He’d suffered the ordeal of Velma. The only good thing coming out of his marriage was Dorie. But he didn’t know how to tend to Dorie’s emotional needs. He feared she was too much like her mother. Since Phoebe’s arrival, Dorie had become neater, mannerly, less moody, as if Phoebe had put a spell on her.
He admired a woman who knew the value of money, how to earn it. Phoebe appeared to have an inside track on that knowledge as Velma had not. Velma had put his back to the wall, charging goods and spending money as if it were a never-ending flow like the tide and it had cost him a good year of profits to crawl out of that debt-ridden hole. Velma had gone off and got herself drowned while in the company of another man, turning him into a cuckold in front of their entire community—business and friend alike. Getting over that took some doing.
Gage looked down at his big callused hands. He couldn’t go on without a woman indefinitely, but Phoebe Hawley? She wouldn’t take up the space between two button tucks in his mattress. It seemed to him that Phoebe had a fragility of flesh, that she was held together only by discipline and nerve. He couldn’t see her having sex without wafting away. Though it had been restrained, he had a healthy appetite for sex.
Not that he was considering it with Phoebe Hawley.
He looked down at his hands trying to recall the last time he’d touched a woman.
Oh, Lord, he was considering it.
Best thing all around would be to send Phoebe on her way. Force her against Hawley pride to take the bumper. He’d be decent about it, he’d wait until she’d sold her crabs.
The rain stopped. Inside the shack there was no sound at all, except the noise of water dripping off the tin roof and the muttering in Gage’s brain that said he was being a fool.
A truck came through the gate and stopped. The driver hung out the window. “Hey, you open for business?”
Gage tugged the string that turned on the light. “I’m open.”
At noon Phoebe thrust her head in the door. “I brought your lunch. Fried chicken sandwich and a thermos of coffee.”
Not once had Velma ever thought to bring him lunch while he was working away from the house. He didn’t mean to be making comparisons, but there it was. “Thanks. I am a bit hungry. Haven’t had time to take a break.”
“You got to quit stalkin’ outta the house mad of a mornin’. Eat a good breakfast. Business good today?”
“Fair.”
~~~~
Lor! But Gage was stingy with words. Mayhap it was the weather. Phoebe wore a pair of galoshes from the laundry room to cut across the junkyard mud and puddles. They came up to her knees. She had a towel pinned around her waist to serve as an apron and her hair was covered with a scarf. Controlling her curls was always a problem and in damp air, an impossible task. The chicken sandwich had just been an excuse. Inside her was a driving force to be near Gage. She’d fought it all morning. Now she was near him. The shack barely had room for Gage’s huge bulk and she was nearer than she’d hoped. She cleared her throat twice, felt her stomach climbing into her chest cavity. “Gage...”
“What?”
“You reckon this weather’ll hold the crabs back?”
He peeled the waxed paper from the sandwich. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave the traps down a couple more days. You couldn’t sell them this late in the day anyway.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He ate the sandwich. Phoebe had the urge to be seductive. She moved closer and brushed his arm with her own, then she opened the thermos, pouring coffee into the lid that served as a cup. She was so giddy her hands shook.
“You’re spilling that.’’
“Won’t hurt this floor.”
“Guess it won’t.” The red cup disappeared into his thick hand. Phoebe liked his hands. He did heavy, dirty work, yet the nails were clipped and clean. She had to put her own hands behind her back to keep from reaching out, to keep from placing her hand on his.
“I promised the kids I’d take them into Shambeau’s. We were gonna walk, but what with the rain by the time we got there they’d look like mud daubers.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I was gonna ask to borrow my tag, just for—”
“I said I’d drive you.”
Phoebe pondered the tone of his voice. It was no-nonsense and bossy. Like hers. “What will people say, seein’ you with me?”
He avoided her eyes. “Don’t suppose they’ll say anything.”
“I mean, what will they think?”
“Why should they think anything? Seems to me I recall Willie-Boy saying we’re cousins.”
“He meant Bible cousins.”
“Ah.”
She was going to cut out Willie-Boy’s tongue! “You have mayonnaise all over your face,” she said, and fled. The heavy galoshes splattered mud a yard wide.
~~~~
Phoebe wasn’t looking at Gage and he wasn’t looking at her. But they were getting in each other’s way while trying to herd the kids into the truck.
“I call the window,” yelled Maydean, jumping in and hogging it.
“I’m sitting by Maydean,” said Dorie.
Willie-Boy was all hope. “I’m riding in the back.”
Phoebe grabbed his arm. “You’re sittin’ in my lap.”
“People will think I’m a sissy.”
“They won’t think anything if you don’t sit on my lap. They won’t even see you. You’ll be a layin’ on your bed until the rest of us get back. Move off that window, Maydean. Let me in.”
“No.”
“Maydean.”
“I ain’t been nowhere since we got here. I want to see.”
“Come around this side and get in.”
Phoebe scowled. What Gage was suggesting would put her practically in his lap. She was wearing her second-best skirt and blouse with black pumps. She gave the front of the truck a wide berth to avoid mud puddles.
“You want me to carry you?”
“A little dirt never hurt anybody.” She climbed in without his help. He handed in Willie-Boy and got behind the wheel.
“Doors locked? Seatbelts on? Everybody ready?”
The kids chorused, “Ready!”
Phoebe couldn’t speak. The whole length of her was aligned and pressing against Gage. He had showered and she got the full effects of that. Soap and after-shave wafted by her nose. It made her think about sex—again.
On the pretext of adjusting Willie-Boy upon her knees she stole a quick look at Gage. Her nearness didn’t appear to be affecting him at all. She sniffed at his indifference.
“You say something?” he asked.
“We’re packed like sardines. It’s hot.”
He rolled his window down.
“That’s blowing my hair.”
He raised it. “That better?”
“It’s hot again.”
“Should’ve let you walk.” He lowered the window yet again.
Phoebe was a network of sensitive strings. When Gage pushed on the brake and gas pedals, his thigh rubbed hers. The strings that were her nerves zinged as if they were priming for a symphony. Once when he shifted gears his arm brushed the side of her breast. Her nipples peaked and began to hum. The sensation left her speechless. She couldn’t even dribble a rebuke when Maydean craned her neck to stare and coo at boys on motorcycles. By the time they arrived at Shambeau’s she felt as if she’d whacked a hornet’s nest and got stung from eyeball to instep.
The children erupted from the truck. Phoebe didn’t trust herself to move.
“You worried about your hair?” Gage asked.
“No.”
“Are you going to get out here or go run errands with me?”
Phoebe jerked. Maydean, Willie-Boy and Dorie were disappearing into the storefront. “Lor!”
Gage took her hand and helped her down from the cab. “You need an hour?”
“Thirty minutes.” Shaken, Phoebe reclaimed her hand. She forced her fingers to clasp her purse.
“Thirty
minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
Phoebe took a step then turned back. She cleared her throat. “Gage, do you feel funny?”
“I feel fine.”
It was all one-sided! She hated him. “I feel fine, too.”
“You look fine.”
She loved him.
“Your hair hardly got blowed a bit.”
She hated him.
First chance she got she was going to figure out how to bed him. That’d make him sit up and take notice. She spun away and sallied into Shambeau’s.
SIX
Anger flared one minute, love the next as Phoebe banged around in the kitchen. She was fixing supper and handling pots and pans like percussion instruments. Love flowed in only one direction, toward Gage. Her anger flowed in two, at him and herself.
To avoid a scene with Maydean in Shambeau’s she’d spent more than she’d planned. She’d bought the socks, a pair of shorts for herself, a knit shirt for Maydean because she refused to take it off, a toy car for Willie-Boy and a coloring book for Dorie.
There had been the same crowded conditions in the truck on the way home. More so because of the purchases and a bag of groceries Gage set on the floorboard. There was a six-pack of beer in the bag. Phoebe frowned on that, but Gage was staying home to drink it. He had also bought ice cream and chewing gum. He was sitting in the living room drinking his beer while the kids sat on the floor clacking their jaws. It was enough to drive a body mad. She banged another pot to emphasize her displeasure.
The noise brought Gage to the kitchen. “What’s all the clatter in here?”
Phoebe sniffed. “What clatter? I don’t hear any clatter.”
He cocked a brow. “You probably have the ships out in the channel thinking they’re picking up distress signals.”
“I wish one of ‘em would come along and pick me up and take me I-don’t-care-where.”
“What’re you mad about?”
“Nothin’. Do I sound mad to you? What makes you think I’m mad?”
He went to the refrigerator, retrieved another beer and popped the top.
That’s two, Phoebe counted. “You sure like your booze, don’t you?”
“I like a beer now and then, yes. I told you before, don’t make too much out of it.”
“I’m not. I don’t even care.”
“You want one?”
“I hate the stuff. I just hope you won’t be too drunk to come to the supper table.”
“On two beers? Seems to me the beer is just an excuse. What’s really bothering you?”
“Nothin’.” Here she was heart throbbing, knees watery and he not only didn’t notice, he wasn’t reciprocating. “Everything is so fine and dandy I can hardly stand it.”
“I’ll just close the door to the kitchen, keep the noise down. Every time you slam a pot Willie-Boy jumps.”
A surge of guilt scuttled Phoebe’s anger. The doctor back home said Willie-Boy’s asthma attacks were sometimes brought on by overexcitement or fear. That was one reason she had him in tow. Vinnie picked on him something terrible, kept him gasping for breath. “Leave the door open. I’ve about got supper done anyhow.”
After the meal was served, Maydean and Dorie, cautious eyes upon Phoebe, washed dishes without protest. Willie-Boy’s new toy broke. Gage got out a soldering iron and showed him how to fix it. Phoebe stopped clearing the table to give Willie-Boy a hug.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Because I’m proud. Look at you, learnin’ how to weld.”
“This is soldering,” he explained. “Welding is when you wear a mask.”
Later, after the children were bathed and in bed, Phoebe went into the living room where Gage sat, to watch television with him. He pretended not to notice her come into the room. But beyond his aloof expression, she could see the lines of tension around his eyes.
“That was a nice thing you did for Willie-Boy,” she said. “Showing him how to fix the car.”
Gage shrugged.
“Guess I’ll go to bed.” She emphasized “bed” to see if that would get a rise out of him.
“Good night,” he said. He had a magazine in his lap. When a commercial came on television, he transferred his interest to the page.
That wasn’t the response Phoebe wanted. It was unthinkable that all of the thigh rubbing earlier had left him so unaffected. She tossed her head and fumed. He ignored the sighing and tossing. Phoebe got up and went out on the porch.
There was still dampness in the air. More rain in the offing. She swallowed back a self-pitying sigh. She had a roof over her head, didn’t she? Food to eat and money in her purse? This time last week she’d been scrounging for all three. But she didn’t have that elusive fourth—a man of her own. Well, she had him. He was just being thick-minded about it. Re-entering the living room she discovered Gage had been tracking her.
“Don’t wake me up when you go past my room,” she said.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” he returned in a tone overlaid with irony. Phoebe locked eyes with him. Her pulse quickened. She had meant noise. He had meant stopping off in her room. She made a wild accusation.
“You’ve been thinking about it.”
“Like hell.”
His voice had risen a decibel. Defensive.
Phoebe pressed. “I ain’t forgettin’ how you looked at me this mornin’.”
“Any time a woman parades half-naked in front of me, I’ll look.”
“Did I stir you up? Is that why you ran out of the kitchen?”
“I had to go to work.”
She took the plunge. “You stir me up something fierce.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“That’s just it. It ain’t in my head. It’s—”
“Shut up.”
Phoebe’s mind churned. A man didn’t get so riled about a subject for which he cared little. So he must really like her, because he was so upset. His face was even getting red. He did like her, but he didn’t seem to like the idea of liking her. Best she let him sleep on it, get used to the idea. She backpedaled. “Now I know why you’re so sour of a morning. You go to sleep that way, it preys on your brain all night.”
“What preys on my brain is how to get you out of my life.”
Phoebe suffered an instant of sharp terror. “You going back on your word? You said we could stay—”
“You can. Just keep out of my way. And wear proper clothing. Just because you’re skinny is no excuse to gad about the house half-dressed.”
“I ain’t the cause of your wicked thoughts,” Phoebe said loftily, convinced now that she was and thrilled about it. “Good night.”
Head high, chin up, she sailed past him.
Gage glared at the set of her chin, the slope of her neck that was creamy against the dark blouse she wore. “Watch out you don’t stab somebody,” he gibed.
It took Phoebe five minutes to get her teeth brushed. She kept looking at her image in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and glowing. Why, she looked almost pretty. With utter feminine instinct she knew she could go naked into Gage’s room. He wouldn’t turn her away. All his blatant hemming and hawing was for naught.
She didn’t see how she could go to him tonight. Somehow it didn’t seem a fitting claim to propriety to crawl into a man’s bed on Saturday night, and out of it on Sunday morning to church. Once she and Gage had an understanding it’d be all right. Lusting outside an understanding was hazarding the risk of sin.
~~~~
When it came, the sound did not rouse Phoebe at once: the sound of sobbing. It seemed to rise, then muffle itself before Phoebe lifted her head from the pillow. Willie-Boy, she thought, he’s homesick again. She padded into the hall. The sniffling came from Dorie. Somebody forgot to turn on the nightlight. In the dark Phoebe felt her way into the room and switched on the ruffled bedside lamp.
“Dorie, you sick?”
The child pulled her head out from beneath her pillow. “No.”
“Why’re you crying?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I would. I’m grown up. I know a lot.”
“Daddy doesn’t love me.”
Phoebe rocked on her heels. “Of course he does.”
“He likes Willie-Boy better. He’s never showed me how to solder. He won’t let me into his shop, either.”
“Because it’s dangerous. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”
“He let Willie-Boy.”
“Men think different about a boy.”
Dorie turned her face into the pillow. “My mother loved me. She said so. Daddy never says he loves me. I want my mother back.”
Phoebe sat on the bed and gently massaged the small shoulders. “You have to keep your ma in your heart, Dorie. You put her there and you’ll always have her with you.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know. When Grandma Hawley died, I couldn’t stand it. Sometimes I’d forget she was gone, and I’d think about somethin’ to tell her. I’d go into her room and then it’d come on me that she wasn’t there anymore. I cried and cried, just like you.”
Dorie looked up, surprised. “I do that too. On my birthday, I wanted to show Mother my presents.”
“I have a taste for hot chocolate,” said Phoebe. “When I felt bad Grandma Hawley used to make me a cup and let me sit on her lap after everyone else was in bed. The only folks up were me and her and the night elves.”
Dorie perked up. “What night elves? We don’t have any night elves.” She moved off the bed and trailed at Phoebe’s side into the kitchen. Phoebe heated the milk and sugar, stirred in cocoa, then pulled the child onto her lap.
“Everybody has night elves. They sweep up behind the sandman. You know the sandman, he makes you go to sleep. That sandman is messy, his sand bags leak. All night long the elves have to run behind with their tiny brooms.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What else do they do?”
“They get feisty. They used to play pranks on Grandma Hawley all the time. They’d hide her knittin’ needles. Once they hid one in the sofa and my brother Joey found it. He sat on it.”
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