Updated: June 18, 2023

Aubrey

Back to work wasn’t as easy as I hoped it would be. I didn’t have nearly the stamina I thought I would have.

After spending the morning reviewing the preliminary investigative notes on the Saint Helena property, I ran out of steam. Miss Angelica stopped in to fix my lunch and I could only finish half of the soup and left the Jell-O untouched. I was sick enough of it. I did try something she prepared for me, baked plantains, she swore by their cultural magic for intestinal healing. They tasted good and I could eat more than a spoonful successfully.

I went into our bedroom and lay down for a nap. I found I really didn’t like sleeping without Clay beside me.

I texted him, “I need a nap, come home,”

Clay:    “I’m leaving in an hour, and I will cuddle with you Sugar. Did you eat?

Me:      “Miss Angelica made me something, I did good with it. It’s all I could tolerate so far,”

Clay:    “Want a milkshake? I’ll pick it up on the way home.

Me:      “Yes of course, and biscuits from Miss Dottie’s?”

Clay:    “Whatever your heart desires my love,”

Me:      “How did the interview go?”

Clay:    “War has officially been declared, stay away from the windows, LOL”

Me:      “Honey, you don’t have to leave early, I’m fine really. I just ran out of gas quick, so I’m going to close my eyes for a bit,”

Clay:    “Sugar, I’m on a short schedule for the next few days, so I’m taking advantage of that. See you soon. I love you Bree,”

I never answered him, I fell asleep and the next thing I remember was the feel of him sliding onto the bed beside me.

“I got your milkshake and your biscuits, honey. Want to have them now or wait?” he whispered in my ear.

I snuggled up in his arms and sighed. “Five more minutes,”

He laughed gently and kissed my forehead.

“You rest Sugar, I’m fixin’ to stay here with you,” and he wrapped me close to him, tucking the blanket around me. I could smell his skin and I sighed with contentment.

A few hours later we both woke up slowly as the sun was setting. Now I was hungry.

“You ready to eat Sugar?” he asked, drowsy and yawning.

“I am, I’m starving all of a sudden,” I sat up and got my bearings. My hands went to the incision instinctively, checking to be sure it was still closed.

“Let’s have a look,” Clay whispered. He lifted my shirt gently and touched around it to check for swelling. He leaned down gently and kissed it.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” he whispered reverently.

We both jumped with surprise from a knock at the front door.

“Stay here,” he demanded. He reached into the closet for his rifle and went to answer the door.

I padded quietly out behind him.

“Sweet Jesus, you gave me a fright,” I heard him say.

“Good Lord Clayton, y’all walking around with a rifle to answer your door now?”

“Do you blame me?” he exclaimed with exasperation.

“No, I guess I can’t,” the visitor replied.

Into the cottage came Tessa, his ex-wife.

Since our first stormy introduction, Tess did reach out months later to break the ice and conduct an adult conversation, several with me in fact. We were not going to be blood sisters, but we succeeded in a cordial and genteel relationship, bless her heart. She even attended our wedding with her new husband, Rick.

“I came to see Aubrey, I baked her something,” she said quietly.

I walked into the room and Tess caught her breath when she saw me, I must have shocked her with how lean I appeared.  

“How you feeling, Aubrey?” she asked quietly. “I’m not staying-I wanted to bring you some angel food cake, it’s my Momma’s recipe. I know you must be eating simple to get used to all this and thought it might appeal to you is all.” She was twitchy and awkward.

 “Thank you Tess, that was very nice of you. C’mon in, we were just going to rummage for some dinner. We have a good amount of leftovers in the fridge from the weekend. You’re welcome to stay with us.”

She shook her head, “No, no I couldn’t. I just wanted to pay my regards and bring this over to y’all.”

I walked toward her and took the cake from her hands. Putting my arm around her and embracing her tenderly. At first she was rigid and shocked but then returned the hug affectionately.

“You get yourself strong now, Aubrey. We’re praying for you, Y’hear?” she whispered as she patted me lightly on the back.

“Thank you Tess, I appreciate that and this,” I smiled holding up the wrapped angel food cake.

“That was right kind of you, Tess,” Clay whispered and walked her back to the door.

He put the rifle back in the closet and mumbled, “Well you can smack my ass and call me Sally, who would have ever thought that miracle would occur?”

I snickered and walked toward the kitchen, “Stranger things have happened I guess. Best part is I love angel food cake. If this goes down easy, she’s sure as shit making another one.”

He laughed out loud and followed me into the kitchen.

Clay put the TV on in the living room as we ate our dinner watching his interview. The sound bites caught quickly and were being replayed over and over again on all local stations.

No comment yet from Shania’s camp, but it was quickly evident the folks of the Lowcountry were not pleased with her and becoming quite vocal about it. Distrust and distaste with her reporting and mudslinging began to avalanche and go viral.

Kelly Parks conducted a “man on the street” interview with random people and it was gathering momentum. Support for Clay and his new wife were seeming. As I predicted, so rose the voices of domestic violence survivors. The sisterhood were coming out of the shadows to be heard and lend their alliance to Aubrey Hoover. You just don’t fuck with one of us, we’ve been through silent, horrendous torment and no unsuccessful beauty queen was going to judge us and get away with it.

Clay was fixing a forkful of food and grinning proudly. “You are brilliant my wife, this bitch is gonna squirm now. God I love you.” He ate happily.

I was picking at the angel food cake and biscuits on my plate and smiled, “She is a beautiful woman, this Kelly Parks, you never mentioned that.” I commented idly.

“Yeah, I reckon’, but honey, she can’t carry your water. You look like Elizabeth Taylor when she starred in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You’re my Maggie the Cat, exquisite, sensual, and intoxicating. You think a cookie cutter blonde, or anyone is gonna turn my head ever again?” he stared at me seriously.

“Not at the moment, I’m all gaunt and weak and look like I survived a gas chamber.” The tears came fast. I hated how I looked and how I felt.

He put his plate on the coffee table and pulled me into his arms.

“No, no honey, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and right now you are healing. Give yourself a break. Those violet eyes of yours, they slaughter me, and your pretty mouth and these exceptional breasts. And this brain of yours. C’mon now, you feeling some kind of way, it’s all PTSD honey. You suffered through an awful thing. But you’re alive and it will melt. You’ll be yourself again in no time. Aubrey, you strolled your fine ass into a happy hour crowd, populated with some of the prettiest women in the Lowcountry, and it was you I saw then and only you now. That will never change.” He kissed my tears away and I felt silly.

“I’m sorry Clay,” I whispered into his neck.

“Stop that, nothing to be sorry about, you’ve been through hell, Sugar. You just keep walking the temperature eventually changes.” He assured me.

Clay

I wasn’t wrong, it felt like a gradual recovery, but in less than six weeks the incision scar faded into a thin pink line and her body began to heal exponentially. I remember the morning I watched her get out of bed and her ass was rounding out deliciously again. I do think I gave it a standing ovation.

She laughed easier and sneezed without pain. All of her appetites were returning to full strength, and I scarcely made it into the house some nights before my clothes were removed by my ravenous wife who led me to our bed without so much as a by-your-leave. Talk about havin’ to sing for your supper.

The curve of her hips were restored, and her clothing fit better. Most importantly she got her moxie back. She was standing straighter and more confident. She didn’t try to hide the scars from me anymore. I revered them. I worshipped them and her.

The healthy glow of her skin returned, tanned from working outside on the farm and she was relaxed and peaceful. The cottage was good for her. It was good for both of us. We were insulated and comfortable and about to celebrate our first holiday season together. Talking about Thanksgiving dinner and travel plans for Christmas.

Somethings were slow to change. She still jumped when she heard the doorbell ring or shotgun fire when the hunters were on the farm. But she would laugh it off and shrug her shoulders, taking it in stride.

Work had us both deep-rooted. We barely spoke during the day as we were buried in our cases and the ensuing investigations. Occasionally I’d bring up looking for new property near the ocean and she’d shake it off.

Currently Aubrey was tunneling into the Saint Helena investigation. Finally she got around to looking through the crate she’d packed when we visited the Saint Helena house.

The cash from under the mattress amounted to over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in large bills. She was carefully going through the ledgers and the unopened letters mailed to her father all those years ago.

We were teasing and relaxing in a booth at Carmine’s Italian restaurant in Beaufort when I brought it up again.

“Bree, about the beach,” I asked after we’d finished our supper. It’s been weeks since we sold Port Royal, you want to talk about exploring locations?

She sat back in her chair and gazed at me thoughtfully.

“Clay, can we buy a small condo on Kiawah? Something we can spend our weekends at during the summer? I really don’t want to leave the cottage but would like to spend time at the ocean and then run back home.”

“You still scared honey?” I asked seriously.

She shrugged indifferently and exhaled. “Maybe, maybe a little.”

“It’s okay to be you know, there’s no shame in it.” I reached for her hands across the table, offering another possibility.

“How about this? Let’s rent places along the shoreline. Test drive some beaches one weekend at a time. Myrtle, Kiawah, Hilton Head, Edisto, or even Seabrook, you liked it there, wherever you want. Try them out see if anything speaks to you, we don’t have to commit to owning anything. Carl never wants us to leave and we’re paying him legitimate rent now. I won’t let him get away with the dollar a month arrangement anymore.” I asked.

She mulled it over in her mind. “Clay, what about Georgia? You talk about it all the time, I’ve never been, and I’d love to see Savannah and Tybee Island which you remind me often my ass is as sweet as it.” She laughed.

I beamed with joy, I know I did. “That ass is as flawless as a Tybee island sunset, for sure,” I chuckled. I thought about it for a hot minute.

“Sugar that would be a great trip. My grandparents used to live on Tybee, we spent our summers there till we lost Susie. I love it there and don’t think I’ve even been back since. Susie and I were born on Tybee. I’d love to go back. You’ve got a deal. We’ll head down there this winter and look around, it’s better then, quieter and the weather is still mild, You gonna love Tybee, I have my whole life.”

She made me so happy. I agreed with the idea of staying in Saint George. I wanted to stay close to Carl as he was getting up in years and having us nearby was a comfort to him as well.

Aubrey was thriving on the farm. She took care of Carl, and he watched over her. They spent time in the stables together during the early weeks of her recovery, she got attached to the horses and fed the chickens every morning. Assisting Carl in collecting eggs and mucking out coops and stables. Building her strength back inch by inch doing chores and breathing fresh air. You couldn’t convince me otherwise, that farm gave me my wife back.

Carl built her raised garden beds behind the cottage for her to plant tomatoes and lettuces and she took great pride when she made our first salad with produce she’d grown. She glowed with honor when she presented Miss Abigail a small basket of cherry tomatoes she raised on her own to my mother’s great delight.

Suddenly an elderly woman in a wheelchair was being escorted past our booth to a table when her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of Aubrey,

“Marianna?” The older woman gasped, stopping the middle-aged man who was pushing the chair.

Aubrey’s face blanched, “No Signora, era mia madre,” Aubrey replied shyly. She was telling the woman she wasn’t Marianna, Marianna was her mother.

“Come puo essere, pensavo che tu fossi morto?” The woman asked.

The truth that my wife was fluent in Italian came to light during our honeymoon in Sicily. It shocked me then, but I as I did on our honeymoon, found it most captivating to watch.

Aubrey whispered to me what she told her, “She doesn’t understand, I’m supposed to be dead,”

“No, no signora, sono Aubrey, sua figlia,” she explained. I pretty much figured this one out on my own, she was explaining she was Aubrey, Marianna’s daughter.

“Si, si, Aubrey, dovresti essere morto anche tu,” Aubrey’s face dropped, and I saw the fear rise in a bright flush up her neck.

I stood suddenly and asked the man who was obviously with the woman who they were.

“What did she say, Bree?” I demanded.

Aubrey looked up at me with tears in her eyes, “She agreed, Yes Aubrey, you’re supposed to be dead as well.”

The gentleman was flustered and trying to bring the woman back to her table.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“Sir, please I beg your pardon. My mother is an old feeble woman. She’s lost her memory. Let us pass to get to our table for dinner.” He pleaded, trying to get past our booth.

“Signora, como se chiama?” Aubrey asked her name.

The woman was eyeing  Aubrey up in disbelief. Shaking her head as if she was looking at a ghost.

“Mi chiama, Teresa, Teresa Genovese-Carpino. Sona sorella tua madre,” she said still in shock.

Aubrey looked up at me, “She’s my mother’s sister.”

“Signora, Perche pensavi che fossi morto?” Why did you think I was dead?

The woman was wringing her hands. “Dovevi essere in macchina con lei,” she whispered, ominously.

I looked down at Aubrey, she stared into my eyes, “I was supposed to be in the car with her,” she whispered with understanding.

I was frantic to get Aubrey out of there, but she was digging in.

She stood now and spoke to the man who was her cousin.

“I want to talk to her, away from here. Will you take my number and give me yours? Obviously we are related, and she has answers to questions I’ve had for over forty year.” Aubrey pleaded.

“I’m Antonio Carpino, her son and it seems, your first cousin. Of course I will let you speak with her away from here.” They swapped phone numbers and Aubrey said goodbye to the both of them.

I paid the check quickly and got my wife out of there.

Once we were back on the road to Saint George, I took a breath.

“Bree, did you know your mother had a sister? We were in Taormina, and no one gave you any more insight. How did you not know about this woman?”

She was still, sitting in her thoughts and her hand rested on her incision line as if she consistently needed to protect it or cover it in some way.

“I had no idea, Clay. All of my mother’s records disappeared. No family I’ve ever been able to find. My father searched for years for any trace, and nothing ever came back. I have her passport but no birth certificate, not a trail. Nothing except the obvious New York family connection. But the infamous Genovese’s are distant cousins. Nothing close to my mother’s immediate relation.” She turned to look at me, her eyes filled with tears,

“How many times, Clay? How many times can I cheat death? I was supposed to be in the car with her? What does that mean? It means it was a hit, someone ordered us both dead. My mother and me. Right?” her voice trailed off.

“Sugar have you ever brought Dean into this? Does he have ways of digging into some of this from the back channels?” I asked, exasperated.

She shook her head, “No, never. But it might finally be time,” she whispered with defeat.

Aubrey

We lay in bed together talking. Both of us intermittently quiet with heavy internal thoughts from this new wrinkle in our world.

The inquiry into my mother’s death had haunted my father for years, I didn’t want to end up like him, desperate for answers the rest of my life.  But not unlike my father, something gnawed at me, it was right there in front of us, so close we could almost touch it. It was literally hiding in plain sight. Clay made a decent point, bringing Dean into this would give it fresh eyes, maybe I had been too close, it being too personal for me.

“Sugar, if your Momma died when you were four, how in the world did you wind up fluent in Italian?” he asked, rustling me from my thoughts.

It made me chuckle, his pleasant drawl saying Italian, it came out, “eye-talian” My father retained his Lowcountry accent all my life and many times Clay said things that brought him back to me so distinctly.

I was nestled under his arm, running my hand over his chest, and restoring my balance.

“She spoke to me only in Italian. After she died, my father hired a tutor, he didn’t want me to lose it. I took lessons from when I was a toddler, the sound of it keeps her with me, when I work during the day I listen to Italian music or their soap operas to practice. Miss Angelica teases me when she catches me speaking out loud in Italian, tells me when I’m ready to learn Spanish she’s willing to help me.”

Clay laughed and held me closer.

“You know Miss Angelica simply adores you, right?” Clay whispered with pride.

“Baby she helped me heal. She would bring me baked plantains she’d prepared, every morning. They are like half banana and half potato, she told me her mother used to suffer with stomach ailments and the plantains restored her intestines. I tried them once and ate them like a baked potato with butter and salt and they are delicious, and always sat well. Every time she came here, she had them prepared for me. Somedays it was all I could really tolerate. God bless her heart she really helped me.” I snuggled closer to him.

“And you thought you were alone here, months back. Look at this amazing family you surrounded with now. It takes a village, Sugar. And we have one. Ole man Carl is smitten as hell with you, and I know puttering around here with him on the farm did wonders for you. Got you outside in the sunshine and working in the dirt and with the animals. You’re a miracle honey, your recovery went faster than we thought, and I got my soft, fine, round ass back,” he laughed, patting my rump.  

“Clay I really love it here, at the farm. I do miss the beach and the ocean, so I think our plan to find one we can practically spend weekends at is a good one. But this cottage is really a fairy tale and I’m so happy here.” I whispered.

“Me too Sugar, but I’d be happy anywhere you are,” he said sweetly.

I scooched up to kiss him, I loved the way his mouth felt on mine. The bristle of his mustache and goatee on my face and the softness of his lips. His kiss was my obsession. He kissed me like I was air to him.

He whispered between soft, wet, delicious kisses, “You keep this up darlin’, you gonna have your panties confiscated,” he ran his hand into my hair and kissed me more insistently.

I laughed softly, “I’m not wearing any, so whatcha got to say for yourself now?”

“Well now Ma’am, I’m gonna verify the testimony and adjudicate the rest of my plan,” he snickered, his hand inside my pajama pants and cupping my ass.

“And what was the plan, Counselor?” I teased, my hand sliding between his legs.

“If it please the court, your honor, my plan was getting into alleged panties, however with the absence of them, I will get directly to the location typically kept concealed,” He growled.

I kissed him again, demanding, and promising. He moaned with desire and ran his hands down my body, stroking my breasts and moving his mouth to them.

“I could eat you alive,” he groaned. “Fucking delicious,”

“Delizioso,” I murmured in Italian, “Fai amore con me,” I whispered.

“Say it again,” he asked, passion glowing from his face.

“Fai amore con me,” I asked, “Make love to me,”

“Sounds so pretty ,” he grinned down into my eyes. “What Mrs. Hoover wants, Mrs. Hoover gets.” He laughed, tracing his tongue down my healed incision scar right to paradise.

“I’ll tell you what, Sugar, I got me a runway,” he joked, burying his head between my legs.

I laughed and whimpered with pleasure at the same time. A runway, only he could make me laugh and feel sexy about this ugly ass incision.

Thank you God, I whispered solemnly, before I succumbed to the waves of pleasure he was creating.