For your baby sister, this town is tainted. The streets are tainted. The house is tainted. Perhaps we—your mother and I—are tainted, too.
Pepper had warned us in advance about Claire’s new beau. She seldom approves of her sister’s boyfriends (likewise, Claire never approves of hers; I feel certain you would have been their tie-breaker), but in this instance, Pepper’s description of Paul was not only alarming, but spot-on. I have rarely had such a visceral reaction to a person. He reminds me of the worst kind of student I used to have—the kind who is certain that they already know everything worth knowing (which invariably leads to an animal’s unnecessary suffering).
If I am being honest, the thing about Paul Scott that bothered me the most was the way he touched my daughter in front of me. I am not an old-fashioned man. Public displays of affection are more likely to make me smile than blush.
And yet.
There was something about the way this man touched my youngest child that set my teeth on edge. His arm linked through hers as they walked up to the house. His hand stayed at her back as they climbed the stairs. His fingers laced through hers as they walked through the door.
Reading back that last paragraph, it all sounds so innocuous, the typical gestures of a man who is making love to a woman, but I must tell you, sweetheart, that there was something so deeply unsettling about the way he touched her. His hand literally never left her body. Not once the entire time they were in front of me. Even when they sat on the couch, Paul held her hand until she was settled, then he threw his arm around her shoulders and spread his legs wide as if the girth of his testicles had turned his kneecaps into oppositely polarized magnets.
Your mother and I exchanged several glances.
He is a man who is comfortable airing his opinions, and confident that every single word that comes out of his mouth is not just correct, but fascinating. He has money, which is evident from the car he drives and the clothes he wears, but there is nothing moneyed about his attitude. His arrogance comes from his intelligence, not from his wallet. And it must be said that he is clearly a brilliant young man. His ability to at least sound informed on any subject matter points to a voracious memory. He clearly understands details if not nuance.
Your mother asked about his family, because we are southern and asking about someone’s family is the only way we can distinguish the chaff from the wheat.
Paul started with the basics: his father’s tour in the Navy, his mother’s secretarial schooling. They became farmers, salt-of-the-earth people who supplemented their income with bookkeeping and seasonal work with the UGA grounds crew. (As you know, this latter part-time work is not uncommon. Everyone at some point or another ends up working in some capacity for the school.) There were no other relatives but for a seldom-seen uncle on the mother’s side who passed away Paul’s freshman year at Auburn.
It was because of his childhood isolation, Paul said, that he wanted a big family—a fact that should have pleased your mother and me but I saw her back stiffen alongside mine, because the tone in his voice indicated just how he would go about achieving that.
(Trust me, sweetheart, there is a reason centuries of fathers have fought brutal wars to protect the concept of Immaculate Conception.)
After relaying the basics, Paul got to the part of his history that made your little sister’s eyes glisten with tears. That was when I knew he had her. It seems harsh to say that Claire never cries for anyone, but if you only knew, my sweet girl, what became of us after you disappeared, you would understand that she didn’t cry because there were no tears left.
Except for Paul.
As I sat there listening to the story of his parents’ car accident, I felt some old memories stirring. The Scotts died almost a full year after you were gone. I remember reading about the pile-up in the newspaper because by that time, I was reading every page in case there was some story that connected back to you. Your mother remembers hearing from a patron at the library that Paul’s father was decapitated. There was fire involved. Our imaginations ran wild.
Paul’s version of events is far more rosy (he is certainly the boot-strapper in this story), but