It was the same with Coach Douglas. When he suspended Cole from practice, it wasn’t what he said, it was the look in his eyes that made Cole want to crawl into his locker and stay there.
Then there was Ana. She would ask a bunch of “sensitive” questions about his “feelings,” and look like she was going to cry or something. That was almost worse than Mom’s lectures. And she’d give him hugs that made him think things he shouldn’t about a sister-in-law.
Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?
He threw an arm over his eyes. If only he could disappear. Maybe he’d wait, slip out in the night and run away, never have to face his mom—or Ana. They’d be better off, anyway, not having such a screwup around anymore.
He sat up. His head throbbed, the bed seemed to lurch under him and his stomach rolled.
Oh, God, don’t let me be sick again. The beer had tasted bad on the way down; coming back up it was even worse. After this afternoon, there couldn’t possibly be anything left in his stomach.
He remembered getting sick in the living room. There was somebody else there—a guy. Dave? No, Dave had blond hair. And this guy was much broader than Dave. Who was it? His head hurt too much to think. Cole only hoped he’d never see him again. Oh, God, what if the guy was one of his mom’s houseguests? She was always letting some sorry-assed bastard stay here on his way to someplace else. Being sick in front of Ana was about as much humiliation as he could stand. If he had to be introduced to a man he’d barfed on . . .
He heard movement in the corner of his room. Shit. Had his mom been sitting there all this time?
Breathing deeply to avoid throwing up, he waited for her to say something.
She didn’t materialize from the dark corner. Pandora, a cat so pure black he constantly tripped over her in the dark, jumped up on the foot of his bed.
Cole kicked his feet, shooing her away. “I don’t need any more shitty bad luck.”
Mom said Pandora was magical. Sometimes he did think there was something supernatural about the cat—but it was black magic, the Dark Side, the thing that tried to overthrow the counterbalance of good and evil in the universe. She had shown up the day before they got a visit from the army telling them Calvin was dead. Nothing had gone right since. He couldn’t believe Mom hadn’t made the connection. When Granny Lejeune was here, she realized that cat was no good—he could tell by the way she looked at Pandora and avoided being in the same room with the stupid cat. To make things worse, Pandora had attached herself to him—spilling all of her bad luck in his lap.
Every night he checked his room to be sure the cat wasn’t hiding inside before he closed the door. And every morning, she’d be on his pillow beside his head. It totally creeped him out.
There was a squeak that signaled someone had just stepped on the top tread of the stairs. Cole quickly lay back down and closed his eyes.
Pandora meowed loudly, as if tattling.
The door opened.
“Cole?” Ana said softly.
His throat got tight. He forced his breathing to remain deep and regular, pretending to sleep.
Instead of closing his door and going away, he heard her footsteps cross the room. He felt her presence beside his bed, his skin tingling with her nearness.
Go away. Please, go away.
But she stayed. He could smell the sweet soap she used.
Her cool hand rested on his forehead. “Oh, baby, I wish I could make things better.”
He wanted to scream, It’s never going to be better! Life is one big shithole!
Instead, he kept his breathing slow while his heart thudded like a bass subwoofer in his chest. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.
For a long time, she just stood there. Then, finally, she left.
Cole curled into a ball, pulling the blanket over his head. He fell asleep with a burning lump in his throat.
When he awoke, it truly was the middle of the night. He tiptoed downstairs to get a Sprite, carefully stepping over the squeaky top tread. He went back to his room before he opened the drink, muffling the pop and pffft of the can with his pillow to guard against Mom’s superhuman hearing. He remembered once when Joey, his best friend in fifth grade, slept over and they’d planned all day to have a little fun with the telephone once his mom was asleep. They had waited until two A.M. and checked twice. She was sleeping like a rock. Still, the second they picked up the telephone in the kitchen to make a few clever calls, Mom yelled down the stairs, “What are you boys doing on the telephone at this hour?”
Man, he thought as he took a long drink from the can, if only something stupid like getting caught making prank calls or forging a signature on a note from the teacher were his current trouble. He didn’t know how good he had it when he was a kid.
Lately, his problems seemed to be wielded by a flailing octopus. No sooner did he get a grasp on one part of it than another broke free and hit him in the head. Two days ago, Coach suspended him three practices for “unsportsmanlike conduct.” All he did was play the friggin’ game. If Coach didn’t want to win, he should have put in Timmy Hicks. Hicks never fought for the ball.
Cole supposed he probably shouldn’t have argued right there on the sidelines when Coach pulled him off the field. But he’d been so pissed it just came out. He didn’t know why he couldn’t keep his temper under control lately. Everything made him feel like breaking stuff. It was there, like a scream just waiting to be let out.
Last week, he actually did break a window at the old box factory on Vandolah Road; took his hand, wrapped it in an old sweatshirt and drove his fist right through it. Then he yelled. Screamed at the top of his lungs, letting go the curses that had been building inside him for months.
Only it didn’t make him feel better. It made him feel stupid.
Even when he was with Darcy, the buzz of anger vibrated just under his skin. Everything she said sounded like fingernails on the chalkboard. And he couldn’t understand it. He loved Darcy. She was the coolest girl in the junior class. But lately, he just couldn’t . . . connect with her.
In fact, he hadn’t talked to her for two days. She told him not to pick her up for school on Tuesday. And today it seemed like she’d been avoiding him.
He grabbed the cordless phone and took it into his closet. He dialed Darcy’s cell phone. She always kept it beside her bed, in case he wanted to call in the middle of the night.
It rang twice and her voice mail picked up.
He dialed again.
It clicked once and then stopped ringing.
He called once more.
“Hey.” Her tone was flat.
“It’s me, Darce.”
“I know, I’ve got caller ID.”
“Why didn’t you pick up?”
“I was sleeping.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“What do you want?” She said it with an irritated edge that she never used with him—other guys, maybe, but never him.
“I just wanted to tell you I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” That wasn’t at all what he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t make anything else come out.
She sighed. “Listen, Cole, you’re a great guy.”
His fingers tightened around the receiver and he closed his eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t blow me off, Darce.
She continued, “But I think we need a . . . a break.”
Two weeks ago she loved him with all her heart. Now . . . “Why? You interested in somebody else?”
“No.” She was much too quick in her denial. It stung his face like a slap. “No, of course not. It’s just . . . I need some space.”
“Jesus, Darce, space? You need space? Can’t you come up with something better than that bullshit!”
“Hey!” she said sharply. Now she was mad. “I don’t owe you any explanation. You’ve been acting really weird lately. Everybody’s talking about it. I’ve had enough.” She hung up.
Cole dialed again. It switched immediately to
voice mail; she’d shut her phone off.
With a punishing grip on his phone, he slammed it into the pile of dirty clothes in the bottom of his closet. He did it three more times, harder each time, before he started to cry.
“I just don’t see why he had to go to school this morning,” Analise said, putting her coffee mug in the dishwasher. It had been all she could do to keep her mouth shut until Cole dragged himself out the door.
Olivia picked up her jacket and slipped it on. “Because it’s a school day.”
“Considering what happened yesterday—”
“Is why he took the school bus.” Olivia picked up a set of keys off the key rack and held them in the air. “When Luke gets here, ask him if he’ll take you to the plantation to pick up Cole’s Jeep.” She tossed the keys to Analise.
“Where are you going?”
“I have an appointment. I should be back by noon. I’ll bring lunch back for the three of us.”
“Three?” Was she going to relent and bring Cole home from school? The kid had been practically green when he walked out the door. The bus ride had to have been torture.
“Really, Ana.” Olivia shook her head. “You, me and Luke. It’s the least we can do after he takes you to get the Jeep.”
“He’ll probably be gone by lunchtime. I’m sure he’s eager to get on the road. What kind of appointment? Doctor?”
“Um-hum. Just a routine checkup.” She waved and disappeared out the door.
Analise forced her mind away from Cole’s misery and tried to mentally organize her schedule for the shop today. She was on her way to the carriage house when she heard the crunch of tires on the drive. Turning around, she had a peculiar tangle of anticipation and dread in her chest. Disappointment shadowed both when she saw it was Roy.
The very sight of his moon face through the windshield sent an unsettled ripple down her spine. She made herself wave and tried to give him a pleasant smile. He cut the engine and coasted to a stop beside the carriage house. Analise jumped when the truck backfired like a shotgun and a puff of black smoke burped out the tailpipe.
When he got out of the truck, he hurried toward the greenhouse without looking at her. “I’ll be gettin’ that stock moved, ma’am.”
“That’s fine. Be sure to put the hydrangeas and hostas under the canopy.” Then she realized he probably didn’t have any idea what either plant looked like. “They’ve all got identification tags.” As an afterthought, she asked, “You can read?”
He stopped in midstride, but didn’t turn to face her. “Yes’um. I can read.” Resentment resounded in his voice.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
He walked on without another word.
She stood there for a moment, feeling hurtful and insensitive. She didn’t really know why Roy gave her the willies. It made her ashamed to think it could simply be his appearance and his unfortunate background. She resolved to make more effort to have an open mind where he was concerned.
Rufus came out of the carriage house, sniffing the air.
“Time to get to work, boy.” She went inside and he trotted right behind her.
Luke was thankful to see the sun streaming through the narrow opening between the panels of the avocado and orange drapes when he opened his eyes. His relief was twofold. First and foremost, the night was over. It had been every bit as bad as he’d predicted, filled with nightmare after dreadful dream in which he could see disaster coming, but, struggle as he did, could do nothing to avert it. The second was that sunny weather gave no aggravation to his injuries. He arose from the bed with relatively little pain.
He arrived in Grover an hour and a half later and stopped at the Pure gas station on the corner of Center and Maple Streets. It was the newest-looking of the two stations in town. When he got out of his car with his credit card ready to slide into the pay-at-the-pump slot, he discovered this was one convenience of technology that had yet to arrive in this tiny town.
As he entered the station to pay, he was glad to see they had, at least, installed a coffeemaker. He was just adding a good shot of sugar to his Styrofoam Mega-mug, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He spun quickly around, fist clenched and ready, unaccustomed to such familiar gestures in an unfamiliar place.
“Didn’t mean to make you jump like a bullfrog there,” a man in a deputy’s uniform said.
Luke relaxed, feeling a little silly for his overreaction.
“You’re the Ranger visiting Magnolia Mile.” The deputy’s gaze lingered on the scar on Luke’s neck. Then he stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Dave Dunston—friend of Calvin’s.”
“Luke Boudreau.” Dave was physically the polar opposite of Calvin—although he was tall, he was thin as a wire, with hunched shoulders, almost fragile looking under his gun belt. His pale hair was cut nearly to the scalp and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he spoke. When Dave simply eyed Luke as he shook his hand, Luke added, “It was good of you to deliver Cole home yesterday. Olivia was very grateful.”
Dave hitched up his belt. “Well, I like to do what I can for the family. With Calvin gone . . . I feel it’s my duty, you know.”
Luke nodded and turned to cap his coffee. “Calvin would appreciate it.”
“That family’s had more than its share of misfortune. Thought Analise’d dry up from all the cryin’ she did when she lost Calvin.”
Guilt once again pricked Luke’s heart. Analise could have been spared those tears. He’d gone against protocol, thinking his was the only life at risk. How wrong he’d been—on all fronts.
Dave asked, “You headed out of town?”
“Yeah, I have to go out to Magnolia Mile before I leave, though.”
Something shifted behind Dave’s steady gaze. “You didn’t stay at Lejeune’s? Nearest motel’s almost an hour away.”
“I know.”
A slight gleam of satisfaction shone in Dave’s eyes and he crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “Well, being as you’re as good as a stranger, it was wise of Olivia not to extend her hospitality too far. Women alone can’t be too careful.”
Dave sounded much more closely involved with the folks at Magnolia Mile than Liv and Analise had suggested with yesterday’s comments.
Luke said, “Yes, I suppose that’s right.” He stepped toward the cash register to pay. Dave remained at the coffeepot, filling a cup.
“Morning,” the cashier said. “That be all?” She was a tiny woman with a cigarette in one hand and another smoldering in the overflowing ashtray beside the register.
“This and the gas.” Luke took out his wallet. “The first pump there.”
“I seen.” Before she rang him up, she took a long drag on the cigarette. “Twenty-two-seventy-five.” She exhaled the smoke with the words. As he handed over his credit card, she said, “So you know Olivia Lejeune?” She nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Heard you talking to Dave over there. I might be little, but my husband says I got the biggest ears in the county. Can’t help it. I just hear everything.”
“I only met Olivia yesterday. I served with her son.”
Pursing her lips, she nodded sadly. “Livvie’s my second cousin. Haven’t seen her since her boy’s funeral, though. City folk think livin’ in a small town, you see ever’body all the time—but it’s just like ever’place else. Ever’body’s busy runnin’ in their own circles. Why, I’d never see anybody if I didn’t have this job. You from the city?”
“Nope. Small town, like this one.”
“Up north.”
He nodded and signed the credit receipt.
“Heard it in your voice. The words up there fall hard on the ears—not soft like here in Mississippi.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled. “I do enjoy listening to you southern women talk.” One southern woman in particular came to mind, one whose gentle voice flowed like a warm stream through his veins.
“You tell Livvie that Opal asked after her.”
“I’ll be sure and do that.”
As
Luke walked back to his car, he looked over his shoulder and saw Deputy Dave standing at the glass door with his coffee in hand, watching him intently through aviator sunglasses that made him look like a large praying mantis.
Cole sat with hunched shoulders in the back seat of the school bus, keeping his eyes half-closed against the bright morning light. A couple of kids had stared at him when he’d gotten on, but he’d put a stop to that by flipping them off. Nearly made Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, Becca Reynolds, fall right off her seat. She’d probably have to report him to the principal—since she was really into her “social responsibility.” Well, that’d be fine. If he was thrown off the bus, he still had to go to school. His mom would have to let him have the Jeep back.
Maybe he’d work on Ana when he got home, she could talk some sense into his mother. It wasn’t like taking away the Jeep was going to change anything. Sometimes his mom could be so . . . unreasonable.
The bus hit a pothole, jarring his throbbing head and setting his stomach off again. He closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths. If he puked right here on the bus . . .
“Are you okay?”
He opened his eyes to see Miss Goody had moved to the seat in front of him and was looking over the back. “Fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I’m fine.” He belched softly, puffing out his cheeks.
“Sure you are.” She turned around and rummaged in her backpack. “Here, chew a couple of these, it might help.” She handed him a roll of Tums.
He stared at the roll, his stomach in near full revolt.
“Go on, take them,” she urged.
Just the thought of the things on his tongue made him gag. “No!”
She flinched and withdrew the Tums, turning around in her seat. “Just trying to help.”
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