Inside Out (9 page)

Big, Rett's father, lay in his bed for a second, feeling warm and toasty. He didn't open his eyes. It was 3:00 a.m. He could feel it. He sat up and looked over at the clock: 3:00 a.m. Hot damn, he had a gift! Big looked over at his wife. She still was a fine-looking woman. And when she slept, she was a saint, too. Big smiled at that. He'd have one hell of a marriage if she'd just stay asleep one or two more hours every day. Then he actually chuckled and smacked her soundly on her rump.

“Damn, Big,” she moaned in a muffled but squirrelly voice. She sure as hell knew how to say his name right. She said it like syrup getting tipped out its jar: really slow, in a steady, warm stream. He smacked her again, even more firmly than the last time. She rolled away from him, taking her pillow with her. “Dammit, Big, why don't you just go on and go kill something already?”

Big grinned wide. He stood and stretched, touching the ceiling as he clasped his hands above his head. His height was how he got his name. By the time he was knee-high to a grasshopper -- well, hell, that was the point. He never
was
knee-high to a grasshopper. He had always been the biggest boy and man around. In college he played football for the Tide, and everybody was scared of him. A six foot, six inch man carrying more than two hundred seventy-five pounds of muscle on him makes anyone pause. Still, at fifty-five years old, though his stomach and chest had grown into a soft barrel and his back and knees hurt every time he moved, he was the man you asked questions in any given room. He put on his clothes, checked his guns, and went down the hall.

He pushed open the door to his son's room, went over to the bed and looked down at Rett. Big shook his head, more and more confused the more time he spent with his son.

“Why are you standing over me watching me sleep? I said I'd be up at 3:30.” Rett grinned before he opened his eyes. When he finally did open them and sat up, Big saw that he had slept in his camouflage. “Thought I wasn't going to be ready, huh?”

“That's my son!”

* * *

After he and Rett had been out for about an hour, he began. “Yeah, so…” he started, taking a swig of beer.

“Yeah?” Rett returned, drinking his own.

“Yeah. I was out in the plant yesterday with Brandon.” Big glanced sideways at his son. Rett's jawed twitched. Big knew he had him, but the boy didn't say anything. “We had a long conversation about this and that.” He glanced over again. “Yep. Just shooting the breeze, you know.”

“Yep,” Rett said hesitantly.

“Yeah, you know, Charles, that son of his, your friend, yeah, that boy can talk.”

Rett didn't say a word. He didn't even move. He was still enough to tag a nearby wild turkey, but he didn't even see it. Even though he wanted to, Big didn't think it was a time for him to tag it, either. Then he saw the thing take off. Just the thought had it on the run. Big smiled, then went back to the task at hand. “Yeah, he talks a lot. You have to watch out for people who talk, and especially what they talk about. Some things you do behind closed doors, and you should keep 'em there. “

“Oh, yeah?” Rett pulled his trigger, but missed what he'd been intending to hit.

“Yeah,” Big told him. You had to give it to his son. He was going be his own man regardless. “Son?”

“I hear ya, Dad. All right? I hear ya.”

One Tuesday night, Garrett called to say he wouldn't be there early enough for dinner, something had come up. So instead of having dinner at home alone—something Tracey had never had a problem with before—she went over to Monica's. By the time she got there, Gary and Lena had already eaten and were getting ready for bed. Maurice had gone back to work to prepare for an audit. That left Moni and her thirteen-year-old, Tamia.

As they sat there talking over the kitchen table, Tracey had the longest conversation with a teenager she'd had since she
was
one. At the center, she did what she could to listen and connect and be there for the girls in her group. However, more often than not, she still felt like an outsider. Was she supposed to relate to them just because she was black? Never mind that the way she grew up was grossly different from the way they did. But talking to Tamia was different. The girl was so sensitive and intelligent and inquisitive. She reminded Tracey so much of herself at that age it was almost uncanny.

Tracey enjoyed talking to her and would have continued if she hadn't glimpsed the clock on the microwave. It was nine-thirty.

“Yeah, well, I think I'm going to head home,” she breathed.

“I do have to work in the morning,” Monica agreed, yawning. Tracey gathered her things. “You know, Tracey, Tam reminds me a lot of you,” Moni told her as they stood in her driveway. It was a very warm night for the beginning of December, even though strong wind blew against them.

“How so?”

Monica smiled almost wistfully. “Because she doesn't fit anywhere, either. Or at least she doesn't think she does. She's unhappy, too.” There was nothing for Tracey to say. She put her arms across her chest. “She never got along with any of the kids in public school,” Moni continued. “She cried all the time that nobody liked her, mainly other girls who got a kick out of ganging up on her. I love my baby, but she is such a gentle soul. There was nothing I could do. Me, a psychologist, nothing I could do. This new school's better for her. She's got friends. A bunch of little white girls, but friends. I think the hardest part for me is that I don't really understand where she's coming from sometimes. I was born and raised in the projects. I had five brothers and sisters that went down the road before me. They lit the path so I never had a problem finding my way. And not just that. Everybody I knew had the same life I did. Rico has a similar background, too. That helped.”

“But you and your brothers and sisters went to school and you got a medical degree and—”

“And those were things my parents insisted that all of us do. And even in college, I knew plenty of people in the same situation. Around here Tam's been the exception. Kind of. Rico and I have plenty of people we associate with that have kids with similar backgrounds. But Tamia doesn't get along with any of them, either.” Tracey nodded. It all sounded too familiar. “She likes you, Tracey. I really haven't seen her connect the way she connects to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

* * *

Heavy thoughts followed Tracey home but dissipated at the door. Rett was already there listening to music they both enjoyed. Tracey joined him. He snuggled close to her, sometimes putting his arm around her, sometimes kissing her. It still scared Tracey how her body responded to his. She wondered when she would get used to it, when he would touch her and she would feel warm, not hot.

She could barely keep her mind on anything as he did this, and he seemed so comfortable about it all, as if it was the most natural thing. And then, as she always did, she got caught up in the way he smelled. His own special and irresistible scent reminded her of how his lips kissed hers and saturated her mind with visions of the night before. Like always, she couldn't tell him what she wanted, but he looked up at her and stroked the side of her arm. When he stood, she followed him into the bedroom.

* * *

Walking through the ANM that Friday evening, Tracey saw a girl about an inch shorter than her, maybe five feet, nine inches, with ash blonde hair almost down to her waist. She had pale hazel eyes and was pin-up girl pretty with naturally pursed lips and a healthy blush on her cheeks. She had a little silver stud in her nose and a tattoo on the side of her arm that looked like a dragon climbing through a flaming number seventy-six. She caught Tracey staring and smiled curiously. Tracey smiled back, then averted her gaze.

The blonde girl walked up to the counter with her selections and a conversation started between her and Jenna, the same girl that had nearly thrown her panties at Garrett the last time Tracey was there.

Tracey didn't intend to eavesdrop.

“Jenna,” the blonde said, “you are so not his type it's ridiculous.”

“I could be his type,” Jenna retorted, licking her highly glossed lips. “I could be whatever he wanted me to be, he's so damn sexy.”

Uh, hello?
Tracey thought.
Customer standing here.

“Trust me. You wouldn't get anywhere.” The girl leaned over and put her hand on Jenna's shoulder.

“Why? You think I'd have a problem kicking Kim's ass?”

“Jenna, you couldn't kick a blind, deaf, and dumb four-year-old's ass. This is Angie you're talkin' to. I know my brother.”

Tracey's eyes zeroed in on the girl. Pale hazel eyes, lazy smile, same accent. Tracey couldn't figure out which emotion had her pulse racing. Anger? Indignation?

Angie returned the smile and handed Jenna her check. She grabbed her videos as Jenna began to ring Tracey up.

“Student ID?” Jenna asked her politely. She told herself she shouldn't care that she didn't remember her. Of course she didn't remember her. She probably had a brain tumor from hyperactive cell phone usage.

Angie continued, “I'm actually kind of worried about him. Something's up with Rett and I'm not sure what it is.”

Tracey's knees buckled.

“Hell, it's probably law school, Angie. Did you think about that? I mean, from what I hear, nobody's seen him around lately since he's been studying. Clay told me he's at the library late almost every night.”

“Yeah, I guess, but we had dinner last night and he was just so distracted. And speaking of Clay, your brother is out of his mind….”

Tracey didn't start to breathe until five minutes after she got home. She dialed Rett's number. In two seconds she hung up. What was she going to say? Was she supposed to ask him why he hadn't mentioned that his sister was in school with them? Did it matter? Was she angry? Tracey didn't even know if she had a right to be angry. Did she have any rights where he was concerned? At the very least she was hurt, but… She turned off all the lights in her house and went in the bathroom to think, or maybe sulk, but not to cry. She refused to cry.

Tracey heard him pull up and the motor of his SUV die. The quiet in the house was so pure that she could even hear his footfalls on the gravel in the drive. He came to the door and knocked. She hoped he would go away. She really hoped he would just think she was gone away with a friend and leave. But then she heard the sound of his key click in the door. Tracey regretted the day she let him have it. He came in calling her name. She didn't call back. Tracey saw yellow light seep in beneath the door. She would have to live through the moment. She stood up, trying to calm herself enough to walk out a rational, thinking person.

Just before she could act and open the door, it was opened for her and light rained into the small chrome and white linoleum room.

“Why are you hiding in the bathroom?”

“I saw Angie tonight. At the ANM.”

“Baby,” he breathed. “I was going to tell you about her. I was.”

“You don't have to tell me anything.”

“I don't have to, but babe, I know I should have.”

“Go, Garrett. Just please go.” Her voice was so choked, she barely heard it herself.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, headlights flashed through the window. Rett's SUV pulled into the drive. Tracey couldn't believe he had come back. She went out of the bathroom and stood in the living room facing the door. He came in, followed by his sister, Angie who was wearing combat boots and pajamas. She looked over at Tracey, then at Rett, as if looking for reassurance.

“Angie, this is Tracey. Tracey, this is my sister Angie.” He closed the door, then sat down on the sofa rubbing his temples.

She couldn't believe he had brought his sister over, introduced them.

Angie cleared her throat loudly into the silence. “Uh, hi. Tracey, is it? Do you happen to know why my brother got me out of bed to come over here, even though he knows I have practice at six o'clock in the morning?”

“You didn't say anything to her?” Tracey asked him, upset that he seemed to be leaving this for her to explain.

“Wait a minute…wait a minute,” she gasped. “You're that girl from the video store yesterday… Are you
dating
my brother?”

Tracey didn't know exactly how to answer since they had never technically gone out on a date. She didn't think it'd be appropriate to say that she was potentially in love with and sleeping with him, but no, they weren't dating.

A light dawned in Angie's eyes. Then she sat on Tracey's sofa and stared at her brother with her mouth open.

Garrett ignored her. “Tracey, I've always meant to tell you she's an undergrad here. I wanted to introduce you before now, but you didn't want—”

When he didn't finish his sentence, Angie looked from him to Tracey, then back again. “She didn't want what?”

“None of your business,” he growled, protecting Tracey.

“Hey, you got me out of bed to come here, not the other way around.
Something
is my business.”

Angie was here now. She knew the most important part. She might as well know everything. “He was going to say that I didn't want anyone to know we were together.”

“
You
didn't want anyone to know?” she questioned incredulously.

“I don't like the way you said that.”

She laughed. “Well, I'm sorry. But it's usually the other way around.”

“I don't know who
you
know or what you think your experience tells you about me, but that's the situation.”

“I didn't mean to offend, I just know my brother and he's more likely—”

“Angie,” Rett warned.

“Whereas I am the reject of the family and will date whoever I please—”
That was interesting news
. “—my brother is the most clean-cut, All-American, wannabe Southern gentleman you will ever meet. He hangs out on the strip. He wears khaki pants, tucked-in plaid shirts, and
duck shoes,
for Chrissakes. That's the way it's been in my family for generations. He played football in high school. He and my dad go hunting every fall. He goes to church every Sunday, even here at school. He's got friends named Clay and Hunter and, yes, one they call Bubba. Even if his skin's always tan, he's the whitest white boy I know. Hell, his name is Rett, and you're sure as hell not Scarlett. I mean, I can't see him with a black woman without him being called ‘Massah Rett' somewhere in the process!”

“Will you just shut up, Angie?” he roared at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Tracey, I was just tryin' to explain to you why I was in shock. I'm sure you know what I'm talkin' about.”

Tracey didn't answer her. Just like that, she hated Garrett's sister. In fact, Tracey got up and left the room. She went in the bedroom and held her breath. She counted to ten. She could hear them in the living room bickering. Tracey didn't like Angie's quick and surgical verbalization of the situation. It was all too true. But where Garrett and she had settled into things, never even saying the words ‘black' or ‘white' in that respect, she was putting everything out on a platter in front of them. This chick wasn't pulling any punches.

Tracey breathed out slowly, then counted to ten again. The counting and breathing thing was way overrated.

“Tracey?” It was Angie.

She turned to watch Angie enter the bedroom. “What do you want?”

“To apologize. I get carried away sometimes, and I forget. Rett's used to me, but you're not. I shouldn't have said all that. But can I tell you something?” she asked, coming to stand in front of Tracey.

“I don't know….”

“Please, just hear this. Be careful. My brother is very charming and persuasive and selfish. He doesn't have a chivalrous bone in his body that's not connected to the ‘him-getting-what-he-wants' bone. Don't get wrapped up in him.”

“Huh?”

“Don't get pissed, but I don't see him being in a long term relationship with you.”

Hurt pelted Tracey's insides like hailstones. “As he said, I'm the one who wants the relationship to stay the way it is. Not him.”

“Or so you think. Don't take it to heart that I'm here, that he introduced me and you. I know it seems like a grand romantic gesture, but I'm his sister and I'm the black sheep. I am the
only
one who he's been one hundred percent honest with. I am the only one he could trust with something like this without worrying about what I'll say or do or think. He can tell me anything and I'll love him no matter what. That's how close we are. It doesn't mean he'll ever acknowledge—”

“I don't need him to acknowledge me!”

She placed her hand on Tracey's arm. Tracey shrugged it off roughly. “I'm sure he cares about you or he wouldn't have bothered. He wouldn't have gone to this kind of trouble. Especially not if he'd slept with you already, but I'm right about my brother.”

Tracey's bottom lip trembled and she tried to think of something to say.

“You don't know me. So why are you telling me this?”