Finding Home (12 page)

He moved away from the door and leaned back against the sink, one booted foot crossing the other. Phoebe sipped from he
r cup, suffering his probing inspection. She felt he was looking into her soul. Seeing what was there. She wanted him to see, to know. It was a moment of communion, silent, filled with tension and, to Phoebe, a thing magical.

She
knew Gage was seeing her profile, too. Its fineness and the way wisps of hair trailed on her neck. Her lips were parted. Hawley women had pillow lips.

Out of the corner of her eye Phoebe caught the direction of his gaze. All he was doing was sizing up her body parts again!
The smallest ones! Dern. The spell was broken. She drew her arms off the table. “What’re you starin’ at?”

Gage jerked.
“Nothing. You got anything to stare at?”

“
Seems like I do. Your eyes are about to bug out.”

“
Hellfire.”

“
You like cussing at me, don’t you?”

He put his cup in the sink.
“I didn’t aim it at you. I was merely expressing my opinion of where I’m at.”

“
Where you’re goin’, you mean.”

“
Right.” He stalked to the pantry, retrieved a gray slicker from a hook and thrust his arms into it. “Hell is where I’m going. Crazy is where I’m at.” He glowered at her, started to say something more.

Phoebe held her brea
th, awaiting the threat, the order to pack and leave. But Gage strode past the table, out the door into the rain.

Phoebe exhaled. The opportunity had been there to evict her and he hadn
’t. He liked her. Appreciated her fixing his shirt. That must be it. He wanted her to stay. He must’ve gotten a look into her soul after all...that was, before he got sidetracked. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to hold the sidetracking against him.

She poured a refill of coffee and slipped outside onto the porch. The wooden floor was damp, cold to her bare feet. Wind-driven rain spattered on her face. She peered toward the canal, wondering what nature was doing to the
crab traps, wondering if crabs scuttled about and got hungry in such disagreeable weather. For long minutes she stared into the rain, restless, possessed of the distant, preoccupied gaze of a woman whose thoughts were catapulting into the future.

“
Can I have chocolate cake for breakfast?”

The images reflected in Phoebe
’s mind dimmed. “Don’t come out here Willie-Boy. It’s cool. Where’s your shirt?”

“
It has skin all over it. I’m peeling.”

“
I’ll lather you up with calamine. That’ll stop it.”

“
Then can I have some cake?”

“
For lunch, not a minute before.”

“
Are we still going to Shambeau’s?”

“
With the rain and all, we’ll have to see.”

“
Mr. Gage can take us.”

He can indeed,
Phoebe thought,
for life.
“He has to work.”

“
But you’ll ask him?”

“
I might, if you be a good boy and don’t stir up trouble this mornin’.”

“
I’ll be good.”

Phoebe glanced once more toward the canal then shifted her gaze to the kitchen. Her cleaning and li
ving in it had made the room homey. “Everything is gonna be good for us now, Willie-Boy. I can feel it. I’ll bet every old crab in that canal is trapped and gnawin’ on chicken right this minute.”

“
So I can have jawbreakers and socks.”

Phoebe laughed and balled up a fist.
“Here’s your jawbreaker. Now go get dressed.”

~~~~

Thunder
rumbled through the walls of the gate shack. The building was little more than a freestanding closet from which Gage ran his business on Saturdays. From the door he could direct folks to what they wanted to look at, and collect for the purchase before they left the property. He sat on a stool in the half-light, leaving the single bulb unlit. Regular Saturday trade would be held back by the weather. He debated working in the welding shed, a thing he seldom did on Saturday. Truth was, he didn’t feel much like working at all. He wished he’d stayed in the kitchen drinking coffee with Phoebe.

He
was loath to admit it, but he liked the harmony Phoebe brought into his life and house. He was beginning to feel generous again. That alarmed him. He was enjoying having her around. That scared him.

He
’d suffered the ordeal of Velma. The only good thing coming out of his marriage was Dorie. But he didn’t know how to tend to Dorie’s emotional needs. He feared she was too much like her mother. Since Phoebe’s arrival, Dorie had become neater, mannerly, less moody, as if Phoebe had put a spell on her.

He admired a woman who knew the value of money, how to earn it. Phoebe appeared to have an inside track on that knowledge as Velma had not. Velma had put his back to the wall, charging
goods and spending money as if it were a never-ending flow like the tide and it had cost him a good year of profits to crawl out of that debt-ridden hole. Velma had gone off and got herself drowned while in the company of another man, turning him into a cuckold in front of their entire community—business and friend alike. Getting over that took some doing.

Gage looked down at his big callused hands. He couldn
’t go on without a woman indefinitely, but Phoebe Hawley? She wouldn’t take up the space between two button tucks in his mattress. It seemed to him that Phoebe had a fragility of flesh, that she was held together only by discipline and nerve. He couldn’t see her having sex without wafting away. Though it had been restrained, he had a healthy appetite for sex.

Not that he was considering it
with Phoebe Hawley.

He looked down at his hands trying to recall the last time he
’d touched a woman.

Oh, Lord, h
e
was
considering it.

Best th
ing all around would be to send Phoebe on her way. Force her against Hawley pride to take the bumper. He’d be decent about it, he’d wait until she’d sold her crabs.

The rain stopped. Inside the shack there was no sound at all, except the noise of water dripping off the tin roof and the muttering in Gage
’s brain that said he was being a fool.

A truck came through the gate and stopped. The driver hung out the
window. “Hey, you open for business?”

Gage tugged the string that turned on the light.
“I’m open.”

At
noon
Phoebe thrust her head in the door. “I brought your lunch. Fried chicken sandwich and a thermos of coffee.”

Not once had Velma ever thought to bring him lunch while he was working away from the house. He didn
’t mean to be making comparisons, but there it was. “Thanks. I am a bit hungry. Haven’t had time to take a break.”

“
You got to quit stalkin’ outta the house mad of a mornin’. Eat a good breakfast. Business good today?”

“
Fair.”

~~~~

Lor! But Gage was stingy with words. Mayhap it was the weather. Phoebe wore a pair of galoshes from the laundry room to cut across the junkyard mud and puddles. They came up to her knees. She had a towel pinned around her waist to serve as an apron and her hair was covered with a scarf. Controlling her curls was always a problem and in damp air, an impossible task. The chicken sandwich had just been an excuse. Inside her was a driving force to be near Gage. She’d fought it all morning. Now she was near him. The shack barely had room for Gage’s huge bulk and she was nearer than she’d hoped. She cleared her throat twice, felt her stomach climbing into her chest cavity. “Gage...”

“
What?”

“
You reckon this weather’ll hold the crabs back?”

He peeled the waxed paper from the sandwich.
“Wouldn’t hurt to leave the traps down a couple more days. You couldn’t sell them this late in the day anyway.”

“
That’s what I thought.”

He ate the sandwic
h. Phoebe had the urge to be seductive. She moved closer and brushed his arm with her own, then she opened the thermos, pouring coffee into the lid that served as a cup. She was so giddy her hands shook.

“
You’re spilling that.’’

“
Won’t hurt this floor.”

“
Guess it won’t.” The red cup disappeared into his thick hand. Phoebe liked his hands. He did heavy, dirty work, yet the nails were clipped and clean. She had to put her own hands behind her back to keep from reaching out, to keep from placing her hand on his.

“
I promised the kids I’d take them into Shambeau’s. We were gonna walk, but what with the rain by the time we got there they’d look like mud daubers.”

“
I’ll drive you.”

“
I was gonna ask to borrow my tag, just for—”

“
I said I’d drive you.”

Phoebe pondered the tone of his voice. It was no-nonsense and bossy. Like hers.
“What will people say, seein’ you with me?”

He avoided her eyes.
“Don’t suppose they’ll say anything.”

“
I mean, what will they think?”

“
Why should they think anything? Seems to me I recall Willie-Boy saying we’re cousins.”

“
He meant Bible cousins.”

“
Ah.”

She was going to cut
out Willie-Boy’s tongue! “You have mayonnaise all over your face,” she said, and fled. The heavy galoshes splattered mud a yard wide.

~~~~

Phoebe wasn’t looking
at Gage and he wasn’t looking at her. But they were getting in each other’s way while trying to herd the kids into the truck.

“
I call the window,” yelled Maydean, jumping in and hogging it.

“
I’m sitting by Maydean,” said Dorie.

Willie-Boy was all hope.
“I’m riding in the back.”

Phoebe grabbed his arm.
“You’re sittin’ in my lap.”

“
People will think I’m a sissy.”

“
They won’t think anything if you don’t sit on my lap. They won’t even see you. You’ll be a layin’ on your bed until the rest of us get back. Move off that window, Maydean. Let me in.”

“
No.”

“
Maydean.”

“
I ain’t been nowhere since we got here. I want to see.”

“
Come around this side and get in.”

Phoebe scowled. What Gage was suggesting would put her practically in h
is lap. She was wearing her second-best skirt and blouse with black pumps. She gave the front of the truck a wide berth to avoid mud puddles.

“
You want me to carry you?”

“
A little dirt never hurt anybody.” She climbed in without his help. He handed in Willie-Boy and got behind the wheel.

“
Doors locked? Seatbelts on? Everybody ready?”

The kids chorused,
“Ready!”

Phoebe couldn
’t speak. The whole length of her was aligned and pressing against Gage. He had showered and she got the full effects of that. Soap and after-shave wafted by her nose. It made her think about sex—again.

On the pretext of adjusting Willie-Boy upon her knees she stole a quick look at Gage. Her nearness didn
’t appear to be affecting him at all. She sniffed at his indifference.

“
You say something?” he asked.

“
We’re packed like sardines. It’s hot.”

He rolled his window down.

“That’s blowing my hair.”

He raised it.
“That better?”

“
It’s hot again.”

“
Should’ve let you walk.” He lowered the window yet again.

Phoebe was a network of sensitive strings. When Gage pushed on the brake and gas pedals, his thigh rubbed hers. The strings that were her nerves zinged as if they were priming for a symphony. Once when he shifted gears his arm brushed the side of her breast. Her nipples peaked and began to hum. The sensation left her speechless. She couldn
’t even dribble a rebuke when Maydean craned her neck to stare and coo at boys on motorcycles. By the time they arrived at Shambeau’s she felt as if she’d whacked a hornet’s nest and got stung from eyeball to instep.

The children erupted from the truck. Phoebe didn
’t trust herself to move.