Justified (22 page)

“Velma said she'd stay with you, but I'd feel a lot better if you went on home with her. This place will be safer in a week.”

Ansel and Velma's house, right across the pasture from JohnScott's double-wide, suddenly sounded like the best place in the world. “Okay, Clyde. I'll stay with Ansel and Velma.”

Chapter Forty-Six

JohnScott stayed in the hospital three days, but he wouldn't answer his phone. Ruthie said he was in
a mood
and not to worry, but worry had become my second skin. She and Velma seemed to have divided their caregiving responsibilities. Velma stayed home with Nathan and me, and Ruthie checked on her cousin before and after her classes. When she and Dodd finally drove JohnScott home, I was watching from Velma's living-room window.

Standing on tiptoe, I could see the El Camino stop at the side yard of the double-wide, and JohnScott's silhouette limped across the front deck. Dragonflies swarmed through my lungs as I watched him, but not once did he pause with his hand on the doorknob. Not once did he turn and peer longingly across the pasture to his parents' house, where I waited. Not once.

Ansel said the snakebite was nothing short of a miracle, because only one fang pierced JohnScott's skin. The other one had been found later, stuck in the top edge of his boot. Even though the venom swelled his leg to twice its normal size, there hadn't been enough to do permanent tissue damage. Clyde was given most of the credit because he got there so quick and knew what to do. They were both written up in the
Trapp Times
, and I studied the grainy picture of the coach's leg at least ten times a day.

Beginning on Wednesday, I watched JohnScott's truck as he left for school every morning, and again in the evening as he bumped back home after practice. But he never stopped. Nathan settled into a routine of eating every four hours, round the clock, and Velma deemed him an easy baby. I spent two hours a day online, catching up on my classes as my body transformed from its soft, liquid-feeling state into a form that promised to be firm again at some point in the future.

On Friday morning, Ruthie shoved my feet off the couch and sat down next to me. “It's time you got out of the house. Come with me to the game tonight. It'll do you good.”

“I can stay with Nathan,” Velma said. “If you feed him right before you leave, you'll have three and a half hours to yourself, if not more.”

“I couldn't leave him. Not yet.”

“Why?” Ruthie's determined expression told me she had come prepared for battle, and I got the impression she and Velma had planned their attack ahead of time.

“He's not even a week old. He needs his mother.”

Velma shuffled around the room, halfheartedly dusting end tables with a crumpled paper towel. “I know you've read those books telling what a momma needs to do for her baby, but sometimes, taking care of yourself helps the little tyke more than anything else.”

“I am taking care of myself,” I argued. “I eat good food and get plenty of rest. I walk with Rowdy outside in the sunshine, and I'm going a little farther every day.”

Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you've made it all the way to JohnScott's house and back. But sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch when he's at work is not the healthiest thing emotionally.”

My face warmed, and I looked away.

“Forget my moronic cousin, Fawn, and think about something else for a while.”

Velma settled in a chair and lifted her slippered feet onto an ottoman. “If you get out, your problems won't seem near so big.”

I smiled, not feeling it. “But he won't talk to me. I've left messages.”

“He's just stressed from work,” Ruthie said. “Put him out of your mind for four hours and give yourself a break.”

Work
was Ruthie and Velma's number-one excuse for JohnScott's behavior, and when I shoved my self-pity under the rug, I had to admit they were probably right. Even though the Panthers remained undefeated, the anticipation of a winning season left our small community expecting more and more from the coaching staff. The parents demanded more playing time, the boosters demanded more practices, and the other teachers demanded equal time for their own extracurricular events. And no one seemed to care that JohnScott was still recovering from the bite of a western diamondback rattlesnake.

I picked at a hangnail, remembering my prayer that I might become what JohnScott needed. Maybe if I went to the game, if he saw me there, it would somehow be an encouragement to him.

“Okay, I'll do it.”

“Excellent,” declared Ruthie. “Sophie Snodgrass will never believe you already fit in those fancy jeans of yours.”

 

At Ruthie's insistence, I wore my favorite shirt, a crepe peasant top, which fit differently now that I was nursing, but Velma said it was fine. And I wadded my hair in a messy bun on top of my head, leaving a few stray curls hanging around my neck. I felt like a fake—a liar—dressing up like a college girl when I was really a mom.

Velma pushed us out the door early so we would have time to take a plate of home-cooked chicken strips by the field house. I knew her actions were motivated by something other than JohnScott's hunger, and I only hoped she and Ruthie weren't pushing him too far.

“What if he's not in there?” I quizzed Ruthie as we walked across the parking lot.

“He is. I texted him, and I'll text him again when we get to the door.”

“He might send one of the other coaches. Or a player.”

“He wouldn't risk his chicken. Velma's cooking is too well known.”

My skin jittered. Ruthie wanted to surprise him by bringing me, but now that it came down to it, I wondered if I should go along with it. I might be invading his territory, but the hope of seeing him drew me toward the field house like a colt on a lead rope.

We stood outside the cinder-block building as players in full pads bumped through the metal door, heading toward the field for pregame warm-ups, and my pulse felt like the booming of a bass drum during a halftime show. “Text him again.”

“I did.”

“He's coming to the door?”

“Relax, Fawn.”

And then he was there. Three feet away from me. So close I could have reached out and touched him, hugged him, pressed my nose into that soft spot at the side of his neck that always,
always
sent his arms circling around me. My chest ached when I noticed dark shadows beneath his eyes, but he smiled.

“Thanks, little cous—”

But then the smile lines disappeared. He never took his eyes off Ruthie, but I could clearly see he knew I stood beside her.

“Aunt Velma sends her best,” Ruthie said hesitantly. “She said there ought to be enough chicken to share with the ag teacher, should he show up.”

“Sounds good.” His gaze still hadn't left her face, and he stared blankly, void of emotion. “I'll see you later, Ruthie.”

“Is there anything else you need? From the concession stand? Or … anything?” Her voice trailed, but he had already answered her with a shake of his head.

The door closed behind him, then immediately opened as two linemen stepped past us, but JohnScott had disappeared.

I spun on my heel, then froze. My lungs sucked in oxygen in a deep, uncontrolled spasm, as though someone had forcibly covered my mouth and nose, and I was only just able to escape. A moaning sob floated out with the exhale, and Ruthie grabbed me by the elbow and steered me to the restroom.

By the time we entered the small, stuffy building, tears wouldn't stop spilling down my cheeks no matter how many times I wiped them with the back of my hand.

I dampened my fingertips with water from the faucet and dabbed at mascara even as I kept crying. A few women and girls looked on with interest, and I wanted to end this pitiful performance before anyone else witnessed it.

“I'm so stupid,” I whispered. “Stupid.”

“Oh no you're not.” Ruthie thrust a brown paper towel at me and slammed the handle for another one. “I have never in my life been so angry with that cousin of mine.”

“It's not his fault. I shouldn't have come here, not now. He needs to focus on the game.” I dropped my voice. “He looked exhausted.”

“I don't care if he's tired. I don't care if he was bit by a snake. I don't care if he has half the town breathing down his throat. He has no right to treat you like that.” She wiped my cheek with the paper towel, then leaned closer, inspecting my jawline. “Are those bruises?”

“Oh, it's nothing.” I ran my palms across my face in an attempt to redistribute my tear-streaked makeup.

“Those are Tyler's fingerprints.” She held her own fingers up to my cheek, checking her supposition.

“They're almost gone,” I said lightly. “Don't worry about it.”

“Fawn …” She lowered her voice as she glanced toward the toilet stalls. “You said he kissed you, not mauled you.”

“He didn't maul me, but when I tried to turn away, he got mad.”

“Stop defending him.”

I slumped against the sink, peering at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing the yellowish blotches on my chin.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “My idiot cousin better get his act together, or I'm going after him with an electric cattle prod.” Shaking her head, she looked at me as though I were hopeless. “Come on, let's go.”

We drifted out the door and through the growing crowd, then found an empty spot where we could lean against the chain-link fence adjacent to the concession stand.

In the time we had been in the restroom, the team had huddled around the gate, preparing for their grand entrance. Apparently JohnScott reigned somewhere in their midst, because the mob was growling sporadic responses to his prompts.

I hooked my fingers through the wires of the fence. “It's no wonder he hasn't called me this week.”

“No, he should have called you.” She stretched her neck, looking into the stands. “Dodd's up there somewhere, saving us seats with Milla and Grady.”

“Do you care if we stay down here for a while? I might call Ansel to come pick me up.”

She bumped me with her hip. “If you want to go home, I'll take you. Ansel's probably in the recliner holding Nathan, and he won't want to leave.”

My eyes watered, but I blinked the sensation away. “Now … don't be talking about my baby, or I'll really want to go home.” Suddenly I longed to hold him, rock him, kiss his fluffy hair. Hide away with him.

The team thundered past us, and I watched numbly as JohnScott followed behind the team, limping slightly. He had never even held Nathan.

An accusing snarl right behind me grated my nerves like gravel on asphalt. “Where's my boy, Fawn?”

It was Tyler, and he was drunk again.

His sweaty body pressed me into the fence, and I clung to the wire to keep from veering sideways as his solid arm circled my waist. “Where is he?”

I breathed in his odor, tasting alcohol on my tongue. “Velma's babysitting.”

“You shouldn't have left him there, babe.”

Ruthie snapped, “The baby's fine.”

He wore a muscle shirt in the cool fall air, and as he fisted the top rail of the fence, his bicep, with my named carved on it, lay exposed for everyone to see. The tattoo looked worse than before. He had reopened the wounds, and the letters were blackened with ink and scabs, the skin between them flaring scarlet with infection.

I shifted, trying to pull away from him discreetly, knowing if I made him angry, he would accelerate. “I'm about to go home anyway.”

“Home?” His lips pressed into a hard line. “You may be staying at Ansel Pickett's place, but it's sure as heck not your home.”

“That's not what I meant.”

His fingers slipped beneath my shirt and gripped my belt, yanking me back to his side. “Next time, call me.”

As the band began playing the national anthem, I looked past him to the hundreds of people who had turned toward the flag. I trembled, wondering how many of them noticed the tension passing between the three of us standing not thirty feet from the flagpole.

“If you're going to go sleazing around town,” Tyler said, “the least you can do is bring the baby to me. I would never leave him alone.”

“She didn't leave him alone,” Ruthie insisted. “Nathan's perfectly safe with my aunt and uncle.”

His eyes hardened into slits, and he leaned across me in slow motion. “Shut up.” His gaze traveled down the front of her body before returning to her face. “And stop filling my wife's ears with your trashy lies.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded as the band finished playing. “I don't lie to her. And Nathan isn't alone.” She took a step forward and lifted her chin. “And Fawn's not your wife.”

With his free hand, Tyler shoved her hard, and she sprawled into a huddle of people behind us. Then he jerked me toward the entrance gate, oblivious to the crowd watching us. “We're leaving, Fawn. We'll get Ty first and then go on home. I've been more than patient.”

With both hands I pushed at his arm, but my muscles felt lax and soft, and he only tightened his grip around my waist.

Ruthie struggled to her feet. Several bystanders stepped toward us. And humiliation rippled over me like the soft fluttering of the flag above our heads. Tyler wouldn't get away with this, but I would never live it down either.