Gone ’Til November (12 page)

She closed the door behind him.

“Long time since I’ve been here,” he said.

She took the pizza from him, went into the kitchen. He followed her. She put the box on the table.

“Paper plates on top of the refrigerator,” she said.

He set the plastic bag on the floor, got two plates down, napkins and a salt shaker, set them on the table.

“I’m not eating,” she said.

“In case you change your mind.”

A piece of Danny’s artwork was on the front of the refrigerator, held there by magnets. A colored pencil drawing on construction paper of a blocky police car, a figure with a smiling face behind the wheel. Next to it he’d written in oversized letters
MOM
.

Billy looked at it, smiled. “He’s getting pretty good,” he said.

“He’s growing up.”

“Are you going to let him trick-or-treat this year?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should. I mean, what’s the harm?”

“Well, that would be for me to decide, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re right.” He sat, opened the box, the smell of the pizza wafting up. He dragged a slice onto a plate.

“This is the only house on the block with no decorations,” he said. “Couldn’t help but notice.”

“I didn’t want to make him feel worse. Remind him of what he was missing, that he couldn’t go out with the other kids.”

“Makes sense, I guess. If you say so.”

She sat across from him. “How’d you know I didn’t have company?”

“Just a feeling. I’ll leave if you want.”

“Eat your pizza first.”

He slid another slice onto a plate, edged it toward her. She ignored it.

“You have anything to drink?” he said.

“Some Bass in the refrigerator. Ice water, soda.”

“I’ll take a Bass, if that’s okay. Want one?”

“Sure.”

He got up, took two bottles from the refrigerator, opened them.

“You want a glass?” he said.

She shook her head. He set the bottles on the table, sat down again. She could smell his cologne.

“Where’d you park?”

“On the street. Didn’t want to leave my truck in the driveway, get your neighbors talking. I got sausage. Hope that’s okay.”

“You trying to make me fat?”

“No. You’re in great shape.”

“For my age?”

“You know what I mean.” He salted a slice, folded it, and began to eat.

She’d felt irritation when she answered the door but found it fading now. It was good to have him back here, in the closeness of the kitchen, sitting across from her. It reminded her of a better time, back when she was naive enough to think they would someday be a family.

She sipped Bass. It was cold and sweet. He reached for the plastic bag.

“I saw this today,” he said. “Thought Danny might like it.”

He took out a square box with a painting of a tyrannosaurus on it.

“Plastic. The parts snap together. They’ve got a whole series.”

He put it on the table. She looked at it.

“That’s a lot of parts,” she said.

“I know. I was worried about that. The box says ages eight and up, but he’s a smart kid. I figured he could handle it. Think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll love it.”

He ate in silence for a moment, wiped his mouth with a napkin, drank Bass.

She looked at the slice in front of her, pulled a piece of sausage off with her fingers, ate it.

“That was a bad scene last night,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized.”

“I need you to know that, though, how I felt.”

She nodded, didn’t look up.

“If I could make it up to you, I would,” he said.

She turned away, looked out into the hall.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “How about we just never mention it again?”

“Okay.”

She pulled off another piece of sausage.

“Pizza’s good, isn’t it?” he said. “I got it from Sabatico’s. Haven’t had one in a long time. Last time I was there the old man asked me how you were. He must have seen the look on my face. He let it drop.”

“This where you ask me to feel sorry for you?”

“No. I know better than that.”

She pulled the slice toward her, tugged it into ragged halves. She dropped one on his plate, wiped her hands on a napkin.

“Table manners elegant as always,” he said.

“Shut up and eat.”

She folded her half, bit into it. It was still warm, the cheese thick, the crust thin and crunchy the way she liked. She finished it in three bites.

“That’s more like it,” he said.

“That’s an extra thirty sit-ups tonight.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You think it’s easy, staying in shape with all the junk food and bad coffee I consume on a normal shift? It’s not. It’s work.”

“I know. You always were more motivated than everyone else around you. One of the things I admired most.”

He opened the box, pulled another slice onto his plate.

“Got a knife?” he said. “We’ll do it right.”

“I’ll pass.” She got up. “Back in a minute.”

She went down the hall, looked in Danny’s room. He was sleeping, face to the wall, the night-light the only illumination in the room. She pulled the door almost shut, left it open a crack. The old clock in the kitchen began to bong softly. Eleven o’ clock.

She went back into the kitchen, washed her hands in the sink. The slice was untouched in front of him.

“So where’s Lee-Anne tonight?” she said.

“I don’t know. Home, I guess.”

She dried her hands on a dish towel, turned to him. “How come you’re not there?”

He shrugged, rocking on the chair, all his weight on the back legs.

“Don’t do that,” she sat. “It’s bad for the chair.”

“Sorry. I forgot.”

He sat forward, let the front legs touch down. “I’ll clean up,” he said. He put the uneaten slice back in the box, got up and gathered the paper plates and napkins, put them in the trash can beneath the sink.

She went into the living room, looked through the blinds. His truck was parked down the street in the shadow of a willow tree.

She heard water go on in the kitchen, then shut off, heard his footsteps. She didn’t turn. She felt him come up behind her, smelled his cologne, let him slip his arms around her waist, pull her tight.

She closed her eyes. His face was buried in her hair, his
chin on her shoulder. She knew his eyes would be closed. She felt his arms around her, strong but gentle, put her hands over his, fingered the thick veins, the knobby knuckles. A worker’s hands. A man’s hands.

He kissed the back of her neck, and she felt goose bumps rise, tilted her head to give him better access.
What are you doing? Why are you letting this happen?

She pushed back against him, felt his hardness through the jeans. His lips explored the side of her neck, the hollow behind her ear. She reached back, felt his thickness straining against the material, the shape of him. He sighed softly and his hands came up, cupped her breasts through her sweatshirt. She was braless and her nipples responded, hard to his touch.

He turned her and she let him, eyes still closed. His lips brushed hers and she looked at him then, into those slate gray eyes, the question there. She lifted her lips to his in answer. He kissed her hard and she let his tongue into her mouth, felt his hands slide down her back, cup her buttocks. She closed her eyes as they kissed, let him guide her away from the window.

The backs of her legs were against the couch when he broke off the kiss, looked at her. She didn’t turn away. His hands began to work at the drawstring of her sweatpants. She helped him, felt the pants sag around her hips. Then she was sitting on the couch and he was kneeling on the carpet, tugging the pants down her legs, exposing the gray Jockey panties she wore beneath. He slipped her right sneaker off, freed the pants leg. She lifted her foot to help him.

He kissed the inside of her bare calf, flicked his tongue behind her knee. She was wet and ready, knew he could tell. He
kissed his way higher, then stopped and looked at her, cocked an eyebrow. She nodded and he reached up, caught the elastic of her panties and pulled in opposite directions. They tore almost soundlessly, and she felt the cool air against her wetness.

She put her hands on the back of his head, her fingers in his soft hair, and closed her eyes.

They lay in darkness, the central air whispering around them. He was propped up on two pillows, his left arm curled around her shoulders. She was looking at the ceiling.

“Hey,” he said. “You all right?”

She eased out from under his arm. He watched as she got up and took her robe from the back of the door. She pulled it on, pushed her hair free of the collar, tied the belt, felt his eyes on her.

“Be right back,” she said. She went out into the hall, listening. Danny’s door was as she’d left it. She stepped closer, paused, could hear his breathing.

She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the light. She looked at herself in the mirror.
Why did you let that happen? Are you so lonely and horny that you forgot everything you know? Everything you learned the hard way?

She sat and urinated, then washed her hands and face in the sink. She could smell the musk of sex on her body. She flipped the light off, went back to the bedroom, pushing the door shut against the resistance of the carpet.

He moved aside to give her room. She lay beside him with her robe on, felt his arm curl around her, pull her close.

“Been a while for you, hadn’t it?” he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“I can just tell, that’s all.” He kissed the top of her head.

She laid her head on his chest, could feel the beating of his heart through muscle and skin.

“You want another beer?” he said. “Some water?”

She shook her head, put a hand on his stomach, felt the muscles there.

“I was surprised to see you the other night,” he said. “At Tiger’s.”

“I saw your truck, figured I’d go in for a drink, say hello. I should have known better.”

“I saw you talking to Elwood.”

“Yeah, he wanted to shoot pool.”

“That all?”

“What do you mean?”

“That all he wanted?”

She lifted her head from his chest, looked up at him.

“Yes,” she said. “And that’s what we did.”

He stroked her hair.

“Hammond talk to you again?” he said.

“About what? He talks to me almost every day.”

“About me.”

“Nothing I haven’t already told you,” she said and felt guilty for the lie. “Do we have to discuss this now?”

“Just wondering.” He rubbed her back through the robe.
“Sometimes it feels like they’re telling me one thing but thinking another.”

“Who?”

“The sheriff. Elwood. You.”

His hand slid down to the belt knot, played with it, drew on it until it was loose.

“I just don’t want to get blindsided by anything,” he said. She felt his warm hand on her bare stomach. It crept up, cupped her left breast. His thumb found her nipple, and it grew hard under his touch.

“If there was something else going on,” he said. “If they were trying to nail me to the wall, and you knew about it, you’d tell me, right?”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“No, of course not.” His hand slid to her other breast. “I came here to see you.”

She caught his hand, took it out of her robe.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

She sat up, pulled the robe tight, knotted the belt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He touched her hair. “Don’t get up.”

“You need to get dressed,” she said. Her feet found the floor.

“Come on. Don’t be like that.”

She got up, went to the window, looked out. It was raining, drops spotting the glass. Low thunder in the distance.

“Sara,” he said.

She didn’t turn.

“I shot that boy because he drew down on me. You know that. You were there.”

She didn’t respond.

“He was a bad guy, Sara. I’m lucky he didn’t nail me first. It could have been me laying in that ditch.”

“That sounds practiced,” she said without turning.

“Sara, you know the way I feel about you. And I know the way you feel about me.”

“Do you?”

“I used to, at least.” She heard him get out of bed, his footsteps on the carpet. The rain was picking up, blowing against the window.

She felt him behind her. He pushed her hair aside, kissed her neck.

“Get dressed, Billy,” she said.

He drew his lips away. “We were always good together, Sara. We could be that way again.”

She turned, met his eyes. He was watching her, waiting.

“Hey,” he said softly. “There’s no reason to cry.” He reached as if to brush her tears away. She stopped his hand an inch from her face.

“Please. Go.”

He took his hand away.

“So that’s the way we are,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He went back to the bed, found his jeans and T-shirt on the floor.

“Thanks for your support,” he said.

He pulled the jeans on, sat on the edge of the bed, reached for his boots. She looked back out the window.

He was taking his time, waiting for her to tell him to stop, not leave. Eventually, she heard him open the bedroom door and go out.

She followed him into the hall. He had the front door open, was looking out through the screen at the rain. She stopped in the hallway, leaned against the wall. He heard her, turned. She didn’t look away, pulled the robe tighter.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I guess that’s the way it is.”

He opened the screen, went out into the rain.

She went to the door, watched him sprint to his truck. When he reached it, he turned and looked back at her, sheets of rain moving down the street. After a moment, he opened the truck door, climbed up. She heard the engine start, saw his headlights go on.

You’re gone now, Billy. You’re someone else. You’re out of my reach. Maybe you always were.

She watched him pull away. Then she shut the door and locked it.

He made Virginia the first day, keeping his speed under seventy, though the Monte Carlo’s big V8 wanted to do more. Other cars passed him in a blur.