A Death On The Wolf (8 page)

“
Where is he this summer?”

“
Working for a law firm in Jackson. They have already offered him a job when he graduates.”

“
What’s his name?”

“
Robert James Beauregard Hadley. He goes by Beau.” I later learned that Beauregard was Mary Alice’s mother’s maiden name and she was a direct descendent of the Confederate general, P. G. T. Beauregard.

“
Do you get to see him much?” I asked.

“
Yes, he comes to visit me every chance he gets. And we talk on the phone. He’s driving down from Jackson in a couple of weeks.”

“
He’s coming here?” There was a note of defensiveness in my question that I didn’t really intend. Mary Alice picked up on it.

“
Yes. Why did you ask it like that?”

I didn’t really know the answer, other than I wanted Mary Alice all to myself, and another male in her life—even a brother—wasn’t a pleasant thought. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” I said. “I was just surprised when you said he was coming.”

“
You’ll like Beau,” she said.

Sitting in the swing, I had a clear view of Aunt Charity’s side yard and our house beyond it. I looked up in time to see Frankie pulling into our driveway on his bicycle. “Hey!” I hollered. “I’m over here!” My shout startled Mary Alice and she jumped. “Sorry,” I said. “My friend Frankie is over at the house.”

I gave another push with my foot to keep the swing moving as I watched Frankie pedal his bike across the yard. “Hey,” he said when he pulled up in front of the porch. He was staring at Mary Alice, and me holding her hand, with a bewildered expression on his face.

“
Hey,” I said to him. “Mary Alice, this is my best friend, Frankie Thompson. Frankie, this is Mary Alice Hadley.”

“
Hello, Frankie,” Mary Alice said, looking straight ahead and not at him.

I waited for Frankie to respond in kind, but he just continued to stare at us sitting in the swing. Just then I saw Frankie’s brother in our driveway on his bike. He had seen us, and turned to pedal across the yard. Given what had happened Sunday when I invited Mark to go to the Colonel Dixie with us, I knew this wasn’t going to be good. I stopped the swing, let go of Mary Alice’s hand, and stood up.

Frankie could see I was watching something off in the side yard, and he turned to look. As soon as he spotted his brother approaching, he kicked the stand down on his bike and got off. I stepped down off the porch onto the concrete walk that curved back around to Aunt Charity’s gravel drive.

Mark pedaled up with a big smile on his face, totally oblivious to the danger zone he had just entered. Before Mark could get stopped, Frankie walked over and shoved him, sending him crashing into the grass with the bike falling on top of him. “I told you not to follow me up here!” Frankie yelled.

I ran over and lifted the bike off of Mark and helped him up. He was trying without much success to keep from crying. He was choking back the sobs as I brushed the grass clippings and pine needles off of him. He had scraped his left knee pretty good in the fall, but it wasn’t bleeding. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

Mark nodded and said, “Yeah.”

I turned to Frankie and said, “Have you gone crazy? What’s the matter with you?”

“
Me?!” Frankie yelled. “What’s the matter with me? What’s the matter with
you
?”

“
What are you talking about?” I asked with dismay. Mark was still stifling his sobs and getting back on his bike.

Frankie put his hands on his hips. “I thought you were queer for Mark,” he said and waved a hand at his brother. Then, pointing up at Mary Alice on the porch he said, “Now you’ve got a girlfriend?” The inflection he put on “girlfriend” was such that he clearly meant it as term of derision.

The comment about being queer for his brother came way out of left field and pissed me off. It was one thing to jokingly call each other a fag or queer, which we often did, but Frankie was dead serious. I was an easy going boy by nature and it took a lot to make me lose my temper, but Frankie had managed it. “Go home,” I said, trying to sound calm, but my voice was trembling.

Frankie looked over at his brother, who was sitting on his bike watching us. “Let’s go,” he said and turned for his bike.

I glanced at Mark. “You stay here.” Turning back to Frankie, I said, “You leave.”

Before I had time to react, Frankie had lunged, tackling me hard and taking me down. We were rolling on the ground and Frankie was trying to punch me, but I was keeping him close, limiting his ability to land a fist on me. I heard Sachet scream from the porch just as Frankie broke free enough to push himself up and punch me in the face. Suddenly my sister was right there with us, beating Frankie over the head with her doll. “Leave him alone!” she screamed. Frankie turned and grabbed the doll from her and flung it into the trunk of the nearest pine tree. The head flew off the doll and went rolling across the yard.

Anger had me in its grip, and without thinking, I drew back my clenched right fist and just as Frankie turned back to me I punched him in the nose as hard as I could. It happened in the blink of an eye. He fell back on the ground and blood started pouring out of his nose as he groaned and put his hands to his face.

I got to my feet. My heart was beating so fast I thought my chest would explode. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. The knuckles of my right hand were stinging. Sachet was crying. She went over and picked up her headless doll and then ran up on the porch. Frankie got up and stumbled over to his bike. The front of his tee shirt was soaked in blood. As he got on his bike, he pointed to Mark and said, “I’m going to beat the shit out of you when we get home.”

I stepped over to him, and I could see the fear in his eyes as he no doubt thought I was about to light into him again. “If you do anything to him I’ll finish this fight.”

Frankie didn’t say anything but I could see he understood I meant business. He kicked up the stand on his bike, turned, and pedaled for the road. I turned to Mark. “You don’t have to go,” I said. “Stay here and let him cool off.”

“
I better go,” he said.

It bothered me to think what might be awaiting Mark when he got home. “If he does anything to you, tell your mom and dad,” I said. Mark was silent. He toed up the kickstand on his bike and started to pedal off. I reached out and grabbed his handlebars to stop him. “I meant what I said, Mark. If he hits you, and I find out, he’ll regret it.” Again, Mark didn’t say anything. I let go of his handlebars and he pedaled off.

I stood there and watched Mark ride down the drive and felt my composure returning. I hated getting mad like this and was glad it rarely happened. I brushed myself off and walked over and picked up the head to Sachet’s doll. When I got up on the porch, my sister was sitting in Mary Alice’s lap. She was no longer crying, but her face was wet with tears. She had her eyes closed, and Mary Alice was gently stroking her hair and whispering something in her ear. The decapitated doll was lying in the swing next to her. I set the head beside it. I knelt down in front of them and said, “I’m sorry, Sachet. I’ll buy you another doll.”

Sachet opened her eyes and when she saw me she jumped out of Mary Alice’s lap and threw her arms around my neck. She started crying again, and she was hugging me so tightly it nearly choked me. “Did he hurt you?” she said over my shoulder.

“
I’m fine, Sash,” I said. I stood up and picked her up with me. She was still hugging me tightly, and my arms were around her. “Sh-h. Don’t cry, now. Frankie’s gone and I’m fine.”

She pushed herself back so she could look me in the face. “He didn’t hurt you?” she said.

I smiled. “No, he didn’t hurt me. Go inside and wash your face, okay? I need to talk to Mary Alice.” I expected her to protest, but she didn’t. My sister just nodded her head and I set her down on her bare feet and she scurried off into the house. I went over and moved the doll and its head and plopped down on the swing beside Mary Alice. “I wish I could go to the moon,” I said and looked over at her. There was a tear leaving the corner of her eye. It hit me just how frightened she must have been, having listened to the fight erupt out of nowhere and not being able to see what was happening. “Mary Alice, I’m sorry.” I reached over and took her hand.

She reached up and wiped away the tear with her other hand. “Are you all right?” she said.

“
Yes, I’m fine. Were you worried about me? Is that why you’re crying?”

She nodded. “Yes…and I felt so helpless. I thought you said he was your best friend? Why did he act like that? Why did he attack you?”

“
Frankie is…was…my best friend. I don’t know what’s happened to him. He’s gone crazy.”

“
Who was the other boy?” Mary Alice asked.

“
His little brother. Frankie is jealous of him. I guess that’s why he flipped out.”

“
Why is he jealous of him?”

“
I don’t know,” I said.

“
I heard what he said, Nelson.”

“
You mean about me being queer for Mark?”

“
Yes.”

I pushed off with my foot to start us swinging. “Frankie has never said anything like that to me before. I don’t know why he thinks that. It’s not true. He’s been acting weird all summer every time Mark’s been around us. He’s jealous of you, too.”

“
Me?”

“
Didn’t you hear what else he said?” I asked. “About me having a girlfriend?”

“
Yes, I heard that. Is that part true?”

I put my foot down to stop us from swinging. I raised Mary Alice’s hand to my lips and kissed it softly. “If you want it to be,” I said.

I had gotten used to conversing with Mary Alice without her looking at me, so I was surprised when she turned to face me. “I want it to be true,” she said. She let go of my hand and with both of hers she reached out and touched my face. She moved her fingers all over my face, exploring, seeing. “I knew you were handsome,” she said as her fingers came to rest on my lips.

I was fully aroused and about to explode. I managed to push the thought of release to the back of my mind, then leaned forward and inexpertly touched my lips to hers. It was my first kiss—clumsy, probing, and inept. Mary Alice’s lips tasted like cinnamon and I literally felt light headed as I allowed the tip of my tongue to briefly brush them. She had a dreamy smile on her face as our lips parted and I leaned up and looked at her.

The sound of Aunt Charity clearing her throat snapped me back to reality. I quickly leaned away from Mary Alice and turned around to see my aunt standing there with the open front door behind her and Sachet clinging to her. My aunt was clearly amused by what she’d just seen, which was a relief. I’d much rather she be amused than irritated at the thought her nephew was wooing her fourteen-year-old summer houseguest. “I thought you might like to know,” she said, “you missed the launch.”

I didn’t care. I was already on the moon.

Chapter 7

Best Friends

I turned the lamp on beside my bed when I heard Daddy in the bathroom shaving. My alarm clock said it was twenty minutes past four. I hadn’t slept a wink last night. After I had gone to bed, it took me three sessions of frantic masturbation to relieve the sexual tension that had built up over the course of the day because of my romantic interlude yesterday morning with Mary Alice. But that wasn’t the reason for my sleepless night. The fight I’d had with Frankie was the culprit, and the coming realization that our life-long friendship had come to an abrupt and unceremonious end yesterday in Aunt Charity’s front yard. I was also bothered by Frankie’s declaration that he thought I was queer for his brother. What had I ever done or said for him to draw that conclusion? I had spent a good part of the night reliving every moment that I could remember being around Mark and there was just nothing there. I’d always been nice to Mark, and that was it. When I heard Daddy finish in the bathroom, I got out of bed, put my slippers on, and headed in there to pee and wash my face.

“
Good morning,” I said as I entered the kitchen. My father was dressed in his work clothes and standing at the counter by the sink waiting for the coffee to finish. The kitchen was quiet and filled with the smell of Old Spice aftershave and perking JFG coffee. The windows were dark. Dawn was still over an hour away and the only light was the cool blue glow of the buzzing fluorescent tube over the sink.

“
You’re up awfully early,” Daddy said as he turned to look at me.

I went over and sat at the table. “I’ve been up,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The percolator was giving off its last sputters. Daddy got a mug out of the cupboard. When the pot had given its final gasp, he unplugged it, then filled the mug to the brim with steaming hot coffee. I watched as he poured the rest of the coffee into his thermos and screwed the top on. He went over to the ice box and got out the paper bag with his sandwich in it, which Aunt Charity had prepared last night. He put the bag and thermos in his lunch box and then set the lunch box on the floor beside the door. This was my father’s morning routine, and he’d been doing it for nearly twenty years.