Flies on the Butter

by Denise Hildreth Jones

  “Like I said, it always has to be your way. And if you don’t like it your way, then you’ll just try to convince people how it should be.”

  “Twist it however you want, Rosey. But you know that you do love me. And you can’t handle it, because to stay with me means you’ll have to deal with your demons.”

  She couldn’t speak. She wanted to scream and tear her hair out or break something. Her gut felt as if those very demons Jack wanted her to get rid of had turned on each other and were now digging their way farther into her. Trying to carve out a safer place. The truth that was being spoken had stirred them. But they didn’t want out. So they dug in harder. Farther.

  She wanted to cry out. But she knew one cry, one ounce of need from her would be all Jack would need to stay. And he couldn’t stay. And she would never act the way her mother had acted. She wouldn’t beg. She wouldn’t apologize. Because she had never burned Jack’s dinner. And someone leaves because the other person burned his dinner, the ultimate revelation of no regard. Jack simply didn’t understand her. She had done the best she could, yet he still couldn’t understand her. Insanity, he had called it.

  She regained her composure. “I’ve got nothing left to say, Jack.” She turned and lowered herself down into the seat. He didn’t try to stop her.

  “This isn’t what you want, baby. If I know anything, I know that,” he said. From the corner of her eye, she saw his arms hanging helplessly at his sides. How did he seem to know that this affair wasn’t about love but about comfort, that it was about intimacy without intimacy? Just the way she liked it.

  She reached for the handle of the car door. “Then you don’t know me.” And with those words she slammed the door shut in his face.

  She threw the gearshift into reverse, then punched the accelerator, letting her tires scream. Jack just stood there. As she peeled away, she glimpsed his face in her rearview mirror. By the time her car burst from the parking garage into the evening traffic, she couldn’t stop the pain. And she knew she’d never forget that look. Jack’s look. The look that broke her heart into just another piece. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could never put such a broken mess back together again.

  The stranger with his Burberry overnight bag noticed the young man standing at the hotel-room door next to him. The man looked troubled and weary. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man had even wiped away a tear with the back of one hand while fumbling to insert his plastic key into the slot. The man had no luggage, so the stranger thought maybe he had checked in earlier.

  The stranger entered his own room, set down his Razr cell phone, and removed the diamond cuff links he bought in Europe on a recent getaway trip he and his wife of twenty years took just because. After preparing for bed, he called her and told her and the kids good night, but sleep was not to be found. The stranger heard loud cries and mentions of God and Rosey from next door. The man seemed to be fighting some kind of war. And there in the middle of the night, staring at the hotel-room ceiling, the stranger prayed. He didn’t know any details, but he figured someone needed to be fighting this war alongside the desperate young man next door.

  14

  After Rose exited the parking garage, she turned the radio up as loud as she could to drown out the screaming in her head. She went home and took a shower, and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. She stayed under the water for almost an hour, certain that Jack would come home. He wouldn’t leave. Not Jack. He was dependable. That was one reason she had fallen in love with him.

  Finally, when her fingers had shriveled up to the land of unrecognizable, she got out. Standing in front of the mirror with a cream-colored cotton towel wrapped around her and her hair dripping wet, she simply stood there, staring at her reflection. She looked like a stranger. The dark brown circles under her eyes were competing with the brown of her eyes. And her skin didn’t have the glow that she enjoyed when she actually found time to be outside, enjoying the sun and, come to think of it, enjoying life.

  She lifted the handle of the oil-rubbed bronze faucet. Water rushed from the faucet, and she laid her washcloth in its flow. Everything moved as if in slow motion. Every action and every thought ran through her and out of her as if someone else were living her life. As she watched the water saturate the washcloth, she remembered when she had felt this way before. When there was death. This was the way she felt the day her dad died.

  Rose slammed her hand on the handle of the faucet, and the flow abruptly stopped. With the slamming of her hand came a guttural yell. A wailing from the deepest part of her. A wailing that made mothers’ hearts break and heaven’s ear quicken. She fell down onto her knees, clutching her towel. Then she curled up on the brown marble floor and rocked. She tried to rock herself like her daddy had rocked her and like her granddaddy had rocked her. And as she rocked, she screamed.

  Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Rose woke up cold and naked and alone. And still on the marble floor. She gathered her towel around her and dragged herself into the dark bedroom. She opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and put on some pajamas and crawled into the bed. She clasped a pillow tightly to her chest, and when she awoke to the sunrise, the events of the previous evening bombarded her as if they were fresh and new.

  After getting out of bed, she walked into the closet and slipped into a green silk camisole and her black Ralph Lauren suit, allowing the lace to peek from the open buttons at the bottom of the coat. A suit that would say to the world that she was still in as much control as she had been the day before. But when she stood at the mirror, examining her diamond cross necklace, the last gift from her father, the one she had unwrapped the Christmas he had died, she knew nothing was okay. That everything was broken and disgusting and so not the plan. She put on her diamond floral earrings and Raymond Weil watch. And then she looked at the diamond platinum wedding band that Jack had given her.

  She turned it slowly around and around. And then she pulled it off and laid it on the stone vanity. He would come by to get his stuff today. So she placed it in perfect view. He would never know she had shed a tear. No one would ever know she had shed a tear. But those tears would haunt Rose until . . . until . . . well, until she was willing to deal with them.

  Brake lights in front of her brought her speed and her memory to an abrupt halt. In the short time since Rose left the diner, the weather had turned gray and foggy. A sea of red taillights in the dreary mist was all she could see through her windshield. A semi shrieked to a halt beside her. She rolled down her passenger-side window and waved to get the driver’s attention.

  He rolled down his window in response, gasping first at the frigid blast, then smiling so big at the sight of her that his mustache spread from ear to ear. “Whadya need, pretty lady?” he asked through the wad of tobacco forming a lump in the side of his jaw.

  Rose loosened her seat belt to scoot toward the passenger window and craned her neck, trying not to smile at the trucker’s obvious admiration. “Do you know how long this traffic jam is, or the cause of it?”

  “Haven’t had a chance to find out. Hold on a minute and let me see what my buddies can tell me.” He held a CB radio up to his mouth with a plaid-flannel-encased arm. “Ah, breaker 1-9 . . . I’m out here at exit 58 near Fayetteville, North Carolina, trying to get the reason for the holdup out here. Anyone got any information I could use?”

  The gridlock kept them side by side with no effort. Rose could hear the muffled sound of a voice offering a response.

  He leaned out of the window and spit. She jerked the steering wheel instinctively. He looked at her as if she were a loon. “Uh, well, pretty lady, looks like we’ve got a two- to three-hour wait from where we are. Another rig has turned over, blocking the interstate, and it takes awhile to get these big ol’ things out of the way.”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “Of course. That’s what this entire day has been like.”

  “Need any help finding an alternate route?” he asked with another huge grin.
>
  She was certain he would’ve helped her get to the moon. “No, I’ll just see what back roads I can pull up here,” she said, pointing to her dashboard.

  “Well, you want me to let you over so you can get off here at this exit?”

  “That would be great,” she said with a smile.

  “Where you headed?”

  She hadn’t intended on small talk. “South Carolina. Listen, I really appreciate all your help.” And with that she rolled up the window. She’d had enough interaction with strangers today to last her a lifetime. Besides, her neck was getting stiff.

  He pulled forward a bit so he could give her a wink and a hearty wave.

  She returned the wave only.

  The cars in her lane moved forward enough to let her get in front of his truck. She drove on the shoulder for a hundred yards to get to the exit. When she got off, she pulled into a Wendy’s parking lot, stopped, and logged in to her navigation system, giving the address of her mamaw’s and asking for an alternate route using the back roads.

  The system obliged.

  It also tacked on an extra hour to her trip. She pulled onto the road. She’d better make a call.

  “HELLO?”

  She never understood why people answered the phone as a question. And she wasn’t in the mood to talk to Aunt Norma. So she put on her best impersonation of a Southerner.

  “Can I spake toe Charlett, plase?”

  It worked. “CHARLOTTE, SOMEBODY’S ON THE PHONE FOR YOU, BABY.”

  Maybe there is a God, Rose consoled herself.

  “Hey,” came Charlotte’s voice over the phone.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Rose said.

  “How in the world did Aunt Norma not know who you were?” she asked, amazement evident in her voice.

  “I still have my ways.”

  “So what’s up?”

  “Well, there’s a wreck on the interstate, so I’ll have to take some back roads. I’d give you a time of when I was actually going to get there, but at the rate I’m going, I may not be there until Christmas.”

  “Well, I can assure you we cannot put this on hold until Christmas. I don’t think Mamaw or Granddaddy would like that much.”

  “I was joking.”

  “I know. I was just making sure you knew this was something that doesn’t necessarily wait for people.”

  “So has anyone else arrived?” Rose asked, enjoying the feel of the plush leather seat and staring out the window. She watched the wind sweep through barren branches and listened to the sound of her windshield wipers as they moved rhythmically across the glass.

  “Well, a few neighbors have stopped by. This house is so loud, we could win a hog-calling contest, and we don’t even have a hog.” She cracked herself up with that one.

  Rose laughed too.

  “And Christopher’s here now,” Charlotte added.

  “Yeah, I talked to him earlier.”

  “That lit your mother up like a Christmas tree.”

  Rose ran her hands across the leather steering wheel, studying her manicured nails as she did so. “It always has,” she responded. “Well, I’ll call you when I have a better idea of when I’ll get there.”

  “Okay. My side, Rosey, we haven’t talked this much in years.” Charlotte paused. Rose wasn’t sure why she didn’t correct her. Then Charlotte said, “I’ve missed it. I’ve really missed it.”

  Rose felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. “Yeah, me too. Okay, so I’ll call you later.”

  “You better.”

  Rose studied the directions of the navigation system and continued on the rural two-lane road. Her BlackBerry had beeped twice while she was on the phone. There were twelve messages now. Twelve messages Rose had yet to check. She let the falling rain remove her from the pressure of the blinking red light. Rain always took her to the same place.

  They slipped out of the restaurant into the darkness and the falling rain. This man by her side was still new to her. She felt that even after three months of dating him, she still had so much to learn about him. And he was always enticing more and more out of her.

  They stayed tucked up under the awning at the entrance. “Want to run to the car with me?” Jack asked.

  She couldn’t believe he was inviting her to get soaking wet. “It’s pouring, Jack.”

  He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, “A little rain can’t hurt us. It’ll be fun.”

  She leaned back and studied the glint in his eyes. She looked down at her black pumps. She couldn’t believe she was even contemplating this. But she had never minded playing in the rain when she was little. And something about Jack brought out those childhood places in her.

  “I’ll race you,” he said, his beautiful teeth shining in the darkness.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “That’s why you love me.” He tugged.

  She retreated. She had never said “love.” Had thought about it a few times, but never said it.

  “You’re overthinking this one, Rosey. Just run.”

  And before she knew it, they were running and laughing and screaming down the street through the rain. When they reached the car, there wasn’t a dry spot on them. They stood beside the car, bent over with laughter and gasping for air.

  The parking lot was virtually empty because of the late hour. Jack’s bright eyes met hers. He held out his hand. She reached for it. “Dance with me, Rosey.”

  “You are truly insane, Jack. We’re soaked. And this is a parking lot, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I know you love to dance, Rosey. I see you every time the music comes on. You’re just itching to dance. You must’ve been a little dancer when you were small.” He pulled her toward him.

  “We don’t have music,” she yelled through the pounding rain.

  “I’ll make the music,” Jack said and began to hum in her ear. And there in the rain, they danced. He twirled her. He dipped her. He kissed her. And every movement reminded her of how she had always loved to dance. And every movement convinced her that maybe she did love this man in front of her.

  When he ceased humming, he touched her ear again with his lips. “I love you, Rosey Lawson,” he said. “And I’m going to be your last dancing partner.”

  She didn’t respond. She just leaned her head back and let the rain fall on her face. And then she danced. Again.

  15

  The new route, taking Highway 701, which eventually led to Highway 76 and home, allowed Rose the pleasure of driving back roads. She had always enjoyed it when she was young. She’d roll down her windows and turn up her music and just let life be. Life hadn’t “just been” for her in years. The world was certain that she had life by the tail. What they didn’t know is that recently she felt more as if life had her by the tail. She watched as the little town of Garland came into view.

  She always wondered as she looked at homes what went on inside of them. Was there yelling? Was there loving? Was there food, where families sat around tables and ate together? Did they know their grandparents, or were they like most people, who had no idea what the older generation was doing, let alone how they were living?

  The four-way stop sign brought Rose to a halt. Two little girls bundled from head to toe, with nothing but their noses sticking out, held hands as they skipped across the street in front of her. One’s nose was chocolate, and one’s nose was vanilla, but the strands of hair sticking out of vanilla’s pink, fuzzy hood were strawberry.

  Rosey and Jenny burst out of the back door of Rosey’s house. They had been playing baby dolls and driving Christopher and Bobby Dean crazy. Finally, the boys had chased them out.

  Once they stopped to catch their breath, Rosey noticed that the smell of honeysuckle was so heavy she thought she might reach out and run her fingers through it.

  Rosey’s daddy, wearing khaki shorts and a T-shirt, was in the backyard. “Do I have something good planned for you ladies today,” he said. He held something behind his back with
effort.

  “Ooh, I love ’prises, Misser Lawson,” Jenny said, letting go of Rosey’s hand and slapping hers together. “Oh, lemme guess! Lemme guess! I love to guess!”

  He chuckled. “Okay, three guesses.”

  “A dog!” She clapped vehemently.

  Rosey started doing a dance of her own, side to side, trying to get a glimpse. “Oh, let it be a doggy, Daddy. Please let it be a doggy!”

  “No, you need to guess a little smaller than a dog,” he said, shifting his weight so they couldn’t get a peek at the tantalizing object.

  “A frog?” Jenny asked, turning up her nose. That wasn’t her idea of a surprise. Not Rosey’s either.

  He smiled at her. “No, I don’t mean smaller that way. I just mean not such a big purchase. And it’s not alive, if that helps.”

  Their faces lost their glimmer. “It’s not alive?” Jenny’s lips curved down.

  “No, I’m sorry, Miss Jenny, but what I hold behind my back is not alive.”

  “Well, is it a doll maybe?” She cocked her head in hope.

  “Actually, it’s edible, and perfect for a day like today,” he said, then displayed a huge watermelon.

  Rosey’s eyes grew big, and she saw that Jenny had frozen with awe. “Who cares about a dog when you’ve got a water-melon!” Rosey shouted to the sky.

  Rosey’s daddy took the watermelon and set it on a white garbage bag that he had stretched across the picnic table. He placed a slice of that big ol’ watermelon on a plate for each of them and set it in front of them.

  They dug in like ants to chocolate. And by the time they came up for air, pink watermelon juice covered all three of their T-shirts. But not a one of them cared.

  “Ooh! Ooh! Misser Lawson, there’s a yellow jacket on that watermelon,” Jenny said, hopping up from her seat and pointing at the small intruder. The honeysuckle that ran along the back fence kept them nearby most of the summer.