Eye of the Beholder

by Jackie Weger

  She still needed gas for the truck, but now she knew where some was; in the five-gallon can that Gage kept for the lawn mower. She poured half of it into the truck and ran the motor a few minutes.

  She walked down to the crab house to make sure Hank was buying crabs the next morning. He was. Got all my ducks in a row this time, Phoebe thought.

  Essie called to her from the picking room. Phoebe sidestepped Stout before the supervisor could stop her.

  “The church is sponsoring a trip to Bellingrath Gardens for the kids tomorrow. They have to bring their own lunch. You want yours to go? I can tell the bus driver to pick them up.”

  “I don’t have to tag along?”

  “No, that’s the wonderful part. Sunday school teachers are takin’ ’em. Ten to about three in the afternoon.”

  “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ the hellions off my hands for a few hours,” Phoebe agreed.

  “So you can have that hunk all to yourself?” Essie said slyly.

  “What hunk?”

  “Gage Morgan.”

  The seafood house wasn’t sacred ground. “We’re distant cousins.”

  “He wouldn’t answer any questions about you, either,” purred Essie.

  “You didn’t pry when I worked with you. How come you’re doin’ it now?”

  “I never got the chance before. Work, work work, that’s all you had a mind to do. He’s prime ain’t he?”

  “Are folks talkin’?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice. They’re watching, though. Especially since he brought you to church, and in Velma’s car.”

  “Velma’s dead.”

  “Ain’t she though.” Essie grinned.

  “That’s enough,” announced Stout. “Essie, you here to pick or gab?”

  Essie went back to work. Phoebe walked home, fierce determination in every step. Hawleys had always had an upstanding reputation. Phoebe shuddered to think what Ma would say if she arrived and got wind of such sly innuendo. Ma never did think it was her own who had a failing; what she’d have to say she’d say to Gage and ruin everything. Not that she was thinking bad about Ma, who loved her. No, it was just—Ma was Ma.

  At the entrance to the yard Phoebe stopped and inspected her domain. One of these days she was going to coax Gage to move all the junk away from the path that led to the house. The grass around the homestead, now that it could accept sunshine, was turning green. The fence still leaned and the few slats that Willie-Boy had painted stood out like sore thumbs. It was time, Phoebe decided, that Gage knew just how helpful she could be outside of cooking and cleaning.

  “This afternoon,” she told the children after lunch, “we’re gonna fix the fence, then paint it and the front porch.”

  Willie-Boy was offended. “I already painted the fence. Mr. Gage said I did a fine job.”

  “You did Willie-Boy, as far as you went, but it needs a second coat.”

  “I can’t work in the sun. It’s bad for my complexion. I don’t want to end up freckled like you.”

  “Freckles don’t ruin the texture of skin, Maydean, but Brillo pads do. Which is what it’ll take to clean yours if you keep lathering on all that gunk. Dorie, you got any objections?”

  “Can my chicks play in the front yard and keep me company?”

  Phoebe nodded. “Now, if you kids work good, you’ll not only have fifty cents, but tomorrow I’ll let you go on a field trip with your Sunday school classes.”

  “A whole day away from you? I’ll do it,” piped Maydean. “If you’ll let me wear mascara. All the other girls—”

  “Ain’t Hawleys. Fifty cents and the trip, or you can stay home and help me wash windows. That’s my final word. Get your hat, Willie-Boy, you can show me where Gage keeps the paint.”

  “I’ll have to wear my hat tomorrow, too. My gum patch ain’t growed out.”

  It was a hot, sweaty, productive and glorious afternoon. The fence stood straight, each slat gleaming white; the porch railings got white paint and its floor glistened green. Phoebe sent the kids to wash up while she went to get Gage. She helloed from the entrance to the shop lest he accuse her of sneaking again.

  “Am I disturbing you?”

  “You are.”

  “I got my crab traps out.”

  “I know.”

  “Me and the kids fixed the fence and painted the porch.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It looks nice.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  “You’re actin’ more grudgin’ than Maydean.”

  He set aside a huge wrench, picked up another, and inspected it. “You’re trying to obligate me to you, Phoebe. I’m not going to let it happen.”

  “I ain’t! I just wanted to do something nice. You’ve been good to us—to me. Better than any—”

  He held up his hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Cleaning, cooking, painting…” He made it sound like a crime. “You’re trying to worm your way into my life.”

  “You’re comparin’ me to a worm?”

  “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “I ain’t no figure of speech. I’m a person. You didn’t think I was no figure of speech the other night. You didn’t—”

  In one swoop he tossed aside the wrench, grasped Phoebe by her shoulders and shook her, not ungently. “Hush, damn it. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. You have your life and I have mine. They don’t dovetail. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  Her freckles were subdued by a healthy red-brown tan. The straw hat framed her face, paint spatters and a small scratch gave it a gamin quality.

  Phoebe liked his hands on her. A trembling feeling went all through her. Lor! She had to lock her knees so her bones would hold up her skin.

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “The truth is I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  Phoebe marshaled her pride. “That’s your bad luck.”

  Gage shook his head as if he’d suddenly lost track of their conversation. Every sharp word to Phoebe had sputtered and backfired. “You have a point.”

  She caught the subtle change in his tone and eyed him warily. “You’re not mad anymore?”

  “Only at myself. Come on, show me what you’ve been up to so I can be suitably appreciative.”

  “It looks real good from the road,” Phoebe said as Gage inspected the improvements.

  “So good it’ll shame me into painting the rest of the house and maybe even the cash shack up at the gate.”

  “Sometimes people own a thing, and get so used to it they don’t know what they’ve got.” She sighed wistfully. “You’ve got a whole world here, Gage. A whole world.”

  “And you’d like to get your grubby little hands on it, wouldn’t you?”

  It was a neatly baited hook. Phoebe cruised around it. “I don’t covet. The Bible speaks against it. I only said what I did because you let it run down and it goes against my nature to see a thing wasted. Dorie did her share, in case you want to make mention of it.”

  “I don’t know if I can bear up under all these lessons in child rearing I’m getting.”

  “You’re a good father,” Phoebe said earnestly. “Like as not you’d do well to have three, four more.”

  His diaphragm seemed suddenly to swell, choking off his windpipe. “Back to work for me,” he croaked.

  Phoebe fanned her face with the brim of the old straw hat. “I’ll send Willie-Boy to call you for supper.”

  — • —

  Paint, polish, and sophistication never had been Phoebe’s long suit, and she knew it. But she was willing to use any magic, acquired or bought, that would swing Gage around to her way of thinking.

  Once the house was quiet she slipped into Dorie’s room and dragged from beneath the bed the shoe box full of cosmetics and scents. Behind the locked bathroom door she pawed through it. Eye shadow made her look as if she’d run into a door; she scrubbed it off. Mascara made her eyes sting. She tried a bit of glossy lipstick, which made her lower lip appe
ar set in a permanent pout. Not the image she wanted to present to Gage. She found a vial of Wild Flower Musk and tried a drop on her wrist. It made her smell better than soap. Satisfied, she put some on her neck.

  She returned the box to Dorie’s room and tiptoed back to her own. She sat in the dark and waited for the line of light beneath Gage’s door to go out. When it did, she counted to five hundred. She didn’t want him to be wide awake.

  She got as far as the foot of his bed. The lamp snapped on.

  “Out!”

  “I just want to talk.”

  Eyeing her with the wariness of a cornered fox, he adjusted a pillow against the headboard and leaned into it. “About what?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say.” She sat on the foot of the bed.

  “You haven’t been embarrassed since you were two days old. But if it makes you uncomfortable to say, why don’t you just keep it to yourself?”

  Phoebe picked at the sheet that lay over his shinbone. “Remember the other night?”

  He did. “My mind’s blank.”

  “I do all right in the daytime, because I keep busy. But as soon as it gets dark I start thinkin’ about it. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.” She let her hand fall in the area of his knee. “Gage, I get so airy. If I was a balloon, I’d burst. Did you notice at supper? I could hardly swallow for—”

  “You’re worried about your appetite?”

  Phoebe lowered her lashes. This wasn’t going at all the way she planned. “I can go without food for days on end.”

  “Good, that’ll save on groceries.”

  “Why’re you making this so hard for me! Okay. You want me to eat crow? I’m here to eat crow. Can I get under the covers?”

  “No.”

  “I’m taking off my nightgown.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  Phoebe eyed the sheet at the juncture of his thighs. She thought she discerned a bit of activity there. She let her hand slide from his knee to the inside of his thigh. “Don’t you remember how good it felt?”

  “If we keep on we’re going to be in over our heads— emotionally.”

  “I won’t be in over my head. I know what I want. I want to do it again.” Out of the corner of her eye Phoebe saw the sheet rise. Pretending her hand was an alien appendage over which she had no control she drew wider and wider circles with a fingertip on his thigh. Her hand brushed a most necessary part of his anatomy.

  The cords on his neck stood out. “Stop teasing me.”

  She scooted up on the bed, picked up his hand, traced the calluses, then pressed his hand to her cheek. “I want you so much. Tell me you don’t want me the same way. Make your tallywhacker go down.”

  He tried to laugh and failed. “I can’t, damn it. You know I can’t. You’re a witch. Sex is new to you. I want you to think about when the magic wears off. What happens if you find someone you like better? Or—”

  Phoebe paled. “You gotta quit comparin’ me with you-know-who. Besides, I ain’t gettin’ naked for anybody else. It took all the gumption I had to do it with you.”

  Gage broke down and let her in. “Who wins against you?” He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. Phoebe’s heart pounded and her breath sighed past his ear. He enclosed her in his arms and held her, not moving for long minutes. “You sound so convincing,” he said despairingly and buried his face in her hair.

  Phoebe’s arms crept up around his neck. She lifted her face, her lips hovering above his so their breaths mingled. “Will you kiss me? Put your tongue in my mouth like you did the other night?”

  Her lips parted and he tasted her sweet mouth, his tongue explored, thrust against hers. Phoebe sucked. He gasped. His arms tightened, then his hand began to travel; he slid her gown up and she felt his questing hand begin to roam over her flesh, felt his hand seek out and touch the pulsating flesh that made her woman. “Gage!” she whispered, shocked.

  “Just giving you an idea of what you’ve put me through.”

  A shiver meandered down her spine. “I like it.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Gage snapped off the bed lamp. “Let’s see what else we can do that you like.”

  “And then it’ll be my turn?” Her voice was hoarse.

  “If I’m not dead.”

  — • —

  Phoebe stretched and purred. “I’m learnin’ so much about love.”

  “So am I,” said Gage. He was half asleep.

  “You know everything, you’ve been married. Imagine being able to do it anytime you wanted. It’d be heaven.”

  “Being married doesn’t guarantee a good sex life.”

  Phoebe accepted that as an admission of the weakness of his own marriage. She knew all she wanted to know about Velma. She didn’t want Gage dwelling on the bad aspects of marriage. She wanted to feel him out on the idea of marrying her, but she couldn’t think of the right thing to say. Instead she nestled close and nibbled on his ear. “Have you noticed how much Dorie has got to likin’ me? She likes Maydean and Willie-Boy, too. I’ll bet she’ll like Ma and Pa and Erlene a lot.”

  “Probably.” Gage said drowsily.

  Phoebe stopped nibbling. Probably. That wasn’t exactly an invite. She was stumped. Coming right out and asking might get a resounding no. “Gage, do we have an understandin’?”

  “Like how?”

  “Between you and me?”

  “I’m beginning to think so. Time will tell.”

  “How much time?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see into the future.”

  Phoebe could. She could see three days ahead to Saturday and her whole life falling apart again.

  “I suppose we could have Ma and Pa and Erlene visit, couldn’t we? Ma would want to meet the man I take up with permanent.”

  He adjusted his pillow, buried his face in it. “Oh? I have to pass muster now?” came to her muffled.

  “You would. Don’t worry. Ma would be pleased as punch to meet you. And then she could look for a house in Bayou La Batre.” She waited for a response. None came. “Gage, are you asleep?”

  “I’m trying,” he mumbled.

  Phoebe snuggled against his back.

  “You’re just gonna love all the Hawleys.”

  “Not if they want to talk all night.”

  “You want me to shut up?”

  “That’s the nicest suggestion you’ve made all evening.”

  “It ain’t. We already did the nicest.”

  “I’m begging you…”

  Phoebe curled an arm over his abdomen and let her hand trail down to cradle his manhood. “G’night.”

  Gage’s drowsiness began to slough away. “Oh, damn.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Your lunches are bagged and on the table in the living room,” said Phoebe. “Don’t forget them.”

  “Where’s our drink money?”

  Phoebe passed out the quarters. “Fifty cents each. Don’t lose it. Willie-Boy, you know what you’re supposed to do?”

  “Don’t run. Don’t fight. Don’t get lost. Don’t talk with my mouth full.”

  “Dorie?”

  “Same thing.”

  “Maydean?”

  “Watch the brats.”

  “Get nice or get back in your room.”

  Maydean flounced. “Be ladylike.”

  “Okay. Finish breakfast and wait on the front porch for the church bus. I got to harvest my crabs. Gage, you got anything you want to add?”

  “You’ve just about covered the Constitution.”

  “Daddy, can we have another quarter?”

  Gage dug out change and passed it around. Phoebe’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You give out money that easy without them earnin’ it?”

  “I’m not always the skinflint you make me out to be.”

  “Then I mean to renegotiate the price of bumpers.”

  “That’s not negotiable. I’ve got a seventy-dollar dent.”

  Phoebe sniffed. “You’ve also got a five-cent brain.�
� She grabbed her straw hat off the broom hook. “I’m goin’ crabbin’.”

  Gage followed her down to the canal. “I’ll go with you this morning.”

  Phoebe gave him a winsome smile. “You like me so much now you can’t bear for me to be outta sight?”

  “Just want to keep an eye on my investment.”

  “You come in two parts, Gage Morgan. Purse part and pants part. When I first started fallin’ for you, I figured it out. Everything a woman wants in a man is below the belt. Howsomever, I want you to know, I’m different. There are parts of you above the belt that I find particularly interestin’.”

  “Phoebe, if you start talking nasty, you can go out on that bayou by yourself and you’ll never get a crab trap in the boat because you won’t have me to show you the knack. See those old apple crates? Put ’em in the boat. I’ll get the bait. We’ll replenish each trap after we dump it. Saves time.”

  “Are you gonna boss me?”

  “I’m going to do my damnedest and hope it takes.”

  “You’re the kind of man who wants to wear the pants in the family?”

  “Don’t sound so disheartened. Around you, I don’t seem to be able to keep them up.”

  Phoebe’s heart overflowed. She sat on the oar seat and faced him, enjoying looking at him, smiling. He guided the boat through the cut and into the bayou. In the far distance she could see shrimp boats that were specks on the horizon. Gulls squawked and fished. The surface of the water was calm and sun-painted. They had the bayou to themselves. “Gage?”

  “What?”

  “You know that feeling I was getting only after dark? I’m starting to get it in the daytime, too.”

  “No.”

  She slipped off the seat onto her knees and rested her elbows on his legs. “I could unzip your pants and play.”

  “I’ve got to drive this boat.”

  “Nobody’s around.”

  “It’s early yet.”

  “I’ve never done it in the daytime.” Her hands crept to his inner thighs. “We could just touch each other. That’s all.” She could see acceptance overtaking reluctance in his expression, could feel the shape taking place beneath her hands. She pressed her fingertips against the growing bulge between his legs.