Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men)

by Connor, Eden

  “Now that was fucking sexy,” he panted.

  She hoped she’d never be tested on what she’d be willing to do for that look.

  He took her hand and held her gaze, sliding her wet fingers into his mouth. Something inside her kicked like a mule, and some stupid voice inside her head whispered that she’d do whatever it took to keep this from ending. He didn’t do anything to discourage the thought. Oh, no, he kissed his way down her body, finishing by letting his lips linger against her mound. She didn’t dare look at him while they dressed, afraid he’d see too much, but she knew she’d never win this game. How could she, when he held all the cards?

  They passed under the statue’s wing, and her heart went haywire when he reached for her hand.

  Amy looked around, curious to see the camp. Wind had blown snow into drifts as high as her hips along the side of a few of the sheds, but the copse of evergreens sheltering the migrant housing was so thick, there was hardly any snow on the ground in a few places.

  Before they went to the cabin they’d been sent to check out, he showed her the interior of one of the buildings he called bunkhouses. Though shuttered windows made the interior dim, she studied the compartments his Grandfather Chapman had fashioned.

  She could see where he’d gotten the inspiration for the nook in the cabin’s loft. Six rows of similar cozy cubbies, each about two feet deeper than a standard twin mattress and exactly as long, ran the length of the building, in back to back rows. Narrow cupboards for the occupant’s clothing and belongings were built into the end of each compartment. Drawers lined the risers below the mattresses. A light fixture was mounted above each bed. Stairs at the ends of each row allowed access to the overhead bunks and a long, railed walkway—much like a fire escape—ran the length. The fronts were open now, he explained, but the compartments had once sported heavy curtains to give the occupant some privacy. Showers circled the outside walls on the east and west ends, screened by shoulder-high concrete block.

  “Someone was quite the architect,” she said admiringly.

  “Nance Chapman was a lot of things. He created new varieties of peaches. We had a longer season than most of the farmers around here because all the varieties ripen at different times, so the migrants stayed here longer than they did at a lot of the local farms. My grandmother, Livia—Nance’s wife—read to them, translating stories into Spanish, and she taught them to read and write English.”

  Amy nodded. “I know a little about her. My mom used to be a librarian, but Livia Chapman inspired her to go back to school to be certified to teach Adult Ed. She holds her classes at the library downtown. A lot of Mom’s students are immigrants.”

  He leaned against the door frame. “She wasn’t a typical grandmother. If she knew we were into a subject, she’d find us two books about it, one fiction and one non-fiction. If we asked for toys, she’d tell us the only toy we needed was an imagination.”

  “I love that idea,” Amy declared.

  He shrugged. “She gave me a book by John Steinbeck for my birthday when I was eleven, The Grapes of Wrath. She got me to read it by telling me the book had been banned. She wanted us to understand that all a migrant had to sacrifice to provide for their families was what the rest of us call a home.”

  “No wonder my mom admired her, if she could get you to read that book. I didn’t read it till high school. Kicking and screaming the whole way, I might add.”

  “Took me all summer, but those characters were real to me. I hear people talk a lot of shit about migrants and immigrants, legal and illegal, but the truth is, everything you eat is touched by a migrant worker’s hands. Been that way all my life and since long before I was born. I don’t get why there’s such a big debate all of a sudden about those workers. If they quit work tomorrow—just all went home and never came back like some folks seem to think they should—this country would starve to death inside a year. Who do you know who wants to spend every waking hour for four months, with their arms held over their head, picking peaches? So who the hell is it they’re supposedly taking jobs from? And how are they any different from Dante?”

  The ferocity in his voice made her ache. “I don’t know the answer, Eric.” Her heart kept doing that stupid thing, seeming like it added a beat just for him. The last thing she’d have expected from this man was compassion for a much-maligned group of people. Shame swept through her at how badly she’d underestimated him.

  He reached for her hand again. “Come on, let’s get to the crew chief’s shack.”

  The wind whipped the trees while they walked the road between the buildings, causing ice to fall in glittering shards. He talked, taking her mind off the cold. “Most buildings were built with reclaimed materials. The rocks used for the foundations were cleared from the orchards. The wood siding was made from the cedars growing all over the place. There’s a sawmill behind the supply shed.”

  When they stepped onto the porch of the supervisor’s cottage, Amy asked, “Why are the doors so wide?”

  “Emilio, my other grandfather, bought a truckload of doors from a cotton mill when it was being remodeled. Ever been inside a cotton mill?” She shook her head. “They use rolling carts about four feet wide to move the spindles. Doors had to accommodate those.”

  * * * *

  Eric couldn’t take his eyes off Amy. She kept to the task at hand, opening the few boxes stacked in the foreman’s cabin. “This stuff looks like my things Mom shoved in storage when they moved. High school stuff no one uses, but can’t seem to throw away.”

  “I lived here a while.” He didn’t bother with the boxes. He’d known when he started up the mountain, those ledgers weren’t here. He agreed to make the trip because he wanted Amy to see the camp.

  “Why?” she asked. Before he could decide how to respond, she laughed. “Any teenager would kill for a spot like this, what am I saying? I guess this was like running away, only you could go home for dinner.”

  He hadn’t gone home for dinner. If he’d tried at that point in his life, his father might’ve shot him.

  “Dee said you were accepted to Georgia Tech. Why didn’t you go?”

  Through the bare front window, Eric studied the heavy clouds. Goddammit, Dee. Is there anything you won’t repeat? Why did it feel like his most infamous moment was looming at his back like the coming blizzard?

  “My old man wouldn’t take money from the government, so student loans were out. I sure as hell didn’t qualify for an academic scholarship. I would’ve been an out-of-state student, so double what you’re paying, plus housing.”

  She nodded, prying open another box. “I wouldn’t be in college if not for the state lottery scholarship money and my student loans. What were you going to major in?”

  “I wanted an engineering degree, to build race cars.” Unable to bear her scrutiny, Eric stepped into the bathroom, eying the meager fixtures. “Dan’s a decent all-around mechanic and Colton’s a whiz-kid with electrical systems. But back then, the shop made the most income from building street rods. That was where I excelled. I could’ve gone to Tech, worked my way through, but I was needed here.”

  He heard his father’s voice in his mind. The day he’d shown his father the acceptance letter, Rafe had laughed. Rafe was laughing at him now for lying to Amy. I already know how sending you to college will end, don’t I? Good goddamn, Eric. Why would I pay to watch you fuck your way to failure? He resisted the urge to drive a fist through the thin plywood cabinets in the small kitchen.

  “But you got a job working for a NASCAR team, right?”

  Goddammit. Any lingering affection Eric felt for Dee evaporated. He wanted to go slap duct tape over her big mouth. “Cotton Gowens asked my auto shop teacher for a recommendation. He recommended me.”

  He stepped back into the main room. Amy looked up from the box she was poking through. Her eyes went wide. “That’s right. You said you worked for Cotton Gowens. I bet a hundred people wanted that job.”

  Cotton was a local legend who start
ed his career racing stock cars, then turned to building cars for other drivers. “Yeah.”

  Her smile was so wide and the admiration in her eyes... fuck, just fuck. “That’s incredible.” She rocked back on her heels.

  He didn’t want to talk about this. He heaved a sigh, watching his breath turn to fog inside the damn room. “Those ledgers aren’t here. They’re not in the schoolhouse, either, but we’ll peek in there, just to humor Cynda so she gives us some of whatever she has in the oven. You wanna drive down the mountain?”

  She stood and stepped over the boxes to slide her hand in his. “No, but I wanna drive after you get us down the mountain.” Her hand tightened on his. “And I don’t care if it was three weeks or three hours, I’m impressed you worked for a NASCAR team owner.”

  “You need gloves.” He pressed her frigid fingers to his lips.

  * * * *

  In Dan’s driveway, Amy put the Dodge’s transmission into neutral and let off the clutch. She handed Eric his keys. He laughed and leaned across the cab to stick them back in the ignition. “Not bad. You didn’t scare me once.”

  “Next time, I’ll try harder,” she vowed, grinning like a little kid. Driving the huge truck had been fun. He never once flinched while she got her bearings about the unaccustomed length and width of the vehicle. “Might help if I’d driven more than two miles.”

  “I’ll have you mudslinging by spring.”

  Stop it. She tried to scold her heart for the damn leap it made, but when he talked like that, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he might be interested in her as more than a fuck buddy.

  Hell-oo, this is Honey Bee. He knew she wouldn’t graduate until May. Which was spring. His sweet talk didn’t mean a thing, other than acknowledging she’d still be underfoot when the trees began to put out leaves.

  The kitchen was empty when they stepped into the farmhouse. “I guess they’re upstairs.” Eric turned off when they passed through the arched doorway leading into a wide hallway. “I’m gonna duck into the bathroom. Meet you up there.”

  No walls impeded Amy’s view, allowing her to see the gleaming dining room table, already set with sparkling china and silver. The formal living room looked like something out of a museum, but none of the furniture looked comfortable. She wouldn’t want to have to dust all the knick knacks in this place, but every surface gleamed.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, the doors lining the wide hall were closed, except for one at the far end, on the left. Her passage was blocked by myriad stacks of boxes and small pieces of furniture. She started working her way through the obstacles, grateful for the warm air circulating in the home.

  “They all wore it.” Amy identified Cynda’s voice. “Grams, what do you think?”

  Rising on her toes to peer over the boxes, she spied Cynda’s grandmother. Coralinne lifted a white dress so tiny, Amy thought it might be doll clothing. When Grams held the dress as high as she could, Amy still couldn’t see the bottom of the skirt, though she peered through the crack between two stacks of boxes. Yellow stains splotched and streaked the fabric. “I think we can clean this up and mend the lace.” Coralinne said.

  “I’d really love to have a picture of Fred wearing it.” Lila’s voice, but Amy still couldn’t see her friend. “I’d hang it beside this one of Colton. I have to get this picture enlarged and framed.”

  “Here’s a picture of Daniel wearing it. Can you believe he was ever that small? Such a shame we don’t have one of Jonah, but here’s the one of Sarah in it. See how much Rafe has aged?” Cynda again.

  Have they found the damn records, or not? Amy kept working her way toward the open door.

  Lila spoke. “Oh, my God. It’s just dawned on me. I don’t know why I never thought of it before now, but Sarah had to be fourteen when she got pregnant with Jonah. Is that right?”

  Job security. Lila was a great example of why she’d chosen to teach math.

  Amy rolled her eyes and spoke up. “How do you balance your checkbook, Lila? You had to know Sarah was younger than Colton. Even I know that.” She waved when Cynda, Lila, and Grams’ heads appeared in the doorway at the sound of her voice.

  Lila waved back, but she seemed to be looking at someone else. “But I saw her. At the garage. And she was older—”

  “You saw what you expected to see. Dark-haired gal working the counter, had to be family, right?” Colton stepped into view behind Lila, and he began massaging her shoulders.

  “Daniel, you straight-up told me Sarah was eighteen when she got pregnant.” Cynda cut Dan a hard look.

  Eric’s big brother bent to grab a box. “We’d just met that day, Cynda. I didn’t see the point in airing the family’s dirty laundry. If people don’t know, why bring it up? We’re not exactly proud our baby sister got pregnant so young.”

  There was something about the look Dan and Colton exchanged that made Amy wary. She turned. Some sixth sense said she needed to stop Eric from coming up the stairs.

  He stood frozen near the top step. His knuckles gripping the railing were white. She hated that hopeless, lost look in his eyes. But they’re talking about his sister, not his mother. He lowered his head. Watching the defensive way Eric’s shoulders hunched, Amy wanted to yell at Lila and Dan to shut up. She felt her stomach knot, but she had no idea how to help him, because she couldn’t figure out what was wrong. But her sense of dread only grew bigger. Kicking Lila to shut her up seemed a good idea, if she could only reach her. Too bad she couldn’t throw something.

  She looked away from Eric’s stricken face. “So, how long is it supposed to snow?” She had to get Lila off-topic. That wasn’t too hard.

  Something told Amy to grab Eric and drag him to the truck. She hopped over box after box, moving in his direction. Breaking free of the clutter, she nearly ran to the stairs, but Eric didn’t step aside or make any move to turn around. The look on his face made her want to hug him. The set of his shoulders said she’d better not.

  “Please, let’s go home,” Amy whispered. “None of this can possibly matter now.”

  * * * *

  He might as well beat Colton to the punch. Eric kept his eyes downcast, staring at the dark grease that never seemed to come out of the cuts and ridges on his hands. Fuck it. Amy might as well know. Maybe knowing would wipe that starry look out of her eyes and he could forget about trying to be someone he wasn’t. He lifted his eyes to Amy’s, sure all the warmth would leave them now, for good.

  “My fault Sarah got pregnant. Dad told me to look after her. I was a senior the year she was a freshman. Colton was a sophomore. Dan had graduated, of course. Dad told me every fucking day it was my job to look out for Colton and Sarah. I was supposed to drive ‘em to school and then bring Sarah home after school let out. Colton was at auto shop class at the old high school last period. He caught a ride to the garage from there.”

  “Then, I started going with Deanna Danielson. This was before she started going out with Jeb Wilkerson. We’d go to her house after school because her mom worked and we’d knock boots real quick before I had to turn up at the garage. Sarah covered for me. She said she’d find a ride and go straight home. But I guess she decided if I could fuck around, she could too.”

  “Huh,” Lila muttered. “Sarah got pregnant and you think she did it on your watch? Last I heard, you kids had one parent.”

  Eric broke Amy’s gaze. Colton started heaving boxes back into the room. Dan caught them. He made himself look at Lila. “Lila, it was my fault. I was supposed to protect her. I failed. See, she confided in me when she realized she was pregnant. And I—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Dan had no misgivings about telling the end of the sorry tale, apparently. “Dad went off like a rocket when he found out those two had been sneakin’ around, trying to get Sarah an abortion. When they realized she needed the signature of a parent, they asked Grandmother Liv to sign for her. Livia told Dad.”

  “Dad demanded to know who the father was.” Colton bent to li
ft another box, refusing to look at Eric. “She told him she had no idea, too many choices to name one.”

  Eric could tell from his youngest brother’s uneven tone that, even after all these years, Colton still blamed him for the loss of Sarah. Because they’d lost her the minute she’d gotten on that plane to fly west. Those two had been inseparable all their lives. Colton hadn’t spoken to him for months after she left.

  Dan slapped a hand onto the wide doorframe, dragging his arm across his forehead. “Dad said some harsh things to Sarah and to Eric. He thought she was too young to know what she wanted to do. That it was his decision to make. And he laid a beating on Eric I’ve never forgiven myself for not stoppin’.”

  “I earned it.” Eric shrugged, dropping his gaze to his battered work boots.

  “So Liv asked if Sarah could stay with her for a few days. Just until Rafe calmed down. He was talking about killin’ people. I honestly think if he’d found out who got her pregnant, he’d have shot the guy.” Dan’s voice seemed to ring in the wide hallway. “Grandmother thought so, too. She put Sarah on a plane. Sent her to stay with her sister, Ellie. Sarah never came back and Dad never forgave Grandmother. That’s why it was such a shock when she turned up with the deed to the orchards. Lila, that’s why she rented a truck, so she didn’t have to make a second trip. Her and Dad were the same kind of stubborn, I reckon. They never made up. Dad drove to Los Angeles when we heard Jonah was born. Sarah took the baby and ran away. Stayed with friends until he left. Once he got back from California, the minute he pulled those garage doors down every night, he started workin’ on gettin’ drunk and mean.”

  Eric felt those rocks grinding together in his gut again. He’d bailed. That was when he’d moved into the cabin at camp. Dan had listened to the old bastard rant and cleaned up his puke. He’d never begrudged Dan inheriting control of the land for that reason. He’d wimped out, leaving his baby brother and Dan to deal with their father. And that mess was why Rafe hadn’t lifted a finger to send Eric to college. If he’d been more concerned about getting laid than looking out for Sarah, who could blame his dad for thinking he’d put fucking ahead of his college courses?