Devil Moon (13 page)

Wade couldn't stand still. His feet fidgeted and his hand tapped continually against his thigh. "You're gonna cook it and I'm gonna sell it. We're not going to be a small time pot operation anymore, waiting for the damned DEA to screw us."

Wade pulled a baggie out of his pocket and dangled it in front of Ginger's face. Small crystals glinted through the plastic in the porch light.

"What's that?" she asked.

Wade's face drew close to hers, his grin wide, slightly demented. "Crystal meth, baby, speed, spoosh, zoom, whatever you want to call it. We're gonna be rich." He thumped his chest. "I feel great."

He yanked her into his arms; his hard pecker jabbed into her soft belly. "I'm so hot I'm ready to shoot off like a pistol."

Continuing to grind Ginger against him, he kneaded her bottom while whispering his plans into her ear. "I'm going to take over Beaver Cove and the whole county. We can make the stuff right in the kitchen with crap I can get at Wal-Mart. I met this guy at the meet and bought the recipe from him. And, baby, wait until you feel it. It's the best shit I ever had."

Ginger didn't understand everything Wade mumbled on about–red phosphorus, lithium, ammonia nitrate. She only knew he was home, happy and wanted her. Leading him into the house back to their room, she pulled him down onto the waterbed and pretended they were high school sweethearts again. For a little while she could forget about the dirty laundry, the unpaid bills, the things she wanted and would never have. When Wade ran his hungry hands and lips over her body she was pretty Ginger again, Homecoming Queen, Beaver Cove High, Class of 1985.

* * *

Thursday evening Phil pulled in front of Pam's house and honked his horn. The front door popped open and Melissa hopped the porch steps quickly, heading for his car with obvious enthusiasm. Her ponytail swung behind her head as she approached him dressed in baggy jeans and a Beaver Cove t-shirt. Walking across the sparse grass, she yanked open the passenger door and bent over to talk to him.

"Turn off the engine, Coach. Mom and I have cooked dinner. She made meatloaf–your favorite."

Phil killed the engine and slowly got out of the car wondering what Pam was up to. A raise in child support? Walking toward the house, he noted the unkempt yard with its pale grass and overgrown bushes. Pam didn't like dirt under her fingernails.

Passing through the front door, the aroma of Pam's meatloaf engulfed him with waves of memories and sensations from a different time and place. A different Phil and Pam.

He stood stock still on the welcome mat gazing at the small living room crammed with possessions of a more luxurious past, a funhouse distorted trip down memory lane. The meatloaf signaled Pam's plan to make love after putting Melissa to bed. At least it used to. The image didn't bring forth any rise in his anatomy at all, just left a dull thud in the pit of his stomach.

Pam's favorite album by Willie Nelson played softly in the background. After all the years of anger and hostility, this sudden show of hospitality scared the hell out of him.

Melissa bopped out of the kitchen and handed him a frosty mug of root beer. "Here. Mom says to use a coaster. Dinner will be ready in a minute."

Pam peeked her head around the corner, her bleached hair big and puffy. "Hi, Phil. Figured you'd like a home cooked meal for once."

"Uh...Thanks."

She waved him toward the living area. "Make yourself comfortable. There's a bowl of beer nuts on the coffee table."

Phil looked warily at her. "Okay…"

The females disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Phil to settle into his old leather recliner. The remote to his once-prized big screen TV sat on the armrest and he mindlessly picked it up and hit the power button. The screen came alive with images grotesquely oversized in the small room. Sound roared from the speakers and he fumbled for the mute button. He gulped his root beer, half expecting an alcohol buzz that thankfully didn't come. Taking a deep breath, he got his bearings thinking,
that was then and this is now
.

Pam obviously held onto the glittering past, now sadly tarnished. On the wall surrounded by a variety of pictures taken of Melissa at different ages, hung the large Glamour Shots portrait taken of Pam during their first year of marriage. Hearing her high-pitched sing-song voice waft in from the kitchen, he remembered the bright-eyed cheerleader with guilt. Somehow his failure as an athlete, father, and man made him responsible for her arrested development. He took another slug of his root beer and sighed deeply.

Melissa came out of the kitchen carrying a steamy casserole dish. "Come and get it, Coach."

Phil turned off the TV and stood. "Sure."

He sat down at the round oak dining table, the back of his chair barely missing the nearby wall. Melissa set the meatloaf in the center of table.

Standing straight, she put her hands on jean-clad hips. "Coach, do you know how to make a Kleenex dance?"

His mouth quirked. "No, how do you make a Kleenex dance?"

"Give it a little boogie."

Phil laughed and decided to make the best of this weird situation. Whatever Pam's game, he'd play along if it meant a better relationship with Melissa.

* * *

Pam's green eyes glittered over her beer glass as she finished her meal. "Melissa, your Dad was one hottie. He cruised Main Street with the top down on the Skylark. A real chick magnet. Phil, did you know I locked my keys in my car on purpose when I saw you in the parking lot that first night?"

Actually, he hadn't.
God, was I always such a dumb ass
?

Phil scooped some gravy onto a hunk of bread. "No, I was too busy being the knight saving the damsel in distress."

"So, you tricked him into meeting you?" Melissa asked.

Pam lifted a fork full of peas and smiled smugly. "Pretty much. Of course I fell for the old 'we've run out of gas' bit on our second date."

Phil inwardly groaned, yeah, he had been a big time dumb ass.

Turning to Melissa, Phil sought to change the subject. "So, are you going to try out for the basketball team?"

"What?" Pam squealed. "I thought you were going to go out for cheerleader."

"I've told you I don't want to be a dorky cheerleader." Melissa lowered her face, looking from under knitted brows. "I watched the basketball players this week and I can't handle a ball like that."

"Sure you can," Phil said waving his fork. "You just need practice. You're a natural athlete like your old man. You need to get a basket up in your driveway."

"Like I have time to deal with that," Pam said.

Pushing back his empty plate, Phil said, "I can do it. If you'll let me."

Phil stared a challenge to Pam.
Will you really let me into her life or is this just an act?

Pam smiled a cat grin. "Gee, Phil, that's real sweet of you. I guess if Melissa has her heart set on basketball, we should encourage her."

"Fine, I'll bring a pole and basket over on Saturday," he said, then remembered his date with Maddie. "No, it'll have to be Sunday afternoon."

The sudden thought of Maddie brought warmth to his gut. Looking at Pam in the harsh yellow light reflected off the old foil wallpaper, he compared her to Maddie. Like comparing a garish rhinestone necklace to a fine diamond pendant. One was cheap, the other classy. But which one did he deserve?

After dinner, Phil helped Melissa with homework while Pam cleaned up the kitchen. Then it was time for him to go back to his apartment.

Pam said, "Melissa, you get ready for bed. I'll walk Dad out to his car."

Melissa gathered up her schoolbooks and papers as Phil crossed to the door. "Thanks, Coach. Hey, do you know how long you would have to fart to equal the power of a nuclear blast?"

Putting his hands in his pockets, he said, "How long?"

"Six years."

"Mmm. I know some guys that could be secret weapons." He gave her a wink. "Good night, baby."

Melissa trotted into the hall, calling over her shoulder. "Good night, Daddy."

His hand froze on the doorknob. She hadn't called him Daddy in six years. Something in his chest contracted.

Pam sashayed out of the kitchen. "I've wrapped some meatloaf up for you to make sandwiches."

Phil snapped out of his reverie and opened the door. "Uh, great."

She slid her arm through his, walking with him. "I think it's wonderful that we've called this truce. I mean all the arguing really doesn't get us anywhere, does it? We both want what's best for Melissa, don't we?"

He stiffly trudged forward with Pam plastered to his side. "I know I do. I'm not sure what you want."

She turned to him as they got to the car, gripping his forearm with a desperate hold. "I know what I want, Phil. I want the life we could have had if you hadn't gotten injured. The life we had before things got ugly and mean. When I saw you the other night on the football field, I realized we had something awful good back then."

"There's a lot of water under that bridge. A lot of whiskey, bourbon and beer, too."

Sliding a hand around his waist, she said, "I'm willing to make a fresh start. We've got a kid between us. That counts for something."

Phil looked down at her, smelling the beer on her breath, feeling mildly repulsed. "It counts for a whole lot. So, let's keep our focus on Melissa. She's the best part of both of us."

"Yeah, sure," she said standing on her tiptoes and giving his cheek a kiss. "We'll just be good friends and the best mom and dad Melissa could ever want."

The words sounded right, but the way she clung to him and gazed with her heavy mascara eyes sent warning bells jangling in his head. A sense of suffocation threatened to overtake him. He quickly turned and opened his car door and escaped inside.

"Thanks for dinner," he said, shutting the door.

"I'll make chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes next time," she said as he revved up the engine.

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly
.

Giving her a little wave, he shot forward, and left her standing in the middle of the street. Whatever new web Pam was spinning, he knew he didn't want to get caught.

* * *

Saturday Morning, Pre-Dawn

Warm, blue light filled with iridescent glitter swirled about them on the twisting magic carpet of Grammy's beach quilt. Maddie felt his arms around her, smelled his heady scent, the hair on his chest tickled her nose. Long and languid, her body undulated in primitive response to masterful caresses that knew every secret spot, every magic place of erotic connection. Where his limbs stopped and hers began, she had no idea. They moved as one creature– smooth and rough, soft and hard filling each other's empty spaces. Her lover's face rose above her, blurry, indistinct. She blinked, trying to see through the hazy light. Slowly, his features took form, the eyes focusing first into familiar bronze, next the strong brows and square chin. Recognizing Phil, she reached up and ran her fingers through his short, thick hair. As she smiled, he dissolved before her eyes, leaving her alone on the quilt staring into the night sky. Above the huge moon shone with blinding intensity and she heard laughter wafting across the moon beams, rolling deep like thunder. Then the noise turned shrill. A shrill annoying buzz like, like…

Maddie pounded the alarm clock, bringing blessed silence into her bedroom and sanity into her mind. Good grief, that dream. She'd gotten Phil mixed up with that insane episode of the summer. The clock glowed 5:10. Her pulse raced and she inhaled several deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. This was the day. She'd promised Phil she'd be at his apartment at 6:30. Was she out of her mind? Could she really go off for a clandestine weekend with the overpowering Coach? Would she trade her Bostonian propriety for hot hillbilly love?

When she sat up, her stomach lurched into her throat. No, she surely wouldn't throw up. She never...oh, God. Dashing into her bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet. Afterwards, she sat Indian style on the tile floor, gulping air.

Coward! Lily-livered, weak-stomach priss
.

Other women engaged in casual affairs. Why couldn't she just relax and enjoy sex like a recreational sport? Like bowling. Mmm… It was sort of like bowling, wasn't it? A hard object shooting into a dark hole, causing a great shattering and noisy explosion. Gee, she'd never go into a bowling alley again without noticing the phallic symbolism.

Grammy's face shimmered in the mirror, hounding from beyond the grave. "You're stalling. Don't sit there like a ninny. Worse case of nerves I ever saw. Get your ass up and get dressed."

One thing she had to say for her hallucination, Grammy always made sense. Maddie lumbered to her feet, turned on the shower and shook the cobwebs out of her mind. Just one cup of real coffee, loaded with sugar and she'd be fine.

* * *

Driving down the mountain toward town, Maddie felt much better by dawn's early light. A homemade cake rested in its neat carrier on the passenger seat. Breakfast. If she was going to sin, she'd sin all the way.