by Nat Burns
Expecting Annie’s truck, she was surprised to see a small silver car meandering up the drive toward Spinner’s Fen. Delora dropped the hose, realizing she needed to give the customer her full attention. To her surprise, Sophie Cofe unfolded herself from the small car.
The two women stood and regarded one another for a long time. The healer woman’s presence once again affected Delora powerfully. Her heart hammered rapidly in her chest as she drank in Sophie’s appearance. The long mane of blond hair was bound into its usual untidy braid, but her cheeks were unusually pink from time spent in the sun. Her eyes were still warm as they studied Delora, waiting for her to speak.
Delora took in Sophie’s long lean body clad in faded jeans and a simple, pale blue T-shirt and felt as though she couldn’t speak.
Sophie shifted restlessly, although her welcoming smile never faltered.
“I wanted to check on you.” Sophie’s voice was soft, bearing a strange intimacy that moved Delora in the center of her being. The voice compelled her to new heights of feeling and her breath fractured as it left her lungs. She still could not quite get words out.
Sophie waited, but when it became evident Delora wasn’t going to answer, she shifted her stance and her smile was empathetic, understanding. “So, you’re okay.” It was a statement, not a question, and she let her eyes leave Delora and roam across the greenhouse. The gaze returned to Delora moments later and Delora felt as though a warm blanket had engulfed her.
“You know where I work,” Delora breathed finally.
Sophie nodded. “Yes. All of them.”
Delora was pleased that Sophie would go to the trouble to find this out.
Sophie moved closer to a hibiscus and gently teased the edge of a blossom. “I need rue. Do you have rue? I need to fill a bare patch.”
Delora could have kicked herself. Of course Sophie was here for plants. She felt chagrin for making Sophie wait. She wanted to do a good job for this magnificent woman. She found her voice and discovered it to be low, filled with vibrancy. It matched Sophie’s tone, low and sexy.
“Over here,” she said, moving to her left. Sophie followed silently, but Delora felt as if the air between them swelled with other words, a language new to her but compelling.
She led Sophie to a collection of good-sized rue in pots. Rue was hard to start and hard to grow for long in containers so these had been on their way to the perennial garden out back.
“How many do you need?” she asked.
Sophie knelt and examined the plants from underneath, careful not to touch the leaves, obviously knowing about their blistering effect. “I’ll take three.”
She indicated the bandage on Delora’s hand. “How’s your finger feeling?”
Delora smiled down at the other woman, wanting to touch her but so very afraid. Suppose all this chemistry between them was in her imagination only? Suppose Sophie was put off by Delora’s admiration, her scars?
“Oh, okay,” she stammered, remembering acutely how tenderly Sophie had bandaged the hand after Delora woke in her arms in the early morning hours. “It’s much better. Thank you.”
She paused, searching for a new subject. “I’m glad these babies found a good home. They’re scheduled to be put in the ground tomorrow. Be sure and get them out of the pots as quickly as you can and give them lots of leg room.”
Sophie rose and was standing very close to Delora. “Will do,” she whispered. She moved even closer and their eyes met just as Annie’s truck rattled into the parking area.
Both women sighed, realizing another precious encounter had been thwarted.
Delora bent and lifted one of the pots and Sophie hoisted the other two.
“Sophie, how are you?” Annie exclaimed as she left the truck. “You and Beulah need rue, I see. How’s she coming along?”
“Good,” Sophie replied. “Some days it’s like she’s never been down.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that. They say the brain is incredible, able to recover a good bit after a stroke.” She helped Sophie load the rue in the backseat of her car, then fetched the other from Delora and loaded it as well.
“I read that too. It’s like it creates new pathways and communicates with the body through different channels than before,” Sophie agreed.
“Well, if one’s willing to try. I think a willing spirit is a big part of it.”
“Well, that describes old Beulah to a T now, doesn’t it?”
Annie laughed and agreed as she moved to the side of the greenhouse.
“Her money’s no good here, Delora,” she called as she disappeared.
Sophie already had money in her hand; she shook her head and motioned for Delora to take the money and be quiet about it. Delora shook her head no, so Sophie grabbed her hand and pressed the money into it.
“So, you’re okay? Sure?” Sophie asked in a low whisper.
“Much better,” Delora replied, her hands automatically placing the money in the money box and making change of the same amount. She continued to study Sophie’s dear face. When she extended the bills, Sophie took it by placing her large callused left hand below Delora’s so her palm cupped the back of Delora’s hand. Sophie’s right hand moved to collect the change and for a brief moment, Delora felt encased by Sophie’s power, her presence. It was breathtaking. Moments later, she was gone with a promissory smile.
“I really like Miss Sophie,” Annie said sometime later. They were eating peanut butter and honey sandwiches that had been warmed by the sun. Delora hadn’t fully recovered from Sophie’s visit. Her head felt stuffed with wool.
“You know, she got my dad well from pneumonia while he was at University Hospital getting pins removed from a broken ankle. The docs there weren’t making much progress so Mama called the healers. Here comes Miss Sophie with her packets of herbs and thermos of hot water. She spread mustard and onions on his chest, tied onions to his feet and had him drink this awful tea made from thyme and God knows what else. And don’t you know he got well in just a few days. The nurses said his room smelled like he’d been eating hot dogs.”
She laughed and balled up waxed paper into a tight wad. “It’s amazing what those healers can do.”
“It is,” Delora agreed. She knew Sophie’s hands intimately; the thought of them—and Sophie’s eyes—stayed with her the rest of the day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“They’re having an affair.”
“Who?” Bucky’s puzzlement showed even through his mangled voice.
“Louie and Rosalie.”
“No shit! What are you talking about?”
Delora sighed and glanced at her booths, assuring herself they were okay. Marina was on a bank run, so Delora was minding the entire diner. Everything was going smoothly so she had taken the opportunity to give Bucky a quick call.
“I saw them the other night, going at it,” she explained.
“No! What did they say?” His disbelief echoed in her ear.
“I didn’t let them know. I snuck out after I saw them.”
“Oh no, you should have said something. This is a perfect out for you. If he’s fucking around it’s grounds for divorce, Delora.”
“I know, Bucky.” She lit a cigarette with her right hand, holding the phone carefully in her left. Sophie had splinted her finger and taped it to her ring finger so holding the phone in her left hand was awkward. “I’m just not ready to go there yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Is he or is he not sleeping around on you?”
“Yes. But he has every right. I can’t be there for him anymore. I don’t care if he is making it with Rosalie. I certainly don’t want him.”
There was a long silence. Bucky sighed finally and spoke bitterly. “So, what did you do? Nothing?”
“I went to Sophie’s.” She drew on her cigarette and studied the customers again. They seemed okay, but she knew she’d better not stay on the phone too much longer.
“Where?”
“Remember the heal
ing woman? From the bayou? I went there and we…talked. She splinted my broken finger too.” She placed the cigarette in the ashtray under the counter.
“You have a broken finger? When did that happen?”
She sighed and noticed that one of the couples had finished and were coming to the register to pay. “It’s a long story. I’ve gotta run. You know…”
Bucky waited a moment. “What?”
“I think maybe I am what you said. I mean, there’s definitely something there. I just wanted you to know.”
“Call me later, okay?”
“Okay, will do. Love you.”
She closed the phone and dropped it into her pocket. She thoughtfully touched her bandaged fingers, then turned a brilliant smile on the customers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Louie was waiting for her at the edge of Manahassanaugh Park in his usual spot. He liked a specific bench over on the eastern edge of the park. Though he never explained why he chose this spot, Delora felt it was because he could sense that it was more secluded on this side than on the busier western side. The younger folk tended to congregate on the western half because they had closer access to the playground equipment and food kiosks.
Also, there was a smallish swimming pool that had been voted in during the late 80s and in summer it was well-used. The crowd of young people there might mock Louie with his sightless eyes and molten lava face. She was sure the threat of this was what kept him on the quieter side of the park.
She was actually surprised he went out at all, although she couldn’t fault him for wanting fresh air and sunshine. He had a few old buddies there too, mostly winos who didn’t care much what old Louie November looked like. There were few friends left. He’d never been popular in school and his contrary behavior had alienated the few adult friends he’d been able to make.
Parking the car in the graveled area bordering the lush greenery of Manahassanaugh, Delora left it running and ran around to open the passenger door. She strode across the grass, enjoying the heady summer smell of a well-tended plot of land.
He sat there, his wide wooden-plank body reared back, one arm holding his walking stick, the other riding along the back of the bench. Surrounded by unemployed cronies, he was pontificating about something. She could hear the low rumble of his monotone as she approached. The men with him eyed her warily, as if wondering at her nerve, intruding upon their exclusive male domain.
Uncannily feeling their sudden silent detachment, Louie turned his head her way and queried, “Who’s that?” he asked imperiously. “Rosalie? Delora?”
“It’s me,” Delora said.
“What the hell’s took you so long? I’m about to starve out here.”
“I’m sorry, Louie,” Delora said, approaching and touching his forearm. “Let’s get you home. I’m sure Mama has supper ready.”
One old guy, with hard eyes and reeking of alcohol, watched her with keen interest.
“Who is this little bit, Louie? You ain’t expectin’ us to believe this is your wife, are you?” he asked.
Louie laughed and brushed Delora’s hand away.
“This is her. Pitiful, ain’t it? And she ain’t never been in time for anything. I swear you just can’t get good help these days.”
“But she’s a pretty thing,” Hard Eyes said loudly. “What the hell’s she doing with an ugly old bear like you?”
Apologetic laughter floated on the sun-streaked air. Two of the men hunched forward as if ashamed of their involvement.
“I guess she looks all right,” Louie agreed, “but can’t say that much matters to me anymore.” He laughed, but the others muttered lamely, clearly embarrassed by his reference to his disability.
Hard Eyes still watched Delora with a gaze that had her squirming uncomfortably. What was he looking for? Anger flared in her.
“Come on, Louie, let’s get you home now,” Delora said, grasping his arm and endeavoring to pull him to his feet. “I’ve got your cane.”
Louie rose reluctantly and hitched his belted jeans.
“Well, fellas, guess I’ll be on. The little lady wants her way with me and who am I to say no?”
Delora blushed and pressed her lips together in a firm line so she wouldn’t say anything. The men laughed, including Hard Eyes, who never stopped watching her. His gaze made Delora feel dirty.
Louie held her bicep as she led him to the car. After he was in, she almost slammed the door harder than was necessary—but memory held her hand. One of her worst black eyes had come from slamming a car door once. Instead she shut the door with a firm push.
“Took you long enough,” he repeated as soon as Delora had settled herself and shut her door.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
After Louie asked her to light a cigarette for him, the two sat in silence the entire way to Royale Court. Rosalie’s van wasn’t outside the small ranch-style house and a feeling of dismay washed through Delora. If Rosalie was there, Louie would be distracted and busy talking to her. As it was, with only Delora there, he would be as annoying as hell.
Sighing, she parked and moved around to lead him from the car into the house.
The two remained silent as they entered the large kitchen area. Delora wriggled free of Louie’s grasp and muttered something about getting dinner. He wandered toward the living room, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Busying herself, she took pork chops from the refrigerator and laid them on the counter. Rosalie had left cans of vegetables on the counter as well as a bowlful of potatoes so Delora had a good idea of the evening’s menu.
As she peeled potatoes, she thought of Louie in the other room. She could hear the TV and thought how nice it must be to have nothing else to do.
He’s blind, fool, an inner voice whispered.
An uncharitable part of her mind persisted, however. His fault, it screamed. The paring knife slipped and came dangerously close to her thumb. Just what she needed—another bandage. She placed the knife in the sink and took a deep breath. She didn’t need this crap today. Her thoughts flew to more pleasant things—Sophie and Salamander House. She daydreamed she was there, the lazy slap of Bayou Lisse sounding in her ears. She saw Sophie’s warm brown eyes lit with the inner fire of her wholesome spirit.
Delora smiled and picked up the knife. She peeled a potato completely before she thought another thought. The first thought was still Sophie and insanely it was a memory of Sophie’s hand pushing insistently between her thighs. The memory evoked a strong plummeting feeling in her body and a shudder of desire raced through her. It took a minute for her to recognize it and when she did, it frightened her. She knew what Bucky said was true. Delora didn’t much care. Deep down she believed most people were capable of bisexuality if they allowed themselves to be, but what rankled was, why now? Coming at this point in her life, this desire for Sophie was a moot point. Sophie had seen the worst of Delora; she wouldn’t want her.
She thought of her gaze at the greenhouse. Hadn’t she still liked her? They meshed together so well. Delora frowned at a difficult potato. She probably just wanted Delora’s friendship. This desire for Sophie’s touch was Delora’s burden to bear alone. Secretly.
She awkwardly cut each peeled potato into cubes and started them toward boiling in a pan of water on the stove.
She got the frying pan ready for the chops after debating a minute or two about how Rosalie wanted them. Often she cooked them in the oven with breading sprinkled on top.
The decision was taken from her hands by Rosalie’s entrance. She came in the kitchen door, a plastic grocery bag in one hand. She lumbered up the short stoop and through the screen door, breath bellowing in and out in harsh gasps.
Delora hurried to take the bag from her.
“I started dinner. Got the potatoes on but wasn’t sure how you wanted the chops cooked.”
Rosalie laid her pocketbook on the table and moved to the stove. She peered into the pan of slowly rolling potatoes and made a tsking sound. “I was gonna slice a
nd fry them,” she said sadly.
Delora paused at the refrigerator a head of lettuce in one hand, a block of cheese in the other. Anger filled her, but she beat it down. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t know.”
Rosalie sighed and rinsed her hands at the sink. “That’s all right. We’ll have mashed.”
She hid the pork chops with her bulk, effectively dismissing Delora.
Delora, feeling chastised, lifted plates from the cupboard and placed them on the table. She laid out paper napkins and silverware with great care, then stood wringing her hands wondering what to do next.
“How’s Louie this afternoon?” Rosalie asked finally. She turned to look at her foster daughter.
“He’s fine. Quiet.”
Rosalie snorted. “I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”
Delora smiled timidly. “Hope so.”
“Listen, there’s laundry that needs to be done. You work on that while I do this.”
“Okay,” Delora said, glad to be freed from Rosalie’s territory.
Surrounded by the pleasant fabric-softener-and-detergent smell of the laundry room, Delora felt more at ease. Hearing Rosalie’s heavy step in the kitchen, she moved around the partition that separated the laundry area from the storage half of the room. There, in the dividing wall, rested Rosalie’s treasure. Sliding a large carton to one side and partially pulling aside a wooden panel, Delora could see it.
Each of the oversized pickle jars was packed full of tightly wadded bills. There had to be a million dollars stored there. She bet Rosalie didn’t even know how much she had saved over the years. The jars were about two feet tall each, the folded bills pressed tightly into each one. Three of them contained change; the money winked at Delora in a stray beam of light.
“I see you,” she crooned softly.
The money had been there a long time. Delora hadn’t known anything about it until she noticed a pattern to Rosalie’s behavior. Every time Delora paid her in cash, Rosalie would find some excuse to come to the laundry room alone. Delora was no dummy and soon noticed, by several weeks of detective work, slight movement in the position of the cardboard crate. Then it was just a matter of time until her keen mind had fastened on the truth hidden in the partition.
