Indelible (10 page)

“My what?”

She indicated the kitchen. “That's what your friend called me.”

To his credit, he looked annoyed. “She's just—”

“Thinking I'm one of your sluts?” Sara finished, her throat straining even as she whispered. “Because that's what she pretty much said, that I'm one of your sluts.”

He tried his smile again. “Sara, honey—”

“Don't you
dare
call me that, you asshole.”

“I didn't—”

She fought to keep her tone low. “I don't know who the hell you think you are, dragging me all the way down here below the damn Gnat Line just to embarrass me, but I don't appreciate it and you've got about two seconds to say goodbye to these people, because I'm driving back to Grant right now and I don't give a damn whether you're in the car or not.”

About three seconds passed before he burst into laughter. “My God,” he said. “That's more than you've said to me the entire trip.”

Sara was so furious that she punched him in the shoulder as hard as she could.

“Ow,” he said, rubbing the spot.

“Mr. Big Football Player can't take a hit?” She punched him again. “Why didn't you tell me you played football?”

“I thought everybody knew.”

“How would I know that?” she demanded. “Rhonda at the bank?” He grabbed her hand before she could punch him again. “That slut at the sign shop?” She tried to get her hand back but he held her too tightly.

“Honey—” He stopped himself with a grin that said he was humoring her. “Sara.”

“You think I don't know you've screwed practically every woman in town?”

He took on a wounded look. “They were just place-holders while I waited for you.”

“You are so full of shit.”

He stepped toward her, reaching out to put his hands on her waist. “Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?”

She tried to push him away, but he backed her toward the wall. Sara felt the familiar weight of his body press into her, but all she could think about was the fact that his friends were right outside the door watching. She expected him to give her a passionate kiss or make some other show of his manly prowess, followed by a victory lap around the pool and a high-five from Possum, but all he did was kiss her forehead and say, “I haven't been back here in six years.”

She stared at him, mostly because his face was less than two inches away from hers.

Suddenly, the door banged open, and one of the most gorgeous men Sara had seen outside of a fashion magazine sauntered into the house. He was as tall as Jeffrey but with broader shoulders and more swagger.

When he opened his mouth, he spoke with the sexiest Southern drawl Sara had every heard. “You too scared to introduce me to your new girl, Slick?”

“Course not,” Jeffrey said, slipping a proprietary arm around Sara's waist. “Honey, this is Spot. He and Possum were my best friends growing up.”

“Still waiting on this one to finish,” the man said, feigning a punch at Jeffrey. “And it's Robert now.”

Possum called from outside, “One 'a y'all fetch me them burgers from the fridge.”

Robert said, “Slick, why don't you handle that?” then took Sara by the arm and led her down the hall before Jeffrey could stop them.

Robert opened the screen door for Sara, asking, “How was your trip over?”

“Good,” she told him, though that was debatable.
She cast about for something positive to say. “My God, what a gorgeous yard.”

Possum beamed. “Nell loves being outside.”

“It shows,” Sara said, meaning it. Lush flowers bloomed all over the place, spilling out of pots on the deck, climbing up the wooden fence. A huge magnolia tree shaded a hammock at the back of the yard, and several holly trees added contrast to the fence line. Except for the barking dogs next door, the yard was an oasis.

“Whoa,” Robert said, bumping into her as the dog shot past them.

“Tig!” Possum yelled halfheartedly as the dog dove into the pool. She swam a lap across, climbed out, then rolled around in the grass, kicking her legs in the air.

“Man,” Possum said. “What I wouldn't do for that life.”

The woman sitting by the pool looked over her shoulder. “She learned everything from Jeffrey.” She indicated the chair beside her. “Come sit by me, Sara. I'm not as horrible as Nell.”

Sara gladly took the offer.

“Jessie,” the woman introduced herself. She indicated Robert with a lazy wave of her hand. “That specimen's my husband.” She pronounced the word “huzz-bun,” managing with her tone to make it sound slightly pornographic.

Sara offered, “He seems nice.”

“They all do at first,” she said offhandedly. “How long have you known Slick?”

“Not long,” Sara confessed, wondering if every
one here had a nickname. She was getting the distinct impression that Jessie was probably worse than Nell. She was just more polite about it. Judging by the woman's breath, a liberal dose of alcohol was responsible for her mellow tone.

“They're all a tight little group,” Jessie commented, leaning over to pick up a glass of wine. “I'm new in town, which means I've only been here twenty years. I moved from LA during my freshman year.”

Sara guessed from her accent she meant Lower Alabama.

“Robert's a cop, just like Jeffrey. Isn't that nice? I call 'em Mutt and Jeff, only Jeffrey hates being called Jeff.” She took a healthy swallow of wine. “Possum runs the store over by the Tasty Dog. You should meet his and Nell's children, especially the oldest. He's a beautiful little boy. Children are such a joy to have around. Isn't that right, Bob?”

“What's that, sugar?” Robert asked, though Sara was certain he had heard her.

Nell sat down beside Sara, handing her a bottle of beer. “Peace offering,” she said.

Sara took it, though beer had always tasted like swill to her. She forced herself to make an effort, saying, “You've got a beautiful yard.”

Nell inhaled deeply, then exhaled, “The azaleas bloomed and went away quicker than spit. Neighbor's never home to take care of his dogs so they bark all day. I can't get rid of the fire ants by the hammock and Jared keeps coming in with poison ivy, but for the life of me, I can't figure out where he's getting
it.” She paused for another breath. “But thank you. I try.”

Sara turned to include Jessie in the conversation, but the other woman's eyes were closed.

“She's probably passed out.” Nell fanned herself with her hand. “God, I was such a bitch to you.”

Sara did not argue.

“I'm not normally so testy. If Jessie was awake, she'd tell you otherwise, but you can't trust a woman who drinks a whole bottle of wine before four in the afternoon, and I'm not just talking on Sundays.” She swatted a fly. “She tell you about being new here?”

Sara nodded, trying to keep up.

“You should be glad she passed out. Couple'a more minutes she'd be telling you how she always depends on the kindness of strangers.”

Sara took a sip of beer.

“Slick hasn't been back here in forever. Left town like he was running through hell with gasoline britches on.” She paused. “I guess I was mad at him and took it out on you.” She put her hand on Sara's chair. “What I'm saying is I'm sorry I showed my ass.”

“Thank you for apologizing.”

“I near about cracked up when you said that about the balloon animals.” She laughed. “He told me you were a doctor, but I didn't believe him.”

“Pediatrician,” Sara confirmed.

Nell sat back in the chair. “You have to be smart to get into medical school, right?”

“Pretty much.”

She nodded appreciatively. “Then I'll assume you know what you're doing with Jeffrey.”

“Thank you,” Sara told her, and meant it. “You're the first person I've met who's said that.”

Nell turned serious, looking at Sara with something like pity. “Don't be surprised if I'm the last.”

D
uring the five hours she spent at Nell's, Sara found out more about Jeffrey Tolliver than she had in three months of dating him. Jeffrey's mother was a confirmed alcoholic and his father was serving time in prison for something no one was very specific about. Jeffrey had dropped out of Auburn two classes away from graduating and joined the police force without telling anybody why. He was an excellent dancer and he hated lima beans. He was definitely not the marrying kind, but Sara did not need Nell to tell her this. Jeffrey radiated the words “confirmed bachelor.”

Considering Nell had managed to mumble most of these details under her breath during a particularly competitive game of Trivial Pursuit, Sara was only privy to the headlines and none of the details behind them. It was pitch dark by the time they left the group, and as Sara and Jeffrey walked down the street toward his mother's house, she tried to think of a way to find out more.

She settled on “So, what does your mother do?”

“Different things,” he said, not offering anything else.

“And your dad?”

He switched her suitcase to his other hand and wrapped his arm around her. “You seem like you had a good time tonight.”

“Nell's just full of insight.”

“She likes the sound of her own voice.” He slid his hand to her hip. “I wouldn't believe everything she says.”

“Why is that?”

His hand slid lower as he nuzzled her neck. “You smell good.”

She got the message, but did not exactly change the subject. “Are you sure your mother won't mind us staying over?”

“I called her from Nell's a few hours ago,” Jeffrey said. “You remember when Nell was telling you my life story?” He gave her a look that said he knew exactly what had been going on with Nell, though Sara had to assume Jeffrey would not have taken her to meet his friends without knowing exactly what would happen.

She decided to call him on it. “This is a pretty cheap way for me to find out all about your life without you having to say a word.”

“I told you, I wouldn't believe everything Nell has to say.”

“She's known you since you were both six.”

“She's not exactly my biggest fan.”

Sara finally picked up on the tension between them. “Don't tell me you dated her, too?”

He didn't answer, which she took for an affirmation. “It's right here,” he said, indicating a house with a beat-up Chevy Impala parked in the driveway. Even though Jeffrey had called ahead, his mother hadn't bothered to leave on any lights for them. The house was completely dark.

Sara hesitated. “Shouldn't we stay in a hotel?”

He laughed, helping her as her foot caught on some loose gravel. “There aren't any hotels here except the one behind the bar that truck drivers rent by the hour.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Maybe for some of them,” he suggested, leading her up the front steps. Even in the darkness, Sara could tell the house was one of the ones that had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Jeffrey warned her, “Watch that board,” as he slid his hand along the top of the doorframe.

“She locks her door?”

“We were robbed when I was twelve,” he explained, jiggling the key in the lock. “She's lived in fear ever since.” The door stuck at the bottom and he used his foot to push it open. “Welcome.”

The smell of nicotine and alcohol was overwhelming, and Sara was glad the darkness hid her expression. The house was stifling and she could not imagine spending the night, let alone living here.

“It's okay,” he said, indicating she should go in.

She lowered her voice, “Shouldn't we be quiet?”

“She can sleep through a hurricane,” Jeffrey said, closing the door behind him. He locked it with the
key, then, judging from the sound, dropped the key into a glass bowl.

Sara felt his hand on her elbow. “Back this way,” he said, walking close behind her. She took about four steps through the front room before she felt the dining room table in front of her. Three more steps and Sara was in a small hallway, where a nightlight revealed a bathroom in front of her and two closed doors on either side. He opened the door on the right and followed her through, closing the door again before he turned on the light.

“Oh,” Sara said, blinking at the small room. A twin bed with green sheets and no blanket was pushed into the corner under a window. Posters of half-naked women were taped around the walls, with Farrah Fawcett given a place of prominence over the bed. The closet door was the only departure from the decorating scheme: a poster showed a cherry red convertible Mustang with an exaggerated blonde leaning over the hood—probably because the weight of her enhanced breasts prevented her from standing up straight.

“Lovely,” Sara managed, wondering how bad the hotel was.

Jeffrey seemed embarrassed for the first time since she had met him. “My mother hasn't changed things much since I left.”

“I can see that,” she said. Still, part of Sara was intrigued. As a teenager, her parents had made it clear that boys' rooms were off-limits and Sara had therefore missed the experience. While the Farrah Fawcett poster was predictable, there was something else to the room, some sort of essence. The smell of
cigarette smoke and bourbon did not exist here. Testosterone and sweat had muscled it out.

Jeffrey put her suitcase flat on the floor and unzipped it for her. “I know it's not what you're used to,” he said, still sounding embarrassed. She tried to catch his eye, but he was busy sorting through his duffel bag. She realized from his posture that he was ashamed of the house and what she must be thinking about him for growing up here. The room looked different in light of this, and Sara noticed how neatly everything had been arranged and the fact that the posters were hung equidistant, as if he had used a ruler. His house back in Grant County reflected this need for orderliness. Sara had only been there a few times, but from what she had seen, he kept everything exactly in its place.

“It's fine,” she assured him.

“Yeah,” he said, though not in agreement. He found his toothbrush. “I'll be right back.”

Sara watched him leave, pulling the door shut quietly behind him. She took advantage of the situation and quickly changed into her pajamas, all the while keeping her eye on the door in case his mother walked in. Nell had not sounded exactly complimentary when she had talked about May Tolliver, and Sara did not want to meet the woman with her pants down.

Sara sat on the floor and went through her suitcase, looking for her hairbrush. She found it wrapped up in a pair of shorts and managed to remove her hair clip without tearing out too much of her curly, tangled hair. She looked around the room as she brushed her hair, taking in the posters and the vari
ous items Jeffrey had collected throughout his childhood. On the windowsill were several dried bones that had once been in a small animal. The bedside table, which looked homemade, had a small lamp and a green bowl with a handful of loose change. Track ribbons were scattered on a bulletin board, and a milk crate held cassette tapes with song titles typewritten neatly across the labels. Across from where she sat was a makeshift bookshelf of two-by-fours and bricks, stacked end to end with books. Where Sara had been expecting comic books and the occasional Hardy Boys, she found thick tomes with titles such as
Strategic Battles of the Civil War
and
The Socio-Political Ramifications of Reconstruction in the Rural South.

She put down the brush and picked up the least intimidating-looking textbook. Flipping to the front, she found Jeffrey's name, followed by a date and course information. Thumbing through the pages, she saw where he had taken copious notes in the margins, underlining and highlighting passages that were of interest. Sara was slightly shocked to realize that she was completely unfamiliar with Jeffrey's handwriting. He had never left her notes or written lists in her presence. Contrary to her own cramped printing, he wrote in a beautiful, flowing script, the kind they no longer taught in school. His
w
's were impeccable, transitioning neatly into adjoining vowels. The loops on his
g
's were all the same identical pattern, as if he had used a stencil to make them. He even wrote in a straight line, not diagonally like most people did without a baseline to follow.

She traced her finger along his notations, feeling the indentation the pencil had made in the page. The words seemed almost engraved, as if he had gripped the pencil too tightly.

“What are you doing?”

Sara felt a flicker of guilt, as if she had been caught reading his diary instead of a textbook from long ago. “The Civil War?”

He kneeled beside her, taking the book. “I majored in American History.”

“You're just full of surprises, Slick.”

He winced at the name as he slid the book back into place, lining it up carefully so that it was flush with the others. A thin line of dust marked the exact spot. He pulled out a slim leather-bound volume. Gold letters stamped the cover, saying, simply,
letters.

“Soldiers wrote these to their sweethearts back home,” Jeffrey said, thumbing through the fragile-looking book, turning to a page he must have known from heart. He cleared his throat and read, “‘My darling. Night comes and I lay awake, wondering at the character of the man I have become. I look at the velvet sky and wonder if you look up on these same stars, and pray that your mind holds on to the image of the man I was to you. I pray that you still see me.'”

Jeffrey stared at the words, a smile at his lips like he shared something secret with the book. He read the way he made love: deliberately, passionately, eloquently. Sara wanted him to continue, to lull her to sleep with the deep cadence of his voice, but he broke the spell with a heavy sigh.

“Anyway.” He tucked the book back into place, saying, “I should have sold these back when the classes ended, but I didn't have the heart.”

She wanted to ask him to continue, but said, “I kept some of mine, too.”

He sat down behind Sara, his legs on either side of her. “I couldn't afford to.”

“I wasn't exactly rich,” she told him, feeling defensive. “My father's a plumber.”

“Who owns half the town.”

Sara did not comment, hoping he would drop it. Eddie Linton had invested well in real estate down by the college, which Jeffrey had found out on a couple of landlord calls about soon-to-be-evicted noisy tenants. She supposed by Jeffrey's standards the Linton family was wealthy, but Sara and Tessa had grown up with the impression that they should never spend more money than what they had in their pockets—which was never much.

Jeffrey said, “I guess Nell told you about my dad.”

“A little.”

His laugh had a harsh edge to it. “Jimmy Tolliver was a small-time crook who thought he was walking into a big score. Two men were shot and killed robbing that bank, and now he's locked up with no chance of parole.” Jeffrey picked up the hairbrush. “You talk to anybody in town, they'll tell you I'm just as bad as he is.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Sara countered. She had worked with Jeffrey for a while now, and knew that he always went out of his way to do the right thing. His integrity was one of the main things that had attracted her to him.

He said, “I got into trouble a lot when I was a kid.”

“Most boys do.”

“Not with the police,” he countered, and she did not know what to say. He couldn't have been that bad or there was no police force in the country that would have accepted him, let alone given him the keys to the station house.

He added, “I imagine Nell gave you an earful about my mother.”

Sara did not answer.

He started to brush her hair. “Is that why you sucked at Trivial Pursuit? You were too busy trying to follow what Nell was saying?”

“I've never been good at board games.”

“What about other games?”

She closed her eyes, enjoying the stroking bristles. “I beat you at tennis,” she reminded him.

“I let you,” he said, though she knew he had nearly killed himself trying to win.

Jeffrey pulled back her hair and gently kissed her neck.

“We could have a rematch?” she suggested.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. He did something with his tongue that made her sink back into him without thinking.

She tried to sit up but he would not let her. She whispered, “Your mother is in the next room.”

“The toilet's in the next room,” he told her, slipping his hands under her shirt.

“Jeff—” She gasped as his hand dipped below her pajama bottoms. She stopped him before he could go any farther.

Jeffrey said, “Trust me, she can sleep through anything.”

“That's not the point.”

“I locked the door.”

“Why did you lock it if she can sleep through anything?”

He growled at her much the way he had growled over his high school teacher. “Do you know how many nights I laid awake in this very room when I was a kid, wishing I had a beautiful woman in here with me?”

“I seriously doubt I'm the first woman you've had here.”

“Here?” he asked, indicating the floor.

She twisted around so she could see him. “Do you think that's some kind of aphrodisiac, telling me how many women you've had in your bedroom?”

He scooted a few inches across the floor, dragging her with him. “You're the first one I've ever had
here.
”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Finally, a way to distinguish myself.”

“Stop that,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Or what?” she teased.

“I'm not playing around.”

“According to what I've heard—”

“I mean it, Sara. I'm not having fun.”

She stared at him, not following.