Dust Devil (25 page)

As
she glanced around the study to be certain she wasn’t leaving
anything behind, it was all Sarah could do to repress a shudder. She
loathed J.D.’s study in the Holbrookes' old, white-columned
mansion. It was paneled in wood turned so dark with age and cigar
smoke that being in the room made her feel as though she were inside
a mausoleum whose walls were closing in on her. Adding to this
macabre effect was the fact that on practically every large, square
oak panel were mounted the stuffed heads of various animals, some
big, some small. In addition to skeet shooting, the Holbrookes had
all hunted for sport for years, and they were all excellent shots.
The animal heads were their trophies, and the sight of so many dead,
glassy eyes staring down at her from the walls gave Sarah the creeps.
She always felt as though the beasts were silently condemning her for
fraternizing with the enemy, and she was relieved to be escaping from
the study.

After
bidding both J.D. and Evie good-night, Sarah drove home slowly enough
that Bubba, even in his inebriated state, had no difficulty following
her. As she glanced at his headlights in her rearview mirror, she
sighed, half wishing he would lose his way on the dark, country
roads. She even toyed with the idea of abruptly speeding away from
him, making an unexpected turn and killing her own headlights, so he
couldn’t find her. But that was childish
and
would
only prove
fruitless
in
any event,
since
he
knew
where
she
lived.

If
only Bubba would be content with seeing that she got safely inside
the house. But Sarah knew from experience that in his current
condition, he would insist on coming in, on having another drink and
on once more pressuring her to sleep with him. She had had a long,
exhausting day, and all she was interested in was a shower and then
bed. Instead, she would be compelled to entertain Bubba and fend off
his advances, she thought wearily.

Why
had she ever agreed to go on dating him? she asked herself, cursing
the weakness that had led her to become involved with him in the
first place. But he had been so persistent, and she had been so
lonely, especially these last few years. Her mother’s arthritis
had grown increasingly debilitating—Iris Kincaid had never
truly been right mentally since her husband’s death,
besides—and finally a few back, Sarah had been forced to sell
her parents’ house and to place her mother in a nursing home.
Since Mama’s Social Security payments didn’t amount to
much, Sarah was grateful her father’s pension was enough to
cover all the medical expenses, although she had been startled to
learn how much her mother received monthly from the Genovese Coal
Mining Co. Initially fearing there had been some sort of mistake and
that she would eventually wind up having to repay much of the money
when the error was finally discovered, Sarah had made an appointment
with Papa Nick Genovese to explain her concerns. But to her surprise,
Papa Nick had assured her the pension amounts were, in fact, correct.

“
Your
late papa ...he was one of my best and hardest workers, Miss Kincaid,
and he was a smart businessman, besides.
Capisce?
He
put away as mucha money as he coulda in his retirement plan and
boughta stock in Genovese Coal Mining, too, every time we offered
that option. So you donna havva to worry none about your sick mama.
She’ll be taken real good care of in that nursing home, and it
wonna cost you as arm and a leg, neither. It belongs to a friend of
mine, and he ain’t in the business of ripping off poor, ailing
widows or their families.” Papa Nick had paused for a moment,
then continued, abruptly changing the subject. “How’s
that young son of yours doing, Miss Kincaid? I see him sometimes.
Looka like a real fine, strong, handsome boy. You oughta be right
proud of him.”

“
I—I
am, Mr. Genovese,” Sarah had replied, nervous, as she always
was, when anyone mentioned Alex. “Very proud.”

“
Papa
Nick. Everybody calls me Papa Nick. Well, that’sa good you’re
so proud of your son. That’sa just fine, then. Some women
wouldna been. They’dda been ashamed. But you got not’ing
to be ashamed of. So you hold your head high, and you make that boy
of yours do the same. You bringa him outta to the Chicken Coop
sometime. I gotta small interest in that restaurant, on accounta it’s
owned by a couple of Mama Rosa’s cousins. Mama Rosa... that’sa
my wife, the best woman in the world—present company excepted,
of course.” Papa Nick had winked at Sarah broadly, chuckling.
“We been married more ’n fifty years now, and I love her
even more today than I did alla those years ago on our wedding day.

There
ain’t not’ing in life to take the place of
amore,
Miss
Kincaid, because life ain’t not’ing without it. You
remember that now, you hear?”

“
Yes,
I will, Papa Nick,” she had said quietly.

But
that had been a lie, because she didn’t want to remember, Sarah
told herself now as, from the golden-oldies station on the Jeep
radio, the strains of Jimmy Ruffin’s “What Becomes of the
Broken Hearted” drifted. The song brought sudden tears to her
eyes. Amore, she thought dully.
You
didn’t say what one does when it goes out of your life forever,
Papa Nick. When your heart’s been broken so badly that no
matter what you do, you just can’t seem to put the pieces back
together.

“
Forget
it, Sarah. You’re tired, that’s all,” she muttered
aloud to herself. “And having to spend the evening in J.D.’s
dead-animal trophy case always upsets you. Besides which, seeing
Renzo Cassavettes again has thrown you for a loop—not to
mention that the last thing you need tonight is to have to deal with
Bubba in a drunken stupor!” She reached irritably to switch off
the radio, only to draw her hand back at the last minute, letting the
tune continue to play, reveling in the music, despite its melancholy
lyrics. These days, except for Boyz II Men, there was no one around
who equaled Motown in its finest hour, she thought. It was as though
the song spoke only to her, telling her that happiness was just an
illusion, filled with sadness and confusion.

Sighing
heavily, Sarah hit her turn signal, wheeling the Jeep on to her
gravel drive, pulling slowly to a halt in front of the farmhouse.

“
Bubba,
it’s late, and I know you’ve got to be at the office
early tomorrow morning for that meeting with the distributors,”
she called to him as he parked behind her and got out of his car. “So
why don’t you just go on home? There’s no need for you to
come inside. Really.” “Nonsense. I’ve got to see
that you and Alex are locked up all nice and tight, don’t I?
You know the kind of nuts who’re running around these days,
even in a small town like ours, what with all the damned white trash,
niggers, and dagos all over the place. I suspect it’s just a
matter of time before we’re inundated with Columbian drug
lords, Jamaican gangs, Chinese tongs, Russian mobsters and just plain
old ignorant boat people, too. Jesus! Nobody’s safe anywhere
anymore, and that’s a fact.”

“
Bubba,
you know how I feel about talk like that. It’s ugly and
bigoted.”

“
Yeah,
well, just because you don’t like to hear it doesn’t mean
it ain’t all true, darlin’. Whole damned country’s
going to hell in a handbasket. America, the Promised Land. Crooks in
Congress, wimps in the White House, the wretched refuse of every
teeming shore taking over the entire United States. Ought to rip that
plaque off the Statue of Liberty and put up one that reads ‘No
Vacancies, So Go Home or Go to Hell!’ ” He walked toward
her, stumbling a little and sloshing whiskey from the glass he had
brought from home and now carried in one hand. “Gimme your key,
honey. And while you’re at it, why don’t you gimme your
heart, too? Or have you still got that locked up as tight as your
damned thighs?”

“
Bubba,
go on home. You’re drunker than I thought— and insulting.
The mood you’re in, we’re only going to
wind
up having another fight, and I’m just not up to it tonight.”

“
The
Snow Queen has spoken, and her loyal subject must heed her icy
dictates or be banished forever from her wintry realm. Very well. I
promise to be good. There. Are you satisfied now? Gimme your key,
damn it!”

Too
exhausted to argue further, Sarah let him have it, so he could open
the front door, hating herself for not trying harder to send him
packing. He wasn’t the man she wanted in her life and never
would be. She knew that. It was deceitful and despicable of her to go
on seeing him for no better reason than that she felt she should
attempt to get on with her life and provide a father figure for Alex.
Not that Bubba was an ideal candidate, by any means. But in a town
this size, there just weren’t a whole lot of choices available,
especially for an unwed mother from Miners’ Row, who, as
Lucille had observed that day at Shear Style, wasn’t getting
any younger and wasn’t likely to get any better offer, either.
Regardless of his many faults, Bubba was considered
the
prime
catch in town. So despite her misgivings, Sarah kept telling herself
how lucky she was to have attracted his attention, hoping to convince
herself of that fact. But it wasn’t working.

Tiffany
greeted them in the living room. “Alex is upstairs asleep,
Sarah. I fed him supper and helped him with his homework for summer
school. Then he practiced his saxophone lessons for a while, and
after that, we played a couple of board games. Everything went fine,
no trouble at
all.
Oh,
I also cleaned up the kitchen for
you
and
did a few loads of laundry, so
you’ll
need
to check the clothes drier before you go to bed.”

“
Tiffany,
you’re a doll. Thank you so much! Honestly, I just don’t
know what I’d do without you,” Sarah said with heartfelt
sincerity and gratitude, taking the appropriate amount of cash from
her billfold and handing it to the younger woman.

“
Hey,
no problem. I figure it all evens out, what with my eating supper
here so much and doing my own homework at your kitchen table.
Besides, since I’m majoring in child psychology at the
university, Alex is kind of a case study for me, anyway.”

“
Yeah,
I’ll bet,” Bubba muttered, taking another gulp of whiskey
before he staggered toward the tea wagon on which Sarah kept her
limited supply of liquor. “Kid’s going to wind up in
prison or a padded cell!”

“
I’m
sorry, Sarah.” Her eyes stricken, Tiffany bit her lower lip,
embarrassed. “I—I didn’t mean it like that...like
Alex needs a psychological evaluation. All children just interest me.
You know that.”

“
Yes,
I do. So please don’t pay Bubba any mind. He’s drunk and
in one of his mean moods, besides.”

“
All
right, then. Good night, Sarah, Mr. Holbrooke.”

“
Good
night, Tiffany. Thanks again, and drive safe.” Sarah closed the
front door behind the baby-sitter, then turned angrily to confront
Bubba. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have
any manners at all? You were rude to me, rude to Tiffany. There’s
just no excuse for it! You ’re not
that
drunk.
So I can only think it’s something more than just the whiskey
talking tonight, isn’t it?”

“
No.
Yes. I mean... Oh, hell! If you must know, yes. I’m so pissed
off that I’m ready to explode! I’ve kept it bottled up
inside me all day, and I guess it’s just spilling
out
onto you, since I couldn’t bring myself to tell the old man or
Evie, either one. And I’m depressed something awful on top of
it, besides.” Bubba flung himself onto the goose-necked couch,
abruptly stripping off his loosened tie and unbuttoning his shirt
halfway down to reveal his muscular, tanned chest matted with fine
blond hair.