“Baby doll.” The woman studied Michael’s face with alarm. “What’d you do to your beautiful face?” Her fingers grasped his chin.
Michael’s cheekbone tweaked as she moved his chin from right to left, inspecting him.
She then spun to Aunt Loretta. “You didn’t tell me Michael was beat-up. Why are you hiding things from me, Loretta?” Her disdainful cadence was more than obvious.
“Mom?” Michael gasped.
“Betty Lou, what a surprise!” Aunt Loretta hastened to wrap her arms around Michael’s mom in a hug. “Let me take your coat.”
It was more than apparent that Michael was related to the woman, tall and willowy with shoulder length black hair and indigo-blue eyes. She removed her coat and slung it over Aunt Loretta’s proffered arm.
“What’s it take to get a drink ‘round here?” said Mrs. Betty Lou Covington. “Leo, I’m parched.”
A dazed Michael slowly closed the door. “That’s not a good idea, is it?”
“I’ve been a good girl, Michael. One little splash won’t hurt. The doctor said only in moderation.” Betty Lou jerked her chin at Uncle Leo.
He set to work with a tumbler and ice cubes.
Feeling like an intruder, I skated into the corner between the stove and cupboards.
“This is a surprise.” Michael mopped his face down with his hand. “How you been?” His superficial hug didn’t go unnoticed.
“Real good, baby,” she responded, air kissing his cheek. “Real good.”
“The job’s working out then?”
“Ahem… Well, that’s not so good.”
“What happened? You’re reneging on your promise.”
“Well, Michael,” her voice tightened. “It’s been hard without your constant nagging. You know since your daddy.” She chuckled nervously. “I jus’ can’t seem to git outta bed in the mornin’s.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Michael didn’t appear amused with her unfounded complaint. “I’ll come back home and nag you then.”
“No, no,” she abnegated in a hurry, shaking her head. “I’m going to a wonderful doctor. He’s helping me. And I think I have another job all lined up, honey. Now, don’t y’all worry ‘bout me.”
Uncle Leo presented an icy cocktail glass to Michael’s mom. “Why don’t we all have a seat?”
Only the sisters, Betty Lou and Aunt Loretta pulled out a chair. Uncle Leo and Michael stood there with guarded, stressed features, and I remained in my little nook.
“You should’ve warned us you were coming, Betty Lou,” Aunt Loretta said while smoothing her hands through her hair and reshaping the bun at the back of her head. “We’ll make up a bed.”
Tipping the glass to her lips, Betty Lou swallowed and flapped her hand at the same time. “Now, don’t you go worrying ‘bout me. It’s been months, and I’d been crying nonstop. I needed to see my son.” Her glossy eyes went to Aunt Loretta and Uncle Leo, then to Michael. She worked her lips, but her mouth was stuck between a smile and a grimace, saying, “You are going to play on Saturday, aren’t you, baby?”
“Yup, I’m good.” Michael stole a peek at his uncle.
“I’m so glad you decided to play again. Your daddy lived for football. You know that, baby. He’d be so proud. And I gotcha a big surprise.”
Michael overstressed a classic eye roll.
“I got a couple of letters in the mail. One from Notre Dame, one from Penn State, and the best one’s from Alabama University. Alabama, where your daddy went. They want to meet with you. I called them right away and told them you’re in Lancaster, New York playing ball, and guess what?” She paused. “They’re sending scouts to look ya over this Saturday.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we’re in the playoffs, or they’d be too late.” Michael roughed a hand into his hair, sending damp skeins over his forehead.
“They’d been watching you since you were a little boy. You know that.” Her tone modified, growing stronger as she rehashed the past. “Your daddy would’ve been drafted into the big leagues if he hadn’t shattered that darn kneecap. It feels like yesterday. You were in my tummy, and I was as big as a moose, watching your daddy—”
“Mom,” he sliced in, “I know the story. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“Now, don’t you get prickly with me Michael Stuart Covington.” Betty Lou’s temper flared. She slid her empty glass on the table. “Just ‘cause your turning eighteen doesn’t mean I still can’t bend you over my knee and give ya a good whipping.”
Michael turned his back on her and opened the refrigerator to retrieve two bottles of soda.
Aunt Loretta said, “This here is Mary, a friend of Michael’s.”
Mrs. Covington’s head twisted toward me. I felt as if I was on stage with a hot spotlight heating my body.
“Hello, there.” Michael’s mother held onto a superior facade. Her mouth slit into a begrudging grin. Well, I wouldn’t call it a grin, more like a snooty pout, as she checked me from head to toe and back again, halting on my crimping hair.
I interpreted her appraisal to mean, ‘Not good enough for my son.’
Then, utterly ignoring my existence, Mrs. Covington sent a frown toward Michael. “You’re here to concentrate on getting a scholarship for playing college ball.” Chinking her glass of ice, she drank the remnants and licked her coral painted lips. “Keep your nose from girls like that Charlene tramp. Thinking about her accusations still gets me hot under the collar.”
“Mom, stop. Don’t.” An uptight Michael refused to meet my eyes as he handed me a soda.
I reckoned her declaration was for my ears. Discernibly, Mrs. Covington figured girls were intrusive to Michael’s main goal.
“Those folks claiming you robbed her virtue an all makes me sick,” Betty Lou continued her tirade, regardless of her son’s head lolling. “And you sticking up for that little slut, and all the while it was Bradley Vance that got her pregnant.” She took a breath. “You need to lay low, keep up those fabulous grades of yours, and be discreet, baby. That diversion to Woodchacallit when you should’ve been in Lancaster for summer football practice and then not playing until the season was almost over still riles my heart.”
Michael grouched, “I couldn’t have played. Even if I’d wanted to.”
“Why is that?”
“You know why.” He sent an inaudible message by rubbing his ribcage.
“We all know why the boy is here, Betty Lou.” Uncle Leo turned severe, peering at Michael’s mother. “Ray beat Michael to a pulp, and it wasn’t the first time.”
Aunt Loretta acted as if she was going to faint, her face bleaching of color. She plucked a tissue that had been stuffed into her sleeve and dabbed her nose.
“It’s Nam’s fault. He drinks to forget, and drugs take away the pain. He’s not taking drugs anymore.” Betty Lou sounded woeful or as if she was searching for empathy. “Afterwards, Ray cried in my arms like a baby. He was so sorry.”
“You’re blaming Vietnam.” Michael’s voice unraveled as it raised an octave. “That fat bastard beat me up, and you’re blaming the war?”
Aunt Loretta stated, “I don’t know why you never defended yourself, Michael.”
Michael’s visage altered, making him look savage.
“Cause I would’ve murdered him.”
“You should have,” Uncle Leo uttered, distraught.
The air congealed, becoming thicker than oatmeal, and each breath wadded in my throat as I listened to a family in distress.
Betty Lou tossed her hair over her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have talked to him that way. So insolent. You knew he’d been drinking and was on some kind of high.”
Gritting his teeth, Michael scraped his fingers along his jeans and pinpricks of moisture glistened on his upper lip. “It wasn’t the first time.” He growled through clenched
teeth.
“You’re safe now.” Betty Lou choked on a sob.
A tactful Aunt Loretta said, “I hope Ray has moved on.”
“No.” Betty Lou kept juggling the melting ice in the glass. “No, he’s—”
Michael stacked his arms on the table, sloping toward his mother. “If he ever lays a hand on you. I swear I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t say things like that,” she reprimanded in a failed tone. “Besides, he’d never—”
The slam of the door caught everyone unaware.
“Howdy, howdy, folks.”
“Ray?”
CHAPTER 20
“Why you all gaping as if I’m a fuckin’ ghost?” Ray jested with a scissored-smile, but his mannerisms portrayed him as offensive. “Leo, why don’t I have a drink in my hand? Make it rye, straight-up, buddy.” His girth spilled from a tweed coat, and as he shed the restrictive covering, he chucked it on the floor in the corner. Resembling a heavyweight wrestler, he flexed his brawny arms.
“We hopped on a plane this afternoon and rented a car,” Betty Lou said with a nervous, flippant arm gesture, “and here we are. Ray dropped me off while he went to buy a carton of cigarettes.” Her gaze skittered to Aunt Loretta, and a subtle caveat passed between them.
Ray swaggered over to Michael. “Here’s the All-Star we came all this way to see.” He whacked a balled fist into Michael’s forearm and hammered his back as if he was a thoroughbred horse. “You’re going to give ‘em hell on Saturday, ain’t ya, son?”
On Ray’s last word, Michael’s eyes smoldered.
“You should have told us you were coming,” said Aunt Loretta, her voice affable and at the same time admonishing.
“We didn’t want to put you out.” Betty Lou crossed her legs and jiggled her high-heeled foot. “Ray and I are going to stay at a motel across from the airport.”
“We have a small attic space. You could bunk in there if you’d like. It’s cozy.”
Uncle Leo’s eyeballs practically bugged out of his head, and Michael stiffened.
Aunt Loretta pushed back from the table and got to her feet, saying, “Let’s go into the living room and talk. You two must be tired from traveling.” Aunt Loretta’s doleful eyes snared mine, though she spoke to her nephew. “Michael, I think you should take Mary home. It’s getting late.”
In a less than attractive voice, more like raspy, I said, “Thank you for dinner.” Their interest was brought back to me.
“You’re welcome, dear. Come again soon.”
I hadn’t anticipated big man Ray giving my body the once over.
“Well, howdy, miss. I don’t think we was introduced.”
Michael motioned me forth from my nook. “This is Mary.”
“Nice to meet you, young lady.”
“C’mon, Mary.” Michael took my hand in his. “Let’s go.”
Uncle Leo, with a twinge to his mouth, slapped a drink into Ray’s hand, distracting him. “Let’s join the women. Shall we.” While marshaling Ray through the archway, Uncle Leo revolved back to us. “Take your time. No rush to get home now, ya hear?”
Michael’s pick-up truck refused to start, which was the topper of the night. He barreled from the driver’s seat and raised the hood. After fiddling around for a while, he said rather harshly, “Mary, try it now.”
I glided over the seat, sat behind the wheel, and turned the key while pressing the gas pedal. The engine sputtered to life along with a swinging melody. Slamming the hood, he walked to the passenger side door and hopped in.
Kind of confounded, I said, “You’re on the wrong side.”
“You have your permit with you?” he inquired, a tad on the ornery side.
“Yes, but I don’t think I should drive your truck.” As he pressed the bridge of his nose, I discerned a slight tremble to his hand.
“I give you my permission.”
From what I’d witnessed tonight, Michael’s life was a mess, and he was hurting in more ways than one. I adjusted the seat forward to fit my much shorter legs and checked the mirrors. Good to go.
“It’s dark outside.” His eyes glinted.
“Yes, I’ve noticed.”
A trace of a smile spread his lips. “You may want to turn on the headlights.”
“I was just going to do that.” Of course I knew that, and browsed the dashboard with my fingers, hunting for the knob thingy.
The vinyl seat buckled from Michael’s weight as he drew near. I plugged my vertebrae into the back cushion to give him room and his body blanketed me with extra warmth. Immersed with his clean soap scent, I generously whiffed my fill.
“This button, you have to pull it out.” He indicated and switched on the headlights.
A pattering of raindrops speckled the windshield. Oh, great, now I have to figure out how to switch on the wipers.
As if reading my thoughts, he switched on the wipers, and went back to the passenger side of the truck.
“Put the truck in reverse,” he said. “Look in the mirror to make sure nothing is behind you.”
“I know. Jeez.”
A low snort rumbled his throat.
Once he directed me to the main road, I knew where I was going. I had exceptional peripheral vision, and Michael’s penetrating gaze intimidated me. Hearing a muted sigh, he finally veered his head to look at of the window.
“That was special,” he spoke in a morose tone.
I directed a speedy glimpse at his impassive face. “What’s special?”
“My mom and her boyfriend showing up tonight.”
“She seemed…nice.”
He offered no reply. Lifting and balancing the heel of his boot on the edge of the seat, he dangled his arm over his knee and leaned into the headrest, looking hassle-free.
The roadways were different at night, and the rain slicking the asphalt into sleek bands didn’t help. Squinting at approaching headlights, I concentrated on the path in front of me.
“You may want to speed it up.”
Taking a gander at the speedometer, I saw the red needle jittering at twenty miles per hour. I pressed the gas pedal, accelerating to thirty-five. No wonder all the cars had been passing me.
Ms. Bloome had forewarned me that Michael’s life had been far from idyllic prior to coming to Lancaster. Though, it had not prepared me for the truthful realities that his mom disclosed. Michael had been a human punching bag, and his own mother defended his abuser.
I thought I had it bad.
“So is it true, what your mom said? Are scouts coming to watch you play?”
“That’s what she said.” He seemed distracted, making finger outlines on the building condensation on the side window. “I sure as hell don’t plan on getting drafted, and I’ll need a scholarship for college.”
College. Michael will graduate at the end of the year and be gone. I might never see him again. Cold seeped into my pores. “It must’ve been hard moving here for your senior year and leaving everything behind.”
His shoulder popped up
I made the turn onto Lake Avenue. My house was just up the road.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked before thinking. Would Dad lambaste me for bringing a boy home?
He stretched his arms over his head while staring at me. I suddenly felt young and insecure.
“It’s after nine.” He appeared to delight in tormenting me as if I were child. “On a school night.”
I pictured Dad flinging my birthday cake like a Frisbee because I was too young to date. It’s not a date. He’s a friend. “It’s not late, and my parents wouldn’t mind.”
“Your parents will ask questions about my pretty face.” He furnished a salacious, arching eyebrow. “If they ask, I won’t lie.”
“I didn’t ask you to lie. You were helping a friend. In a stupid way.”
>
“So you’re saying I’m stupid?” he said and added a charismatic smile.
I turned into my driveway.
“All the lights are off,” he said. “I’d better make myself scarce.”
Parking the car and shutting off the motor, I shifted on the seat to see him. “Please come in. I want you to.” Oh, God, why’d I sound so demanding?
His fingers scraped over his jaw and moved down the column of his throat. “I’ve been through worse.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Insulted, my blood was beginning to boil. I felt as if I was forcing him to spend more time with me. “Forget I asked. You don’t have to come in.”
“Now it’s a challenge. You know how stupid I am when it comes to a challenge.”
Incensed, I ripped the keys from the ignition and threw them at him. His hand flashed out, catching them easily. Go figure, if he could snag footballs out of the air, the keys were a cinch.
I elbowed the door and jogged to the back of the house. My fingers rounded the doorknob, and at the same time I felt hands on my shoulders. I couldn’t believe he’d come running after me, and my first inclination was joy. Gradual and steady, he rotated me to face him and raised my chin until our eyes met. With an indecipherable expression, he leaned in.
“Mary,” he said in the lowest of whispers through barred teeth. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t want to care…about you. Or anyone.” His misty breath clouded. “I don’t want to be tied down. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand?” His fingertips grazed my chin.
His words pierced my heart. “Is that what you told Dee?” I felt the sting behind my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I blinked in rapid succession, trying to eliminate the brimming liquid.
He seemed spellbound by my quivering mouth and closed the minimal space between us. I held my breath. His lips touched mine, fusing flawlessly. Tethering my fingers in his hair, I moved into him. He jerked back as if I’d scorched him with my touch. Our breathing intermingled as I gaped wide-eyed at the tall boy blocking the moon.
He glided a fingertip from my temple to outline my mouth. “Mary, don’t make me care,” he said in a stronger tone as if convincing himself. In an unclear murmur like a submissive groan, Michael crushed my lips, demanding and firm. One arm wrapped my back, lifting me off my feet and pressing me against his leather jacket. His hand cradled my head, embracing me.
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