Sugarland
Page 17
“No, it isn’t. It isn’t okay. Please, let me come get you. You can go to Orlando with us. We can get a lawyer.”
“That won’t help, Kitty. And it won’t help if you tell mama when she’s so sick, so please don’t tell her, okay? And don’t tell Mel. Promise me.”
“Kiki—”
“Promise, Kit. Please? Anything you try to do to help is only gonna make it harder on me.”
Kit covered her mouth with her hand. She sat rocking on the edge of the bed, clutching the phone as close to her cheek as possible.
“So... when are you guys leaving?” Kiki asked after a little while.
Kit cleared her throat and whispered, “Tomorrow morning.”
“Well. Well, that’s great. That should be fun.”
“Yeah.”
“I hope y’all have good weather down there. They’re saying thunderstorms around here all weekend.”
There was another bleak silence.
“Kiki, I have to tell you something,” Kit started, but Kiki said at the same time, “Kit, I have to go.”
“Kiki—”
“It’s okay, Kitty. It’s fine. And by the time you get home, everything’ll be back to normal.”
Storm sounds obscured the rumble of the pickup truck, but headlights beamed across the living room wall like searchlights in a prison yard, creating a mural of reflected rain and announcing Wayne’s arrival on the parking pad.
Oscar sat perfectly still, one hand poised above his tumbler of milk.
“It’s him.”
“All right, you two,” Kiki said, “in your room.”
She took the brownies out of their hands, flung them in the garbage, and scrubbed a dishcloth over the table.
“Mama!” Chloe objected, but Kiki held up her hands.
“No! No fussing! You know Daddy doesn’t like fussing!” But Chloe kept on until her mother carved another brownie off the baking sheet and thrust it at her. “Here. Oscar, take her in there and keep her quiet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Oscar nodded gravely behind his spectacles.
“Mama, I’m ascared of the thunder—” Chloe started, but Oscar teased the brownie in front of her, backing down the hallway toward her room.
“C’mon, Chloe. I’ll read you some more of Dr. Doolittle.”
“That’s my big boy,” Kiki blessed him with a kiss as they passed by.
The wind cranked the door back, screeching the stop-chain.
“Shit crackers!” Wayne burst in. “It is something out there!”
“Wayne!” Kiki cried as he fought the front door shut. “Thank God you’re home. There’s tornado warnings on TV, and the Abernathys and Pearsons all went over to the high school.”
“Oh?” He handed her his dripping hat and set two brown paper bags on the end table. “Did they?”
“I didn’t answer the phone, Wayne,” Kiki started fluttering and explaining, “but Mrs. Abernathy came, and—and I just talked to her through the window. And she thought maybe the kids and I should go with them on account of ... well, you weren’t home yet.”
“Why didn’t you go?” he asked quietly.
“I didn’t think I was... allowed.”
“That’s my girl,” he touched her under the chin. “They’re a bunch of old ladies, anyhow. Think this house never sat through a thunderstorm before?”
He opened his rain-wet denim shirt and withdrew a bouquet of yellow roses wrapped in cellophane, handing them to her with great ceremony.
“Flowers for my lovely wife. And... ta-dal”
He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a bottle of wine.
“Oh, honey. That’s very sweet, but—” She placed her palm on her stomach.
“Oh, I know, but it’s your favorite. That white zinfandel you like. One little glass won’t hurt.”
“But don’t you think we should maybe take the kids over—”
“A little white zin for my girl, a little of the ol’ Southern Comfort for me,” he danced her to his music, the bottles between them. “Aren’t you even gonna say ‘thank you’?”
“Thank you.”
“Where is everybody?”
“I—I thought I was supposed to have them in bed when you got home.”
“Well, for pete’s sake,” he laughed. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”
“Oh, well... I just... they were real tired and ...” She looked at him wide-eyed, not sure which way to take it. “Should I get them up?”
“Nah, that’s okay,” he shrugged.
“Because I could get them up, and we could go.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere tonight, babe. Stuey and I stopped off for a couple beers on the way home. And then Stuey always gets going on the tequila shooters, you know. I probably shouldn’t of been driving home even. But just try to get a ride from anybody in this weather,” he called from the kitchen, where he was putting the wine in the refrigerator. “Hey, Peaches, have you seen my binoculars?”
“Your... your what?”
He meandered back to the living room with his hands in his hip pockets, and Kiki stood there with her flowers.
“Binoculars,” he repeated. “Why don’t you run and put those in some water and then check the utility closet for my binoculars, okay, hon? They gotta be in there somewhere. I already looked out to the shed in my hunting gear.”
He took off his shirt and looped it over the brass coat tree, surprised to see her still standing there when he returned.
“Well, go on now, Peaches.”
“Wayne, they said on the news—they said tornado warning, not just watch. They said it’s not safe in a mobile home.”
“They’re talking about some little ol’ rattletrap trailer house, Kiki, not a double-wide manufactured home. A trailer’s not sitting on a solid foundation like we are. Nah,” he waved it aside, “I’m stayin’ right here where I got a bird’s-eye view. Let ‘er rip!” He flopped into the recliner in front of the bay window, his boots up on the sill. “Just get the binoculars, and c’mon over here, Peaches. It’s a wild night, and you and me,” he spanked her playfully, “we’re gonna ride it out together. Just like the old days. Just like Sugar Land.”
“Wayne, please. We need to take the kids and go to the high school, honey. I can drive—”
“Kalene, I told you. We are staying here.” His voice low and controlled, he made a gesture with his hands facing each other like solid walls. “Now go and get the goddamn binoculars.”
Kiki nodded and took the flowers to the kitchen. She took a vase from under the sink and arranged them in it without adding water.
Outside the window, the patio was a playground of scattered furniture and broken pots. Chloe’s rocking horse was on its side, its head wedged between the flapping folds of the collapsed beach umbrella. The ground was strewn with pink bougainvillea petals, and the basket with the little family lay on the floor, still poised and tranquil, beneath the swing that strained and twisted on its chains.
She took a can of cola from the refrigerator and went back to the living room.
“Hey, honey?” she cracked the can open and set it next to him on the end table. “Would you—would you like me to turn on the TV?”
“Funny, Kalene, this does not look like a pair of binoculars to me.”
“I could turn it on so you could—you could see the warnings, Wayne. You could see for yourself.”
“Kalene...”
“Because they said, Wayne! They said—”
“Kiki, don’t do this now!”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She immediately backed off.
“Ah geez, no, I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t of yelled.” He pulled her onto his lap and smoothed her shirt over her stomach. “I just want to be here and have a glass of wine and watch the lightning with my best girl. Remember how we used to go down home and sit out on my daddy’s porch and watch the lightning, Kiki? I just want it to be like that. Is that so much to ask?”
“No, but...”
“I’m trying to—to do it, Wayne. I’m trying to make it up to you. But Reverend Doo said you ought not to drink anymore.”
“Shoot me,” Wayne grinned. “I’m an evil backslider.”
“And he said that you oughta listen to me, and I oughta tell you what I think.”
“Okay, Peaches,” he said patiently. “Tell me what you think.”
“I think we gotta get outa here!”
“And I disagree,” he smiled. “Anything else?”
Encouraged by his open expression, Kiki grasped the arm of the chair and struggled to stand up in front of him.
“I think I should be allowed to drive the car, Wayne. I should be able to go to the store and stuff.”
“I see.” He got up and shuffled over to the fireplace, tapping at the andirons with the pointed toe of his boot. “Anything else?”
“Well, it seems like—I guess ... I should be able to use the phone.”
“So you can call your boyfriend?”
“So I can call my mama!”
“Honey,” Wayne said, rubbing his fists against his eyes, “I want to let you drive the car. I want to let you talk on the phone. But how can I let you do these things when I can’t trust you?”
“You can, Wayne. You can trust me, I promise.”
“You betrayed me, and that’s gonna take some time to forgive. It’s gonna take some time to get over the way you hurt me.”
“Hurt you!” Kiki blurted a broken laugh.
“It’s not funny, Kalene!” He seized her arm and wrenched her toward him.
“I’m sorry, Wayne! I didn’t mean it!”
“You embarrassed me in front of the whole goddamn town!”
When he slapped her, certain syllables rang against the side of her head.
“And now you wanna call everybody up and run all over and show everybody how I’m being so goddamn mean to poor little Princess Kalene.”
When he let her go, the back of the recliner caught her in the stomach. She dropped to her knees, and his boot caught her in the side before she could scuttle away, scattering the clattering andirons and fireplace utensils as she tried to get around him.
“Wayne, no! Not by the baby!” She stopped short of begging him to hit her in the head, but she used her arms to cover her belly instead of her face.
“Ah, shit. Kiki... are you—I didn’t mean to—ah, shit.” He knelt down and caressed her shoulders, pleading. “Please, baby—don’t make it be like this now, Kalene. Christ, why do you always make it be like this? You know I don’t want to hurt the baby! And if you cause me to hurt the baby, I don’t know what I’ll do, Kiki, I just don’t know.”
“I’m sorry, Wayne,” she whimpered, “I ... I’ll be—I won’t—” She couldn’t think of what she was supposed to be promising. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry...”
“I know.” Wayne folded her to his chest. “Baby, I love you so much. I wish you wouldn’t make it be this way for us. Stop that caterwauling now, baby. Kiki, honey, stop that now. I said, stop that crying, Kalene!”
He pulled her head back, raising his hand over her, but when she bit her lips and made no sound, he folded her to him again.
“Okay, shhh. That’s better. That’s my girl.” He kissed her swelling mouth and burning cheek and closed his hands softly around her throat. “I think I know what your trouble is,” he told her, moving his lips directly against hers. “I guess I know what my sugar wants, don’t I?” He stroked his thumbs across the front of her neck, repeating, “Don’t I, sugar ... don’t I?” stroking more and more firmly until she answered, “Yes.”
“That’s right. I guess I do.” He eased her back onto the carpet, caressing her breasts and heavy stomach. “Sometimes my girl likes to play a liiiittle bit rough, doesn’t she?”
“Wayne, stop it...”
“Right here,” he unzipped his jeans and removed his flaccid penis. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“No.”
“Oh, I think it is. I think you’re playin’ with me.”
“No!”
“But see, I know it is,” he crooned. “I knew what you wanted soon as I walked in that door, didn’t I? You just kept at me till you got it, so don’t you give me one of your little tantrums, Kiki. Shhhh. You don’t want to wake up the kids ... ‘cause right now, Mommy and Daddy need a little privacy.”
His hands crept, delicate as spiders, pulling down her maternity shorts and panties. He eased a pillow under her hips and pressed her knees apart.
“I know what you been missing. Or did your jigger-boo boyfriend eat your pussy for you?” His tongue flickered against her clitoris and the insidious ripple of involuntary response was a more painful betrayal than the throbbing in her cheekbone. “Except I bet he didn’t know how to do it just the way you like it, did he? Just like mmmmm ... like that. And there it is. There’s my sugar. Now we got some honey.”
Kiki wasn’t sure if she was listening to the wind, or if it was still the ringing in her ears. Wayne eased his fingers in to spread the moisture that wept out of her, and she covered her face with her hands, struggling to keep the choking sobs below her throat.
“Yeah. Listen to you. You love that, don’t you, Peaches?”
He set her ankles on his shoulders, priming himself with one hand, still stroking her with the other. Branches battered and scratched outside, twigs raked like fingernails on the screens and siding.
“Here it is ... here ... here ... here it is ... something great big for that sweet little pussy...”
Pinecones cantered on the roof of the shed. Its aluminum walls clamored in and out in a warping, metallic respiration.
“I bet your skinny little nigger boyfriend didn’t give it to you this good, did he? He didn’t know all your sweet spots, did he?”
Kiki watched from a distance, observing through the eyes of the wind at the window. She watched his mouth moving, his eyes drifting closed, his face turning out toward her ankle. His tongue and teeth lightly teased the delicate bone there, and a current of sensation established itself between that point and the place where his first two fingers made a small circular beckoning. Kiki came closer and closer to a brink of feeling she feared more than anything else he did to her. Betrayal, betrayal. It was the undoing of herself, and she refused to feel it from him, here, now, like this. She would have wanted the world to end rather than have him take away that last sweet sliver of herself. Her hands reached out for anything, found the iron utensils that lay on the floor.
She stayed silent, but he read something in her mind, heard something in her truncated thoughts that made him open his eyes just as the poker swung toward his head.
“Shit!”
He instinctively raised his arm, and the hook bit into the flesh just below his elbow. He grimaced and swore, twisted the poker from her hand and hurled it against the wall. And then he rained down on her in torrents of hands, fists, epithets, and the ramming of his erection.
Kiki crossed her wrists above her head, shielding her face and crying against her forearms until Wayne became so distracted by the ramming, even his cursing fell into its compulsive gait.
The back screen door banged open and closed. Lawn chairs writhed and folded in seizures on the patio.
Clenching the front of Kiki’s shirt, Wayne finally reared and groaned at the back of his throat, spurting a white stream of ejaculate across her stomach and spending the last of his energy with it. He shuddered forward with his hands on her shoulders, and blood trickled down his arm onto her neck.
“Damn. That hurts,” he breathed heavily, “Fucking ... goddamn...”
He lifted her shoulders and slammed her back against the floor.
“You little cunt! I can’t believe you fucking did that!”
Open palm, backhand, open palm, his arm whipped back and forth like the sheets out on the clothesline.
“You should not’ve done that, Kalene.”
He staggered to his feet, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and wrapped it around his elbow.
“You shouldn’t... you shouldn’t’ve done it.”
He picked up the poker and stood over her, panting, looking down on her from a great height, a far distance.
Kiki rolled onto her side, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around her stomach, making herself fetal, her face close to the pointed toe of his boot, waiting for it to draw back and swing forward, wanting him to kick her hard enough to turn everything dark, longing for the serenity of the still-life birds.
miracle child: comatose mother gives birth to healthy baby
“Shit...”
Wayne swayed, stumbled back on his feet.
“I think I’m gonna puke,” he mumbled and lurched toward the bedroom, dragging his pants up from the middle of his thighs.
Kiki lay listening to the wailing at the windows.
After a while, she gingerly rolled up to her hands and knees and pulled herself into the easy chair. She used her panties to wipe away the trickle between her legs and the stickiness on her stomach, then unsteadily pulled her shorts on.
In the kitchen, she pressed a wedge of ice against her cheek before dropping it in a glass. She poured red Kool-Aid from a Tupperware pitcher, but it had settled to a sickening artificial nectar that smelled thick and syrupy when she raised it to her lips. Kiki bent over the sink and threw up, heaving vocally, moaning with the mimosa trees that leaned and foundered in the yard.
When she could breathe again, she turned on the water and cupped it, cool, up to her mouth with her hand. She washed her face and neck and forearms with the dishcloth, then used the sprayer to rinse everything toward the drain.
The garbage disposal flushed away the vomit and water, cleansing, eliminating, disposing, disappearing everything, grating its familiar and immediate relief. Kiki fed in a brownie, then the rest of what was left on the baking sheet. She took Wayne’s dinner out of the microwave and slid the meat and potatoes off the plate, followed by the tiny cubed carrots mixed with peas. She fed in the roses from the vase one by one, petals and stems, and a soft breath of fragrance echoed back to her from an unknown place where it was cool and damp and dark.