Black Locust Letters (20 page)

She
watched him. “Richard?”

“
Truth is, Lizzy, I ask myself that much more than I care to
admit. But you've gotta make your choice and stand by it, and hope
against all else that you've done the right thing.”

This
wasn't what Liza had expected to hear. She stared blankly at the
shifting map on the dashboard. Betty got out of the car, and Welch
called after her, “Yo, Blazing Betty.”

She
looked at him, at the way he'd pulled Liza flush to him, and the
way his finger tapped the steering wheel.

“
You've gotta play the game, girl. You've got to show them
that you're the queen and you can move any direction you damn well
please.”

Betty could only nod.

Welch left in a cloud of blue - burning oil and
gas.

She
watched as they turned down the next street, his words weighing
heavy on her chest. Betty held her nose as she trudged up her
steps.

She
got out her keys, then shrieked when she saw what the men from the
club had done.

The
neighbour's blanket draped over her shoulders but Betty trembled
anyway where she sat on the door stoop, watching as her neighbour's
husband conferenced with the policemen, one a twitchy young buck
and the other a slow man who seemed to enjoy his maple bars too
much. They motioned to the door, their hands cutting in and out of
light from the squad car's headlights.

“
It
will be fine,” said Geri soothingly, but Betty could tell the woman
was alarmed, perhaps even concerned that this happened on their
street.

The
officers had already taken down her information and said they'd
report the vandalism to her landlord. A third officer, someone
specializing in robberies, came to Geri and Betty and said, “All's
clear. No sign of any other damage.”

“
We
will send someone by to take photographs for the report in the next
day or two, not sure when we will get the camera back from the pack
rat,” said one officer. “We've taken down your statement. We'll
tell the patrol to drive down the street, but it looks like it's
your typical bored kids out past curfew. Rockabillies, probably.
Nothing to worry over.”

Geri's lips tightened but the woman nodded. “We will watch,
too.”

“
Sorry I can't do more,” he said. The officers climbed into
their two cars. Doors shut, then they left. Geri did, as well, and
Betty trembled as she opened her door.

“
What was that fuss over?”

Betty jumped, then her face flushed with rage as she saw
Clarkin standing at her gate.

“
Decapitaria Hannah,” Betty said in the same stiff way she'd
read the officer's name plates. “Convenient timing.”

“
The
flashing lights got my attention. What happened? I was worried
about you.”

“
I
don't know what happened. If I knew what happened, I wouldn't have
called the police!” Betty's voice rose, shrill almost, and Clarkin
gathered her up in his arms before she could object. His hands were
in her hair, soothing, and Betty rejected his comforts by yanking
away. She twisted her door open and scrambled to light a lamp, but
her hands shook too much, and soon Clarkin's steady fingers held a
match to the lantern just inside the door and it flared to
life.

“
There!” she said, pointing.

On
her door, a yard in diameter, was a newly painted 'X', red and
dripping. Words or symbols appeared in each segment but Betty
couldn't read it, and when Clarkin knelt before it, there wasn't
any recognition on his face, either. Betty felt a surge of
disappointment. He dipped a finger to a wet glob and brought it to
his lips.

Betty watched him, horrified yet hoping he could tell her,
one way or the next, what he knew.

“
Not
blood.” He stood up. “Unfortunately.”

“
Unfortunately?” Betty echoed, not believing the word. “Why
unfortunately?”

“
Because if it was blood, I'd know what to make of
it.”

“
It's not paint, either, doesn't smell right.”

“
Is
it ink, perhaps?” Clarkin shut the door and turned to her. “Come,
you're shivering.”

Betty led him instinctively to the kitchen—it was her primary
room and she wasn't thinking about any other implications as she
tried to build a fire in the stove to take the chill off the
room.

“
Let
me,” Clarkin whispered and directed her to sit nearby on the bed. A
glass of sherry was soon pressed into her hands, and she scarcely
touched it as he built her a fire, then sat on the floor at her
feet.

“
Why
do you care?” Betty asked at last, her voice scratchy and her eyes
puffy.

“
I
care about many things. To which are you referring?”

She
took the attempt at levity as mocking. “About me.”

His
gaze slid to her knees, brimming with an intensity that made her
guilty for asking. “Ever since we've met, I've had this feeling
that you were special, that we are made for each other.”

Betty crossed her arms and swallowed hard. “Do you mean that,
or is it just to make me drop my guard?”

Clarkin cocked his head thoughtfully. “If I wanted to make
you drop your guard, I wouldn't do it like this. Besides, I
startled you tonight; I could have done any nefarious deeds
then.”

Betty ignored both the jab and the intentional
misinterpretation. “Then how would you drop my guard,
huh?”

Clarkin got to his knees and put his hands on her bed,
putting him at the same level as her. “What is all
this?”

“
If
you don't want to hear my voice, I'll silence myself.”

Those amber eyes closed in a voiceless groan, then he took
her hand and pulled her close while she stiffened in
defiance.

He
murmured, “Even I must say things which are not true.”

She
opened her mouth to disagree, and he eased his lips on hers in a
kiss. For a second, she tensed, furious with the volume of words
which wanted to be released. But he knew what she wanted to say,
and she knew that saying them would do no good, and so she returned
his kiss with a kiss that lasted until the dull snap of kindling
transformed into a rumbling fire which cast flickering light out
through cracks in the grate. All her doubts and questions were
silenced by the time her bogart came out to the kitchen and threw a
tantrum over his empty yogurt spoon. In response, Clarkin threw a
shoe, and then the night was again quiet.

Betty slapped her alarm clock, tucking her arm back under the
covers quickly, relishing the heat and snuggling down in the
blankets against the warm wall. An arm draped around her waist and
a nose pressed into her hair, breathing in deeply. Next to her,
Clarkin smacked his lips and drew her flush against him. Betty
surrendered to the attention until she felt something prodding the
side of her thigh. Betty snickered and tried to wriggle out of the
covers.

“
You're shaking the bed,” said Clarkin, his eyes still shut
and hands not releasing her yet.

“
I
have to get to work.”

An
eye cracked open, and he kissed her neck. “But we are having such a
pleasant morning.”

Betty shook her head. “I can't believe I let you
stay.”

“
You
didn't.” He ran a hand down the side of her still-clothed body. “I
tried to get away. Really, I did.”

Betty snorted. “I see you didn't escape during the
night.”

“
And
leave without saying farewell?” He clutched at his
chest.

Betty slipped out of bed, scrambling beneath it for where she
stashed her work clothes. “Clearly your intentions were purely
innocent.”

“
Innocence is lost with experience, my dear.”

That
shouldn't have been thrilling, but it put a fresh blush on her
face. “And your reason for not taking advantage last
night?”

“
I
don't want to take advantage of you.” He leaned back, eyes drifting
up her form. “I want you to take advantage of me.”

Betty dropped her stockings, then hastened to take her outfit
with her to the shower in order to get away from his admiring
laughter. When she came back out, Clarkin had coffee, eggs, and
toast ready. Though they didn't have long, Betty couldn't resist
talking to him animatedly while they ate.

“
I'll see you after work?” It was a half-question,
half-statement, and only after she said it did she realize how it
sounded.

Clarkin didn't answer.

Damn, they'd told her, they'd all told her. She'd been too
eager. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Then
the silence took on another meaning.

Betty stopped trying to get her shoe on. “You are
going.”

Clarkin cupped her cheek, his face straight.

“
How
long?”

“
I
don't know how long. But if you ask it of me, I will be
careful.”

Betty's hand shook as she touched his, then leaned into it.
“Come home. Please.”

He
kissed her knuckles. “Am I yours?”

Betty hesitated, saw the pain in his eyes, and shook her
head. “No. I'm yours.”

What
had come over her to make her say that? Betty demanded of herself
midway through the show for the thousandth time. What had made her
say that? She didn't know one way or another who
she
even was,
neverminding tying herself into a relationship.

But
as angry as her scolding was, her voice told an altogether
different story, coming across the air as glowing and loving. She
felt alive, as though she'd just gotten out of a hot spring, and
she couldn't keep a grin off her face. In the break room, while she
got coffee, Liza found her, wide-eyed.

“
I
heard about your house, what—” she broke off when Betty faced her,
still with the traces of a smile on her face. Liza blinked in
alarm. “Either you're broken or you had a visitor.”

“
Oh,
hush.”

“
Who?”

“
No
one of consequence.”

“
Betty.”

The
grin broke free once more. “He gave me a token.” Betty pulled a
chain from beneath her shirt, revealing a short brown
feather.

Liza's mouth fell open. “You didn't. Did you?”

“
No,” Betty said and sighed. “He's gone on a mission. I think
it's dangerous.”

Liza
put an arm around her. “He'll be fine. There's nothing you can do
but wait.”

Betty froze. There was something she could do. When she went
back on the air, she looked at the last song and noted it was an
obscure title, by people who no one had heard of yet. They wouldn't
know if she made an honest mistake about the singers.

“
Welcome back. That was Mary Billbury with Dance Girl, Rae
Robin's Ladida, and Stealing the Bell by Exica and Loti. Continuing
on a discussion in the break room, have you ever had an annoying
neighbour? Most of mine are pretty great, but this one lady's got a
bird I always hear screeching. Not a terrible neighbourhood, I
know, but then there's the three o'clock ambulance run. I think it
comes our way daily for gas, every day at three. Anyway, here's
hoping we will hear more from Exica and Loti. Maybe they'll get
together with Mary Billbury, what do you say?”

So
it was clumsy. She'd done better as an intern, but she was nervous
hoping that her message got through.

If
Slim's face when she met him on the ride home from the market was
any indication, her message had indeed gotten through—to both
parties. He stood in the center of the sidewalk, and she stopped to
meet him.

“
Who
keyed your car?” she asked, making a show of looking
surprised—which she was, Betty hadn't expected to see him until
tonight at the earliest, though it was getting close to dusk, it
was only four-thirty and if things had gone down at
three...

“
You
warned them.”

“
Warned who?”

“
Don't you lie to me.”

“
What happened?”

“
Ambush.”

Betty sniffed. “You're saying you lost.”

He
glowered at her. Betty said roughly, “It isn't my watch to train
your men. If they weren't trained right, it's not my fault. Did I
sabotage your message, James, did I?”

Slim
looked humbled. He crossed his arms. “How do I know you didn't wave
talk for them?”

“
Have you seen my house? Did you see what they did? How could
you think I—?”

She
made herself cry at this point, and let Slim comfort her while
Clarkin's words ran through her mind: Even I must say things which
are not true.

And
suddenly she shared in Welch's worry. Had she picked the boat which
would abandon her when it was done?

A
week later, halfway through Betty's second cup of coffee trying to
relax on her day off, she heard the steady stamp of boots in the
street and a voice calling, “Left, left. Left, right,
left.”