Confessions: He's The Rich Boy / He's My Soldier Boy

A whole pig roasted upon a spit, and cloth-covered tables were arranged under a huge tent, where salads cooled in trays of crushed ice, and a huge electric freezer was churning homemade ice cream to top fresh strawberry shortcake.

Despite the threat of thunderstorms, the mood of the employees of the sawmill company was carefree. Laughter and conversation floated on the air tinged with the acrid scents of cigarette smoke and sizzling pork slathered in barbecue sauce.

Blankets were spread upon the grass and sunbathers soaked up rays while children splashed in the roped-off area of the lake and older kids swam farther out.

Nadine’s entire family attended. Her mother, sipping iced tea, sat at a table and gossiped with other wives of the mill employees. George Powell threw horseshoes with some of his friends. They talked and laughed and sipped from cups of beer drawn from a large keg.

Kevin swam with the younger men he worked with and Ben linked up with Patty Osgood, who had come as a guest of one of the foreman’s daughters.

The muggy air was cloying, and sweat collected on Nadine’s skin as she sat on a blanket next to Sam. Her eyes, hidden behind dark glasses, continually scanned the crowd for Hayden. She knew she was being foolish, but she couldn’t stop herself from searching the groups of people. Surely he would attend. His father was here, glad-handing and acting just like one of the men who worked for him. He pitched horseshoes, downed beer and told off-color jokes with his employees. Dressed in crisp jeans and a polo shirt, he squired his wife, Sylvia Fitzgerald Monroe, through the tents and games. Hayden’s mother managed to smile, though no light of laughter lit her cool blue eyes. Her silver-blond hair was coiled into a French braid at the back of her head and the nails of her fingers were painted a dusty shade of rose, the same color as her jumpsuit. A delicate scarf was pinned around her neck and diamonds winked at her earlobes.

Hayden was nowhere in sight.

Nadine tried to hide her disappointment and pretended interest in a game of water volleyball, but she wished she’d catch a glimpse of him.

“You’re still mad at me,” Sam said, touching her arm.

“I’m not mad.”

“Just because I tied one on. It was a stupid thing to do and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Come on, Nadine, don’t hold a couple of drinks against me.”

“It was more than a couple.”

“I got a little out of hand—”

“You threw up all over the back porch, Sam,” she said, irritated. Even her parents had been angry.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me?” he asked.

“Nothing to forgive.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. Sam had added liquor to his soda last night, and it was the first time Nadine had ever seen him drunk.

Leaning back on his elbows, Sam adjusted his sunglasses to protect his eyes. He had sobered up since the night before and was suffering with a hangover. His skin was paler than usual and two aspirin hadn’t seemed to help to ease the pain of what he called a thundering headache. “Don’t tell me. I know,” he said, wincing as a ten-year-old boy set off a string of firecrackers against all park and company regulations. The kid was promptly scolded by his mother. “I deserve this.” Sam reached for her hand and held it between two of his. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten so drunk if you wouldn’t have been in such a rotten mood.”

“So now it’s my fault?” she asked, removing her hand and feeling uneasy.

“What’s going on, Nadine? Something’s not right—and don’t bother trying to deny it.”

She couldn’t. It was time to be honest with Sam. She owed him that much. “I...I just think we shouldn’t see so much of each other,” she said in a quick rush of breath.

Sam didn’t move a muscle, just continued staring across the lake. “So much of each other?”

“Yes...”

“You want to date other guys?”

“I—”

“Who?” he demanded, suddenly facing her. His face suffused with color while his lips turned white.

“Who what?”

“Who is he?” he asked, his voice low. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“No one special,” she lied.

“Like hell! Dammit, Nadine, where’d you meet him?” he demanded, suddenly furious.

“I just think it’s time we saw other people. That’s all.”

“Why now?” He glanced around, as if he expected one of the boys at the picnic to come up to Nadine and claim her as his own. “It’s not like we’re going steady or anything.”

Nadine tucked a strand of hair around her ear and hoped their conversation didn’t carry to other knots of people crowded around the stretch of beach. “In this town, two dates with one person is the same thing as going steady. You and I both know it. People couple up.”

“And you don’t want to be part of a couple.”

She steeled herself. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t live a lie. “Not right now, Sam.”

His shoulders slumped as if with an invisible weight, and she felt instantly sorry for him. She liked Sam, she did. But he wanted their relationship to deepen, and he wasn’t the boy for her. The sooner he knew it, the better for him, she reasoned, but couldn’t help feeling like a heel.

And just who is the boy for you? Hayden Garreth Monroe IV? She frowned and picked up a small stone, skipping it along the surface of the lake and watching the rings of water ripple in perfect circles.

“I guess this is it, then,” Sam finally said, his jaw set in stony determination.

“We—”

“Don’t say ‘we can still be friends,’ Nadine, because we can’t. At least I can’t. Not right away.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

He waved off her apology, stood and without a look over his shoulder, found his way to a pack of his friends who were hanging out with Joe Knapp, Bobby Kramer, Rachelle Tremont and her younger sister, Heather. Rachelle was a striking girl with long, mahogany-brown hair, and hazel eyes that were as intelligent as they were beautiful. Heather was blonde and petite, but much more outgoing than her older sister. Though the youngest member of the group, she was the center of several boys’ attention, including Sam’s as he sidled up to them.

Nadine let out a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Thunderclouds rolled over the mountains, gray and ominous and burgeoning with rain.

Tossing another stone into the water, Nadine closed her eyes, and silently wished that she’d see Hayden again soon.

Forty-five minutes later, as the pig was being carved, a speedboat jetted toward the dock. Nadine’s heart leapt as she recognized Hayden steering the boat inland. But her euphoria was quickly doused as she noticed his passenger—a tall, willowy girl who hopped out of the boat before Hayden could set the moorings.

His date was gorgeous. Her short blond hair was thick and streaked in shades of gold. A white sundress showed off a tan and legs that seemed to go on forever. At five-eight or -nine, she was model-thin and radiant. An effortless smile played upon her full lips as she grabbed hold of the crook of Hayden’s arm and made a beeline toward his parents.

Sylvia Monroe embraced her and Hayden’s father winked and gave her an affectionate pat on her rump while Hayden glowered and the girl, Wynona Galveston, Nadine guessed, was still linked to Hayden. She said something clever, everyone but Hayden laughed and Garreth herded them into one of the shaded tents.

Nadine felt as if a trailerload of stones had been dumped into her heart. Wretchedly she sat alone on her blanket, pretending interest in the swim races being organized for the children, while inside she was miserable. How could she have thought he cared for her—a simple, not-all-that-pretty country girl—when he was used to such sophisticated beauty? She felt incredibly naive and wretched inside.

Avoiding Hayden, she wished she could think of an excuse to go home. She didn’t have a ride, unless her father drove her, and from the looks of him, his face starting to flush with the combination of too much hazy sun and beer, a smile fixed onto his face, she doubted he would want to end the party.

Her mother, too, seemed content to sit and gossip with the other women while fanning herself with her fingers. Ben, with Patty Osgood, was having the time of his life. Even Kevin was laughing and joking with his friends and a few younger kids.

Sam was already gaining the attention of some of the girls, but Nadine didn’t care. He deserved someone who could care for him more deeply than she could. As for Hayden, he didn’t seem to be having much more fun than she.

She was shoving around the scalloped potatoes on her plate when Ben plopped down beside her at the picnic table. “So, it looks like Lover Boy has found someone new.”

She shot him a look meant to convey the message Drop dead.

“Dr. Galveston’s daughter. Big bucks.” He picked up his corn on the cob. “She looks good, too—blonde and sexy.”

“Like Patty Osgood.”

Ben scowled slightly. “I’m just pointing out that Wynona Galveston has looks and money. Who could want anything else?”

“Grow up,” she muttered.

“Maybe you should take that advice.” Ben ate a row of corn from his cob, then hooked a finger toward the tent where Garreth Monroe was holding court. “Face it, kid, you’d never fit in—and count yourself lucky for that. If Hayden marries Wynona, I’ll bet she’ll be miserable.”

“Why?”

“If not because of her husband, then look at her father-in-law. He’s had more affairs than you can count, and see the way he’s all smiles whenever Wynona’s around. What do you bet, he’s already set his sights on her.”

“That’s gross. He’s old—”

“Enough to be her father,” he finished for her. “Or her father-in-law. Doesn’t matter. He’s a tomcat. Always on the prowl. That whole family is bad news, Nadine. You’re better off with someone else.”

“Like Sam?” she asked, but to her surprise Ben shook his head.

“Don’t limit your options, kid. You could have the best. Don’t get me wrong. Sam’s a good guy, but...well, if you want to know the truth, he’s got his share of problems.”

“Is there anyone good enough?” she asked, a little hot under the collar. Where did Ben get off, trying to tell her how to run her life?

“Maybe not.”

“How about Tim Osgood?” she said. “Patty’s brother?”

Ben’s good mood vanished and he dropped his corncob onto his plate. “I was only trying to help.”

“Well, I can handle myself.”

“Sure you can,” he said, unconvinced. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Nothing you wouldn’t do,” she replied, and his head snapped up as quickly as if he’d been stung. He started to say something, changed his mind and tore into the rest of his dinner. Nadine couldn’t eat another bite. She disposed of the remains of her meal in one of the trash cans and started back to the lake again, but stopped short when she nearly ran into Hayden and Wynona, stuck together like proverbial glue.

“Nadine!” Hayden grabbed hold of her arm for just a second, as if he were afraid she might slip by.

“Hi.” Her heart was thumping so fast, she could barely breathe. Surely they could both hear its erratic beat. Was she imagining things or did the tiniest smile touch the corner of his mouth at the sight of her? He made hasty introductions and Wynona, still clinging to his other arm, smiled brightly, as if she really was pleased to meet yet another one of Hayden’s father’s employee’s family members. She had grit; Nadine would give her that much.

Hayden’s eyes were hidden by sunglasses again, but Nadine felt the power of his gaze. Somehow she managed to make a few sentences of small talk before spying Mary Beth. “Look, nice to meet you, but I’ve got to run,” she said, hoping to stop the awkward conversation.

“Nice meeting you, too,” Wynona sang out as Nadine hurried past them. In the brief seconds Hayden had restrained her, Nadine had felt his fingers tighten possessively against the soft flesh of her upper arm, reminding her that they were supposed to meet.

Or was she just fantasizing? He was with Wynona, for God’s sake, and though he didn’t appear to be having the time of his life, that was easily enough explained. Considering his feelings for his father, he was probably looking for a way to escape this charade of a celebration.

She rammed her fists into the pockets of her shorts and decided there was only one way to find out how Hayden felt. Tonight. She’d meet him at the lake tonight as they’d planned. If he stood her up, then she’d understand that he was just using her for idle sport.

But if he showed up... Oh, Lord, what would she do then?

Chapter Four

“DON’T YOU EVER think of the children? Of me?” Donna Powell’s voice carried up the stairs and Nadine squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she couldn’t hear the snatches of conversation that filtered into her room. Though her door was closed and she was lying on her bed on the opposite side of her small room, the argument seemed to pulse around her, rising like heat to the rafters and ricocheting off the sloped, papered ceilings. She’d waited for two hours, hoping her parents would climb up the stairs and go to bed so that she could safely sneak out, but their argument had started a few minutes ago and had quickly escalated into a horrible fight.

“What about all the promises?” Donna went on. “All the dreams you’ve put into the kids’ heads?”

Nadine barely dared breathe and put her hands over her ears, praying that they would stop, that this war that had been going on for the past few years would just end. But she knew it wouldn’t, and her stomach knotted at the thought that someday soon her mother would file for divorce.

“Please, God, no,” she whispered, fighting back tears. The room seemed stuffy and close and she had to get away. Away from the accusations. Away from the anger. Away from a house where love had died a long time ago.

To Hayden.

If he would still have her. If he wasn’t tied to Wynona Galveston.

Still lying on the bed, she reached for her denim cutoffs, slung carelessly over the bedpost, and she heard her mother’s sobs, broken only by well-worn phrases.

“How could you...everything we ever worked for... the kids...did you ever think once about them?”

Her father’s reply was muffled and sounded apologetic. Nadine couldn’t just lie on her sagging mattress, staring up at yellowed wallpaper, wondering if this would be the time her parents would wander up the stairs and tell their children that they were splitting up.

Besides, Hayden was waiting for her. He had to be.

She slipped out of bed, slid into the cutoffs and found a beat-up pair of Nikes her brother Ben had worn three years ago. Yanking a T-shirt over her head, she silently prayed her mother wouldn’t come up and check on her.

As she had when she was still a student at Gold Creek Elementary, she opened the bedroom window and hopped onto the wide sill. The heavy branch of the maple tree was less than a foot away. Nimbly Nadine swung onto the smooth limb, crawled to the trunk and shimmied to the ground.

Though it was late, summer heat was still rising from the earth. The moon was full, but partially obscured by clouds, and far in the distance the lights of Monroe Sawmill winked through the trees. She cast a look over her shoulder at the two-storied frame house her family rented. The only light glowed from the kitchen, and through the gauzy curtains, Nadine saw her mother, shoulders slumped, hips propped against the counter. Her father sat at the table, nursing a beer and scowling as he peeled the label from the bottle. For the first time in her life Nadine thought George Powell looked old.

He’d been cranky ever since they’d returned from the company picnic, and Nadine couldn’t help speculating if Hayden’s father was to blame. Garreth had cornered George Powell just before the festivities ended, and instead of seeming buoyed by his employer’s attention, George had been tight-mouthed and silent all the way home.

Biting her lip, Nadine turned and started walking through the sultry night, away from the anger, the hatred, the lying and heartache of that little house where once there had been so much love.

Dear God, what had gone wrong? She could still remember her mother and father in their younger years, while she and her two brothers were in elementary school. There had been hope and laughter and songs in their house on Larch Street in Gold Creek. Every Friday night, her mother had laughingly told her children she was “taking the day off.” Her father had come home from working the day shift at the mill and the family had eaten sandwiches at the big, round kitchen table. As Mom had cleaned up, Dad had dragged out the cards and taught the kids how to play go fish, rummy, pinochle and even poker. Later in the evening, after the cards had been shoved back into the drawer, Mom had played the piano. The whole family had sat in the living room singing familiar old songs, everything from ragtime and big band music to soft rock. Even their father had joined in, his rich baritone contrasting to Mom’s sweet soprano.

So when had it changed? Nadine kept walking. Fast. Her brow puckered and she bit hard on her lower lip. She began to sweat. A few cars passed, but, by instinct, she ducked into the shadows, waiting until the taillights, as two glowing red specks, disappeared in the distance.

Life had been good when the Powell family had lived in town, in their own house—a small ranch with three tiny bedrooms and a family room. It had been small, but cozy. Then, a few years ago, her father had decided that his family should sell their house in town and move to the rented place less than two miles from the lake.

Nadine’s feet crunched on the gravel strewn between the asphalt road and the ditch. The night was humid and thick, but she kept walking. Soon she’d be at the lake. It would be cooler near the water. And Hayden. He’d be there. He had to be. She crossed her fingers.

The first indication that something wasn’t right in her parents’ marriage had happened soon after they’d moved.

Nadine remembered the day vividly. It had been one of those hot, lazy summer Sundays when the whole family had planned to be together. In the past those days had been wonderful. The entire family picnicked in the backyard and feasted on Mom’s fried chicken, potato salad, berry pie and watermelon.

But that particular Sunday things had started out wrong. Ben and Kevin had been fighting, wrestling in their room across the hallway, and Ben, in an attempt to restrain his older brother, had thrown a punch that landed through plasterboard separating the boys’ room from the staircase.

Dad had been furious and threatened the boys with his belt. Her mother, horrified, had blanched at the size of the hole in the wall and had fought a losing battle with tears. Nadine had stood and stared at the wall, while her father had rounded up the boys, forcing them downstairs. “We may as well go get that firewood today anyway,” he’d said to his wife, as he’d herded Ben and Kevin to the pickup.

Mom hadn’t said a word, just watched from the back porch as the old truck had rolled backward down the lane. Then, without glancing in her daughter’s direction, had said, “You’d better get ready for church, Nadine.”

Nadine, staring longingly after the plume of dust in the drive, had been about to protest, but her mother’s eyes had narrowed quickly. “Now, don’t give me any back talk. I’m not in the mood. I’ve got a headache coming on and we’re late as it is, so hurry on upstairs!”

Nadine hadn’t argued. She’d thrown on her one good dress and had pulled her wild red-brown curls into a ponytail. Her mother had hardly said a word as she’d driven into town. Her thoughts had obviously been miles away, but as she’d parked the old Buick wagon in the church lot, she’d turned her head suddenly and stared at Nadine so intently that Nadine had wiped her cheek, sure there was a smudge on her face.

Donna’s eyes had been moist and red. She’d forced a trembling smile and touched Nadine’s hair. “Take my advice,” she’d said, fighting tears, “be careful who you marry. Don’t believe in fairy tales.”

Nadine had wanted to ask why, but had known from her mother’s expression that the question was better left unspoken. Later, after listening to the Reverend Osgood’s blistering sermon on the wages of sin, and catching a few curious looks from Mrs. Nelson, Donna had driven home without bothering to switch on the radio. She’d been so lost in thought, Nadine had been certain that she hadn’t even seen the road in front of them.

At home, after changing into faded slacks, Donna had baked a strawberry pie and started frying chicken, but she’d cooked as if with a vengeance, ordering Nadine to fetch her the oil, and the flour and whatever else she’d needed. Worst of all, she hadn’t sung. Not one solitary note. As long as Nadine could remember, Mom had sung while she worked in the kitchen. Just as she’d sung in the church choir, she’d sung while she’d hung up the clothes on the back porch, she’d sung with the radio when she drove to her part-time job at the town library and she’d hummed while flipping through magazines and dreaming. Music had always been a part of their lives. But that horrible Sunday, while prodding the sizzling pieces of chicken, Donna’s lips had been tightly compressed and deep lines had furrowed her usually smooth brow.

Later, when her father and brothers had returned, Mom’s grim expression hadn’t changed. The chicken had simmered in the frying pan on the stove, the pies had cooled on the kitchen counter and Donna, frowning, had swept the back porch as if she’d thought her life depended upon it, only looking up when she’d heard the familiar crunch of gravel under the battered old pickup’s tires.

The lines around her mouth had become firm and set, but she hadn’t stopped sweeping. Nadine, whose job it had been to take the potato peels to the compost pile, had stopped dead in her tracks.

George Powell had seemed to have forgotten his sons’ bad behavior. He had whistled as he’d parked the old pickup near the carport. His thick red hair had been wet with sweat, his face flushed. Kevin and Ben had torn out of the cab of the truck and found the hose. After taking long drinks, they’d taken delight in spraying each other and even casting a shot or two in Nadine’s direction.

“Smells good,” George had told his wife as he’d mounted the stairs and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Lord, am I hungry.” He’d tried to wrap his grimy arms around his wife, but she’d sidestepped his embrace.

“Supper’ll be ready in an hour.”

Rebuffed, Nadine’s father had rubbed a sore spot in his back and rotated his neck until it creaked. He’d caught sight of his daughter and winked. “You’re the lucky one, gal! You won’t have to work with your back, ever!”

“Don’t talk nonsense to the children—”

With a wide grin, he’d grabbed hold of his daughter and scooped her into his strong arms. “You, missy, might just be the first woman president.”

“I said, ‘Don’t talk nonsense to the children.’”

“Your ma’s no fun,” George had whispered into Nadine’s ear before setting her on her feet. “We’ve all got us a little investment plan.”

“With Garreth Monroe,” his wife had pointed out, scowling as she’d swept the floor so hard, Nadine had wondered if the broom handle might snap.

“And Thomas Fitzpatrick,” her father had defended, wiping the sweat from his ruddy face.

“With the money we had from that house of ours.” Her lips had turned white. “Rich people don’t make a habit of sharing their wealth.”

“Well, you might be surprised.” George had ignored his wife’s disapproval and managed to wrestle the hose from his sons. “You’ll see,” he’d told them all with a conspiratorial smile as he’d twisted off the faucet and sauntered into the carport where he kept a case of beer in a rattling old refrigerator. “When you kids are famous lawyers and surgeons, we’ll just see. Why, I might even buy your mother a new house or take her on a cruise.”

The lines around Donna Powell’s mouth had deepened. “That’ll be the day,” she’d mumbled under her breath, and Nadine had wondered why her mother was so cruel, why she didn’t believe in Daddy’s dreams. “I’ve never yet seen a Monroe or a Fitzpatrick doing a favor for anyone.”