in a serious relationship in my life.” There’s something self-deprecating about her tone, but I sense a deeper current running beneath it.
“I shouldn’t have said that, Molly. Your relationship history doesn’t say anything about you as a person.”
We’re silent for a moment before she says, “When my parents died, it took me a long time to get my bearings again. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for you to lose your wife.” She pauses. “I promise not to ask you any questions about the club, but I think I understand why you started it. At least partially. I needed an outlet after my parents’ death.” She releases a laugh. “Forming a self-help club is a lot more productive than underage drinking.”
I give her a wry smile. “There was plenty of that too.” Then I add, “The drinking, not the underage part.”
Thankfully, she changes the topic, and we talk about growing up in the area. It’s changed so much, something I see even more clearly through her eyes. As we head out of town and start up the long road to the house I share with my father, Molly grips the door and says, “Serious question, Cal, do you live on an actual mountaintop?”
“No, but the Cluster is pretty secluded. I guess that was part of the appeal at the time.”
“The what?”
I laugh. “We call our house the Cluster, which is short for clusterfuck.” I shrug. “It felt appropriate when we bought it. We moved in together after Alice died and Dad’s second wife kicked him out. This is also where we hold our meetings.”
“The Bad Luck Club meetings?” she asks, barely hiding her excitement. Then she turns her head and narrows her eyes. “Why are you telling me this? I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie, and you’re about to explain everything to me in detail before throwing me to the sharks.”
I shake my head. “Why go to the bother of telling you beforehand? Seems like a lot of trouble.”
She nods slowly, but she’s grinning as she says, “So you’re saying you’re a lazy murderer. No James Bond schemes for you.”
The word murderer strikes too close to home. That’s how I’ve seen myself since those officers showed up at my door. I said terrible things to Alice before she ran out of the house. I went too far. Because I knew that she couldn’t handle direct conflict, yet I’d insisted on having my way.
There’s no denying she wouldn’t have been in that location on the road at that moment in time if I’d acted differently. I’m responsible for her death, and there’s no changing that. No matter how many good deeds I try to accomplish.
“Hey,” Molly says, snapping me out of my downward spiral. “I didn’t actually mean you’re lazy. I mean, like a maniac, you go hiking before sunrise in the middle of the week. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who spends his Sunday afternoons on the sofa eating wings and watching football.”
“The Bad Luck Club meets every other Sunday afternoon,” I say as I pull into the clearing in front of our house. “And we don’t typically serve wings. It’s more of a potluck thing.”
I put the truck into park, laughing a little at her shocked expression. The truth is, it feels sort of good to ease up. To talk to her without feeling like I’m shouldering the door to a vault. My dad’s about to spill everything to her anyway, so I might as well throw her some crumbs.
The front door opens, and Dad walks out the door with Ruby on his heels. While I told him that I was bringing a guest, I hadn’t responded to his multiple texts asking who.
“Come on,” I say as I open my door. “I’ll introduce you to my dad.”
I don’t have to tell her twice. She hops out of the truck more quickly than I do but waits at the front of the hood until I catch up.
Dad comes down the steps, and Ruby bounds past him, racing up to Molly.
Molly reaches down and scratches her behind the ears. “Hello, Ruby. Do I smell like Maisie? I bet that’s why you’re being such a sweetie.”
My dad’s brow shoots up, but I don’t say anything until Molly straightens and turns to face him.
“Molly,” I say, “this is my dad, Bear. Dad, this is Molly O’Shea. She’s Maisie’s sister.”
“The reporter,” he says, flabbergasted.
“One and the same,” Molly says, extending her hand. “It’s so great to meet you, sir.”
Dad takes her hand and pumps it vigorously in his excitement. “Likewise, my dear. Likewise. This is quite the surprise.” He gives me a questioning look, then takes a step toward the porch. “I’ve got some salmon in the oven. It’s almost ready. I’ll get us some drinks, and then we can talk.”
I hold up my hand. “The only rule is no talking about Augusta or how we started the club until I take Ruby for a walk. I don’t want to be around for that.”
“I can agree to that,” Molly says enthusiastically.
“Okay,” Dad says, but he doesn’t look as happy as Molly does. He probably thinks I’m still running from my past. He’s wrong.
I’ll never be able to get away from what I’ve done, but I don’t want it rubbed in my face either.
Chapter Seventeen
Molly