Black Locust Letters (15 page)

He
reached for her hand and when he took it, her fingers were cold. He
rubbed them, and life began to flood into them again, and
throughout even more of her body, places that he hadn't touched in
a long time. She felt her cheeks burn and she realized with no
small horror that he hadn't lost his charm. James brought her hand
up to his lips and he seemed at once to be in a great hurry to
escape.

“
I
brought lunch. Hamburgers, American cheese, pickles, lettuce, the
whole works, potato salad, and some of that strawberry custard
pie.”

Betty blinked in surprise at the last. “Does one of the
stores make it now?”

James blushed visibly under her scrutiny. “I found the recipe
in the wooden box you left behind. I know you always made it for
celebrations. Thought you'd like it now. Sorry if it doesn't taste
very good, it looks a little funny, I don't think I let it cool
enough before I put the strawberries on top.”

“
You
made it?” Betty said, shocked. For him to do more than open a can
of beans was a fascination in itself, much less for him to bake a
custard pie.

He
cleared his throat. “I told you, I cook now; quite a bit, actually.
It gives me something to do. There's a shrimp sandwich roll, too,
but I've never made it before, so it's true to recipe, and we know
how that can sometimes lead the well-intentioned
astray.”

Betty laughed, unable to resist, because those were her words
which he had turned back on her. It made him smile, and his whole
face changed into something warm and inviting. It made her giddy. A
small part of her cried out in warning, but an even greater part of
her, the part which had been hurt, wanted his words to be true and
she wanted to be back in his arms again.

Had
he still been her father's man, she'd be even more reserved still,
but to have those words said to her, to have him put his faith and
his reputation into her hands? She had not expected that. She had
expected talks and parables and any number of other things. But she
hadn't expected her Slim back, turned into exactly the sort of man
she'd always dreamed of finding.

When
he got out of the car and popped open the trunk, she knew she was
in trouble of losing her heart to him all over again. Should she?
Could she?

Yesterday she'd have said there was no way that Slim could
have redeemed himself in her gaze, but in just the matter of a day,
he was crumbling that resolution. But why? How could she take him
seriously, how could she trust him again?

Betty swallowed hard, and made the resolution that she could
not trust him, not until his actions reinforced his words. But how
was she to resist him?

There came a shuffle as he set down the cooler to open the
door for her. She felt herself coloring and when he didn't take
away the hand he'd offered to help her out of the car, she didn't
have the strength of will to pull it back. It was warm, soft, and
strong. And she remembered him from before.

Renewing the familiarity was comfortable and soothing,
because she knew that at least she had no need to fear for her
personal safety around him. She knew also his expressions and what
moves he liked to use, and so she was not caught by surprise when,
while he poked life into charcoal in the bottom of the grill, his
hand went from hers, around her elbow, and settled across her
waist. She leaned against him like this, burying her head in the
fabric of his jacket so she wouldn't have to breathe the
smoke.

Betty knew she should pull away. There was no doubt in her
mind that he meant to seduce her, and she should resist his
attentions. But she felt drunk on his scent of spicy cologne and
sweet tobacco, on the comfort of knowing that this was a man who
her father approved of, yet who did not approve of her father. She
saw behind closed eyes, happy holidays and a traditional turkey,
presents beneath a Christmas tree, she heard the pattern of the way
he brushed his teeth, and she knew how long he liked his showers
and that his favorite drink was buttered scotch with extra brown
sugar. All the abandoned hopes and dreams trickled back while he
said nothing, just held her, while hamburgers hissed on the grates
and he closed the lid.

Betty laughed for joy when he set up the citronella candles
on the tablecloth he'd brought and then poured the wine. They
watched the sun set, his arm over her shoulders, beneath a blanket
in front of a small camp fire, eating their picnic. He'd forgotten
the plates, so they ate out of handkerchiefs and when it came time
for the pie, they ate it with a serving spoon meant for the potato
salad, straight out of the tin. It was too dark by then to see any
defect in the pie, and it tasted sweeter than when she made it with
her own hands.

Soon, she yawned, fatigue claiming her. James
laughed.

“
Tired so soon?”

“
It's night time,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“
It's five o'clock,” he teased. Then admitted, “but you are
right. We should return. The deer will be on the move now, and I
should watch the roads carefully.”

Betty nodded and helped him clean up their picnic, then he
doused the fire and they got back in the car. He paused, hand
suspended over the keys, reached instead for her hand.

When
he held her, she smiled at him, feeling warm and comforted in a way
that she hadn't in a long time, as though for once she didn't have
to watch after herself solely and completely. It felt good to have
an ally. When his lips met hers, it wasn't unexpected.

At
first, she sat there, doing nothing, her heart pounding in her ears
as her mind screamed at her to draw back as she breathed in the
lingering taste of burgundy wine and pickles. It felt so good. But
those screams were muffled by the raging course of her body and
heart, and she softened her lips, kissing him back with the fire of
one who has gone too long without, and he responded in kind. When
they finally broke off several minutes later, Betty couldn't think
the whole ride home except to replay that kiss over and over in her
mind.

“
Where to?”

“
What?” His question had caught her off guard, and she
realized now that the start of Sanctuary was passing by his
headlights.

“
Our
place or Sunny Glenn?”

“
I
want to go home.”

He
hesitated.

“
Sunny Glenn, James.”

Too
late, she realized that she should ask him to drop her off a street
or two away, but knowing Slim, he wouldn't think kindly on making
her walk alone in the dark. So she let him drive her
home.

His
jaw was stiff, she saw, as they drove beneath the street lights
hissing far above. They were half way to Sunny Glenn, the streets
barren of humans but prowling with Never Weres, when he said, “So,
it's still your house or mine?”

“
I
have all my stuff at my place, and there's work in the
morning.”

He
grunted, accepting this with better humor, but Betty wondered at
the nature of her reply. It hadn't been an explanation that they
weren't a couple, that she didn't trust him enough to take him to
bed. No, she had pulled up a paltry excuse, something that wouldn't
offend his pride. Why? She tried not to groan at herself. What was
she doing, leading him on like this? She didn't fear him, so she
had no excuse for that. No, she was sparing his feelings. Why
should she even care, if she was only meeting him to hold up the
appearance of working for her father?

Betty didn't have a suitable reason by the time they reached
the corner for her street, and Betty pointed to her house so he
would pull over. He parked with a wheel on the sidewalk, turning to
look at her. His gaze made her shift uncomfortably as she tried to
formulate a farewell.

“
You're stunning. Every year, you've grown more beautiful,”
Slim said, his eyes brimming in the faint light coming through the
windows now that his headlights were turned off.

Betty blushed, pleased with the compliment despite herself.
“Thank you.”

She
picked up her small purse, not sure how to leave. Did she thank him
for the dinner? But to do so would be to admit that it had been
something more than just a training session. One where they had
spoken far too little.

“
Betty?”

She
looked at him, at his high cheekbones and the profile of a straight
nose caught in the lamp light, at the shine to his eyes.
“Yes?”

His
hands, smaller than Clarkin's, cupped her cheek. “I still love
you.”

Betty swallowed, not sure what to say. Did she return the
affection? Yet it felt wrong, like a lie, to tell him otherwise.
“You hurt me pretty bad last time.”

“
I
know.”

Her
eyes welled with tears, and she didn't see when he leaned in, only
felt his lips caressing hers. She wanted to slap him, she wanted to
kiss him more, she didn't know which way she wanted more, so she at
last followed his lead and kissed harder.

The
rain thudded on the roof and Slim's windows were fogged up by the
time they withdrew from each other.

“
I
need to go inside.”

James nodded and gave her a sad smile. “I know.”

Before he could say anything else, Betty opened the door and
retreated up to her door, not bothering to close the gate, and she
found her keys in record time. It wasn't until her door was shut
and locked that she heard his car start up again, then drive
away.

Betty sank onto the chair in the entryway, hiding her face in
her hands and breathing in and out slowly. What was that? What had
she been doing and why had she let herself do it?

Then, before she could finish chastening herself, her eyes
adjusted to the dark and she saw on the floor beneath the slot in
the door lay a crisp cottonwood letter with its caring
handwriting.

All
at once she felt a deep pang of guilt.

Betty gathered the newest letter up to her chest, found the
rest in a pile on her coffee table, and she went to her bed to lie
amongst their scent.

In
the morning, Betty had no clearer idea of what had happened than
she had the night before, but as she went to work, her feeling of
confusion was slowly replaced by one of anger, and by the time the
fourth hour was upon her, she had to fight to keep the fury from
her performance.

She
wanted to tell the world, “Know what? Last night, I went on a
'training session' with my ex, and he turned the evening into a
full-fledged date, and now he expects me to just accept his apology
and be happy with him? The world doesn't work that way,
hunny
²⁷
, the world is a
cursed place where you don't get second chances. So pack up your
butter lips and stay home with your custard pie.”

But
she couldn't say that, not on the air, and not where Slim might be
waiting and listening to her. So she kept that bottled up and
instead vented her cries at the vandals on Elm Street.

“
They think what, that what they do can be undone with a dab
of paint? Maybe for a fence, or the side of the building, but this
isn't something that can be painted. You're mutilating sculptures.
Those take special cleaning to repair, and no matter how much you
try, they'll never be the same again.”

On
the next hour, her rage abated, and she felt resigned.

“
The
Cold War remains mere threats, and there are those who would preach
fear and scare everyone into making bomb shelters, but I say, let
us be glad that we do not need them, and that Sanctuary is too
remote of a place for it to be of any interest to bomb,
besides.”

The
hour after, she felt a brief resurgence of her righteous anger, but
nothing that she couldn't keep from venting on the
radio.

Then
came her final hour, and towards the end, she was beginning to
wonder if her ill feelings toward Slim were justified at
all.

By
the time she signed off, she felt weary, as though it were the end
of a very long day instead of the middle of a normal
one.

Liza
wasn't around to speak to, so the wandered home listlessly, walking
her bicycle instead of riding it, choosing to avoid Sunny Glenn
market out of the desire to just keep out of everyone's sight.
Presently, the weather turned, driving wind and icy rain which may
or may not turn to snow, and she chained her bike outside of the
first place that served hot drinks.

She
realized it was the Corner Café where she had met with Clarkin over
drinks, and the memory brought a faint smile to her lips before she
buried her head in shame.

What
the hell was she doing with her life? Flirting, one way or another,
with two maybe three men, heart being pulled into shreds, not
knowing which way was up and which way was down.

The
waitress brought her a hot coffee with the whipped cream on the
side, and Betty clutched the drink between shaking
hands.

Maybe she was being too hard on Slim. Maybe not. He could
have been turned into the same lying scum as her father. And he did
have a way with knowing what to say to her. She shouldn't forget
that, no matter what. Still, she wanted him to be true. But until
he proved it by doing something, she wouldn't put her faith in
him.