by Celia Roman
“Her and others,” I said, then filled Mama in quick like on what I knowed for certain. “Anything get back to you?”
Mama shook her head and slumped back in her hard chair. “Not a thing, Sunshine. If I get word…”
“Appreciate it.” I pursed my lips together real tight, studied her close again. There was bags under her eyes, black circles and lines what weren’t there the last time I visited. “You sure ever thing’s going ok for you?”
“As well as can be,” she replied, which weren’t no answer a’tall.
I let it go. She needed my help, she knowed how to reach me. “I’ll put some money in your account on the way out.”
We said our goodbyes, quieter now in the parting than we was in the greeting, and I left under the same weight what burdened me ever time I seen her. Weren’t nothing I could do for her, not really. Coming to visit, sending the occasional letter; what was that compared to half a life missed while she was in prison and Fame raised me?
I shook the melancholy off as I climbed into Daddy’s IROC. Water under the bridge. I didn’t resent the lack of a mama in my life, never had, but I sure would like to never have to see her surrounded by so much dangerous hopelessness ever again.
When I got home, a creamy linen envelope was sitting in my mailbox, waiting there like a snake coiled to strike. I eyed it a long, long time before slipping my fingers into the mailbox and pulling the letter out. It was heavy against my palm, cool as silk. The lettering on the front was written in cursive in an even hand using what, for the life of me, looked like the nib of a quill pen.
I glanced at the return address and grinned as my mood lightened. David, that sly dog. I’d have to get him for scaring me like that. Honestly. He had my phone number, didn’t he, and lived just down the road a piece. What was wrong with calling a body?
I drove on up into the driveway, parked the IROC, and picked at the letter’s seal as I let myself into the trailer, ignoring the bold as you please hex signs decorating the front door. Them things hadn’t worn off under a good late summer rain. I was beginning to think they never would.
Figured that was the point. Old Mother weren’t one to give anything a half measure.
The glue on the envelope finally released under my careful touch. I opened it and pulled out a matching sheet of paper folded neatly into thirds, and scanned the short letter as I jittered from foot to foot on the worn, puke green carpet.
Dearest Sunshine, it began, and my grin about stretched my face in two. I was afraid if I didn’t write, you’d conveniently forget your promise to attend my and Gregory’s dinner party.
I snorted out a half laugh. Reckon David had my number.
It’s this Friday. Be there promptly at seven or I’ll come hunt you down myself. Bring Ranger Rick, if you must.
My laugh turned into a guffaw. Ranger Rick. Looked like the nickname was gonna stick. Wait’ll Riley heard.
But if you can bring yourself to leave him at home, it would be my pleasure to dance the night away with you. Come as you are, darling girl, and not one iota different.
He signed it, Love, David, and added a postscript about the late fall rock and roll party he promised to throw in my honor.
I snorted again. In my honor, my foot. What a flirt.
But in spite of all his flirting, I couldn’t keep myself from carefully refolding the letter and tucking it away in my hope chest with the piddlin’ pile of treasures I been collecting since Daddy give me it on my eighth birthday. Weren’t much in there. A few report cards, my favorite pictures of Henry and my folks, all wearing smiles like fate weren’t right around the corner just a-waiting to butt in.
And a picture of me and Riley, took by his mama not long after I saved him from that snake. I fished it out, ran the pad of one finger over the pair of us, forever after framed with our arms thrown around each other’s necks and huge grins on our faces. The colors’d faded a mite over time, but Riley’s hair still glowed bright under that long ago summer sun, and mine was still a rat’s nest even his mama’s patience weren’t able to tame.
I tapped a finger to his face a final time, then tucked the picture away again, hiding it for another day’s reminiscence. A soft fondness remained, lightly enclosing my heart within its gentle grasp. I shoulda knowed better’n to hold truck with Riley Treadwell, I really shoulda, but for once, I couldn’t find nary a reason to chase him outta my heart.
Not a single one.
Chapter Fourteen
That week, I done another sweep of the pawn shops searching for any sign of Missy’s ring and come away empty handed, again. The ring’s disappearance was a real puzzler. Piece like that was unique, not something a body’d wanna hang on to for fear of being discovered. Not a local, no how. Word was out, and nobody but nobody wanted to be on Fame Carson’s bad side.
That left a non-local, maybe one of them roving gangs of Irish travelers. They come through a time or two and spread mischief. Petty theft, mostly, but that was enough in a small town like Clayton. If them was the culprits, Missy’s ring was long gone.
I didn’t wanna have to be the one to tell her, so I kept looking, kept pestering the folks at Ingles, and told near ever body I knowed to be on the lookout.
While I was out, I dropped by the Tribune’s office and changed the shipping address of my new newspaper subscription from mine to Mama’s. She needed it more’n I did. ‘Sides. It served Teus right for presuming to subscribe on my behalf. Maybe that’d learn him to mind his own.
Wednesday, Riley come over for supper all spiffied up in fresh washed jeans. He rapped once on the front door, hard. I hollered for him to come in, and a minute later, he was standing behind me at the stove, crowding me against the worn metal front with his hands on my hips and his mouth on my neck.
“Mmm, Sunny.” His words feathered across my skin, soft as air. “You taste good enough to eat. Can I have you for dessert?”
Little prickles of heat stole down my neck and my knees went weak. I leaned into him, just a bit, but kept my words playfully sharp. “You’ll make do with the one I whipped up for you, and that’s that.”
He laughed against my throat and dug his fingers into my hips through my jeans. “Some day, Sunny.”
I didn’t need to hear nothing else to understand what he was a-saying. Some day, he was gonna talk his way into my pants. I didn’t know what I was gonna do then, but I figured I didn’t need to yet. No need to beg another day’s trouble when I had plenty on my plate today.
I swatted him away, tried not to laugh with him, and failed. There was just something about Riley Treadwell what burrowed under my skin and lived. Always had been and, I was beginning to suspect, always would be.
While I finished up supper, he dug through Daddy’s records and slipped one on the turntable, and I grinned when the first song come on. Foreigner. Riley sure knowed the way to a girl’s heart.
That afternoon, I done gussied up the kitchen table with an heirloom tablecloth crocheted by my great-granny during the full swing of World War II. Fame give it to me when I moved outta his house back into the trailer. A housewarming present, I guess, or maybe by that time, he lost all hope of Trey and Gentry moving out. Whatever the case, it was mine now. I hardly ever used it, what with never having nobody ‘cept family over, but Riley growed up fancy thanks to the money his mama come from. Dinner with him called for a mite more than a bare, rickety metal table.
So out come Granny’s tablecloth, the placemats Mama quilted when she was a young’un, and two silver candle holders Missy lent me for the occasion, placed careful like on either side of a vase of sunflowers I got at Ingles. It weren’t fancy, but it’d do.
We dished up plates of fried chicken, green beans, mashed taters, biscuits, and gravy, then sat at the table, one beside t’other. Riley took a huge bite of chicken, eat straight from the bone with his fingers the way God intended fried chicken to be eat. His eyes went wide and he mmmd and said around a mouthful, “Holy cow, that’s good.”
&nb
sp; Me, I was torn between chastising him for talking with his mouth full and thanking him for the compliment. But today was special, it being the first time he eat here. I didn’t wanna spoil it, so I thanked him polite like and growed rather pleased over the way he dug into the meal.
I was right. He was a pleasure to do for.
After helping himself to a second plate, and it going the way of the first, Riley sat back in his chair and patted his belly. “God, Sunny, that was good. Best fried chicken I’ve had in a long time.”
I shot him a skeptical look as I gathered our plates up and stood. “Your mama cooks a mighty fine bird, Riley Treadwell.”
“She does,” he agreed, “but not like this.”
“You better not tell her that.”
He grinned. “Do I look crazy to you?”
I snorted out a laugh. “You are hanging out with me.”
He dismissed that with a wave of one hand, then got up and nudged me outta the way and washed the supper dishes up over my protests. Couldn’t budge him none neither, what with him being stubborn as a mule and a good bit bigger’n me, so I fixed him a plate to take for lunch the next day while I wrapped up the leftovers and tucked ‘em in the fridge.
After we set the kitchen to rights, I put on Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon and we settled on the lumpy sofa. Riley slumped down, slung an arm casual like across the back of it behind me, and closed his eyes. “You keep cooking like that for me, and I’m gonna get fat as a hog.”
I snickered. Yeah, lean, athletic Riley getting round-bellied. That’d happen on a cold day in aitch ee double hockey sticks. “I never said I was gonna cook for you again.”
“You will. Some day.” He tugged gentle like on my hair, and one corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Next time, it’s my turn. Steaks and baked sweet potatoes at my place, eaten in front of the TV like the patriotic Americans we are.”
I turned my face into his chest, hiding a smile. “Ok.”
One of his eyes popped open. “What?”
“I said ok.”
“I thought I’d have to, I don’t know. Twist your arm or something. Maybe beg a little.”
I shook my head, rubbing my face against his laundry fresh t-shirt. “How’s work going?”
He eyed me a minute more, then shut his eye and rested the back of his head against the couch. “Found two more dump sites this week, both in creeks feeding the Tallulah River.”
The news shook me outta the post-supper, cuddle-with-Riley stupor I was sinking into. “Dang, Riley. Nobody saw who done it?”
“Not a blessed soul. Tests came back on the site me and you found. Industrial waste. Phosphates, mostly, but some other, nastier stuff, too.”
I sucked in a breath. Phosphates. Weren’t that the rainbow stuff Fame said he found? “Where’d it come from?”
Riley shook his head. “No idea. We’re trying to trace the drums, but somebody scrubbed the markings off them. No origin labels. Standard sized metal barrels. We may never know who dumped the waste unless we catch the culprits in the act.”
I sneaked a hand off my lap and onto his belly, and rubbed. “You’re gonna figure it out, Riley. I know you will.”
His free hand landed on mine and held me to him. “Thanks, Sunny.”
“For what?”
“For believing in me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, and what did come outta my mouth nigh on embarrassed me for its lack of grace. “Oh.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in the quiet. Riley relaxed under my hand and his breaths evened out. I was on the verge of getting a pillow for him when he spoke.
“I heard a rumor about some black walnut cake.”
I tilted my head up. A half smile curved his mouth, though his eyes were closed. “Where’d you hear that from?”
“David called last night. Reminded me about the dinner party. He mentioned the cake, said I’d better save him a slice.”
That fink. See if I shared recipes with him again. “You gonna go with me?”
Riley bent down and kissed my forehead, then snuggled back into the couch. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby.”
The endearment spurred a funny little ache in my stomach, shot right into my heart, and softened me in a way I never felt with nobody ‘cept Riley. I searched for something to say, some way to let him know what he done to me, but by the time I scrounged up a single word, the record ended and Riley woke up enough to get serious about that black walnut cake I made for him.
Riley picked me up on Friday evening in his shiny clean Range Rover. He was dressed casual in a royal blue polo tucked into hip hugging jeans. Relief sighed outta me when I seen him. David told me to come as I was, true, but that was usually jeans and a t-shirt. I dug out a somewhat new long-sleeved collared shirt that morning and paired it with my nicest black jeans, and was thankful as ever thing Riley was dressed no better.
The party was in full swing by the time we got there, judging by the vehicles filling David and Gregory’s driveway. The sun was an inch above the horizon, round and blood orange and hazy through an early fog, and the air held the first nip of autumn’s touch. Music drifted outta the open front door into the evening, some smooth jazzy number what sounded vaguely familiar. Probably something David made me listen to when he was doing the planning.
Riley come around and helped me out, and I let him, just like I let him hold my hand during the short distance between his SUV and the house.
A woman had to live while she could, ‘specially with a man like Riley in her life.
I was still smiling over that notion when we went inside. Twenty or so folks mingled in clumps around the great room, some I knowed, some I didn’t. David stood behind the kitchen island, chopping knife in hand, wearing an apron over a creamy collared shirt and faded jeans. He spotted us right away and beamed a smile as he set the knife down and skirted the island.
His feet was bare as the day he was born.
I grinned. Reckon he was serious about coming as a body was, then, and good on him.
When he reached us, he smacked a kiss to my mouth. “Sunshine, you are as radiant as the sun.”
I smoothed a hand over my stick straight hair, braided down my back and pinned ruthlessly in the hopes it’d behave. “Go on with you.”
Riley subtly wedged himself between me and David. “Some party.”
David shot a knowing grin at me and winked, the scamp. “We’ll have dinner soon. Introduce Sunshine around, would you?”
And he was gone in a flash toward his station at the island among vegetables and fruits and no telling what else.
Gregory appeared in his place, three beers held in his elegant hands. He handed one to me, another to Riley, then sipped lightly from the third, his soft chocolate eyes fixed on me. “All David’s talked about this week is his Sunshine.”
The bottle was cold against my palm. I blushed and fidgeted with its label. “Sorry.”
“He admires you,” Gregory said simply, like it weren’t no big deal. He leaned close and brushed a hesitant kiss across my cheek, and the scent of water rolled over me, the high tone of fresh water underscored by a whiff of the deep brine. “Thanks for helping him plan the party. Work has been hectic these last few weeks. I haven’t been able to get away like I should.”
I mumbled, “You’re welcome,” then hung back while Riley took over and the two men fell into an intricate discussion about Gregory’s tax law business.
The folks gathered there was interesting enough to hold my attention ‘til my muscles relaxed and I found a comfortable spot between friend and guest. Faith Renault was talking to Teus and an Asian couple I didn’t know. Christian stood just behind her, his sculpted features set in an expression a hair shy of bone deep boredom. Hal Woodrow was parked in front of the makeshift bar along with a fellow a generation younger sporting the same hound dog eyes as Hal. His son, maybe?
I shook the question off and shifted my observation to another corner
of the room where Phillip Oliver stood gazing mockingly around, right beside a pretty little blond what looked like she’d blow away in a stiff wind. City folk. All them women did, seemed like, was shop and exercise and spread their catty little gossip. A good meal’d go a long way toward righting their moods, but I reckoned they was too afraid of gaining weight to try it.
I run my gaze back over the crowd, mentally ticking off the guests. Hunh. That made four of the Greenwood Five. All the party lacked was—
A blur of red swirled by, and my mood twisted south as Belinda tottered across the room followed by a subdued Tom. She’d managed to wedge herself into a skintight, curve hugging, fire engine red dress what stopped a good six inches above her knees. Her hair was twisted into a blonde chignon, but what caught my eye was the gold-framed ruby gracing her left index finger, a ring I knowed like the back of my hand.
Missy’s ring. Well, crap.
Molten anger swept over me and my hands tightened on the beer bottle, chilling ‘em numb. That bitch stole Missy’s ring. No wonder it hadn’t turned up. Belinda’d probably snuck it away ‘til she thought it was safe to bring out. She wouldn’t care one whit what Fame’d do to her when he learnt she stole that ring, no sirree. Ms. Belinda Arrowood, née Heaton, didn’t give a fig what nobody else thought, ‘specially some no account, backwoods hick what run extralegal enterprises in his spare time.
She was above that sort of riffraff.
Riley’s hand fell gentle on my shoulder. “You ok, Sunny?”
I nodded, my eyes glued to the woman what’d made my life miserable from day one of high school on. Some folks sat mighty high on their horses. I reckoned it was time for that’un to be knocked down, but I sure as tootin’ weren’t gonna do it at David’s party.
Riley’s gaze followed mine. He sighed, then leaned down real close and whispered, “C’mon, Sunny. You have to get over that.”