T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (19 page)

She jumped and only began sneezing louder. “Oh, you scared me!”

“What happened?” He placed the gift bag on the next stool. The floor looked like a pepper steak.

“Somebody took the lid off so he could really doctor up the eggs and he didn’t put it on—ach-choo!—the way he should have and it turned over when I turned around and—ach-choo!—”

He reached for her. “Stand up, silly. Get some air!”

His hand around her upper arm, she balanced and stood, he on one side of the counter, she on the other. Their eyes were level, their noses an inch apart. Simultaneously, they looked down to each other’s lips, their breathing quickening. Lyla’s lips quivered. T hadn’t imagined last night’s feelings; they were still there. He moved to kiss her—Fletch and his advice be damned!—and she met him halfway. A good-morning kiss, a we-didn’t-imagine-it-last-night kiss. When they parted, T kissed her on the tip of her nose. “You, ah, you take some grief for last night?”

“Yes.” She answered softly. Her hand moved to his cheek and he felt his face redden under the gentle touch. “I handled it. I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Fletch keeps a tight rein. But he wants a hamburger for lunch.”

“We can do that.”

“Can I help?”

“No.” Her puckered lips were an invitation to his. This time the kiss stretched as their ardor did. Her hands were cupped around his neck and his massaged her shoulders. They split like guilty children when the door opened.

“Wore my sunglasses today. Good thing it was a friend and not a foe!” Bertie walked right up to them. “So it’s true, what I hear. Awfully good evening. Must have got your money’s worth!” T stood straighter under her up-and-down scrutiny before she sat down on a counter stool.

“So to speak.”

“And you?” She turned her attention to Lyla. “Tib throw as bad a fit as I hear?”

“Lord, Bertie, can’t we do this later?”

“No, I want to hear it now,” T said as he joined Bertie in sitting. “Did he hurt you?” His pre-rehab urge to wrestle mentally or physically anything or anyone he couldn’t immediately control was threatening to surface from the fragile rehab screen. He clasped his hands between his knees and sought the courage of his newfound convictions.

“Of course he didn’t hurt me! We are not that kind of people!”

“Anybody can be that kind, Lyla,” T counseled. “He was close to rage last night.”

“Really?” Bertie intervened. “Hissy fit was as far as I’d heard.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Lyla said.

“Bertie here keeps her own counsel, don’t you?” He looked at the older woman. “You’re not going to go and tell all you hear, are you?”

Lyla leaned against the counter. “Well, Alberta? All of America wants to know which way your wind is blowing.”

“Do I have a reputation as an old gossip?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think I’m going to start now?”

“Then it’s settled!” T slapped his fingers on the counter top. “We can have a nice friendly discussion of Tib.” He smiled between them. Neither of the women returned it. “Okay, how about the weather?”

“How about what’s over is over?” Lyla offered.

“That’s no fun,” T answered.

“Didn’t look over to me,” Bertie added. She sat up a little straighter. “Want me to stand lookout? I promise not to turn around and peek. Seen it all before anyway.”

The mental image made them all smile, then Lyla burst into laughter. “You’re not much of a chaperone!”

“Never want to be a chaperone. I want to be an accomplice!” She peered around T. “What’s in the bag?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Something for Lyla I forgot to give her last night.” He handed it to her. She hefted it in her hand, let a smile escape the corner of her mouth as she split her attention between him and the bag. She lifted out a beribboned box.

“Open it!” Bertie encouraged.

Lyla gently tugged on the ribbon slipped the lid off. Two small boxes were nestled together inside. “I am really so naive. You set that up!” She placed the boxes on the counter so Bertie could see, too.

“Ooh! That’s the good stuff!” Bertie pointed at the Joy. “Put some of that on!”

“Go ahead!” T said. “I get first sniff.” He elbowed Bertie and winked.

“I get second.”

Lyla fumbled with the plastic and finally retrieved the navy bottle. She pulled the stopper delicately and placed just a little below her right ear. She cocked her head toward T and he rose and smelled her neck. He closed his eyes at her nearness, then sat back down.

Bertie watched his expression. “He looks pretty satisfied. That’ll do for me.” She clutched her purse to her stomach and got up. “Well, guess I’ll be going.”

“So soon? What did you even come for?”

Bertie smiled slyly. “Use your imagination.” She walked over to the door and scanned the horizon. “Traffic looks pretty slow to me. May have to sit in the car awhile till the a/c gets going.” She spoke to herself and shuffled through the door, reaching to pet Shep on the head and talk to him.

T turned his attention back to Lyla and raised his eyebrows. “Now whatever did she mean by that?” His smile left little doubt that he knew exactly what she meant.

“Probably that she’s going to stay in the parking lot keeping a lookout.” Lyla busied her hands with the perfumes, placing them back in the box and carefully folding the wrapping paper. Her earlier easiness with him seemed to have disappeared.

“So you think she’s been hiding around the corner waiting for me to show up so she could see for herself what all the talk’s about?”

Lyla considered it. “Probably not. This is when you were here Wednesday, so she figures you’re a creature of habit.” She kept her gaze averted.

“Lyla?” T ducked his head to try and see under her lashes. “Look at me.”

She slowly raised her eyes.

“Please—don’t let me embarrass you.”

“You’re not.”

“Then can I have another kiss?”

She smiled in answer and leaned toward him. His body ached to touch hers, to stretch their lengths together. He was almost relieved when Bertie zoomed past the door and honked loudly. The gas pump pinged almost simultaneously. This time they didn’t jump apart, just eased from each other’s lips.

“Good ol’ Bertie,” she whispered.

T reluctantly let her slip from his hands, move safely back on her side of the counter. “You mentioned wanting lunch?”

“Two hamburgers—all the way.”

“It’s probably a wise idea to beat the lunch crowd.” She turned to the cooler and retrieved two patties.

“You—ah—you coming to the house later today?” He was nervous about asking.

“Should, I guess. It’s been since Monday.” She still had her back to him. “Any time better than any other?” The patties sizzled on the grill.

“Whenever. We’re not going any place.”

The door swung wide and Sally strode in, preceding Stan Johnson who was already holding his gas card out. “In a hurry?” Sally asked as she took it and swiped it through the machine.

“Just mind your own business, Sal. Hey, Lyla, heard you had quite an evening.” Lyla thumped the spatula on the surface of the grill. T turned away from the front of the store and intensely studied the contents of the back-wall coolers.

“Take your own advice, Stan. MYOB, yourself.”

“Gee, I wish I was rich enough to go to that fancy-smancy place.”

“Well, you might get appreciated a little more at home if you did.” Sally snapped the card and pen on the counter. “If you didn’t spend so much time down at the Tick-Tock Club you could probably afford a little something more for Barb.”

“You know, I don’t recall this being your conversation.”

“Good-bye, Stan,” Lyla said. “Don’t let the door—or the dog—get you in the rear.”

“If you weren’t the only gas station between here and—”

“See you later in the week, Stan.” Sally crossed her arms. The conversation was ended. He left, stuffing his wallet in the back of his jeans and scowling at Shep.

T’s spine stiffened at Sally's next words. “You know, Lyla, Stan didn’t see what I did. A certain little red Mercedes parked almost in the back.”

He turned slowly on the stool, facing the woman as she tied her apron securely around her ample waist. She twisted her mouth this way and that, as if trying to make up her mind whether or not to buy a certain item. She arched both brows at once and reached into the cooler for the rest of the hamburger fixings, putting them on the work counter.

“Manorborne, huh? Bet you clean up nice.”

“Sally.” It was part stage whisper, part hiss from Lyla.

T was not about to back down. “I clean up very nice.” If the redneck just in was any example of the comments Lyla was getting, he would prove to be an able champion.

Sally peeled off the lettuce leaves. “Don’t worry, Lyla, I’m not about to tell he was here. I think I want him to come back.” She winked.

He laughed. Lord, who would have thought it—a whole nest of sassy women!

Chapter Sixteen

F
letcher finished plumping the sofa pillow and turned in the direction of the slammed garage door. T was whistling his way through, stopping to call to Fletch as he set the white paper bags down on the kitchen table. “Lunch!”

Fletch watched him from the open doorway. He was already assembling the cold drinks, had the ketchup bottle on the table for the French fries Fletch hadn’t ordered, and was “happy as a lark”, as Fletch’s grandmother would have said. “Let me guess, Lyla’ll be up this afternoon.”

“Should be. Ready to eat?”

“Service with a smile—who could resist?” They sat at their places as if they’d been assigned at birth. “Much going on?” he asked as he arranged the wax paper around the burger.

“Bertie was in. Met the cook. Got an earful of some redneck that was giving Lyla a hard time about The Manorborne last night. She and Sally handled him. I think, though, she’d had a round or two this morning already. These people really don’t know how to mind their own business.”

“You should’ve grown up in my neighborhood.” He dragged some fries through the ketchup. “As I got older it was really a comfort to find that busybodies weren’t always Jewish.”

T smiled at him. “Still, she probably is getting more than her share.”

“Won’t Wilson defend her?”

“I think Wilson’s probably in on it.”

Fletch nodded. “Just leaves you.”

“Very funny. What are you going to do this afternoon?”

“I thought I’d take a nap and then sit in the living room and visit with Lyla when she comes up.”

It took a second for T to catch the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Then they both relaxed and laughed. Had they been missing fun all these years?

The phone rang and they both jumped. Fletch reached for it slowly and answered with a cautious “Hello.” He eyed T and raised an eyebrow as he listened. “Sure we can survive. You want to tell him?” He listened and then handed T the receiver, as he mouthed the word Lyla.

“Hi, Lyla.” T's voice was soft, endearing. Fletch's heart lurched as he carefully watched the younger man’s facial expression change from happy to downcast as Lyla explained about the unexpected arrival of the supply truck and the urgency of checking it in prior to the Labor Day business.

T made little attempt to hide his disappointment. “You need any help, you just yell, okay?” He listened for a second more, then pushed the phone’s off button. The jubilant mood was gone. He twisted his mouth in an old, familiar way and Fletch’s stomach knotted around the half-eaten hamburger.

“It’s not her fault,” he rushed to say.

“I know.” It was a breathy reply. “I’m not hungry anymore.” He pushed at the food and walked into the living room. Fletch heard the piano bench scraping back and a Russian folk dance begin. He sat on at the table, picking at the food, his appetite disappearing also. Less than two weeks left. Less than ten days till C and the band showed up. But it was this day he was worried about. Getting T through it until tomorrow.

Getting himself.

*  *  *

T chased the stir-fry around the plate. His mood had improved little through the afternoon. Fletch had stayed out of his way. They were eating in silence now. It was six o’clock and the sun had two hours left to shine. Would the night never get here, get over, get to tomorrow when Lyla would come up?

They heard the crunch of tires on the gravel and sand. T immediately left the table and raced toward the front door, making himself skid to a stop just as he reached it. He took a deep breath to calm himself and his racing heart and slowly opened the door. The relieved smile that was at the corners of his mouth died as he found Bertie on the other side.

“Well, I’m obviously not who you thought I was, but can I come in anyway?”

T recovered quickly. “Certainly.” He held the door open for her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“No, Bertie. Come on in.” She followed him to the kitchen.
Fletcher met her halfway across the room. “Won’t you join us for supper?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have come if I’d known you were eating. I just figured you Hollywood types ate late like they do in the movies.”

“When in Rome—” Fletch began as he went into the dining room and carried a chair for her to the table. T retrieved another place setting from the cabinet and poured hot tea. They stood on either side of the chair until she reluctantly joined them.

“I never meant to interrupt your supper.” Her eyes scanned the large wok with chicken and vegetables on one side and steamed rice on the other. “This looks delicious.” She helped herself before they sat back in their places, exchanging raised eyebrows before continuing their meal.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Bertie said as she put her fork down and sipped at the hot tea. “Yum, real green tea. Perfection.”

“You’re not the cuisine police, wondering why we’re not frying fish and serving green tomato something-or-other?”

“Relish. Green tomato relish. Make it every fall. I’ll see if I still have a jar from last season.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth and turned her attention to T. “I came out because I really think we need to talk.”