Her mother reached out and grabbed her arm. She tapped the watch on Honey Belle’s wrist. “Apparently, you cain’t tell time.”
Oh, here we go again. The words sounded so clear inside her head that Honey Belle feared she’d spoken them out loud. She jerked her arm away. “Why are you so angry, Mama? I’m only ten minutes late.”
“You think, just because I’ve been spending time at the hospital with your poor sick daddy, that word about you and that rich boy wouldn’t get back to me?”
“Tripp and I aren’t doing anything wrong, Mama. We’re friends. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh. When mama mouse is away, her little one will get caught by the cat. I’m telling you, cain’t no good come of it. He’s rich, and like most rich folks he’s used to gettin’ anything he wants.”
“You’re wrong, Mama. Tripp isn’t like that.”
“How come you didn’t let me know where you were?”
“I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a child that needs to report in twenty-four hours a day.”
“As long as you live under my roof and eat my food, you’ll do as I say.”
A pause, then her mother continued. “Mark my words, daughter, he’ll use you up, and when he’s finished gettin’ all the goody, he’ll throw you away like a piece of cheap trash.”
The words caused heat to grow under Honey Belle’s scalp. She balled her hands into fists and clenched them until her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. “You have a dirty mind, Mama. Tripp respects me. Why, he’s never even tried to—”
The anger in her mother’s watery gray eyes startled Honey Belle. “Ever since you’ve been going out with that boy, you’ve picked up some high-toney ways. How come you never invited him to supper? I’ll tell you why. ’Cause you’re ashamed of where you live, ’fraid your daddy and me will embarrass you.”
Honey Belle opened her mouth to defend herself. Her mother’s words cut her off. “Let me tell you, Miss High-and-Mighty, in less time than it takes to snap your fingers that boy will sweet talk you into letting him pluck your ripe little blossom. Soon as he’s deflowered you, he’ll drop you like a hot spud.”
At this moment, Honey Belle longed for a best friend, a safe haven to run to, a shoulder to cry on. Although they had no friendship outside of work, there was Carla. One problem: she had no idea where the girl lived.
It crossed her mind to hop into the truck and drive to the nearest pay phone, look up Tripp’s address in the phone book, and show up on his doorstep. No, that wouldn’t do. How would she explain herself? Besides, what would his parents think?
She pushed around her mother and took a single step toward the bathroom. She squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin as she turned to face her mother’s scowling frown. “Like I said, Mama, you have a filthy mind. You’re wrong about Tripp. Very wrong.”
Heat and anger boiled inside Honey Belle as she locked the bathroom door. She reached down and jammed the rubber plug into the bathtub’s drain hole, then turned the cold water faucet to full force. With trembling fingers, she stripped out of her clothes, allowing them to drop to the floor, where she kicked them into a heap.
Settling into the tub, she lay back and closed her eyes, allowing the rising water to cool her body and her temper.
Two loud raps sounded against the closed door. “You get yourself in trouble with that boy, don’t expect me to get you out of it. You hear me, Honey Belle?”
Sliding beneath the water, Honey Belle held her breath until she ran out of air. She came up gasping. As much as she tried to be a good daughter, it seemed everything she did angered her mother.
She’d given up her education and gone to work, she helped with all the expenses, cleaned the house, cooked meals, did the laundry, and tended to her father. She did it all without begrudging either parent. Tears dripping from her chin mingled with the bath water.
Reaching forward, she pulled the plug and watched the water swirling down the drain. At nineteen she saw her future slipping away with it.
That night as she lay in bed, voices kept her from going to sleep. She lay still, concentrating, trying to hear the muffled words coming from her parents’ bedroom.
She eased from the bed and pressed her ear against the wall. She sensed the tension in her father’s voice. “Why are you so hard on Honey Belle?”
“Because she reminds me of me.”
“That’s a helluva reason, Delilah.”
“Yeah, well, it’s true.”
“Then I guess you’ve resented all these years we’ve been married.”
“Listen here, Jack Garrett. I spread my legs for you, didn’t I? I can see her travelin’ down the same road.”
“You keep pushing, and you’ll push her right out the door.”
“She don’t make enough money to strike out on her own. Where’d she go?”
“Use your noggin, woman. It’s not where she’d go, it’s who she’d run to. You say you’re afraid she’ll end up like you? Well, keep pushing, and she’ll end up in that rich boy’s bed.”
Her father’s spasmodic coughing caused Honey Belle to cringe. There was no debating the fact his illness was the reason she stayed. He’d sheltered her from her mother’s attacks. Now diagnosed with congestive heart failure, it was only a matter of time before the sickness took him away. Sadness stabbed her heart at the thought of losing him. She’d stay until that time came. Then, come hell or high water, her mother was on her own.
Honey Belle’s fingers knew exactly where the penlight lay tucked in the nightstand’s drawer. Flicking it on, the small beam shone on the booklet she pulled from its hiding place. Holding the light in one hand, she used the other to flip through the pages of the vocational school’s glossy cover.
She sighed. Getting her general education diploma seemed like an impossible dream. She ran down the list of vocations—secretary, licensed practical nurse, food technician—nothing interested her. Didn’t matter. With giving almost every penny of her paycheck to help with bills, her plans for saving money might as well be like trying to reach for the moon.
Then an idea struck.
She’d work two jobs. One to support herself and one to pay for an education.
She drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She had a plan. It was her secret. For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of hope.
****
Tripp whistled as he set the glass of milk aside and concentrated on cutting a generous wedge of pound cake.
“You missed supper, son.”
Clad in a gold-striped silk robe, Tripp’s father leaned against the kitchen door, his arms crossed over his barrel chest.
Startled, Tripp knocked over the glass, spilling milk across the counter. “Geez, Dad, you scared the piss out of me.” He grabbed a dishtowel to mop up the spreading white liquid.
“From the tune you were whistling and the grin on your face, I’d say you have more on your mind than cake. I hope it’s about starting law school in September.”
Tripp stood over the sink and wrung out the towel. Wetting it, he wiped up the remaining milk from the counter and the splatters on the floor. He ran the cloth under the faucet, wrung out the water, and neatly draped it over the sink.
Back to his fork, he picked it up, shoveled a piece of cake into his mouth, and spoke between mouthfuls. “Well, not exactly about school.”
“Then perhaps about a certain young lady you’re keeping company with?”
“Yes, sir. Honey Belle is as sweet as her name.”
“You like this girl?”
“I do. A lot.”
The way the elder Hartwell cleared his throat caused Tripp to set the plate aside. “I can tell by the look on your face, Dad, you have something on your mind.”
“About this young woman…what do you know about her?”
“Mm, not much. Her father is sick. Instead of going to college, she works to help with medical expenses.” Tripp braced his hands against the
counter and leaned forward. “Honey Belle is a good girl. She’s funny and honest. She lives on Barrington Street, and I like her.”
“How much do you like her?”
Tripp rubbed his face and tried to think where this conversation was going. He laughed without humor. “If it’s law school you’re worried about, don’t. Wild horses couldn’t keep me from Harvard, and I haven’t given up my dream of pursuing a seat in the Senate.”
He’d said the right words. The words his father needed to hear. Visible relief replaced Judge Hartwell’s furrowed brow.
“It’s late, and high time I put these old bones of mine to bed. ’Night, son.”
“Rest well, Dad.”
The Hartwells were one of the most powerful and influential families in South Carolina. Tobacco, cotton, politics. Tripp knew his father had an eye for the governor’s seat. It was a given fact that any girl he chose to marry would need a pedigree to match that of his mother. He was a little surprised by his father’s concerns over Honey Belle. It wasn’t like him to pass judgment on someone he hadn’t met.
Honey Belle was his friend. Yet, he had to admit, there was something special about her, something that made him want her as more than a girl to hold hands with while walking barefoot on the beach. When she smiled up at him, he wanted to drown in her eyes—eyes the color of the lilacs in his mother’s garden.
Honey Belle stirred emotions in him that no other woman had. He could smell her as if she stood next to him—clean, familiar, distinctive.
Thoughts of her caused his groin to swell to a throbbing ache. What was it his grandfather used to say when he told of stories about sleeping in foxholes during the war—something about using Minnie and her four daughters to relieve himself when a woman wasn’t around?
Tripp held up his right hand and flexed the fingers. Well, Minnie, it’s just you and me and the girls, tonight.
Chapter Seven
The sultry Sunday afternoon weather was perfect for the yellow sundress Honey Belle wore. One of the straps slipped down over her shoulder and she adjusted it.
While she waited for Tripp in her usual place under the elm tree, an old saying popped into her head. Time flies when you’re having fun. And she was having fun. More than she’d ever had in her life.
Before she’d realized it, June had sped forward to the dog days of August. She tried to shake the strange melancholy that had persisted for several days. September was a few short weeks away, and soon Tripp would leave for Harvard.
She knew when the time came to say goodbye, he would promise to write, to telephone, to come home on the holidays. At least that’s what the guys in soap operas always did. And like those actors, eventually the phone calls would stop, the letters would grow less and less, and when holidays came, Tripp would come up with excuses as to why it was important for him to remain on campus.
She had tried to guard her heart, but it seemed her heart had a mind of its own. Against her will, she’d fallen in love—a forbidden love. It was common knowledge that the rich didn’t associate with the poor—at least not knowingly.
She vowed to savor each precious hour they spent together, and when the time came for him to leave, she’d bite back the tears and with a smile on her face would let him go.
The neighborhood was quiet now, with little outdoor activity, and it was apparently too hot for even the songbirds to muster a warble.
She pulled a clean hankie from her purse and dabbed at the perspiration collecting on her top lip. The high-heeled sandals she wore hurt her feet. She glanced at her watch.
A few minutes later she recognized the familiar sound of the BMW’s engine. The car came into view with Tripp behind the wheel, easing down the street toward her.
She gave a little wave as he expertly maneuvered the sports car against the curb. In these few short weeks they’d been together, she’d learned he had a voice that teased, and hands that held hers tight when they walked on the beach. There was a scar on his chin from a childhood accident on the monkey bars. She wanted him to be the person she could confide in and share her secrets with.
She smiled as he climbed out of the car and slammed the door.
“Hello, good-looking. Going my way?” Tripp laughed as he placed his hands around her waist and pulled her against his chest.
“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”
Tripp glanced over his shoulder as if searching for someone. “I think he’s stood you up.”
She turned a little and they were face to face, practically nose to nose. He smelled of soap and aftershave. Her voice was a breathy whisper. “I could use a ride to the beach, if you’re going that way.”
She liked this flirtatious game they were playing.
Tripp sprinted to the car’s passenger side, opened the door, and bowed deeply from the waist. “My chariot awaits, madam.”
She laughed, but deep inside she wondered what she was to him. What would he say if she asked? She shoved the thought aside and stepped into the car. “You are very gallant, kind sir. I accept your offer.”
****
Tripp watched the changing expressions on Honey Belle’s face. He wondered if she was thinking of the summer evenings they’d spent together. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but everything that came into his head seemed inappropriate, somehow lacking. He felt something twitch inside him, something deep and old. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
Like a blazing ball of fire, the sun hung just above the horizon as Tripp pulled into a parking space and shut off the car’s engine.
The gentle sounds of waves lapping the shore, then receding into the ocean, greeted them. A sea breeze caused Honey Belle to shiver. She ran her hands up and down her arms. “The sun looks as if it’s sliding between earth and sea.”
Tripp felt her closeness, her warmth as he spoke. “I know. Take your shoes off and let’s go. I have a surprise for you.”
He grabbed a blanket from the back seat and handed it to Honey Belle. Walking to the rear of the car, he opened the trunk and pulled out a cooler.
At their favorite spot, she spread the blanket over the sand while he opened the ice chest. He handed Honey Belle two chilled, long-stemmed, fluted glasses. Usually they drank beer, but not tonight. Tonight he’d brought champagne.
He paused a moment before filling their glasses.
****
Honey Belle enjoyed the way the bubbles tickled her nose. Holding the glass out for a refill, she wondered why he’d brought champagne.
“Are we celebrating something special, Tripp?” Her eyes were on a level with strong masculine thighs clad in denim. A tapered waist flared to a broad chest, every muscle and sinew clearly delineated by a simple white T-shirt.
“You and me, Honey Belle, we’re celebrating—us.” A breeze lifted Tripp’s hair off his forehead, and suddenly he spread his arms wide. “Honey Belle Garrett, I’ve fallen hopelessly and madly in love with you.”
He’d spoken the words she’d imagined in her head since the first time they had kissed. But—had he really said I love you? Perhaps along with the third glass of bubbly, she had only imagined hearing the words.
“Tripp, if you just said what I think I just heard…oh, my gosh.” Skepticism kicked her in the chest. “You’re not trash talking, are you?”
He lowered to his knees, lifted the glass from her hands and set it in the sand, then brought both of her hands to his lips. His gaze was commanding enough that it sent little chills skittering through the pit of her stomach. “I mean it, Honey Belle. I’d never joke about loving you.”
Her heart skipped a beat when he opened his arms and invited her in. For the first time in her life, she felt a measure of security. She pressed her body to his, yearning to garner all his strength, his body warmth, his love—in the event she woke up and found it was all a dream.
He drew back a little, and with his thumb under her chin he lifted her face. Her lips met his. On a scale of one to ten, in the kissing department, tonight H
oney Belle scored him a twenty.
At first the kiss was a soft touching of lips—a nuzzling. Then it deepened, became demanding, and left Honey Belle breathless. Tripp was the first to pull away.
The champagne made her feel bold. She took his hands in hers. She felt the warmth in his hands. Although they’d never had sex, they had participated in some serious foreplay. When he unbuttoned her blouse, she didn’t resist. He kissed the tip of her nose, her chin, her cheeks, and went back to linger over her mouth.
Between the champagne and the kissing, Honey Belle’s body hummed with desire. Just thinking about the way he touched her took her breath away. She felt her nipples begin to tingle, and warmth spread between her legs.
“I want you.” His impatient hands caressed every inch of her body. He made the words sound almost like an oath as he bent his head and kissed her breasts.
All Honey Belle’s fantasies rose up to haunt her as her mother’s warnings buzzed around in her head like an annoying mosquito. He’ll pluck your blossom, and when he’s deflowered you, he’ll toss you away like cheap trash.
“Tripp,” Honey Belle’s voice was a cracked whisper. “I-I’m not ready. Please, we should cool off.” She pulled her blouse together and fumbled with the buttons.
His blue eyes bored into hers as if guessing the reason for her hesitation. Piercing her with a molten smile, he lifted her hand to his chest. Feeling the heat of his flesh through his shirt, she was conscious of his virile physique and knew she was a prisoner of her own desire.
In a husky drawl, he said, “Yeah. Let’s go for a swim. We both need to cool off.” He stood and offered his hand to pull her to her feet.
“Not here.”
“Why not? Just look at that full moon beckoning us.”
“Sharks. I guess, being away at college for four years, you’ve forgotten this place isn’t called Shark Alley for nothing. When the fishermen clean their fish, they toss the heads and entrails off the pier and into the water. This section of the beach draws sharks, even at night. Believe me, it isn’t safe to swim anywhere near this stretch of shoreline.”
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