The House on Persimmon Road

by Jackie Weger

  “Don’t.”

  He gave her a grim smile. “I keep telling myself you’ve got more on your plate than you can handle. I tell myself you don’t need me in your life. I ask myself what I have to offer a woman with two kids, and come up blank.”

  “You have a lot—”

  “Name it.”

  “I don’t know exactly. This is a stupid conversation, Tucker. We don’t know each other.”

  “I know you.” He wanted to say something romantic, something to fit the occasion, but the words that came to mind chafed with the good-old-boy image he had of himself.

  “When I saw you on the porch that first time, you switched something on inside me. I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. Something in my brain connected with you. You fit here, Justine. You do. Don’t talk about it being a mistake. That scares me. Makes me think you’ll just pack up and one day I’ll come home and find you gone.” Her expression was so dubious he knew he had to continue, convince her. He smiled the smile that made him seem so boyish.

  “I know more about you than you think. I pick the kids’ brains. They love to talk about you. I know about the time you baked a birthday cake for Pip and it slid off the plate onto the floor. Judy Ann has a picture in her shoebox of you when you were pregnant with her. She says it’s a picture of her inside your tummy. Your hair was long then, almost down to your waist. I know about the time you were in the grocery store with her and accidently let one and blamed it on her—”

  “What!”

  Her face flamed, making her eyes seem like some warm and liquid sea, inviting him into their depths. He laughed and lost his momentum. “Yeah, she told me.”

  “I’ll wring that girl’s neck. I will.” A second passed, two. Justine cleared her throat, her emotions once more in check. “It’s way past all our bedtimes.”

  “Okay,” he said, releasing her. “Look, I have to go out of town, my crew has been loaned to a site in Montgomery, but say you’ll have dinner with me when I get back. Nothing fancy, I’m not a fancy guy. Burgers and beer—you’ll learn I don’t pick my teeth in public, spit on sidewalks, dip snuff—the basics.” He took her hand. “C’mon, we’ll let your folks know the ghost has been banished to the cellar.”

  “We don’t have a cellar.”

  “Don’t have a ghost, either.”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied, heart aching, “the ghost of a failed marriage.”

  “We’ll talk about that, too. Hell, we’ll talk about everything—raising kids, safe sex, mothers-in-law, paying bills, the price of eggs in China, even monks. Get it all out of the way.”

  Tucker thought he might even tell her about the cookbook. If she laughed him off the face of the earth, he’d pull in his horns, save face, and cut his throat. Yeah, what she thought about the cookbook would be the bottom line. What she thought of his dad counted, too. The old man was as big a consideration as the book.

  “You’re going too fast.”

  “The hell I am. I’m holding back.” All those old clichés about love were true. You fell into it, headlong, with no hope of stopping, and that was it. And this after he had decided he’d never fall as hard for a woman as his dad had for his mother. Lord, but he was lost.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself,” Justine told him as they stepped onto the path between her house and his.

  “I am. I surprise the heck out of myself sometimes. Don’t dawdle. I’m fighting the urge to carry you off into the bushes.”

  “Crass, too.”

  “Only on the outside, inside I’m—”

  “What? What are you on the inside?”

  “Tenderhearted?”’

  “That just might be true.”

  “I should’ve kissed you when I had the chance. I want to now, bad. But there’s Pip, standing on my stoop, playing lookout.”

  Justine wished he’d kissed her, too.

  Pip showed up clearly in the light from the porch. He looked so like his father that Justine’s heart wrenched. She withdrew her hand from Tucker’s.

  Chapter Ten

  Justine banged on the bathroom door. “Pip, what are you doing in there? I need to get cleaned up.”

  I’ll tell you what he’s doing, Lottie said with a snort of disgust. He’s counting the hairs under his arms. And when he’s not doing that, he’s flexing those skinny arms of his or mugging in front of the mirror.

  “Gee whiz, Mom,” he said pushing past her. “A guy can’t get any privacy around here.”

  “You can have all the privacy you want—in your bedroom.”

  “Without locks on the doors? Anybody can just walk in.”

  “You weren’t doing anything nasty in there, were you?”

  Pip’s face went the color of beets. “You sure are dumb, Mom. I’m growing up. You’re supposed to treat me with respect.”

  Justine did a double-take, thoughtful for a moment. “Respect? All right, but that works two ways. There are five of us who have to use one bathroom. Growing up means having consideration for others.”

  Including me, there’s six what have to use the room, said Lottie. She hardly had a turn. Why, each time she thought she was clear to finagle the fuse box, somebody else came prancing in as if a call to nature was on orders from God Almighty Himself—not that she was taking up blaspheming, but there was something to be said for an outdoor privy. Nobody stood in line for that!

  Pip was glaring at his mother through narrowed eyes. “Yah, you’re just nervous ’cause you got a date with Tucker. Don’t take it out on me.”

  Justine opened her mouth, then closed it. There was truth in what he said, but she didn’t like having it thrown into her face by an eleven-year-old. “I am nervous. I admit it. That only makes me human, which doesn’t give you the right to hog the bathroom. Got that?”

  “Sure,” he said, sauntering off. “You don’t have to make a federal case out of it.”

  Lye soap, Justine. You spare it now and you'll regret it to your dying day, Lottie said.

  Pip slammed the screen door and Justine slammed the bathroom door.

  Lottie sank down on the stoop and wilted. There was ruin in the air. Things built up and then tumbled back to nothing again so fast she couldn’t keep up.

  After the fiasco with the chair, she’d been ever so careful not to wander about after the sun went down. Agnes had got into the habit of investigating every little noise she couldn’t put a name to. Not only that, but the fuse box was defeating her. Thus far, no matter how she poked and pried, no jolt of current whipped out to give her that wonderful sensation of being solid again. She was just as invisible as ever, a figment, a phantasm.

  Lottie sniffed the air. Her mouth watered. Agnes was making popcorn and using real butter from the smell of it. She made a big bowl of it every day and nibbled on it while she watched game shows.

  Lottie issued a mournful sigh and spent the time waiting for Justine to vacate the bathroom daydreaming of the time when she could partake of sustenance without having to sneak to do it.

  — • —

  “What do you think, Mother? Am I overdressed or underdressed?” Justine had chosen a peach-colored sundress, fitted at the waist with a full swirling skirt, and tied her hair back with one of Judy Ann’s ribbons.

  “You look quite nice, dear. Refreshing.”

  Agnes chafed. “Suppose I get sick while you’re out with…?

  Justine sighed heavily. “I’ll only be gone a few hours.” Agnes was heaping guilt upon the guilt Justine already felt about leaving all of them at home while she anticipated an evening of fun—or if not fun, getting away from the hubbub of disagreements and constant friction. She was thinking of it as a mother’s day out. Looking at it as an actual date made her stomach lurch.

  At the exact moment he had promised to call for her, Tucker drove into the yard and tooted the horn. The kids raced outside to say hello.

  Tucker had grown to immense proportions in their eyes by virtue of the fact that the night before he had left town h
e had “hired” them both. For the grand sum of one dollar each per day, Pip had watered and weeded Tucker’s garden during his absence, and Judy Ann had fed and watered the chickens and gathered eggs. Tucker had graciously insisted that they bring home the eggs and whatever vegetables Pip harvested. Day after day Pip proudly deposited zucchini and yellow squash on the kitchen counter and green tomatoes were ripening along the windowsills.

  To Justine’s surprise, the children had taken their “jobs” seriously. Not once did she have to remind them. And they had done such splendid work Tucker had paid them each a ten-dollar bill.

  Agnes sniffed as if smelling something odious. “In my day a man would come up to the door to call for his date.”

  “In your day they still used horse and buggy,” quipped Pauline.

  Justine’s guilt and tension restructured itself. “Look, if it’s going to cause all this hassle, I’ll just tell Tucker I’ve changed my mind.”

  “You will do no such thing,” insisted Pauline. “You’ve earned a night out. If Agnes becomes ill, I’ll take care of her.”

  “I’d end up dead for certain then,” Agnes muttered.

  Pauline put down her needlepoint, shoved Justine’s purse into her hands, and ushered her out onto the front porch. “I can recall the times when you couldn’t wait to get away.”

  “I’m older now.”

  “All right, if you don’t want to go, ask Tucker if he’d mind a substitute. I’d like a night out myself.”

  Justine laughed. “Okay, Mother. Point taken.”

  He was leaning against the cab of his truck, chatting easily with the children. When he looked up at her, his smile was disarming and sexy. Justine knew he meant it to be. She suddenly had another dozen instructions for Pip and Judy Ann. Tucker shook his head, gently pried her away, and handed her up into the cab. Justine’s hands were so unsteady she could barely fasten the seat belt.

  Once they were off, it seemed to Justine they were acknowledging each other only by a soft flurry of vibrations. She was doing her best to remain cool and detached, to deflect the wealth of emotions that threatened to swamp her.

  A quarter mile down the road he said, “If you’d honestly rather not do this, we can turn around…”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “All because of a hamburger and beer?”

  “Because I haven’t been on a date in fifteen years! I don’t know what’s in—how to act, what to say—”

  “Calm down, be yourself. You mind riding in the truck?”

  “No, why should I?”

  “See? Now we have an ordinary conversation going here. Easy as pie.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did you miss me?”

  She had counted the days and finally, the hours. “No.”

  “Nine days and you didn’t think of me once?”

  “Well, when you called.”

  “I’ve got to think about this. Watch the scenery.”

  She did, but more often her gaze slid to his profile, his hands on the wheel, or the jean-clad length of his legs. He’d had his hair cut, and he smelled of a seductive woodsy after-shave. There had to be something primitive in the olfactory nerves, else why did his aftershave cause sudden erotic images in her brain.

  At the stop sign before they got onto the highway he looked at her, and Justine could feel the warmth of his eyes on her lips.

  — • —

  Tucker sensed Justine was wholly unaware of her impact on him. The light scent she wore filled his nose, swirling around him like an aphrodisiac. It took all the control he could muster not to pull over onto the verge and take her in his arms.

  “You had to think of me,” he said, knowing full well the huskiness of his voice betrayed his thoughts. “No way you couldn’t. The chemistry between us is just cooking away. We’re on the same wavelength. The way I see it, you’re lying. Shame on you.”

  Justine salvaged what she could. “Maybe I’m not at the same point in this relationship as you are—or think you are. I’m not even sure we have a relationship.”

  “Put any name on it you want. I know what’s plaguing me.” He was creeping up to the danger zone, decided to pull back. God, he thought, I need her. His entire life had been spent focusing on survival, keeping the wolves at bay. He had ignored and discounted the loneliness that ate at him, nagged him like a toothache. Justine had undone his equanimity.

  He had thought he’d get back on track while in Montgomery, but when neither the memory of the soft feel of her skin or the smell of her hair had diminished in his thoughts, he had telephoned her. When she came on the line, his heart sank and swelled happily at the same time. The sound of her voice made him wish he was with her and had her in his arms. Boy oh boy, he had it bad. Back peddling wasn’t taking him anywhere but circles.

  Justine wet her lips. “You said something?”

  “Halfway thinking out loud.”

  “About what?”

  “Now that’s a leading question,” he said, smiling. “What if I told you, dreams?” She was beautiful, the expression in her eyes uncertain. Tucker knew he’d have to give her time to catch up, to ripen with love and desire.

  “What kind of dreams?”

  “Same as everybody else. A cross between fantasy and reality, speaking of which, tell me—what’s with our old friend, the chair, these days?” A quick glance told him she was relieved at the change in subject.

  “Nothing now, but it ruled our lives for three days. Pip drew circles in chalk around the legs. It hasn’t moved an inch. I’m not certain that it ever did—on its own, I mean. But convince Pip and Judy Ann of that. Mother deplores it, Agnes ignores it. I sit in it. It’s comfortable.”

  “Brave woman.”

  “Hardly that. I don’t believe in psychic phenomena. At least, I don’t want to believe in it.” Justine paused. “But if I had to swear on a Bible, I’d have to say it did walk down the hall on its own.”

  Tucker grinned. “Put it back outside and see if it trots in again.”

  Justine laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Too bad. I could make rescuing damsels a habit.”

  “No doubt you’ve done your share of that.”

  “Not nice, and here I am on my best behavior to impress you.”

  “If I were any more impressed, I’d have to stand up and applaud.” He laughed, and she knew he was pleased by her approval. Justine could not tear her gaze away from him. He excited her in a way that no other man ever had, including Philip. That was something. Or perhaps now she couldn’t remember how Philip had once excited her. So much had happened to diminish the feelings.

  — • —

  The tavern was a weathered building boasting a much-scuffed wooden floor. It was built on stilts overlooking the Tensaw River. A red neon sign advertised beer and bait. The bait shop was beneath the tavern. A warped wooden floor held rusted bait boxes flowing with salt and fresh water. The air was rank with the smell of dead fish and bait, but not offensive in the soft breeze off the water. Close to shore sea grass undulated in the shallows just beneath the surface. A boat ramp was nearby and from the number of trucks and cars and boat trailers, Justine surmised it was a popular local watering hole.

  Tucker guided her to a table near a bank of windows which gave her a view of the river and shell bulwarks bulwarks upon which long-legged water birds perched. A jukebox gave out an old Elvis Presley tune. A middle-aged couple swayed to the music in the small area set aside for dancing.

  A few men spoke to Tucker, and the waitress greeted him by name.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “It’s more fish camp than beer joint. I bring my dad here sometimes. Gives him a chance to keep his fish tales up to snuff.”

  The waitress set frosted mugs before them. The beer was so cold it hurt Justine’s teeth.

  Tucker placed his hand lightly over hers. “Tell me every little thing that’s happened while I was out of town.”

  �
�You’d be so bored you’d never ask me out again.”

  “I like the sound of your voice. I just want to hear you talk.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “So indulge me.”

  “I jogged every morning. After that I worked, or did laundry, or pleaded with Milo to quit digging gopher holes and mow the grass. Mother and Agnes practiced their driving. We’re all three studying for our Alabama licenses. Mother wants to find a job…” A shadow flitted across her face.

  “And?” Tucker prompted.

  “Mother and Agnes fight more than the kids do. I think Agnes is envious. Tucker, I’m listening to myself. You don’t really want to hear this.”

  “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Justine shook her head. “I just wish there was more harmony. I miss it.”

  “What about your ex-husband?” Tucker stroked her hand. He hated bringing the man up. It felt as if he was hitting himself over the head with a club. But if there was a force in the way of Justine’s feelings for him, he wanted it banished. “Do you miss him?”

  Her face closed up. “That topic is still a little raw.”

  “In what way?” he kept on, pushing to exorcise the man, erase him from Justine’s mind.

  Justine exhaled a long sigh. “I miss what he represented. The three-bedroom ranch, the mother-in-law quarters, the security and safety of being married. I hate it that the children don’t have a father, especially now. Pip needs a firmer hand these days, and Philip was always the disciplinarian. I miss…having somebody there for me…” She trailed off and took another sip of beer. “Enough about me. What about you? Any ex-wives out there?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Girlfriends?”

  “Now and again.”

  “Did you ever come close to getting married?”

  “Once, but I had a project going that didn’t appeal to her, and there’s the matter of my dad. She thought three’s a crowd. She didn’t like country living either.”

  Justine succumbed to a twinge of jealousy. “You lived together?”

  “For about twenty minutes.”

  “What kind of project?” Changing the subject.