Jilted (12 page)

The football game on Friday night was the first public appearance Clyde and I made together. I say it was a public appearance, but that might have been stretching the truth. I wasn't sure it counted as an appearance if nobody could communicate with us.

“You want to stay in the car awhile longer?” He touched the volume knob on the radio with the tip of his index finger, rolled it clockwise, then counterclockwise. If it had been turned on, the music would have blared across the pasture and fought the squawking of the Panther band.

“No, I'm good.” We would be more visible to the home stands once we were out of the car, but it was past halftime, and the news had certainly already circulated that Clyde and I were together. No reason to hide.

When he opened his door, the breeze swept through the car, in one door and out the other, blowing away my tension. He sat on the hood, and I leaned against it, glancing at the back of the scoreboard. “What's the score?”

“Twenty-eight to six.”

I felt more uncomfortable talking to him now that we were out of the car, but that was ridiculous, of course, and I forced myself to keep up the conversation. “Nathan still teething?”

At the mention of the child's name, Clyde's face brightened. “Fawn says he's better today. Probably over there with her and Ruthie right now, crawling up and down the bleachers.”

“Sometimes the cheerleaders get ahold of him and carry him around.”

“I know it.” Clyde's laugh came from deep in his chest. “I've seen him running on the track in his tiny football jersey. Wonder where they got that.”

“Susan had it custom made.” I shouldn't have said it. I shouldn't have squelched his joy, but it tumbled out of my mouth.

I ran my teeth across my bottom lip, tempted to bite down as I listened to the announcer's voice and the band's muted tones rolling across the field like tumbleweeds.

The people looked small.

“It's nice over here,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“It feels like they can't see us, but I know that's not true.”

His head turned. “You having regrets?”

Maybe.
“No.” I shifted to lean against my other hip. “After all, Blue and Gray already spread the news.”

“This is different.”

I crossed my arms. Uncrossed them. Scratched my elbow. “Maybe we should have waited.”

“For what?”

For things to be different. Easier.
“Hester Prynne, right?” I said.

His shoulders sagged. “You don't have a scarlet letter, Lyn.”

“Might as well. After everything this town has thought about me, talked about me, it's like I'm finally living up to their expectations.
Great Expectations.
Isn't that the one with the convict? What was his name?
Your
name.”

“I never should've said that.”

“Tell me his name.”

He bent his knee so his boot rested on the bumper. “Magwitch.”

“Magwitch.” I let the name float over my lips. “Magwitch and Hester.”

“Hush up, Lyn.”

Clyde's elbow rested on his knee, and his shoulder and upper arm created a barrier between us—or at least I felt like they did—but I wasn't sure I wanted a barrier anymore. I wondered if I would ever know what it would be like to be happy with Clyde. Without thinking, I touched two fingertips to the skin just below the sleeve of his T-shirt, where the Bible verse teased me again. He was warm, and the muscle was hard, but when his gaze met mine, I pulled my hand away. “Sorry.”

His eyes held mine for five seconds, and then he blinked and smiled. “Are you?”

“No.”

He didn't look back at the field, even when the announcer declared another touchdown for Trapp, and the band played another stanza of the fight song. Even when the final buzzer sounded, he only looked at me, into me, and it felt as if he could read my mind, my heart. Then his gaze dropped, and I felt my face flush as he looked at my body.

“I want to kiss you again,” he said.

“Might not be the best time for it.”

“We could really give them something to talk about.”

I cocked my head for fun, but when he leaned toward me, I stood up abruptly and took three steps away from the car. Gazing at the field, I calmed my heart, which was beating faster—and probably louder—than the bass drum at the top of the bleachers. I shoved my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and didn't dare turn around.

I watched as townspeople filtered onto the football field like marbles rolling across a kitchen floor. They were happy. Proud. Free.

“Why do you care what they think?” Clyde's voice was gentle.

“Because I've been Hester Prynne for years.”

“No, you haven't. Neil just wanted them to believe that.”

“They would have thought that even without his—”

“Stop defending him.” The gentleness was gone from his tone, and the bitterness in its place ignited a slow burn of defensiveness between my shoulder blades.

I turned to confront him face-to-face. “I'm not defending him. I'm just stating a fact. The people in this town would have looked down their pointed noses no matter what Neil said.”

Clyde crossed his arms and glared. “What is it with you and him?”

My neck involuntarily turned my face away from his. “Nothing,” I mumbled. “I can't stand him, you know that.”

“That's what confuses me, Lyn. I know good and well you can't stand him, but I feel like I'm fighting him for you.” He gritted his teeth. “I'm already fighting Hoby.”

My mind grew foggy from the shock of his statements, and I felt like a crystal vase left outside during a hailstorm. Even though I knew the answer to his complicated question, I wasn't sure I wanted to admit the truth. Not to Clyde. It would make me sound crazy, simpleminded,
pitiful
.

My cell phone rang, and after a few startled moments, I pulled it from my pocket. I didn't recognize the number, but I answered it anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Did you enjoy the game?”

I blinked and looked at Clyde. “What do you want, Neil?”

Clyde's eyebrows went up questioningly, but I turned away, scanning the empty stands.

“I wanted to talk to Clyde, but I don't have his cell. Does the man even have a phone?” Neil's voice drawled lazily. “Do you happen to have his home number?”

Of course I had his number, but I wasn't about to give it to Neil. “I can't get to it right now.” Only a half lie.

“Would you mind just putting me on speaker then?” Neil's tone mocked me. “It's important I talk to him tonight.”

I spun on my heel as Clyde muttered, “What does he want?”

“You.” I pushed the button for speaker and set the phone on the hood of the car, then backed away as though it were a serpent.

Clyde's chin jutted forward as he scanned the stadium and parking lot, searching.

“Clyde …” The voice on the phone seemed too loud for the evening air. “Glad you made it to the game tonight, but it's too bad you couldn't sit over in the stands with Fawn and the boy. And me.”

Clyde scrutinized a dark truck parked on a side street. He crossed his arms.

“I know that looks like my truck, but it's not. You remember, mine has a toolbox on the back. That's probably Cliff Worlow. Over from Slaton? From what I hear, he's courting Maria Fuentes. There's a lot of that going on.”

Clyde jerked his head toward the phone, his eyes shining red in the shadows of the stadium lights. “Why did you call?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I wondered if Neil was also fighting to control himself. When he spoke, his words were clipped. “Like I said the other day, I want what's best for my grandson.”

Clyde sighed, but it wasn't a humble, tired sigh this time. It was an angry huff of hot air. “Fawn is my family, too, Neil, and I'm not staying away just to suit you.”

“That might not be such a good idea. You see, I know about your anger problem.”

Clyde clenched his fists and turned to search the town again.

“See? There it is now,” Neil crooned. “You really should watch that temper of yours. The State of Texas looks down on men who can't control themselves.”

Anger slashed across my mind. “What do you want?”

“Lynda, sweetie. You were always one to cut right to the heart of the matter, weren't you?” He snickered, but then his voice turned to steel. “Clyde, it's like this. Seeing as how you're an ex-convict, you're not fit to be around my grandson. Not
safe
.”

“What are you talking about?” Clyde said. “I haven't done anything.”

“Not yet, you haven't, but I'm not willing to risk it. Come Monday morning, my lawyer will serve you a restraining order forbidding you to come anywhere near Nathan.”

The flame of irritation that had been crackling silently at the base of my neck grew into a raging brush fire, and I lashed out, catching myself before I hurled the phone across the pasture. “Clyde isn't going to hurt Nathan, and you know it.”

“Lynda, you of all people should know it doesn't matter if he does anything or not, and just to be on the safe side, you might want to stay away from him. I know he's been coming on to you, but you've got to keep in mind that the good citizens of Trapp know Clyde to be a convicted rapist. He can't be trusted, and he's making you look bad.”

As Neil was speaking, Clyde's eyes met mine, his brows forming a hostile point.

We stared at each other, and Clyde's head shifted a centimeter to the left, then the right, denying Neil's accusations. I returned the gesture, and at Neil's final threat
making you look bad
, Clyde took two steps and yanked my body toward his, shoving his mouth against mine.

My palms floundered at his waist, but I didn't push him away. I kissed back, allowing my anger to release through my actions and willing Neil Blaylock to read in my rage the simple message that he would not control my world any longer.

The phone still hummed on speaker, and without pulling away from Clyde, I reached over and disconnected the call.

Clyde growled deep in his throat and settled roughly on the hood, drawing me onto his lap with my knees on each side of his hips. Years of anger surfaced and resurfaced, billowing like clouds of smoke and obscuring our logic, our inhibitions, our willpower. Even our common decency.

When the stadium lights went off, we were swallowed up by blackness, and our kisses slowed, then waned into nothing, and I slipped from his legs with an exhausted sigh and stumbled back a few paces, breathing hard and afraid to speak. Afraid of what we had just started and what it might mean down the road.

And afraid of Neil.

I stood three feet away from Clyde. Embarrassed. Surprised. Regretful. Back when Neil and I had dated, his influence impressed me so much, I was blinded to his character, but now I knew better. The power Neil wielded in our little town demanded respect. And caution.

And Clyde and I had just smeared his nose in cow manure.

“Guess we've done it now,” Clyde said.

I couldn't see him to know if his left eyebrow curved upward in a challenge, but I imagined it did. He usually had that expression on his face whenever Neil was around. I tugged nervously at a lock of my hair. “I don't defend him.”

Clyde shifted on the hood, but he didn't say anything.

“I don't,” I repeated. “I hate him.”

“You shouldn't hate him, Lyn.”

“Don't you?”

He paused. “Not anymore.”

“But he sent you to prison.”

“Actually, Susan's daddy did that. But I can't say I didn't feel more than a little satisfaction when I heard that man had passed on.”

“Neil married Susan when she was pregnant with your child. Isn't that enough to warrant a little hatred?”

“Aw, Lyn …” He was quiet for a while, but the silence rang as he decided what to say to me. “When I was in prison, it took some time before I could even believe what he did. But sure, for a while there I was ate up with hate.”

The breeze whipped past the scoreboard, causing the metal to creak and moan. The sound made me lonely and I shivered, wishing I had controlled my anger.

Anger.

I squinted at Clyde's shadow. “You really do have an anger problem, don't you?”

“You're one to talk.”

“You shouldn't have kissed me like that.”

He spoke his next words slowly, and I wondered if he were fighting his anger right then. “Lynda, I wasn't the only one angry, and I sure as heck wasn't the only one kissing.”

His tone was like a warden explaining broken rules to a delinquent, and my fists tightened in rebellion. “You started it.”

He laughed then, loudly, and I suddenly worried that Neil was still in the area, listening. But no. The wind would cover our voices. Thank God for the wind.

Clyde's laughter faded. “Lyn, you're such a toddler.”

“Shut up.” It was a hard phrase, and I usually delivered it with a kick, effectively masking any emotions I wanted to avoid, but this time a sob rose halfway up my lungs before I stuffed it back where it belonged.

“Hey, now,” Clyde whispered. When I didn't respond, he groped for my hand in the darkness, then slid his index finger into my palm. The action comforted me like mashed potatoes with gravy, and when I tightened my grip around his finger, he pulled me slowly into his embrace.

He was still sitting on the hood of the sedan, and as I stood between his knees, I relaxed into the soft spot between his shoulder and neck. “We shouldn't be doing this.” I rubbed my nose against his skin, inhaling his sweaty, soapy scent.

“Why not?”

“Well … technically, I'm still married.”

“Most people wouldn't think so.”

“The church would.”

We both fell silent as we held each other. Him running his free hand through my hair. Me clinging to his waist as if I were drowning. Maybe I was. Drowning in years of bitterness toward the two men who had hurt me, toward the church, toward a lifetime of hard luck.

Clyde combed his fingers through my hair, from my scalp all the way to the ends, causing a tingling sensation as though he'd poured bubbling champagne on me and let it trickle down my body. Then he hooked his thumbs though the belt loops of my jeans and let his palms spread across my hips. His breath warmed my forehead. “Are you saying you don't want this?”

His question scared me because I knew it was time I gave him an answer—a real answer—but no matter what I said, my life would never be a fairy tale. There would still be problems to deal with and pain to overcome, not to mention the judgment of a community of people who thought they knew us. I loosened my grip on his waist and pulled away from his embrace.

I waited, thinking, wishing the decision were easier.

He sighed—a defeated sound that communicated more emotion than a hundred sentences could have—and suddenly I found it difficult to breathe.

I heard him stand, take a few steps away, then turn back. “We're not kids anymore,” he said. “We've known each other more than half our lives, and there's no reason for us to dillydally around. I want to make you happy, and I want to start doing it now. I'm going to ask you one more time, and after that, I'll never bring it up again. I'll take Neil's advice and move on, leave you alone.” He seemed to hold his breath for a count of three before inhaling. “Do you want to be with me or not?”

Good Lord.
In forty-three years of living, I'd only ever loved three men. One of them dumped me for a woman he didn't love. One of them left me alone with a child. And one of them—whom I'd always loved like a brother—was standing in front of me giving me an ultimatum.

A thunderhead stormed through my mind, shadowing my mood until I thought I might lose myself in its whirlwind of doubt, but surprisingly when the worst of it passed, only a bank of gray puffs remained, and a sliver of moonlight pierced through the thickness. As I felt its warm promise of hope, I realized three things. First, Clyde didn't just want to date me. He wanted me forever and always. Second, deep down in my soul, in the place I never allowed myself to visit, I probably wanted him, too. And last, but at the forefront of my thoughts, I desperately needed to free myself from the bars that imprisoned me in memories.

It had been only eight days since Dixie had set off that tangle of thoughts in my head when she mentioned Clyde, but it seemed as though a year had passed. A year of confusion and disbelief. But I could no longer deny the feelings I had for this man. No matter what baggage lay in our past or what difficulties lay in our future, Clyde Felton—with all the problems that came along with him—was my present.

I stumbled forward, and when I placed a palm on his chest, he bent down and his body melted around me. His arms roughly encircled my shoulders, and his core trembled as if he were fighting back emotion.

“Yes,” I whispered. I couldn't say aloud everything I wanted to say. I couldn't tell him I lay awake at night and wondered what it would feel like to have him next to me. I couldn't verbalize that he was the only person who made me feel alive. I couldn't say I wanted him just as desperately as he wanted me. My voice and mind and lips froze into a solid mass of anxiety. “Yes,” I repeated.

It was all I could say, but it was enough.

Clyde buried his face in my neck and wept.