Cold Tea on a Hot Day

by Matlock, Curtiss Ann

  There came a knock, and Parker poked his head inside. “Anyone home?”

  Marilee looked up from the computer screen to see him glancing around, still with only his head poking in the front door. His gaze found hers, and he regarded her uncertainly, no doubt because of her sharp behavior that afternoon. She felt immediately contrite.

  “Come in.” Marilee rose and went to greet him warmly with a smile and swift kiss, and to more or less haul him inside.

  His grin grew broader. “Just passed Winston. He said maybe I could get some pizza here.”

  Willie Lee came racing in dog-fashion, on hands and knees, barking.

  “Why is he doing that?” Parker asked.

  “He’s pretending to be a dog.”

  Willie Lee followed along, barking the entire way into the kitchen, where Marilee heated the last two pieces of pizza in the microwave.

  “He’s really into this, isn’t he?” Parker said of Willie Lee, who was now sniffing at his shoes.

  “Pretending is a normal part of childhood.” Marilee liked to point that out whenever Willie Lee was being perfectly normal.

  “Uh-huh.” Parker raised an eyebrow and whispered, “I hope he isn’t gonna pee on my leg.”

  Then he said to Willie Lee, “Have you had your rabies shot? I need to get Munro’s shots, I can get you one, too.”

  Willie Lee raced away on hands and knees. This tickled Parker, and his amusement pleased Marilee. For an instant their gazes met, and the fond look in his eyes caused warmth to wash over her.

  “Sit,” she said, moving him to the table and setting the slices of pizza in front of him. Then she took the chair next to him and propped her chin in her hand and watched him eat. She could hear Aunt Vella in the children’s bedroom, reading them a bedtime story. Parker commented that the pizza was delicious and that he would starve if it wasn’t for microwave ovens and Marilee’s kitchen. She accepted this compliment graciously, and passed the credit on to Aunt Vella.

  “It really is nice for me, having Aunt Vella here to help with the kids and meals and things,” she said.

  “I’m surprised she hasn’t gone back to Perry,” Parker said.

  “I am, too.” She thought of it sadly.

  “Do you think she will?”

  “I don’t know…I really don’t know.”

  The situation confused and frightened her. If her aunt and uncle could get divorced after forty-five years of marriage, then it seemed there was no certain thing in life at all.

  Possibly Parker was thinking along the same lines, as he was frowning and staring at the table. Marilee studied his face and thought how he was not only handsome but a good man who would help in a crisis, even if he had a little trouble with mundane, everyday living.

  And he needed her to keep him decently fed. To give him a place to call home. A family, such as he had not had before. He needed that, even if he wasn’t aware of needing it. The memory of their lovemaking once upon a time sliced through her mind and right down to her belly. Their lovemaking had been very good, and they had been close once.

  Of course she should marry him. She should snatch him up. She almost popped out with, “I’ll marry you, Parker,” but hesitated, suddenly overcome with self-consciousness that maybe he had changed his mind.

  She rose and took his hand. “Come on.”

  “Wha…” He met her gaze and dropped his last bite of pizza, letting himself be dragged out on the back stoop, going with her with a growing grin.

  Marilee closed the door behind them, putting them in the dimness of the step, where the only light was reflected through the window curtains. In a bold advance, she brought Parker’s head down, parting her lips in invitation to his very apparent enthusiasm.

  “Parker…”

  She whispered his name with longing and pushed her hands through the opening of his shirt at the base of his neck. His skin was warm and silky. His tongue tasted like pizza. She wrapped one leg around his.

  In seconds they were all heavy breath and wet lips and tugging hands. Parker made her wild by kissing her neck and shoving a warm hand between her legs. He whispered for them to go to his truck, and she said she could not do that. In fact, in an instant her fertile imagination drew up a picture of them both, old enough to know better, getting caught right in the middle of the act by a curious neighbor coming to investigate the rocking truck. Added to that was the sudden thought that Tate could come through the back gate and catch them making out on the back step.

  Both mind pictures cooled her ardor a considerable amount, and she began to pull away, but Parker held her fast and kissed her deeply, seeking to draw her back into the passion.

  Just then, as if coming to her aid, a loud clap of thunder reverberated, causing Marilee to jump and just about sending Parker backward off the stoop. He recovered and attempted to get back to business but was not able to overcome the rain that suddenly came in a downpour, as if someone had unstopped a sink.

  “Damn!”

  “Ohmygosh, Parker, you’re gettin’ soaked!”

  Her hand fumbled with the screen door, which proved stubborn, but then she got it open, along with the inner door, and they threw themselves inside.

  “Here…” She tossed Parker a towel from a fresh pile atop the dryer.

  He rubbed his head, and she, with her own towel, dried her face. Then, clutching the towel, she looked at him.

  He looked at her.

  “Parker, do you still want to get married?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Yeah.”

  The answer was not fully satisfying.

  She breathed deeply, summoning words to her tongue.

  But then Willie Lee’s voice calling “Ma-ma” and running footsteps approaching abruptly ended further discussion. The next instant there came a loud thump, and then a pain-filled wail.

  Marilee raced into the kitchen and found Willie Lee had fallen against a kitchen chair and put his bottom teeth into his upper lip. She scooped him up, calling immediately for a cold cloth.

  She sat and pressed Willie Lee, sobbing, against her, instinctively seeking to absorb her child’s pain.

  Parker put a cloth in her hand.

  Willie Lee cuddled close and sucked on the wet cloth. After a minute, Marilee had to pry his head from her bosom and force him to allow her to examine the wound. Then the others—Parker, Aunt Vella, and even Corrine, who seemed to have a great curiosity for bloody wounds—gave Willie Lee’s cut lip a thorough examination. Parker pronounced it not serious. Marilee finally concluded that Willie Lee did not need stitches, but he did need her to hold him and rock him back and forth.

  She was still holding Willie Lee when Parker bent to kiss her good-night.

  “Parker…”

  He paused and looked at her. But with Willie Lee in her arms and Aunt Vella in and out of the kitchen, there was no room for privacy. “I’m glad you stopped by tonight.”

  He nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Yes. Do.”

  Then she was alone in the silent kitchen, Willie Lee dozing against her breasts, where not so long ago Parker’s ministrations had been working her into wild passion.

  The house was quiet. Aunt Vella was not snoring. Marilee tiptoed to the door of the bedroom and looked in, wondering if she should put a mirror underneath her aunt’s nose to make certain she was alive. She did not know which she found more disconcerting, her aunt snoring like a character in an animated cartoon, or her aunt not making any noise at all.

  At that particular moment, Aunt Vella let out a ragged breath, proving she was alive. With relief, Marilee glanced at Willie Lee, who was sprawled in a perfectly relaxed manner. She smiled. She might worry a great deal about his future, but his present was quite blessed. The swelling on his lip was marginal, and he had fallen back into his secure, easygoing ways.

  She then looked into her own bedroom, where the bedside table lamp glowed dimly. Corrine, with Munro lying beside her, had fallen asleep, once again with a book ly
ing on her chest. Under Munro’s watchful eyes, Marilee removed the book and turned out the light.

  “You are a good friend,” she whispered to the dog and touched his head.

  Still gazing at him, she wondered where the dog had come from. She wondered at how he had come into their lives seemingly at just the right moment.

  Tender mercies, her mother had once explained in a particularly uncharacteristic thoughtful moment. For an instant, warm memories of childhood fluttered over Marilee like a delicate butterfly. There had been good times, but the memories of these times seemed to have been clouded over with the hard, stormy ones. She wished she could find a better balance between the two.

  Going into the kitchen, she got out the pitcher of tea—Tate’s round pitcher that she needed to return to him. There was one full glass of tea left in it; he had not brought fresh that evening, and she wondered at this. She missed him.

  No, she did not, she told herself.

  Oh, she liked Tate, and that was good and natural, too. Tate was a likeable man. But she could not make more out of it than was there. There was not a “thing” between them. Parker was hers, what she needed.

  Parker was what she could deal with. Tate was way beyond her capabilities.

  She thought this as, carrying along her glass of tea, she went to the back door, opened it and peered in the direction of her editor’s house. It was perfectly black in that direction; the trees blocking any lights that might shine from his windows, if Tate was reading or doing some strange thing, like making another pitcher of iced tea in the careful manner he liked to take with it.

  Inhaling the warm, humid air of coming summer through the screen door, she thought how summer edged upon them this time of year, one night humid as July and the next cool again. As if trying to sneak up on them, or accustom them to what was coming, one day at a time, until all their days were summer, hot and dry and so long sometimes she thought she would burn right up.

  What else had her mother said? The good news is that you can get used to anything. The bad news is that you can get used to anything.

  She paused and listened for a moment, hearing the first click of an early cicada far out beneath a tree…the rustle of leaves…light rain pattering through the leaves and onto the roof. Aunt Vella had begun to snore gently, and the refrigerator purred beneath this.

  Thank you, God, after all, even for the hot and dry when it comes. Thank you for my family, for my children all safe in bed. Thank you for the safety of this house. Look after my sister, Lord. And Mama…yes, and dear Mama.

  The gratitude came out of nowhere, and she embraced it as the precious emotion it was. This was something she could cling to. Something that anchored her and erased, for brief moments, anyway, the anxiousness that seemed to plague her soul.

  She remained there at the door, as if she could keep the gratitude by not moving. As if it had come to her on the night air.

  Yet then, inevitably, came a cool, swift breeze.

  With a shiver, she closed the door and carried her now empty tea glass to the kitchen sink.

  Glancing in the night-black window, she saw the reflection of the telephone on the wall behind her.

  She turned and went to it and dialed Parker’s number.

  The answering service came on the line. The doctor was unavailable at the moment. If Marilee would give them the emergency message, the woman would relay it to the doctor. “He’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, no, this isn’t an emergency.” Marilee looked at the clock. It was after eleven. Parker might already be asleep. “I’ll catch him tomorrow during office hours. Thank you.”

  She didn’t suppose saying, “I’ll marry you,” was something she should blurt out on the telephone, not to mention waking up Parker to do it.

  Fifteen

  Toss Up the Heart, See Where it Lands

  Tate came out into air heavy as wet wool. The weatherman on the radio predicted high temperatures and possibly more storms that evening. It was enjoy the morning and get in out of the heat by afternoon. Summer was here.

  Jogging down the porch steps, Tate felt a sense of power infuse him. This was an atmosphere with which he had full familiarity. By golly, Houston had mornings thicker than this on a dry summer day.

  He went past the lilac bush fast enough to cause wet leaves to flutter. Bubba popped out from beneath it and jumped high. Tate sprinted over a puddle at the curb; when his Nikes hit the street, they seemed to be carrying him along all on their own.

  Down Porter he went at a pace to warm him up. No one stirring at the James house. The young UPS man did only one quickie on the porch beam and plopped to the ground. Tate lifted a high five to him and headed on around the corner, his legs and arms and heart all picking up the pace and going with the same strong rhythm. He nodded and called “Mornin’,” as he sprinted passed the walking ladies, who were strolling this morning, one fanning herself with her hat.

  On Main Street, Bonita Embree was entering her bakery. As she unlocked the door, she dropped the bag in her hand, and Betty Crocker box mixes spilled out on the sidewalk five feet in front of Tate. With the grace of a ballet dancer, Tate bent and swept up the boxes, deposited them in Bonita’s arms and proceeded on, having done it all with only a pause of three heartbeats.

  “Please don’t tell,” Bonita’s voice followed after him.

  “Not a word,” Tate tossed over his shoulder and kept on going in his groove.

  There was Charlotte across the street, poking the flag in its holder out front of the Voice. He waved, but she was already going back in the door.

  Then it was around the corner of the police station—was that a mocha aroma in the coffee this morning?—and onward up Church into the first rays of the sun breaking through the morning mist, jogging all the way and still not slowing down.

  Good morning, Life! Good morning, Lord! I am ready for whatever comes this day. Thank you for that.

  Woo-eee! See me now, Lindsey.

  But Lindsey was nowhere in sight.

  Tate slowed his pace. He jogged up his driveway and back down again, checked his watch and slowed down as his chest began to burn. He did leg-stretching exercises there at the end of his driveway, keeping an eye out up the hill.

  Lindsey did not appear. Of all the mornings for Lindsey to skip jogging, this had to be one of them.

  Silly to be wanting to show off, anyway, Tate thought and took himself in hand, jogging on around to his back door.

  Ha! Likely Lindsey could not take the thick humidity. Whereas Tate was rather pleased to see that he thrived in it.

  He sure wished Lindsey had come along to see.

  Through the open door of her editor’s office, Marilee saw Tate on the telephone. He was reared back in his chair, his feet up on his desk, every bit the big editor, which everyone had taken to calling him.

  Intending to slip in and lay her current detention center piece on his desk and slip back out again, she moved quietly and didn’t look at him, but Tate jumped up and grabbed her arm, stretching the telephone cord, which pulled the telephone along the desk at an alarming rate.

  His hand was hot and firm through her sleeve.

  “Well, I look forward to meetin’ the congressman, too, Mayor,” he said into the phone. “Sure do. Seven o’clock. I’ll see you then, and we’ll talk some more. Goodbye.”

  He let go of her arm and leaned over to drop the receiver into its cradle, causing his shirt to stretch tight over his firm shoulders.

  Then he was facing her, his blue eyes dancing. “It’s a delight to see you, Miss Marilee.” His gaze went to her hair, in that way he had of always seeming to observe her.

  “Hello.” She held out the papers and disk. “I brought the disk with my detention center piece, and a printed copy, too.”

  “I like your hair up like that. It gives you a very elegant neck.”

  “Oh…I wear my hair up when it gets so humid.” She was smoothing at her hair before she realized it.
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br />   “Well, you are lovely as a summer day with it like that.” He slipped his rear onto the edge of his desk.

  “Thank you.” She felt foolishly self-conscious. Charm was Tate’s way, like water from a faucet. “Well, that’s all I had.” She turned to leave.

  “I think Lindsey must not compliment you enough.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you were surprised at me doing it. You always seem a little surprised at my compliments.”

  “Anyone would be surprised. You say things that almost no other man on earth says. And I really don’t believe that Parker complimenting me or not complimenting me is any of your business.” She was instantly ashamed at both her bold statement and tone of voice. She didn’t know what got into her.

  He smiled at her, though. “The secret of life…one secret of life,” he corrected, “is to know when to make things my business.” Without giving her time to comment on that, he added, “You could have sent the file directly to my computer from yours,” and picked up the typed pages she had brought him.

  “I wasted twenty minutes attempting to do that. Bringing it over seemed a whole lot easier.” That was where her temper had come from; dealing with the new computer was wearing on her last nerve.

  “This is just fine. No problem at all.”

  “Good.” She nodded at him and stepped toward the door.

  “Wait a minute.” In a swift movement, he slipped off the desk, reached the door in two strides and surprised her by closing it.

  He looked at her, and she looked at him. Was he going to kiss her? She stepped back before she realized, taken by a little panic.

  Then, folding his arms, he said. “You are a lovely woman, Miss Marilee, and your hair like that gives you a definite exotic air.”

  She could find nothing to say to that.

  He smiled a smile she had come to recognize as seductive. “I would very much like you to go to dinner with me Saturday night. I’m supposed to have dinner with the mayor and his wife, a state congressman, and a few other people I’ve already forgotten. Would you accompany me, so that I can have a really good time?”