The House on Persimmon Road (22 page)

“What!”

“Shhhh.”

“I never said I was going to do it!” she expostulated, remaining motionless, determined not to make a visible signal.

“Entirely up to you. But you’d better button up your pajamas. All that flesh hanging out is getting me sorely excited.”

She closed the wayward gap in her pajama top. “This isn’t happening.”

“It’s a delicate situation. I admit it. I didn’t want you to think me thoughtless. You don’t do you?”

“Mindless, but not thoughtless.”

“May I continue?”

She gestured with a trembling hand. “Be my guest. But do tell me when to applaud.”

His brow furrowing, he gazed at her, mute.

“I’m sorry. Truly. It just slipped out.”

“Well, these little gadgets come in all shapes and colors and flavors. Eckerd Drugs didn’t have any flavored. But I thought—” He looked up suddenly. “You taking this okay? How’m I doing?”

She could barely speak. “A minus two with the Soviet judge abstaining?”

“Oh, my. In that case, pick three or four—performance is everything. Here’s a pink—”

“Tucker, I think I’m going to start laughing.”

“Don’t do it. Think of my ego.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m trying.”

“You’re not. You’re grinning from ear to ear. Where was I?”

“Performance,” she said, snickering.

“That was an aside. I was going to add—since sex is a necessary biological burden—”

She began laughing, quietly at first, and then more loudly. He reached for her and clamped a hand over her mouth. “For crying out loud!” he croaked. “You’re gonna wake everybody between here and Mobile!” After a moment he cautiously moved his hand.

“Sorry.”

“You should be. Laughing—”

“But a
biological
burden?”

“You start up again and I’ll just go home and sulk. Anyway, it sounded good when I thought it up.”

“At least you weren’t bothered by reality.”

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I’ve had to do some pretty tough things. And since I can tell right now I’ll never be able to go through that again, I guess I’ll grow old and lonely all by myself. Unless…”

“What?”

“Unless it worked.”

“You’re insane.”

“Only when it comes to you.” He ran his hand down her side, cupping the commendable curve of buttock. “I want to touch you all over, explore every inch, kiss you until you’re dizzy. I want things to be so right between us that you wouldn’t consider saying no except on pain of death. Can I take my tie off?”

The house slumbered in the grip of midnight’s silence. For a flash of a moment, she drifted, picturing them together in bed, out of bed, at breakfast, going for walks, late nights on the sofa. But only for a moment because a different part of herself took command. She wet her lips. “Tucker—you’re certain?”

“Dear heart, doubtful dalliances have never been my long suit.”

She tilted her head to one side, thinking. She had the image of herself standing boldly on some ragged precipice, gazing down into endless reckless depths, but all she was looking into were Tucker’s dark, smoky eyes. Same thing, she thought.

She loved him. The knowledge was the warm respite of joy. It was right. Perfectly right because it was beyond reason. He loved her. There was no question in her mind about that. And to add to the craziness of it all she reached for the lamp switch and said in the softest of voice:

“Then yes—take off your tie.”

Bearing a dozen fresh eggs as his contribution, and the Sunday papers under his arms, Tucker came for breakfast the next morning. Justine served up scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the side porch. The kids fought over the funny pages. Tucker took them and tore them down the middle. “When you’re each finished…trade.”

“A regular Solomon you’re turning out to be,” Pauline said approvingly. “Pass me the classifieds. I’m job hunting, though I’m having a dreadful time finding anything commensurate with my abilities.”

“Maybe I can help,” Tucker suggested. “What can you do?”

Agnes snickered, and said sotto voce “Nothing.”

“Justine dear, if you’ll just refill my cup, I’ll go pore over these in my room.”

Justine wished all of her family would scatter and leave Tucker to her alone. She wanted to demonstrate the pleasure she felt at being in his company in a tangible way—a kiss, a hug, soft words that would remind him of last night. Instead she sighed lightly and asked, “Is your dad joining us? Shall we save some eggs—”

“He’ll be around in a bit, but coffee—”

“Excuse me,” said Agnes, leaping up with more agility than she had shown in ten years. She disappeared into the house, purple robe trailing the floor.

“It seems your dad made an impression on Agnes,” said Justine.

“She made one on him, too. He was shaving when I left the house.”

“What’s it mean, you think?”

He shrugged and rattled the paper. “What say we take in a movie this afternoon?”

Pip’s head jerked up. “I say, yes!”

“Me, too,” allowed Judy Ann.

“I don’t know,” said Justine.

“You can stay home,” said Tucker, keeping his eyes on the entertainment page. “The kids and I will go.”

“How dark is it in movie theaters these days?” she asked.

“In the back row? Very,” he said.

“I’m sitting in the front row!” said Pip.

“I really need to get some work done. The electricity’s been off so often, I’ve fallen behind.”

“I understand,” said Tucker. “I admire your dedication. Would it help if I took the kids out to supper, too? Say pizza? That’d give you a couple of extra hours.”

She smiled sweetly. “What time would you like for us to be ready?”

He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. “What was that for?” she asked, distracted because the kids were watching them, wide-eyed.

“No reason,” he said and crossed his legs to better control a certain wayward part of his anatomy.

As if she had antennae on alert, Agnes reappeared the moment Wheeler was seated and offered coffee. She wore her Sunday purple best, even adding a dash of matching lipstick.

“Don’t sit across from me, woman,” Wheeler started in. “You hurt my eyes.”

“From the looks of you, you can’t see beans,” she said, commenting on his face full of shaving nicks.

“Cuttin’ my throat ain’t the same as lettin’ purple smote me between the eyes.” He sipped his coffee and with an air of disdain packed his pipe.

Justine was on the brink of saying something, but Tucker beat her to it with a discussion of movies.

Wheeler looked at him, trying to hide his alarm. “I suppose that means you’ll be handing me back into the clutches of old Iron Bottom early. Save you another trip into town.”

“Who’s Iron Bottom?” asked Agnes.

“This nurse. She drives me crazy. Wants my body.”

“That broken down old thing?” Agnes couldn’t have had a clearer opportunity. She turned to Tucker and spoke in her kindest tone. “If you want, I’ll keep an eye on Wheeler, see he doesn’t get into mischief.”

“By gar! I don’t need a babysitter! If I wanted turmoil and insult, I’d’ve stayed home.”

Agnes patted his gnarled old hand with her gnarled old hand. “Then make yourself useful. Help me learn to parallel park the station wagon. We’re taking our driver’s tests tomorrow.”

Wheeler drew himself up to the moment. “I reckon I can do that.”

Justine gathered up plates and carried them into the kitchen. Tucker followed.

“Out with it, what’re you mad about?”

“I can’t figure Agnes. She was almost sugary. That’s not like her.”

“Dad loves to bicker and I don’t accommodate him. Agnes is a perfect target. Wouldn’t you say it helps if she likes my dad?”

“I know what you’re aiming at. I can’t think that far ahead.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her put the dishes to soak. “You know, Justine, you’re one smart lady, one of the smartest I’ve ever met, but you don’t read your men right.”

“Me? What men? There’s only Philip, and now you.”

“Last night we talked about being together.”

“That was in the heat of passion.” It hadn’t been like that at all. He had been gentle and caring and strong. Concerned not to do anything that made her feel awkward or embarrassed. And when they were lying in each other’s arms, she was happy. “This is ten o’clock in the morning.”

He reached around her and turned the water taps off. “Look at me.”

“I’m looking.”

“You’re scared.”

“If it was just us, I wouldn’t be. You have to understand, I dated Philip for six years—I lived with him before we married.”

“So what did that six years tell you? Where is he now?”

“That’s low.”

“Life is chancy.”

“Next you’ll be entering contests like Agnes does.”

“Next you’ll be saying I took advantage of you.”

She dropped her eyes. “No. You didn’t. I wanted the same thing you did.”

He put his arms around her. “And still want?”

Her heart beat faster as she snuggled against him. “Yes. But find out from your dad what’s going on between him and Agnes.”

“I won’t pry and neither will you.”

“I don’t like the way you said that, like you’re ordering me.”

“I’m suggesting. They’re adults and we’re adults. Here’s another suggestion from one adult to another. Come back to my place with me for an hour.”

“In daylight?”

He sighed heavily and with knight-errant reluctance, released her. “You mean to make me walk the long road, don’t you?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“I’ll explain it to you when we’re in that dark row at the movies. Meanwhile, I’m going home, get some puttering done. If I keep near you, the savage that lurks inside this good old boy will bust out, and no telling the damage he’d do.”

“Do you go on like this all the time?”

“Only when there’s somebody around who brings out the best in me.”

“Best or beast?”

He brushed her cheek with his lips. “Same thing.”

He walked home whistling and high of spirit, ready to do battle with his typewriter.

Justine stood at the sink with her hands in soapy dish-water, smiling.

“What’s funny, Mommy?”

“Nothing, sweetie. What’re you up to?”

“Wheeler says I can sit in the car while he teaches Grandma to park between some sticks on the road. Can I?”

“Sure,” Justine agreed and made a mental note to casually question Judy Ann about the septuagenarians. Judy Ann could repeat entire three-sided conversations when the spirit moved her.

Later in the afternoon while they were getting dressed for the movies and Justine was braiding her daughter’s hair, Judy Ann, giggling, told her that Wheeler had asked Agnes if her teeth were her own or store bought.

“What did Grandma say?”

“She said it wasn’t polite to discuss body parts in mixed company.”

“Then what?”

“Then she told Wheeler about raising Daddy and about being the best waitress in Henrico County, Virginia, for thirty years.”

“They didn’t argue back and forth?”

“Only when she knocked down the mailbox. But Wheeler and Pip put it back up so you’re not gonna get mad at them are you?”

“No.”

“Wheeler’s old enough to be my grampa.”

Justine smiled. “Yes, he is.” And that meant he was too old for anything beyond talk. A harmless old man. And she couldn’t fault Agnes for enjoying Wheeler’s attention. She got so little from the rest of them.

The problem with the elderly couple, and what made Justine so anxious, was that she didn’t know what to be anxious about.

Lottie was discovering many things, the foremost being that she should never, ever, imbibe rum while in her present condition. She had the sense that it made her head swell up to the size of a ripe melon. And one little tap would’ve made it burst, so dreadful was the ache. The pain surprised her, for during the decades she had been betwixt and between, nothing had ever hurt, except the pain in her soul.

For the past few days she had been in pitiful repair, slinking downstairs only often enough to keep up with the family.

Pauline kept hard at planning a coup on the world, Agnes was making goo eyes at Wheeler Highsmith, and Justine was behaving like a courtesan, allowing Tucker into her bedroom every night. It was Lottie’s considered opinion the moral fiber of the modern world was in need of great repair or a good old-fashioned Christian revival. And she wanted desperately to voice her opinion. She might be surrounded by people, but she was extremely lonely. It was no good being ignored.

And for all the attention anybody gave her chair anymore, that incident might never have happened. Agnes had even got into the habit of tossing her sweater across it.

This morning Tucker had no sooner sneaked out of Justine’s bedroom than the entire household awakened, bathed, dressed, and left the house to go get driver’s licenses. They left wet towels scattered, coffee cups on nightstands, and dishes on the kitchen table.

And not once since they’d moved in had a body sprinkled the floors and damp mopped to keep the dust down.

Howsomever, she had at least learned that unscrewing the fuses meant no electricity flowed. It had finally dawned on her that she needed to be on the opposite end, like the toaster, or the television, or the light bulbs hanging at the end of the wires. The electricity flowed into them and made them work.

After much thought, Lottie deciphered she needed to somehow connect herself to an outlet where electricity was stored.

And so without knowing the technicalities of electricity, or that it was a natural phenomenon, or anything about how subatomic particles freed themselves from association of any particular molecule or atom; without knowing about vacuum tubes, gases and semiconductors, positive particles or negative particles, Lottie Roberts understood electricity was energy and that it conducted itself upon those little wires, as if on tour, and was available to all and sundry who had the sense to flick a switch.

She deduced, too, that she must be some form of energy, for one could not see electricity, yet it existed, invisible.