by Diane Munier
Separation would maim and kill these trees…these words. They created the whole mass of life and death, of sun and patterned darkness and the relentless brittle decay that comes from too many piles and too many undisturbed layers that hide the silent chewing in the damp underneath…the steady rot where live things live and seeds sprout…hiding from the sun until something like this makes one thing seek the light above…one thing…they had a love they’d protect. They’d protect one another. It was already happening…in the heart…where everything real happened first.
His path had been war, and now in peace, he was warring still, without the conviction of country behind it, now. It was up to him…to put it all to rights.
And all the gaps in his thinking were gaping now, bright white shining through tears in his darkness and the light hitting his wife, his love, and she’d see now, the weakened fabric of his ideas, and she’d run her hands there and say, oh this, oh that, when she picked the words…to express her dismay. Just this, telling her what her father had said…just that… threatened everything with fire.
That’s how this conversation was with Isbe, his wife, and all conversations where something was said and thousands of things were not, never would be, and yet all of it, all of it was accepted in a vow…and a look… and a kiss…and a wish…whether anyone knew or they didn’t…they couldn’t know what they’d said yes to…but whatever they faced…from here on out… they’d face it together.
Isbe kissed Jules on the cheek as he drove and stared out the windshield, seeing all he could, and missing nearly everything.
“He hates what I love, Jules. First my mother…now you. It hurts. I don’t want it to. I was safe from wanting…anything. I’d forgiven him, and it cost me. But now? There’s no way to be close to him.
“If someone dies…it won’t be you…”
It was well into the second hour of this. He would think it had calmed down, and then it would start again—the strafing, the flare of hurt from the well inside her. He hadn’t realized how it was for her. And some of what she’d told felt new, like new words she was just putting together—just now. Other parts of it seemed rehearsed, like she’d already told it…maybe shared it with the girls…maybe shared it with herself and the man upstairs when she forgave it.
What he knew was that Clark Blaise had barely spent time with his daughter growing up. She barely knew him, like he thought. Came time for the mother to be dying, it didn’t make Clark care.
Clark stayed away—nothing extra at the house. Her mother had a job cleaning the rectory at Isbe’s school, but once she got hurt—it was Clark or nothing then. When her mother’s settlement came, that paid for the pool and some repairs, some extras.
But Isbe was alone long before her mother died. Clark tried moving the other woman into the other side of the duplex. Isbe took a stand. She had survived him for too long. So that didn’t last more than a couple of weeks. The thing he did for Isbe was to really, finally leave. And since Isbe’s mother had put so much into the house, old Clark let Isbe “have it” for all intents and purposes, but Jules knew he was never too far away, peeping from the woods and all.
What Jules figured was, Clark was onto them right off, the monkeys. Being tight with Cabhan, he would know they were in it too—at least Audie, and for sure the Buick.
So the robbery at Lou’s—did Clark have anything to do with that? He hadn’t had the money on him when Clark drove him home. But later, that crook and his boys tore Lou’s place apart; that’s what Jules figured, and when they didn’t find the dough? That’s when Clark got in some kind of trouble with Uncle Cabhan, cause the ear tied it all in. Then the fights, and Clark bursting in—the money flying fast, the pickings green, and the Irish loved the green, and they were all in the same big old rotten field of clover. Cabhan would blame the coppers while Clark made sure Uncle got his pockets full.
“Your old man,” he told Isbe when she seemed about out of ways to say it, “he ain’t always on the up. Now that don’t bother me so much, Isbe.”
“What have you seen?”
“He’s been dealing with these gangsters a lot of years, I’ll bet. It’s not like you think—sliced like bread all neat, bad guys over here, good guys over here. That’s not the real world, kid.”
“I’m not a baby, Jules. You don’t have to talk to me like one.”
“I’m saying your dad—he wears a hat—two colors. You know dat?”
She didn’t answer; kept looking forward.
“Thing of it is…I got that hat, too.” She should know that at least.
She looked at him now. “What’s that mean, Jules? You in trouble?”
“No. Bobby’s uncle paid my fines, and I’ll make good with him. But…I ain’t…” he thought of Jerry Blake then, Jerry with the gas station, a business. He wasn’t that. He wasn’t much of anything. Yet.
What he couldn’t say, what he just thought of—being Isbe’s husband, that made him something else. Something big. The rest would come. Hell or high water it would.
“You think I’d love you more if things were black and white, Jules?”
He looked at her.
“I couldn’t,” she said, almost miserable.
“Yeah?” Back to the road.
“I love you either way. I do!”
“You do? You…know?”
“That job at two in the morning? I knew right off, Jules. We all did. Now, that bag of money? Come on. That fight? The three of you throwing all this money around? You buying a car? You’ve been in jail, Jules. I swear—you think I was born yesterday? I may be quiet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t add two and two. You got that money right after the holdup at Lou’s. You killed those men and took the money,” she said, pointing to her temple.
He was looking at her, then the road, one then the other.
“It wasn’t that way. Those low-lives were there to steal and not leave witnesses. I barely got out of that—well, not barely. I killed them easy.” In case she had doubt. He knew how to kill. “But I had to, and it wasn’t to steal the loot. I fought for my life there. And Lou told me to hide it. Then he died.” He looked at her and here came the laugh. “Act of God.”
“Oh, Jules,” she groaned, grabbing his arm and digging her fingers in.
“You thought I’m what…some murdering G-man? You think that low on me? Why’d you marry me then?”
“Oh, Jules,” she slapped his arm. “You have to ask? I love you, idiot.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should think things through more.”
“I did. I said it, Jules. I said, ‘I do!’”
Thank God for cigarettes. He motioned she should light him another. They’d about gone through the pack. She gave a lit one to him.
“Tell me what you think you know—about me,” he dared to say.
“You mean about the money? I said to myself, whatever Jules tells me is what I know. Don’t make me guess. You told me you sold stuff from the war.”
“Yeah. I only wanted to protect you,” he said.
“From the truth? So lying is okay? To me?”
“It’s not like I’ll ever cheat on you. It’ll never be dame stuff with me.”
“Why do you bring up such a thing? I wasn’t worried about ‘dame stuff’!”
“Hold on a minute. I’m just saying I got my limits. But out there, an opportunity comes—maybe I’ll take it. You know? I mean—I got my reasons. You got to trust me. Not telling you some things is for your good.” The way she looked in that scarf, her little face so beautiful. His Madonna. She could say anything—do anything—and he’d be the one to forgive. Damn, she had him good.
“Let me tell you something, Jules—I couldn’t bear if something happened to you. So trust me on this…I don’t ever want you to put yourself in harm’s way. I want to know what you’re doing.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” he said. “I lived through the worst. Since I been home? Piece of nothing.”
“Piece of nothing? You and me happened, Jules. That�
��s something—everything. You fight—jail—my father’s threats? Nothing, Jules?” She’d scooted away a little so she could bring a leg up onto the seat and face him. He held on to her ankle like he didn’t want her further away, even though she might need to shut up pretty soon. His thumb was rubbing over the sharp bone there.
“I’m sorry I sold you short on killing those guys, Jules. But you don’t tell me anything, so I have to try and figure it out! This is peace time. There’s the law.”
Thank God Audie had pulled off up ahead. He reached this shiny silver diner in the middle of nowhere and pulled into the lot. The four of them were already out, the girls holding their dresses down because of the wind.
Jules and Isbe had pulled in on that note of Isbe’s: “There’s the law.”
She was going to tell him about law? He was a soldier. “Isbe, I know about law, okay?”
“I know,” she said, already seeming regretful. “I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry…I’m just sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I ain’t mad,” he said, and they had their faces pretty close.
Audie moaned and called, “Come on, man, you can mess around for the next three hundred miles. I gotta get some meat.”
“Jules,” Isbe said, more softly now, more subdued, “what did my father do?”
“Nothin’. He’s a prick. Sorry about dat, but he is. He’s dirty…like in with the others…the Irish boys. He’s the ones you see…like, politicians. You know how it is—right? They stick together. They work it all the way up and down. Clark does his part. That’s what I’ve seen.”
Her brow was creased, and she was listening hard. “Doesn’t surprise me. I’ve seen things too…growing up.”
“First time…I don’t know. I got reason to believe…” he did not want to tell her about that ear. He did not. He wouldn’t. They had three hundred more miles and shit. Let old Clark explain that one. He’d had nothing to do with it. Couldn’t blame him for throwing it out. It could have been anyone’s, and it was only getting more rotten by the minute. “He’s in with Audie’s Uncle Cabhan and that moog—they work together.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s—what I know. Some of it…has to play out, you know?”
“No.”
“Well, it does. That’s all I got for now.”
“So he’s going to kill you…because he knows you’re with me?”
“He threatened to if I don’t get out of town.” What Jules really thought? Old Clark was pissed that he’d lost his ear over money he might strongly suspect Jules had.
It was also possible that daddy-in-law Clark was warning Jules to get out of town before Cabhan ripped him to shreds. Yeah, Cabhan had possibly made Redver and his ample funds. What the heck on that. Redver’s purse belonged to Lou, and by proxy, Jules. And Jules had earned it the hard way. To Jules, it was no different than the spoils of war.
And it didn’t have a thing to do with Cabhan or Clark. But the three robbers—those crooks Jules had sent to the happy hunting grounds—now, they might be connected to either one of those assholes.
“He must have seen us,” she whispered.
“I ain’t tryin’ to hide,” Jules let her know.
“Me neither,” she countered.
“Good thing,” he said, cause they were married.
“You didn’t just…rush it…” she faltered.
“Don’t say it, Isbe. Don’t even say it.” Audie had done enough of that. “My distaste for your old man has got nothing to do with us.”
“All right, Jules. But how am I gonna know if I don’t ask sometimes?” she defended herself.
“Come ’ere,” he said, pulling her close. “Let’s not get confused, all right?”
“I’m not confused, Jules. I’ve never been confused about you.” She was looking from his eyes to his lips.
“Keep it like dat,” he said to her, Eskimo kisses and little pecks. “C’mon, let’s get some meat.” He had to squeeze her breast while he said that, and she moaned a little and leaned into it, and that diner had windows.
“Jules,” she whispered.
He hugged her so tight she squeaked a little. That’s how it was.
“Hey Jules?” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“I…know I said that about obeying?”
“Yeah,” he answered, moving her hair back, and the scarf, so he could kiss her neck.
“I can’t do it.” Then with more verve, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to.”
“Be married?” Cause that’s all he heard.
“No. No. Obey.”
He’d pulled back now. “I didn’t think about it until I heard it when the judge was marrying us, and…I crossed my fingers, right there in those flowers, Jules; I told God, please don’t hold it against me.” She’d been talking with her hands and all, like some Italian or something. And she had the shiny eyes. About this?
“Stop, Isbe. C’mon. At least you remember what that moog was saying. I didn’t even know!” He tried to laugh. But oh. That was not the right thing to say, and he knew it the moment she glared at him.
“You didn’t mean it?” she whispered, all tragic.
“What? Of course I meant it.” That’s it! She drove him crazy.
He tried to kiss her again, kiss her out of it, cause that worked sometimes, but not today; oh no.
“Listen to me. I…don’t want to move from my house. I…can’t, Jules.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
Suddenly Audie’s boom broke in. From the diner’s doorway, he called to them. “Jules—c’mon?”
“Get me a couple of cube steaks on white,” Jules called. “What you want?”
She sniffed. “A bacon sandwich.”
“A bacon sandwich. Hold the tomatoes,” he already knew. “And two Coca-Colas. One with vanilla.”
Audie waved at him like he was a bad smell and went back inside.
“Honey, baby, I thought we talked about this! I ain’t living someplace where I wake up, and your crazy old man is standing over me or some shit.” Or spying. He could never be sure that loon wasn’t in the woods with the scope.
“I can’t leave. It’s not just my home…but Francis and Dorie. Jules, I can’t. It’s all I have left of my mother. I ran him off; I was—he couldn’t withstand me. I was strong. I made him leave. It was Mom’s, and she wanted me—it’s what she left—and she told me not to let him have it and—if I run now—I don’t run! I won’t ever run from him! Mom wanted me to have it! Me! He can’t have it! Not my home—not my husband! I’ll kill him!”
Holy shit, here was that fire he feared, burning through all the old shit, her lifetime’s worth of debris stacked up between her and her old man. “Calm down, baby. Calm down.”
Yeah, calm down. His own heart was slamming a hundred miles an hour. He didn’t like to see her so upset. He couldn’t stand it.
Damn, don’t cross Isabelle Blaise.
He was going to do it, move into Clark’s house. Already she had his dick. He was just a body now. Just a damn bag of squish, like he feared.
He’d do anything for her, and it was taking his manhood away, just like he knew it would…all this care and concern…little elves running away with it, his dick, hi-de-ho, over their heads…over their heads…like him.
Chapter 39
They’d pulled up to the Blaise Fort after midnight and dumped their stuff right inside the door, and seeing as old Clark wasn’t hiding in the dark with his revolver, they’d stumbled up to bed.
Isbe about had a heart attack rushing around in the morning to make it to work, and he reminded her she didn’t have to wait for the bus like usual, and she calmed down then, and he followed her around wearing his skivvies, watching everything, making her self-conscious and shy, and he’d hung on her while she tried to put on her makeup; he was behind her, his arms wrapped around her while he nuzzled her neck and he saw her eying his muscles kind of bulging around her while she told him not to mess
up her hair.
He went on trying to distract her, and she kept trying to get ready. And he asked her a hundred questions to drive her crazy, like, “How come you put your lipstick on that way?” or “You don’t need that makeup, babe; you’re gorgeous either way, but with it…there ain’t a dame in Hollywood…but you don’t need nothin’.”
He about died watching her put on her nylons and snap them into the garters.
“Why you gotta be so sexy, baby? Rolling up those stockings…”
She stood before him, he sat on the bed, and he was rubbing his hands up and down her legs, and she warned him not to give her a snag, but she liked it; she didn’t fool him, her mouth open, watching his hands, one of her legs up there, and damn, he rubbed his hand all the way up her skirt and it got so warm up there. “Damn, baby.”
“Jules,” she whined, but he noticed her leg had opened right up a little, like his hand had said, “Open sesame.”
Fifteen minutes later: “Where did you learn that?” she asked, huffing and puffing.
“I just invented it,” he said. “Maybe we should get a patent.” He got on his feet and flopped down next to her.
“You have completely ruined me,” she said. “I should have stopped you, but I believe you could make me do anything.”
A series of pictures of their recent amorous activities flashed through his mind. “I believe you’re right,” he said, as cocky as he’d ever been, big hands drumming on his stomach.
He laughed and went in for a kiss, and she drew back and scooted away and got up, trying to adjust herself. “Jules…you need to gargle some peroxide. I mean… what are you thinking?”
He laughed at that and stood up quick. “It’s just us, baby. It’s beautiful, whatever we do. Didn’t you like it?”
He had her hand, and he was kissing her palm, her wrist.
“I’m not going to let you get some disease because I liked it when there’s plenty of other ways…” Her eyes were on his chest, his shoulders. She was so under his spell.
“Relax,” he said, kissing up her arm.
“Jules…you’re going to make me so late,” she said, still breathless.