"There you are," she said. When Singer reached her, she scratched his back as he circled her body. "I was beginning to get worried about you."
Mike smiled, thankful that Singer hadn't gone back.
She looked up. "What's going on?"
"Nothing much. How are you?"
"I'm okay."
"Just okay?"
"It's one of those days," she said. "You know how it is."
"Yeah, I suppose I do," he said, nodding. "Especially today. Benny came in for starters, and then Henry almost died."
"Wait-Henry almost died?"
"Died . . . killed . . . whatever. I stopped myself at the last minute. Couldn't stand the thought of what our parents would say to me once I was behind bars. But let me tell you-it was close."
"Was he giving you a hard time today?"
"When doesn't he give me a hard time?"
"Poor thing," she said. "Remind me to cry you a river tonight."
"I knew I could count on you," he said.
Julie laughed. Sometimes he was so darn cute, especially with that dimple. "So what did he do? Cut a hole in the back of your coveralls again?"
"No. That one got old after a while. And besides, the last time he did it, I covered a wrench with Krazy Glue and then asked him to hold it while I checked something out. He couldn't get the wrench off until the next morning. Had to sleep with the thing."
"I remember that." Julie giggled. "He wouldn't take anything you offered him for weeks after that."
"Yeah," Mike said, waxing nostalgic. It was, in his opinion, one of his better moments. "I should do things like that more often, but I just don't think that way."
"No matter what you do, he'll always give you a hard time. But just remember-he does those things because he's jealous."
"You think so?"
"I know so. He's losing his hair, and he's got Dunlops disease."
"Dunlops?"
"Yeah, his belly done lopped right over his belt."
Mike laughed. "Yeah, must be tough getting old like that."
"So . . . you didn't answer my question. What was it today?"
Mike didn't, couldn't, explain Henry's comment. Instead, he motioned toward the soda machine and reached in his pocket for some change. "Oh-you know," he said casually. "The same old stuff."
Her hands went to her hips. "Must have been good if you won't tell me."
"I'll never tell," he said. Then he stood straighter, and his voice took on a serious tone. "But sometimes," he said, "I can't help but think that you live vicariously through his antics, and I must say that it hurts me."
He handed Julie a Diet Coke, then got himself a Dr Pepper. No need to ask what she wanted; he already knew.
"Hurts you," she said, taking the can.
"Like a knife."
"Do I have to cry two rivers tonight?"
"Two would be nice. But make it three and I'll definitely forgive you."
When he grinned, Julie realized how much she'd missed talking to him lately. "So aside from Henry, anything else exciting happen today?"
Mike paused. A guy named Jake Blansen came in and said some cryptic things about Richard. Want to hear about that?
No, now was not the time.
He shook his head. "Not really. How about you?"
"Nothing." She glanced toward Singer. "Except for this guy running away. For a little while there, I actually got scared that something had happened to him."
"Singer? No car would stand a chance if it hit him. It would be crushed like a bug."
"It still had me worried."
"That's because you're a woman. Men like me-we don't worry. We're trained not to panic."
Julie smiled. "That's good to know. When the hurricane hits, you'll be the first one I call to board up the house."
"You do that anyway. Don't you remember? You even bought me my own special hammer."
"Well, you can't expect me to do it. I might panic or something."
Mike chuckled, and for a moment silence settled in. Now what? he thought. Except for the obvious.
"So how're things going with Richard?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Julie hesitated. Yes, she wondered, how are they going?
"Okay," she answered. "The weekend was all right, but . . ." She trailed off, thinking, How much do I really want to say to Mike?
"But?"
"It's not important."
He studied her. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." She flashed a quick, forced smile. "Like I said, it's nothing."
Mike sensed her discomfort but let it go. She didn't want to talk about Richard, he didn't want to talk about him. He had no problem with that.
"Well, listen, if you find that you need to talk about anything, I'm here, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'm serious," he said. "I'm always around."
"I know you are." She put a friendly hand on his shoulder, trying to defuse the tension. "Part of me thinks you should get out more. See the world, take exotic trips."
"What? And ruin my streak of consecutive nights watching Baywatch reruns?"
"Exactly," she said. "Anything's better than television. But if travel's not your thing, you might consider something else. Like taking up a musical instrument or something."
Mike pressed his lips together. "Now that, my dear, was a low blow."
Her eyes gleamed. "As good as Henry's?"
He thought about it. "No," he said. "Henry's was better."
"Rats."
"What can I say? You're just a rookie."
She smiled, then leaned back a little, as if taking a moment to evaluate him. "You're pretty easy to get along with, you know?"
"Because I'm easy to tease?"
"No, because you're such a good sport about it."
Mike took a moment to scrape a bit of grease from his fingernails. "That's funny," he said.
"What?"
"Those words you used. Andrea said exactly the same thing to me just the other day."
"Andrea?" Julie repeated, wondering if she'd heard him right.
"Yeah, this weekend. When we went out on our date. Which reminds me-I'm supposed to pick her up in a few minutes."
He glanced toward his watch, then his locker.
"But . . . wait . . . Andrea?" Julie couldn't mask her bewilderment.
"Yeah-she's great. We had a good time. But listen, I've got to run. . . ."
Julie reached for his arm. "But . . . ," she said. "You and Andrea?"
Mike stared at her solemnly for a couple of beats, then winked. "Had you going, didn't I?"
Julie crossed her arms. "No," she snapped.
"C'mon. Just a little?"
"No."
"Admit it."
"Okay, fine. I admit it."
Mike gave her a look of satisfaction. "Good. Now we're even."
Eleven
Julie let the door swing closed behind her, still relishing her conversation with Mike. Mabel looked up from the desk.
"Were you supposed to meet Richard tonight?" she asked.
"No. Why?"
"He came by and asked for you. Didn't you see him?"
"I was over at the garage with Mike."
"You didn't see Richard on your way back?"
"No."
"That's strange," she said. "You should have seen him on the street. I mean, he just left a couple of minutes ago and I thought he went looking for you."
"I guess not." Julie glanced at the door. "Did he say what he wanted?"
"Not really. Just that he was looking for you. You still might be able to catch him if you hurry."
Mabel turned on the answering machine and finished straightening up the desk, watching Julie debate whether or not to go. When the moment passed-thus making the decision for her-she went on as if she hadn't suggested it.
"I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm bushed. Everyone I worked on complained today. If it wasn't about their hair, it was their kids or their husbands or the new preacher o
r barking dogs or how crazy the drivers are from up north. Sometimes you just want to tell them to grow up. Know what I mean?"
Julie was still thinking of Richard.
"Must be a full moon," she muttered. "Everyone was a little off today."
"Even Mike?"
"No, not Mike." Julie waved a hand in relief. "Mike's always the same."
Mabel pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and removed a flask. "Well, it's about time to shake off the cobwebs," she announced. "Join me?"
Mabel enjoyed shaking off the cobwebs regularly and, as a result, had fewer cobwebs than anyone Julie knew.
"Yeah, I'll join you. I'll lock the door."
Mabel removed two plastic glasses from the bottom drawer and made herself comfortable on the couch. By the time Julie joined her, Mabel had kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on the table, and already taken a drink. With her eyes closed and her head leaned back, it seemed almost as if she believed she was sitting in a chaise longue on a distant beach, basking beneath a tropical sun.
"So what's Mike up to these days?" she asked, her eyes still closed. "He hasn't come around here much lately."
"Nothing too exciting. Working, feuding with Henry, the usual. Other than that, not much." She paused and her face brightened. "Oh, did you hear that he'll be playing at the Clipper in a few weeks?"
"Oh . . . hurray." The lack of enthusiasm was palpable.
Julie laughed. "Be nice. And actually, it's a pretty good band this time."
"It won't help."
"He's not that bad."
Mabel smiled before sitting up. "Oh, honey, I know he's your friend, but he's like kin to me. I watched him running around in diapers, and trust me when I say that he is definitely that bad. I know it drives him crazy, too, since that's all he ever really wanted to do. But like the good book says, 'Suffer not the terrible singers, for they shall ruin the ears.' "
"The good book doesn't say that."
"It should. And it probably would, if Mike had been around back then."
"Oh well, he loves it. If performing makes him happy, then I'm happy for him."
Mabel smiled. "You are truly a kind and special gal, Julie. I don't care what everyone else says about you-I like you." She held up her glass in toast.
"Likewise," Julie said, clinking cups.
"So what's up with you and Richard?" Mabel asked. "After he came by today, you hardly mentioned him at all."
"It's going okay, I guess."
Mabel's chin rose. "You guess? As in, I guess I don't see the iceberg, Captain?"
"It's going okay," she repeated.
Mabel searched Julie's face for a moment. "So why didn't you try to catch him a few minutes ago when I suggested it?"
"No reason," Julie answered. "It's just that I already saw him today."
"Ah," Mabel said, dragging the word out. "I guess that makes sense."
Julie took a drink, feeling the burn at the back of her throat. Though she couldn't talk to Mike about Richard, Mabel was different. Mabel, she thought, would help her sort through her feelings about him.
"Do you remember the locket he got me?" she asked.
"How could I forget, J.B.?"
"Well," Julie said, "the problem was that I didn't wear it today."
"So?"
"That's what I thought. But I think Richard was offended."
"If that offended him, remind me never to serve him my meat loaf." When Julie didn't respond, she waved her cup before going on. "So he got offended. So what? Men have their quirks, and maybe that's one of his. And there are worse things-believe me. But I think you have to judge what happened today against everything else. You've been on what-three dates now?"
"Four, really. If you count last weekend as two."
"And you said he's been nice, right?"
"Yeah. So far."
"Then maybe he was just having a bad day. You told me he works odd hours, right? Maybe he had to go in on Sunday and work late. Who knows?"
Julie drummed her fingers against the cup. "Maybe."
Mabel swirled the bourbon. "Don't worry about it too much," she said evenly. "As long as he didn't go overboard, it's no big deal."
"So just let it go?"
"Not exactly. You shouldn't completely ignore it, either."
Julie looked up, and Mabel met her eyes.
"Take it from a lady who's had too many dates and met too many men over the years," Mabel said. "Everyone-you included-is on her best behavior in the beginning of a relationship. Sometimes little quirks turn out to be big ones, and the big advantage that women have-sometimes the only advantage-is their intuition."
"But I thought you just said not to worry."
"I did. But never ignore your intuition, either."
"So you do think it's a problem?"
"Honey, I don't know what to think, just like you don't. There's no book of magic answers out there. I'm just telling you not to simply shrug it off it if bothered you so much, but don't let it ruin a good thing, either. That's what dating is for, you know-to find out about a person. To find out if the two of you click. I'm just throwing a little good old common sense into the mixture, that's all."
Julie was quiet for a moment. "I guess you're right," she said.
The phone started ringing, and Mabel turned toward the sound. A moment later, the answering machine picked up. After listening to see who it was, she faced Julie again.
"So, four dates, huh?"
Julie nodded.
"Will there be a fifth?"
"He hasn't asked, but I think he probably will."
"That's a strange way of answering the question."
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't say what you were going to say if he asked."
Julie glanced away.
"No," she said, "I suppose I didn't."
Richard was waiting for her when she got home.
His car was parked on the street in front of her house, and he was leaning against it, his arms crossed and one leg over the other, watching as she turned into the driveway.
After pulling to a stop, Julie looked toward Singer and unhooked her seat belt.
"Just stay in the Jeep until I say so, okay?"
Singer pricked his ears up.
"And behave," she added as she stepped out. By then, Richard was standing in the drive.
"Hello, Julie," he said.
"Hi, Richard," she said neutrally. "What are you doing here?"
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I had a few minutes and thought I'd drop by. I tried to catch you at the salon, but I guess you'd taken off."
"I had to go get Singer. He was over at the garage."
Richard nodded. "That's what Mabel said. I couldn't wait, though-I had some blueprints I had to drop off before the office closed, and actually, I have to get back as soon as I'm done here. But I just wanted to say I'm sorry about this morning. I got to thinking about how I acted, and I think I went a little overboard."
He smiled, looking contrite, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
"Well," she began, "now that you mention it . . ."
Richard held up his hands to stop her. "I know, I know. No excuses. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
Julie brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. "Were you really that upset that I didn't wear the locket?"
"No," he said. "Trust me-it wasn't about that."
"Then what was it?"
Richard glanced away. His voice was so soft, she could barely hear it.
"It's just that I had such a good time on the weekend, and when I saw that you didn't have it on, I sort of thought that you didn't feel the same way. I guess I felt like I'd let you down somehow. I mean . . . you don't know how much I've enjoyed the time we've spent together. Can you understand what I'm trying to say?"
Julie thought for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah," she said.
"I knew you'd understand," he said. He glanced around, as if s
uddenly nervous in her presence. "Well, listen-like I said. I gotta head back into work."
"Okay," Julie said simply. She forced a smile.
A moment later, this time without trying to kiss her, he was gone.
Twelve
In the darkness, under a sliver of moon, Richard approached the front door of the rented Victorian he temporarily called home. It was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by farmland, set a hundred yards back from the main road.
The house was pale in the light, half the height of the shadowed pines that surrounded it. Though somewhat neglected, it still retained an old-fashioned charm, with trim and wainscoting that brought to mind a lace-trimmed invitation to a party at the home of the governor. The property needed attention; what had once been a well-kept garden had become overgrown with weeds and kudzu, but the overgrowth didn't bother him. There was beauty in the randomness of nature, he thought, in the curved and crooked lines of shadows at night, in the varying colors and shapes of branches and leaves in daylight.
Inside, however, he preferred order. Randomness ended at the door, and as he pushed his way inside, he flipped on the lights. The rented furniture-not much, but enough to make the home presentable-was not to his taste, but in a small town like Swansboro, choices were limited. In a world of cheap products and polyester-jacketed salesmen, he'd chosen the least offensive items he'd been able to find: tan corduroy couches and oak-laminated end tables, plastic lamps with fake brass.
Tonight, however, he didn't notice the decor. Tonight, there was only Julie. And the locket. And the way she'd looked at him only moments before.
Again, he'd pushed too hard, and again, she had called him on it. She was becoming a challenge, but he liked that. He respected that, for what he despised above all was weakness.
Why on earth was she living in a small town like this?
Julie, he thought, belonged in the city, a place of crowded sidewalks and flashing signs, quick insults and snappy comebacks. She was too sharp, too stylish, for a place like this. There was no energy here for her to draw on, nothing to sustain her in the long run. Strength, if unused, wasted away, and if Julie stayed, he knew she would grow weak, just as his mother had grown weak. And in time, there would be nothing to respect.
Just like his mother. The victim. Always the victim.
He closed his eyes, retreating to the past. It was 1974, and the image was always the same.
With her left eye swollen shut and her cheek purple, his mother was loading a suitcase into the trunk, trying to move quickly. The suitcase held clothes for both of them. In her purse, she had $37 in assorted change. It had taken almost a year to save that much; Vernon handled the finances and gave her just enough to do the shopping. She wasn't allowed to touch the checkbook and didn't even know what bank he used to cash his paychecks. The little money that she had had been collected from the sofa cushions, coins that had fallen from his pockets as he dozed in front of the television. She'd hidden the coins in a box of laundry detergent on the top shelf in the pantry, and every time he went that way, her heart had hammered in her chest.