Page 94 of Confessions

“I don’t think—”

“We’d love a ride,” Brenda cut in as she glanced at her watch. “There’s no way we can row back to my house by curfew.”

“But—”

Ben wasn’t listening to any arguments. He followed them to the back of the house, waded into the thigh-deep water, dragged the rowboat to shore, then swung the small craft over his head. Lake water drizzled down his neck and the back of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Carlie whispered to her friend.

“You wanted to be with him, didn’t you?” When Carlie didn’t answer, Brenda gave her a nudge. “Go for it.”

* * *

BEN SHOVED THE rowboat into the back of his father’s truck and told himself he was an idiot. Why borrow trouble? Why take Carlie home?

Because you can’t help yourself!

He now understood his brother’s fascination with Carlie Surrett. Reed-slender, with thick black hair that fell to the middle of her back, high cheekbones, lips that always looked moist and eyes that sparked with a misty blue-green intelligence turned his insides to jelly. No wonder Kevin had been so hot for her. But it was over. Kevin had said so himself.

Ben might have felt guilty taking Carlie home a couple of weeks ago, but Kevin had sworn just the other night that he was over Carlie Surrett. They’d been down at the Silver Horseshoe, the local watering hole, tossing back a few beers after Kevin’s shift at the mill.

“She’s too much trouble, that one,” Kevin had said, signaling the waitress for another round. “So I broke up with her and I found someone else.”

“I thought you were in love with her. She’s all you could talk about for...what...two or three weeks.”

Kevin snorted. “We only went out a few times.” He fished into his front pocket of his jeans for change and avoided his brother’s intense stare. “’Sides, you and I know there’s no such thing as love. All a big lie. Made up by women with their stupid ideas that they get from books and movies.”

“You believe that?” Ben had known that Kevin had turned cynical over the years after losing his chance to play basketball in college, but he hadn’t believed his older brother could be so hard-nosed and jaded. A few weeks ago, Kevin had been on cloud nine, talking about Carlie Surrett as if he intended to marry her. And now he thought love was just an illusion.

“Look at Mom and Dad,” Kevin said, as if their parents’ ill-fated union was proof of his opinion.

Ben scowled and picked at the label of his bottle. His parents, Donna and George Powell, after fighting for years had separated and were now divorced. The battles had started long ago and had always been about money—the kind of money the Monroes and Fitzpatricks had and the rest of the town didn’t. For as long as Ben could remember, his family had been one of the many “have-nots” and this point only became crushingly clear when his father had lost all the family’s savings on some lamebrained investment scheme concocted by H. G. Monroe, owner of the sawmill for which George and Kevin worked, and one rich, mean son of a bitch.

“So who’s the girl?” he asked his brother rather than think about the past. “The one who’s replaced Carlie Surrett?”

Kevin’s lips turned down. “No one replaced Carlie,” he said defensively as a buxom waitress, wearing a skirt that barely covered her rear, left two more bottles on the glossy mahogany bar. In one swift motion, she emptied the ashtray and quickly picked up the crumpled bills Kevin cast in her direction. “Keep the change,” he said with a smile that invited trouble.

“Thanks, sugar.”

“No problem.”

The waitress moved through the smoke to a table in the corner. Kevin took a long swallow from his bottle. As if they’d never been interrupted, he said, “I’m seein’ a girl named Tracy. Tracy Niday from Coleville. Ever hear of her?”

Ben shook his head and Kevin seemed relieved.

“Is she nice?”

“Nice? Humph. I’m not lookin’ for nice.” Kevin’s eyes darkened a shade. “But she’s...simple. Doesn’t have big dreams of goin’ to New York, becoming a model or some such bull. She’s just happy that I take her out and show her a good time.”

“And Carlie wasn’t?”

“No way. No how.” Kevin scowled and reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt for his pack of cigarettes. “Carlie has big plans—thinks she’s gonna be some hot-damn model or somethin’. Didn’t want to be tied down to Gold Creek and...oh, hell, she was a load of trouble. I’m better off without her.” He lit up and shot a plume of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “If you ask me, she was all screwed up over that Roy Fitzpatrick murder. Her and that friend of hers—Rachelle Tremont—are both more trouble than they’re worth.”

And that had been the end of the conversation about Kevin’s love life. Ben hadn’t believed that his brother was truly over Carlie and so he’d questioned her when he’d first found her climbing out of the boat at the dock. But her story had been close enough to Kevin’s to convince Ben that they weren’t seeing each other anymore.

He watched as she wiped her hands on the front of her shorts. “Hop in,” he said, opening the driver’s side of the pickup and wondering why he felt a twinge of relief knowing that Kevin wasn’t interested in Carlie any longer. He and Kevin had never dated the same girls—there seemed to be an unwritten law between them when it came to going out and heretofore maintaining their silent code hadn’t been a problem. Kevin was a few years older than Ben, and no conflicts had arisen. Until Carlie. Until now.

Carlie was the youngest girl Kevin had ever taken out, and, without a doubt, the most gorgeous. He noticed the shape of her buttocks and the nip of her waist as she slid onto the old seat of the truck. He didn’t question that she could become a successful model and he didn’t blame her for wanting to taste more of the world than Gold Creek, California, had to offer.