The Scarlet Thread (10 page)

your door dont mean you have to answer.

I think Lucas opened his door and invited the

devil in a long time ago.

We went to camp meeting again. I did not like

it much this time. Sally Mae Grayson and her

yellow hair came. She has not been to a meeting

in two years because she has bin living in Fever

River with her grandmama and going to school.

I wish she had stayed in Fever River with her

grandmama.

Even Matthew who thinks girls are stupid and

empty headed looked at Sally Mae like he was a

sick calf. All the boys were following her around

and wanting to talk to her. The only one she pad

attention to was James. They sat together during

meeting and ate together at supper. Sally Mae

kept looking at me and saying little pitchers have

big ears. James told me to go and get him another

mug of cider and when I did and came back with

it he was gone. So was Sally Mae.

I looked and looked until I found them.

Now I know what courting is.

I never want to talk about courting or hear about

it again. No one is ever courting me like that.

Mama found me down by the crek washing my

hand. She askt me why I wuz crying. I told her.

I thot she wud go and make them stop what they

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wuz doing or at least tell Mister Grayson. All she

did was hold me and rock me for a long, long

time. She said idols always have feet of clay.

Sally Mae is not going bak to school in Fever

River. James told Matthew that her grandmama

wrote a letter to her father saying she was ailing

and could not take her. She said Sally Mae wud

be better off staying at the homestead with her

papa. James said her schooling was lost on her

anyway. He said Sally Mae knows more than she

shud all ready.

I am going to die. My heart hurts so much

I know I will be in the grave soon. James is

goin. I’m never going to see him again. The only

consolashun I have is Sally Mae wont get him

either.

He thanked Mama and Papa over supper and

said he cud never repay them for their kindnes

to him. He said he is sixteen and old enuf to fend

for himself. Papa said Fever River is a big place.

James said he wants to be in a big place. He said

maybe he will even go east. He said he wud like

to see Boston and New York. He said he wud like

to see England and maybe even China.

He and Matthew talked the hole nite before

he left. I heard him tell Matthew he did not love

Sally Mae and it wud be smart if Matthew did not

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She will cut yor heart out and feast on it.

I walked with him to the crek bridge. I did not

cry. I askt him strat out what he thot he wud find

better in Fever River or China for that matter. He

said he was not looking for better. He was looking for different.

Mama said he is lost.

I know I am.

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6

“ B E C A U S E I T ’ S T H E W A Y T H I N G S A R E D O N E DOWN

here,” Alex said, irritated. “When are you going to stop worrying

about money? I just got a bonus. We can afford to have a professional decorator.”

“It isn’t just a matter of if we can afford it,” Sierra said, though

that did concern her. Alex was spending money at an alarming

rate, eating out at fancy restaurants every day for lunch, buying

expensive suits. Why wouldn’t he listen to anything she said anymore? “What’s the matter with the way we’ve decorated? People

are comfortable—”

“Nothing goes together. Look around you, Sierra. Does

Steve’s house look like this? Does Matt’s? Most of what we have

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married. That old armoire in the bedroom, the hatch-cover table

in the family room, those ridiculous brass lamps!”

“The armoire was the first piece of furniture your parents

bought when they came to California.”

“So what?”

“It has a family history to it! It meant something to them.”

“It means poverty to me. I don’t need reminding.”

“That hatch-cover comes from an old merchant ship that

sailed around the Horn and into San Francisco Bay in 1910. My

uncle refinished it for us as a wedding present. Those brass

lamps are almost a hundred years old.”

“And look every day of it.”

“I can get some new shades.”

“New shades won’t help. Don’t you get it? Everything we’ve

got is
junk.
If you buy something from a discount store today and

save it for a hundred years, it’s just hundred-year-old junk.

That’s what we’ve got. Old junk!”

Sierra stood there, stunned. Had he always felt this way? She

remembered how nice everything had looked in their small

Windsor house. Maybe he figured what they had just wasn’t

good enough in a 5,000-square-foot, upscale, ranch-style house

owned by an up-and-coming young executive.

“Look, Sierra,” Alex said, his tone gentling, “there’s a right

way and a wrong way to decorate a house, and hiring a professional is the
right
way.”

“Who told you that rubbish?” she said. But she knew without

even asking.

His dark eyes flashed with anger.
“I’m
saying it. All right?

Does that make it go down easier? I’m sick of living with other

people’s discards around me. I’m making good money. I bought

this beautiful house for you.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned away.

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“I don’t want it looking like it was decorated by someone running a flea market,” he said through his teeth.

She wondered if he knew how much his words hurt. She had

always done their decorating. People had always said she had a

knack for it. Friends had asked her advice, and one even offered

to pay her to decorate her house. She liked reupholstering old

couches and chairs, tole painting, and making wreaths. She liked

country!

Alex opened his daily planner and jotted some notes on her

grocery list. “I’m giving you a couple of names of interior decorators. The one in Beverly Hills is the best. Call him first. If he’s not

available, call the second one.” He tore the slip off the pad and

handed it to her. Stepping past her, he picked up his briefcase.

“Get it done today,” he said, like he was giving a subordinate a

command. It was all she could do to not salute him as he headed

for the door.

It wasn’t the first morning of late that he had neglected to kiss

her good-bye. Sierra followed him, slip of paper in hand, and

stood in the doorway to the three-car garage. Maybe he’d remember.

“I want it done as soon as possible,” he said, opening the door

of his new Mercedes. It was silver with black leather interior,

complete with tape deck, CD player, and car phone. Tossing the

briefcase onto the passenger seat, he slid in and slammed the

door. Tapping the garage door opener, he turned away, slinging

his arm over the passenger seat as he started backing out.

She looked at the white BMW sitting in the garage. Alex had

bought it for her birthday last month. He’d been so proud when

he drove it home.

“Where’s my Honda?” she’d said weakly.

“I traded it in,” he said, grinning and handing her the keys.

He’d fully expected her to weep with joy over having a new

car. She’d wanted to weep, all right. The Honda was the car her

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and Carolyn had ridden around in it from the time they were babies. It was like an old family friend. The BMW was an unwelcome houseguest.

Alex had never spent much time keeping up the Honda.

She’d vacuumed and washed it every few weeks. Now Alex

spent every Saturday vacuuming, washing, and hand-drying

both cars; first the Mercedes, then the BMW. He even rubbed

the already shiny dashboards with Armor All. He used a toothbrush to scrub the spoked hubcaps, for heaven’s sake!

Three days ago, Alex had told her he didn’t have time to make

Clanton’s Little League game—but he had two hours to spare

for the cars. And she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d

received an eighth of that much time and attention from him.

A stab of pain ripped through her as she remembered the days,

less than a year ago, when Alex couldn’t wait to come home to

her, to talk with her, to share and laugh and love. She remembered how it felt to sit together, sharing dreams and ideas. And

the wonder of melting into each other’s arms after a day apart.

How could life change so dramatically in the space of six

months? How could a man change so much?

She had always known Alex was ambitious and determined.

What she hadn’t realized was that his work could become the

driving force and focus of his life. He was consumed with his

career, impassioned by it, obsessed with it. It was as though the

success of his first game, Vigilantes, merely whetted his appetite

to do better on the next. Apparently success gave him an adrenaline rush she and the children couldn’t.

Sierra readily acknowledged that Alex was making more than

four times what he had made in his job in Santa Rosa. Two magazines had done articles on him in the past two months giving

glowing forecasts of the future of Vigilantes. She had seen ads on

television.

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“Sick of what’s happening in the world?” the announcer’s

smooth voice would ask. “Become the law!”

Industry columnists were predicting Vigilantes would be the

most popular arcade game of the decade. In the interview for the

second article, Alex said Beyond Tomorrow would be releasing a

new 64-bit CD-based system called The Monolith by the new

year. The system would come complete with a code breaker that

would allow owners to play any CD game on the market. The

Monolith was aimed at the older teens and adults and would

come packaged with Vigilantes. Stores were already calling

Beyond Tomorrow and placing orders before the system had

even hit the market. And Alex was working day and night on a

second game, The Chameleon, a role-playing computer game

utilizing the modem peripheral and the Internet so that players

from around the world could link up.

No doubt about it. Beyond Tomorrow was booming.

“Changing the future of gaming!” their company motto, was

becoming a catchphrase; Alex was determined to make it come

true.

But Sierra felt little pleasure at what was happening. It was

too much. Too fast.

Granted, Steve had proven himself a man of his word. He’d

kept every promise he made to Alex. Bonuses, salary increases,

benefits . . . He even hired a personal secretary for Alex and

added several new employees to the marketing and distribution

departments. Alex’s place and position were guaranteed; he was

a key in Beyond Tomorrow’s incredible success. He was on top

of the professional world.

And Sierra had never felt less secure in her life.

She and Alex barely talked anymore. He was constantly overworked and preoccupied. She tried to talk to him about it one

night, but he wanted to know what she
needed
to talk about. The

minute she said there wasn’t anything specific, he returned his

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