The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  Nicole gazed across the yard, not knowing what to say. The summer oak leaves began to rustle, and she angled her face to catch the elusive evening breeze. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the night sounds coming alive in the distant bayou.

  Suddenly the feeling of being watched intruded on her, and she opened her eyes just as a shadowy figure broke through the oak grove and started across the road. She fixed her gaze on Johnny Bernard’s slow, ambling gait, on the quiet strength he exuded with each step. No one else walked quite like he did, she decided. There was something mesmerizing about the unhurried way he moved. Something raw and earthy. Primal.

  He wore a white T-shirt stretched over his iron chest. He’d even taken the time to tuck it into a pair of jeans that were in better condition than she’d seen him in so far, but even at this distance, she could see they weren’t hole-free. He was crossing the yard now, his shiny black hair moving slightly in answer to the sultry summer breeze. She hadn’t wanted to think about their afternoon meeting at the pond, but suddenly she could think of nothing else. The memory of how easily he’d handled the snake, the way he’d gotten her attention by skipping rocks practically under her nose. The way his silky tongue had slid over the bottom of her foot.

  Aware that her heart had begun to race, Nicole quickly spun away from the railing.

  “Nicki! Nicki, where are you going?”

  “He’s coming.” Nicole headed for the open French doors that led into the study, her voice straining to sound normal. “I’ll tell Clair supper will be on time.”

  Mae arrowed her wheelchair in front of the open French doors leading into the study. “You don’t mind wheeling an old lady in, do you? Nicki went to tell Clair we’re on our way.”

  Johnny had seen Nicole shoot inside like someone had lit a fire under her. Instead of commenting on it, though, he sauntered up the steps and positioned himself behind the old lady’s chair. “You trust me to keep it under the speed limit?”

  “Trusting you was never a problem, dear boy.” She reached back to pat his arm.

  Johnny felt her warm fingers, and it brought back a mountain of memories. He’d never liked being touched as a boy. But that had never stopped Mae Chapman. She was one of those affectionate types, always patting him and tousling his hair. Once or twice she’d even hugged him. He had tried to figure her out, had at first been suspicious of her motives. Finally, he’d given up, and no matter how crazy it sounded, decided that she just liked him. Still, it humbled him. No one in Common liked the Bernards.

  He pushed the wheelchair through the study and into the oak-paneled hall. Even though he’d lived only a few miles from Oakhaven, he’d never been inside the twelve-room house. Not until today, anyway, when he’d slipped into Nicki’s bedroom uninvited. Oh, he’d been asked as a boy, or maybe coaxed was a better word. The old lady used to tempt him with cookies and apples. He never liked taking charity, though, and had preferred a trade if it was something he wanted badly enough. Most of the time he’d bartered for food. But one time it had been for a pair of shoes Mae’s son, Nicholas, had outgrown.

  Nicholas had been tall and blond like Henry and bighearted like Mae. Virgil said he’d become a lawyer. It must have damn near killed the old lady to lose him in a plane crash only three years after losing Henry, Johnny thought. And Nicole—it must have devastated her to lose both her parents at one time.

  They passed a small parlor and entered a dining room with high ceilings and papered walls in a light shade of green. The house was just as he’d imagined it would be, full of antiques and pictures. Spit-polished until even the floors shined. The oak table in the middle of the room could seat ten people, easily. Johnny noticed an end chair was missing so he steered Mae to the open space. Then he sat in the vacant chair to her left, leaving him a clear view of the open door.

  “I was glad you tackled that dead oak,” Mae said. “I was just telling Nicki on the porch about this idea I have for the atti—”

  “Green. We’ve decided on green shingles.”

  Johnny glanced toward the door, as Nicole stepped into the room. She was wearing a yellow sleeveless shift, short enough to see her bare knees and just straight enough to accent her narrow waist and shapely backside. She’d twisted her hair into a messy knot on top of her head, and her exposed neck drew his attention to a small mole just below her left ear.

  Usually he preferred his women dark and sturdy enough to go the distance. Nicole was fair, and curvy in a delicate way that would make a man want to take his time. The image of slow and easy lovemaking sent a shudder ripping through him, and Johnny tore his gaze away from her. Even though he knew he shouldn’t be thinking what he was thinking, he’d been thinking it all day. And after what happened at the swimming hole, he’d been thinking about more places to put his tongue than the bottom of her foot.

  “Water, anyone?”

  “Yes, please,” Mae said.

  Johnny nodded in agreement with the old lady. Clair Arden hurried in and deposited a platter of fried chicken and dumplings in the middle of the table. The compact housekeeper, who was in her late fifties, barely stood five feet tall. She had round cheeks and warm brown eyes. She smiled at Johnny, and it was one of those smiles that hinted she knew something he didn’t. He pondered that, while she made two more trips, leaving a basket of corn bread, coffee and a dish she called maque choux—corn served with tomatoes, green peppers and onions.

  Mae’s heavy sigh drew Johnny’s attention, and he turned just in time to see her sway forward.

  “Mae?” It was Clair’s voice. “What is it?”

  “I feel light-headed all of a sudden,” she complained.

  “Gran!” Water forgotten, Nicole hurried back to the table. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Oh, my.” She placed her hands on the table to keep from tipping out of her chair.

  “Gran! Is it the heat? It is, isn’t it?”

  “Now, Nicki, don’t blame the weather,” Mae scolded gently.

  “Maybe you should go lie down,” Johnny suggested.

  Mae waved a hand in rejection of the idea. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

  But one minute slipped into two, then three. Nicole said, “I’m phoning Dr. Jefferies.”

  “Nonsense,” Mae protested. “I don’t intend to bother that busy man with something so foolish as a little dizzy spell.”

  Nicole exchanged a look with Johnny. He could see she was worried. Not sure what to do, he finally stood, pulled the wheelchair away from the table and hunkered down in front of it. He was just about to insist that she let Nicki call the doc when he noticed the old lady’s eyes—they were as sharp and clear as a blue sky, certainly not the eyes of a woman suffering from a dizzy spell. Her skin was its normal color, too. Was she faking being sick? It sure as hell looked that way.

  Johnny thought for a minute, then made a show of examining her face. “Yeah, you really don’t look good,” he said. “I thought I noticed it earlier in the garden. Only, it’s worse now. You remind me of a catfish dangling on a hook just before it goes belly-up.”

  Nicole gasped from somewhere behind him. He didn’t have to look to know her eyes would be wide with stark surprise. Mae gave him a suspect look, and he countered it with one of his own. They were reading each other perfectly, and neither needed to elaborate on the message.

  Suddenly he felt Nicole’s hand on his shoulder, shoving him out of the way to plant herself in front of Mae’s chair. “Don’t listen to him, Gran. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’ll take you to your room and get a cool cloth for your head. You’ll be fine,” she assured. She turned and shot Johnny a frosty glare. “In the future, don’t try to help. Obviously, you don’t know the first thing about it.”

  “That’s not how you felt this afternoon. As I recall, you even said ‘thank you.”’

  “Thank you? What did she say ‘thank you’ for?” Mae asked.

  “It was nothing,” Nicole insisted, glaring at Johnny.
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  “Now children, don’t fight,” Mae intervened. She gave Nicole a weak smile, followed by a long sigh. “Oh, you win. I’ll rest in my room if you promise to sit down and eat with Johnny. Clair, go get Bick. I’ll have him take me to my room so the children can have a nice, quiet supper.”

  “I’ll take you,” Nicole insisted. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nonsense,” Clair piped up. “You can’t afford to miss a meal if I’m going to win my bet with Mae and put five pounds on you by the end of the month. You’re much too skinny, honey.”

  Johnny watched the two old women exchange a look. It was obvious the housekeeper was in cahoots with Mae and that they had anticipated Nicole’s argument and rehearsed their lines. He watched Clair hustle out the door, and return a moment later with Bick.

  Bickford Arden was as tall as Clair was short. He strolled into the room wearing baggy tan pants, a blue cotton shirt and a beat-up blue baseball cap. He smiled at Nicole, nodded in Johnny’s direction, then grasped Mae’s wheelchair and spun her toward the door. Clair said, “I’ll make you a cool lemonade and bring it to your room, Mae.”

  The entourage left, with Nicole following. Johnny returned to his seat to wait and see if she would join him. A few minutes later, she came back through the door wearing a thin-lipped scowl that clearly warned she wasn’t too happy with the way things had turned out.

  At the sideboard, she retrieved their water glasses and brought them to the table. Without a word she plopped his down, splashing water onto his plate. While Johnny reached for his napkin and mopped up the spill, she seated herself.

  “A hooked catfish going belly-up?” she said. “Why don’t you just get the shovel out and start digging a grave in the backyard?”

  “I had my reason for saying that. Would you like to hear what it was?”

  Instead of letting him vindicate himself, she said, “She’s an elderly woman. A sweet, sensitive—”

  “Sneaky.”

  “Sneaky?” She glared at him. “Gran is the most good-hearted person I know.”

  Good-hearted had nothing to do with it, Johnny thought. A woman who could con a man back into town when he had promised himself never to return was sure capable of staging a little dizzy spell. It made him wonder what was coming next. Discarding his manners, he reached for the chicken and dumplings. After serving himself, he passed Nicole the platter.

  She dished up a small helping, set the platter down and reached for her napkin. Johnny watched her snap it open and lay it in her lap. It prompted him to look for the wet ball he’d laid beside his plate. He decide to forgo it, and left it where it was.

  While she cut her chicken into small pieces, Johnny devoured his first piece using his fingers. He was on the second when he glanced up and caught her watching him. He wasn’t eating like a well-mannered gentleman, but he wasn’t exactly foaming at the mouth, either. “Something wrong?”

  “No.”

  Johnny grabbed up the wet ball and made a quick swipe around his mouth. When she became preoccupied once more with her own food, he forked a healthy helping of dumplings into his mouth, then reached for another piece of corn bread. The bread was addicting, but he curbed his desire to make a pig of himself.

  He noticed she was eating more slowly than he was, and he tried to pace himself. Maybe if he said something… “Does Henry’s old Dodge run?”

  She looked up. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I sold my wheels from inside prison. Thought I could use the pickup while I’m here. I could drive you into town Monday morning and pick up those supplies we need.”

  She stopped her fork on its way to her mouth, set it back down. “You want the two of us to go to town together? To Craig Lumber? Why?”

  “Why not? You afraid to be seen with me, cherie?” Johnny reached for another piece of chicken.

  “Of course not.”

  “Afraid I’ll start trouble or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Johnny leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on either side of his plate. “I don’t plan on making trouble.”

  “It sounds like you don’t really have to, it just follows you.” She speared a small piece of chicken and brought the fork to her mouth.

  “What if I promised to stay in the pickup?” Johnny offered.

  She left half her food and slid the plate back an inch.

  A moment later, Clair came through the door with two slices of pecan pie. She frowned at Nicole’s plate, but removed it anyway, replacing it with a large piece of pie. “My husband wanted to know if you’re a card player,” she asked, giving Johnny her full attention.

  The question caught Johnny by surprise. Still, the idea of a few hands of cards on a hot summer night had a certain appeal. “I can hold my own,” he said.

  “Red don’t play so good,” Clair confessed. “Bick usually heads into the kitchen around nine-thirty for a cup of coffee. If it suits you, you’re welcome. The coffeepot’s always on.” She turned to Nicole. “Mae’s feeling better, honey. It must have been a touch of the heat, just like you said. Be a good girl and eat your pie, now. I’ve only got two weeks left to win my bet.”

  They finished dessert in silence. Nicole left her crust; Johnny was tempted to lick the plate. When she laid her napkin beside her plate and stood, Johnny had just sucked the last of his coffee down. She said, “If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll meet you Monday morning on the front porch at ten o’clock. You can drive me to town, but when it comes to the lumberyard, I’ll handle the order. Deal?”

  Johnny hadn’t expected her to give in so easily. “You’ve got a deal.” He stood when she did. She was halfway to the door when he said, “The old lady faked it.”

  She stopped, one hand on the door frame, and turned slightly. “What did you say?”

  “The dizzy spell was all an act.” He closed the distance between them. “It’s the truth. She faked it, and Clair Arden was in on it.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would they do that?”

  Johnny hooked a thumb into the waistband of his jeans and relaxed his broad shoulder against the doorjamb. It brought them within a foot of each other, and he caught a whiff of her light, spicy perfume. “I got my own theory, but maybe you should ask her.”

  “And just what is yours?”

  “I’d rather not say until you’ve had a chance to discuss it with her.”

  She stared at him for a minute, then took a step closer to the door. To leave she would have to brush past him, or get him to move. Johnny wasn’t surprised when she said, “You’re blocking the door.”

  “Is it just me, or do you hate all men, cherie?”

  “Get out of my way,” she insisted.

  “As soon as you answer the question. Do you always pace the floor half the night, or is it just since I moved in? Is it because my name is Bernard?”

  Her eyes went wide. “You admit to spying on me?”

  “Not intentionally. I was out walking and noticed your light.”

  “So you stopped and watched!” Her voice had turned accusing.

  “That’s not the way it was.”

  “I’ll just bet it wasn’t.”

  Her eyes had turned a stormy shade of blue-gray. She was more than simply angry. “You still haven’t answered my question. What’s keeping you up nights?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “Were you trying to think of another way to get rid of me?”

  She turned away and walked back to the table. With her back to him, she said, “I made that call yesterday to protect Gran. I had no idea you two knew each other. I made a mistake.” She turned around and faced him. “Haven’t you ever made a mistake…Johnny?”

  “Dozens. Did you tell her you tried to fire me?”

  Her hands went to her hips, and she glared at him. “No. And if you think it will give you a few extra points with her, go ahead and tell her.”

  “I’m not interested in making points—” Johnny grinned “—unl
ess they’re with you. How about it, cherie? How about a truce?” He shoved away from the door and moved toward her. “Doesn’t taking that sliver out of your foot count for something?”

  Without responding, she sidestepped him and headed for the door. Johnny turned to follow, but she stopped. “If Gran was faking it, why didn’t you confront her with it?”

  “Because I agree with you and think she’s a decent person. I’m willing to bet if you ask her, she’ll admit the whole thing was concocted.”

  “You could have told me this during supper.”

  “I tried. You cut me off. After that—” he shrugged “—I saw my chance to have supper with a pretty woman and decided to sit back and enjoy it. It’s been a long time.”

  “I don’t believe you. Gran wouldn’t make me worry needlessly.” That said, she turned and walked out.

  Nicole took a deep breath and summoned her L.A.-cool facade back in place. It had taken an hour to regain her composure after leaving the dining room, but now that she could breathe normally again, she was going to confront Gran with Johnny’s absurd accusation.

  She rapped lightly on her grandmother’s bedroom door. “Gran, are you still up?”

  “Come in, Nicki.”

  Nicole opened the door and stepped inside. Gran’s room, like her own, was a mix of old lace and polished oak furnishings. A single lamp glowed on a nearby nightstand, and it spilled just enough light into the room to guide Nicole to the bed. Mae was braced against the head-board with a fluffy pillow at her back. She was in a white nightgown, her hair brushed out, the strands thin and fly-away in the dim light.

  Nicole didn’t want to believe Gran had feigned the dizzy spell, but she looked for signs that would convince her otherwise and found none: Gran looked perfectly fine.

  “I waited up for you,” she said, patting the bed to encourage Nicole to sit.

  “I want to ask you something,” Nicole said, taking a seat and getting right to the heart of the matter. “Did you—”