“We have nothing to talk about.”
Royce opened the truck door, slid in, and slammed the door shut. “I heard from Aunt Virginia that Arleen Fregia told you I was dating her sister.”
“She told me about you and Starla. Arleen took great pleasure in watching me squirm.”
The anger in Royce’s voice faded. “I’m sorry I put you in that position. You have every right to be mad at me.”
“I agree, so there’s no need for talking. Get out of the truck, please.”
“I should have told you about Starla.”
“Again, I agree. Get out.”
Royce brushed back a stray lock of hair. “Don’t you want to know why I didn’t mention Starla?”
“I know why you didn’t tell me about her.” She twisted to face him. “Because if you had, I wouldn’t have gone to bed with you.”
“That’s not the reason.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I didn’t mention Starla because, frankly, I never thought of her that day. She didn’t enter my mind.”
Elita lifted a brow. “Do you expect me to believe that garbage?”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s another lie.”
“Another lie?” Royce asked. “What do you mean?”
“You said you’d call me from Houston. You didn’t. You lied.”
“I didn’t call because I knew you’d be mad. I didn’t want to discuss Starla over the phone.”
“There’s no need to discuss her at all. Now, get out.”
“Not until we talk.” Royce slumped against the back of the worn leather seat.
As she gazed out her window, Elita felt Royce’s eyes staring at the back of her head. She waited for him to speak. Waited and hoped. Waited for his next explanation and hoped it would be good enough that she could accept it and forgive him. She wished she could forgive him. But all the wishing and hoping in the world can’t restore faith when a sacred trust has been violated. And as far as she was concerned, their promise never to lie to each other was sacrosanct.
“Answer me one question, Elita. One question, and tell me the truth.”
She swiveled around. “I always tell you the truth!”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Royce stretched his legs. “One question, and then if you still want me to go, I will.”
“What’s the question?”
“When we were together that day . . . .”
“What about it?”
Royce toyed with the large gift bag sitting on the seat between them.
“Are you wondering if I thought the sex was good,” Elita asked, her voiced laced with sarcasm. “It was. You may be a liar now, but you’re still great in bed. So there, I’ve answered your question. Get out.”
Royce grinned. “Thanks for the compliment, but that wasn’t my question.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. I simply told the truth, something you seem unable to do.”
His eyes fixed on hers. “Were you thinking about that architect when we were together?”
Royce’s question caught her off guard. “His name is Keith. Keith Foster.”
“Well, were you thinking about Keith Foster when you were with me?”
Elita shook her head.
“Not at all? Not even for a minute?”
She answered without hesitation. “No, not even for a minute.”
A sigh of relief escaped Royce’s lips. “So, you have to admit it’s possible I’m telling the truth when I say I didn’t think about Starla at all that day.”
Elita wagged her finger at him. “Not so fast. Keith and I broke up months ago, and we were never practically engaged.”
“Practically engaged?”
“That’s what I heard.”
Anger flashed across Royce’s face. “The person who told you that is crazy. Starla and I only dated for four months, and I was away on business trips half that time.”
It would be typical of Arleen to say Royce and Starla’s relationship was more serious than it really was. Elita felt her anger slipping away. Maybe, just maybe, she could believe him. “You still should’ve told me about Starla.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think about her until Cliff showed up. There was no time to tell you then. I had to help search for Dale.”
Elita rolled her eyes.
“You still don’t believe me, do you?”
She couldn’t answer his question. Her heart and head were at war with each other, a frequent condition since her return to Louisiana. She’d come home to bury her mother, and stayed to find answers to her questions about her father’s death and her own self-doubts. But since her homecoming, she’d grown more uncertain of the woman she’d become, and her inquiry into her father’s drowning had taken a backseat to her emotional rollercoaster ride with Royce. Her heart pleaded for her to believe him, while her mind urged caution. It all boiled down to a matter of trust. But how could she trust Royce, or anyone for that matter, when she couldn’t trust herself?
“I swear to you, Elita, that from the moment I heard you were back, I’ve thought of nobody but you. When I saw you on Tadpole Island, a stick in your hand, ready to battle whatever came your way, I knew I’d found my Cricket again, my fearless, dark-haired Caddo girl.” Royce reached for her hand. She let him take it. “That day at my house, I was thrilled to be with you again. It felt like my world had suddenly righted itself somehow.” He reached over and ran the back of his hand gently across her cheek. “Didn’t it feel that way to you?”
She hesitated. Pretty words spoken in obvious sincerity lessened, but not eliminated the doubts lingering in her mind. “I thought it a bit awkward between us at first.”
His eyes widened. “At first, maybe, but it didn’t last. By the time the storm started ripping across the bayou, it was like old times between us.”
She pulled her hand from his and turned to look out her window. “How could it be like old times when we’re both such different people now?”
“Look at me.”
She shook her head and blinked back uninvited tears.
“Look at me, Cricket.” He turned her face toward him. “When you were in my arms, in my bed, it was as if we’d never been apart. I looked into your big green eyes and knew you felt the same. In that moment, it felt the same, didn’t it?”
“Yes, in that moment, but that moment is over.”
“It doesn’t have to be.” He reached for her hand again, but she pulled it away.
“I’m spending the summer here to finish up some family business. In August, I’m returning to Chicago to finish school.”
“You can transfer to a university in Shreveport or Baton Rouge,” he said, his voice soft and pleading.
Changing schools for her senior year? A ridiculous idea. Yet somehow when Royce said it, the plan sounded logical. An invisible weight pressed against her chest as her heart lost another battle to her head. “I don’t want to transfer. I like the professors, and I’m comfortable there.”
Royce slumped against the passenger door. The color drained from his face. “You’d trade what we shared for ‘comfortable’?”
She shrugged and looked out the window again. The silence between them expanded until it filled the truck. Elita turned the ignition key. The motor sputtered. She pumped the accelerator hard and the engine caught. “I need to go home. I came to town to get a couple of gallons of paint and I’ve been gone all afternoon.”
“Where did you and Cliff go?”
Elita studied him. A lock of hair half-shaded one eye. Rolled-up sleeves, wrinkles, and the faint outline of perspiration stains marred the crisp white shirt he’d worn to lunch with Starla. A mask of weariness covered his face giving him an air of vulnerability that she hadn’t seen in him since her return. This was not the time for taunts or jokes.
“We didn’t go skinny dipping, if that’s what you’re worried about. We didn’t go on a picnic either.”
A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I talked to Nettie, and I went . . . .”
“You went where?” she asked, one brow hiked.
“I went nowhere. Nowhere, except to work. I went to work.”
Her laughter flooded the cab. “You went to Lake of the Pines. You took off work and went looking for us.”
“I did not.”
“Yes, you did.” Elita took several deep breaths in an attempt to control her laughter. “Did you really think I’d let Cliff talk me into going skinny dipping in a public park?”
Royce shrugged. “I didn’t know what you two would do. You were mad as hell at me and Cliff has always had a crush on you. I didn’t want him to take advantage of you.”
“Cliff was the perfect gentleman. We grabbed some lunch and went to Marshall Pottery to buy some souvenirs.” She reached into the large paper sack and pulled out a blue speckled coffee mug that had the name Patsy hand-painted on the front. “I wanted to get a present for Mama’s best friend in Chicago.” Elita slipped the cup back into the sack. “It was silly of you to look for us.”
“Yeah, but that’s my job.”
“Your job?”
“It was always my job to keep you safe and out of trouble. Believe me, that was a hard job at times. Your job was much easier.”
Her lips eased into a skeptical grin. “Oh really? Just what was my job, the one you claim was so easy?”
“Your job was to be there. When I was happy or sad, after a fight with my folks, when I needed someone to share my fears and dreams with.” He caught a ragged breath, slicked back his hair with both hands. “Just being there for me. That was your job.”
Elita bit her bottom lip to hide its trembling as the warmth of his words liquefied her insides. She wanted him. God, how she wanted him. In her mind, she saw herself ripping off his clothes and yanking him to her. Right here, on the main street of LaSalle, Louisiana, she’d savage his lips with hard, demanding kisses, while Royce pulled her down onto the cracked leather seat and stripped her bare. Then his hot hands and moist lips would begin their magic.
Her breathing deepened as she fought to gain control of her emotions. A shutter of denied desire rippled through her. She closed her eyes, afraid to look at him lest he read the yearning shining in them.
“Elita, did you hear me? I said your job—”
“Was easier because all I had to do was be there for you.” She opened her eyes, but kept them trained on the paper sack between them. “And you’re right. You had the harder job.”
He scooted closer to her. “Come home with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. We can listen to music or take a dip in the pool.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit, remember?”
“There’d be just the two of us. We wouldn’t need suits.”
She looked at him. “So Cliff was right. Skinny dipping is okay as long as it’s with you.”
He chuckled. “Okay, I admit it. I don’t want any man admiring your beautiful body but me. Is that such a terrible thing?”
“Not terrible, but a tad hypocritical.”
“This hypocrite adores you.” He moved closer. “Come home with me tonight.”
“Mamaw Pearl is probably wondering what happened to me.”
“You can call her from my house and tell her where you are.”
“She’d rather me spend the evening with a Martian than with a Sutton.”
“Probably so. Fortunately for us, you don’t need her permission.”
“Uncle Matt might need his truck.”
“If he wants to go someplace, he can use his car. Stop making excuses and say you’ll come over tonight.”
Torn between her present desire and the pain of the past two weeks, Elita hesitated.
Royce began to run his hands up and down her forearms. A slow, sensuous rub. His breathing quickened.
Desire kindled in her belly.
“We can take the boat out and watch the moon come up over the lake,” Royce said. “Then, we can motor over to Boondocks for dinner. How does gumbo and fried catfish sound?”
“It sounds good, but I’m still not dressed to go to a restaurant.”
“The Boondocks isn’t fancy.”
“Why don’t we throw a couple of steaks on the grill? They can cook while we swim.” She teased him with a smile. “Isn’t that a better idea?”
“That’s a great idea. The problem is I’ve only been back a few days, and I haven’t had a chance to stock the refrigerator yet.”
Elita jerked her arms away from him.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
Anger prevented her from answering. But this time, the anger was directed at herself. How could she have been so stupid as to have let soft words and latent desires make her forget the pain of Royce’s betrayal?
“We don’t have to go out to eat. There’s a new barbecue place near Oil City. I can get us a couple of dinners to go.”
“The only place I’m going is home.”
“Why? What did I do?” he asked in earnest confusion.
“You lied to me.”
“About what?”
“About calling me.”
“As I said, I didn’t want to discuss Starla over the phone. I thought you understood. Dammit, Elita, we spent the last twenty minutes working that out.”
“A few days.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You said you’d been home for ‘a few days.’ I want to know how many days that is exactly. Two? Three? How many?”
Royce ran his hand over his face and moaned.
“How many days have you been home?” she asked again.
“Four.”
“Four! You’ve been back four days and you haven’t had the decency to call me?”
“There was a ton of work to get caught up on. I wanted to wait until we could spend some time together. I knew it’d take awhile to explain about Starla.”
Rage flashed in her eyes. “You wanted to wait until you got your damn excuses lined up.” She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.
“We can work this out, Elita.” He covered her hand with his own.
She jerked her arm away. “Touch me again and I’ll knock a couple of those perfect teeth out of your mouth.”
He scooted back toward the passenger door. “You didn’t mean that, did you?”
Of course she didn’t mean it. Her words had been more of a shock to her than they had been to him. What was happening? Why did she seem to have one foot anchored in adulthood and the other stuck in the mire of her adolescence? What fueled this battle of dual personalities? Was it her mixed feelings about Royce? About her father’s death? Being in the Caddo again? The adult Elita told her to apologize to him. The child in her disagreed. The child won.
“I’m tired of arguing, Royce. I want to go home. Please get out.”
“Are you sure you want me to go?”
She nodded, knowing full well she wasn’t sure about anything, especially where he was concerned.
He rubbed his forehead. “Do you really want to leave it like this between us? Think about it for a minute. Do you really want me to go?”
“Yes,” she yelled. “I want you to leave. Go away and leave me alone.” She turned on the truck lights and revved the engine.
He jumped out of the truck, slammed the door, and headed across the street. In the middle of the road, he turned to face her once more. “You never give an inch, do you?” he shouted. “No, not you. Not Elita Pearl Dupree. Not one damn inch!”
She watched him stomp off and prayed he’d look back just once before reaching his Jeep. He didn’t. The first of many tears rolled down her cheek. She released the parking brake, pushed in the clutch, jerked the stick into gear. The gloom of the coming moonless night closed in around her. Fingers of a damp, gray fog crept from the surrounding bayous to stake their night
ly claim on the Cajun hamlet. She felt their chill down to her bones.
* * *
From the safety of the dark woods surrounding the town, he watched them. He gritted his teeth when the man moved close to her, balled his fists when the young man stroked her beautiful face. But then, the couple argued. He’d almost laughed out loud when the man stood in the street yelling at her. A big fight. Excellent! But when she began to cry, his amusement ceased.
He longed to comfort her, to touch her, to stroke her long black hair. If only he had a woman who loved him enough to cry over him. Maybe then, he could be a real man again instead of the loathsome creature he’d become. If only . . . .
He rubbed his knuckles against the scaly gray bark of a pine tree until they bled. At least, he could share her pain. But the pain she felt now would be nothing compared to what she’d suffer if she stayed. But without her lover, she’d surely return to Chicago where she’d be out of reach and out of danger.
“Stop asking questions, woman, and stay out of the Caddo,” he whispered. “Let the dead stay dead.”
CHAPTER 8
Elita arrived at Royce’s house shortly before midnight.
Cliff stood at the screen door. “Damn, I’m glad you’re here. When we talked on the phone, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
She stopped on the top porch step. “You said it was an emergency. If this is a stunt to get Royce and me back together—”
“It’s not, I swear.” Cliff pushed open the screen door.
She didn’t move. “Royce and I broke up last week.”
“I know. Please come in, Elita.” A tinge of desperation colored his voice. “I promise this isn’t a trick.”
“It’d better not be,” she warned as she stepped inside. “Where’s Royce?”
“In bed asleep, I hope.”
“Asleep? Then why did you need me to . . . .” Her words wedged in her throat as the picture window located to the right of the console television grabbed her attention. Jagged spears of glass framed a hole a foot wide and twice as long “What happened here?”
Cliff closed the door, pointed at the broken window. “Royce got mad and threw a whiskey bottle at the TV. He missed.”
Shadows of Home: A Woman with Questions. A Man with Secrets. A Bayou without Mercy Page 9