Growl

by Ashley Fontainne

  The Witherspoon spread was a stunner for sure. A typical southern manse surrounded by weeping willows, magnolia trees, and too many rose bushes to count. During the spring, the place was a sea of pink and white from all the red bud, tulip, and pear trees. Eight spacious bedrooms and ten enormous bathrooms were inside the two story estate. The rest of the fifteen thousand plus footage was made up with a formal dining room, sitting room, library, three living areas, and a kitchen the size of the entire first floor of my house. How Ms. Johnson kept the place so immaculate all by herself was beyond me. I thought I was on top of things when I cleaned up my room and put my clean clothes in the drawers and closet. No wonder the woman never married or had children. When would she have had time for them?

  The beauty of the space disappeared when my eyes settled on the veranda. Grape and wisteria vines wound all through the latticed railings and consumed the graceful white portico with fragrant greenery. The lavish bamboo and wicker patio furniture sat in silence. I wondered which one had been Pop’s final resting place. A few lovely hanging baskets full of colorful flowers gave the area a warm, cozy feel. But even with all the lush surroundings, everything seemed wrong. Out of place. And I knew it wasn’t because my boyfriend’s grandfather died out there.

  That was just the tip of the iceberg.

  Dane took in a slow, deep breath, so I squeezed his hand with a little more force and focused my attention back on his face. God, he was a beautiful sight to look upon. His mixed heritage created a spectacular human being. Tall with sinewy muscles, he had the height of a basketball player, but the build of a running back. Trevor Ropert, Junction City’s high school football coach, had hounded Dane without mercy to play, but Dane brushed his pathetic pleas aside. A basketball player through and through, no doubt. His heart and skills meshed with the joy of handling the ball up and down the court. Dane had no interest in slamming his body into another’s and running over them like they were a bug under his shoe. It just wasn’t in his nature to be violent. Oh, yeah, my baby was a lover, not a fighter, which is exactly why I fell for him.

  His skin was the color of warm cocoa, his lips full, and his eyes a deep, chocolate brown interspersed with thin flecks of gold and green. His broad forehead, nose, and high cheek bones revealed his Native American heritage. But the most eye-catching thing about him was his hair. It looked like polished black leather and fell in soft, ebony curls around his face and past his shoulder blades. Most of the time, he wore it in a ponytail or hid the flowing mane under a baseball hat. But on the occasions he wore it down and loose, it was breathtaking. It was the perfect combination of thick, wavy hair with luscious curls that every girl in the county lusted after, including me—and I had curly hair. I recalled Barb crying in second grade when Dane came to school with a short haircut, thanks to a bout with a wad of chewing gum lodged in his hair. Barb had been devastated when she realized she would no longer get to fiddle with Dane’s hair at recess any longer.

  Dane’s jaw was clenched. The cords in his neck strained against his skin. I figured he was thinking about his situation and the unknown future, so I tried to inject a bit of humor before I left.

  Always leave ’em smilin’ is what Nana used to say.

  “No vacation in over twenty years? Yikes, I guess it was about high time Ms. Johnson took one, don’t you think? And if she hasn’t had one all these years, she’s due for at least a six-month stint on a warm beach somewhere. You know, surrounded by folks who’ll take care of her for a change. Once she gets her fill of bein’ pampered and waited on hand and foot, she might just come back. We gals can only stand bein’ fawned over for so long before we have to take the reins back, ya know.”

  “Okay, I get that. But why didn’t she just tell Mom that? I mean, she coulda’ asked for the time off. Mom woulda given her all the time she wanted. Oh, who am I kiddin’?” he muttered. He grabbed my hand and pulled me close. “We don’t even know if we’re gonna be livin’ here for much longer. Everythin’ is all up in the air. Havin’ a housekeeper only works if you have a house for her to keep. That’s why Momma ain’t here. She’s down at Cohestra, meetin’ with the higher ups and Pop’s attorney. She was in a mood when she left too. I think she’s afraid of more than losin’ a place to live and her job at the plant, now that Pop’s gone.”

  His words made the hair on the back of my neck stand up at full attention. His voice was throaty, full of heavy emotion. I tried to shake the worry off, attributing it to my lack of sleep, the foreboding, blood-written note from yesterday and the unreal explanation offered by Papa Joe. “What else would she be afraid of?”

  Dane buried his face in my hair again, his hug stronger than the one before. Through our clothes, I felt the muscles of his body tense. The edginess and angst poured out of him, and it seemed he was trying to extricate it by diving into my hair. He took a heavy sniff, then pulled back, the heat of his worry filling up the space between us. “Oh, guess afraid wasn’t the right word. More like pissed as Hell. Yeah, pissed as Hell. That fits better.”

  “Pissed? Why?”

  “Well, because my sperm donor is on his way here. Matter of fact, he’s probably at the plant already,” he muttered, glancing down at his watch. “Them two in the same room will make the tornado look like a slight wind blew a few pieces of paper from the garbage. I can only hope he’s here for the funeral and then leaves right after. If he’s comin’ for an extended stay or, God forbid, to try and take over the plant…oh, I don’t even want to go there. If he and Mom have to work together, you and I are skippin’ our senior year and movin’ to Memphis early.”

  It took me a few seconds to figure out how to respond. Not that I hadn’t considered the fact that Dane IV would come to town for his father’s funeral. I had. But I really didn’t think he would…and surely not this soon. I wondered who called him and told him the news about his father’s sudden death. My guess was someone from Cohestra. He was probably on the ownership papers somewhere and needed to be informed. I doubted it had been Dane or his mom. To my knowledge, there had been no contact between any of them since his last trip to Junction City. And that was nearly ten years ago. Dane IVdidn’t call, didn’t pay child support, never sent any birthday, Christmas, or Easter cards or presents, not even once. Nothing. He never acknowledged Dane was his, but it didn’t matter. He tried to run from his duties, but he could go to the moon and it would still be obvious to anyone looking that Dane V was his offspring.

  The hatred between Ms. Emma and Dane’s father was a legend of its own in Locasia County. A sweet, high school romance, made more enticing since it was forbidden by both sides of the respective families. It soured like curdled milk when the stick turned blue. A very public screaming match between Ms. Emma’s father, Lionel Carter, and Pops Witherspoon occurred on the front steps of the courthouse when Mr. Carter was leading his wife and pregnant daughter in to file paternity papers. Dane IV had already hightailed it out of town, leaving Ms. Emma in quite the pickle. According to my mom, who happened to be coming out of the beauty shop across the street, the volatile situation was diffused when Sheriff Gilmore showed up and led the feuding families over to his office to chat.

  Two days later, Lionel and Cherise Carter died in a car accident on their way back from Greenville. Ms. Emma didn’t go with them since her morning sickness was in overdrive. Probably the first time in history someone had been thankful they were puking their insides out. Local rumors (not from my mother this time) said the trip was made to hire a high-priced attorney to take on the Witherspoon clan but ended in a twisted pile of metal on the road after a head-on collision with a tractor trailer full of rice. The death of her parents left Ms. Emma alone and pregnant at the age of seventeen. A young, African American woman still in high school, impregnated by a half-Indian, the only son of the wealthiest family in the Delta. Meemaw told me tongues wagged for years.

  Before the red clay had time to settle over her parents’ graves, Ms. Emma was offered a job at Cohestra and a new place to li
ve—the Witherspoon mansion. After the death of his beloved Belinda, Pops lived alone with his only son up until the seed was planted in the fertile soil of Emma Carter. Pops Witherspoon never remarried or even dated again. He devoted all of his time and passion to his business. When I first started going out with Dane, Meemaw told me all about the situation. Said the stories about Pops were mostly garbage and he was a decent, honorable man—just a bit crankier than the average person. She said Mr. Witherspoon not only bucked tradition but thumbed his nose at it by taking in the girl who carried his grandson in her belly. A black girl no less—in a town, county, and state not known for its tolerance.

  Mom said there had been some talk around town in the beginning. Well, actually, lots of ugly gossip. Some said Emma’s bun in the oven was really planted there from Pop’s loins, and that was the reason his son had skipped town. Said Dane IV was ashamed by the deplorable actions of his own father, who had been knocking boots with his young girlfriend behind his back. Others shrugged that scenario off. They thought Pops put on a well-acted façade of caring about the wellbeing of his future grandchild only because he wanted himself a black house maid. A young, pretty thing indebted to him for taking her in and more than willing to thank him in any which way the old fart requested. Mom said that particular tale died a quick death since Ms. Johnson was already employed as the housekeeper/maid at the Witherspoon estate just as her mother and grandmother had been.

  Most rumors had been squashed when Dane V was born and his birth certificate named Dane Witherspoon IV as “father” and Dane’s last name was listed as “Witherspoon” rather than “Carter” like his mother. That one little act silenced the gossip about the identity of the father since everyone said there was no way in Satan’s burning Hell that Pops Witherspoon would have agreed to such a thing if it weren’t true.

  Once Emma Carter started to work at Cohestra Industries and people began to see the two of them interact on a daily basis, two things became crystal clear: One, the strong-willed individuals were nowhere near kind and considerate of one another, and two, there was no way Emma Carter would ever be controlled by someone else.

  The shock of the situation waned with each passing year. Like the bright, new paint on a wall, the vibrancy of the rumors faded with time. New chunks of scandal replaced the withered pieces that remained of the Witherspoon shocker, and soon, chins wagged and tongues blabbed about the other latest goings-on in Locasia County.

  I pulled my thoughts together and tried to give Dane my best smile. “Oh, stop. I’m sure they’re goin’ over all the normal stuff people do when someone like your pops passes on. And I’m sure your mom will keep her claws sheathed while your dad is around—for your sake.”

  “Sperm donor. He doesn’t deserve the title of father, dad, or friend.”

  “Oh, sorry. Sperm donor. I think you need to chill. You’re workin’ yourself all into a bother and you don’t have a reason to quite yet. Your pops took care of you both all these years—no reason to think that won’t continue now that he’s gone.”

  Dane’s lips contorted as he chewed on the bottom one before he responded. His muscles relaxed a hair, and I saw some of the worry leave his face. “You’re right. You’re right. Can’t help myself, though. I’m a natural-born worrier. That’s what Ms. Johnson always said.”

  I ran my hand across the warmth of his back, and then moved quickly to his rear. I smacked his tight rump once more. “You worry because you have a good heart and have this strange need to take care of everybody. Another reason I love you. Listen, I’ve got to get back to the diner. Mom’s probably cussin’ a blue streak right about now. I know you’ve got a lot goin’ on, but if you want company later on after I get off from work and finish cheerleadin’ practice, come on over, okay? I should be home by eight, and then we can go for a run. I’ll ask Barb to bow out tonight, so it’ll just be the two of us, okay?”

  “You realize you said get off and come in the same sentence, right? Is that an offer?”

  The heat from before roared back, the longing between the two of us strong enough to turn icicles into daggers of fire. I scooted away and out from under his embrace and made sure to over exaggerate the roll of my hips as I walked toward the front door. I did love my petty torments.

  And don’t’ forget to leave ’em wantin’ more. Nana’s other favorite saying.

  “Always big boy. Always. Two sweaty bodies rollin’ around underneath the stars after a hot run to get the juices flowin’. Mmm, can’t wait. But I won’t be able to do a thing if you don’t let me leave. I’ll text you later.”

  He smiled and I returned it. The depth and love behind his brown eyes pulled my soul to his like a magnet. No silly banter, no smarmy comments, no teenage stupidity from raging hormones—just plain love. If my face reflected even half of the emotion his did, there was no doubt he knew exactly how much I loved him. I surely had no doubts about his love for me. It shone like the North Star on a cloudless night. Our lifelong friendship had molded and shaped our hearts for each other, and the cosmic melding was complete.

  With everything going on around us—all the craziness of the last two days—I should have left. Continued to the door and headed straight to work. But I didn’t. The look on Dane’s face, the electricity between the two of us, the craving to feel his skin against mine—all consumed me. Without thinking, I let my desires overrun my senses, and in a flash, was in his arms.

  I kissed him with hot fervor. My lips ground into his; my arms fully wrapped around his body. I clung to him, sought out every inch, like it was our first time exploring each other. He responded with as much heat and longing, his long fingers intertwined in my hair. He pulled me closer, hungrily devouring my mouth in his. Clothes seemed to magically disappear as we tumbled to the floor. Growls of pleasure filled the air from both of us as we rocked in heated harmony, our bodies covered in sweat. Neither of us spoke as our bodies instinctively sought out our mutual pleasure spots. We both yelled out in unison, our voices full and deep from ecstasy. Spent, we collapsed in a heap on the cool hardwood, our naked chests heaving.

  “Wow. I’ve heard that death makes the livin’ want to feel alive. And sex is the best way to do that. Guess it’s true.”

  I bit his chin and jumped up and began a mad dash to retrieve my clothes. With my luck, his mom would walk through the door any second. The heat of embarrassment flushed my already hot cheeks. I threw his clothes at him, then slipped my own on. “I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response. I…I got to go. I’m late already. So, tonight we just run, okay?”

  “Hey babe—one more thing before you go—and I promise it’s not about that. Wait a sec, okay? Let me go get it.”

  I paused, my finger on the door latch. “Sure thing. Make it snappy, though. Got hungry people in this town to feed besides you.”

  I heard the thumps of his heavy footsteps as he raced to the kitchen, slammed a cabinet door, and then thundered back to the front door. “I have no clue where this came from, or why it’s even here, but ain’t no use in wastin’ it. Thought you might take it to Barb…or someone else with a dog.”

  I stared at the bag of dog kibble in his hand and swallowed hard. The brief interlude of happiness disappeared as I looked at the food meant for the dog that had been gutted in Ms. Johnson’s bedroom. “I…oh sure. Barb will appreciate it. That hairy mutt of hers eats like a horse. I’ll drop it off to her on the way back to the diner.”

  Dane handed it over to me and a shadow of confusion passed over his face. “Weirdest thing. Found it this morning when I was searchin’ for a garbage bag. I mean, what the hell was Ms. Johnson doin’ buyin’ dog food? Thought when I found it that maybe she left it here by accident after doin’ our shoppin’. But I don’t recall her sayin’ she had a dog. Do you?”

  “You know, don’t think so, but then again, I don’t pay much attention to anythin’ anymore, what with our senior year comin’ up and all. And cheerleadin’ practice, workin’ at the diner, makin’ your eyes roll
back in your head…”

  “No tellin’. Who knows? Maybe Ms. Johnson was gettin’ older than we thought. Got confused while shoppin’. That must be it! And maybe that’s why she’s actin’ so strange now. What’s that disease called….Althieters?”

  My laugh was dry and came out more like a cackle. “Alzheimer’s disease.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Alzheimer’s disease. Betcha that’s what it is, ’cause there ain’t never been a dog in this house. Pops hated dogs. Hmm, now that he’s gone, maybe I could get one?”

  Afraid to say much else, I blew him a kiss and forced myself not to run to my car. “Gotta go, babe. See you later. Love you,” I blurted as I opened the door and kicked up my pace to my car. The blood was pounding so loud in my head that his “I love you too” sounded like he was miles away rather than a few feet from me in the doorway. Even though it was near one hundred degrees from the radiant sun, the chill of fear turned my body ice cold.

  Fuck me runnin’—this isn’t good. Not good at all. Daddy’s favorite saying, one he mumbled many times over the years, never seemed more appropriate than right at this moment.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I kept my phony smile plastered on my face until I reached the end of Dane’s driveway. Once I pulled out on the main road, it disappeared. The last forty-plus minutes had been spent shoving down my real emotions while I cuddled and coddled my love. Now, they’d busted out of my mental prison and run amok inside the cab of my truck.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I was certainly not a prude, but I never acted so…sleazy. It was like I couldn’t control myself. I just acted like a dog in heat, mounting Dane like an animal. The hunger, the need, the desire for him had destroyed all rational thought and made no sense to me now. My cheeks burned from embarrassment. It wasn’t like that was the first time we’d been together, but it certainly was the first time it had been so completely lustful. Our relationship, even our sexual one, was full of tenderness and love. Dane had the heart of an angel. He was patient, sweet, funny, and full of quick comebacks. Always the first one to step in and stop a potential argument if he was near enough to hear one begin. He was a big ol’ teddy bear and hated confrontation of any sort. He was also a lover of the outdoors, like I was, and stayed clear of anything that had to do with what the local rednecks called hunting season. He thought it was a farce, the way the men and boys cloaked themselves in the scent of their prey, camouflaging themselves while armed to the teeth with powerful weaponry, waiting to shoot. Made him sick to his stomach. I knew my original gut instincts about him were right on target. Dane was part Native-American and didn’t have an issue with eating what he killed; however, he found no challenge, no sense of fairness or test of skills, in the way the heavily armed fools chose to hunt. Those qualities, and more, drew me to him in the first place, and allowed me to overlook his few negative ones.