“I hate you.” And her feet were on the floor.
But his arm encircled her waist and drew her back to him, to wait until he was ready for her again. She was ashamed at how quickly her body answered his demands.
It was Jimmy’s muttering in his sleep that woke her. She was hot and one arm prickled where it lay under Michael, his bare shoulder and arm heavy but relaxed across her chest. He slept on his stomach, his face turned away from her.
There was no moonlight, but enough light filtered through the bedroom doorway from the kitchen to make them visible. Jimmy mustn’t find them like this. She slid gently from under Michael’s arm and off the bed. He didn’t stir. She gathered up her clothes and then turned to look back at him from the doorway.
She should hate him for tonight, but she didn’t really. Instead she felt just a little less alone. Don’t, Laurel, he didn’t make love to you. It was more like rape. And she had fought him, but not too hard, just enough to make it exciting. You knew what you were doing and it won’t mean anything to him tomorrow.
Cloudy, greasy dishwater still half-filled the sink and as she let it out her image confronted her again in the kitchen window, more bedraggled than before, a dark swelling under one eye. Would she get pregnant?
Laurel turned out the light, took three aspirins, and crawled into her own bed.
16
Dear Laurel Jean,
This letter is so late because it is the second one. Daddy caught me writing the first one and tore it up. I tried to tell him that you were back with your family, but he said he didn’t want to hear about it and walked off. I think he is relieved though, but you know him—he won’t show it. It is also late because I couldn’t think what to tell you. I’ve thought and thought where we went wrong to make you do such a thing. I was awfully worried that something had happened to you. But Daddy said you were all right.
Honey, about your Dad. Well, you were always such a good girl—nice, quiet, thoughtful. We were so proud of you. And when we didn’t have a boy, well, he pinned all his hopes on you. Fathers do that and you were all he had. He was disappointed that you went so far away to teach, but when you married a Catholic it just about broke his heart. And then running out on the baby—it was just the last straw. I think he would have gotten over Michael if it hadn’t been for that. I saw him looking at the pictures of Jimmy and he didn’t say anything but he didn’t tear them up.
Your cousin Kenny is taking over the implement business as Dad is close to retiring. He has left it all to Kenny and I think this wrong. But after seeing Michael’s house in Tucson I guess you won’t need it anyway. Aunt Bertha sends you her love.
I keep looking at the pictures you sent. You look so thin, but Jimmy is a darling and so big for his age. I pray to God every night that Daddy will give in and at least let me come out and see him (Jimmy and you, too).
My flowers are about gone now. They were so nice this summer. I have repainted the kitchen pink and made new curtains—a flowery design. I just put up pickles, preserves, and peaches this year. Guess I’m growing old.
I don’t know if you know it, but Daddy hired a detective when we went to Denver after you left the hospital. He wrote Daddy about two months later and he (Daddy) wouldn’t let me see the letter. He just said that the detective said that you were all right and not in any trouble and knew what you were doing. I told Daddy that Michael should know where you were, but he just swore at me. I almost wrote Michael myself, but I didn’t know what to say to him since I didn’t see the letter.
Well, I must get dinner on. Please write me again and don’t wait two years this time (but don’t send it here). I’m so glad you’re back with your family.
Love,
Mom
P.S. If you have trouble remembering things, see a doctor right away. Have you been to the dentist lately?
Laurel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So she did both, sitting on the lumpy couch, the letter in one hand, an ice pack in the other propped against the swelling on her cheek.
Casual clues like Kenny, Bertha, implement business, flower garden meant nothing to her. But much worse was the longing inside her for these two people who were her parents. Mom and Daddy. Oh, how she needed them now. And yet they were two unapproachable strangers.
Her father knew where she’d been for those two years. And she’d been doing something so terrible that he couldn’t tell her own mother about it. What could be that awful? Prison? No, she wouldn’t be lost then. Prostitution? Oh God, not that.
If she picked up the phone and called him would he tell her what the detective had learned? No. He wouldn’t believe she didn’t know. It was obvious in Lisa’s postscript that she hadn’t believed it.
Of course, all he could do was hang up; he couldn’t hurt her. Not like Michael had last night. But that was physical. Her father’s rejection would hurt another way, a deeper way. She curled up on the couch, tucking the ice pack under her cheek, and considered the telephone on the floor next to the stereo console.
It rang.
At first she couldn’t believe it. When it rang the second time, she jumped to answer it before it awakened Jimmy from his nap. Could she have willed her father to.… No, probably someone selling patio covers or swimming pools.
“Devereaux’s.”
“Doe Eyes?”
“Harley?” Even his voice gave her a lift. “Oh, Harley.”
“Hey, all I said was ‘Doe Eyes.’” Laughter in his voice—how long since she’d heard laughter?
“It’s just so good to hear you. How did you get my number?”
“You’re in the phone book now. Didn’t you know?”
“No. But I’m glad you called. Where are you?”
“In a filling station in Glendale. I just closed a big deal and I was going through and I thought to myself … I wonder if there are any ladies in distress who need a dragon slayed or something. And I happened to think of you. Don’t have any ol’ dragons around, do ya?”
Wonderful, preposterous Harley. “The word is ‘slain’ and I don’t see any at the moment. But I do need some help, if you’re not tired of doing me favors.”
“Just name it. I feel real helpful today.”
“I want to go back to that road where you picked me up, the one that leads to the ranch where … you lived.”
“When?”
“Right now. Can you find my house?”
“I got the address right here. Be there in fifteen minutes.”
She raced to the bathroom, put on lipstick, brushed her hair, and examined her cheek. The swelling was down, but the bruise had progressed to an even uglier purple. What was Michael doing now? Did he feel badly about last night? He’d left before she’d awakened that morning.
She woke Jimmy and dressed him, smiling to herself. It would be very good to see Harley again. When the old blue truck rattled to a stop in front of the house Laurel was out the door to meet it, Jimmy in tow, before Harley could get out. “Hi, dragon slayer.”
Harley looked a little surprised to see Jimmy.
“Do you mind if he goes, too? I can’t leave him alone.”
“Don’t look like I got much choice. Well, get in and we’ll go find a dragon.”
The dusty cab, the familiar gasoline smell, and she sat next to Harley again. Just like that morning in. April. But now she held a son on her lap.
“Why’re we going back to this place? Not that I have to know. Somehow when I’m around you, life is one big mystery.” That fatal grin under the gristly curly hair, the long sideburns, a badly stretched T-shirt and faded Levi’s … oh, it was good to see grinning, uncomplicated Harley again.
He caught her eyes devouring him, and the grin slowly spread into a smile as he reached over to touch her bruised cheek. “Looks like things are gettin’ rough at your house.”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe it if I said I ran into a door?”
“I don’t suppose I would.”
“Why are men so violent, Harl
ey?”
“Because they’re honest.”
“Honest!”
“A man hits you and you know you’ve pushed him too far. You know where you stand. But I don’t hold with hittin’ women. Not that I haven’t wanted to. But you take a woman, they’re sly and secret—deadly dangerous, every one of them.”
“Even me?”
Harley lit a cigarette and squinted as the smoke curled past his eyelashes. “Lady, you’re walking dynamite.”
She had to laugh, partly at what he said and partly because she felt so good to be there. She hugged Jimmy and he turned to smile up at her. “To show you that I’m not secretive, I’ll tell you why I want to go back. I want to see if I can remember how I got there. Harley, I’m sure I’ll remember things in time. But I can’t sit around and wait for it to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve got to explain a two-year absence to my husband pretty soon or I’ll lose Jimmy. And because I think someone is either trying to scare me to death or kill me and I.…”
“Wait a minute. Hold it right there. Who is trying to kill you?”
“I don’t know. It could be anybody.” She told him of that night in the courtyard and of the gas leak. “It could even be you, Harley.”
He shook his head slowly. “In the real world that shadow with the ax, or whatever, could have been imagination or a dream, and the second is something that could happen to anybody, but in your world.…” Harley shrugged and then chuckled. “And if you thought I was going to kill you, you wouldn’t be sittin’ in this truck.”
“If I can trust anyone, I guess it’s you. I don’t know when I’ve felt so relaxed.”
They skirted Phoenix to the south and were soon rumbling down the highway to Florence, the windows open, her hair flying about her face, the dry herby smell of the desert prickling her nostrils. Although it was not cool, the summer heat had broken. It was a drier, more breathable heat.
Jimmy excitedly called out the colors of the cars they met, and Laurel settled back to enjoy the ride. They’d both needed to get away from the beige bungalow.
“You in love with this husband of yours?” The absence of the grin told her that Harley wasn’t all that uncomplicated.
She paused to think before answering him; he deserved an honest answer. “No, I don’t think so, Harley. I don’t even know him.”
“What’s he like?”
“Big, attractive, dark. He has a nasty temper—very hard to get to know. I don’t see much of him.”
“And you don’t know how you feel about him?”
“Sometimes I hate him, sometimes I’m afraid of him. Sometimes … I feel beautiful just standing next to him.”
“You don’t need a man to make you beautiful, Mrs. Devereaux.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t you like your name?”
“It’s not the name. It’s the way you say Devereaux.”
“I’ve got no call to love Devereaux.” And with an unnecessarily sudden swerve he turned the truck onto a side road and stopped in front of a cattle guard. “Well, here’s your dragon, Doe Eyes. Ready?”
Now that they weren’t moving and the air didn’t swirl through the cab of the truck, the heat was more impressive. Laurel’s face felt sweaty, gritty, with tiny hard particles of. dirt between her teeth. Jimmy’s weight was suddenly unbearable, and she transferred him to the seat between them. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“I’m sure.” Harley watched her curiously.
The flowers were gone from the ditches on either side of the truck. And so was her gay mood. The double track still meandered off into cacti and low trees, but where there had been green there was now gray and dirty brown … no grass … the trees barren of leaves.… “Harley … I don’t think I want.…”
“Huh-uh.” They coasted over the cattle guard. “You wanted to come out here; you’re goin’ through with it. How far in were you?”
“There was a dry stream bed not far from the road.”
“That wash follows the road most of the way. How long did it take you to walk out?”
“Not more than ten minutes.”
It wasn’t long before he stopped the truck, got out, and stood looking around him with his hands on his hips, his T-shirt soaked where he’d leaned against the back of the seat. Laurel sat still, staring at the dirty windshield.
“Mommy, I hot.”
Harley came to open her door. “Come on.” When she didn’t move, he took her arm and pulled her out. Jimmy scrambled after her.
“I shouldn’t have come here.”
He shrugged, his grin growing thin. “You have got to be the most screwed-up dame ever born. I’m beginnin’ to see why your old man slugged you.”
He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and pushed her in front of him around the truck across a few feet of desert to the wash. She couldn’t see the highway.
“Hey, kid. Stay away from that cholla,” Harley yelled.
Jimmy’s enraged screams changed to a whimpering as he limped toward Laurel with one tennis shoe full of lime-green bristles. “Ouchy! Mommy! Ouchy!”
“Oh, hell.” Harley bent to grab an ankle and began pulling out short bristles and hooked barbs. Jimmy returned to his screaming and Harley said, “Jesus, what a family.”
Laurel knelt to help and then drew Jimmy to her. “Hush, baby, they’re out now. Harley, he’s only two.” They were kneeling close together so that they could look directly into each other’s eyes over Jimmy’s shoulder. Harley’s forehead wrinkled and a questioning expression came over his face.
“What?” Laurel said and then she heard it, too. The rumble of an engine.…
“Car, Mommy.” Jimmy’s sobs turned off instantly. “Blue car.”
“Oh, God, no.”
Harley’s eyes were fixed behind her now, one hand shielding out the sun. She turned in time to see the long gleaming car come to a stop behind the truck, sunlight flashing back off the deep metallic finish.
“Daddy’s car.”
Jimmy shot forward, but she and Harley were fixed in their kneeling positions as Michael stepped from the car and slammed the door.
Green buglike sunglasses in gold wire frames hid his eyes, the familiar tan uniform—short-sleeved, navy blue belt, multicolored strips of ribbon above the left pocket of the shirt, silver wings above the ribbons. He would have looked even more official if Jimmy hadn’t been attached to one leg. His hand ruffled his son’s hair, but the sunglasses were directed at the pair on the ground. And with the sun behind him, Michael cast a formidable shadow.
Harley rose slowly to his feet. “Well, what d’ya know, a real live Devereaux.”
The sunglasses followed Harley’s rise and then, still silent, Michael removed them and laid them on top of the car. For an instant his chilling, unblinking glance rested on Laurel and then moved back to Harley.
“You wouldn’t bring me here, so I asked Harley.…” she said.
But both men seemed to have lost all interest in her. Harley squinted back at Michael and the grin slowly returned. “Well, I never … a blue-eyed Mexican.”
“Harley, don’t.…”
Michael carefully guided Jimmy over to Laurel, and as he straightened, he jerked his fist into Harley’s face with a horrid cracking sound and Harley lay at his feet.
“Get Jimmy back.” Michael’s command was thrown at her over his shoulder.
“No. Please.” But she moved a few feet away with Jimmy.
Harley raised up on one elbow, shaking his head, and when he looked up at Michael, Laurel shuddered. It wasn’t the teasing grin she’d become so fond of but something different, something cunning, naked on Harley’s face … he’s enjoying this!
Harley got to his feet with surprising quickness, dodged Michael’s next blow, and, with head lowered, rammed into Michael’s middle. And now Michael sprawled on the desert floor.
“Daddy.”
“Get out of here.” He fought to
regain his breath between clenched teeth and to push Jimmy away before Harley was on top of him.
Laurel snatched a kicking Jimmy to safety and covered his eyes with her hand, watching, fascinated, as the two men rolled over and over jabbing each other anywhere they could. Harley a little stockier, Michael longer and quicker … rolling down the slight incline to the bottom of the wash … Michael’s hand finding Harley’s throat … screams rising in her own throat.…
She sat in a depression in the earth, a miniature stream bed without water that twisted among small trees and clumped bushes until out of sight. Cacti, weird and distorted, rose above the bushes, some taller than the trees, with spiny green arms reaching upward … the sun scorching her eyes, her face … voices behind her.
She tried to turn her head but it made her dizzy, so she turned her body around on her hands and knees until she faced the other way. Two men ran toward her, one fair, the other dark, both soaked with sweat. They were too big, too close. She felt too weak to run. Slowly, she sank facedown onto the sandy pebbly earth, so hot and tired she didn’t care.
Rough hands forced her to roll over, and the blinding sun was on her face again. Splotches of violent moving red and green almost blotted out their shapes as they knelt above her.
“Laurel?”
“Maybe now you’ll see she gets a doctor.”
“She’s none of your business, Mr. McBride!”
Her eyes focused on a third shape, a small boy. He looked terrified as he held a hand out to her. What did he want? She wanted to reassure him, but the two men were lifting her to her feet. When she wobbled, the dark one picked her up and carried her.
The streak of blood at the corner of his mouth confused her. “Was there an accident?” she asked.
He gave her a strange look but didn’t stop walking.
17
Laurel was up and dressed when Dr. Gilcrest made his “visit” that morning. She wanted to convince him that she was ready to go home. After a month of counting the tiny holes in. the ceiling tile she felt she’d suffocate in the crowded room if she had to spend another day in it. A couch and two easy chairs had been packed into an already furnished hospital room to make it look less like what it was.
Michael’s Wife Page 17
