Bittersweet Creek (16 page)

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Authors: Sally Kilpatrick

BOOK: Bittersweet Creek
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Julian
I
sucked in a breath at the sight of Romy perched atop her father's John Deere. She frowned at the manual in her left hand as her right waved over the stick shift in the proper order it would need to go to progress from gear to gear.
You're an idiot, Julian. What in the hell were you thinking agreeing to this?
I hadn't been thinking. Now I saw only too clearly how small and fragile she looked while sitting in the driver's seat of the tractor—especially with the white bandage on her left forearm. It was too dangerous. Did she even have any idea how many people hurt themselves each year by turning over a tractor or getting thrown and running over themselves with their own machinery?
“Romy, I don't know about this.”
She jumped out of her skin, dropping the manual. “Julian! You scared me half to death—don't you know better than to sneak up on people?”
I bent to pick up the manual and made the mistake of looking up at her. She'd pulled her hair back into two ponytails, but she was wearing a tank top and practically nonexistent shorts. I looked at the wheel well. “I'm serious. I'm thinking this might be too dangerous for you.”
“Gonna protect the little woman from learning something useful? Fine. I'll teach myself. Hand me that manual.”
I held it just past her reach. “This ain't something you can learn from reading a book.”
“Wanna bet?”
She rammed the key into the ignition and I grabbed her wrist. I didn't need her barreling through the barn and getting herself killed. “Fine, fine. At least let me back 'er out of the barn so we can make sure you don't hit either of the posts and knock the whole thing down.”
“No way.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and I tried to ignore what that did to her cleavage. “How am I supposed to learn if I'm down there and you're up here?”
A vicious idea came to me. “Guess you'll be sitting in my lap then.”
“Oh, no. I don't think so. You can tell me what to do while you walk beside the tractor.”
I leaned against the wheel well knowing I had her. “Yeah, that's a great idea. I've always wanted to get run over by a tractor. If that doesn't pan out, maybe later I can walk barefoot down by the pond. Maybe see if I can step on a cottonmouth.”
She stared through me, but I stared right back. I had something she wanted, and she knew it.
“Fine. Whatever.” She balanced on the step on the far side of the seat and let me jump up beside her. I put my hands on her hips to balance her as she sat—and did my best to forget every other time I'd had my hands there.
She sat back gingerly, landing on the middle of my thigh instead of all the way back. Her knees bumped into the steering wheel so I pulled her back against me despite her squeak. “Look, you can't drive with your knees in the way. It's not like we haven't done this before.”
“That was different. And you can move your hands from my waist now.”
Well, where the hell else can I put them?
My brain surprised me with entirely too many suggestions, but I shook them off. Instead I explained all of the steps she would need to take, talking her through when to press down on the clutch and when to let up. As she turned the key, the breeze blew her hair into my face. Those damned pears again.
The engine stalled out twice, but finally the tractor lurched backward, almost backing into the makeshift fence around the garden. She giggled then shifted into first with a lurch.
“Easy on the clutch, darlin,' or you'll give us both whiplash.” I put a hand on each of her thighs, feeling the muscles tense. By lightly pressing on one leg then the other, I guided her on when to press one pedal and release the other. We rounded the sweet gum tree, and she shifted seamlessly from second to third then gave a victorious whoop.
I finally drew my hands from her thighs but accidentally knocked against her sore arm. She sucked in a breath and lost control of the steering wheel for just a minute when she jerked her left hand away. The right wheel of the tractor came off the ground and the tractor lurched dangerously to the left. I clamped my arms around her even as I wedged my elbows against each wheel well. She pulled her feet back and killed the motor. The tractor landed on all four wheels with a sputter and a thud.
“Maybe you should drive back, and I can walk.”
She was shaking.
I could stand a lot of things, but not the sound of defeat in her voice. “Oh, no. No Satterfield I know would give up after one little mistake.”
Her hand hesitated over the ignition.
“C'mon, Romy. It's like falling off a horse. You gotta get back on.”
“Wasn't allowed to have horses. You know that. They're too expensive.”
“All right. It's like falling off a bicycle, then. We both did that plenty of times, now, didn't we?”
I felt her grin rather than saw it. No doubt she remembered the time we played
The Dukes of Hazzard
and attempted to jump the low spot in Bittersweet Creek with our bicycles. She'd skinned both knees and an elbow. I'd skinned a knee and sliced my chin open on that stupid license plate Mama had attached to the handlebars. We'd gone to her granny to patch us up. We knew she'd use alcohol instead of hydrogen peroxide, but she'd also give us tea cakes.
“Yee. Haw,” she deadpanned before setting her shoulders and turning over the ignition. The tractor lurched forward with a sputter, then jerked into first gear with none of the speed or joy of before.
Just then we hit a particularly deep dip and the seat beneath us inched forward, sending us even closer together. Too close together. My arms closed around her and my forearms brushed up against her breasts. She now sat squarely on my lap with her stiff back against my chest. I could've asked her what she wanted for Christmas. She didn't have to ask what was on my list.
She guided that tractor just as pretty as you please up to the side of the barn and killed the motor. Without the rumble of the engine, I heard birds, cows lowing in the distance.
She's not going to say anything.
Then she turned with that hell-to-pay glint in her eyes. “Well, maybe you've missed me after all.”
Romy
W
hat possessed me to say that?
Why couldn't I leave well enough alone? In my defense, the shifting seat had taken me off guard, too. At first, I'd been smug because Julian wasn't so impervious to my charms after all.
Then I realized I wasn't so impervious to his, either.
I clambered over Julian, not daring to meet his eyes. I almost tripped over his boot, and he reached out to steady me. I shot him a dirty look, irrationally angry. His eyes held what they'd always held, an expression I couldn't quite read.
And you need to remember that. Mr. Enigma stood you up. On your wedding night.
I looked down at my ring finger as a reminder, but I'd taken off the ring. Instead I was reminded of how Richard had told me I needed to sort some things out.
Julian jumped down from the tractor with languid ease. He put a hand on my shoulder, and I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes again. They crinkled around the edges now. “Romy, I . . .”
His smile reached all the way to his eyes, an embarrassed, crooked smile that revealed the thin white line of the scar on his chin. For a minute I thought he was going to kiss me. For a minute I was going to let him.
Nope. Not doing that again.
I stepped backward.
His beautiful smile transformed into a scowl. “Aw, Romy, c'mon.”
I pushed back on one strong shoulder. “C'mon yourself, Julian.”
He didn't say anything, so I shoved the other equally strong shoulder. “You know what I think? I think you didn't just ‘change your mind.' I think there's something you're not telling me.”
His Adam's apple bobbed, but that's all I got. Damned if I didn't hate Julian's silent treatment more than anything. I would've happily taken bamboo splints under my fingernails if he would only tell me
why
.
I pushed both shoulders this time, hard, finally forcing him to take a step back. “Don't you think you at least owe me a reason?”
“Maybe I ought to take a look up in the loft. See how much hay you've already got up there.”
Go up to the barn loft? What kind of ridiculous non-answer was that?
He turned for the barn, each of his long strides easily equaling two of mine. “Oh, no you don't. Don't go changing the subject on me!”
But he was already at the top of the ladder that led to the loft. I scrambled after him, but he'd already taken his count, kicking a bale in the corner to see how many mice ran out from under it.
“Julian, I am having a conversation with you!”
He stopped, serious deliberation going on behind his eyes. Then he clamped his mouth closed, his decision made.
“Well, I'm not having one with you,” he grunted. He took a step toward the ladder but I blocked his way. I planted my hands on his chest, and my fingers curled of their own accord.
“Just tell me why,” I whispered.
His heart beat frantically under my fingers, and he leaned toward me. I leaned toward him, suddenly wanting nothing more than one last kiss. Just one. Just to see.
His lips brushed mine, so gentle despite the fierce grip of his hands on my hips. The world went black for a second, and leaning into his familiar kiss was coming home. Here, we'd made love and pledged to join our lives together. Here, we'd found each other once again.
Julian broke the kiss, his forehead touching mine. “I can't do this to you.”
And he left me.
I trotted to the open loft door to see his long legs taking him back to his stupid Chevy. I felt ridiculously akin to Juliet pining from her balcony, my body thrumming for him with all of the need of a hormonal teenager.
“Julian McElroy, wherefore art thou such an asshole?” I yelled down.
“Heredity,” he yelled back before sliding into his truck with languid ease.
A chicken snake slid out from under the bale he'd disturbed, and I kicked the snake out the window. Belatedly, the feel of my toes connecting with its freaky coiled muscle of a body made me shiver.
Stunned, I sat down on a bale of hay then jumped up to make sure the snake didn't have angry relatives before sitting down again.
And now all I could think about was Julian and his proposal.
 
That spring break when almost every other senior had skipped town for Mobile or Biloxi or even Panama City, we stayed home. We spent a lot of quality time out at the barn. Just the thought of those lazy days gave me goose bumps.
Damn my hormones. Damn Julian. Damn them all.
Still, I couldn't help but remember that Wednesday. He'd followed me up to this very loft, and I'd already grabbed the hem of my shirt ready to pull it over my head. I'd worn my prettiest bra with matching panties and was anxious to show them off. When I turned around, Julian was on one knee. I let my shirt fall back into place.
“Romy, I don't have much to give you,” he said. “But if you would do me the honor of being my wife, you know I'll love you forever.”
Then, with trembling hands, he held out a black velvet box.
My heart pounded. Silly as I was, I was only worried about him spending money he didn't have, not whether or not it was a good idea to say yes. When I opened the box, I saw the thin band with the engraved orange blossoms that had almost worn away. “Oh.”
He looked away, disgusted with himself. “Like I said, it ain't much.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “But it's your mamaw's.”
He gave one curt nod.
“Yes.” The word was a whisper as I took the ring from the box, my own fingers trembling. The worn band was too large for my ring finger but fit my index finger perfectly. That didn't matter, though. The ring had belonged to Julian's Mamaw Louise, the only person in his whole family who loved him and loved me.
That afternoon, as a spring shower pattered against the barn roof, he made love to me so slowly and so tenderly I thought I might die.
Julian
I
thought if I took her up to the loft of the barn I could tell her, but when I got up there my courage left me. The good memories up there outweighed the bad, but there were some things Romy never needed to know. Instead, I went home and got to work on the old punching bag on the back porch. At some point I finally looked down at my bruised and aching knuckles. I'd forgotten my gloves. I'd also been punching out of frustration instead of anger. And, for once, I didn't feel any better for all the hitting.
I took a shower, got some frozen vegetables out of the freezer for each fist and a bottle of beer for some wound deep within. I needed to work in my own hay, to mow the lawn, to go through the garden, and to check on the cows and horses because I owed tomorrow to Leroy and the dealership.
I didn't feel like getting to work. What was the point of taking care of the farm when Curtis would sell his part along with Hank's to that Marsh guy? He'd figure out a way to take my part and sell it, too. I'd end up mowing lawns for the eventual golf course. Or, worse, as a caddy for a guy just like Richard.
And all because I couldn't seem to get the best of Curtis McElroy no matter how hard I tried.
Fuck that. Truth is, you haven't tried hard enough. At least not in a long time.
Just the thought of Curtis winning was enough to get me out of my chair. Vegetables went back in the freezer. The beer down the sink. No sense in sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself—I wasn't going down that road again. If I got done what I needed to do, I'd have time to cut some hay over on the Smith place. Half for Romy and half for me, and I could stack it in the barn when she wasn't around.
What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
From Rosemary Satterfield's
History of the Satterfield-McElroy Feud
No one knows why she did what she did. She'd just lost her husband and her favorite brother, Houston, so some said she lost her mind. Others said she hated your granny for having so many children when Exie had had none.
Either way, Exie had lived a very hard life. She never met her grandparents or three of her siblings, one of whom died in the influenza outbreak of 1918. When her husband died after less than a year of marriage, she had to move back in with her father. I think something snapped when her brother Houston died. Maybe she was thinking back to stories she'd heard about the moonshine fight. Maybe her daddy carried scars just like Myron and Benjamin the Third. He probably did.
She and your granny had been unlikely friends at the one-room schoolhouse they both attended through eighth grade. Your granny said everyone told her it would never end well. She didn't believe it until the day of the fire.
Your granny woke up. She ran your aunt Nancy outside and left her under the sweet gum tree then she ran back upstairs to get your aunt Joy and your aunt Glenda. She had the presence of mind to wrap the five-year-old and the three-year-old up in a quilt and managed to get them all out just before the old frame house crashed in on itself. She told me about hoisting the burning quilt and basically rolling your two aunts out of it. Only when she saw all three of her babies safe on the lawn did she notice her dress was on fire.
That's why she had those ugly scars on her arms and legs, and that's why she shut off the upstairs when she and your granddaddy moved into the big house. If there ever was another fire, she wasn't going to have stairs between her family and getting out.

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