Finding Home

by Weger, Jackie

  She crept out of bed, padded barefoot down the hall and pressed her ear to Gage’s bedroom door. He coughed once. The import of what she was about to do rolled over her. Suddenly her face felt hot, her throat dry. She jerked away from the door and went to the bathroom. She wet her throat, splashed her face with cold water and filled her cupped hands twice over to assuage her thirst. It didn’t help much. She was still warm all over.

  She looked in on Dorie, on Maydean and Willie-Boy. All were soundly asleep. Dern! she thought indignantly. When she needed a distraction they just lay there curled up like a pack of God’s little angels.

  She went back to Gage’s door, put her hand on the knob. Gage would no doubt toss her out if she so much as took one step inside his room. She wasn’t his kind of woman. She was freckled. Skinny. Scared.

  What she was thinking about doing had the unreality of a dream. What if she got naked and Gage laughed?

  What if he didn’t love her back?

  Her whole future hinged on that.

  She took a deep breath and turned the knob, ready to flee at the slightest sound. Her heart thudded so noisily she feared it would wake Gage.

  Barefoot, she slipped inside the room, closing the door so that the latch didn’t click and aided by light from the sliver of moon creeping into the room above the humming air-conditioner made the trek from the threshold to the foot of his bed without notice. He lay with his back to her, facing the window. Phoebe tugged her gown over her head and dropped it on the floor.

  Naked, she lay down on the bed.

  Gage lifted his head. “What the—”

  “It’s just me,” Phoebe whispered.

  Gage reached over and switched on the bedside lamp.

  Phoebe’s courage shriveled. She hadn’t counted on light. Lying down the way she was caused her breasts to go flat against her ribs, leaving hardly a mound to entice him.

  He was staring at her over his shoulder, his lips parted in shock.

  “Turn that dern light off,” she snapped.

  The next instant they were in shadows again. Phoebe scrabbled for the sheet, got under it. Every nerve in her body throbbed to a savage beat. She pressed her length against Gage. He was as naked as she! She felt every muscle in his body go rigid.

  The unexpected sensation of his flesh next to hers was like nothing she’d ever experienced. It made lights go off behind her eyes.

  “Get out of my bed,” Gage said, recovering his voice, but not his aplomb.

  “I just got in it,” Phoebe managed, still dealing with the awakening sensations, awed that the mere act of lying next to Gage could cause so much havoc. “I feel like firecrackers are goin’ off inside me. Don’t you?”

  “This won’t work.”

  “Cause you ain’t tryin’.” Her voice sounded odd to her own ears. She put her hand on his chest, felt the wiry hair beneath her fingers.

  ~~~~

  Gage grasped her hand. “Stop.” The word stuck in his throat. He could feel every inch of her that was pressed against him. Skin and bone alike felt smooth and silky. It took his breath away.

  “Turn loose my hand. I want to see what you feel like.”

  “Don’t...” It was a futile plea. He was burning internally with fires of long-suppressed passion. “I haven’t had a woman in a long time. You—”

  “That’s good,” Phoebe murmured. “I don’t like a man that drops his drawers for—”

  Prudence found a crack in his sensory perceptions, slipping through. “Out!” he raged in a whisper, sitting up, attempting to roll out of Phoebe’s reach. She threw both arms around his neck, clinging with all her strength, her lithe body against his back. His brain registered the warmth of her flesh, the sensuous smoothness, the rapid beat of her heart. A guttural moan erupted from him. “Phoebe, stop. This is insane. We don’t fit—”

  Phoebe heard the conviction go out of his tone. “We’re not situated right. Turn around.” She kissed the back of his neck.

  “We don’t—”

  Her fingertips caressed his shoulders, feather-light strokes that trailed up the thick sinews of his neck and traced forward until she had explored his jaw, the shape of his lips. She bent her head and touched the nape of his neck with her tongue.

  “Damn. Oh damn...”

  Phoebe felt rather than heard the shape of his words on her fingers. As he lay back, she cautiously moved her leg over his, over his thigh, brushing him with the soft inner side of her upper leg.

  “Lor!” she cried in astonishment. “Gage, is that your tallywhacker?

  Before he could protest, she had her hand down there. Her fingers closed over him exploring, tracing its shape, its engorged length. “It’s a miracle, the way body parts work,” she said, full of wonder.

  Her touch was sending delightful shocks racing down Gage’s spine. He struggled for an inner balance, for air. His arms felt leaden, it seemed to take forever to move and clasp her hand to stop her.

  “You can’t...” he panted. His mind was numb, but far back in his brain logic said he had crossed an emotional brink; told him he was plunging into something far more entangling than a casual liaison. “Just a minute ... Here, lie in my arms—”

  “You sound like you’re getting an attack of asthma.”

  “An attack of something. Keep still.”

  “I can’t. I can feel the hairs on your legs ticklin’ me. I wish I could explain how I feel inside. Everything is circlin’, rockin’.” Like a tempest, she thought, when she could think, for his hand was moving slowly at her waist, over her hip, back to her waist. Phoebe held her breath, expecting a comment about her bones, how little flesh covered them. He applied some slight pressure that drew her closer. His kissin’ lips were at her brow. They felt warm, soft, like new cotton. She didn’t dare move, and yet, she felt as if she were floating.

  His lips moved down her face, touching her eyelids, her nose, the edge of her mouth, her lips. He put his tongue in her mouth. Shock gave way to a wave of blissful pleasure and she relished the sensation for a few seconds. Phoebe strained against Gage, but still she could not get close enough. Her hands explored where he had forbidden. A moan escaped him, the sound as if he were being tormented and tortured. Then he was atop her.

  She could feel him thrusting into the center of her being as if a floodgate had been opened. Thrusting, attempting a deep invasion. Strange heats burst inside her, little fires. Her body seemed to know just what to do without any instructions. Her hips rose up to meet his, to accept him fully. She cried for him to press her harder.

  Gage stopped in midthrust, a moment’s bewilderment pulsing through him. Clarity dawned and he felt perspiration break out on his arms and face.

  “You haven’t ever...” he began, tight-jawed.

  “Please don’t stop,” Phoebe arched her hips, flexing muscles that she had not known existed to keep him within her.

  “You should’ve told me.” He began to withdraw.

  Phoebe threw her legs about him, locking him inside her. “I told you I was limber. Besides—”

  “Phoebe...”

  “It’s the natural way between a man and a woman.”

  “I’ll hurt you.”

  “You feel good!” she said with ferocity against a mounting panic that she had no feminine power with which to hold him to her.

  Gage could feel his willpower unraveling. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her cheek, her earlobe. “Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.”

  “I will,” she promised, sighing as he again began to rock with an erotic rhythm that reached to every sinew and inch of flesh she owned. Her virtue was now an alien and unwanted part of her body. When the sharp pain came, she bit her lip.

  The eagerness of her body hung suspended for an instant, then a sudden release of abundant happiness welled up in her. She was out-and-out a woman now. It could never be undone. She closed her eyes and gave her entire being up to unmasking the heretofore mystery of sensual love.

  ~~~~
r />   Gage was lying with his elbow over his eyes. Phoebe’s body was aligned to his. She was hugging herself, partly because the air seemed now to be unreasonably cool and partly because she didn’t want to let any of the good feelings out. She was going over in her mind all that had happened. Discovering to her dismay she couldn’t recall every minute detail.

  “When do you reckon we’ll do that again?” she asked, eager to fill in the gaps of recall.

  Gage turned toward her, gently put his arm across her abdomen, wondering how he could have ever thought her skinny, when delicate was much the better description. “Too soon for you, I think.”

  ‘‘Well, what’s proper?”

  “Proper would have been not doing it at all.”

  Phoebe snuggled beneath his arm, glad of the warmth, of the way his body shielded her from the icy blast of the air conditioner. She was aware of dampness between her legs, but ignored it in favor of lying next to Gage. She turned so that they lay face to face, hip to hip and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. She discovered his nipples. She had an uncommon urge to take one in her mouth. She put the shameful thought aside, swirling over the tips with her fingers instead.

  “Stop that.”

  “I was just seein’ if they’re bigger than mine.”

  “They aren’t.”

  “They’re gettin’ hard!” Suddenly, taking one into her mouth didn’t seem shameful at all. She pressed her face to his chest, flicked her tongue out.

  “For crying out—”

  “Ooooo, your tallywhacker’s gettin’ hard again, too.”

  “Phoebe, that’s enough. I’ve got to think, figure out where all this is leading. I’ve got to get some sleep. You do, too. Don’t you have to take your crabs to Hank’s? Phoebe... stop...”

  “I just want to catch up on the parts I missed.”

  “Missed? What’re you talking...stop sucking...no...stop... Damn, you’re making me crazy.”

  “Can I get on top?” She pushed him back and, dragging the sheet with her and mounted him, loving the delicious slick and smooth feel of him sliding into her; joyous that it now met no barrier. “Gage, is this proper or wanton, what I’m doin’?”

  How could he tell? His blood had stopped circulating. “Wanton...”

  Phoebe had a sudden constricted feeling in her breast. She leaned forward, her elbows digging into his chest. “Are you certain?”

  “No,” he gasped. “It’s proper. Your elbows are killing me.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She sat back, balancing herself, experimenting with the newly discovered muscles at the core of her femininity. The activity elicited from Gage moans of pleasure. “What do I do now?” she asked after she was satisfied that she truly did have control over so intimate an area.

  “I’m not going to have the strength to get out of bed in the morning,” Gage lamented, arching to press himself deeper, to plunder the velvety sheath.

  Phoebe sighed. “I have so much strength, I could clean this house from top to bottom and paint it besides.” Exalted, she flexed her muscles. “Can you feel that?”

  Gage placed his hands on her slender hips. “Phoebe,” he ground out, “shut up.”

  ~~~~

  Phoebe was grateful that after Gage had gone to sleep she’d crept back to her own bed. She had overslept. The sun was well up and she could hear the faint sounds of the television, of Maydean and Dorie arguing. Lor! What if they’d found her in Gage’s bed! She hurried to the bathroom and showered quickly.

  Dispensing with toweling dry, she yanked on pants and shirt. She ached from scalp to toe. She wasn’t certain if anybody looking at her could tell what she had done last night, but she had to face Hank and Stout at the crab house. She covered her body from head to toe, buttoning her shirt at neck and wrist.

  Her face reflected in the mirror looked the same. The mirror was lying. She was different, she glowed inside.

  She ran fingers through her tangled mass of hair, pinning it up as she hurried into the kitchen. Dorie and Maydean sat at the table, cosmetics of every description spread out before them, much of it layered on Maydean’s face.

  “Get that stuff off your face!”

  “But I’m practicing how to put it on,” Maydean protested . “I told you, I want to enter that beauty contest.”

  “You have to find a sponsor,” Dorie said.

  “Throw that mess away.”

  Dorie slapped her hands protectively over the treasure trove of lipsticks, eye shadows and tubes of mascaras. “No! This belonged to my mother. Daddy threw it out. I snuck it out of the garbage. You won’t tell him, will you, Phoebe? He’ll be mad. I keep it hidden under my bed.”

  “I won’t tell him, but you can’t keep it hid if it’s splattered all over Maydean. Where’s your pa, anyway? I got to get over to the crab house.”

  “He went somewhere. Willie-Boy went with him.”

  “Who’s watching TV?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Wastin’ electricity. Go turn it off. Then clean up this kitchen. There’s milk and cereal spilt from corner to corner.” She went out the door, headed to check on the crabs.

  “Daddy said to remind you to wash bed linen this morning,” Dorie called.

  Wash bed linen? Phoebe’s face flamed. The remains of her virtue were on those sheets. Lor! She raced back into the house. Gage had rolled the sheets down to the foot of the bed. Phoebe yanked them off. In the laundry room she started the washer and stuffed the linens into it, thankful she didn’t have to stand there with a pounding stick or run them through a wringer.

  “I’m goin’ to sell my crabs now,” she hollered as she made her way across the backyard.

  “Don’t forget my fifty cents,” Maydean yelled.

  Anxiety rippled through Phoebe as she backed the truck up to the rear door of the crab house where the crabs were shoveled into baskets and weighed. She must really be late. Usually there was a line of crabbers, waiting their turn. She banged on the door which brought Stout. The supervisor looked Phoebe up and down and frowned.

  “What’re you doing here, Hawley?”

  “Came to sell my crabs to Hank,” Phoebe replied. “I think I got about eight baskets worth.”

  “He ain’t buying today.”

  “He is, he told me.”

  “He ain’t. He sent the pickers home.”

  Phoebe felt dread begin to work its way up through her gut. She wanted to accuse Stout of lying, but no sound of laughter or radios came from the picking room, and she could see beyond Stout that the big steam vats were idle.

  “Why? Did he say why?”

  “He don’t have to say why, he’s the boss. You want to sell your crabs, you come back in the morning. Early.”

  “I got to sell ‘em today. Who else buys crabs?”

  Stout glanced over at Phoebe’s catch. “None of the bigger houses are gonna mess with buying just that dab you’re hauling. And anyway, you want to sell to Hank, you got to sell to him exclusively. He hears you sold elsewhere, he won’t buy from you and you’ll have to go clear across the drawbridge to sell.” Stout glanced past Phoebe to the crabs. “You better get some ice on those, some of ‘em are starting to go belly-up. Hank don’t buy dead or dying.”

  “Don’t worry, I aim to.”

  She’d get Gage to take her wherever ice was to be had. At the junkyard she parked the truck in the shade, sprayed cool water over the crabs and went to find him.

  “He’s not home yet,” said Dorie.

  Phoebe went to the welding shed to see if she could get her tag. She’d find the ice house by herself. The shed was padlocked on both ends. She discovered the windows nailed shut from the inside.

  She returned to the truck, tossed aside more dead crabs. Those alive didn’t try to pinch her even when she reached past them. She hung out the wash, waited for Gage, sorted dead and dying crabs, fixed lunch, and went back outside. She’d try to find the ice house, tag or no tag. She climbed into the driver’s seat and started the motor. It
sputtered. The gas gauge read empty. She wasn’t defeated yet. She’d siphon gas from the car.

  Both ends of the boat shed were locked. It had no windows. The whole world was conspiring against her, Phoebe thought, dejected.

  When the sheets were dry she made Gage’s bed. Next she let down the tailgate of the truck and sat on it amid her catch of crab. Dead and dying crab.

  She was finished. Up and finished before she even got started. She tossed another dead crab onto the pile at her feet.

  Fate wasn’t abstract, it was something good, tangible, physical, her place in the world. Fate meant escape from poverty. It meant good-smelling soaps, regular meals, having her family at her side. She didn’t see how she was going to deal with an absence of good fate. Only last night she had become a woman. She thought she had become invincible. It must’ve been a sin even if she hadn’t done it on a Sunday. She was being punished.

  A one-clawed crab scooted over the tailgate, landed belly up and didn’t move. She wished she knew how to keep crabs from dying.

  It was a balmy afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. A breeze flicked at Phoebe’s hair, the sun bore down. She swatted at a swarm of humming gnats and gazed out at the junkyard which held Gage Morgan’s treasures.

  The huge pile of dead crabs had begun to smell.

  Miserable, Phoebe sniffed and contemplated her future. Apathy was a stranger to Phoebe, but she was too dejected to resist.

  An hour later she watched Gage approach. Light-headed with loss and defeat, she didn’t stir.

  ~~~~

  The odor stopped Gage several feet from the truck. He eyed the pile of crabs over which flies buzzed and flitted. Phoebe’s cheeks were taut, the flesh made translucent by the sun. She appeared so dejected Gage was taken aback. Before him was not the Phoebe Hawley he’d come to know. That Phoebe wouldn’t let herself be caught sitting in the middle of crab rot with her blouse buttoned up to her gullet and no feistiness in evidence. He paused long enough to take a shallow breath. “What happened?”

  “You can see what happened. In case you’re wonderin’, half of nothin’ is nothin’.”