“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered, too shocked to be angry, almost disoriented by the abrupt change.
“Good,” he said, his voice savage. “Good,” he repeated. “Just go home and stay away from me. Way the hell away.”
He pushed her again and she stumbled, almost falling. His hand reached to catch her, automatically, and then he jerked it back, denying his help. His mouth was set in a thin white line and his eyes were almost black, the pupils wide and dilated inside a narrow rim of blue. Something beyond the previous night’s binge was going on here. Something abnormal.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, too accustomed to reading through teenage hostility to the pain underneath to believe she could be mistaken.
He blinked at her question, at the concern in her tone, perhaps, and then he looked down at the hand that had just pushed her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “More sorry than you’ll ever know, but you have to go. Now.”
When she didn’t move, he looked up again and she didn’t think she had ever seen so much pain. It was like looking into the eyes of a soul in hell, she thought.
“Please,” he said.
Slowly she nodded, and then she turned and almost ran across the yards, stumbling up the new back steps of the deck he had so carefully and lovingly built. Behind her in the early morning stillness, she heard the crash, loud enough that she was afraid it would wake Josh.
She glanced almost fearfully over her shoulder. John Evans had thrown the white plastic garbage sack she had handed him against the oak, the cans she’d managed to gather before he’d interrupted her still inside. She had looked around in time to watch a few spill from the bag out onto the grass. Evans was standing, head lowered, just where she’d left him.
Turning, she hurried across the deck and fumbled a moment with the sliding-glass door. She stepped inside the dark house, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.
She didn’t understand what had happened, but something certainly had. Whatever their relationship had been before, after last night and this morning she knew that it would never again be the same. She just wasn’t sure right now whether that was good or somehow frighteningly terrible.
Chapter Three
“But three weeks,” Becki protested, her hands occupied with filling the paper filter she had just inserted into her grandmother’s coffeemaker. The rich aroma of freshly ground beans rose as she poured the coffee in, not bothering to measure, because she had done this so many times.
“Maybe four,” her brother said. “We haven’t decided. We don’t want to be tied to any set itinerary. We just want to be free to explore, to move on after one night or to stay two or three if the area is worth that much time.”
“He’s too young,” she argued, moving between him and the counter to fill the water container at the sink.
“Daniel’s going,” Mike said.
Caught by surprise, Becki hesitated in cutting off the water until the container began to overflow onto the stained white porcelain.
“He’s not even six yet,” Mike went on, “so you’re going to have a hard time explaining to Josh why you wouldn’t let him make this trip and Daniel got to.”
“That sounds like blackmail,” she accused, pushing the plastic container into its place in the coffeemaker with more force than was necessary and sliding the red switch into the “on” position.
“It sounds like the truth, and you know it. Don’t make the kid a sissy.”
“I haven’t made him a sissy,” she denied, suddenly angry. “You know damn well I haven’t.”
“Maybe not, but he’s getting older now and letting him play ball isn’t going to be enough.”
“He’s all of six years old,” she said sarcastically.
“And he’ll be seven next month. David and Joel are going, and they’re only a little older. And Daniel,” he reminded, his strongest argument, they were both aware.
“But camping out. Maybe if you weren’t going to be camping all the time—” she began, only to be interrupted.
“Coffee ready yet, Miss Becki?”
She glanced up to find her sister’s new boyfriend standing at Mike’s shoulder, his empty coffee cup held out. He waggled it at her, as if to attract her attention, and she felt a trace of embarrassment. Like his insistence on calling her Miss Becki. She knew it was intended as a sign of respect, or his idea of politeness, but it was subtly out of place.
Vernon Petty had attended church with the family this morning, and like the other men he was wearing a white shirt and tie, but the tie was wrong, a little too wide, the material cheap. Becki hated herself for having noticed, so she injected extra warmth into her voice to make up for the fact that she had.
“Five minutes, Vernon. I just put it on.”
“You call me when it’s done,” he requested, smiling at her, returning her friendliness. She knew that he was certainly smart enough to know that he had not quite been accepted by her family.
“Leave your cup, and I’ll bring it to you,” she offered.
“No, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll be glad to.”
“No, you just give a yell when it’s ready.” He nodded at Mike and then, carrying the empty cup, he went back into the noise of the dining room, leaving them alone in the oasis of quietness that the after-dinner kitchen had become.
Trying too hard, Becki thought. Like a new kid at school, trying to fit in and not really knowing how. She had sensed her brother’s relief when Vernon left.
“We’ll spend a few nights in a motel,” Mike went on, picking up the argument that had been interrupted by Petty’s intrusion. “The boys will be hungry for TV and pizza, and we’ll want a hot shower.”
“What if Josh gets sick? He’s never slept outside more than a couple of nights.”
“And he didn’t get sick. How many times has Josh been sick in his entire life? He’s the healthiest kid I know.”
“Because his mother doesn’t send him out to sleep in a tent for months at a time,” she said, mocking the plan.
“For God’s sake, Becki, be reasonable. You know we’ll take care of Josh. If he gets sick, if any of the boys get sick, we’ll get them to a doctor. Bill’s a dad. He’s an old hand at deciding when it’s time to call the doctor.”
“Have you told him?” she asked, her last hope. Maybe if her son wasn’t already pumped about the trip, she could reason with him so he wouldn’t be too disappointed about not being allowed to join his cousins.
“Bill and I agreed to talk to you first, but I’m willing to bet he knows from the other kids.”
Which was probably true, she realized.
“And what am I supposed to do during those three or four weeks?”
“Get a life?” Mike suggested with a trace of sarcasm. “Something beyond grading papers and hovering over Josh.”
Get a life. The phrase so carelessly thrown. Unbidden, the image of John Evans’s mouth descending over hers this morning intruded. It was a little irrational, she knew, to be angry at Mike’s unthinking comment. Get a life, she thought again, knowing that the advice would apply as well to the man who lived next door as to her own lonely existence.
“I’m quite content hovering over Josh, thank you,” she said, tight-lipped. She knew he’d be able to read the anger in her voice. He knew her too well.
“Sorry if I hurt your feelings, but you’re not cut out to be a loner, Becki Sue,” Mike said softly. “We both know that.”
It was his childhood nickname for her. It wasn’t really her name, but it sounded so Southern that as a kid he’d decided it should be. This was double-name country. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t done that to her. Whenever Mike had used the combination of names during their childhood, it had evoked an automatic cry of outrage and usually some physical retaliation.
They had always been close, not just in age but in temperament. And she still felt a special warmth for him, maybe because he was
the only one younger than she and she had felt free to boss him around, or maybe because she had always taken care of him when they were children.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, the silence stretching as Mike waited for her answer.
“Think fast,” he warned. “We’re leaving Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?” she repeated, her voice rising sharply. “That’s a little rushed, isn’t it?”
“Why not?” he asked, shrugging away her questions. “Bill and I had both decided not to teach summer school this year. None of the boys’ teams made it into the play-offs. Nobody was chosen for all-stars. All of a sudden it just seemed like the perfect opportunity, which may never come again, given everyone’s summer commitments. We’ve talked about going for a long time. You know that. When we realized this was the year it was finally possible, we decided to just take off. It’ll give us all a reward, a break from the grind. The kids, too. They’re pretty good kids, you know.”
They were pretty good kids, she acknowledged, and so close in age that they were friends as well as first cousins. Stair steps. Joel and David both just turned eight, Josh almost seven, and Daniel the baby. But Daniel would be going with his dad, she thought, and that made a difference.
“And Mary’s going to let Joel go? With just you guys?” she asked. She knew he would sense her weakening.
“She’s already given him permission. Besides, it’ll give her some quality time with Vernon,” Mike said. There was distaste in his pronunciation of the name. Their sister’s penchant for unsuitable men was a frequent topic of conversation among the brothers. Mary had divorced Joel’s dad two years ago—a move no one had criticized, given his inability to hold a job, his near-abusive behavior—but her current boyfriend was not considered by the men to be much of an improvement. Vernon was a little rough-hewn for Becki’s tastes, too, but she was glad her sister had found somebody who seemed to make her happy.
“I’d think you’d be pleased Mary, at least, has a life,” Becki said, the memory of his comment still stinging.
“Okay. That crack was uncalled for, but for what it’s worth, I do wish you’d find somebody.”
“Maybe Vernon’s got a friend,” she teased, letting him off the hook because she loved him so much.
“He does. I’ve even met a few of them, but they’re all as red as he is.”
“Don’t be so critical.”
“I just think Mary can do better than that.”
“There’s such a wealth of eligible men around here,” she said, letting him hear her disbelief. “Be thankful Mary’s found somebody.”
“Do I detect a note of envy?” Mike asked, his dark eyes studying her face.
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“You want me to fix you up?” he asked, his voice soft and sincere.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Mike, of course I don’t want you to fix me up. And by the way,” she said, remembering, “is that what you were trying to do when you dumped Josh on my next-door neighbor? Trying to fix me up?”
Mike had the grace to look a little sheepish. “Warren Fisher had mentioned the guy.”
“Warren?” she asked, thinking about the embarrassing confession she’d made to her friends. She should have known the attraction she’d admitted to would at least be shared with their spouses. She found herself wondering what Nita’s husband had suggested to Mike.
“While I was there, I just thought I’d check the guy out, Becki Sue. To see if he’s…” Mike hesitated.
“Acceptable?” she finished for him. “Better than Vernon? Well, did he get the Beauchamp stamp of approval? Or are you going to send the rest of the crew out to give him the once-over?”
“Whoa. Calm down. I really thought you might be home and I could leave Josh, not have to take him to the hospital. Instead, I found Mr. Evans.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What’d you think?”
“He seemed okay. Josh thinks so.”
“A bad case of hero worship,” she admitted.
“And you’re wondering if the guy deserves it. Or are you worrying because you think Josh’s trying to replace his daddy?”
She didn’t answer except for a small shrug of her shoulders.
“Then letting Josh go with us for a while seems the perfect solution. Maybe distance will lessen his fascination.”
“But you’ll be gone so long,” she objected again. “And camping out the whole time—”
“There’s nothing dangerous about what we’re planning,” he said patiently. “Drive west, enjoy the scenery, tour some of the attractions, camp out at night, teach the boys some survival skills along the way.”
“Survival skills?” she echoed, shaking her head and smiling at an idea she thought ridiculous for such little boys. So damn macho.
“How to get along in the woods,” he said. “In case they’re ever lost. It could be invaluable. And it’ll make us all feel safer about them on the next fishing or hunting trip.”
“No hunting?” she asked suddenly, looking up into his eyes, which were smiling now because he knew he was going to get his way, that he had talked her around.
“Just sight-seeing. Just learning to live in the outdoors, to get along with nature.”
“No guns,” she demanded softly. She had been raised in a family where half the men were avid hunters, like Mike, and the other half thought hunting was about the most boring activity ever conceived. Although she had been carefully taught how to handle a gun by her father when she was growing up, Becki had always had an aversion to them.
“No hunting. It isn’t that kind of trip.”
“Okay,” she said softly, not feeling that she really had a choice. “If Josh wants to go.”
Mike put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. “Don’t worry, Mama,” he said. “Nothing’s gonna happen to your baby boy.”
“It had better not,” she said, poking her finger into his chest. “If it does, you’re dead meat, little brother. I’ll do the hunting in that case.”
“Ow,” he said, backing away from her finger, but smiling. “That thing’s dangerous,” he objected. He tugged a strand of the shining midnight hair that almost touched her shoulders, curving softly around the oval face. “Don’t worry,” he advised, the dark eyes serious now. “I’ll take care of Josh. And I’ll see that nothing happens to him. That I promise you.”
BECKI WAS SITTING on her den couch the following Tuesday night, feet up, a low-fat microwave dinner in her lap and the latest issue of Newsweek magazine, which had come with today’s mail, carefully balanced against her knees as she ate. A good time to diet, she had thought. While Josh was gone and she wasn’t responsible for seeing that he had balanced meals, she could cut a few calories, maybe lose that stubborn ten pounds she’d put on while she’d carried him. She remembered her mom’s chiding the last time she’d mentioned her weight, reminding her that she wasn’t a teenager any longer and that she’d only make herself miserable if she tried to look like one.
She had put on her long Crimson Tide nightshirt, although it wasn’t bedtime, only an hour or so after the fall of summer’s late-arriving darkness. The TV was on, its volume deliberately low enough that she wouldn’t be aware of words, simply background noise to defeat the loneliness.
She had seen them off, smiling as if she were enjoying the children’s excitement, as if she were looking forward to the trip as much as the masculine contingent that had set out very early this morning on the first leg of the extended vacation. All day the silence of the empty house had echoed around her.
If he hadn’t gone with his uncles and cousins, she had reasoned during those long afternoon hours, Josh wouldn’t necessarily be with her. He might be at a friend’s, or spending the night with his grandmother, or playing under the shade of the sweet gum tree at the back of the property, talking to imaginary villains as he climbed in its accessible branches and jumped out, the cloak she’d made from an old half sheet
dyed black billowing behind. Batman, she thought, singing the staccato TV series theme in her head.
She sighed, glancing up at the program, some sitcom that the critics were wild about, but she had never been able to identify with the aimless lives of the characters. They were so different from the person she was, from her upbringing. She had finished college in three years, never changing majors or having seen the need to take a “break.” To her, college had been a job, a task to be completed before she moved on to the next one—her first teaching job, so green and uncertain that an unthinking remark from some kid could make her cry, make her lose sleep. She had learned a lot in the ten years since she’d begun. Marriage and having Josh had helped. And then Tommy’s cancer.
With his illness, the insecurities had shifted into place, her priorities automatically straightening themselves out in the agonizing reality of life and death. All those silly things she had once thought important were revealed in their proper significance. Or insignificance.
The noise that interrupted those memories was indistinct, like the brush of a branch against the side of the house. She had been so unaware of her surroundings as she’d let the fleeting images of the past invade her head that she wasn’t really sure she had heard anything.
Maybe the TV, she thought, her gaze returning to the screen. There was a car commercial on, and as she watched it she knew that the noise—if there had even been a noise—hadn’t been related to that. It hadn’t come from that direction. Out back, she realized. On the deck, maybe.
She could feel her heart beginning to race a little. She was listening so hard that it seemed she could hear the increased flow of blood in her straining ears. She reached downward for the remote that was lying on the floor beside the couch and silenced the figures on the screen and the annoying laugh track.
The stillness that surrounded her was no better than the canned laughter had been. She waited a long time, the dinner in her lap slowly cooling, forgotten. She knew the sliding door was locked. She had checked it and the front door before she’d settled in for the night.
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