“I was just surprised. It’s raining, and the baby is asleep.”
“And you think I don’t know that, or didn’t consider it?”
“No, I...” She let her voice trail off, uncertainly, then said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m not questioning you, really. It’s just my way of...thinking about things. You know, unexpected things.”
Mickey got her black raincoat out and held it open. She looked at him curiously, but slipped her arms into the sleeves and buttoned the coat. He took her outside barefoot and walked down the block, not hurrying.
“Are we going to the park again?” Sandy asked finally.
“Don’t talk,” he said, and kissed her.
The rain had stopped, with only the occasional spray of water driven off the trees to spatter on her legs. They sat on a bench quietly for a time, and then he took her to the small pavilion where they had made love before. She hesitated inside, shifting a little on the bare concrete floor, thinking that he might have her remove the coat.
“I need to tell you some things,” Mickey said, lighting a cigar.
“What...?”
“No questions, San. Just listen.”
She laced her fingers together in her lap and looked down at them. It was hard for her not to ask questions. They usually talked about everything.
“It’s about Linus Davidson,” he said, feeling his throat close up.
“What about him?” She sighed, clenching her hands. “Sorry, that was a question. I’ll shut up now.”
“It was me put him in the hospital, honey.”
She looked at him sharply, turning her head without turning her body. Her mouth opened for the inevitable question, but she caught herself. She closed it with a click of teeth and looked back at her hands, eyes haunted.
“Go ahead and ask,” he said gently.
She opened her mouth to speak again, and then closed it to swallow. She licked her lips and took a breath and let it out in a gusty sigh. Her shoulders were hunched and she unclenched her hands and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
“You were there that night?” she asked finally, in a voice like a sob.
“Ask something you don’t know the answer to,” Mickey said.
Tears ran down Sandy’s cheeks. “You knew,” she said in a whisper.
“That’s still not a question, honey,” he said.
She was silent for a long time, crying quietly. Tears streamed down her face to drip off her chin, but she ignored them. Mickey waited, feeling the muscles unlock in his body. He knew that it wasn’t supposed to be fun, this kind of thing. But he was certain that it was the right thing to do. Finally, Sandy wiped her face with the flats of her hands and sniffled, swallowing hard all the while to get herself under control.
“How long have you known?” she asked in a tiny, broken voice.
“Since Hugh Dowling in high school,” he said.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
As far as Mickey knew, or guessed, Dowling had been the first. He and Sandy had been going steady at the time, and she’d stepped outside those childish vows of love with the star quarterback. Mickey hadn’t known for a long time, and then he had only suspected. Now he knew, and it more or less confirmed his suspicions about the others, too.
He turned to straddle the bench facing her, and pulled her in to put his arms around her. She was stiff and cold, but came willingly enough. They didn’t say anything else for awhile. Sandy tucked her chin in and rested her head against Mickey’s chest. He smoked peaceably, being there for her, trying to give her some kind of support while she grappled with her own past, and about things much more recent that were in all probability going to change the future.
Mickey finished his cigar and set the butt on the edge of the picnic table to let it die out. That meant a half hour had gone by, because it took him that long to smoke one of his stogies all the way down. He got a roll of breath mints out of his pocket and put two in his mouth.
“We’re done, aren’t we?” Sandy asked finally.
“Not unless you say so.” He put the packet of mints away again.
“You’ve been thinking about this.”
“Yes,” he said.
She sat up then and looked at him. “What about...?” She blinked and nearly smiled. “Um...sorry. I’d like to ask a question.”
“You want to know about Davidson.”
“Yes.”
“He was blackmailing you, wasn’t he?”
She took another shaky breath and nodded in the reflected streetlight, not trusting herself to speak.
“That’s over,” he said flatly.
“But, he’s got...”
“Not anymore, San. He has no power over you. None.”
Sandy hugged herself again and shivered. “You don’t know, honey. He’s...”
“I do know,” Mickey said, cutting her off.
“No, Mick. You really don’t understand. He has...” She swallowed hard, and covered her face with her hands. “He has pictures,” she said, almost wailing.
“Not anymore,” Mickey said.
The mints had melted in his mouth. He worked his tongue around and swallowed the harsh spearmint flavor, and then he put his finger under Sandy’s chin and tipped her head up. He looked straight into her streaming eyes.
“You’re safe now,” he said. “It’s over.”
“I’m not,” she sobbed. “I can’t ever be...”
“You are safe,” he said, more emphatically. “Believe me, San.”
“But how can I...?” She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “Christ, Mick. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? The pictures, I mean. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
She saw the truth in his eyes, and then her face crumbled again and she was crying even harder. Mickey let her cry it out, and then he took her home. Without a word, he took the packet of photographs and the rest and set fire to it in the charcoal grill on the patio out behind the house. He put the photographs in face down, and they stood together watching them blacken and curl and turn to ash.
“That’s the past,” he said.
Sandy had an arm around his waist and she hugged him, hard. He took her to the bathroom and put her in a hot shower. When she came out, he had turned down the bed and was standing beside it, waiting for her. He’d been thinking about how to go forward, and decided to make it her decision.
“What are you going to do?” he said.
Sandy walked naked across the bedroom and stopped in front of him. Her arms hung straight down at her sides, and she wouldn’t look at him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said in a ragged whisper. “What are you...? I mean...um, tell me what you want me to do.”
“Make a decision,” he said. “I’m going for a shower, too. You think about it, and we’ll work things out, whatever you decide.”
“Okay,” Sandy said. “I’ve only got one question. Or maybe two, depending.”
“What’s that?”
“This thing we’ve been doing, the way we’ve been together for the past few weeks, was that punishment? Were you taking your anger out on me, Mickey?”
“Maybe a little, at first,” he said. “But no, I’ve been thinking mostly about you, and about what seems right between us and, I guess, for us, too.”
“And do you still love me, Mickey, in spite of...?”
“In spite of, and maybe even because of,” he said.
She took a breath and then let it out slowly smiling serenely. It looked a little like the sun coming out. The new red shoes stood by the bed and she stepped into them. Then she got down on her knees and settled onto her heels with her hands clasped behind her back. Mickey looked down at her.
“In that case,” she said in a firmer voice, “this is my decision.”
“You’re sure?” he said.
“You go ahead and take a shower,” Sandy said. “Your cunt will be waiting right here where she belongs.”
“The toughest, sweetest cunt I know?” he
asked, laughing a little, and remembering when he said that.
“That’s the one,” Sandy said. “The Master’s cunt, all five foot ten inches of it.”
“Now that is some cunt,” he said, laughing now.
“You ain’t seen nothing, yet, Master mine,” she said.
Other Tobias Tanner Novels From Pink Flamingo Publications
Hell Bound: The Search for Jillian Ingalls
Hell Bound: Spinnaker's Gold
When Sarah Screamed
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