Red in the Hood

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  His eyes scanned her face and he probably knew just what she thought. Tamara wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and weep. She yearned for his comfort and she ached with true hunger for his love. At the most vulnerable she’d been in a long time, she might reveal the truth and she didn’t want to do that. Wulfric could do better in life without her attached to his side like a Siamese twin, and so she pushed away emotion and stared at him, making her face into a blank mask.

  “Wulfric, I gotta go,” she mumbled and took off running, the bag of day-old donuts still clutched in one fist. Tamara didn’t dare look back but when she reached Grandma’s porch, she snuck one glance and he stood, leaning against a utility pole like a sentinel on duty. Tamara brushed away more tears, schooled her expression toward normal hostility, and rang the doorbell.

  Her grandmother opened the door, leaning on a cane, hair silver and step slower than it used to be. Anthony’s death hit her hard, too and she’d never been quite the same since. But her face brightened when she saw Tamara and she smiled. “Come in, honey. What are you doing out in this weather? I figured you’d go straight on home from the store.”

  “I brought some donuts over,” Tamara said. She ignored the question because it wasn’t even really raining. “I thought you might like them with your coffee in the morning.”

  “I’ll love them, Tamara. Thank you,” Grandma said. “Can you stay a few minutes so we can watch television together? I’m watching one of those reality shows about the people with all those kids.” Tamara hated the program, but she knew Wulfric must still be out there, waiting, so she tossed her head and put on her fake store smile. “Sure, Grandma,” she said. “That’d be great.”

  Chapter Two

  After her grandmother retired for the evening, dressed in a long flannel nightgown with a matching mob cap Tamara found just too retro for words, she donned her red hooded jacket and slipped out into the night. At the late hour the street stretched empty, although she could hear traffic from the larger thoroughfare a few blocks away. She searched the darkness for any sign of Wulfric, but finding nothing, assumed he must be gone. Probably got tired of waiting, Tamara thought and although she’d sworn she wanted him to go, she missed him. Disappointment soured her already bitter mood and she trudged down the sidewalk, cursing the long walk home. It might take another half hour or even forty-five minutes, unless she cut through the cemetery. At the end of the street, she jogged over to the dead end of it, to the entrance. The tall, heavy gates were shut and locked but she’d climbed them before and she figured she still could. If she remembered right, there might still be a section of fence where the bars gaped and she could squeeze through. Tamara’d done it plenty during her teenage years and although she should have more decorum now, she didn’t. All she wanted to do was reach home without incident, crawl into her bed and sleep.

  She slipped through the gap and moved through the cemetery with the same silent grace as the shadows flitting through the place. Tamara didn’t know if light refraction cast them or if they might be ghosts, but she didn’t care either. Nor was she afraid. She strolled through mausoleum row, a place she’d considered a neighborhood for the dead as a child. As she reached the end of the line where she’d need to step off pavement and cut through rows of graves, she heard something scuffle behind and froze. Although it might be some nocturnal animal, somehow she doubted it and recalled now the old cemetery drew a crowd of visitors, some far from nice. She pulled her red hooded jacket closer and said with a bravado she didn’t feel, “Who’s there?”

  As she waited for a reply, she scanned the dark rows of grave monuments but saw nothing and the silence began to bother her. If someone jumped her, she’d do her best to fight but she wasn’t carrying anything she could defend herself with, not even a pocket knife. She heard noise again, just behind her and whirled to see Wulfric approaching.

  “You scared me,” she said, dropping her tough girl pose for a moment. “Why did you follow me?”

  He stared down at her, face sober. “I was worried about you. You shouldn’t cut through here, Tamara. A girl got raped here last weekend and a lot of drug deals go down here too. Besides, there’s too many wannabe ghost hunters wandering around playing hoodoo games.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Tamara lied.

  “You were.”

  He knew her too well and she resented it. “No, I’m not. Go away, go home or something. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Wulfric said, “but I don’t sleep much anyway and I’m not going home until I make sure you get there safely. If you want to waste time fighting about it, we can.”

  His eyes stared into hers with such intent power she shuddered. He meant what he said and although she didn’t want to admit it, Tamara liked it. As she trembled he put his arm across her shoulders, casual and friendly. “Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll let you this time, just because I’m too tired to argue. But you need to let it go, Wulfric, and forget about me. I’m not worth bothering with.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t agree with you but oh, well. Let’s go.”

  Wind, sharper than a well-honed blade, cut through her as they exited the cemetery. November chill sent shivers through her and with a sigh Wulfric put his arm around her. “You’re freezing,” he said, accusation in his tone.

  “Yeah,” she admitted.

  “You’re going to get sick,” he fussed. “Let’s stop by my place so you can warm up. It’s still a long way to your house.”

  She shouldn’t and she knew it but Tamara shivered. “Oh, all right,” she said.

  Wulfric lived in an upstairs apartment in an old two story frame house. She’d walked by here many times but never been inside because back when they were still together, he lived in another place. Tamara followed him up the narrow stairs and stood in the dark hallway as he unlocked the door. Once inside the small living room, she sat down on the rump sprung couch, arms wrapped around her torso in an effort to get warm. Heat rippled outward from an old steam heat register and after a few moments, she felt its warmth.

  “Do you want some coffee or something?” Wulfric asked, shedding his own jacket.

  Tamara shook her head. “No but thanks. I don’t want to be any trouble or make a fuss.”

  He laughed. “Uh-huh. You’re always trouble, Tamara but I love you anyway.”

  His words hit her hard. Tamara savored them and yet they hurt. To avoid any more pain, she did what she always did – prepared to run. She stood up. “I guess I’d better go. You don’t have to walk me there. I can find my way.”

  With speed he stood up too. “I’m not letting you walk through this neighborhood at this time of night.”

  Before she could protest or say anything Wulfric kissed her. His mouth latched onto hers with familiarity and need. Tamara responded, her lips crackling with sudden heat and her arms circled his neck. Encouraged, Wulfric kissed her deeper and his arms tightened his embrace. Her body erupted with a rush of desire and a sweet yearning so poignant she ached. Vulnerable at the late hour Tamara yielded to him, her defenses down.

  Beneath the red hoodie her heart beat a swift tattoo and her body heated as her secret places grew wet and wanting. Wulfric’s hand crept up beneath her jacket and shirt to fumble her bra open. With an old trick he’d perfected he pulled her bra out through her sleeve and his hands caressed her breasts. He used his fingers to fondle her nipples into hardness, each one standing at full attention. Tamara should complain, she should thrust him away and leave but she enjoyed what he did. She’d craved his touch and delighted in every pleasure thrill shooting through her body. Her flesh tingled with delight, and when Wulfric pulled off her red hood, then her blouse, she didn’t try to stop him.

  Instead, Tamara clawed at his simple T-shirt and removed it. Her hands explored his lean torso, stroking his muscles with long-denied hunger. On impulse she put her mouth against his left nipple and nibbled, her teeth bringing it hard as Wulfric moaned his appreciation. H
is larger hands caressed her breasts and he used his palms to titillate her nipples. Wulfric kissed her shoulders and neck. He nibbled until he left love bites, purple marks of passion.

  Her breath increased until she almost panted with need. Urgency drove her to unbutton her jeans and step out of them. Tamara tossed the nylon scrap of panties she wore and when she did, Wulfric’s gasp of pleasure fueled her ardor. Physical need removed her emotional distance as he stroked her body with such skill she cried aloud.

  When he stood naked before her, his cock erect and hard, Tamara knelt so she could take his stick into her mouth. Her lips raked up and down his shaft as she savored the feel of him in her mouth. She used her tongue to lick with slow, tantalizing motions and then tightened her lips to suckle, drawing tighter around him until he moaned.

  Wulfric’s hand seized her hair and pulled her upright. He kissed her hard on the mouth and said, “Bedroom, now.”

  By the time they reached his bed, a rumpled mass of scattered covers, Tamara burned and her need increased until she thought she’d die of want before he took her. Wulfric backed her onto the bed, kissing her from mouth to bellybutton and then when she opened her legs to him, he dived between. His tongue became a sword to ravish, to taste, to tickle and to torment her clit. She writhed with the extreme delight spreading through her body like wildfire, consuming Tamara in its wake.

  “Ohhh,” she cried, unable to form words or even coherent thought. Nothing existed in the moment but their bodies and the exquisite sensations he delivered. His cock thrust into her cunt and fit. She squeezed him, tightened her muscles to stroke his penis even as he worked it in and out of her with growing waves of pleasure. In her abandon, Tamara raked his back with her nails and lifted her body against his. In tandem they worked until they reached the very center of both bodies and the rush exploded. Together they screamed with delight, with total orgasm as their flesh rocked with the impact and everything turned brilliant for Tamara. Blind, she shrieked her joy and they collapsed together, in each other’s arms on the bed. Breathless, soaked with sweat and cum, she rested against Wulfric skin-to-skin.

  In her wild need, fired with passion, she’d demonstrated everything she long denied and judging by the smirk on his face, he knew it. Denials spoken in the aftermath wouldn’t work, so she said nothing. Wulfric cradled her against him and whispered, “Stay.”

  She should go, but…her parents wouldn’t miss her, and Tamara didn’t want to move. Warm against his body, sated and comfortable, she nodded. “I will, but just for tonight.”

  “Forever.”

  “We’ll talk.”

  “You love me.”

  Tamara didn’t even try to deny the truth. If they’d just fucked, she could’ve tried, but their experience combined enough sensuality with too much powerful emotion to deny. When she didn’t answer, his smile widened.

  “I knew it,” Wulfric said with a happy tone. Within minutes, his breathing shifted and he slept. In his arms, pinned against his chest, Tamara cried. He wasn’t supposed to know and she hadn’t meant for this to happen. He deserves better than me. He doesn’t know what’s best for him. I want him. God, I need him but I can’t have him. I’m a worthless mess and he’s better without me. I can’t live my life in this same old shitty neighborhood, this horrible town. I should leave, pack my bag and take a bus anywhere else.

  Tears came, because love hurt. She learned that lesson when her brother died. If you cared, if you loved someone you put a knife at their disposal so they could cut and wound with it at will. Her father used his well, and he’d slashed her deep with his words at Anthony’s visitation. Afterward, she built walls against her parents to protect herself and for three years, no one but Wulfric could get close. Then he got the job at the bread bakery, gave up college and pissed away his future. When a friend told her he’d been hanging around Players while she checked out customers, it was the last blow.

  His refusal to go away, to leave her to waste away in her self-built prison, rankled. Yet, deep within Tamara always knew he’d be there if she needed him. She hurt him, no doubt about it, and maybe even used him but if he hung around, she couldn’t give him up.

  Now I’ve done it. More tears followed and she cried herself to sleep, waking with her hair matted and with Wulfric gone. Tamara stretched out her hand and found the space where he’d lain still warm, but when she rose to search the apartment, he wasn’t there. For a moment, she thought he’d gone because she somehow offended him or maybe he’d suffered second thoughts––until she found a note propped up on the kitchen table.

  “Tamara, I had to go work but I’ll catch up with you later. Love, Wulfric,” she read aloud.

  Just like him, the note made no demands but said everything important. Tamara read it again, in silence this time and then folded it with care. She tucked it into an inner pocket of her purse and checked the time. In about five hours, she had to be at work too. As she pulled on yesterday’s clothes, Tamara considered a shower. She needed one, because a powerful aroma of musk, sex and sweat wafted upward from her body, but she’d clean up at home. Without bothering to make coffee or eat anything, she snitched a soft drink from Wulfric’s fridge and headed out.

  At the tiny little house where she grew up, Tamara unlocked the front door and tiptoed inside. This early, she didn’t expect to find either of her parents awake or alert. Her dad sprawled on the sagging couch and snored as she walked past. Although she didn’t bother to check, her mom should be in bed, huddled under a mountain of dirty blankets, sleeping off last night’s binge. Tamara gathered clean garments and headed for the bathroom. After a long, hot-as-she-could-stand shower, she did laundry, including her red hood.

  Just before she headed out the door to work, planning to walk the long blocks as usual, her mother staggered out in a stained nightgown. Tamara watched as her mom fired up the first cigarette of her two-and-a-half pack a day habit. “Jeez, is it so late already?” her mother asked, coughing, her voice harsh and thick. Some people called it a ‘whiskey voice’ but Tamara could vouch her mom’s came from vodka instead of bourbon.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to be at work in a little while,” Tamara said. Her mother reeked of booze, of stale body odor, unwashed bedding, a faint stench of vomit, muscle rub, and under it all, the strong scent of Tabu. “I’ve got to run, Mom.”

  Her mother glanced at her through blood-shot, bleary eyes. “Okay. See you tonight.”

  “I’m working a double shift, so it’ll be late.”

  With that Tamara dashed outside, glad to inhale the fresh air to clear her lungs, and started walking. Until now, she’d been on auto pilot since leaving Wulfric’s apartment. Five years of living in denial and building walls taught her to block out anything to survive. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about making love with him or what it might be like or how she’d face Wulfric. He knew now she cared and somehow she doubted he’d believe her denials, not after their intimate round of lovemaking.

  They couldn’t just return to the place they’d been two years ago––or could they? Tamara had no clue, and she feared finding out. If they couldn’t, she’d rather not be aware. Maybe she should just shut him out again, ignore his calls, run when he came to find her and leave town. She could, but Tamara admitted she didn’t want to do any of those things. She ached to run into his arms, to hold him and kiss him and tell him how much she loved him.

  As she walked up the long business thoroughfare toward the supermarket, she vowed she wouldn’t do any of those things. She wouldn’t. Damn it, she couldn’t.

  His first text arrived as she buttoned into the bright red smocks cashiers wore, so Tamara paused in the break room to read it. “You okay?” it said. Despite all her earlier self-made promises to ignore any communication, Tamara’s fingers flew as she texted back to Wulfric, “Fine.” As she stepped into place behind register number three, her phone tinkled and she peeked at the message––“C U 2nite”––and smiled. Although her first customer slapped a gallon of mil
k, a loaf of bread, and a package of bologna on the belt, Tamara replied, “Maybe. Work till 10.”

  Her mundane day crawled by. Wulfric texted a few more times but the store became busier and Tamara lacked time to check her phone until break. Groceries crossed the belt and her scanner in an endless stream. Tamara accepted cash, counted change, ran credit cards, and took checks. After the first six hours, her feet ached and so did her back. As she smiled, thanked customers, and did her job, her mind returned to Wulfric and what she should do about him.

  She took a late supper break around 7p.m., bought two pieces of fried chicken from the deli and checked her phone. Disappointment soured her appetite when she found no new messages from Wulfric. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything about their relationship. He probably came to his senses. Tamara sipped a tepid cola and watched the second hand sweep around the face of the big wall clock until her break ended. In three more hours, she’d get off. If Wulfric showed up, they might have a chance. If not, they wouldn’t.

  As the evening progressed, fewer people bought full grocery orders. Instead, people dashed in to buy microwave popcorn or a half gallon of ice cream or a package of disposable diapers. Just before ten, the night checkout manager arrived and told Tamara, “Go ahead and close down your register. Count your till, bag it and bring it back to me in the office. Then you can clock out and head home.”

  “Sure,” Tamara said with the faux smile she’d perfected over the past few years.

  Inside, her heart ached because she’d heard nothing more from Wulfric––not even a single text. Her hands counted up the money in her cash drawer and she filled out the necessary balance sheet. Just as Tamara turned to take the money back to the office, a customer stepped up to the register.

  “I’m closed for the night,” she said without bothering to glance up. “Shari can get you on register one.”

  “Give me the money, bitch,” a man growled and Tamara lifted her head. A man with straggly hair pulled back into a ponytail held a pistol less than a foot away. His wild eyes indicated he must be using, and when he spoke again his foul breath had the bitterness of meth. The fingers gripping the pistol – she thought it might be a .45 because her dad owned one – trembled and she hesitated. He might shoot her even if she handed over the cash.