Damon

by Vanessa Hawkes

  “His name was Elliot Jennings. People here hated him, so I made up a different name.”

  “Oh.” That was okay, sort of. Gangsters didn’t have more enemies than a mean ol’ bastard in a small town. People had a way of holding grudges for generations.

  Damon looked at me and smiled lazily. “Just tell them you have to take your mom to a doctor out of town.”

  So we were back to the trip to Knoxville. “I can’t go. Anyway, my mother would never go with us and I can’t leave her alone.”

  “She will if she’s drugged up good,” he said.

  Now he was going too far. “I’m not gonna screw with her medication just so we can take a vacation.” I pointed to the road. “Not here, next one up.”

  He went ahead and took the wrong road then had to u-turn and go back.

  “Then we’ll keep the Bee Gees on the stereo the whole way,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “She asked for them thirty seven times last night.”

  “She did?” I couldn’t decide which was more interesting, that Damon had understood what Mama had been mumbling, that he had felt neurotically compelled to count her ramblings, or that Mama liked the Bee Gees. Or, any music at all.

  He parked at the square and turned to face me. “Just go inside and tell them you need to take your mother to the doctor and see what they say. If they say go ahead, we’ll leave early tomorrow morning. We need two full days to find the answer. If they mention work, we’ll wait. You’re only asking for four hours off. We’ll be back by Monday morning. That’s fair.”

  That did seem fair and I decided to see if I could work something out. Without making up lies about my mother.

  Damon sat kissing my fingers in succession, watching calmly as I mentally tried to work out the details of traveling with Mama. It wouldn’t be easy.

  “I’m good on cash,” he said. “We’ll have fun.”

  I slid closer to him, not wanting to spend our last few minutes together thinking about worrisome things. “Are we doing something tonight?”

  He pulled me closer and we met over the console to kiss and talk. “What do you want to do?”

  “Rent a movie? We can borrow Jaynie’s DVD player.”

  He traced my lips with his tongue, making me shiver. “And get some wine.”

  “As long as Mama doesn’t see it. She can’t mix it with her pills.”

  “We’ll take it in my room. I took all that stuff down to the cellar.”

  “You did?” Some of that ‘stuff’ I didn’t want put down in the cellar, but right now I just didn’t care what he did. “What about the old metal cooler?”

  “I took it down there, too.”

  “How? It weighs, like, two or three hundred pounds.”

  He gripped a handful of my hair and forced my head back, diving in to kiss and nibble my neck. “I’m Superman,” he growled.

  Adrenaline instantly flowed and I wanted to jump right on top of him there in the parking lot, but the bright digital clock on the stereo seemed to grow ten times larger. “I have to go.”

  “No,” he whispered, sliding his lips and tongue down to my collarbone. His hand traveled over my ribs to my breast. “I want my final minute.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and we spent that last minute simply holding each other, straining our backs over the console and not noticing. I wanted to say to hell with the world and run off to Knoxville with him that instant, but I wasn’t quite that far gone.

  I had to pull away. “I’ll see ya tonight.”

  He held onto the hem of my sleeve until I slipped away out of the car. I turned to say goodbye but he spoke first.

  “Ask for a week off. Two days aren’t enough.”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t. It’s too much.”

  “The first time you talked to me,” he said, “I was so excited I almost threw up.”

  He stared at me with an expression so intense his eyes watered. His face turned red.

  “God, Damon, don’t say things like that right as I’m leaving.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  God. I got back in the car. I would have to be late. I couldn’t just slam the car door in his face. Yet, I almost wanted to. I couldn’t think of how to respond. Did I love him? I didn’t know. I was still too intoxicated by him to tell for sure.

  “We only met yesterday,” I whispered.

  “No,” he said, “we met a long time ago.”

  “Not really.”

  He kissed the scar on my wrist, then held my hand against his cheek without a single question as to why I had scars on my wrists.

  He had scars on his wrists, too. Mine were horizontal, aimed to get attention, or so Dr. Sanderson had told me. His were vertical, cut straight down the vein – cut to kill. I’d noticed them, and wondered, but hadn’t questioned him, either. The reasons seemed obvious.

  “Come to Knoxville with me,” he said. “Ask for a week off. Whatever you have to do. Do it.”

  I rested my forehead against his, so I wouldn’t have to look into his eyes, and so I could think. But the energy radiating from his forehead became so strong my thoughts were scattered to the far winds.

  “All right. I’ll see.” Maybe.

  “We’ll leave at seven in the morning. Right after your mom takes her meds.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  He leaned back and gave me a warm kiss on the forehead. “You need a vacation.”

  Maybe I did. I’d never taken a vacation, so I couldn’t be sure. But I wanted to go.

  This time Damon made my departure easy by smiling as I shut the door. I could feel his gaze on my back as I crossed the street and hurried down the sidewalk. His car was still there when I went in the store.

  Just imagining that he had been sitting outside the store all last week waiting for me made my stomach twist in knots. No one had ever shown that kind of interest. Not even close.

  I wondered if he wanted something from me, but I couldn’t decide what it might be. I didn’t have anything he couldn’t have stolen when he broke into my house.

  I just couldn’t quite accept that he honestly loved me.

  And I wasn’t prepared to admit that I loved him.

  I wasn’t even prepared to think about it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At a quarter to six, I finally broached the subject of a vacation to Chester. I knew if he truly needed me, he would say so. He wasn’t as softhearted as Bella when it came to his store.

  I waited until he was neck deep in paperwork at his desk, stacking the odds against myself so I wouldn’t feel like I’d cheated anyone if it turned out I could go.

  I would only go if they honestly didn’t need me - that was the deal I’d made with myself.

  These two people had been watching out for me all my life. I had to put them first, no matter what I’d told Damon. No matter what I wanted for myself.

  Striding into his office, I sat down with a long, hissing sigh. Chester glanced at me over his wireframes and finished punching numbers into his calculator. When he finished and ripped off the long roll of paper, I sighed again, even louder - hoping to annoy him so he would take a defensive stand.

  “Did somebody leave the window open?” he said, glancing at me again over his glasses.

  “Why don’t you get an accountant?”

  “I do, for business. This is for my personal. I’m not going to pay somebody to do what I can do myself. I’ve got a noggin and this handy book right here.” He showed it to me.

  I nodded and looked away.

  “What’s going through your head, kiddo?” he asked.

  “What would you say if I told you I needed a week off to take Mama to a doctor out of town?”

  He rested his arms over the scattered papers and gave me his full attention. “Are you having to think about putting her somewhere?”

  “No, I’m just wondering what you’d say.”

  “Well, I’d say go take care of your mom. Don’t try to shoulder
more than you can support.”

  “What would you say if I told you I wanted next week off so I can go to Knoxville and have fun with Damon Jennings?”

  He sat back in his chair and tapped his pen against the vinyl desk blotter. “With that oddball you’ve picked up with?”

  “He’s not an oddball.” Well…. “He brought in a lot of business. You can’t forget that. His grandparents used to be friends with my grandparents. He’s painting my house. He’s okay.”

  Chester leaned forward in his chair, then rested his arms on the desk and stared at me. “Why would you want to go off with a guy you just met? That doesn’t sound smart to me. Especially after he sat out there all week saying he’s kin to somebody none of us remembers. Who’s he that Liz and Harvey knew his folks? How’s it I didn’t know them?”

  I shrugged and tried to evade his questions. I wanted to tell him about the picture, and about Damon’s grandfather’s real name, but it wasn’t really my place to reveal Damon’s secrets. Especially when I knew he didn’t want me to. I didn’t want to feel like I’d betrayed anyone.

  “We hit it off. Really fast. He’s a nice person.”

  Chester’s eyes turned fiery and he frowned sharply. “That’s pretty darn fast if you want to run off with him for a week.”

  “We’re not running off, we’re taking a vacation. At the same time. I was just wondering what you would think, work-wise.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding as he sat back and rocked in his chair. “I see. You want this old fart to stay out of your business. Well, you’re not a kid anymore and it seems lately no matter what I say you’re just going to do whatever pops in your head, anyway. I guess you gotta learn your own lessons your own way. But I still say it’s a fast decision. And I want to know who his kin is. If your grandfolks knew them, then so did I. Plain fact. And if you don’t want to tell me, then I have to assume it’s somebody we didn’t like. None of us. Your grammy, Liz, included.”

  My stomach clenched painfully suddenly when it occurred to me that Gram must have kept her affair with Elliot Jennings a secret. Now, I had more secrets to protect. But, I wasn’t sure I could. As far as Chester was concerned, concerning his past and his friends, I was an outsider. And I was holding back information.

  Chester sat back, narrowed his eyes, and started tapping the pen against the desk again. “It’s Elliot, isn’t it?”

  “It’s what?” I said to keep from lying.

  “I’ve been thinking.” He stopped tapping the pen and sat forward. “Elliot Jenkins. Not Jennings. Jenkins. That’s Elliot Jenkins’ grandson, David. I should have known.” He shook his head and grumbled something about ‘Tom Porter’ under his breath.

  “Call Bella,” he said an instant before he stood up and yelled for her himself.

  Bella must have been at the counter because she quickly stepped into the doorway. “Why the yelling?”

  “That strange young kid sitting out in front of the store is Elliot’s grandson.”

  Bella’s eyebrows shot up and she pointed her thumb over her shoulder as if Damon were still sitting out there. “That’s little David?” She turned her attention to me. “Why didn’t he say something? My heavens.”

  I could only shrug. I didn’t really know what was going on.

  “Oh,” Bella said, softening considerably, “he must be lonely. That’s why he’s here. Why didn’t he come and tell us who he is? Elliot passed away last year, you know. No one told us till long after the fact, or I guess we’d have met him at the funeral. The poor boy’s all alone now. Considering the situation with his father.”

  “What about his father?” I asked, suddenly realizing I was in the presence of people who knew more about Damon’s life than he was willing to share with me. And I was too curious to care if I might be overstepping my bounds – or gossiping about him.

  Bella and Chester exchanged a look. “Well, it was a number of years ago,” Bella said. “And we always wondered if maybe it wasn’t true, but he was arrested for killing his wife.”

  “He was deemed unfit to stand trial and sent to a psychiatric facility,” Chester told me.

  Bella walked in and sat beside me as if these memories had drained her of energy. “Poor little Davy found her beaten beyond recognition. They lived way out on Frog Gig Road back then, and he ran all the way to town saying his mom had burned herself. James Eddie’s daddy was sheriff back then and said the reason Davy thought that was because her entire body was red, completely covered in blood. I always wondered how he turned out. Elliot took him in to Nashville to raise him on his own. Beverly was already gone by that time and there wasn’t anyone else. We tried to stay in touch, but when your son kills his own wife, I suppose you don’t really want to face people after that.”

  I noticed Chester staring at me. I had a thousand questions but I couldn’t find my voice. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “How old was he?”

  Bella turned to Chester. “When was that?”

  Chester sat back in his chair and rested his arms on his head. “Twenty years ago or thereabouts? It’s been quite a while. Quite a while.”

  I stood suddenly when the realization came to me. “That’s why Damon was staying with us. His granddad must have needed a place to keep him while he was dealing with all that.”

  Bella snapped her fingers. “That’s right. You’re right. We all took care of him during that time. But sometimes I suppose he did stay with Liz and your Aunt Cynthia, poor kid. Until Elliot could figure out what to do. I’d almost forgotten that. He stayed with us for a little while, and Verna Jarvis.” She frowned at me suddenly. “Why is he calling himself Damon Jennings?”

  Again, I could only shrug. They knew a lot more than I did.

  “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know his dad’s a dadblame murderer,” Chester answered. “That boy was all wrong from the day he was born. We talked about it.”

  Bella nodded. “We sure did. He just had a way about him. Frightened me even as a small boy.”

  “Damon?” I asked, now fairly certain I didn’t want to go away on a trip with him.

  “No, no,” Bella said. “His father. Richard. We all called him Little Ricky, like on Lucy. And oh, that would make him so mad. He always thought everyone was out to get him. Always thought we were laughing at him. Making fun of him. From when he was a little boy, he was just strange. Of course, what Beverly did sure didn’t help. Shot herself in the kitchen. My lord. Almost as a bad as—”

  Chester cleared his throat loudly and sent Bella a stern glance.

  Bella sat back and clasped her hands in her lap.

  I could see they were about to clam up. “Who shot herself?”

  “Elliot’s wife, dear,” Bella whispered, reaching over to give me a pat on the knee. “Little Ricky’s mother. When he was only about five or six years old. Same as what happened to young David. That family has had far more than their share.”

  “So, Damon’s real name is David?” I asked.

  “David Jenkins,” Bella said with certainty, and I had to believe her.

  Chester was right. I knew almost nothing about him and running off with him for a week probably wasn’t such a good idea.

  “So,” Chester said, clearing his throat again. “Maggie, here, thinks she wants to go spend a week off on some vacation with this Damon. What do you think about that?”

  “Oh,” Bella said, now frowning at me. “I don’t know.”

  I sat down, overwhelmed by all I’d just learned. “So, Damon is really David, and his dad is in a psychiatric hospital for murdering his wife?”

  “I’d say it’s more of a prison,” Chester said.

  “Probably is,” Bella agreed. “I don’t see how they can ever let him out. Not after what he did.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, wondering how long I could keep them talking about the past. “That Damon’s dad and my mom…. We found a picture of all of y’all. Grampa Harvey isn’t in it. Knoxville, 1959.”

  They both s
hook their heads as if they couldn’t remember.

  “You’re all dressed up and acting weird. Like you’re upset or something. Damon’s granddad is touching Gram. Almost like they’re a couple.”

  The front door jingled, even though it was now after six. Bella got up to take care of it, grumbling that she’d forgotten to turn the sign and lock the door.

  Chester leaned forward and lifted a paper, squinting at it.

  “Were they?” I asked. I couldn’t be carrying on with Damon if we were related. If we were cousins. I was getting a queasy feeling just thinking about it.

  “Where they what?”

  “Elliot and Gram. Were they doing something? Did they date? Maybe before she married Grampa Harvey?”

  Chester only glanced at me. “Liz and Elliot? No, of course not.” He sat back and made a tsk sound. “I know what that picture is. Your gram’s little boy died. That must have been his funeral. Before we all moved out here. He was only a week or two old, born sickly. Never left the hospital. We thought she’d never get over it. That was a real bad day.” He dropped the paper he was pretending to study. “You say you have a picture of that day?”

  “It was at Corky’s. Framed on the wall. Damon took it.”

  I sat back, crossed my arms, and decided to make peace with the fact that I was spilling secrets like a tortured spy.

  “Damn Corky,” Chester mumbled and picked up the paper again. “He never had any sense.”

  “So, where was Grampa Harvey? In the picture? Why wasn’t he the one holding Grammy’s arm?”

  Chester took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I could tell I was wearing him out, making him remember things he probably didn’t want to remember. But I felt I needed to know. All my future actions were hinged on knowing the truth. It seemed far too coincidental that both Damon’s father and my mother were crazy. That we both had grandparents who had committed suicide.

  They didn’t think I knew the truth about Grampa Harvey. But I did. I’d overheard Gram and Aunt Cynthia talking about it years ago.

  “Your granddad was in the hospital that day. He took it worse than Liz. He just couldn’t face up to a funeral so he made himself sick. That’s what he did whenever anything bad happened. He made himself sick so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. It was just his way.”