him, the sheer thrill of being in his arms. She turned to go
upstairs.
"We're very disappointed in you, Lauren." This from her mother.
Oh, go bake a cake! You have no idea who I am anymore.
Her room was a mess, just the way she'd left it-her bed unmade, the
sheets rumpled from Nick's overnight stay. She bent to sniff them,
maybe catch his odor. Oh, God! She had to see him again soon, she
missed him already.
Her rock heroes-John Lennon and Emerson Burn-gazed down at her from
above her bed. Once her idols, it now seemed silly to worship from
afar. She unpinned the posters, rolled them up and put them in her
closet. Then she stared at herself in the mirror, deciding that she
looked exactly the same-no real change, except maybe the expression in
her eyes. There was something new there-something intangible.
After making love she and Nick had slept in each other's arms all night
as close as two people could be. And in the morning they'd made love
again, and this time she'd enjoyed it even more. She'd cried out for
him to enter her, and then she'd cried out from sheer pleasure as her
body jerked in response to his loving and she'd experienced a feeling
so sensational, so amazing that she'd wanted to burst into happy
tears.
"What was that?" she'd gasped.
"What?"
"That feeling I just had."
"You came," he'd told her.
"Came where?"
And he'd explained that making love wasn't only for the man's
satisfaction.
"How do you know so much?" she'd asked, feeling a strong twinge of
jealousy.
"Cause I got taught by a whole bunch of older women. Now I can teach
you."
She'd reached for him. "How about teaching me more.
They didn't leave the motel until eleven in the morning. He drove
slowly along the treacherous icy roads, while she snuggled next to
him.
By the time they reached Bosewell it was almost two-thirty.
"I'll get out at the gas station," he'd said. "Unless you'd like me to
come in an' face your parents with you. I don't mind."
"I do. It's better I handle them alone."
He'd pulled the car up across the street and jumped out. "I'll call
you later."
She'd laughed and slid behind the wheel.
He'd come around and kissed her through the open window.
"I . . . uh She had a right to be demanding. "What? Say it."
He'd attempted to make light of it. "I love ya.
"You too."
And she'd watched him run across the street-her hero in a bloodstained
tux with a battered nose.
Now she was back to reality.
As soon as she reached the safety of her room she picked up the phone
to call Meg and find out what had been going on in her absence. Before
she'd finished dialing her father appeared at the door.
"No phone privileges," he said, his face long and dour.
"But, Daddy-" she started to object.
"I said you will not use the phone," he repeated sternly, entering her
room, pulling the phone from its jack and carrying it off under his
arm.
They were angrier than she'd thought, probably because she'd broken up
with Stock. It wasn't that they resented Nick, she rationalized; they
didn't even know him. Maybe after a few weeks she could introduce him
into their lives and they'd soon realize what a terrific guy he was.
The real truth was there was no way they could stop her from seeing
him. School resumed shortly and then she'd be with him every day
whether her parents liked it or not.
Right now it was quite obvious they weren't going to let her out of the
house. No car. No phone. No contact with friends. She was a
prisoner. A prisoner with her thoughts.
Ah . . . but her thoughts were going to keep her very happy until she
saw Nick again. Very happy indeed.
"You dumped on us," Harlan said accusingly, sitting on the steps
outside the trailer, zinging pebbles at an empty can.
"Hey, that's not true. I couldn't make it. I had an accident. Take a
look at my face," Nick said.
"You promised us a movie," Harlan said glumly.
"I wasn't here," he explained, edging past him into the trailer. "I
told you why."
Luke lay listlessly on top of the mattress he shared with Harlan.
"What's the matter with him?" Nick asked.
"I dunno." Harlan followed him in, shrugging. "He got sick."
"What's your ma say?"
"She ain't here."
He went over to Luke and placed his hand on his forehead. The kid was
burning up.
"When did he get like this?"
"Dunno," Harlan said, sighing.
Nick stripped off his clothes, realizing there was no way he could ever
return the tuxedo. It was good that when Joey had checked out the
clothes from the rental place he'd given a phony address.
"Where's Cyndra?" he asked, pulling on his jeans.
"Out with Joey." Harlan leaned against the door looking miserable.
"Tell you what," Nick said cheerfully. "Soon as Luke's better we'll go
to that movle.
"You said that before."
"Yeah, but this time I ain't gonna be stuck in Ripley with a broken
nose.
"You look funny," Harlan said, staring at him, his head to one side.
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
He wondered what Lauren was doing. After she dropped him at the gas
station he'd worked for a couple of hours, but it was so quiet he'd
finally made the trek home, picking up his bike from outside Dawn's
without ringing her doorbell. Joey hadn't been at work, so he had no
idea what the buzz around town was. He'd been planning on going back
to the drugstore to see Louise and Dave, but now he didn't feel he
should leave Luke.
"Anybody got a thermometer around here?" he asked.
Harlan gazed at him solemnly. "What that?"
"Forget it," he said. "Hang on, I'll ask Primo."
His father was in his usual position-stretched out like a sleeping
rhino, snoring heavily. The television was blaring, and there were
three cans of beer stacked in a row on the floor next to the bed. He
wore a torn undershirt and dirty underpants. A half-eaten bag of
potato chips spilled out on his chest.
Roughly Nick shook him until he came to, bleary-eyed and pucefaced.
"Whassamatter? Wass going' on?" he griped, burping loudly as he
hoisted himself into a sitting position. His rheumy eyes focused on
his son. "Wadda you wan'?"
"It's Luke," Nick said, trying to get through to him. "He's burnin'
hot an' just lyin' there."
"Ain't my problem." Primo yawned, automatically reaching for a beer.
"It could be if anythin' happens to him," Nick said, hating his father
even more, if that was possible.
"Whyn't ya tell Aretha." Primo's attention was now taken by a
bikini-clad blonde with jiggling tits cavorting across the television
screen.
"She's at work," he said shortly.
"Quit botherin' me. Throw a bucket a water over him-that'll cool him
down till she gets back." Primo reached into his underpants to scratch
hi
s crotch. "An' don't tell her bout Luke till she done fixin' my
supper.
For a moment Nick stood there trying to figure out what to do.
Then he spotted the keys to the van on the table and swiped them on his
way out. Fuck Primo. Fuck the fat pig.
By the time he got back to the other trailer Luke was breathing
funnily.
He made a fast decision. "We're takin' him into town," he told
Harlan.
"Wrap him in a couple of blankets an' let's get movin'."
"Sit down, Aretha Mae," Benjamin Browning said.
Aretha Mae hovered in the doorway of his study, her expression wary and
suspicious. "Why?"
Benjamin picked up a silver pen from his desktop and twirled it between
his thick fingers. He did not relish the job Daphne had landed him
with, the sooner it was done the better. "Because I say so," he said
irritably. "Come in. Close the door behind you and sit down,
goddamnit."
She did as he requested, albeit reluctantly. Once she was seated he
swiveled his leather chair at an angle so that he didn't have to look
her in the eye.
"Yes?" Her voice betrayed her impatience.
"I am terminating your employment," he said coldly.
She was startled. "What you sayin'?"
"I'm firing you. Your services are no longer required."
A nerve twitched beneath her left eye. "Oh, they ain't, huh?"
"Mrs. Browning and I have decided you deserve six weeks severance pay
on account of your years of service with us." He passed a signed check
across the desk. "Mrs. Browning has requested that you do not return
to work after today. Is that clear?"
"Clear . . ." she muttered.
He thought she was accepting her termination without argument.
Thank God for that.
"Well . . ." he said, willing her to go quietly. "That's all."
"That's all," she repeated his words, not moving.
"You may go," he said, dismissing her with a cursory wave.
Aretha Mae stood up, placed both hands on his desk and glared at him.
"I ain't going' nowhere, you son of a bitch," she said, forcing him to
make eye contact.
He'd known she would try to cause trouble. It was too much to expect
that she would go quietly. Once . . . many years ago when she'd first
come to work for them, she'd been lovely. Young and vibrant with long
legs, big breasts and a sassy smile-just like Cyndra -a juicy little
piece, hot and sexy. Now, seventeen years later, she was a dried-up,
bitter old woman. Skinny and wild-eyed with sunken cheeks and dyed red
hair. Even Daphne had aged better than her, and Daphne was ten years
older. Not that he fucked his wife anymore, but once a year on their
anniversary he made her get down on her knees and give him a suck. He
knew how much she hated it, and it gave him immense pleasure to watch
his penis vanish into that scarlet slash of a mouth. Daphne didn't
dare refuse him. Daphne would never give up the grand title of Mrs.
Browning.
"I'm firing you," he repeated. "Don't you understand English? You
have to go."
"No such thing as Aretha Mae havin' t'do nothin'," she snapped, sitting
back down. "No such thing, an' you know it."
He threw his silver pen down on the desk, full of exasperation. "I'll
double your severance pay if that's what you're after. Three months'
wages and out of here today."
"Ain't going'," she said stubbornly.
Now he was getting really angry. "Why not?"
"Cause three months down the line I ain't got no job, no money, no
nothin'."
"You can find another job."
"In Bosewell? No shit? What other family got themselves a full-time
maid?"
"There's always work in the paper factory or the canning plant."
She jumped up again. "No!" she said forcefully. "I work here-an'
this is where I stay."
He was silent for a moment before saying, "What do you want?"
"Same money I'se getting' now for the rest of my natural life. An'
five thousand dollars in the bank for my Cyndra. Oh, yeah, an' a
lawyer's letter t'say I gets it regular."
"That's blackmail."
"Then the whole town gets t'know who Cyndra's daddy is, an' the filthy
things you done t'her."
"What are you saying?"
"You know what I'se sayin'. Cyndra's your child."
Benjamin paled. "It's . . . it's not possible."
"That it is."
"How?"
"Remember when I first came t'work here?"
His throat constricted. "Yes."
"You was chasin' me day an' night-soon as your wife left the house you
was after me-an' I was sleepin' in that room down in the basement.
Well, one night you came there, held your hand over my mouth, an'
shoved your thing inside me even though I didn't want it."
"You wanted it," he said angrily. "After the first time you were
begging for it."
"You got me pregnant an' I didn't know what t'do. So I ended up
marryin' the first man who'd have me-an' we moved t' the trailer
park.
Thing is, when I told him I was pregnant he ran out on mean' all these
years I been alone. But I kept on workin' for you-an' you kept on
pokin' me till I wasn't young nuff for you no more."
"My wife and I supported you, and this is how you pay us backby
lying?"
She gave a hollow laugh. "Supported me-shee-it! I worked my black ass
off for you an' your family, an' don' you forget it. Washin' your
dirty underdrawers, cleanin' the shit in your johns, wipin' up all the
mess.
"And now you're going to blackmail me with this far-fetched story?"
"I'm gonna get what's right for me an' that child of yours."
"She's not my child," he said vehemently.
"Want me t'tell the town bout how you was screwin' me all those
years?
Want me to tell them how you raped your own daughter?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"Honey," she said bitterly. "I ain't got nuttin' t'lose. How bout
you?" Nick drove the van to the drugstore, parked in back and entered
through the kitchen, grabbing Louise as she passed by carrying an order
of ham and eggs.
She stopped and let out a whistle. "Lookit you! Your damn face is one
big mess.
"I need a doctor," he said urgently.
"Seems like you shoulda thought of that before."
"Not for me. Luke's sick-my kid brother. I got him in the van.
Who can I take him to?"
"Gee . . ." She hesitated. "Doc Marshall's away, an' Doc Sheppard
don't like bein' bothered at home."
"Where does he live?"
She placed her order on the counter and gave him her full attention.
"What's wrong with the kid?"
"I dunno. He's hot, can't breathe good."
"Maybe I should take a look before you go waking up Doc Sheppard-he's
an ornery old bastard." She untied her apron. "Hey, Dave," she
yelled, "I'm takin' a break, have Cheryl fill in."
Out in the van Luke was shivering uncontrollably. Harlan sat beside
him looking miserable.
"Thought you said he was hot," Louise said accusingly, p
lacing a hand
on the child's forehead. "Oh, , yeah-he's hot, all right."
"What do you think it is?" Nick asked.
"Dunno. But it ain't good." She climbed into the van. "Let's go.
We'll wake up old Doc Sheppard. Hang a left, then take the second
street on the right. An', Nick-put your foot down."
The bus ride took longer than ever. Aretha Mae sat by the window
gazing out. usually she let her mind go blank-ridding herself of the
cares of the day. But today she was filled with pent-up
emotionsfeelings she hadn't allowed to surface for seventeen years.