Flight of Fancie Page 17

  One of the glass panes in the front door had been shattered and bits of glass littered the small front stoop. She leaned around and peered in the window. The filmy curtains clouded her view, but she made out the figure of a man sprawled on the couch. As she turned, her slipper slid on the broken glass. She yelped and grabbed onto the doorknob, pushing the door open.

  Her brother sat up and stared at her through squinting eyes. “What the hell?”

  “Tripp? What are you doing out here? You scared the life out of me.”

  She stepped inside, lifting her slippered foot and checking for bits of glass. “What did you do?”

  “I don’t have my keys and I didn’t want to wake everyone to come to the main house.”

  “Where are your keys? Daddy’s truck?”

  “The truck’s parked at Skeeter’s. He kept the keys and had someone drive me home.”

  She pursed her lips. “You’ve been drinking?”

  “I’m old enough. So what?”

  She shoved him to move over and sat on the couch beside him. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if you’d been drinking when you had the accident?”

  “But I wasn’t and that accident was not my fault. That was all your spoiled little rich girl friend Ashley.”

  “You were lucky.” She reached over and held his hand. “Tripp, I hate to see you like this. You’re a great guy. You’re smart, you have skills. Why?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t see me at all, do you? I’m not that smart. I couldn’t get into college if you snuck me in through the back door. And what skills? I can tune up an engine, change oil.”

  “Those are valuable skills. Don’t discount them.” She gazed at him and saw her baby brother. “Remember when you were in middle school and you were constantly hunched over a sketch pad? You drew those amazing comic books you created. You have talent.”

  “I doodled.”

  “Mama still has a bunch of those books, you know. She saved them all.”

  His eyes widened. “She did?”

  “Yeah. She thought maybe you’d pursue art some day.”

  He snorted. “I drew comic book characters. They don’t hang those in the Smithsonian. I’m not you, Fancie. I barely made it through high school. I was a jock, pretty good receiver on the football team. But no one ever said, ‘Tripp, what would you like to be when you grow up?’ You know—no one considered I’d be anything. And I’ve fulfilled my destiny.”

  He stood and staggered. “It’s late and I’m drunk. I’m going to bed. I’ll fix the window in the morning. Turn off the lights when you leave.” He stumbled down the hall to the bedroom.

  Fancie swept up the broken glass and found a towel to stuff in the empty slot to keep the cold air out. She sat alone for a few moments, missing Luke. That awareness made her breath catch. She’d gotten used to having Luke here to turn to, to talk to. Okay, to hold her and listen. She missed that more than anything. She suddenly felt ashamed of the way she’d left things with him. Her car and her belongings still needed to be retrieved from his house. She had considered flying up there during the holidays, knowing he’d be visiting his family in Pennsylvania. That felt like the coward’s way out.

  She would convince one of her cousins to fly up with her after the New Year and drive back. That way she’d have someone else there, a cushion—an excuse. She’d apologize to Luke and test the waters, see how things were between them after some time and distance. But first she needed sleep and, in the morning, needed to begin a new job search. She tiptoed back into the main house and up to her room, avoiding the third step that always creaked.

  She sat at the table the following morning with her first cup of coffee and her laptop when the back door opened and her brother stepped inside. His rumpled clothing gave evidence to the fact that he’d slept fully dressed all night. But his eyes looked clear and his face relaxed. “Do I smell coffee?”

  She nodded. “Just made a pot. Help yourself.”

  He filled a mug and sat across from her. “What are you doing?”

  “Something you should be doing, too. Looking for a job.”

  “I have options. Just need a little time.”

  She lifted her eyes and peered at him over the top of her laptop screen. “You have options.”

  “Yes. In New Orleans. Pike knows some people.”

  Fancie rolled her eyes. “Tripp, please listen to me. Pike isn’t going to get you anywhere but to jail.”

  He glowered at her. “At least my friends don’t try to kill my family.”

  Fancie gasped. “How could you say something like that?”

  “You’re always on your high horse about Pike and my friends. By the way, your friend, Ashley, asked why you haven’t visited her.”

  “You talked with Ashley?”

  “I saw her in town. She was in the car waiting for her housekeeper. She’s pretty banged up still. I didn’t particularly want a conversation so I told her I’d relay the message.”

  “And you have.”

  “But you have no intention of calling her. I’m not a big Ashley fan, but then, I never was. Still, this was an accident. Don’t you think if Mama and Daddy forgive Ashley, if I can forgive Ashley, then maybe you can, too? Yeah, she drives too fast and she thinks she’s entitled. But she got hurt, too. I’m already healed. Mama and Daddy will be fine eventually.” He refilled his coffee mug and leaned against the counter, staring at her. “Know what I think? I think you’re angry with Ashley because you’re really mad at yourself for not being here when it happened.”

  “I’m sorry, I missed something. When did you get your degree in psychology?”

  “Don’t need a degree to see what’s right in front of me. You need to blame someone. If I’d been drinking, I’d be your target.”

  “If you’d been drinking, then yes, I would have held you responsible.”

  He dumped the last of the coffee into the sink and set the cup in the dishwasher. “Well, Miss Responsibility, I’m going to take a shower and change these clothes. Then I have a window to repair.” He started toward the hall, but stopped. “You know, Fancie, you might want to consider your own irresponsible habits.”

  “My habits? Hah, that’s a good one.” She narrowed her eyes. “What habits are you talking about?”

  “You think I’m such a screw up. At least I stand and fight when I believe in something. You just pick up and run. Fight or flight, and you choose the flight.”

  “How dare you. I’ve been here when this family needed me. I quit a good job to come back here now.”

  “Graham embarrassed you, so you high-tailed it to New Hampshire. Nobody asked you to quit your job there, did they? Mama is doing well, she has nurses. Dad’s on the mend. You could’ve returned to New Hampshire and that job.”

  “And leave you to take care of things here?”

  He shook his head. “You quit a job you loved because Graham insisted you do so. You let him get between you and your friends for a while because you were afraid of pissing him off. You let him run you out of town when he called off the wedding—and he was the idiot there. I’m the one who stood and punched him in the face for you. You went to New Hampshire to start over and now you’re using the accident as an excuse to run again. Or is it that guy—Luke—that you’re running from? Even Ashley. You’re one of her best friends, but you run the other way instead of facing her now. You’re a runner, Fancie. Nothing wrong with that, but for cryin’ out loud, just admit it. I know I’m a screw up and I own that. At least I’m real.”

  Tripp strode down the hall and bounded up the stairs. Fancie found her breath coming in short gasps.

  “What’s going on?” Her father stood in the open doorway between the kitchen and her mother’s room.

  Fancie gulped. “Nothing, Daddy. Just me and Tripp having coffee.”

  “That sounded like more than coffee.”

  “It’s nothing.” She busied herself at the sink so he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened. “Sibli
ng squabble. I’ll get you and Mama some breakfast.”

  “We had breakfast at six-thirty. We were both awake, so I made oatmeal. I’m not totally helpless. Your Mama wants us to get the house decorated for Christmas. We’re behind schedule. Christmas is only a week away.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll ask Tripp to get a tree and I’ll get the decorations down this afternoon.”

  Later, Fancie came down from the attic to hear a man talking in the living room. Someone other than her father. She peered in to see Jackson Colt, Ashley’s father, seated on the sofa with his hat in his hand.

  “I’m speaking to you as a father, Hollensby. I know you’d do anything for your kids. I’m no different.”

  “There is one difference,” her father said. “I taught my children to take personal responsibility. Ashley is Fancie’s age—twenty-eight. Last time I checked, that makes her an adult. Why isn’t she here to speak with me?”

  Jackson shook his head “She barely leaves the house.” He glanced up, saw Fancie and stood.

  “Hello, Mr. Colt.” She went to stand beside her father’s chair.

  “Fancie. You look well.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t nearly killed. That was the rest of my family.” She settled a hand on her father’s shoulder.

  Colt’s face flushed. “I just told your father that I’m here to see what I can do for your family. Recompense.”

  “You mean buy Ashley’s way out of this mess?”

  His face reddened and he looked at her father. “I don’t think that kind of disrespect is called for.”

  “Funny thing. When you raise your children to be responsible, they also learn to think and speak for themselves.” Her father reached up and gave her hand a squeeze—his way of telling her to back off. “Ashley has been Fancie’s friend since they could barely walk. She’s like a daughter to me and Alicia. We don’t want to see her future thwarted because of the accident. My hope is that she’ll learn from this.”

  “The attorney believes he can get her community service if you—your family—put in a word. Let the court know you don’t hold her responsible.”

  “But she is responsible,” Fancie said.

  Mr. Colt seemed to shrink where he sat. “I know. She knows.” He worked his lips together, his eyes shining. “I can’t let her go to jail. She’s all I have.”

  James leaned forward. “Then do what’s best for her, not what’s beneficial for you, Jack. We have no intention of filing a suit. We didn’t press the charges. The police may. I think community service would do Ashley good.”

  Jackson sniffed and looked up at them. “You know Ashley. Having to do community service will most certainly be a punishment.” His mouth pulled into a wobbly smile.

  Fancie smiled back. “Oh, I know.”

  “After her mother died, I didn’t have a clue how to raise a little girl. And she was all I had left of Sharon. She’s grown into her mother. Every time I look at her, I see Sharon as she was when we met. Ashley’s my daughter and I’d do anything for her.” He leveled his gaze on James. “I know you understand that, Hollensby.”

  Fancie’s vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. She knew how much Jackson Colt loved his daughter. He just had a hell of a way of showing it. But hearing him admit his pain and fear, his failings…. She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  Her father said, “Jack, I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your shoes. I’ve been blessed to have Alicia by my side, helping me to raise our children. We haven’t been perfect parents. Hell, look at Tripp. He’s twenty five and doesn’t have a clue what he wants to be when he grows up.” He glanced up at Fancie and smiled. “This one. Well, she always knew what she wanted and went after it with a vengeance. I always admired that in her. I think she gets that from her mother.” He turned back to Jackson. “Do we need our attorneys present if we strike a deal?”

  “A deal? Daddy, I don’t think….”

  Her father patted her hand again. “It’s fine, honey. Here are my terms. You replace my son’s truck. You make a reasonable donation to the hospital fund for indigents in need in lieu of paying our medical expenses. I have decent insurance. Ashley gets no less than one year of community service and I get to have a say in where that takes place.”

  “A year? Hollensby, be reasonable. She’s getting married in a few months.”

  “My wife married me and held down a job. I’m betting Ashley will up to the task, too. I believe it will do her good.”

  Jackson nodded. “I’ll talk to my attorney and let you know how we proceed. I’m not sure how much say we or you have with the court in this matter. They’re charging her with speeding and reckless endangerment. The D.A. wanted to charge her with attempted murder, but he couldn’t possibly make that stick.” He glanced up at Fancie. “She’d like to see you, you know. It would mean a lot.”

  Fancie nodded. “You’ll understand if I need some time with this.”

  “I do. I’m sure Ashley does, too.” He stood wearily and let out a breath. “Again, I’m so very sorry. I’ll be in touch or my attorney will. Thank you for hearing me out.”

  “You need to let Ashley grow up, Jack. It’s not so hard. Once they learn to walk, you have to let go of their hands. And then, for the rest of their lives—or yours—you stand behind them and catch them if they fall. If you wrap them in a bubble, you keep them from living. You don’t throw money at the problems they run into. You throw your love and support at your kids and stand beside them. Let them take a fall now and then, and help them back up. That’s how they learn to make their own decisions.”

  Fancie bit her lip to stave off more tears. She’d never been more proud of her father. She also realized she’d been hiding behind her parents and what she convinced herself was their need for her presence in order to avoid Luke.

  Her father struggled to his feet and followed Mr. Colt to the door. He extended his hand. “Thank you for coming by, Jack. You tell Ashley we’ve been praying for her and we’re not angry. When she feels up to it, she’s welcome here any time.”

  “You’re a good man, Hollensby.” He shifted his gaze to Fancie. “Your father has every reason to be very proud of you. I was always grateful that you were Ashley’s friend.”

  His words lingered with her after the door closed and her father turned back to face her. “You should go and visit her.” He headed down the hall, his cane tapping on the hardwood floor. “I’m going to see if your mother’s awake.”

  ~

  Fancie parked in the circular drive of the Greek revival mansion. A brand new cherry red Mustang sat parked off to the side. She swallowed back the anger that surged and promised she would remain calm.

  Emma, the live-in housekeeper, answered the door. “Hi, Fancie.”

  “Hi, Emma. Is Ashley here?”

  “She’s in the back sunroom. Come in.”

  “I can find my way. Thanks.”

  “Wait.” The woman put a hand on her arm. “Have you seen her since the accident?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You best be prepared. She was cut up pretty badly.”

  Fancie’s stomach twisted. “I understand. But I have to talk with her.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll bring you girls some sweet tea.”

  “Thanks, Emma.” Fancie’s footsteps clicked off the hardwood floors as she made her way down the long hall and through the kitchen to the enclosed sunroom.

  Ashley sat in a chaise, an open book in her lap. Her once long golden blond hair had been cut into a short bob. Fancie faltered then spoke her friend’s name as she approached. “Ashley?”

  When Ashley turned and looked up at her, Fancie gasped. Angry red gashes ran across Ashley’s left cheek and along the side of her nose. The hair was shaved down short above her left ear and a cut had been stapled closed on her scalp. Her right hand was bandaged to above the wrist. Reddish blue bruises mottled her chest and disappeared beneath the top of her v-neck tee shirt.

  Ashley stared up at her. Tears filled her
eyes. “You came. Fancie, I’m so s-sorry.”

  Fancie knelt beside the chaise. Compassion and shock replaced the anger she felt. “Oh, Ash.” She swallowed back bile at the closer look of the cuts and bruises. “I’m sorry, too.”

  In an instant she leaned forward and embraced her friend, both of them crying. Fancie pulled back and studied Ashley. “Your beautiful face.”

  “The side window shattered and glass flew everywhere. And the air bag hit my face and my chest. Daddy’s flying in a plastic surgeon from New York, a friend of a friend. I hear he’s very good.” Her fingers hovered near her ear. “These staples will come out in a day or two.”

  Emma delivered a tray bearing two glasses of tea and a plate of cookies. “Do you need anything else, ladies?”

  “Not right now. Thanks, Emma,” Ashley said.

  Fancie wiped down the sweating glass with a napkin. “Is it painful?”

  “A little. Worse when I look in the mirror.” Ashley stared down into her glass of tea. “How are your folks?”

  “They’re coming along.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Fancie put a hand over Ashley’s. “It’s just fortunate you all came out of it alive. That’s what counts.” She nodded toward the front of the house. “I saw the new car.”

  “I told Daddy I didn’t want it. I haven’t moved it since he had it delivered. I don’t know if I’ll ever drive again.” She paused and then said, “If I could go back and change everything….”

  “You can’t.”

  “You and the others always cautioned me that I’d have an accident one day. I was stupid to act as if I was untouchable. I should have listened.”

  Fancie wasn’t sure what to say to that. She couldn’t disagree.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever talk to me again.”

  “I wasn’t so sure, either. Seems everyone else has forgiven you. So….”

  “I don’t deserve their forgiveness or yours.”

  Fancie smiled. “No, you don’t. If we all got what we deserved all the time, this would be a sad world to live in.”

  “When are you going back to New Hampshire? After Christmas?”