June in August (2 page)

“He came right after you left. He’s a good man. Sarah Jane, she got in the family way a while back. He referred her to…someone.”

Wylie looked pointedly at my hand. “I see you haven’t got a ring on your finger. Does that mean you said no to the proposal you were expecting from Peter Johnson?”

“Told you I would in the letters.”

Wiley smiled. “Bet your momma had a fit.”

“She wouldn’t speak to me for a week. She couldn’t understand why I’d say no.”

“Why did you, June?”

I shrugged. “I guess because I’m not in love with him.”

“Course not, who in their right mind could love a man named Peter Johnson? He’d probably want to name your first child Richard and call him Dick.”

I blushed again. I could feel the burn down to the tips of my toes. I lifted the Coke bottle and pressed the cool glass to my cheek. I closed my eyes for a moment and licked my lips. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say or where to look. When I opened them Wylie was standing right in front of me.

“Do that again,” he said, reaching up and placing his hand on the back of my neck. His thumb began to trace a path from behind my ear to the crook of my shoulder. Instinctively I leaned into his touch.

“Do what?” I asked, sounding breathless.

Wylie bit his lower lip and in a voice rough with passion said, “Wet your lips.”

Suddenly I felt every bit as young and inexperienced as I was. I’d been kissed before, of course. But I’d never gone further. Never felt the need to. Never wanted to.

“Allow me,” said Wylie as he leaned down, ever so slowly.

He brushed his lips across mine. They barely touched. Then his tongue darted out and swept across my lower lip. He pulled back slightly and sighed leaning his forehead against mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath on the side of my cheek as he exhaled out through his nose. He reached behind my head and pulled out the comb that held my hair in place. The loosened curls tumbled down my back and he ran his hands through them. Wiley pulled me in closer, wrapping one strong arm around my waist.

“You should stop me,” he said as he turned me around and pressed my back against the side of the car.

I reached out and wrapped my hands around his biceps. “And why would I want to do that?”

“Because you deserve better than me. I don’t seem to be able to sleep at night anymore. When I do sleep, I have nightmares. That’s why I didn’t move back into the house. I didn’t want to keep everyone up, didn’t want to worry them.”

We were so close. I could feel the buckle of his jeans pressing into my stomach. He was aroused, I could feel that too, and the excitement it brought made me shudder despite the sweltering heat.

“You can’t possibly be cold,” he whispered into the shell of my ear.

“Cold?” I gasped. “Lord, no! I don’t think I’ve ever been so… God, Wiley! I feel…”

He took my face in the palms of his calloused hands and crushed his lips to mine. The second he did, I realized that I had never before in my life been kissed, not really. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth causing me to moan. I felt him smile as he tugged on it gently with his teeth. It caused a pressure to begin building in my belly. I wanted to reach for something more, but I wasn’t sure what that was, so I just held on, my fingers digging into his arms.

Wiley released my lip and then smoothly slid his tongue inside my waiting mouth. He tasted slightly of tobacco. At first I just let him kiss me. His exploration turned tender, his movements slow and deliberate. It was almost as if he were committing the territory to memory. Perhaps, like me, he just wanted to savor the moment.

His hands slid around my waist and down my back. He shifted his hips a bit so that his leg was positioned between mine. He squeezed my bottom and tugged me closer still. I could feel the skirt of my dress begin to ride up, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was the delicious sensations that were coursing through me. The rough fabric of his blue jeans between my thighs caused a tingle, the kind that I’d read about in romance novels. The kind that made you want more, the kind that promised so much. It felt wonderful and wicked and then suddenly…it was gone.

Wiley pulled away from me and rushed outside. I was left flushed and panting. My legs felt weak. I leaned against the truck and only vaguely paid attention to the conversation that he was having with the stranger at the pump. I hadn’t even heard the man pull up. I smoothed down my skirt and picked the comb up off of the floor. I was certain that my lipstick was smudged and that my hair was a sight. I leaned down and peered into the side mirror of the truck to assess the damage.

I was wiping what was left of my lipstick off when he returned. His approach was so quiet that I hadn’t realized he was behind me until his hands were on my waist.

“I’m suffering from a moral dilemma, June,” he said as he leaned over. Molding his body to mine. His hips against by bottom, his chest curved over my back. “If I don’t apologize I’m afraid that you’ll think I’m horrible. If I do, then I’d be lying for sure. Should I apologize?”

His breathing was deep and measured, just like his voice. I let is wash over me. I reached back and curved my hand around his neck. I didn’t answer him right away. I breathed in his scent and soaked up the feel of him, comparing it all to the conjured dreams that had kept me wanting and ready while he’d been away.

“No. Please don’t say you’re sorry, Wiley.”

His arms tightened around my waist and he said my name. It was almost as if he was assuring himself that I was there.

“June.”

“Yes, Wiley?”

He turned me around and gazed into my eyes, seemingly searching for the answer to a question he was afraid to ask. He threaded his fingers through my hair and began to massage the muscles at the base of my skull. My head lolled back exposing my neck. How I wanted to feel his mouth on it, hot and wet. That’s when it occurred to me.

“I haven’t been with anyone, Wiley. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

I lifted my head and my next words caught in my throat at the obvious look of shame on his face.

He stepped back, releasing his hold on me and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He turned away from me, his shoulders hunched, his confidence suddenly gone. “I’m sorry, June. Not for wanting you so badly, I’m not sorry about that. I’m sorry for losing control. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be with a proper lady.”

“You’ve been with other girls.” I said it before even thinking. It sounded stupidly accusing. Of course he had been with other girls, with women. Why on earth would I have ever thought otherwise? Wiley was three years older than me, a man of the world now. And, it was 1969. Make love, not war. He’d probably been with several women, several at the same time even, smoking grass and listening to rock music while they…

“June?”

“Huh?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“No. I…I was imagining…”

“What?”

“Oh, Wiley! I think I should go. I don’t know what I was thinking. How I could have… You’re so much more older and experienced and I’ve never even let a boy get to third base, never mind smoked grass or participated in wild sex orgies.”

I grabbed my purse and started to look through it frantically for my keys, forgetting for the moment that Wiley had them.

“Who’s been participating in wild sex orgies? Wow, and I thought the fact that a second gas station opened up while I was gone was big news. Does the Pastor know?”

“Not here! Oh, what did I do with my keys?”

I looked up and he was holding them out, dangling them in front of me. I grabbed for them and he pulled them out of reach.

“You’re such a contradiction. Cool linen covering red-hot passion, innocence and wantonness. Have dinner with me.”

“What? You want to have dinner with me?”

“Well, I’m a bit worn out from all the drugs and group sex that I’ve been having as of late. So, thought I’d stick to just dinner for tonight.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Wiley smiled and my anger immediately melted. It was a real smile, the kind he used to flash all the time.

“I moved into the old Turner place just down the street. It’s small, and there isn’t much there in the way of furniture yet, but it’s mine.”

He handed me a set of keys, not mine, his.

“I’ll be home after closing, around six o’clock. I’d love it if you were there. I’ll stop at the market and pick up some steaks, maybe a bottle of wine.”

“You drink now too?”

“It’s kind of expected at all the orgies.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, but Wiley was as quick as lightening.

“Will you be there, June?” he asked as he entwined his fingers with mine.

“Will you tell me about the orgies?”

“There haven’t been any orgies, Junebug. There have been girls since I’ve been gone, a few. I won’t lie to you about that. But… They’ve all been you.”

“Really?”

“I think about you while I’m awake and I dream about you while I sleep. I ache inside with want. Wanting to know you’re all right. Wanting to know what you’re thinking. Wanting to know if you ever think of me, if you ever think of me the way that I sometimes think of you. For as far back as I can remember I could look out from my bedroom window into yours. I wonder, now, if you ever looked back. I miss your smile and your laughter. I miss seeing your light shining at night. It was warm and inviting and it called to me, drawing me in. I asked your momma if she wouldn’t mind leaving it on as a favor to me. I told her it helped me remember that you promised to come home. She started crying when I asked her and waved me off the front porch, but she’s obliged ever since. Come home to me, Wiley. I’m waiting for you.

Love,

June.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “You memorized my letters?”

“Just the really good parts,” he said. “That was February 12, 1967. Will you be there when I get home?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come home to me for three years, Wiley Patton. I’ll be there.”

I remember walking down the street and turning off at the dirt road that was the driveway to what used to be the Turner place. Sue Ellen, their only daughter now lived in Austin with her family. Old man Turner had died years back of a heart attack while he was mowing the lawn on a day like today. Mrs. Turner passed on about a year ago. Doc Lyons said she died in her sleep. The house had been for sale for a long while. The last time I had been by, the yard was overgrown and the house was sorely in need of a paint job.

As I rounded the bend and it came into view, I stopped dead in my tracks. Although the paint on the house was still weathered and peeling, the front yard had been totally transformed. I remembered how Wiley had earned money all through high school, mowing lawns and weeding flowerbeds for the folks in town too lazy to do it themselves. He’d always had a knack for it. He claimed to love the smell of the dirt, the feel of moist, dark soil.

Wiley had lined the path leading up to the house with rose bushes. The pink and white azaleas that were along the front of the house and had long been neglected were neatly trimmed back. There were now bright yellow hibiscuses behind them. The lawn was neatly manicured, the dried, brown grass cropped short and edged neatly. I stepped carefully onto the lawn, my suspicions confirmed when the heel of my white pump promptly sank into the earth. I knew within weeks Wiley’s yard would be lush and green again.

I proceeded up the walkway to the front porch. I noticed that the hinges on the porch door were a bit rusty and that there were several holes in the screen. I placed the key into the door, unlocked it, and let myself in.

It had been a long time since I’d been in the Turner house. Almost every trace of it seemed gone. All the family photos, the familiar smells, the furniture. It was all gone. The living room was empty except for the black phone that sat on the floor. The old wooden floors were polished to a high sheen and the walls were freshly painted a soft cream. A faint odor of paint hung in the air despite the fact that the windows were open.

Just then the phone rang. I jumped a mile and then stared at it for a few seconds, uncertain as to what to do. On the forth ring I reached out and answered.

“Patton residence,” I answered.

“You’re really there,” he said.

“You thought I wouldn’t be?”

There was a long pause.

“The yard is beautiful.”

“Have you seen the back?”

“Not yet. You’ve done all this in under two weeks?”

“You’d be surprised how much a man can get done when he gives up sleeping,” he said.

“Feel like telling me where those letters are? The one’s that you wrote and didn’t send?”

“Nope.”

I frowned. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find. There’s not much here and I have a few hours.”

“June—”

I hung up the phone. Served him right. It rang again right away, but I didn’t answer. Let him worry for a couple hours, I thought. After all, I had worried for three long years.

I made my way back towards the kitchen first. Obviously Wiley hadn’t spent any of the time in which he wasn’t sleeping doing the dishes. The sink was piled high with them. The kitchen was half-painted a cheery yellow. The table and half of the floor were covered with tarp. The counters were bare. I walked over to the refrigerator and peered inside. There was a pitcher of iced tea, a six-pack of beer and a bunch of fresh tomatoes and cucumbers that I assumed he had gotten from Mrs. Mason, next door.