Love in a Small Town by Curtiss Ann Matlock

again.
    “You think you’re the only one who has complaints? Well, let me tell you that I’ve got plenty of my own. I’ve done my best to make you happy, Molly Jean. But I’m done tryin’.”
    Those final words came spewing out before he even realized they were coming. They came out and sat there while he and Molly stared at each other, Molly with tears flowing down her cheeks.
    Then Tommy Lee turned around and jerked the screen door so hard it ripped off its hinges. He held it for an instant, his mind not comprehending what had happened. Then he tossed it aside with a clatter, stalked out into the blackness, and vaulted over into the Corvette seat. He was out of there with engine roaring and gravel flying, and when he hit the blacktop, his tires squealed and smoked. He shifted gears, letting the power of the machine flow into him.
    When he found himself in the middle of town, he wondered where in the hell he was going. He pulled into the Texaco, came to a screeching halt, hopped out, and strode inside. He bought a pack of Marlboros and came right back outside. He felt as if everything was crowding in on him and he needed air. He stopped on the cooling concrete, the night soft and cooling around him. He felt as if he were steaming in it. He tapped the pack and opened it, shook out a cigarette and tucked it in his mouth. He’d stopped smoking for eight years, but he couldn’t tell it.
    He stood there, smoking his cigarette and looking at a group of teens gathered beneath the light on the far side of the street. A gleaming Camaro drove by with young arms waving out the windows and shouts of, “Hey, buddy . . . cool, man!” at his Corvette.
    Flicking his cigarette into the big sand catcher, Tommy Lee walked rapidly to the pay phone attached to the end of the brick building, plugged in a coin and dialed.
    There was a bit of confusion when both Odessa and Molly answered, and then he heard a click and Molly said, “It’s just me now. Tommy Lee?” she added when he didn’t say anything.
    He thought of her sad green eyes.
    He swallowed. God, he hated telephones. His tongue didn’t seem to want to work. Finally he got out, “Savannah called today, left a message on the machine. She and Stephen are plannin’ on comin’ down the Thursday before the anniversary party.” He had to clear his throat.
    She said something, and he couldn’t catch it.
    “What?”
    “I said . . . I’ll call her. I’ll call each of them.”
    He breathed deeply. “Well . . . Colter called, too, just to say he was doin’ fine.”
    “I’ll call him. Tomorrow.”
    The line hummed between them. Tommy Lee leaned close to the phone and gripped the receiver. “What happened to us, Molly?”
    “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . maybe . . . we got . . . we never . . ."
    “Molly . . . I can’t understand you. Don’t . . ." She was sobbing good now, and he knew she couldn’t hear him. Molly didn’t cry often, but when she did, she could cry louder and harder than anyone he knew. He felt the sinking feeling of loss.
    Then she said, clearly enough to be understood, “Thank you, Tommy Lee,” and hung up, leaving him standing in the Texaco parking lot, holding the phone, wondering why she told him thank you and why her saying that was worse than her blaming him.
     

Chapter 4
     

Time Passes By
     
    With Tommy Lee’s words, “What’s happened to us?” ringing in her ears, Molly hung up the phone and threw herself on the sofa, sobbing so loudly that she frightened herself and Ace went scurrying out of the room. She was certainly glad Tommy Lee wasn’t there to see her. She was glad no one could see her. . . . It was embarrassing even to think that God could see her. Once Rennie had told her, “Sissy, for such a pretty girl, you sure do go downhill when you cry.”
    Pressing her face into one of the big old throw pillows, she strove to quell her sobs and muffle her voice, which was nearly screaming with fury and pain. But then she was