“It’s all right, Hank. It doesn’t matter. I just like being with you. It feels right.”
“I think that was the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.”
“Really?”
“Truly.” Hank motioned to the tea in her hands. “How come you didn’t bring any fancy cups for us to drink out of?”
“Why, Hank, you sure know how to sweet talk a girl,” she laughed.
“If that’s sweet talking, I must be Romeo.” She laughed again, and he said, “You have the most beautiful laugh. You have the kind of laugh I could live my entire life with. Even when I’m ninety, I would still want to hear it.”
“Now you’re just candy coating it. But I’ll take it. Thank you, Hank. I think that was the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me.”
Hank stopped for a moment and so did Delilah.
“How come you never said ‘Dear Lord’ today? I like when you say it. I like to think I’m doing somethin’ right.”
“I never said it because you haven’t smiled at me today.”
Hank smiled.
“Dear Lord,” she said, turning around, walking faster.
“Now you’re just sugar coating it!” He called after her. She laughed again and Hank kept smiling as he easily caught up with her. He’d take that. He’d take every penny of it.
A drowsy silence had settled way down deep inside of them as they made their way toward the river. The kind that makes you feel like you’re floating and nothing is truly real. The Magnolia River was not far up ahead, black as the moonless night and as still as if it were empty, until a gust of wind blew past and rippled the water.
A dogwood in full bloom welcomed them before a massive oak, careening over the pier with Spanish moss gently waving in the wind, rose up from the ground, announcing itself as the keeper of the river. Hank couldn’t help himself from thinking otherwise.
The River Keeper met a long wooden pier at the bank. At the end of the pier was a gazebo. Hank imagined taking shelter there on days when the sun was callous, the heat relentless.
Freud took off after the pier. He stopped in the middle and, as gracious as was possible for an animal of that size, took his rest. He flapped his ears once before he turned his snout in the direction of the moon. Hank couldn’t help but think of all those hand-drawn pictures in Delilah’s house. If there ever was a picture of Freud to be created, the scene before them should have been it.
Instead of following Freud, Delilah walked to the River Keeper and opened a small wooden box, removing a patched quilt. She shook it out real good and then spread it on the ground under the branches of the oak.
“We’re not going on the pier?” Hank looked back and forth between Delilah and Freud.
“Not yet. I like this spot better to start. It’s my honey hole. If they don’t bite from here, we’ll move onto the pier.”
“I hope you’re not planning on catching too many,” Hank said, feeling himself much like the pooper of the party.
Delilah eyed him with what seemed like speculation before she shook her head. “No, we only catch what we can eat. It’s the Law of the Land. Anything else is just gluttonous.”
They laid the things they were carrying next to the blanket. Delilah leaned the poles against the ice chest and took off her boots. She opened the tackle box, whispering sweetly to herself about the best baits to use. Hank took a seat, stretching his legs, watching her in the moonlight as she fiddled with the rod and reel. She opened a container of wiggling worms and pushed them toward him.
“Hank,” she said with a smile, “I thought you were a gentleman? A gentleman never allows a lady to bait her own line.”
“I apologize, ma’am.” Hank took the poles from her and the container of worms. He set the creepers on the tackle box, catching one to use as lure. “With women’s lib and all that, I get a little confused from time to time. I’m not always sure what to do anymore. I didn’t want your union after me for taking away a job I wasn’t supposed to do. And besides that, I’d hate to see you in trouble for larvae murder.” Hank secured the frantic worm and slid the hook right through its body. He did hers first and then started working on his.
“Thank you.” She sat beside him. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Of all the things I could be tried for, larvae murder sounds the worst. I wonder if hanging is the punishment for such a thing?” She laughed into the night, but after she settled, her joy whisked away by silence, the night sounded too quiet, eerie without the sound of her. When she spoke again, the world seemed the ideal place to be.
“That’s true, isn’t it? You guys must be so confused. Do this, don’t do that. I sometimes forget how mysterious we can be.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “But the good boys always find their way. They’re the only ones who care enough to try.”
“It is work, I’ll tell you that. But, you know, it’s the best kind of work. I never found anything that came too easy to be much fun. I like to be challenged, to be able to say that what I have, I work hard for.”
“I think that statement deserves something, Hank. That was deep.” She bent over and opened the ice chest, pulling out two fat, asparagus-colored dill pickles wrapped in wax paper. She pulled the jug of tea over between them and handed Hank a pickle.
“I haven’t had one of these since I was a kid.” He smiled, taking it from her. She looked away toward the water when he did. Hank’s mouth was watering from the salty smell. The taste of it so unforgettable, his jaw clenched just from the memory. Hank took a bite and crunched. “Heaven Almighty, this is good. I love when they’re cold.”
“Me too,” Delilah agreed, crunching her own. “I like them with sugary tea. It’s like a bittersweet meal.”
Delilah pulled her arm back and cast her line. It went zipping through the air and landed with a tiny plunk. Hank followed her and they sat together, eating their pickles, taking sips of tea out of the jug, all while holding their poles.
Freud stood up, stretching his long back and legs, before he took off running, jumping in the river when he reached the pier’s end. A slapping splash disturbed the quiet of the night before it became nothing but a chorus of dog paddles.
“You don’t mind him swimming like that?” Hank nodded toward the river.
“Not really. I keep an eye out for him, but it helps him blow off steam. Cools him off.”
“You love Freud a lot, don’t you?”
Delilah’s eyes turned soft. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved.”
Hank desperately wanted to change that. “What are you looking for in love, Delilah?”
“Well, Hank. I always felt if you looked for love, you wouldn’t find it. I don’t think you can look for love; it has to find you when it’s ready. I never dreamed of having an epic love story, or being two of the same kind. I suppose I’ve always just wanted to be one boy’s unforgettable girl. It would be nice to live inside someone’s heart, and when you were apart, they’d miss you, like you were missing them.”
“That’s all you want?”
“Yes, that and someone who is gentle but doesn’t back down when you butt heads. I like a challenge too. I like to be me, and I’d want someone to be them…and somewhere in between, we become Delilah &….”
“Hank.”
“For example.” Delilah reeled her pole in a little, slowly moving it back and forth. After a few seconds of steady motion, she asked, “Hank, who is REO?”
Hank stopped moving his line. “Sleep talking?”
“You were quite upset about it. A friend?”
“I guess you could say he was. To a certain degree. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.”
“Who is he?”
“A ghost,” Hank said without hesitation. He didn’t want that ghost to wiggle his way through the pause, if he had a choice in the matter.
“How come you don’t ask me a lot of questions?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I like to save my questions, ask them when the time is right. And
right now, our time feels right just the way it is. When we ask too many questions, it can mess up molasses…molasses likes to flow freely, move at its own pace, just like a newly forming relationship.”
“I like you, Hank. I really do.”
“I hope you like me more than Pepsi liked those agents.”
“Mmmhmm,” Delilah went just like Pepsi, and they both laughed.
“She really had in for them, didn’t she?” Hank said. He thought he had a tug, but after further investigation, it turned out to be nothing but an area with too much vegetation. He was just thankful that it wasn’t a snake on the other end. That had happened to him before, and it was the last time the guys invited him fishing, if he recalled correctly.
“Pepsi has a sixth sense about people. Just like your feeling, Hank. It never usually steers her wrong. I trust her.”
“Mmmhmm,” Hank went, and they laughed again.
Delilah sighed. She seemed tired.
“You know what I like the most about you, Delilah?”
“What would that be, Hank?”
“Everything.” He lightly tapped his shoulder against hers.
Delilah moved the tea jug, closing the gap that parted them. She kissed him softly on the cheek and then rested her head on his shoulder. The moonlight outlined their bodies and another warm wind blew past as they sat, fishin’ side by side.
Freud appeared out of the water, going straight for them, shaking as he did. He took a seat next to Delilah on the grass and she rested back on her elbows. Hank could see how tired she was, but he decided against mentioning it. He rested next to her, and in the silence, he couldn’t help but feel the easiness about her. He knew in a matter of seconds that peaceful, easy way about her could turn, and she’d blow you away. He could see it in her eyes, the rings just waiting for their chance to spread and cause damage. She was a natural disaster.
Hank understood every complication this could possibly have; getting blown away is frightening. It was something to be afraid of, but when Hank thought about love, he knew all love was something to be afraid of. Your heart breaks and you still have to live with it. This didn’t make Hank want to run, though. Hank was telling the truth when he told her he liked a challenge. Easy bored him. And if anything, the uncertainty of her moods only made him respect her. She was a woman to be respected. She wouldn’t walk on you, as long as you didn’t walk on her. The respect should be mutual, and he couldn’t agree more.
Delilah started to settle on the blanket, like she was getting comfortable in a warm bed. She rolled her head, arched her back a bit, her legs and feet moving against the fabric. Hank turned away when he suddenly felt a rush of heat making its way into the bones of his body—his ears were on fire too.
As the water lapped against the bank with another gust of wind, Hank felt something deep inside him swell. Then the words in his head started to overflow his mouth. He started to ramble, the proximity of her body pulling at something inside him.
Hank started by telling her about Wild Thang in Tupelo. He called it a tree house, skipping the location, but he went on and on about all the good times he and the guys had there. He rambled on about Randy being a ladies’ man, Curly following him like a monkey, Jesse and his wheezing, Dylan and his breaking the rules, Tommy and his many ensembles.
Delilah just sat there, grinning, moving her bare feet left to right, like his stories were songs being sung. He went on and on, chewing on his words like a piece of gum that had lost its flavor hours ago.
“My mother is two-timing my stepfather with Preacher John…”
He opened up about June-bug and her affair with his true father, Preacher John. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but lying there next to her, he explored every road it could take him down. Then he started going on about the payphones. How he didn’t even realize they disappeared, basically off the face of the earth. That bothered Hank.
“How did I not even notice it when it was happening?”
How easily something could be wiped and the world not even know it. Like rights, or a certain species. You ignore the little telltale signs, one here, another there—and then all of a sudden, they’re gone.
He said he didn’t think this was fair to the poor of the world, either. Not everyone could afford a mobile phone, and if they needed to make a call, what would they do? Not to mention the operators of the world who had lost their jobs. It just didn’t seem fair to him. He wanted them back, like some of the dinosaurs.
During his rambling, something occurred to him. He took a deep breath, realizing it slowly, as a trickle of sweat ran down his face.
“I’ve been thinking real steady. And something has been bothering me since Pepsi told me you were twisted. I think you’re unsettled. You’re restless. Maybe you’ve always been…”
Delilah looked at him with a peculiar emotion fleeting across her face. Had he hit the nail on the head? Hennessey’s hammer ticked away in his mind. Not even noticing the look Delilah was giving him, he let this thought slide back into the atmosphere, meditating on it for a bit before he jumped on another thought taking space in his crowded mind. She turned away, the look still present, but maybe a bit more resolved in her findings.
She smiled to herself as Hank continued on the path of the unknown. He was overflowing so quickly that he didn’t even realize that not once did they get a bite. Not even a nibble. Rigor mortis had probably set in on those worms for how long he had been going on for.
Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Everything became silent. Until…yet again…
“Delilah.”
“Yes, Hank.”
“Told you they weren’t going to bite.”
“Hank,” Delilah’s voice rustled through the heat. “I think I understand why you have a ‘Hank’s black hook.’ You need to cool off. You talk too much.”
She stood from her spot and unbuckled her overalls. They fell to the ground, one of the buckles cracking against the earth as it did. Hank’s eye popped open. She was wearing green lacy panties that covered everything except a small amount of her perfectly round cheeks.
Heaven Almighty, it was a hot damn sight to behold.
She ran away from him, toward the pier, her shirt coming off next. She let go and it landed on a dogwood branch. It waved in the wind like some sort of flag of freedom as she moved faster and faster toward the water. She jumped, both arms raised high in the air, right into the midnight-colored river. Freud was just one step behind her, throwing up a big splash.
“Oh, Hank!” Delilah called, laughing. He could hear the playfulness in her voice. Just imagine the taunting gleam in her eye. She was fearless. “Are you going to jump in or what? The water is nice! And leave everything at the dock, except for the squeal!”
Hank jumped to his feet, stripping everything but his boxers in record time. Too late for that, he thought as he ran toward her. He had jumped in the moment he saw her.
Oh, Heaven Almighty, Hank screamed as he dove in after her. The water was freezing compared to the weather. He did squeal. She splashed him and he swam after her. He stole a kiss in the water and afterwards, they lay on the dock, allowing the weather to dry their soaked bodies. Sucking on honeysuckle and moving their feet left to right at the same time, they gazed at the star-studded sky.
As a pretty little lullaby being sung by the wind howled by, Hank and Delilah caught three fat catfish. Delilah was never greedy. She only wanted to catch what she knew they could eat. Hank knew she had cured his “black hook”—she had cooled him, helped him blow off all that steam of those smoking ghosts from so long ago. Delilah taught him that silence was golden, his best tool—if you could be patient, and quiet, sooner or later they’d take the bait. And then you hook ’em.
Hank stood at Delilah’s door, one knuckle ready to knock, one foot ready to head to the kitchen. Love had woken him up again and he couldn’t get any sleep. Delilah, it seemed, usually never slept, so he thought he’d take a chance and see if she was awake. He went to k
nock but withdrew his hand, not feeling right about waking her if she was asleep.
He leaned against the frame of her door. The distance between them was filled by the rattling bones of the old house, flares of lightning, the rolling barrel of pulsing thunder; the heavy droplets of rain falling steadily against the rooftop.
A southern storm had made its way sometime between the time they had made it home, just before the sun rose in the sky, and the moment Hank was in then, early morning still, though it was as dark as late evening.
Hank walked to the back of the house, staring out of windows that were fogged and dripping wet. He watched as steady streams of water rushed down the roof and onto the porch. The ferns were swinging back and forth with the push of the wind. So was the porch swing. The yard was already flooding with muddy puddles. He could just imagine how fast the river was rising.
Hank didn’t hear Freud, but after a few moments of gazing heavily out of the windows, he felt him. Hank looked down. Freud looked up. Then the gentleman dog turned around and walked toward Delilah’s room. Hank followed and was met with an open door. Freud was already lying in his bed on the floor beside her.
Her room was all white furniture with crystal touches. Vases that matched the lucent knobs on doors and drawers overflowed with fresh, pale-yellow roses, so vibrant and powerful, and on either side of her bed, more of those cotton flowers in old ceramic jugs.
She was wrapped up in a blanket the same color as the roses, the same softness as the cotton. She looked small and vulnerable wrapped up like that, like a cotton ball. All that was visible was her wild hair, sticking out like a sore thumb in the room. It was darker than anything else.
“Good mornin’, Hank,” her voice floated.
“Good mornin’, Delilah. You okay? You’re sleeping.”
The sigh that came from the bed was whispered. “I don’t know, Hank. I’m real tired.”
Hank had the strong urge to enter, to comfort her, but he stopped himself, not wanting to intrude. He cleared his throat as quietly as he could. “You need anything?”
“I’d love some cranberry juice and two aspirins. And those cookies Pepsi makes for me every Sunday. She leaves them on the counter for me, usually.”
Pistol Fanny's Hank & Delilah Page 16
