Jilted

by Varina Denman

  “What?”

  “They don’t tell me what to do anymore,” he said quietly, afraid that if he spoke louder, she would startle like a deer and run away. “I do what I want.”

  Her eyes widened but then slowly narrowed. “And just what is it you want?”

  “You.” He shrugged.

  “Me?”

  Her eyes begged for something—maybe reassurance—but he didn’t know the words to explain the whirlwind of thoughts thrashing through his mind. He answered by bending down and gently pressing his mouth against hers, trapping her between his arms as he reached behind her to grip the edge of the sink. He didn’t move, couldn’t move. He felt frozen in fear of what he might lose and what he might never have.

  Hesitantly she moved her mouth against his and laid her palms on his chest. Clyde focused on the sensation. Few people ever touched him, and the pressure of her lips and hands sent his thoughts racing. He pulled back, looking into her eyes before he took a step away.

  Her lips were parted as though he had interrupted her mid­sentence, but then the oven timer buzzed. “Go back over there, you.” She busied herself with their dinner and with not looking at him. After a few minutes, she slipped into a chair and put pizza slices on two paper plates. He could tell she was thinking about that kiss, and Clyde got the feeling she hadn’t been all that pleased.

  He bowed his head to pray and laid his hand palm up on the table, hoping she would hold it, but after three empty seconds, he began without her. He intended to say a short prayer for the food, but somehow he drifted over to Ansel’s health and then to Velma’s grief. And he tacked on a bit about Dodd and Ruthie wanting a baby. He was almost to the amen when she slipped her tiny hand in his, and then he considered praying for an hour, just so he could feel her skin. Instead, he gave her fingers a squeeze and reached for a napkin.

  She nibbled a slice of pizza but wouldn’t look at him, and he realized that if he wanted to know what she was thinking, he was going to have to pull it out of her. “Lyn? Is it all right that I kissed you?”

  “I … I think so.”

  “But?”

  She set her pizza on her plate, then watched it as though it might fly away. “Maybe not just yet,” she whispered. “I don’t know about it all.”

  She didn’t know about it all. She didn’t know about him. “I understand.” He grabbed the ranch dressing, removed the cap, and squirted a blob of dressing on his plate. “No need to rush things.”

  “Can we try it again later?”

  Her last six words erased the doom created by the others, and he released a shallow breath. “Sorry, but this is all sort of new to me.”

  She took a bite, but then her chewing slowed, and after she swallowed, her eyes bored into his. “You … haven’t kissed many women.”

  His face warmed as though the sun hung from the ceiling directly above the table, and under his shirt, a drop of sweat trickled from his armpit down to his waist. “Just the one.”

  “Susan.” She sounded as if she might pull every hair from Susan’s big blonde hairdo, if given the chance.

  Clyde didn’t understand why they had to talk about it. He could see Lynda was gradually figuring things out in her head, picking up the bread crumbs he had left for her to follow, finding her way to the truth of his past. She had a question in her eyes, the question, but instead of asking it, she dropped her gaze to somewhere near his heart.

  He answered her anyway. “It was only the one time with me and her.” He cleared his throat. “And it was … quick.”

  Clyde ran the tip of his pizza through the dressing, then shoved it into his mouth, tearing off a portion large enough to occupy his tongue with something other than talk. There had already been enough conversation to last him for weeks, and it had done nothing but put them both on edge.

  When he sneaked another glance at her, he knew she was just as scared as he was. Afraid of having old memories dredged up from the bottom of a deep well. Afraid of not being able to forget the past. Afraid of not being able to move forward.

  He almost wished he hadn’t kissed her.

  But not quite.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Lynda, hush. I can’t hear.” Dixie leaned through the pass-through window, pretending to count open tables, but I knew the truth. She was eavesdropping on a group of boys—strangers to Trapp—who had shoved three tables together and pulled up extra chairs.

  I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

  “Boy Scout troop from Lubbock,” Dixie whispered. “They’re helping the Rangers out at the lake.”

  “Those bones?”

  “Yep. I heard the kids talking about it. They form a line, walking four feet apart, and search every square inch of land.”

  We studied the teenagers as we worked the grill, both of us trying to pick out tidbits of information, but their talk had shifted from work to dirty jokes.

  I moved away from the window and dropped an order of fried zucchini into hot oil. “Lake Alan Henry is eleven miles long. Finding more bones out there would be like finding a needle in the Grand Canyon.”

  Dixie’s eyes twinkled. “Girl, go take your break and find out what they’re saying.”

  “That sounds like work to me, and you don’t pay me for breaks.”

  “I’ll pay you for this one.”

  “Deal.”

  She nodded toward the dining room, but as I walked away, she seemed to have second thoughts. “Just ten minutes, Lynda!”

  Three male Rangers sat at a table near the Scouts, and one of them made eye contact and motioned me over. “Lynda, is it?”

  “That’s right. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you happened to know the closest liquor store.”

  I pointed north. “You passed CJ’s on your way into town, back about half a mile.”

  “Seems I remember that, now that you mention it.” His skin was tanned except around his eyes, where he had two pale circles from wearing sunglasses.

  He leered at me, but I ignored him. “You boys working out at the lake?”

  “All day long with nothing to show for it,” a red-haired man, who looked younger than JohnScott, whined from across the table. “I’d rather be working with a real crew than these little kids.”

  “Will they likely run tests on those bones,” I asked, “to figure out who it is?”

  “Can’t.” The young man shrugged. “Not enough DNA left. They’re too old.”

  “So what are you doing out there now?”

  The first man sat up straighter. “At this point, searching for a shallow grave, a few displaced bones, or anything out of the ordinary like—”

  Red-Haired Boy interrupted him. “I don’t see why they extended the search site and called in all these Boy Scouts, though.” He squinted at the third, silent man before lifting his chin. “In spite of the teeth marks on them bones, no animal would drag a carcass more than twenty yards or so. I’ve got experience with this sort of thing.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Sunglass Tan shook his head. “If a mother coyote is hunting for her pups, she might haul their dinner as far as a mile away.”

  My stomach turned. “So you’ll be around here for a while, I guess.” My last question had less to do with the bones and more to do with when the diner would be back to normal.

  “Could be weeks.” Sunglass Tan leaned back in his chair, letting his eyelids close partway. “And we’ll be back in here often between now and then.”

  Good grief. “Can I get you boys anything else? Maybe some apple pie?”

  “Pie isn’t what I had in mind.” He let his gaze slide to my hips. “What time do you get off?”

  “Not anytime soon.” I didn’t smile. “I’ll have the waitress bring your check.”

  “Come on, babe, I can wait around.”

  “Ji
m.” The quiet man must have been a foreman. “She said she doesn’t get off anytime soon.”

  “I might get off, though.”

  Jim’s comment received a snicker from the redhead. “Bring a friend for me, why don’t you.”

  “Lynda.” A firm hand gripped my elbow, and I turned to see Hector Chavez with his bushy, black mustache. “Tea?” He waved his glass in front of my face. “Today?”

  “Coming right up, Sheriff.” Not only was Hector the sheriff, but he was also a friend of mine from way back in grade school. I knew he hadn’t interrupted the conversation simply because he wanted a drink refill. Apparently the Rangers realized that, too.

  “You her bodyguard?” The redhead scowled.

  “Now, Cory,” Hector said patiently, “I’ve been working just as much as you, and I need me a refill of sweet tea before we head back out in the heat.”

  The two obnoxious Rangers grumbled, but the quiet one gave Hector an apologetic shrug as the sheriff followed me to the counter.

  I grabbed the pitcher and sloshed tea into his glass. “I had things under control.”

  The Rangers noisily made their way to the cash register, where they paid the waitress, but I forced my gaze to stay on Hector.

  “I reckon you did,” he said.

  “I’m not a helpless damsel in distress.”

  “Nope. For sure, you’re not that.” He chuckled.

  I squirted the counter with vinegar water from a spray bottle, then wiped it with a cup towel. “Neil used to do and say that sort of thing,” I said. “I guess I got used to it.”

  Hector gingerly set his glass down and looked away from me. “Neil Blaylock’s a friend of mine, Lynda.”

  My spine stiffened.

  The sheriff glanced toward the street, where the Boy Scouts congregated on the sidewalk, throwing Skittles into the air and catching them in their mouths. “Yet still …”—Hector pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and dropped it on the counter next to the register—“sometimes I think that man needs a thrashing.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Momma, Ansel doesn’t belong here.”

  Tuesday afternoon, Ruthie and I stood on the front lawn of Trapp’s beige brick nursing home. We had promised Velma we would check out the facility, but now that we were here, we couldn’t bring ourselves to walk the last few steps and through the door. Even from our perch twenty yards from the entrance, I could smell the telltale scents of disinfectant and body odor. On the front porch, a shriveled woman sat in a wheelchair, listing heavily to one side. The welcoming committee.

  “No, he doesn’t,” I said as I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. I didn’t want to lose Ansel, but almost worse than losing him would be visiting him in a place like this while he slowly withered. “We should check on home care.”

  Diverting my gaze from the woman on the porch, I thought how nice it would feel to pound my fists against the nearest car bumper. I pushed the thought away as a ray of sunlight bounced off the shiny grill, causing me to squint at the brightness. The sun seemed out of place in such a dismal setting, but when I stopped to examine the parking lot, I noticed the neatly trimmed hedges, the hanging flowerpots, the tree-lined sidewalks. Clyde would say there’s always good among the bad. Clyde said a lot of things—without ever speaking much at all.

  We wandered to a wooden bench beneath a pine tree. The bench had been recently whitewashed, yet Go Panthers! had already been scratched into the clumpy paint. Ruthie and I sat side by side, and I spoke quickly, not wanting to think about Ansel anymore. “You probably heard the rumors about Clyde and me.”

  Her right eyebrow curled into a question mark, pulling the corner of her mouth along with it. “Yep.” She gazed at her fingernails, flipping her palm over to inspect the cuticles. “But what about Daddy?”

  I held my breath.

  “I mean I’m glad you’re with Clyde and all, but—”

  “I’m not with him.”

  “Whatever.” She smiled as though she knew better. “But … I mean … there’s no way Daddy’s coming back, right?” Her smile faltered.

  Until that moment I hadn’t realized she was still hanging on to the notion. When Ruthie was small, she would ask me every few days when her daddy was coming home, and generally I would answer her impatiently, wishing she would stop asking, stop waiting, stop hoping. Stop reminding me.

  “He almost came back once, Ruth Ann.” Instantly I regretted having started the conversation, because the thought of sharing one of my secrets, even with Ruthie, made me feel as if I were peeling away the plates of protection I had placed around my heart. And without them, I might be exposed to the elements, like a brand-new butterfly crawling out of its cocoon, only to be swept away by a dust storm.

  Her eyes grew wide. “When?”

  “I got a letter from him several weeks after he left. I still have the silly thing.” I studied my Converse sneakers, tapping them against each other, wanting to keep the details buried where they belonged. I carefully selected a few tidbits of information to help Ruthie make peace with it all. “He apologized for believing Neil’s word over mine and said that once he had calmed down, he realized I would never be unfaithful.” My lungs weren’t getting enough air, and I consciously took a deep breath before continuing. “He said he was coming back, and we could talk. Go from there.”

  Ruthie stared at me as though my words made a difference.

  “I thought he meant it, Ruth Ann.” I laughed nervously. “He said he had been a fool to believe Neil’s lies, and that he was ready to give up the bottle, but he needed me to help him.”

  Her eyebrows quivered. “I don’t remember him coming back. Ever.”

  “He didn’t show.” My words were knives, and I regretted the wounds they left on my daughter. “I never heard from him again.”

  Ruthie froze for ten seconds before she laughed unconvincingly. “It’s just as well. I mean … it’s been so long, and you … you probably don’t love him like that anymore.”

  My heart broke. Right there on the bench in front of the nursing home, it shattered because Ruthie clearly still clung to a childlike dream that Hoby and I would get back together. All those years I had been locked away, drowning myself in bitterness, my daughter had been waiting for her daddy to come home.

  I looked into her eyes. “No, Ruth Ann.”

  In the lull that followed, a pickup drove past us on the street, its gears racing loudly as the driver shifted out of sync, trying to force something that should have come easily.

  Ruthie smiled too widely. “I guess I always imagined him coming back and making everything better. Just driving into town in his red wrecker, but that’s ridiculous. That truck would be really old now.” She shook her head as though to clear the memories away like cobwebs. “And I really do like Clyde. You two are perfect for each other. Everybody says so.”

  A steady rhythm beat in my ears, filling my mind, my heart, my soul, because I had no idea what would happen between Clyde and me. Multiple scenarios played out in my mind, but none of them had a happily-ever-after ending. I squinted at her. “Everybody?”

  “Yes.” She laughed through the word, and it became a light shush that floated on the breeze and bounced around my shoulders. Then her gaze jerked toward the street. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

  My mood took a few seconds to shift, but I followed her gaze and saw Clyde walking down the sidewalk pushing a stroller. “Oh my.”

  Ruthie suppressed a laugh but then giggled, and I couldn’t help but join in. Clyde was so tall, he had to bend slightly to reach the stroller, and plastic grocery bags hung from the handles. A half gallon of orange juice lay across Nathan’s lap.

  The baby gripped a long packaged stick of beef jerky, waving it in the air, but when he hit himself in the face, he started crying.

  “We better help,” Ruthie s
aid.

  “We’d better hurry.”

  We jogged past the hatchback and Ruthie’s El Camino, hurrying away from the shadows of the nursing home and into the sunshine of babies and strollers. And Clyde.

  “What on earth?” Ruthie called to him.

  He had stopped and was bent over to tend to Nathan, but when he heard us, he seemed to cringe before looking our direction. “We’re just on our way home from the United.”

  “Why are you on foot?” I asked.

  “Well, now … my car’s still on the blink.”

  He lifted Nathan from the stroller, but the child still fussed, pulling at his diaper. “Boo-boo,” Nathan whimpered.

  Clyde ducked his head and motioned to the bags. “I think I got too much stuff. The kid kept pointing at things.”

  “I’ll take you home,” I said.

  “Aw, Lyn. We’ll be all right once he settles.”

  Ruthie sniffed. “Smells like he needs attention.”

  Clyde’s mouth hung open momentarily, but then he held Nathan higher and sniffed while the child squirmed and arched his spine.

  Ruthie raised her voice to be heard. “He did that once when I was with Fawn. Something in his poop was burning his backside. He wouldn’t stop until she cleaned him up and soaked him in the tub.”

  “Boo-boo, Cyde,” Nathan moaned, giving his pants another tug.

  Clyde’s eyebrows wrinkled as though he just realized he held an alien from Mars.

  I grabbed three grocery bags and headed to my car while Ruthie folded the stroller.

  “Where’d you get this old thing?” she asked over Nathan’s wails. “It’s not Fawn’s, is it?”

  “Naw, I found it at a garage sale in Roscoe. Comes in right handy when we decide to take ourselves a walk.”

  Ruthie laid it in the back of the hatchback next to the groceries. “Hate to run off at a time like this, but I’m due at work.”

  I waved to her as she headed to her own car, and then I turned to Clyde, still standing motionless on the sidewalk. “I’ll have you home in thirty seconds.”