Molly stared at the table and thought of the brick VFW hall while Kaye went on to say that they could even use the white tablecloths and that each of them could proceed with the refreshment tray they had been assigned for the anniversary party. The silver streamers they had bought could be exchanged at McMahon’s Dry Goods for red ones, to go with the red bouquets she planned to have on each table. Oh, Kaye had plans, and all on what was to have been Molly’s twenty-fifth anniversary, which no one seemed to notice at all.
Molly took her sunglasses out of her purse and put them on. Season looked at her with a start.
Ten minutes later Rennie drove up, but she went into the cottage instead of coming over to Mama’s. Molly, glad for an excuse to escape, went over to get her. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw Rennie at the sink, popping something into her mouth. Aspirin, from a bottle on the drain board. Rennie’s hair was a mess, her skirt was split on the side seam, and there was a rip in her black stockings.
Molly slipped off her sunglasses and took a second look. “What happened to you?”
Rennie was also wearing sunglasses, so Molly couldn’t see her eyes.
“It’s nothin’. I just stumbled on the steps of my apartment.”
Rennie snapped the cap on the aspirin bottle, and the snap was to Molly an exclamation point for a bald-faced lie.
“You have two steps to your front door.”
Rennie said nothing to that. Molly put a hand to her hip and stared at her. After long seconds of silence, Rennie, in aggravation, ripped off her sunglasses, and Molly found herself staring a freshly bruised right eye.
“Are you happy now?” Rennie’s mascara-smudged eyes glittered with tears and stubbornness. “I ran into my own stupidity with men; that’s what happened.”
Then she turned and fled into the bathroom and slammed the door.
* * * *
Molly went to the bathroom door and heard Rennie crying on the other side. She turned and went back and sat on the edge of the couch for several minutes, looked out the window toward her mother’s house and then down at the rug.
Whenever Rennie was upset, she would run and lock herself in the bathroom. Once, when she was nine, she had locked herself in and the lock jammed, and Mama had to take the knob off the door to get it open and Rennie set free. When Rennie had had her miscarriage, she might have died in the bathroom if she hadn’t unlocked the door before she passed out.
Molly wondered why everyone had to keep pulling and tugging her into their lives.
She rose and went to the bathroom door and rattled it. “Rennie, open the door.”
Rennie made no sound now.
“Rennie, I’ll kiss it and make it better.”
Rennie said nothing. Rennie could be more stubborn than a herd of mules.
Just then the telephone rang, somewhere in the living room. Molly’s first inclination was to ignore it, but then she got worried that it was Kaye, and surely if ignored Kaye would come storming over. Molly had to follow the cord to find the phone sitting on the far side of the sofa.
It was Kaye, and Molly told her, “Not now, Kaye, Rennie has diarrhea,” and hung up.
Turning, she saw light pouring into the hall from the bathroom. She went to the open door. Rennie was at the mirror with Molly’s makeup spread out around the edge of the sink.
“That was Kaye, wasn’t it?” Rennie said, sponging makeup over the bruise beneath her eye. “What did you tell her?” She paused but kept her gaze on the mirror.
“That you had diarrhea.”
It was the old standby excuse, one they had used since childhood; the subject was rarely questioned and never open for discussion.
“Well, I want to get out of here before any of them come over,” Rennie said, once more dabbing makeup high on her cheekbone. She turned and faced Molly. “I think it’s better now."
Molly looked from the bruise to Rennie’s muddy-green eyes.
“You need ice.”
She went to the kitchen, wrapped three ice cubes in a cloth, and broke them with a hammer. She did not need this, she thought as she whacked the ice a good one. It’s my turn.
“Come sit in the kitchen and hold this on it for about twenty minutes.” She smacked the ice packet into Rennie’s hand. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
Molly turned her back and returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. Why couldn’t she be allowed to focus on her own crisis?
They sat at the table, beneath the single light above. Rennie set aside the ice pack while she lit a cigarette. Molly saw that Rennie’s hand shook. Molly felt shaky herself, felt the panic rising up in her chest. She shoved up the window and opened the door to have a draft to suck out the cigarette smoke. Ace appeared, and she let him outside.
“It’s quit raining,” she said, inhaling the fresh earth scent and thinking of how Tommy Lee always liked to go out on the porch and watch it rain.
Behind her, Rennie got up and rifled through the cabinets, looking for food. When Molly told her the Oreos were all gone, that all she had were generic crackers, Rennie about bit her head off. Rennie got the crackers and peanut butter and began to eat the peanut butter right out of the jar, scooping it out with a cracker. She would use both hands to scoop, then hold the ice to her bruise while she chewed.
It was hard for Molly to believe that someone had beat on Rennie. There had always been something about Rennie that made people step lightly around her. She could have a dagger look and an even sharper tongue. Who would dare to raise a hand to her?
Molly realized that in her mind beatings by men were something that happened to other women, women who were weak and foolish, certainly not to a Collier girl, who was of a good family and education. She had to laugh at herself. Undoubtedly every spectrum of weakness and foolishness could be found within the Collier family.
But not violence. The Colliers were against physical violence. Her own mother had never raised a hand to her girls; Mama did not believe in spanking. Molly thought her mother far too permissive—a very avant-garde liberal—and had been determined to be more firm with her own children. Once, when Savannah had been four, Molly had hauled off and spanked her for some infraction—back-talking. Oh, Savannah had had such a smart mouth. Molly had smacked her thigh. But Savannah’s thigh had been bare, and suddenly Molly had seen the white imprint of her own hand. It had raised a welt, and Molly had faced that she had hit her child. No matter the reason, nor the term, she had hit her child, and she found it unacceptable. After that she had never again spanked any of her children. Sitting Savannah on her bed for fifteen minutes had worked much better anyway. To have to sit still and be ignored was for Savannah almost too horrible to be endured.
Tommy Lee had honored Molly’s feelings in this matter, despite his belief that sometimes a boy needed the threat of violence to keep him in hand. They’d disagreed over this, although once Molly had let Tommy Lee have his way with Colter, when Colter had taken the car, without benefit of driver’s license or permission, and driven all the way to Oklahoma City and was not inclined at all to remorse. She’d given thanks that Colter had backed down; she didn’t believe Tommy Lee would ever have forgiven himself had he come to blows with his son.
Molly spooned the instant coffee into two cups. She really was going to have to buy a coffeemaker. Instant coffee simply did not provide in crisis.
“Who is this guy?” she asked.
Rennie breathed deeply and shifted her gaze to the peanut butter jar. “A guy that was in one of my night classes this past spring. He got out of the army last year and started back to school.”
“Well . . . what’s his name, and why does he want to use you for a punching bag? Did you give him a bad grade?”
Rennie shook her head, a sad grin playing on her pale lips. She looked so pale, Molly thought. So pale and fragile. So unlike Rennie.
“His name is Eddie Pendarvis, and we dated for a few weeks. When I tried to break it off, he didn’t want to. He’s been pesterin’ m
e.”
Molly poured the hot water into the cups. She was so unnerved by what Rennie told her that she splashed the steaming water onto the table and had to reach for a cloth.
Rennie pushed away the crackers and peanut butter and reached for her cigarette. “He caught me as I was leavin’ the apartment. He has a really bad temper and just sort of goes berserk.”
“We need to go to the police and press charges." Molly gripped the dishcloth. “You can get a restraining order.”
But Rennie was already shaking her head. “No.”
“Rennie, you can’t just let this go.”
“No,” Rennie said firmly. She looked at Molly. “I think it will be settled now that he’s seen I really mean business. I kicked him really good, Sissy.” She jabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. “I’ve been once to the police, and I won’t go again.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “They asked, and I had to admit that I slept with Eddie. So in their view I pretty much asked for what I’m gettin’. I don’t need any more of that.” She stared into her coffee and drank deeply.
“You’ve been to the police once already.” That’s all Molly was thinking. That it had been bad enough for Rennie to go to the police, and yet she hadn’t said a word to Molly.
Rennie glanced at her, only then realizing she’d let the cat out of the bag.
“Oh, Rennie.” Molly reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing it. She thought that she might be capable of killing this man who had dared to hurt her Rennie, one of the kindest spirits on earth. Oh, Lord, what if he gets her again and does worse harm?
“You’ll have to be more careful,” she told Rennie.
At that, Rennie snatched her hand away and stood up. “Thanks for the advice, dear sister.”
“What did I say?”
Rennie jabbed her hand to her hip. “You tell me to be careful, like what happened was my fault. Like I wasn’t careful enough, so I got hit. It wasn’t my fault, Molly. I didn’t do anything but be nice to a guy, try to have a good relationship, and he ends up smacking me for it.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t. It wasn’t your fault, no, but Rennie, you cannot continue to take men you hardly know into an intimate relationship. It’s dangerous. You don’t know enough about a man before you’re having sex with him, for heavensakes!”
“Okay, so it’s my fault.” Rennie gestured wildly, then let her hand drop.
“No. No one should be hit, ever. And your sweetness and giving spirit shouldn’t be so rewarded. But the fact is that this world is a mean place with mean people. None of that is your fault, and it isn’t your fault that you need to be more careful, either. I think, though, that you think it’s your fault.”
Molly realized she was up and leaning over the table and poking her finger at Rennie in exactly the same annoying way Tommy Lee poked his when he got carried away. She jerked her hand back and behind her, as if to hide it.
Rennie looked down at the floor. “Eddie was really sweet at first.” She lifted her gaze, and her sad eyes hit Molly like a blow. “He was so kind, and we seemed, well . . . oh, Molly, I thought: Maybe this time. I keep thinking that, Molly . . . that maybe this time I’ll meet the right guy. But I just keep choosin’ the wrong ones.”
Molly came swiftly to put her arms around Rennie. “Oh, Rennie, you’ll meet somebody someday. You will.”
She held her sister close, knowing she was lying, knowing love is never quite like it is made out to be and that some never find it. Or when they do, somehow it slips away.
“I love you, Rennie.”
She and Rennie held each other tight for several minutes, and Rennie said, “I know,” into Molly’s neck.
When they broke apart, they gave each other hesitant, self-conscious smiles. Molly wiped her eyes and then wiped Rennie’s eyes.
“I’m okay, Sissy,” Rennie said. “Now, let’s get out of here, before we get waylaid by Miss Righteous Kaye. Let’s go out and howl.”
Chapter 14
A Woman’s Got A Right
Rodeo Rio’s was rocking on a Friday night, with a local country band and a good crowd. The noise level irritated Tommy Lee, and he would have gone elsewhere to play pool, if he could have thought of somewhere else to go.
He had become somewhat addicted to the game of pool during the past week. Each evening he had divided his time between pool and driving the Corvette. He would come to Rio’s to have either a steak or a hamburger and to play pool on one of the big tables beneath one of the long stained-glass lamps. When he was so full of pool that he could not stand it, he would go out driving around in the Corvette. He drove with the top off and the wind battering his hair and ears. He drove all the roads of the county and into the next. He drove down to the river valley road, where the kids still drag raced, and watched. Once he even succumbed to participation, racing a young fellow in a brand-new 240Z. The teen having a car like that annoyed him; when he was in his teens half the kids couldn’t even afford a car, much less a brand-new sports model. Tommy Lee beat him simply for the principle of the thing.
He would play pool and then drive and drive until he reached a zombie state, where pool balls and the black road leading off into the blackness took up his entire mind, body, and soul and kept him safe from thoughts of Molly.
Just then he sunk the seven ball and the eight ball with one shot, causing Sam to throw up his hands. “You’re ruthless, buddy. I’m quittin’ and takin’ away what pride I have left.”
“You’re the one who invited me here,” Tommy Lee said.
Sam’s wanting to quit annoyed him. He could recall when he and Sam would play pool half the night, and besides, he felt the need to go on playing. He felt comfortable at the pool table, whereas he didn’t at the bar or out at the tables. And if he went to the bar, Annette Rountree came and stood close to him.
As it was, Annette Rountree sat nearby, bouncing her crossed leg. She wore a really short skirt that seemed to inch upward with every bounce. She had been nearby all evening. She had the night off, something which she had to keep reminding Winn, who kept calling to her to serve someone. She would still get up and go serve, though. She brought Sam and Tommy Lee their beers, and she had even played a game of pool with Tommy Lee. She had played a number of times with him that week. It had become obvious to him that Annette was just waiting for him to make a move on her. Actually, he thought that any minute she might jump his bones. She made him feel excited and guilty and nervous as hell.
“Double or nothin’,” he told Sam, racking the balls. Sam grinned, shook his head, and then pulled out three tens. “Triple or nothin’.”
Sam broke and sunk a ball right off and was on his second shot when Tommy Lee glanced up and saw Molly and Rennie standing at the edge of the table area.
For a moment he told himself the two women wearing sunglasses in a dimly lit club were not Molly and Rennie. That blond woman with a dress that showed her curves was not his wife.
He jerked his attention back to the pool table and downed his beer while his mind kept seeing the two women in dark glasses. Sam missed his shot, and Tommy Lee got into position for his. As he and Sam played, he kept glancing out across the room, keeping an eye on the women, seeing when they took a table and when they spoke to the waitress. Ordering soft drinks, he guessed; Molly never drank much, and Rennie had given it up. But when he next looked at their table, he saw the waitress delivering two glasses of wine. He watched Molly lift her glass to her lips. Just then he saw Sam cast him a curious look.
Tommy Lee put his attention back on the pool table, but he missed his next shot. Then when it was his turn again, he forgot his were the solid balls and hit one of Sam’s striped ones into the pocket by mistake. He didn’t want to go on playing pool, didn’t want to go to the bar or sit at a table, but he did not intend to leave, either. And there was Sam watching him with worried eyes.
Molly and Rennie tapped their wineglasses together. “To sisters,” Rennie said.
�
�To dark glasses,” Molly said, and Rennie laughed. Then Molly sat back in a deliberately lazy fashion. She knew Tommy Lee had seen her. She felt his focus. Her own eyes kept moving to him. She could watch him, or anyone, from behind her dark glasses and not appear to be watching.
More people recognized Rennie with her sunglasses on than they did Molly. A couple of men said hello to Molly without knowing who she was and were surprised when she called them by name.
Corey Jessup, passing as she and Rennie stood looking for a table, bent close enough to Molly to brush her breasts, gave her a leering grin, and said, “Hello, beautiful. Where have you been all my life?”
“Hello, Corey.”
The man looked startled and peered closer. “Molly?”
“Yes. How’s Velma? Is she here tonight?”
“Uh, no. She’s at her sister’s this week.” He touched the brim of his hat, “Nice seein’ ya’,” and hurried away.
One great drawback to the dark glasses, however, was eye strain. Molly had a great deal of trouble seeing her way through the maze of tables, and once she mistook a stranger for Tommy Lee when she got confused and watched the wrong pool table. The stranger had the general shape of Tommy Lee’s back end, but not his muscular arms at all. Another time she returned from a trip to the ladies room and almost sat down with a strange woman. By then she was feeling tipsy.
Rennie had ordered 7Up served in a wineglass, saying, “I’m the designated driver,” but Molly ordered wine. When the waitress asked, “Sweet or dry?” Molly looked at Rennie, and Rennie said, “Red or white?”
“Red,” Molly told the waitress. The wine her mother usually kept in her refrigerator was red; Mama had taken up having a glass of red wine before bed each night. She said it was to purify her blood.
After her first sips, Molly decided the wine not only tasted good but it must do something good for the blood because she felt a very pleasant sensation spreading throughout her body. When she finished her first glass, she ordered a second, and halfway through it she removed her dark glasses. She crossed her legs and let the folds of the calf-length dress fall open from far above her knee, and she experimented with not averting her eyes when a man looked at her, and she accepted the first man who asked her to dance. And the whole time she was thinking, See this, Tommy Lee.
Love in a Small Town Page 17
