go out driving. It calms me down."
I didn't know what Roy Belcher knew about me or if he'd heard my story, but obviously he'd taken the time to question Kalyn. I didn't know what he was doing on the back porch of the restaurant in the middle of the night, either, and I didn't intend to stay around and find out. The marks he'd left on my arm told me all I needed to know. Belcher was violent and he was mean. The schoolyard bully grown up. Still traveling with a knot of admiring hangers-on. Still picking on weaker people for the fun of it. If I lived a thousand years, I'd never understand how someone's manhood was enhanced by picking on weaker creatures.
Finally the key slid home. I turned it and pushed the door open. "Good night."
"Hey," he said, and took a few steps closer, heavy feet thudding on the warped fir planks. Not so close he was touching me but close enough so I felt a ripple of goose bumps along my arms, a catch in my chest. "You don't have to run away so quick. I just wanted to say I was sorry about what happened this afternoon. I didn't mean to hurt you."
And I was born yesterday. Had Clyde made him apologize? Did Clyde have that kind of power? "I'm kind of used to that," I said.
"So I heard."
Of course. This was a small town. My business was everyone's business. I couldn't see his face in the darkness, didn't need to know this was a man I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw him. Which, even in my current buffed state, wouldn't be very far. With a beer-gut that big, he was an easy 240. Yet I wished him far, far away. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I knew how it felt to be Dora, the runaway battered wife, always afraid of what might be coming out of the dark, unable anymore to believe in the goodness of men. "I'm fine, really," I said in a conciliatory voice. "It didn't hurt much."
"It won't happen again. I promise. I just wish you wouldn't of sicked Clyde on me." The cigarette arched through the darkness like a little red rocket. Then his heels clomped across the porch, and he was gone. A minute later, I heard an engine start.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. I realized that I hadn't been breathing. My undependable legs were shaking. I sat on the gritty stairs with my head in my hands. The stairwell was hot and close and smelled so strongly of cooking I could almost have wrung the grease out of the air. Was what was going on here transparent to everyone but me? While I naively thought I was undercover, were theyâwhoever they wereâall watching me like a mouse in a maze? Despite the heat, my skin danced with goose bumps again. Was I making a big mistake being here? No one wanted me to be in this dangerous, scary place, not even me. But this was the only way I could think of to help. I grabbed the banister, pulled myself up, and climbed the stairs.
I pulled down the cracked green-canvas shades and closed the flimsy curtains. The dirty yellowed cloth crumbled to dust between my fingers. The shades covered the windows but moved in and out with the breeze, making soft scraping sounds on the sills like the room was breathing. The rough, unsteady breathing of someone ancient and unwell. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, bracing myself for the irregularities of the water. Tonight it wasn't so bad. I pulled on a nightshirt and climbed into bed, too tired even to think. I expected that the second my head hit the pillow, I'd be off to dreamland but the rustling of the window shades kept me awake.
Finally I crossed the room and raised them, letting the night into my room, a warm, moist night with enough breeze to move the shades but not enough to cool things off. It was so quiet here. I was used to the ocean, which was never still, and the muffled comings and goings of my condo neighbors. Here there were no cars passing. No radio or TV noises. Far off, a dog barked and another answered. Some insects hummed. Andre was somewhere in this same night. Was he
I didn't know what Roy Belcher knew about me or if he'd heard my story, but obviously he'd taken the time to question Kalyn. I didn't know what he was doing on the back porch of the restaurant in the middle of the night, either, and I didn't intend to stay around and find out. The marks he'd left on my arm told me all I needed to know. Belcher was violent and he was mean. The schoolyard bully grown up. Still traveling with a knot of admiring hangers-on. Still picking on weaker people for the fun of it. If I lived a thousand years, I'd never understand how someone's manhood was enhanced by picking on weaker creatures.
Finally the key slid home. I turned it and pushed the door open. "Good night."
"Hey," he said, and took a few steps closer, heavy feet thudding on the warped fir planks. Not so close he was touching me but close enough so I felt a ripple of goose bumps along my arms, a catch in my chest. "You don't have to run away so quick. I just wanted to say I was sorry about what happened this afternoon. I didn't mean to hurt you."
And I was born yesterday. Had Clyde made him apologize? Did Clyde have that kind of power? "I'm kind of used to that," I said.
"So I heard."
Of course. This was a small town. My business was everyone's business. I couldn't see his face in the darkness, didn't need to know this was a man I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw him. Which, even in my current buffed state, wouldn't be very far. With a beer-gut that big, he was an easy 240. Yet I wished him far, far away. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and I knew how it felt to be Dora, the runaway battered wife, always afraid of what might be coming out of the dark, unable anymore to believe in the goodness of men. "I'm fine, really," I said in a conciliatory voice. "It didn't hurt much."
"It won't happen again. I promise. I just wish you wouldn't of sicked Clyde on me." The cigarette arched through the darkness like a little red rocket. Then his heels clomped across the porch, and he was gone. A minute later, I heard an engine start.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. I realized that I hadn't been breathing. My undependable legs were shaking. I sat on the gritty stairs with my head in my hands. The stairwell was hot and close and smelled so strongly of cooking I could almost have wrung the grease out of the air. Was what was going on here transparent to everyone but me? While I naively thought I was undercover, were theyâwhoever they wereâall watching me like a mouse in a maze? Despite the heat, my skin danced with goose bumps again. Was I making a big mistake being here? No one wanted me to be in this dangerous, scary place, not even me. But this was the only way I could think of to help. I grabbed the banister, pulled myself up, and climbed the stairs.
I pulled down the cracked green-canvas shades and closed the flimsy curtains. The dirty yellowed cloth crumbled to dust between my fingers. The shades covered the windows but moved in and out with the breeze, making soft scraping sounds on the sills like the room was breathing. The rough, unsteady breathing of someone ancient and unwell. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, bracing myself for the irregularities of the water. Tonight it wasn't so bad. I pulled on a nightshirt and climbed into bed, too tired even to think. I expected that the second my head hit the pillow, I'd be off to dreamland but the rustling of the window shades kept me awake.
Finally I crossed the room and raised them, letting the night into my room, a warm, moist night with enough breeze to move the shades but not enough to cool things off. It was so quiet here. I was used to the ocean, which was never still, and the muffled comings and goings of my condo neighbors. Here there were no cars passing. No radio or TV noises. Far off, a dog barked and another answered. Some insects hummed. Andre was somewhere in this same night. Was he
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