Bring on the Blessings (21 page)

With that in mind, he went in and got his car keys. He could hardly see to drive, and managing the steering with his injured shoulder was difficult, but he was on a mission and refused to be denied.

When he pulled up into the Jeffersons’ yard, he saw two of Ms. Brown’s junior felons whitewashing the fence. He ignored them and turned his limited vision toward Marie’s car. Inside sat Genevieve. Marie was behind the wheel.

He got out and walked over.

Genevieve took one look at the bandage and sling and asked, “What happened to you?”

“Little accident. Nothing big. I need to talk to you a minute.”

“About what?”

Riley hated that Marie was listening in. He’d never liked her. “Can we go back to the house and talk there?”

“No, say what you have to say. You’re going to make us late.”

“I need you to come back home. There I said it.”

She sat back against the seat. “Why?”

“Because I can’t get Cletus out of the living room. He’s in front of the television and he won’t go back outside.”

“Having a few problems with your pet, are you?”

“No need to be snippy, Genevieve.”

“Maybe it’s the cologne you’re wearing, Riley.”

His lips tightened. “Genevieve,” he replied with warning in his voice.

“You want me to come home not because you love me or want to apologize for what you said, but because you can’t get your damn hog out of the living room?”

“But he’s tearing up the place and he’s shitting everywhere, and—”

Marie cut him off. “You ready, Genevieve?”

She nodded and told her husband as she powered up the window. “Go home to your hog, Riley.”

Marie gunned the engine and Riley jumped away in surprise. Without so much as a word they drove away.

Genevieve could see him in the passenger-side mirror, dancing around in rage in the yard. Preston and Amari had stopped painting to watch him. She figured he was probably cursing her to heaven and back, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going home again until Cletus was turned into an Easter ham.

L
ily and Trent had dinner at a cozy little Italian restaurant in Franklin. They’d placed their order and were enjoying the breadsticks and a glass of wine while they waited for their food to arrive.

“So how are the paint kings doing?”

“At the rate they’re going, they might be done by Halloween.”

She laughed softly. “Kids.”

“Tell me about it.”

Trent couldn’t believe they were sitting across from each other again after the passing of so many years. “You look nice.”

“Thanks.” She’d spent a great deal of time worrying over what to wear because she’d wanted to look just right, and so settled on a little black dress that showed off her shape and her legs in the heels Bernadine had insisted she purchase on their last shopping trip. “Been awhile since I’ve been on a date. Not counting Winston, of course.”

“How’s he’s doing?”

“Who cares,” she said, taking a sip of wine from her flute. “He hasn’t called, so he must have gotten the message.”

“Throwing his suitcases out of the truck was probably a good clue.”

The waiter arrived with their meals, then drifted away soundlessly.

“This is very good,” she said, sampling her fettuccine and shrimp. “How long has this place been open?”

“About a year. First time I’ve eaten here, though.”

They made more small talk, sticking to neutral subjects as they felt each other out. “I’m glad we can do this kind of thing again,” he said to her, while taking in just how gorgeous she was to him.

“Me too; been awhile.”

“Yes it has.”

Their eyes lingered for a long moment, then as if realizing they were staring, they both looked down to their plates.

“Tell me about LA,” Lily said.

“Not much to tell. Two marriages. Two divorces. I came back to lick my wounds.”

“If I can ask, why’d they go bad?”

He lifted a fork of his spaghetti in marinara sauce. “Timing, careers, the fact that neither of them wanted kids. By the end, I didn’t get along with either one of them any better than they got along with me.”

“Then why’d you marry them?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he offered with a shrug, “But it’s okay. I’m getting my chance at fatherhood now, and who wouldn’t want a carjacker for a son?”

She shared his smile.

He asked, “If I’m not being too nosy, why’d you get divorced?”

“Got tired of Randy coming home stinking of sex and other women’s perfume night after night.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. Made me grow up, though. Had to take care of Davis.”

Trent understood. What he didn’t understand was how any man could cheat on her. Memories of their being together and what they’d shared and the fun times they’d had began to surface, and he pushed them down.

Lily looked over at him and saw him as he’d been at seventeen, all dark good looks and muscles. He’d loved her as if she’d been the most precious thing in his world, and she’d loved him in the same way. She stuffed the memories inside of her heart and went back to her meal.

After a dessert of spumoni and some tasty little Italian cookies, they left the restaurant and headed home. Being parents they had kids to check on. They drove through the dark up Highway 183 listening to jazz on his CD player and silently relishing each other’s company. They were also checking each other out when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

When they got to her house, he turned to her and said, “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Sure it is. First date, the man always walks the lady to the door.”

Amusement in her eyes, she nodded. “Okay.”

He came around and opened her door. Giving her his hand, he helped her step out. Together they climbed the steps and stood in the soft glow cast by her porch light.

“I had a great time,” she told him.

“Me too.”

Neither said anything about a repeat of the evening. It wasn’t necessary.

She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “’Night, Trenton.”

“’Night, Lily.”

By the time he walked away and drove the short distance to his place across the street, they each but separately came to the same conclusion that they were still very much in love.

Out on Highway 183, the pounding on the door startled Morton Prell awake. Panicked that it might be the police, he moved as quickly as he could to the bathroom and hid there. The deadbolt and its chain were in place on the door leading to the outside, so whoever was knocking wouldn’t be able to get in with the motel’s pass key. That they might break the door down was a possibility and he’d be a cooked goose if they did.

“Peterson! Open up. I know you hear me!” It was the motel manager, a cheerless old woman with a red wig and bad teeth. “You promised me rent three days ago! If I don’t
have it in my hand by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning, I’ll be calling the sheriff!”

When she didn’t say anything else he assumed she was gone. He cursed her and he cursed Bernadine Brown. Were it not for the Brown woman he’d be able to access the money in his numerous accounts, but a hold had been put on them the day after she’d made the call to her friend. Luckily he’d had two hundred dollars in his billfold and had been using that to pay for his stay in the sorry excuse for a hideout, but the jig was up because he was out of money. Common sense said he should have left town, but how far could he have gone on two hundred dollars? He’d planned on having a solution to the mess that was now his life before he was broke, but he didn’t.

He was sure the manager wasn’t bluffing and would call the sheriff, but where could he go? He had a couple of children somewhere in the country but he hadn’t cared enough about them to keep in touch, so therefore had no idea if they were alive or dead. Were he a reflective man he might have looked back on his life and seen the things he might have changed or regretted some of the decisions he’d made, but he wasn’t. All he cared about was finding a way out and getting back at the woman responsible.

He picked up the phone and called Riley Curry.

When Riley finally answered and Prell told him what he needed him to do, Prell wasn’t in the mood for any excuses. “I know what time it is,” he barked. “I need you to come and pick me up. Now.”

Listening as Riley tried to squirm out of the assignment, Prell snarled threateningly, “Unless you want your wife to
know you’ve been dipping into her trust, I suggest you get in your truck and get out here as soon as possible!” and he hung up.

Riley arrived at midnight. Prell made his way over to the old truck and got in. When he looked over at Riley’s bandaged face reflected in the lone light of the parking lot, he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Accident. Where do you want to go?”

“Your place.”

Riley’s good eye widened. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stay here any longer. Drive.”

Steering as best he could with his distorted vision and bum shoulder, Riley headed up for home. “Why can’t I drop you at your place?”

“Because there’s a warrant out for my arrest. It’s the last place I need to be.” Deciding silence was the better part of valor, Riley shut up and concentrated on getting home in one piece. He had no business being on the road at night in his condition. Would his troubles never end, he wondered. First Genevieve, then Cletus, and now this. Of the three, Prell was the most tricky. Because the old geezer knew he’d been making unauthorized withdrawals from Genevieve’s account, he had Riley by the balls, and in Genevieve’s present state of mind, if she were to find out that he’d helped himself to her trust fund to the tune of twenty-five thousand dollars, he wouldn’t put it past her to call in the law and have him thrown headfirst into jail.
Why do these things happen to me?

He’d given the twenty-five grand to Prell over the past few years for investment purposes, or so Prell had said, but
so far there’d been nothing to show for it in terms of profits or dividends. He’d planned to replace the “borrowed” money with the kickback he’d been in line to receive had the annexation of Henry Adams by the town of Franklin gone through. He and the Franklin town fathers had had the deal all worked out, but they’d needed Riley’s help to deliver the town to them, but Ms. Money Bags, Bernadine Brown, screwed that up.

Riley made it home without running the truck off the road or hitting anything. He cut the engine. Now came the task of explaining to Prell why he wouldn’t be able to sleep inside. Riley knew the reason would probably make Prell blow a gasket, but there was nothing he could do. “You’ll have to sleep in the truck or on the porch sofa. We can’t go in the house.”

“Why not? If Genevieve’s mad about me waking you up, I’m sure I can charm her into a better mood.”

“It’s not her, it’s Cletus.”

Prell looked confused, so Riley explained, “He’s taken over the place and I can’t get him out.”

“The hog?”

Riley nodded.

“You let an oversized pig run you out of your home?”

Offended, he didn’t answer.

“God, Curry? What kind of man are you? Come on.”

Riley got out of the truck and followed him to the porch. The stench wafting out into the night from inside was immediately apparent. It was so bad it could have been used as a weapon of mass destruction.

“What is that smell?” Prell demanded.

“Cletus.”

The moonlight showed Prell’s astonished face. When he recovered, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and put it over his nose. Riley grabbed up the tea towel he’d been tying bandit-style around his face every time he had to go inside. It was difficult tying the ends behind his head due to his injured shoulder but once he had it secured he was ready to go.

Prell asked, “Where’s the hog?”

“Living room in front of the TV. Let me go in first and turn on the lights so we can see.”

And what the lights revealed was mind-blowing and gag inducing. Feces covered the floor like a carpet. Food of all kind was strewn about; hot dog buns, huge metal mixing bowls of Cheerios and Rice Krispies lay tipped over, their contents pooling beneath them. Twinkie wrappers and the ends of half eaten hot dogs added to the mess as did broken lamps and pieces of wood that had once been coffee tables and end tables. A curio cabinet lay on its side, the glass in it shattered. And in the middle of it all, lying in front of the muted TV, was the sleeping and snoring loudly Cletus. Another episode of
Meerkat Manor
was on the screen.

Unable to believe the state of the room or the overpowering stench, Prell asked from behind his handkerchief, “How long has this been going on?”

“You don’t want to know. He’ll let me mute the sound so I can sleep, but he won’t let me turn the television set off, or unplug it.”

“He’s a hog, Riley. Wake him up.”

Riley didn’t see the sense in that. The house wasn’t going to be habitable tonight or any other night in the foreseeable future, plus, he knew for a fact that Cletus didn’t like being awakened from a sound sleep. “He’s not going to like us waking him up.”

“Who cares? He’s a hog!”

Riley knew that Cletus would care, but if Prell had a plan that would succeed in getting Cletus outside again, he was willing to try. Shoot, at that point, Riley was willing to try just about anything.

He lifted the edge of the tea towel tied over his face just long enough to call out in a soft but cajoling voice, “Cletus. Wake up, big fella. We got company.”

Prell removed his handkerchief and yelled, “Get up, hog!” as loudly as eighty-six-year-old lungs would allow.

It was enough. Cletus came awake with a series of snuffles, then turned to see what or who had disturbed his dreams.

Prell pointed toward the door and barked, “Outside, now!”

Cletus gave him a look, turned his head back around, and settled down to resume his sleep.

Next thing Riley knew, Prell had picked up one of the shattered legs from the end table. Realizing it was just the right size for club, he yelled, “Hey! What’re you doing?”

“Teaching this animal some respect.”

“Wait a minute, now, I don’t want him hurt.”

“This isn’t a child, Curry. It’s a damn hog.”

Before Riley could blink, Prell advanced on the hog,
careful to keep his footing in the slop, and lowered the club. The blow came down hard on the hog’s back. Cletus’s head immediately spun around.

“Got your attention, do I?”

Prell had everyone’s attention.

Riley grabbed his arm. “Quit that!”

Prell felt all the anger that was pent up inside over his financial situation boil to the surface. Now that he had a way to release it, he pushed Riley aside and sent the shorter man sliding in the muck.

Cletus saw all this, and although he’d been running roughshod over Riley for almost a week now, Riley was his food source, and animals no matter the species will protect their source of food.

So when Prell clubbed him across his rear end again, Cletus stood, turned toward him and began to advance. The hog weighed over six hundred pounds. No matter how mad Prell might be, at his advanced age he lacked the physical strength to really inflict any lasting harm and the look in the hog’s eyes reflected that.

“Get back!” Prell ordered swinging the table leg. He brought it down on Cletus’s head. The strike stopped Cletus just long enough for the hog to shake it off and squeal in anger.

“Leave him be!” Riley shouted in alarm. “He’s mad. He’ll hurt you!”

But Prell wasn’t listening. “Damn piece of pork.” He raised the wood to bring it down again and the squealing, angry Cletus charged.

Using his snout, he pushed the slipping and yelling
Prell all the way to the living room wall, then turned and pinned the man against it from the chest down. He ground his weight against the body to flatten him for extra measure, then sat down. Caught between the wall and the hog’s crushing girth, Prell screamed and pounded the pig’s back in a vain attempt to free himself. Soon his movement’s slowed. Blood trickled from the side of his lips and then his nose and ears as the pressure of the hog’s tremendous bulk forced the life out of him. Finally, he slumped over dead.