Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (7 page)

Savannah was smart enough to stay away for the rest of the week.

Friday night, Dad and my stepmom were hosting a dinner in my honor. Under ordinary circumstances, this event would have been held at the club, but my father had explained that ever since Harrison “Tink” Washington had been to prison for bank fraud, the club had instated a strict no-felon policy, as some of the more “seasoned” members—a polite way of saying old ladies—felt convicts had no business being in polite society. Plus, they deemed me a potential risk to their ample jewelry collections.

Whatever. I gave two shits about returning to the place where, for all practical purposes, the life I’d once known had died the night my stepsister and I consummated my every wicked fantasy.

Due to a stern letter from Chad’s father about my questionable nature to the parole board—whatever the hell that meant—I had been assigned to work in the park and reside in a halfway house for the next month. It was barely a step up from my cell, but at least had fewer roaches.

My stepmom had sent over an assortment of my old clothes that Ella had shipped from my Palo Alto house, which I’d had auctioned my first year in the pen, donating the proceeds to Ella’s pet women’s charity. Fuck it all, right? Without my law degree, I was never going back to my old life. Might as well make the cut as clean and quick as possible.

So now, here I stood, dressing for my reentry into society, only my Ralph Lauren suit no longer fit. I’d lost weight, but daily prison-yard workouts had made my shoulders broader and waist smaller.

I surveyed myself in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet mirror and frowned.

“You look like shit,” said Grady. He’d allegedly committed armed robbery of a Piggly Wiggly back in 1969, and had just now been released. Though his role had been limited to driving the getaway car, since his friend killed the pharmacist and clerk on duty, he’d had not just the proverbial book, but the entire library thrown at him. My legal advice got his life sentence reduced to time served. Having both grown up in Julep, we’d been friends on the inside. He was a tall thin black man, with a long wiry beard more white than not. My first day in the halfway house, he’d cooked me a mean grilled cheese and tomato sandwich. We’d been bosom buddies ever since.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Who me?” His gravel-filled laugh sounded like hard times and too many Pall Malls. “I’m a damned good-lookin’ man. Just ask Nina down at Bone-R’s.”

I rolled my eyes. “Next time I’m there, I just might ask.”

“You do that.” He took a fresh pack of cigs from his shirt pocket, and beat the bottom of the pack against his palm. “Where you headed to all gussied up?”

“My folks.” I took off the jacket and tie. “Wanna come?”

He winced. “I don’t know…Ain’t you from the fancy part of town?”

“Used to be.” I took off the starched white shirt, too. “Want all of this?” I handed him the wad of clothes.

“How much you want?”

“You mean money?”

“Hell, yeah. Ain’t nobody giving me nothin’ for free ’cept on my birthday.”

“Well, then happy birthday. I’m gonna find something else to wear. Meet me downstairs in five.”

“What about the pants?” he asked. “I can’t wear a suit with no damned pants.”

I laughed, then dropped trou in the hall. I picked the pricey pants off the floor, and handed them to him.

He blanched. “I can’t wear these after you’ve gone commando in them.” He waved toward my junk. “Cover that shit up.”

“Yes, sir.” I laughed all the way into my room.

It was the first laugh I’d had in a good, long while and it felt good. Maybe there was hope for tonight, after all? If I got lucky, Savannah wouldn’t even show.

My stomach clenched at the reality that she most likely would.

Was it any surprise my luck had long since run out?

Of course, Savannah was there.

I hadn’t seen her yet, but her laugh drifted through the back porch screens. My mood darkened with dread. I’d selfishly dragged Grady along, because I not only got a kick out of the guy, but I needed a diversion. If Dad and my stepmom were too busy wondering why I’d brought a fellow ex-con to dinner, they’d have less time to worry about me or what I was wearing.

“I don’t know about this…” In the day’s fading light, Grady took in my family home as if it were the Empire State Building. The white, black-shuttered, three-story antebellum mansion was as stereotypical Old South as it got, with sixteen columns bracing the front and a long drive lined with Spanish moss-draped live oaks. “Maybe I’ll wait on the front porch, and you can bring me a few rolls—and plenty of margarine.”

“Aw, come on.” For my own sanity, I tried keeping it light. “You trying to make me feel bad? First, you Lysol my suit pants, and now, you don’t like my house?”

“Oh—I like it plenty fine. I just don’t want no one accusing me of stealing no silver.”

I patted him on the back. “If that happens, you’re with the right guy. Don’t forget I used to be a lawyer.”

“
Used
to be.” Grady snorted.

I tried letting myself in, but the front door was locked, so I rang the bell.

“Mister Garrett…” Violet had been our housekeeper for as long as I could remember. On a few school holidays, I’d even played with her niece, Kenya. Violet was a great big black woman who had a penchant for wigs, bright lipstick, and taking no bullshit from anyone other than my stepmother, whom she doted on. “It’s good to see you again, but Ms. Delilah’s not gonna like you showing up for dinner without a proper coat and tie.” She pulled me into the first, genuine hug I’d had from anyone besides my parents, then eyed Grady as if he were a roach in need of stomping. “What’s he doing here?”

“I’m an invited guest. Don’t get all uppity on me.” Grady straightened his tie before giving the woman a scathing look all his own.

Violet harrumphed. “I’ll have to set an extra place at the table. Ms. Delilah’s not gonna like having an odd number of place settings.”

“Blame it on me,” I said. “That’s what everyone else does.”

“I hear that…” Grady wandered the front hall, studying family portraits as if he was in a museum.

“There you are.” My stepmother flounced into the long central hall from the screened back porch that ran the length of the house. In the instant she saw Grady, her polite mask slipped, but then was instantly back in place when she held out her hand for him to shake.

I made introductions, and then she was leading us to a place my dry mouth and thundering heart told me I didn’t want to go. I used to be able to work any room, but five years in prison had changed me. I now felt more comfortable with guys like Grady than my own father. The elite world I’d once known had turned its back on me. Inside, once word got around that I was a former lawyer, I became one of the
cool kids.
My advice helped a few fortunate souls get an early release based on legal technicalities or appeals for which I’d helped file the paperwork. It hadn’t mattered that my legal advice wasn’t backed by the state. Knowledge alone had value.

Now that I was out, former attorneys were as common as roadkill.

One end of the porch served as a seating area, the other held the long wicker table my stepmother used for entertaining when the weather was fine.

Save for the crickets’ chirps, the night was quiet and still. It was only in my mind that the air was as oppressive as if we’d been expecting a summer storm.

Just like when we were in the park, Savannah’s stare hung like a weight between my shoulders, dragging me down. I ignored her in favor of shaking my father and Harvey’s hands. The attorney’s wife, Rose, hugged me.

Tears glistened in my stepmother’s eyes as she introduced Grady to the remainder of the guests.

“Good to finally have you home.” Dad stood behind the white wicker bar. “Son. Grady. What can I fix you to drink?”

“Sweet tea for me,” Grady said. “I gave up the bottle quite a ways back.”

“Scotch.” I planned to embrace the bottle.

Savannah’s presence grew like a ringing in my ears. I wanted to look at her, but refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing I cared. All right, sure, part of me was glad she’d never seen me in that place. But another part was irrationally pissed she’d stayed away.

“Grady,” Harvey cleared his throat. “Did you and Garrett meet at Parchman Farm?”

“Yessir.” He accepted the sweating glass of iced tea Violet delivered with a huff. I’d always thought the Farm was a helluva nickname for the state’s toughest prison. Something my stepmother might have thought up to make the pen sound more civilized. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She gifted him with her most gracious smile.

“Since you’re all clearly wondering,” I downed my scotch and waved my glass in front of my father for another, “Grady drove the getaway car during an armed robbery back in the sixties. He was nineteen at the time of the crime. Hard to believe. I killed a man, yet look at me—out in five.”

“Garrett!” As if scolding a bad little boy, my stepmother shook her finger at me. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Since when did we all become afraid of the truth?” I finished my second drink, then shrugged.

“Son…” Dad stepped out from behind the bar to grab my tumbler, but I wouldn’t let go. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Wrong. I wouldn’t have enough until my head stopped pounding Savannah’s name.

“Since we’re all present and accounted for,” my stepmother said with forced cheer, “let’s eat.” As if she were a game-show hostess, she gestured the group to the same table where Savannah and I had shared our first official home-cooked meal. Back then, we’d been teenagers, and hardly spoke three words. Interesting how we’d landed right back where we’d started—as hyperaware kids too wary of each other to even acknowledge the other’s existence.

“Garrett,” Rose waited alongside the table while her husband pulled out her chair, “Delilah says you’re working at the park. What sorts of things are you doing?”

I put my gold linen napkin in my lap. “This morning I fished three condoms from the drinking fountain, and this afternoon, I raked a dead cat out from under the slide.”

My stepmother pinched her lips. “Garrett Marsden—you know better than to be distasteful at the dinner table.”

“Rose asked, so I told her. What did you want me to say? That I skipped through the leaves and then planted pink impatiens in the flower beds? In point of fact—I’m not qualified to plant flowers. That job goes to the guys with more seniority. So basically, I rake, pick up trash and dog shit, then head to Bone-R’s to get drunk enough to sleep, then I wake up and start all over again. The one perk is job security. I can count on the fine citizens of Julep to keep right on fornicating, littering, and letting their dogs shit in the sandbox.”

During my rant, the two waiters who had been hired for the night placed lovely plates in front of us that were filled with salmon and shrimp on top of rice with a creamy sauce. Emerald green asparagus as thin as drinking straws snuggled next to the main course.

While everyone present stared at me—well, almost everyone, I wouldn’t know what my stepsister was doing since I refused to look her way—I dug right in. “Y’all should eat. This sure beats the hell out of anything we had in prison. Don’t you think, Grady?”

My friend shook his head. “Apologize to your momma. Here she puts on this fine meal for you, and all you can do is sit there and act a fool? Shame. If you were my son, I’d smack the back of your head.”

“Damn…” I guzzled the white wine that had been so thoughtfully poured. “You know you’ve been an ass when you get called out by an ex-con.”

“Garrett, shush your foul mouth.” Grady stabbed a shrimp with his fork. “Ma’am,” he said to my stepmother who still sat staring at me as if horns had grown from my forehead, “this meal is delicious. Thank you for having me.”

“You’re, ah, most welcome, Grady.” The return to civility perked her right up. “We’ll have to do this again soon.”

“Not too soon.” I took a still warm croissant from the basket in front of me. “I’ve been watching my figure and all this rich food will go straight to my hips.”

“That’s enough.” Dad pounded his fists against the table. “Garrett, apologize to everyone present or leave.”

I drenched my croissant in the cream sauce, pushed my chair back, and then stood. “Good night, everyone. It’s been real.”

Grady’s gaze darted about as if he was unsure whether to follow me, or keep on enjoying his meal.

“Grady,” my stepmother said, “please feel free to stay as long as you’d like. Violet made her lemon meringue pie for dessert, and it’s truly not to be missed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Grady smiled. “I sure do appreciate homemade pie.”

“Suck-up…” I snatched three more croissants before turning toward the porch’s door.

Had I had too much to drink? Hell, yeah. But it was the only legal way I could get through the night. I thought being around Savannah again would be no big deal.

Turns out I was wrong.

“What’s wrong with him?” my mom asked no one in particular once Garrett had gone.

“Give him time.” Daddy raised his empty wineglass for the waiter. “I’ll apologize on his behalf. We can only imagine what he’s been through, and it can’t have been pleasant.”

“No, sir.” Grady used silver tongs to transfer a rose-shaped pat of butter to the edge of his plate. “It’s been my experience that prison will do one of two things to a man—either break him down, or build him up to the point that where he used to have skin, there’s now a big wall constructed out of concrete blocks. Your son is buried so deep under them blocks that I’m not sure he’ll ever make it out.”

“No offense,” Daddy said to their surprise guest, “but I hope you’re wrong.”

“Me, too, sir. Me, too.”

From that point on, my mother deftly wielded the conversational rudder to upcoming holiday parties, and to what Cook wanted to be for Halloween. The normalcy of it all made me want to scream. Had they been seated at a different table than me? How could they ignore the fact that Garrett had apparently lost his ever-loving mind? Was he that drunk? On drugs? Or just that angry about the disaster that had become his life? But if that was the case, how dare he act as if his once carefully structured days had been the only ones affected?

“Savannah…” Mom forked a shrimp. “Would you like me to host a Halloween party for Cook’s kindergarten class? It would be so much more festive than trick-or-treating. Don’t you think?”

I shook my head. “Don’t you all care what’s wrong with him?”

“Who? Cook?” Daddy signaled for still more wine.

“Who do you think? Garrett’s always been rough around his edges, but that was…” When my mind didn’t know where else to go or even why his behavior had me concerned, my words trailed off. I would never fully get over Garrett having killed Chad, but he was still my stepbrother. I owed him a certain amount of family allegiance.

No—it was more than that. Far more.

But admitting the truth behind my own personal darkness was unthinkable. Lust wasn’t justification for crazy, which would be the only way to describe my actions should I ever again let down my guard around Garrett. Despite our newfound friendship, Canton’s warning to steer clear of his brother’s killer still haunted me. If he discovered Garrett and I were pals, I didn’t know what he’d do. Then there was Suzette, always wanting to spend more time with Cook. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the Ridgemonts used my sordid affair to make a sole custody claim. In my heart, I hoped such a case would lack standing to even make it to trial, but who knew? This was the same state that had sent Garrett to prison for an act that had been self-defense.

“Let it go,” Daddy said. “He’ll eventually come around. I don’t want to say anything to him until it’s official, but y’all know I’ve been making calls about having his law license reinstated. Once he’s back in a power suit and seated behind a nice, big desk, he’ll be good as new.”

What about me?
I selfishly wondered. When did I get my second chance? When did I get to feel good instead of guilty? When did the statute of limitations expire on a broken heart?

I spent Sunday afternoon at the food bank. In anticipation of the holidays, my manager, Kenya, and I had ramped up donation requests and our efforts had finally paid off. This was good, but sorting through stacks of boxed and canned goods was time-consuming, and tough on our backs.

Kenya’s daughter, Mary, was two years older than Cook. While we worked, the two of them played school, with Mary assuming the role of teacher and telling her student to color the apples on his activity book’s page, red.

“How cute are those two?” Kenya asked. Heavy rain clattered against the warehouse’s tin roof. She complained about water being no friend to her hair, but she always looked beautiful to me with her chocolate skin and long dreads she wore braided—usually with a few fresh flowers tucked into the folds. Though she was Violet’s niece, the two couldn’t be more different. Kenya embodied the new southern spirit of equality, with everyone working together for a better world. To her, people were judged by their actions—not their wallets. Violet was as old school as my parents. If you didn’t belong to their club, they’d be polite, but never truly accept you.

“They’re pretty darned adorable.” Except for the fact that my overactive imagination told me Cook looked more like Garrett every day. It wasn’t just his deep brown hair and eyes that had darkened within a few months after his birth, but the way he sucked in his lower lip while focused on completing a task. The way he cocked his head after asking a question. Chad had been fair-haired, but his parents assumed their
grandson
took after me in his appearance. If Canton himself hadn’t done a paternity test the day of Cook’s birth, I might have actually believed Cook was Garrett’s son.

Kenya and I sorted for a while in companionable silence, then she said, “I heard through the grapevine that Garrett’s back in town.”

“Who?” I cast a sad smile in her direction. We’d spent last New Year’s Eve together and over too much wine, I’d poured out everything to this woman who wasn’t just my employee, but friend. She was working on her master’s in English Lit, and wanted to teach at Julep Community College. The thought of her leaving the food bank made me sick, but I was happy for her success. She was a fellow single mom, and I sometimes felt she was the only one who truly understood what I was going through. Mary’s biological father refused to accept the fact that he was even a father. Meanwhile, my poor kid had never even met his father.

“Ha-ha. Have you seen him?” We both knew whom she was referring to.

“Twice. Once at the park on my lunch break. And again for about twenty minutes at our parents’. He was a total ass. Got Mom and Daddy all upset, then Daddy finally asked him to leave.”

“Sounds exciting. Did you have Cook with you?”

“No. Thank, God. Violet ate with him in the kitchen.”

“You know it’s only a matter of time before the sparks between you two catch fire.”

“Nope. Not happening. I’m over it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“From what I hear, Garrett’s looking fine. Hell, I’m not related to him by blood or marriage. If you don’t want him, maybe I should make a play for the man?”

I dropped the three cans of peaches I’d been taking to the fruit shelves.

“Does that mean you’re on board with my plan?”

I picked up the cans and frowned in her direction. I might not want him, but that didn’t mean he was fair game for anyone else in town. Which was why he needed to leave ASAP.

She busted out laughing. “Uh-huh…That’s what I thought. With you, girl, that thirst is all too real.”

She earned another glare.

“Laugh all you want, but I’m staying true to my word. For not only my son’s sake, but my parents’; when it comes to Garrett, I’m done. And get this—Daddy’s trying to get Garrett’s law license reinstated. If he does, then I can’t imagine him not going back to California. He led a great life out there. He’d be happy, right?”

Kenya frowned. Hands on her hips, she asked, “Don’t you think he’d be even happier here with you? Stop fighting your attraction. Sure, your parents may not understand, and Chad’s folks will flip, but once the dust settles from that initial bomb being dropped, you and Garrett might actually live a great life. Stranger things could happen.”

“Like what? A UFO whisks me off to become the prince of Saturn’s bride?”

When my cell rang and I saw Canton’s name on the caller ID, I was all too happy to nix my previous conversation. Even the most mundane chat with my almost brother-in-law was preferable to dissecting the mess currently residing in my heart.