The House on Persimmon Road

by Jackie Weger

  The bottom line. Tucker decided it was still too early to risk it. “Just an old dream. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “Dreams can turn out to be nightmares,” she said with feeling.

  Tucker gently squeezed her hand. “He really hurt you bad, didn’t he?”

  “I was devastated.”

  “Wherever he is, I hope somebody rubs his nose in it. Some guys just don’t know how lucky they are.”

  “It happens all the time. Mid-life crisis.”

  “Drivel.”

  Anger glared in her eyes, lighting them from behind. “It’s not drivel. Men turn forty, and poof! They want out.”

  “Don’t make the mistake of including me in that group. I had my mid-life crisis when my mother died.”

  Justine started.

  “Ah. You have been including me—giving me black marks when I didn’t deserve them. You can’t go around dishonoring a Southern boy like that, Justine. It riles them no end. As it happens I know just how I want you to make it up to me. Let’s put a quarter in the jukebox and take a twirl on the floor.”

  She straightened in alarm. “No! I haven’t danced in years.”

  He moved around the table and bent to whisper in her ear. “It’s like this: you either dance with me so I can hold you in my arms or we can go outside and get it on in the truck.”

  “I’ll dance.”

  His grin was wicked. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

  He picked out a couple of old Ray Charles tunes, and once he had the whole of her in his arms, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, he merely stood still. “Oh, Lord,” he murmured. “I knew this was how you’d feel.”

  Justine, too, felt the current; her nerve endings pulsed. She moistened her lips. “We’d better dance.”

  He two-stepped them about the floor.

  She was very much aware of every inch of him pressed against her. It was the music. It seemed to insinuate itself inside her body, making her respond to Tucker without her own volition. She was both dismayed and excited. The sensation of his arms about her left her with no will of her own. It felt wonderful—as if she were whole again. As if whatever essence of womanhood she had left was being forced into bloom. She slipped her hand to the back of his neck. His arm tightened at her waist.

  “This is unadulterated hell,” he whispered in her ear. “Like making love with your clothes on.”

  “I know,” she whispered back, then flushed deeply realizing she’d just confided something terribly intimate.

  They danced two more sets. When the last tune faded, Tucker guided her back to the table, reluctantly relinquishing her to her chair. “Can’t handle any more of that. Maybe another beer will cool me down. Then we’ll eat.” After he gave the waitress their order, he looked at her and with a troubled laugh said, “Remind me, when we leave, you ride in the truck bed. If you sit next to me on the way home I won’t be held responsible for what I might do.”

  His voice had a slight quaver and Justine understood that he was as shaken as she. Up until a few moments ago, it had been little more than words between them, the seriousness lightened with jokes. But now…the only thing left to her was to put a good face on it. She patted his hand and put a smile in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

  He frowned. “You’re not taking me seriously at all, are you?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Or won’t?”

  “I won’t deny I feel something for you—”

  “What do you feel?”

  “But one of us has to be practical.”

  “Forget practical,” he interrupted, intrigued by the possibility of what she might say. “What do you feel?”

  Justine was hanging on to her resistance by a thread. “I—I’m probably in as deep as you.”

  Tucker was suddenly flushed by a dizzying uprush of emotion. “Let me just run down the list, to be sure.”

  “What list?”

  “Just answer yes or no. Does your flesh feel restless?”

  “Tucker…”

  “I’m not asking you to jump in the sack. I’m just trying to find out if we’re talking the same language. Restless or not?”

  “Restless.”

  “Your gut feel airy?”

  “A little.”

  “Only a little?”

  She gave him a half smile. “All right, a lot.”

  “You feel intoxicated?”

  “Yes, because I’ve had two beers on an empty stomach.”

  “You feel like laughing when nothing’s funny?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Are you terrified?”

  She laughed outright. “Unequivocally. Now stop.”

  “Last question. His eyes radiated a sudden intensity. “Wanna dance until our food comes?”

  “We might embarrass ourselves.”

  “We won’t. I just want to hold you close again.”

  There were several other couples on the floor. They moved among them for a few steps, then Tucker maneuvered her into the darkest corner. He nibbled on her ear, kissed her brow, and trailed his lips from one eyelid to the other.

  Justine’s inner response was so profoundly receptive that all at once she found it impossible to believe it was happening. She pushed him away. “Please, you’ve got to stop.”

  “You’re right,” he said, breath shallow. He kissed her. When his mouth covered hers, he had to fight the giddiness that swept over him.

  Justine forgot about being sane and sensible, forgot that she had vowed never to get involved again.

  The waitress breezed past the dance floor holding up a tray. “Hey, Tucker, food’s up.”

  — • —

  On the ride home Justine felt apprehension rising in her once again, especially apprehension about the note on which their evening would end. Over the hamburgers and fries, which were the best she had ever eaten and had not done justice to, they had talked of everything under the sun: clothes and people and food, the new morality sweeping across the country, his job, her work, his dad, her parents, senior citizens, young people, street people, fishing, hunting and gardening. Words had seemed to just rush back and forth of their own accord. Yet beneath the conversation sexual vibes were zinging back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball. Justine felt the vibes and she knew Tucker did, too.

  But the sensations had not stopped her from confiding in Tucker as if he were a long-lost best friend. He had sympathized and encouraged, and all the while her feelings for him deepened. She discovered he was compassionate, stubborn, arrogant, witty, and fun. Best of all he never seemed to take his eyes from her, as if he couldn’t get enough of looking at her, or of touching her. It had been easy to reciprocate, yet she couldn’t see how they might manage to end up a couple.

  For her, simply keeping afloat from month to month was a major accomplishment. Looking down the long road, theirs would be an impossible household. No sane man would consider it. And the idea of having an affair scared her to death. Fantasizing was one thing, but actually getting undressed? Safe Sex? Discussing condoms? Stretch marks! It was out of the question.

  She wanted someone to relax with, to laugh with, to love, and pleasantness, if that made sense. Or perhaps she was hungry for all the small courtesies of marriage. Tucker, she learned, was very good at small courtesies.

  The lights from the dash cast an eerie glow upon his features. He was as deep in contemplation as she had just been. She touched his arm, felt her fingertip burn. “What are thoughts going for these days? Still a penny?”

  “You’d have to pay through the nose for the ones I’m having right now.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  A smile played at the edge of his mouth. “I’m wondering how in hell I can give you a good-night kiss, deposit you on your front porch, and then walk away like the nice guy I am.” He glanced at her, his sexy smile widening before he turned to face the road again. “The animal in me is warring with my good intentions. The animal wants to driv
e up to my own front door, carry you upstairs, and have its way with you. Does that give you a penny’s worth?”

  “I think,” Justine said carefully, “I’ve just bought more than I bargained for.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I like a woman who places a high premium on certain things.”

  The sweep of his mustache on the palm of her hand sent a lovely tingle down Justine’s spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just warning you to save up your pennies. There’ll come a time when you’ll want to spend them. I promise to give value for value.”

  “You’re driving on the wrong side of the road, Tucker.”

  “Cripes!”

  Euphoria got the best of Justine. She extended her arm across his shoulder then let her fingers trail up his strong corded neck. “I like you.”

  He took a deep breath. Like! That was small change compared to what was going on inside of him. He felt slightly dizzy from her perfume; interior warmth squeezed through his chest and belly. He’d been too long without a woman, and the thought of yet another cold shower to dispel the heat made him say a bit too sharply, “Well, that’s a start.”

  Piqued, Justine drew her arm back, ready to challenge his words, but realized she didn’t know which direction the challenge should take—start or finish. She had just wanted him to say that he liked her, too. But of course, he’d already made himself plain. He was beyond the beginning. It was she who was the laggard. But she had to be! One of them had to be practical.

  He turned into her drive and the headlight beams illuminated a disconsolate trio sitting on the porch steps. Justine’s heart leaped into her throat.

  “Something’s wrong!” she cried and exited the truck before Tucker could even bring it to a full stop.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where’s Mother?” Justine asked. “What’s happened?”

  “We thought you’d never get home, Mom.” Pip was no longer the swaggering preteen, only a very relieved youngster.

  “Grandma Gates is crying,” said Judy Ann, sniffling herself. “She’s been crying almost since you left and hasn’t stopped.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” said Agnes, rising painfully to her feet. “Pauline locked herself in her room,” she explained. “We couldn’t coax her out.”

  Justine sagged against a porch pillar. She looked from the three pinched faces to Tucker, as he took the steps two at a time.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Histrionics, I think.” Justine knew that she had to shelve all thoughts of continuing the evening. Tucker might as well know her priorities now. Her hand fluttered toward him. “I’m afraid we’ll have to say good-night.” She tried to sound casual, but disappointment overrode her tone. “I had a wonderful time.”

  His expression exuded a disappointment as strong as her own. “Can I help?” he asked, adding hopefully, “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I don’t think you’d better.”

  Tucker shrugged. Outside of pleading with her, the only option she gave him was to bow out. “If you need me…”

  Her heart and soul were in her smile. “I know where you live.” She touched his arm. “You’re good company, Tucker. More—” She stopped, mindful of her audience.

  He cleared his throat, turned, and clamped a hand on Pip’s shoulder. “Listen, sport, you want to drive with me to pick up my dad in the morning?”

  “Sure! Can I, Mom?”

  “He won’t be in your way?”

  “Not a bit.” Tucker’s gaze lingered on her hungrily for a moment, then he spun off the porch while murmuring goodnight.

  Justine suddenly felt empty of all emotion. She ushered her clan into the house. “Okay,” she asked wearily, “What started it?”

  “I made meat loaf for dinner like you said,” Agnes replied. “The lid to the pepper shaker came off in Pauline’s hand. She put it down calm as you please. Then she burst into tears, got up from the table, and ran into her room. She’s been there ever since. Nobody said anything.”

  “I told her I’d be her best girl, but she wouldn’t talk to me,” said Judy Ann. “She said for me to get away from her door.”

  “It’s been a terrible evening,” added Agnes. “Pauline isn’t stable. She scared the children.”

  A myriad of feelings swept through Justine—anger, remorse, love, hate. She wanted to sidestep a confrontation, curl up in her bed, and let her imagination run wild with thoughts of Tucker. But it would seem that even dreams were to be denied her. The unfairness of it all swamped her and it took her a moment to harness the flood.

  “All of you go to bed, quietly now,” she said finally. “I’ll deal with your grandmother. Shoo. You, too, Agnes. Tuck Judy Ann in for me, why don’t you?”

  Once alone in the hall, Justine pressed her ear to Pauline’s door. She could hear her mother’s sniffling. Tea, she thought, and went to make it. When she had it brewed and the tray ready, she tapped on Pauline’s door.

  “Mother? It’s me. I’m home and I’ve made us a pot of tea.”

  “I don’t want tea. Go away.”

  “Don’t you want to hear how my date with Tucker went?” She waited. Nothing. “Mother, I’m not budging.” She used the no-nonsense voice she bestowed on the children when they were being stubborn. “I’ll stand out here and bang on your door all night if I have to.”

  A moment later there came the sound of scuffling, a chair being moved away from the door. Pauline tugged the door open. Her eyes were puffed and watery; her bed was a sea of used tissues.

  Without meeting her daughter’s eyes she turned back and sat in the center of the bed.

  Justine set the tray on the Pembroke table that served as a nightstand. She poured the tea, took a cup for herself, and curled up leaning back against the carved bedpost, gathering strength for what lay ahead.

  “I had a wonderful time with Tucker,” she said and her mother’s head jerked in Justine’s direction. “Now, what are you so distressed about?”

  Pauline buried her face in her hands and began to sob again. “It was the pepper…”

  “So the lid came off,” Justine said gently. “Mother, that’s not anything to cry about.”

  Pauline wiped her nose. “You don’t understand. The last meal I shared with your father was steak au poivre. When he made that noise in his throat, I thought, ‘Cook’s used too much pepper’… and then…and then—” She took a deep breath “—Evan just…slumped.”

  Justine set aside the tea and moved to put her arms around her mother. “Oh, Mom, I know it’s been hard on you. I miss Dad, too.”’

  Pauline hiccupped. “I’m so angry with him, Justine. The same way you’re angry at Philip for leaving you. I feel abandoned and so helpless! First your father, then the house, the furnishings—I’ve misplaced my gray silk dress and now my last pair of silk stockings—all lost! Everything! I have nothing.”

  “You have yourself, me, your grandchildren. We’re here for you. Even Agnes is here for you.” Justine realized the assurances were almost word for word those she had urged upon Mother Hale weeks earlier. “Things will work out. And you probably forgot your dress at the cleaners. Send them a note.”

  “It’s more than that. I know it wasn’t your father’s fault the market collapsed, or that a blood vessel burst in his brain before he could recoup all of his losses, but what am I going to do? What are we going to do? We’ve both been forsaken.”

  Justine opened her mother’s hand and pressed the teacup into it. “Philip’s gone and Dad’s gone. Dad had no choice. Philip did. They were our anchors and we’ve been cut loose. We feel adrift. Let’s accept that. We can’t undo what’s done. We have to learn to anchor ourselves to life, not depend entirely on anyone else. We’re going to keep on doing the best we can. You’re doing fine, Mother. Learning to drive and cook, helping with Pip and Judy Ann. I’m proud of you.”

  Pauline’s eyes widened. “You are? You don’t think I’m just a silly old t
wit?”

  “Of course I don’t. You’re just a little rusty on how to use your smarts. You’re adjusting fast.”

  Pauline took a long draught of tea. “Your father was proud of me, too, but now I think it was for the wrong reasons. He appreciated that I was an extension of him. I see that now. But I liked it, I went along with it. He provided so much.”

  “And he would’ve kept on providing. He wouldn’t have copped out like Philip.”

  “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t. I guess life just conspired against him. You really think I’m learning to be my own person?”

  “I believe it with all my heart.”

  Pauline glowed. “I feel so much better. You’re a good daughter, Justine.”

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  Her mother hesitated. “From all I’ve read, appearances are so important. I do so want to look nice when I go for interviews, dear. I don’t suppose you’d consider ordering me some stockings from Harrods?”

  Justine gave a small laugh. “You supposed right. But I do have an extra pair or two of panty hose you can have. But, this is the South. It’s too hot for hose.”

  “Oh, but what shall I do with all of my garter belts?”

  “Burn them! You’re going to be a modern Millie now.” Pauline’s face fell. “So much left behind…”

  “We’re on our own, Mother. Financially, emotionally. Garter belts are the least of our worries. We’ll do fine. I know we will.”

  Justine looked about the room. It was a hodge-podge of expensive bibelots, curios that Pauline could not bear to part with. “You know, I bet you could raise some cash if you’d put some of this stuff up for sale— that Tiffany lamp, for instance, and those ivory whatnots.” Pauline looked stricken. Justine retreated. “Well, there’s no harm in considering it.”

  Justine took a last sip of tea and replaced the delicate china cup on the tray. Pauline grabbed her hand.

  “You’re not going off to bed now?”

  “I am. I’m tired.”

  “Your evening with Tucker went well, you say?”

  “It was magnificent.”

  Pauline cleared her throat, a sure sign an unwarranted curiosity was on the rise. “Did the two of you…you know—”