Page 62 of The Night the Lights Went Out
The first thing she noticed was that there weren’t shoulder loops on the shirt, meaning it had belonged to an enlisted man and not an officer. And then Wade turned the shirt around to the front, and they all stared at it without saying a word.
A dark hole stared back at them like a sightless eye, a crusty russet stain covering most of the front of the shirt, a thick river of it coating one side as flakes drifted toward the ground in the beam of the light.
“Looks like a bullet hole and blood to me,” Wade said.
Merilee held the lamp higher. “Is there any insignia or identifying marks on the shirt or inside the trunk?”
“Not that I can see.” He stood, sending Sugar a worried glance. “I’m going to need to take the trunk out of here to get a better look. Merilee, could you please take Sugar back to the house and get her some water?”
“Of course.”
Sugar allowed Merilee to help her to a stand without protest. She led her carefully up the stairs and into the front room, where she insisted that Sugar sit down, then put her feet up.
Sugar felt queasy and light-headed, but not enough to not be embarrassed by the hole in the toe of her stockings. She’d put nail polish on the hole to stop it from running, but nobody was supposed to see it.
Merilee went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of tepid water and handed it to her, keeping her hands near the glass while Sugar drank.
“You don’t need to hover,” Sugar snapped.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Merilee said with an uncertain smile as she sat back on her heels. “Just didn’t want you choking to death on my sofa. Hard to explain to the children.”
Their eyes met in mutual understanding, both clinging to a normalcy that might neutralize what they’d just seen and what it might mean.
Sugar took another sip of water, then handed the glass back to Merilee.
“Still no idea who that trunk belongs to?” Merilee asked gently.
Sugar met Merilee’s eyes. “I know it’s not Tom’s. He wasn’t army. Harry and Will didn’t return to Sweet Apple until 1950, when our daddy died and they took over the farms. Kept their houses in Atlanta, so they never saw the need to store anything here.”
“And Bobby?”
Something fluttered in her chest again. “He died in France. The only thing of his I remember Mama keeping was his dog tags. We buried her with them.”
Sugar turned her face toward the back of the couch, anticipating Merilee’s next question.
“What about Curtis?” Merilee waited, as if thinking Sugar might say something so she wouldn’t have to. Merilee continued. “That night, you said you left him there in the woods and when Lamar went back to check on him, he was gone.”
“And that was the truth. As much as I wish he had died that night, he survived to be shipped off to fight in the Pacific. Lamar, too.” She closed her eyes again, seeing Lamar’s face that night in the woods, remembering all his kindnesses and his friendship with Jimmy, and found herself very close to tears she’d promised herself long ago she would not shed. “I don’t know what happened to him, although I suppose he’d be dead now even if he wasn’t killed in the war. I hope not, though. He deserved a long and good life.”
Merilee stood and looked down at Sugar with concern. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Maybe call a doctor? You’re looking pale.”
Sugar considered for a moment. “You can bring me some of that iced tea. Just don’t forget to add some sugar. Yours is never sweet enough.”
She could see relief in Merilee’s face. “I’ll be right back.”
She was halfway to the kitchen when Sugar called her back. “Do you think we should call the police?”
Merilee stopped and turned around. “I hadn’t thought of that, but probably. It’s an old shirt and an old stain, but that’s still a bullet hole. It could be a hunting accident for all we know, or even a combat injury, given that it’s a uniform—it’s impossible to tell. I imagine the Sweet Apple PD has never seen an old case like this, but they’ll know what to do. I wouldn’t worry, though.” She smiled. “I’ll be right back with your tea—extra sugar.”
Sugar nodded and closed her eyes, the fluttering in her chest softer now, like little secrets whispered in the dark, searching for an escape.
Twenty-two
MERILEE
Wade met Merilee at Sugar’s house right before Officer George Mullins of the Sweet Apple Police Department arrived. Sugar hadn’t asked for them to be there, had actually made it pretty clear that she didn’t want them there. But both had agreed they should be there after Wade pointed out that the sight of the bloodstained shirt was the one thing he could recall having ever subdued Sugar Prescott.
When Wade had called Merilee the previous night to plan the meeting, Merilee had been relieved to know that the topic of Sugar was the purpose of his phone call. The awkwardness of their conversation at the construction site was one of those scenes that played over and over in her head at night, pushing out all thoughts of sleep and filling her with mortification. She had no idea how she’d agreed to ask him to the gala. It had been either the champagne or her sheer loneliness, or simply Heather’s powers of persuasion. Most probably all three.
