Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “I suppose I could.”

  Miss Esmeralda caught her arm as she swung away. “Fair warning. Nothing’s been done with it for years. It’s a god-awful mess.”

  The room was more of a hellish mess. Papers were stacked haphazardly on the floor, on tables, on every horizontal surface. The lone filing cabinet had documents poking from too-full drawers. Boxes of pictures acted as bookends. She wandered, fingering crumpled paper and rummaging through boxes, overwhelmed at the chaos.

  The first paper she picked up was dated before the turn of the last century. Were there papers from the Civil War or even before? Falcon had been out of the swath destroyed by Sherman’s march. There was a possibility records had survived. An excited tingle zoomed to fingertips suddenly itching to get started. She attacked the closest box full of pictures. Many had family names and dates scrawled on the back. She sorted by date and surname.

  One caught her attention. She squinted at the faded picture. Several things set it apart. For one, the family pictured was Black. For another, they were smiling, which was unusual in pictures this old.

  Darcy found her own lips curling in response to a decades-old joy. But what had her examining the picture in the sun was the white house framing the family of six. It was the house in the woods.

  The picture was black and white, of course, but the house appeared well kept and the land was clear of trees and brush, the start of the steep bank to the spring on the right side. She flipped the picture and found, written in faded ink, The Golightly family. 1952.

  Three boys and a girl. The boys’ hair was shorn close to their heads, but the little girl had braided pigtails and the biggest, happiest smile Darcy had ever seen. The littlest Golightly was a poignant reminder of the kids who came to story time.

  She tracked down the librarians. “Do any of you know what happened to the Golightys?”

  The three women passed the picture around. Miss Jane squinted and held it a few inches from her face. “I remember they were a nice family. Everyone was sad to see them go. They headed north.”

  Miss Esmerelda added, “Lots of families left for Lansing or Detroit. Cars, you know.”

  “Of course.” Darcy tapped the picture on the circulation desk. “Let’s see if we can find them in the Detroit census.”

  “How do you plan on doing that? Fly to Michigan?” Miss Constance asked tartly.

  “On the computer. You really need to get with the times,” Darcy teased, taking a seat at one of the computers. The ladies pulled up chairs while Darcy logged onto an ancestry research site.

  Armed with a surname and approximate date, she found them easily. The scanned record came up on the screen. Miss Constance gasped. “Why that’s amazing. How do they get such records?”

  Darcy glanced at the three ladies from the corner of her eyes. “Research librarians scan records and enter names and dates. We could do that with the documents in the room upstairs.”

  If Darcy had felt overwhelmed at the task, the three ladies looked positively terrified. Miss Esmeralda asked, “Do we even have a scanner?”

  They bustled away to discuss the brave new world.

  Darcy printed out the documents to show Robbie later. While it might not be helping a doctoral candidate find information on African viruses, the satisfaction of using her skills had her taking the stairs to the document room two at time.

  She inventoried the boxes and stacks, plans spinning in her mind. The documentation was far-reaching in both scope and time. Death certificates, marriage licenses, personal letters, pictures. She could organize based on type and then by date. She would need a computer, a high-resolution scanner, binders to hold the loose-leaf papers, and desks for patrons. Definitely more filing cabinets.

  She paced and massaged her temples. What was she doing? This was not her job. Her job was in Atlanta, but it suddenly seemed more than a few hours away. It seemed a lifetime away.

  “Hey, pretty girl.” Robbie’s deep voice startled her around.

  Her smile was spontaneous. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Saw your car. Thought you might be hungry?” Robbie shook a sack and held up two drinks.

  The smell had her stomach growling on cue. “You’re my hero.”

  She pushed papers aside while he unloaded the Sunday lunch special from The Diner. BLTs and sweet tea. Nothing was more satisfying. She was halfway through the sandwich, her hunger appeased, when she gasped.

  “Guess what I found.” She laid a hand on his arm.

  “A burrow of dust bunnies?” He brushed at her cheek.

  Gray dirt and pieces of disintegrating paper streaked her clothes. She rubbed her palm across her cheek while her other hand batted dust out of her clothes. “That too. But I tracked down the Golightlys.”

  The picture held him rapt. “I knew children had lived there. They look happy, don’t they? What happened to them?” he asked with downtrodden resignation.

  She bumped his hip with hers. “Nothing bad. They moved to Detroit, raised their family, retired from Ford. Their kids had kids and so forth. Now, there’s a hundred Golightlys listed in the Detroit census. One is a city councilwoman.”

  He picked the picture back up and ran a finger over the faces. “That’s amazing. Maybe knowing they had a happy life will banish their ghosts from the house.”

  “The ghosts in that house were always yours.” And hers, although she didn’t say it aloud. She plucked the photo from his lax hand and threaded their fingers. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  The teenage-like awkwardness of the question settled between them. Had she crossed a line? He moved to the door and her heart lodged in her throat. The click of the lock was like an electric shock.

  He turned and pulled her close, his breath tickling the hairs at her temple. “I’d rather pick up where Logan so rudely interrupted us. You remember my favorite porn title, don’t you?”

  The lips trailing down her neck drew her throat tight. “The Lusty Librarian?”

  He lifted her onto the table and roamed his hands under her skirt.

  “Robbie, the door, the window.” She pushed on his shoulders.

  “Do you have a condom?” Lust softened his mouth and clouded his eyes.

  The thought he would take her here and now turned her blood to honey. The slow, sweet pulse matched the throb between her legs. “Don’t you have one?”

  “Didn’t manage to snag one out of the fridge.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t have long. Let’s do this instead.”

  He maneuvered her to the window, propped her hands on the frame, and curved his body behind her. The denim of his jeans abraded the sensitized skin of her thighs.

  They were on the third floor. People strolled on the sidewalk. Cars passed. The possibility of anyone glancing up and spotting them was unlikely, but being on display ratcheted her arousal higher. Was she more like her mama than she wanted to admit?

  His touch buried her burgeoning shame under pure need. He slipped his hand under her skirt and pushed the thin cotton of her panties aside. She had been ready for him since morning. The blessed relief of his big middle finger pushing inside of her was acute. She spread her legs wider and leaned into the window frame, arching her back and pressing her butt into his erection. She wanted to crawl inside of him. A moan snaked out of her.

  “Damn, I love when you get wild in my arms.” His chest rumbled against her back.

  While his finger stroked inside of her, his thumb rubbed, hard and fast. She took his other hand and pushed it under her blouse. He took the not-so-subtle hint and pulled her bra cup down to play with her nipple.

  She existed for only one purpose. Like an animal, she blocked out everything and reached for climax. Pleasure tore at her, and she muffled her cries in her shoudler. Her legs gave way forcing his finger even deeper. His moan bordered on pain.

  Both of them were breathing hard, and his finger stayed inside of her, still stroking. She rotated against the erection pressing against
her buttocks.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said in a tight voice.

  She straightened, and his finger slipped out. Whirling, she pushed him back until his butt hit the heavy wood table. She dropped to her knees. Her orgasm had obliterated any inhibitions.

  She looked up and grinned into his wide, slightly panicked eyes. “Not yet.”

  * * *

  He clutched the table like a drowning man as she struggled with his belt and zipper. He’d been semi-hard all morning, his concentration stolen by thoughts of wrapping himself in her arousal-blurred eyes.

  After an eternity, she tugged his jeans and boxer briefs down. His dick jutted out, already weeping. “You don’t have to . . .” His protest was weak and faded into nothing when her hot, wet mouth closed over his tip.

  Her hum drove his hips forward, thrusting him deeper into her mouth. Undeterred, she sucked hard as her tongue lashed him. Her enthusiasm made the moment all the more erotic. Two more minutes was all he could stand. He tapped her head in what he assumed was a universal signal.

  She didn’t heed his warning, and there was no time for words. He fisted his hands in her hair and climaxed in her mouth, his hips bucking hard. The gentle suction of her swallows prolonged the ecstasy.

  She pried at his fingers, loosening them. His soul returned to his trembling, weakened body. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t even realize—” His voice was scraped raw.

  “You didn’t hurt me.” She stood, her hands lying loosely at his sides. “Was that . . . did you . . . enjoy it?” Biting her lip, her gaze streaked over his face, down to the floor, and back up.

  What would happen if the wildcat lurking underneath her shyness was set free? If this was any indication, she might kill him. He cupped her face with both hands and kissed her her swollen lips gently. “Couldn’t you tell I enjoyed it?”

  A knock startled them apart. Robbie yanked his pants up while Darcy moved to the door straightening her clothes. Glancing over her shoulder, she confirmed his pants were up before unlocking and cracking the door open.

  Miss Constance used her cane to pry the door open farther and peered at him. “Hello, Mr. Dalton. I didn’t see you come in.”

  He cleared his throat, praying he’d zipped his fly. “Came in the back. Miss Jane pointed me upstairs.” Miss Constance’s smile set off warning bells. He grabbed his hat, ready to escape her knowing eyes.

  “The system went down. Could you help, Darcy?” Miss Constance asked sweetly.

  “Of course.” She daubed her tongue over her kiss-swollen lips.

  The woman had no idea how unconsciously sexy she was. The box of condoms sitting somewhere in Ada’s house consumed his thoughts. One look at his watch had him wondering how much shit he was likely to get from the other coaches. “I’ve got to get back. Still have scouting video for Friday night’s game to review.”

  Darcy followed Miss Constance to the ancient elevator, her skirt swishing around her knees. The mechanical whir of machinery broke his daze. He took the stairs two at a time and jogged back to the football pavilion.

  After hours of film and pinpointing what they needed to focus on during practice the coming week, Robbie finally allowed the banked anticipation to flood the dam and shoot into his veins. He’d gotten her text a half hour ago. Stew simmered, and she was waiting. Maybe she’d be waiting in her underwear or, even better, naked.

  Dusk fell like fog and limited his sight as he locked up, but noise carried. Male voices. Laughter. Probably a bunch of teenagers smoking weed or drinking beer under the bleachers. While he was semi-sympathetic, they’d have to find somewhere else to sow their oats.

  Avery loped close on his heels, happy to be outside. A semicircle of six or seven boys faced the underside of the bleachers, high-fiving and passing a flask around.

  Malevolence seeped closer, carried by coarse language and the piteous cries of whatever they had trapped. Robbie froze. He wanted to retreat for his gun, but Avery growled.

  The boy standing at the apex, the unabashed leader, swiveled his head—the redneck from the convenience store. With his white-blond hair and the faded stripe of bruising under both eyes, the boy looked like a possum.

  “A matched set. Perfect.” Cotton-top stepped aside to reveal his capture. A few heartbeats passed before Tyler came into focus. He was on his knees, his T-shirt ripped at the shoulder and his hair mussed. His hands were tied behind his back.

  What the fuck? Huge inhales fed Robbie’s muscles, and adrenaline fed his fight or flight impulses. Except, there would be no flight. He knew it, and so did the asshole and his six lackeys. The fury simmered, ready to boil over.

  “Seven on one? You boys sure are brave. Get on out of here or I’ll call the cops.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  “We’re going truss you up like your boyfriend over there.” The redneck jerked his thumb toward the bleachers. “I wonder who’ll find the two of you. Man, I’d love to be here.”

  Everything clicked. Tyler was gay, and Robbie deserved an ass kicking. All seven of the boys rushed him and knocked the phone out of his hand. Fists flew. Robbie aimed his punches toward their faces. He wanted to be able to identify every single one of them.

  Avery bit at heels and legs. A wail stole precious moments of Robbie’s focus. Two of the boys kicked Avery in the belly. With a roar, Robbie unleashed all the anger he kept tightly contained and launched himself at the two boys, dragging along the other five. Avery slunk away.

  For long minutes, Robbie held them off and even moved the scrum of bodies away from Tyler and Avery. The boys were inexperienced fighters. Playground rumbles hardly matched Robbie’s experience. Two boys dropped back, winded and hurt, further evening the odds.

  Robbie had Cotton-top’s shirt in a stranglehold. “You should’ve brought a couple of real men if you seriously expected to get me tied up, asshole.”

  He tightened his hold on the boy’s collar. Cotton-top pulled at Robbie’s arm with one hand. A burn radiated across his side. Robbie let go and staggered backward.

  Cotton-top gripped a knife in a shaking hand. Fear, not revenge, lit his eyes. The knife darted for another cut, a slice across his bicep.

  The boys descended like a pack of hyenas on a wounded lion. An elbow rammed into the gash on his side. Pain shot like lightning through his nerves. Wet with blood, his shirt stuck to his torso. A wave of nausea turned his stomach and extinguished his anger.

  His phone lay on the ground a few feet away, and he scooped it up. The cracked, blank screen reflected a crazy-house version of his face.

  Tossing it aside, he clenched his teeth and went after the closest boy with an elbow to his neck, sending him reeling away. The rest circled out of his reach. Cotton-top’s face matched his hair. As Robbie stared at the man-boy, he saw himself at the same age with the same anger, the same desperation, the same panic.

  Blood dripped off his fingertips. Dizzy, he fell to his knees. A lifetime ago, he had been Cotton-top, or something resembling him. A man had crumpled in front of him, begged for a mercy he wasn’t capable of bestowing. Robbie refused beg. He wasn’t hurting enough that he couldn’t appreciate the big heap of irony of his current situation.

  One of the boys behind him said, “Fuck, Whitey, we were only supposed to get him tied up for some pictures. You’ve killed him.”

  17

  Darcy checked her phone again. No reply. Where was he? She paced the front porch. If she saw his headlights, she’d run inside. She texted Logan and tried to keep worry out of her hastily typed words. When did you leave school?

  Hour ago.

  Did Robbie leave with you?

  Left him working on a lesson plan. Y?

  She tapped the phone against her lips. How bat-shit crazy would she seem if she went to check on him? Stalker crazy or neighborly crazy?

  Milk. She could claim a deficiency of milk. Decision made, she grabbed her keys and turned the stew off. On the short drive, she practiced nonchalance but her death grip on th
e steering wheel didn’t ease.

  His truck stood alone in the pavilion parking lot. She blew out a breath. He’d gotten distracted. She pulled into the lot ready to whip the little car around when her headlights caught on a gathering of men under the bleachers. She slammed the brakes, locking her seat belt.

  Something was wrong. Leaving the lights on and the car running, she pushed the stick into park and leapt out. She riffled through the backseat. A tire iron would be nice, but only books slid through her hands. She grabbed the fattest of the hardbacks and took off at a run toward the group. A guttural yell burst from her chest. Her long-ago Scottish ancestors would be proud.

  The scene took on the quality of a photograph. Movement frozen in a blink of time. One man broke ranks and ran. As if a spell lifted, they scattered in different directions.

  “You effing cowards! Get back here!” In that moment, she harbored no doubts she could beat the shit out of every single one of them with her book.

  Robbie kneeled in the puddle of light from her car, his face averted from the glare. Poppy-red rivulets of blood meandered from his bicep to his fingertips.

  Her mouth went dry. Swallowing became a chore. She flung the book away.

  “Robbie! No, no, no . . .” Panic regressed her coordination to that of a toddler. She stumbled over a mound of weeds.

  She collapsed in front of him on her knees and forced her wooden fingers to stay only on his shoulders, even though she wanted to hug him close.

  “Were you seriously planning on beating them off with a book?” His voice was unexpectedly flavored with amusement.

  After the beat of relief rushed through her body, she tried but failed to mimic his tone, ending on a near-sob. “The pen is mightier than the sword?”

  A laugh-moan erupted from his throat, and his hand pressed into his side.

  “God, Robbie, how badly are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  He pulled his hand away, and they both looked. Her panic expanded at the sight of the four-inch gash in his side, the skin peeled apart. The smell and sight churned her stomach and spun her head. She gulped air through her mouth.