The Hellion (16 page)

She studied him silently for a while. Then it all came clear.

"Your surrogate family, Tommy Lee?" she questioned softly.

He reached for a cigarette, took some time to light it and blow out a cloud of smoke, then studied her thoughtfully before answering, "I guess you might say that."

Rachel's heart wrenched with pity. He had children of his own; yet he came out here to play ball and

skip pebbles. He had a church of his
    
185 own; yet he came out here to attend theirs. He had parents of his own; yet he shunned them, though it obviously cost him much to do so. She pictured Gaines and Lily Gentry. Did they long for their son while he gave his affection to a black family who ran a catfish restaurant by Bear Creek? How terribly they all must be hurting. Suddenly she wanted that hurt mended, for everyone's sake.

"Tommy Lee, why don't you go see your mama and daddy?"

He carefully ironed all expression from his face and snorted through his nose.

"They're getting old," she reminded him. "If I can forgive, why can't you?"

But again they were interrupted. "Beg pardon, ma'am." It was Big Sam, standing beside their table with four green bills in his hand. "Tommy Lee, got the next installment for you on that loan." He proudly peeled off and laid down four five-dollar bills, counting carefully. "Five, ten, fifteen, twenty dollars." He beamed at Tommy Lee. "You write that in your book like always?"

"You bet, Sam. And how's the dishwasher running?"

"Runnin' slick as a skinned eel, Tommy Lee. And Daisy, she comes around snugglin' the end of a hot day like this, just thankin' me for not havin' to wash them dishes by hand like she used to."

Tommy Lee laughed, reached for a napkin, and wrote something on it, then handed it back to Big Sam. Sam glanced at it, then looked up. "It say the same like it always say?"

"Yessir. Received of Samuel Davis twenty dollars on dishwasher loan. And I put the date there."

"Good." Big Sam pocketed the napkin carefully in the breast patch of his sweat-soaked shirt, then patted it. "See you next Sunday. Darrel say you comin' to dinner. You bring the lady if you want to."

"Thank you, Sam. That's up to her. This is Rachel, a girl I used to go to high school with."

Sam bowed from the waist three times. "Miss Rachel, how was the catfish and pups?"

"The best I've ever eaten," she replied truthfully, warming to the big man who hovered

self-consciously beside the table.
        
  
187

"Got to get back to the kitchen. Y'all come back. Tommy Lee, you bring Miss Rachel back, you hear?"

"I'll do that, Sam. And would you fix me one for the road?"

"I sure will. Comin' right up."

When they were alone again Tommy Lee reached for the check as if to leave, but she covered his hand on the tabletop. "You lent him money to buy a dishwasher for this place?"

His eyes remained carefully noncommittal as they met hers. "He tried to get it in town, but the bank took one look at this tin heap and decided he didn't have either enough collateral or enough education to merit approval of the loan."

Neither of them had to say that as president of the bank, her father was its chief loan officer. Their eyes held while the knowledge flashed between them.

"But how much money can a dishwasher cost?"

"Six hundred dollars," he answered, rising from his chair, dropping enough bills on the table that Rachel didn't have to count them to realize they included a more than generous tip.

"Six hundred dollars? And he pays you

back twenty dollars at a time?"

"When he can. Sometimes it's five, sometimes ten. He m/'ve had a good week. Should we go?"

She was still trying to digest what she had just learned about her father and about Tommy Lee, as the latter stepped politely behind her chair. On his way out, he picked up a drink from the bar. It had been mixed in a plastic tumbler, which he lifted in a good-bye salute as he opened the door for Rachel.

Outside it was black. The soles of their shoes crunched on the gravel as they made their way to the car, which was parked beneath the thick overhanging branches of a catalpa tree, nosing against the high bank of Bear Creek, which snuffled along through the darkness. The sound of hundreds of crickets undulated through the night while the scent of the damp creek bank rose up to meet the dust of the dry gravel lot.

After Tommy Lee had politely seen her to her side of the car she watched him in the glow of the overhead light as he slipped behind the wheel, his face introspective now and grim. She found herself evaluating this side of him, which nobody around Russellville saw. The interior of the car went

black and she heard the key slip into the
   
189 ignition. She reached out to touch his warm, bare arm --and immediately felt the muscles tense.

"I'm sorry, Tommy Lee," she said softly. "You were right. I was judging them. I had no right."

"I suppose it's inevitable that you and I do that occasionally--judge people. We are, after all, our parents' children. But I try my damnedest not to anymore."

"Meaning I'm like my father in a lot of ways. Is that what you're saying?"

"It's been so many years, Rachel, I really have no way of knowing that. But I hope not."

"He's not altogether bad, Tommy Lee, no matter what you think."

"Probably not. But he'd never take the time to make a run out here and order a platter of catfish to see what the place staked its future on, and to see how damn hard Sam and Daisy work, and that they're the most honest people on the face of the earth."

"Tell me something," she said, curious, but at the same time sure of what the answer would be even before she asked. "Do you charge them interest?"

But Tommy Lee mistook her reason for asking. She was every bit Everett Talmadge's daughter, he thought, and it rankled that he couldn't help loving her.

With a flick of his wrist he started the engine. "Rachel, do you have to be told what it does to me when you lay your hand on my arm that way?" She jerked her hand away and clasped it in her lap. He gave one humorless chuckle and said coldly, "That's what I thought," then threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the lot, spraying gravel twenty feet behind. When he straightened the wheel the car fishtailed, and Rachel released a quiet cry of fright. By the faint dash lights she saw him glance her way, then let up on the gas until they'd slowed to a nearly reasonable speed. But as he studied the path of the headlights, which cut a golden cone through the narrow opening between the close-pressing trees, he added offhandedly, "Don't worry. If there's anyone in this world I'd never want to hurt, it's you."

Her head snapped around and her heart lifted. All day long he'd been doing that to her, making her emotions vacillate until she was utterly confused about her feelings for him. He had two

distinctly different sides, and she was
     
191 attracted to the one and repelled by the other. Back at Catfish Corner she'd found herself drawn to a Tommy Lee who was both virtuous and vulnerable. But here she was, another in a long string of women, riding along with the Tommy Lee who'd had more than his share to drink, who was even now sipping something that smelled of pine needles while he wheeled nervelessly down a dark country road, brooding. A man who hadn't the emotional wherewithal to bind the frayed edges of his life and make something more than a financial success of it. A man who was a three-time loser at marriage and had rightfully gained one of the most unsavory reputations in the county.

Rachel dropped her head back against the seat, letting her eyes sink shut, while wondering for the hundredth time that day what she was doing here. She heard him light a cigarette, and then they rode in silence, locked in their own thoughts.

Just before they reached the turnoff into his place, he lowered the window and slung his empty glass out into the weeds. Rachel sighed and straightened in her seat, looking away. His car negotiated the twists and turns of his driveway, and when he

pulled up behind Rachel's car and killed the engine, all was silent.

He propped an elbow on the open windowsill, gripped the edge of the roof and stared straight ahead while Rachel sat hugging herself. Outside the night sounds buzzed and chucked and the smell of cedar was thick. Tommy Lee took a last drag from his cigarette, then set it spiraling in a red-tailed whorl before expelling a last breath of smoke that clearly told of emotional exhaustion. Almost angrily he reached for his door handle and lurched out. She followed suit, and they met near her car, both apprehensive and wary.

"Thank you for everything, Tommy Lee."

Though it was very dark she sensed how tense he was, standing with feet apart, hands buried in his back pockets, keeping a safe distance from her.

"Will you come again, Rachel?" he asked tightly.

"I ... I don't know. It probably isn't such a good idea."

He released a rush of breath and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "So you're going to put me through it all again. Is that what you're

saying?"
                          
 
193

"I never meant to put you through anything. You say it as if I'm guilty of some gross social misdemeanor, Tommy Lee!"

"I don't know about social misdemeanors, but I do know about feelings." Suddenly he captured her upper arms and brought her to her toes. "Goddammit, Rachel, I love you. I've never stopped loving you, don't you know that by now? Did you think you could sashay into my life for one afternoon, then sashay out again as if you'd done no damage?"

Her heart raced at his touch, but she was frightened by the mere fact that it did.

"I didn't know I was under any obligation when I came out here."

"Oh, didn't you?" he bit out, almost nose to nose with her. "So you thought you'd just toy around with good old Tommy Lee for a few hours, see how far you could push him. Do I count so little to you?"

"You're not being fair, Tommy Lee. That's not why I came out here and you know it."

"I don't know anything, least of all why I can't get you out from under my skin." His fingers tightened, and her heart clamored harder.

"Let me go. There's too much in our past to ... to ..." But she stammered to a halt and his voice turned a shade softer, silkier.

"To what, Rachel? To start it again? That thing that's been on both of our minds all day long?" Already he was drawing her close. "This ..."

His open lips came down on hers with a soft, firm pressure, and immediately his tongue came seeking.

"Don't!" She twisted her head to one side and pushed on his chest.

"Why?"

"Because everything is different now. I'm different, you're different, our life-styles are totally incompatible."

His mouth followed her jaw as she arched fiercely away from him. "I can change. I will ... for you, if--was

"I said, don't! It won't work and we'll end up hurting each other." She tried to twist free, but his hold was too sure and his fingers dug into her arms.

"I would be anything you wanted me to be, don't you know that, Rachel? If it meant having you back again ... Rachel, please ..." His hands

cradled her head and drew her once again
  
195 nearly onto tiptoe for a deep, thorough kiss. But as his questing tongue entered her mouth, it brought the aftertaste of gin. Angrily she pushed him away and stepped back.

"Don't you dare kiss me with your sixth drink of the night still foul on your lips!"

"Oh, so you've been counting?"

"Yes, I've been counting. All across the lake in the boat and tonight through supper and on the ride home!"

He loomed before her but made no further move to touch her while she stood with fists clenched, angry that he couldn't see what he was doing with his life.

"I can stop drinking any day I want," he stated belligerently. "Just give me a reason to!"

She ran a hand through her hair and twisted aside. "Oh, Tommy Lee, you fool. Don't you see, nobody can give you that reason but yourself? And it isn't just the drinking. It's the way you live. In that ..." She flapped a palm toward the house. "That beautiful, sad, unkempt mansion where you sleep on your dirty

laundry!"

His shoulders wilted slightly. "Rachel, I didn't know you were coming or--was

"It shouldn't have made a difference. For God's sake, Tommy Lee, you weren't raised in squalor. How can you live that way? And don't blame it on our parents! It's not our parents who ruined your life, it's you! You've become content to just ... just drink yourself into oblivion and ... and atrophy! But it's not too late to do something about it if you really want to. You could start by going in there and cleaning up that place, or if you don't want to clean it up yourself, at least hire some help to do it for you. And while you're at it, make it somebody who'll cook you something besides greasy fattening foods!"

He stiffened and pulled back while she felt heartless for striking at his most vulnerable spot. But if she didn't try to make him see the light, who would?