Forbidden Son (13 page)

Chapter
Nineteen

Sweat
dribbled between Tripp Hartwell’s shoulder blades as he stood alongside the
station wagon packed with enough belongings to last him for the duration of his
time at Harvard. Not even noon, and the August sun was relentless.

He
kissed his mother on the cheek as she clung to him. “Don’t cry, Mother. It
isn’t like you haven’t seen me off to college before.”

Mary
Alice rested her hand on his chest. “You promise you’ll be home for Christmas?”

He
clasped her blue-veined fingers as he moved her toward his father. Tripp
smiled. “Don’t put the angel on top of the tree until I get home.”

That
small remark seemed to pacify her. “
La
sakes, I’ve almost forgotten.
Will you bring your young lady with you?”

“What
young lady, Mother?”

“The
one whose family is related to sharecroppers from Tennessee.”

Tripp
had given up explaining to her that Honey Belle and her parents had never lived
anywhere other than South Carolina. At the current rate of deterioration, he
worried, the dementia might completely claim his mother’s mind before she
reached her next birthday.

With
silent eyes he sought help from his father. Judge Hartwell’s nod was barely
noticeable. “Dry your tears, Mary Alice. It’s time for our boy to get on down
the road. After all, it’s a long drive to Massachusetts.”

Tripp
felt the reluctance in his mother as he handed her over to his father. The
sorrow in her eyes cut straight to Tripp’s heart. “You have the sandwiches
Pearlie Mae made for you?”

“I
do, Mother, and the thermos of iced tea, and the brownies.” He patted his
pocket. “And I have plenty of money for gas and lodging.”

His
father offered a smile. “Son, you’ve acted a bit stand-offish lately. I hope
you still don’t think I had something to do with the young lady and her family
leaving town.”

Tripp
watched the expression on his father’s face. Clearly, the Judge was being
indulgent. Tripp spun on his heel, reaching for the door handle. His throat
constricted with doubt, then anger. He thought of many things to say, but not
in front of his mother.

He
opened the car door and slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll call as soon as I
get to the campus and settle in.”

As
he waved a final good-bye and pointed the station wagon down the long
oak-shrouded drive to the highway, there was little doubt in his mind that his
father had played a pivotal role in Honey Belle’s sudden disappearance. Days
after confronting the Judge, Tripp had telephoned Charlie Nichols, the
detective who sometimes did investigative work for his uncles and their law
firm.

He
checked the speedometer, and for a while focused on the traffic. Settling into
the smooth rhythm of driving, he mentally replayed the conversation with
Detective Charlie Nichols.

“Charlie,
this is Tripp Hartwell.”

“How
ya doing, kid? Hear you’re off to that fancy lawyer school pretty soon.”

Wanting
to forego the small talk, Tripp pushed on. “Listen, Charlie, I’ll come straight
to why I called you.”

“Okay.
Shoot.”

“Has
my father ever mentioned a young lady by the name of Honey Belle Garrett?”

Silence.

“You
there, Charlie?”

“Uh,
yeah, I was trying to, uh, recall the name. Can’t say I have any recollection.”

“Think
hard, Charlie. Honey Belle isn’t a name you would likely forget.”

“Sweet
name, sure ’nuf. What’s your interest in the little lady?”

“She’s
the girl I planned to marry. Now she’s missing.”

“Missing?
You mean as in—kidnapped?”

Even
now, recalling the conversation, Tripp’s stomach clenched like a fist in the
pit of his stomach.

“No,
Charlie. I mean she and her parents have moved, and without telling me. She
quit her job without notice. She didn’t even tell her best friend she was
leaving.”

“Ah,
well, there ya have it. Goes without saying, just can’t put much stock in folks
these days. Maybe she got cold feet and the only way she knew to break it off
with you was to blow town.”

Tripp
could almost envision Charlie Nichols sitting at his desk, feet propped up and
a glass of bourbon in one hand. The man had the appearance of an overstuffed
turkey. Nonetheless, Tripp knew Charlie Nichols was a good detective and loyal
to his father.

“What
about Uncle Jake, Charlie? Maybe he asked, on my father’s behalf?”

Silence.

“Charlie?”

“Listen,
kid, like I said, I, uh...don’t know nothing ’bout your girl. Now if you want
me to do some nosing around, gimme her address and I’ll see what I can find
out.”

“Never
mind, Charlie. I’ve obviously hit a dead end.”

“Buck
up, kid. Tons of beautiful dames where you’re headed. All of ’em smart, and
rich...uh...at least that’s what I heard.”

Tripp
had wanted to pursue the conversation further, especially homing in on the word
rich
. Before he’d had time to respond, Charlie said, “Uh, listen, kid, I
gotta go. A client just came in. Sorry I don’t know nothing ’bout your girl.”

“Thanks
anyhow, Charlie.”

“Yeah,
sure, kid. Anytime.”

The
squealing of air brakes jerked Tripp back to the present. Through the
windshield, he stared at gray smoke boiling from the rear tires of the
semi-truck ahead of him. Skidding tires from other vehicles screeched against
the pavement.

Tripp
braked hard to keep from plowing into the rear of the truck. His knuckles
whitened from his grip on the station wagon’s steering wheel. His body tensed
and then puddled with relief as the wagon stopped inches from giant red letters
that had We Plant ’Em At Dirt Cheap Nurseries printed on the semi-trailer’s
double doors.

Seconds
later, his heart slammed against his chest as the grinding crunch of metal
against metal, coming somewhere from the line of cars behind his station wagon,
reached his ears.

Tripp
leaped from the station wagon and raced down the highway’s right-of-way
shoulder to the three-car pile-up. With reassurances from all parties that no
one was seriously injured, he stifled a huge sigh, jammed his hands inside his
pockets, and returned to his car.

While
he waited for the tow trucks and the State Highway Patrol to arrive and clear
the highway, he rolled down the window for some air and pulled one of Pearlie
Mae’s famous pecan-chicken-salad sandwiches from the sack and washed it down
with sweet ice tea from the thermos.

The
sandwich, the tea, and the summer heat worked together to produce a drug-like
euphoria. Tripp fought to keep his eyes open. He glanced at his watch. With
luck and barring no more accidents, he’d spend the night in Virginia.

He
didn’t remember leaning against the headrest or closing his eyes.

Honey
Belle stood in his arms. The subtleness of her perfume aroused him. He savored
the sweet taste of her lips, her body responding to his, she—

He
reacted with a jerk at the roar of the semi’s engine and the squeal of air
releasing from the truck’s hydraulics. Using the heels of his hands, he
scrubbed the drowsiness from his eyes.

After
inching through the traffic congestion and then crossing the state line into
Virginia, he passed through a long corridor of rolling land. It was woodsy and
wild and reminded him of the wonderful places his Uncle Carson had taken him
camping. Tripp chuckled aloud. Carson Calhoun was the black sheep of his mother’s
family. He’d stayed true to his roots and preferred wearing bib overalls and
plowing the dirt and planting the land to that of wearing a suit and tie and
hobnobbing with the politicos on Capitol Hill. Yet Carson had taken a spoiled
rich snob of a city boy to go tromping through the woods, searching for
arrowheads, teaching him about the constellations. To Tripp it was like
discovering a whole new world—like visiting the backside of the moon.

An
hour later he pulled off the highway to gas up. He got out of the car and
stretched his legs while the station attendant filled the gas tank, then
cleaned the windshield.

Tripp
leaned against the car and surveyed his surroundings. It was an interesting bit
of irony to spot a sign that read Best Burgers In Town.

He
paid the attendant. “Is it true what the sign says?”

The
man answered with a toothy grin. “Yep. Everythin’ they serve is good.”

“What
the hell...why not?” Tripp parked the station wagon in front of the red brick
restaurant.

He
took a seat by the window. A waiter brought a tall glass of water.

“Stranger
in town?”

“Am
I that obvious?”

“Small
town like this, anybody new sticks out like a sore thumb. What’ll you have?”

Tripp
ordered a rare burger, fries, and cola. “Extra pickles, no onions.” The waiter
didn’t bother to write down the order.

The
meal came, and it looked delicious. A layer of glistening hamburger juice
covered the top of the toasted bun.

The
waiter set a fresh bottle of ketchup and mustard in front of Tripp. “You remind
me of a hound dog who’s lost his way home. ’Course, it’s none of my business.”

Tripp
bit into the burger. As much as he’d like to talk about Honey Belle and his
feelings of betrayal and bewilderment, he glanced around at the other diners.
“If a fellow planned to spend the night in this town, where would you
recommend?”

The
waiter pulled at his chin as if thinking. “Well, if I was the fellow, I’d stay
at the Dogwood Inn B&B. It’s run by Mrs. Amelia Lee-Throckmorton, reputed
to be the great niece, several times removed, of General Robert E. Lee. There’s
a little plaque in the front yard telling the history of the place.”

Absently,
Tripp watched the cola glass sweat a water ring around the place mat. He’d take
a picture of the Inn and of Mrs. Amelia Lee-Throckmorton to send to his mother.
She’d always fancied herself a distant relative of the famous Civil War
general.

Thoughts
of the camera reminded him he’d never taken a photo of Honey Belle. He quietly
admonished himself. The only image he had to rely on was memory.

He
inclined his head toward the window. “Where will I find the Dogwood House?”

Chapter
Twenty

Tripp
turned out the lamp. He lay staring up at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind
his head. Thoughts of Honey Belle’s disappearance remained foremost in his
mind.

She
had fascinated him from their very first meeting—the day she’d requested a ride
in his convertible. There was more, too. He was charmed by the way she
displayed her emotions with childlike ease. When she was sad, she cried, and
when she was happy she laughed.

Their
relationship had gone beyond friendship. He’d fallen in love, hopelessly
enamored with her. It was heartbreaking to think Honey Belle had simply put on
a good act and hadn’t actually loved him at all.

He
lay for hours trying to figure out what had changed between them. He’d asked
her to marry him, and she had accepted. He’d flown to Massachusetts to take
care of a registration glitch in his class schedule, and with the promise to
return to South Carolina within the week. She’d promised to wait. He’d tried to
telephone her to share the news about the apartment he’d rented within walking
distance of the campus.

He
rolled to his side. So many questions. Why had she lied about living on
Barrington Street? Carla had answered that one—Honey Belle lived in the
seediest section of Charleston.

In
fact, according to Carla Biggers, Honey Belle was an uneducated high school
dropout. Did any of that matter to him? No. Did it matter to his family?
Absolutely.

Was
his father involved? The evidence was inconclusive.

“Time
to give it a rest, Tripp, old boy. Put Honey Belle Garrett out of your mind and
get on with the living.” Tripp plumped the pillow under his head. His primary
focus—law degree, first. Falling in love again—on hold, indefinitely.

And
when Honey Belle’s image began to fade, he closed his eyes.

****

Tripp
was up at six and washed down his breakfast with two cups of coffee. He arrived
in Massachusetts and drove straight to the apartment he had rented.

For
the next two years, he concentrated on his law degree. During that time he
dated a few women. He became serious with one, a political science major with
chocolate brown eyes and hair the fiery red of a setting sun.

Although
they dated and had good times together, he never came to feel about her the way
he did Honey Belle.

But
neither did he forget Kathryn Sutterfield. They would sometimes forego the frat
parties and spend the entire evening and all day Saturday in bed, holding each
other and making sensual erotic love until they were both fully satisfied.

He’d
come close to proposing marriage. She was a perfect fit in every way. Beautiful
and intelligent. The daughter of a United States senator.

The
Christmas before graduation, he’d taken Kathryn to South Carolina to meet his
parents.

Over
a nightcap, the Judge said, “Senator Sutterfield could certainly advance your
career, son.” He gave a knowing wink.

“What
are you suggesting, Father?”

“A
holy union, of course.”

“I
like Kathryn. I don’t love her.”

Judge
Hartwell pshawed. “You’ve got the monkey by the tail, son. You’ll need a wife
who will complement your career. Don’t throw away the opportunity. As for
love...well...you’ll grow into it.” He tossed back the bourbon, then grimaced
at the liquor’s bite. “In the meantime, your Uncle Jake is holding a place for
you in the firm—not as partner, mind you. You’ll have to work your tail off for
that.”

“I’m
not ready to settle down, Father.”

“You’re
almost twenty-five, son. Sowing wild oats is one thing; advancing your career
is more important.”

Tripp
set his glass on the fireplace mantel. It’d been two years, and Honey Belle
still owned his heart.

“Marriage
shouldn’t be considered a duty. Duty is no substitute for love.” Neither was
sex—no matter how good it was between him and Kathryn.

“Listen
to me, son. Duty is everything, especially when it comes to making a good match
to advance you up the ladder.”

“Is
that why you married mother—out of duty—because of her family name?” With a
scowl, Tripp clenched his fists inside his pants pockets. “Good night, Father.”

When
he opened the door to his bedroom, Kathryn greeted him, wearing nothing but a
smile. She patted the mattress as if extending an invitation.

He
walked to the chair and gathered the silver negligee draped over the arm. “I’ll
not disrespect my mother. Not on Christmas Eve, and not in her house.”

Kathryn
swung her shapely legs over the side of the fourposter bed. She stood on
tiptoes as she molded her body to Tripp’s. “I find such old-fashioned
virtue...charming. Darling, I—”

He
stood arms akimbo while she continued in a pouty voice, “I’m sorry. Truly.” She
accepted the nightgown and slid it over her head, allowing it to freefall down
her slender frame. “Don’t be angry.”

“I’m
not.”

“I
love you, Tripp, but sometimes when you look at me I get the feeling you’re
seeing someone else. It’s like you’re waiting for her to pop up out of thin
air. Who is she—someone from the university?” The indignant bite to her voice
was evident.

“There’s
no one, Kathryn. Go to bed.”

“I’m
a woman, Tripp—I know these things.”

He
pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as if to
release the tension. “Tomorrow is Christmas. It has always been a special
holiday for my mother. I’ll not have her upset, so let’s not argue.”

She
lifted his hand and placed it against the flat of her stomach. “Marry me,
Tripp.”

His
gaze traveled down to her belly. He’d always been careful to use a condom.
Still there was always that one percent chance. “How far along?”

She
tossed her head, the magnificent mane of hair swirling around her face like a red
cloud. The mischievous glitter in her brown eyes and the smirk tugging at the
corner of her lips sent shock waves of relief through him. He knew that look.

“Don’t
look so worried, darling, there are no babies in our immediate future.” She
nibbled his bottom lip. “Fair warning, if you don’t accept my proposal—” She
left the threat open.

Tripp
didn’t like threats. He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “Good night,
Kathryn.”

“It
was a joke, Tripp. Can’t you take a joke?”

He
laughed harshly. “Which one—about being pregnant, the marriage proposal, or the
warning?”

She
danced around him, her fingers spider-walking up his arms. “I’ve always dreamed
of a June wedding.”

His
mouth went taut. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him good-night.

****

Tripp
enjoyed watching the childlike glow on his mother’s face as she opened each of
her Christmas presents. He cut his eyes away from his mother to focus on
Kathryn. The color of her angora sweater turned her eyes mahogany; the neckline
was cut square and exposed her throat and shoulders. When she bent over him to
accept a gift decorated with a festive bow, a filigree locket on a long gold
chain slipped into the mysterious shadow between her full breasts.

As
if she felt his gaze, Kathryn drew back. A tiny telltale pulse beat in her
throat.

He
felt a bit bemused as a sensuous smile graced her perfect features. Today she
wore her hair free, curling around her smooth shoulders. Her pouty lips were
colored a frosty pink. He had the distinct feeling she was up to some mischief.

“Aren’t
you going to open it?” Tripp’s mother inquired.

Kathryn’s
face flushed as if with amusement as she carefully removed the bow from the
gold-wrapped oblong box. “It isn’t the right size for an engagement ring.”

Tripp
knew she was teasing his mother. Kathryn lifted the box and shook it. “Hmm, it
doesn’t rattle. Perhaps it’s a diamond necklace. What do you think,
Mother
Hartwell?”

Tripp
narrowed his eyes. He didn’t approve of Kathryn’s title for his mother.

It
was too late for him to regret his choice of Christmas gifts for Kathryn. She
was teasing him, teasing his mother as she made a show of tipping up the lid
and peeking inside the box.

His
mother clapped her hands together. “Oh, isn’t this the most fun? Open it,
dear...do, or I’ll simply perish from curiosity.”

At
some point his father had joined them. Tripp accepted the cup of whiskey-laced
eggnog. His father whispered, “She’s a fine catch, son.”

“Kathryn
is self-centered and temperamental.”

The
Judge winked. “All the makings of a politician’s wife.”

Squeals
of delight erupted from Kathryn. She dropped the gift box and held up two plane
tickets. “This is the best pre-honeymoon gift a girl could possibly ask for.”
She extended two tickets to Paris for the Judge and Tripp’s mother to see.

Her
next words shocked Tripp into silence. “I officially declare June 21
^st
as our wedding date.”

The
Judge bellowed. “This calls for a celebration. Pearlie Mae, we need more
eggnog.” Tripp wanted to shrug off the vigorous clap his father placed on his
back.

Anger
washed over Tripp like a riptide. His father said, “Go ahead, son. Don’t be
bashful, give my future daughter-in-law a kiss.”

Tripp
pulled Kathryn against his chest. He spoke in a low-toned voice, “You conniving
little bitch. You know damn well those tickets are an early graduation
present.”

She
mewed, “Look at the sparkle in your poor demented mother’s eyes. Shall I tell
her it was a joke?”

In
a pretense of nuzzling Kathryn’s neck, Tripp whispered through clenched teeth,
“Don’t even think of hurting my mother.” He clasped Kathryn’s hands until she
grimaced against the painful grip.

The
Judge cleared his throat, breaking the tension between Tripp and Kathryn.
“Since this is Christmas and a day of celebration, and you kids have announced
your future nuptials, now is as good as any to reveal my own surprise.”

His
father appeared nervous, unsure, his shoulders tense, his body rigid. “Senator
Eugene Coppersmith is retiring due to illness. I’ve thrown my hat in the ring
for his seat. Come January, I’ll set up my campaign headquarters. I know I can
depend on your support, son, and yours, too, Kathryn.”

Tripp
glanced to where his mother sat on a brocade stool next to the Christmas tree.
Like a contented child, she laced and unlaced bright red and green ribbons
through her opened fingers.

“What
about Mother? It’s stressful enough being the Governor’s wife. How will she
handle the added stress of being the perfect senator’s wife?”

There
was a certain strength and dignity about his mother when she looped her arm
around Tripp’s. “Why does everyone talk as if I’m not in the room?”

Tripp
pinned a smile on his face. “You seemed preoccupied, Mother.”

To
his surprise, his mother’s eyes twinkled. “The fog that covers my brain comes
more often and seems to last a little longer before it decides to lift. I’m not
worried, though. I’ll always have you and Pearlie Mae to look after me. And
your father will make a fine senator.”

With
a dreamlike air, Mary Alice loosened her hold on Tripp’s arm. He thought her
eyes pleaded with Kathryn as she lifted the young woman’s hands into her own.
“I won’t always be here to look after my son. You’ll take care of him for me?”

As
the two women stared at each other, he knew by the expression on their faces
that both were confused and unsure. His mother’s smile wobbled.

The
silence made him uncomfortable. His voice grew gentle as he lifted his mother’s
hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’ll always be around to take
care of me, Mother.”

Her
mood seemed to change. She bit her lip. Tears clung to her lashes. She looked
at her husband. “Harland, I’ll do my best to never embarrass you.”

Tripp
was relieved when Kathryn loudly announced, “It’s Christmas, and I propose a
toast.” She placed a crystal goblet in Mary Alice’s hand. “Here’s to Bah
Humbugs, to good times, and to a bright and prosperous future for us all.”

Mary
Alice Hartwell raised her glass. She offered a salute to her son and husband
and then to Kathryn. “In the words of Tiny Tim, may God Bless us one and all.”

Tripp’s
father lifted his glass. “Hear...hear.”

“Come
on, Mother Hartwell, let’s sing Christmas carols.” Kathryn walked to the baby
grand in the corner of the parlor decorated with twinkling lights and fresh
pine boughs. Tripp offered her a smile of appreciation.

****

Outside,
the evening skies had darkened like a shade coming down, and thousands of
twinkling stars glittered in the inky sky. The air was cool—perfect for a
Christmas evening.

Tripp
was tired, but for some reason he was in no hurry to seek his lonely bed.
Instead, he decided to go for a walk. A sense of loneliness gripped him and
held him captive. The feeling wasn’t all that new, but the intensity was. Like
a thirst that couldn’t be quenched with one draft, like a hunger that couldn’t
be sated with one taste, he longed to hold Honey Belle in his arms.

Little
clouds of warm air escaped with each breath he blew out. He gazed up at the
heavens. Orion the Hunter was visible. Tripp remembered the pleasure he’d felt
over Honey Belle’s excitement when he’d pointed out the constellations to her.

The
week before Christmas he had driven to Shanty Groves and talked with a few
neighbors, in hopes someone would remember Honey Belle and her family. Everyone
he spoke to was new to the dilapidated neighborhood. None remembered a
beautiful blonde girl with a name as sweet as her personality.

“Folks
in Shanty Groves, they come and they go. Rent is cheap ’nuf. When folks ain’t
working and can’t pay, the landlord kicks ‘em out. Comin’ and goin’, that’s the
way of it. ’Course a young feller like yourself, driving a fancy sports car and
all, wouldn’t know ’bout hard times.”