Dark River Road (16 page)

“Enough. You are too strong. Go to bed. Morning comes early. Here. I will do the rest of the wash-up now. You just get some sleep, Chantry.”

He felt better now that Mama was more like herself. Maybe everything would be all right after all.

Dr. Malone had taken to getting him to go with him on calls to farms in the area, saying he needed him to help hold some of the animals. He paid extra, and besides that, Chantry got to see what a country vet did in the field. It was a lot harder than he’d ever thought it’d be, but more interesting, too. It was also a lot different than the clinic treatment he was used to seeing.

There was going to be a Valentine’s Dance on Friday, but since the actual day was on Wednesday, he wanted to give Cinda her gift now. It’d mean more, he thought. It was cold but not raining, and he hunched his shoulders against the wind and stood near the end of her driveway waiting for her mom to bring her home. Cinda never rode the big yellow county school bus, and usually had someone pick her up if she didn’t walk home with her friends.

It was a cold walk from the school to Cinda’s house, but he was used to walking. He’d left school at the end of fifth period, cutting his last class to be able to see Cinda and still get to the vet clinic on time. Mama would probably be mad, but he still had a B average in Math even with the last test when he hadn’t done as well. He’d found out the trick to getting decent grades was always doing his homework and extra assignments, and if he kept up with classwork, a bad test score on occasion didn’t hurt too much.

This area of Cane Creek was a world away from Sugarditch. St. Clair Road had sidewalks, and lawns that had grass and trees and pretty flowers even in the winter. He’d helped Dempsey plant pansies in some of these yards last fall, and those purple cabbages that bloomed in cold weather. It’d be time soon to rip them out and plant summer flowers. He didn’t think he’d be able to help Dempsey this year. Time was too short.

Cinda’s house was the biggest on the street. It was a white Colonial-style, with a spacious front porch, columns, and a triple car garage out back. Being mayor must pay pretty well, but he doubted the Sheridans worried about that anyway. Cinda’s mama was a Quinton, Bert Quinton’s daughter, and her brother was Chris’s dad. They had plenty of money.

He sat on the curb in front of Cinda’s house to wait, legs stuck straight out in front of him. The candy was inside his jacket. Not so much to protect it from the cold as to keep anyone else from seeing it. He’d never given a girl a gift before. Unless he counted Tansy. But she didn’t talk much to him anymore. He missed her. There were things he’d like to ask her. Stuff only a girl would know or tell.

In a few minutes, he saw Cinda’s mom’s car coming down the street. It was a new gold and black Blazer. They’d bought it in Clarksdale instead of from Dale Ledbetter, but he guessed that was because Mayor Sheridan and Mr. Ledbetter didn’t get along that well since the last town meeting. Mama said Mr. Ledbetter opposed the new budget for county schools the mayor was trying to get the town council to pass. She agreed with Mr. Ledbetter, but mostly because he didn’t like wasting money on unnecessary things like fancy dinners for the school board. And she said the mayor only sent his daughter to public school just to get voted into office anyway, that he didn’t really care about the public education standards.

He stood up, and saw Cinda look at him with surprise through the tinted glass window. A few feet into the driveway, the car stopped and she got out.

“Hey,” she said, and shut the door and came to where he stood on the curb. “What are you doing here?”

“Just
 . . .
it, uh—Happy Valentine’s Day.” He thrust the candy toward her. The bow was a little flat from being under his jacket, but it still looked pretty.

She smiled up at him, looking so pretty in her pink coat with the fake fur collar, her eyes shiny green with pleasure. “Chantry. I thought you’d forgot.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“Come inside. Mom stopped and got some pizza.”

“I
 . . .
uh
 . . .
can’t. Gotta jet. Have to be at work soon.”

She took his hand. “Well, you’ve got time for a piece of pizza before you go. We can take you to work so you won’t be late. Come on. Don’t say no. Please?”

He wanted to stay here with her a little longer, but felt funny about going in her house. It wasn’t that her parents had ever been rude to him, but he got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t who they’d choose for their daughter to hang out with.

He rocked back on his heels, hesitating, and she immediately pulled him a few feet up the drive with her. “You want to,” she teased, “I can see you do. Come on. Co-cola and pizza. Then a ride. It won’t take five minutes to get you there in the car.”

“Your mom may not want to give me a ride.”

“She’ll do it.”

Mrs. Sheridan was polite, as he’d expected she’d be, but wasn’t overly enthusiastic to see him at her kitchen table. It was warm and bright in the kitchen, with big windows across the rear wall that looked out over the back yard. Everything gleamed like it’d just been polished.

“How’s your mother, Chantry,” Cinda’s mom asked as she put out blue and white plates, napkins, and got out clean glasses and a big bottle of Coke. “And your brother?”

“Fine, thank you for asking.” He sat awkwardly, watching Cinda pull the bow on the box of candy and lift the lid. She looked so pretty and pleased that he didn’t mind at all sitting there to watch her even if he felt so uncomfortable.

Cinda talked about school, music, then what she was wearing to the upcoming dance. She looked at Chantry expectantly. He swallowed his pizza and cut a quick glance at her mother. Mrs. Sheridan had a little frown right between her brows, as if she wasn’t happy.

“You’ll look pretty,” he said finally, and Cinda gave him a look that said plainly it wasn’t the right answer. He rubbed his hands on his pants, then remembered the napkin he’d been given to use. It was cloth, not paper, and felt too soft to be used to wipe pizza juice on.

“Well?” Cinda said after a moment. “Are you going to ask me to the dance or not?”

“Uh, sure. I mean
 . . .
if you want to be there with me.”

“Cinda dear,” Mrs. Sheridan said quickly, “you know you’re too young to date. And it’s impolite to put Chantry on the spot like that, demanding he ask you to the dance.”

“No,” he said fast before Cinda could speak up, “I want to ask her. It’s just that I can’t be there early. I don’t get off work until six and the dance starts at seven. And it wouldn’t be a date. We’d just
 . . .
hang out some.”

The last sounded really lame, and he felt Mrs. Sheridan’s disapproval from across the room by the sink where she stood with a glass of Coke in her hand. She had long red fingernails and the blonde hair that all the Quintons seemed to have, and he guessed she was pretty enough but it was hard to tell when she kept her face so stiff all the time.

Cinda smiled at him. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”

Mrs. Sheridan cleared her throat. He thought she intended to say she couldn’t, but then she just said that if Chantry was ready to go, she’d be glad to take him now. Cinda jumped up from her chair and reached for her pink coat, but her mother said she needed to stay home since she’d not done well on her last English test and should study.

“So you can go to the dance,” she reminded with a smile. “I’ll take Chantry. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

He didn’t want to talk to Mrs. Sheridan, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it so he got up to follow her outside to the gold Blazer. Cinda came with him, tucking her hand into his and squeezing it. She leaned close.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

He shot her a quick look that must have been funny because she laughed, mouth all turned up at the corners so that her dimples cut deep. “Chicken,” she said, and gave his hand another squeeze before letting go. “See you Friday night.”

Mrs. Sheridan didn’t say anything much until they got to the end of the street and turned onto the road that led to Highway 1. Then she said abruptly, “Cinda is far too young to know her own mind, Chantry. I hope you don’t mind my speaking frankly, but I feel it’s important that I tell you how her father and I feel about her seeing any one boy too much. Cinda is very strong-willed and wouldn’t take kindly to my saying anything like that to her, however. She’d do it just to show us she could. I know her. It’s a Quinton trait to be determined. You seem a nice enough boy, and I know you’re more
 . . .
mature than most young men your age. Therefore, I know you’ll understand if I ask you not to continue a friendship with my daughter that can only be detrimental to her future happiness.”

He did understand. A lot more than Mrs. Sheridan said, too. It wasn’t a shock that she’d not approve of him being with Cinda. He’d expected it. He looked out the window and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid or betray his sick disappointment, but she wasn’t through.

“And I’d appreciate it, Chantry, if you’d not let Cinda know we had this little conversation. She would be
 . . .
rebellious, I believe. If you truly care about her welfare, you’ll keep this between us.”

He knew what she meant. She didn’t want any of the blame, just results. Typical Quinton.

“I get it,” he said after a moment, and she slid him a quick glance that he met steadily. She got a little color in her cheeks that let him know she realized he wasn’t fooled by her real reason for not wanting Cinda to know what she’d said.

Neither of them said anything else until she pulled into the parking lot in front of the Cane Creek Animal Clinic. Then he just said, “Thanks for the ride,” and got out and shut the door and went inside.