The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  She blushed red. “You are really bad.”

  “You didn’t think so a little while ago,” he teased.

  She motioned to his scar again. “Stop trying to distract me. What happened after the guy stabbed you?”

  “We went a few rounds, then afterwards he spent a couple of days nursing a half-dozen busted ribs and a bruised windpipe, and I got a week in solitary for defending myself a little too good.”

  “Solitary? That wasn’t fair.”

  Johnny laughed. “Fair? Not much is fair, cherie. When I was a kid there was always somebody wanting to see me facedown in the dirt. It wasn’t fair, but it didn’t change things.”

  “Farrel?”

  “He was a regular. That’s how I first met Mae,” Johnny admitted. “I used to sneak through the cane fields to keep from being beat up by Farrel and the boys. It usually worked, hiding out in the fields. When it didn’t, I hid in Henry’s pickup. She found me there once. I guess I’d fallen asleep. After that, she used to leave apples and oranges in the pickup for me. Sometimes comic books. I’d lay on the floor, have an apple, and read until Farrel got tired of looking for me and went home. Then I’d stuff the comic books under the seat and head home.”

  When Nicole lowered her eyes, Johnny reached out and gripped her chin. “I didn’t tell you that for pity, cherie.”

  “I don’t pity you, but I do feel bad. Didn’t your father or mother ever try to stop them from persecuting you?”

  “My father was being harassed most of the time, too. He would come home from work some nights with his face so black and blue, I wondered how he could see to walk home.” Johnny glanced around, feeling the need for a cigarette. “Don’t go anywhere, I need to find my smokes.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Last night you said it was a bad habit. So today, do something about it.”

  “I suppose a deal’s a deal.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You didn’t pace last night ’til midnight did you?”

  She smiled. “No, I didn’t, did I?”

  “Slept straight through, as I recall,” Johnny confirmed. Sobering, he said, “I’d still like to know the story behind it.”

  “The story?”

  He knew she knew what he was talking about. He drew her close, kissed her. “Who’s Chad?”

  She gave him a look of surprise. “How did you know his name?”

  “The night you got drunk you mentioned him. Not enough to explain anything, but enough for me to know he hurt you somehow. Who is he, cherie?”

  She glanced away, then faced him again. “Chad was one of my college professors. When my parents died, he was there for me. At the time, I needed someone older and wiser. He fit the bill perfectly.”

  She tried to leave the bed, but Johnny hung on to her. “What happened?”

  “He changed his mind. Maybe he got bored. I don’t know. The reason isn’t important.”

  “Hard to believe that it was boredom. There had to be more to it.”

  She narrowed her eyes, bit at her lip. Finally she lowered her eyes and stared at her hands folded in her lap. “He wasn’t honest with me. He talked about the future, even mentioned marriage. I got careless.”

  “Careless?”

  “All right. Pregnant.”

  Johnny tensed. “And?”

  “You should see your face. Why is that such a scary word for men to hear?” She laughed bitterly.

  “I’m not scared. Surprised, is all. You don’t look the careless type.”

  “Well, don’t worry, having sex with me won’t make you a daddy. You can breathe easy.”

  Johnny frowned. “I don’t deserve your anger. I’m not Chad. Now finish the story.”

  “It’s the old story, really. Student falls for her art teacher, gets pregnant, and he walks. That’s it.” She turned away.

  Johnny sat up, gripped her arms and forced her to look at him. “That’s not the end of the story. What happened to the baby?”

  She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Easy, cherie. Take it easy.”

  “I—I lost her, okay! I lost her in the fifth month.” She swatted at his arm to make him let go, but instead Johnny pulled her close and cradled her in his arms as she started to cry. He didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seemed inadequate, so he opted to say nothing. He just held her.

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms. Some time later, Nicole woke up and realized she’d missed her appointment with Mr. Medoro. “My appointment,” she sighed. “I forgot my appointment.”

  Johnny continued to hold her close. “Shh. He’ll understand. We’ll call him later.”

  She sat up. “You knew I had an appointment. Why didn’t you wake me?”

  He tugged her back into the circle of his arms. “I was hoping to convince you to spend the day in bed with me.”

  “All day?”

  “All day.” He swept her robe off her shoulders to expose a perfect breast.

  “Johnny…”

  “The first time I saw you,” he said huskily, “I wanted to throw you to the floor in the boathouse and rip your clothes off. Did you know that?”

  “You did?”

  “Those long legs of yours, your pretty knees. I had just gotten out of prison, cherie. What the hell were you thinking of, showing up dressed like that?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be there, remember? You said three-thirty or four. I had given myself plenty of time to drop Gran’s note off, open the windows, and leave well before you ever saw me.”

  “Then I guess it was fate.”

  “No, just bad timing.”

  “Bad timing?” Determined to put the sparkle back in her blue eyes, Johnny pretended to be offended. Then, just as quickly, his grin turned mischievous, and he lunged at her. Nicole screamed as he began tickling her and wrestling with her on the bed. It wasn’t long before he had pinned her beneath him. Seconds later the laughter ceased. Slowly, he kneed her legs apart and eased himself between them. “Spend the day in bed with me, cherie? All day?”

  “All day?”

  “Starting now.”

  “Now?”

  Johnny glanced down at her naked breasts, and before his eyes her nipples pebbled. Smugly, his gaze locked with hers once more. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.”’

  Chapter 13

  After taking a dozen pictures of Belle and the old farmhouse on the hillside, Nicole found herself inside Johnny’s childhood home. She’d decided days ago on the way back from New Orleans that she wanted to paint it. Johnny had been talking about tearing it down, and she wanted to capture it on canvas before it was gone, or at least have photos to work from later.

  It was just the sort of picture that would sell at the gallery in New Orleans, she thought, though she wasn’t so sure she would be able to part with it once it was finished.

  And she would finish it. She was back working again, spending at least five hours a day secluded high in the attic. Since she and Johnny had returned from New Orleans, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She was working daily, and sleeping through the nights, and it was absolutely wonderful.

  How and why it had happened, she wasn’t sure. But she knew Johnny was partly responsible. Or maybe he was entirely responsible. He’d filled up the empty hole in her life, and in her heart, as well.

  The interior of the house was dark because the windows had been boarded up. Nicole carefully walked through each room; the crude, less-than-efficient kitchen, the adjoining living room with just a few dilapidated furnishings. Two small bedrooms, one with a ragged mattress rotting in the corner.

  She realized something that she hadn’t been aware of until now—Johnny’s childhood had been more than simply hard; it had bordered on child neglect. He’d lived without running water or electricity, and most likely without a real bed, if the tiny room with the old mattress in the corner was, in fact, his.

  In that moment, her heart went out to that small boy who must have ached for a n
ormal life. Was that why Gran had worked so hard to befriend him and then to protect him? Was that why Johnny had finally given in and accepted her in his life all those years ago?

  Since they had returned from New Orleans, he seemed different. Up by six, working shirtless until supper time. He hardly stopped to rest. And after supper, instead of relaxing on the front porch or playing cards with Bick, he spent hours in the study tending to the bills and renovating costs.

  He hadn’t brought up leaving Oakhaven in a very long time. Still, Nicole was sure he intended to go back to Lafayette as soon as his parole was over. Just thinking about it made her want to cry, but the truth was, Johnny had never made any promises to her. She had known all along that he would be leaving at the end of the summer. She wouldn’t pressure him into staying. Yes, if he told her he had changed his mind, she would be thrilled. She might even be brave enough to confess her feelings. But it was just wishful thinking, his staying. Wishful, dangerous thinking, when the odds were that he would leave as suddenly as he’d come.

  When the door groaned open, Nicole was just returning to the living room. Face to face with Johnny, she stopped dead in her tracks.

  “What are you doing here, cherie?”

  “I—I was photographing the outside of the house, and…” Nicole flushed. “I was curious.”

  “Curious?”

  “Maybe that’s the wrong word.” She noticed he was sweat-stained and dirty. His bare chest gleamed with a sheen of perspiration. She didn’t care. In a second, with the slightest encouragement, she would slip into his arms and forget everything but the feel of his powerful arms around her.

  “No, I think curious is the right word,” he said, closing the door. He glanced around, his eyes taking in the stark surroundings. “It looks bad, but it really never looked good.” He gave her a half smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I told you before, I don’t want your pity.”

  “I don’t pity you, but I do wish things had been different for you.” She broke eye contact with him and moved to stand near a small stone fireplace. She wasn’t there long before she felt him come up behind her. “I saw you from the rooftop,” he said softly. “I wondered where you were off to, so I followed.” He nosed in close. “I’d like to touch you, but I’m ripe.”

  Nicole turned around. “It never stopped you before. I like you any way you are, even ‘ripe.’ We haven’t had much time together since we came back from New Orleans. You’ve been working day and night.”

  “So, the pretty lady is feeling needy today, is that it?”

  “Don’t tease me, Johnny.”

  He bent forward and kissed her without laying a hand on her. “We could go to the swimming hole. I could wash up, and you could strip for me.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “I’d like that.”

  “I’d like that, too.”

  He moved in to steal another kiss, then hesitated. “Do you smell smoke?”

  “Smoke?” She watched him turn away and stride quickly back to the door. He tried to open it. No success. “Johnny?”

  “Dammit!”

  “Johnny?”

  He slammed his shoulder into the door. Then again.

  “Johnny! Is the house on fire?” Nicole could smell the smoke now. She hurried to one of the boarded-up windows and tried to peek out through the slats, but had no luck. “When did you board up the windows?” she asked.

  He spun around, his gaze taking in the windows one by one. “Hell, when was that done?”

  “You didn’t do it?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, my God, Johnny. We’re trapped!”

  Johnny rammed the door once more before he gave up and hurried to one of the newly boarded-up windows. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed them before now, but he’d followed Nicole, and all he’d been thinking about was catching up with her and getting some time alone with her. Checking the windows, he found they had been nailed shut from the outside, making them impossible to open.

  A rumbling noise alerted him that the fire had taken root and was growing fast; the smell of gasoline confirmed things were going to heat up in a matter of seconds. The moment he thought it, he saw live flames eating through the wall. As they licked across the tinder-dry ceiling, black smoke began to fill the room. He dragged Nicole to the floor. “Stay down,” he instructed.

  He remembered the old root cellar, just as an explosion rocked the building and a spray of live flames sailed through the air. Quickly, he pulled Nicole beneath him to shield her. He grunted as something solid struck him low on his back, but he didn’t take time to acknowledge the searing pain. A thick fog of gray smoke was filling the room, blinding them. He knew they were running out of time.

  Dragging Nicole with him, he belly-crawled toward his childhood bedroom, hoping against hope that he hadn’t gotten turned around in the smoke-filled room. Overhead, the trusses were creaking, only seconds away from crashing down on them.

  “Come on,” he shouted, demanding that Nicole follow him as he felt his way toward his small bedroom. His throat was on fire; his eyes felt like two hot coals. He knew Nicole must be feeling the same way, and he was afraid for her. Moving faster, he dragged himself deeper into the pea-soup smoke, knowing that if they were going to survive—and by damn, they were—he had to get them into the root cellar.

  When his shoulder banged into something solid, he swung his right arm to the side and confirmed, with great relief, that it was the doorjamb.

  “Johnny…”

  Nicole’s voice sounded weak. He hardly heard it for the roar of the wild flames eating up the wood. With urgent purpose, he pulled her close, just as another explosion sent more debris crashing down around them. Quickly, he flattened himself out on top of Nicole, until he was sure no more flying debris would harm her. Then he swiftly hauled himself upright again.

  Swinging his arm out like a blind man who’d lost his cane, Johnny made contact with his old mattress. The minute he had his bearings, he located the trapdoor beneath it and thrust the heavy door open. “Come on, cherie, we’ve got to hurry. Down here.”

  When she didn’t respond immediately, Johnny scooped her up, drew her close to his body, then dropped into the hole, cradling Nicole against him.

  The force of the ten-foot drop ended with a bone-jarring jolt. It knocked the wind out of Johnny, and he groaned in agony as he lay there trying to get past the pain. Just as he was sitting up, another explosion ripped through the house, verifying that the ceiling had caved in.

  “Johnny, where are we?” Nicole began to cough.

  He pulled her close and hugged her tightly. “We’re in the cellar. Catch your breath. We can’t stay here long.”

  When he could move, he got to his feet and ushered Nicole to a safe corner of the cellar, then he climbed up the skeleton ladder, half eaten away by age, and pulled the trapdoor closed. Feeling the heat in the floorboards, he dropped back into the hole, knowing they didn’t have long before the floor overhead caved in on them.

  Anxiously, he began to search for the tunnel he’d dug as a kid. It had been useful when Farrel and the boys were hot on his trail, had saved his hide a number of times when he was too far from the house to escape them. He sighed with relief as he found the narrow tunnel, then checked to see if he could still fit through it. To his surprise it seemed wider than he remembered, but he didn’t consider why that was, only that it was the only escape route they had, and that he was thankful for it.

  He heard her coughing again and hurried back to her. “This way, cherie. There’s a tunnel.”

  She squinted up at him. “A tunnel? Down here?”

  “I dug it when I was a kid. I hope you’re not claustrophobic,” he teased halfheartedly, trying to pull a smile from her frightened face.

  “Would it matter?”

  “No. Where I go, you go.” When she said nothing, Johnny reached down and hauled her up. She was trembling, completely exhausted, but she was alive, doing better than he had expected. He ga
ve her a quick kiss, then urged her toward the tunnel. “I’ll go first, just in case there’s an animal living in there.”

  Johnny saw what looked like artificial light soon after they entered the tunnel and made the first turn. The distant glow became brighter as they crawled toward it. Five minutes later, on hands and knees, Johnny and Nicole entered a tiny underground room lit by a single lantern burning in one corner.

  In the other corner, clutching a bottle of whiskey, sat Jasper Craig.

  Chapter 14

  Johnny took in the small hand-dug room with keen interest. When his gaze moved back to Jasper Craig, the town drunk was sitting straighter, his back against the dirt wall. “What the hell are you doing in here, old man?”

  “I’m doing nothing,” Jasper mumbled, glancing at Nicole, then back to Johnny. “I—I heard loud noises. Something happened, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, something sure as hell did,” Johnny agreed. “Somebody just set fire to my house with a gas can. That is, after locking us inside. You know who would want to do that, or am I looking at the man responsible?”

  “Me?” Wide-eyed, Jasper shook his head emphatically. “Not me. I’d never burn down Madie’s house. Never.” He licked his pale lips. “I wouldn’t hurt her son, neither.”

  The mention of his mother made Johnny frown. “Why would you care one way or the other?”

  Jasper suddenly surprised Johnny by offering him a smile. He relinquished his hold on his bottle, setting it beside him, and reached for a covered wooden box.

  “Easy, old man,” Johnny warned.

  Again he said, “I’d never hurt Madie’s son.” He flipped open the top of the box and began fumbling through an array of possessions. Finally he found what he was searching for and pulled a gold locket from his stash.

  Johnny recognized the locket immediately. It had been his mother’s, but it should have been in his drawer back at the boathouse along with his father’s cheap watch. He reached out, snatched the older man’s wrist and took the locket. “This is mine. What the hell are you doing with it? You steal it, old man?”