Keeping Promise Rock (31 page)

“I take it your witnesses are gone?”

She faked tears again. “I was just… so… you know….”

“Girly?” he supplied, and she laughed again. He liked her laugh—it reminded him of Amy.

“Yup. You do know the Army, my friend. Okay—next question.

How was the trial, really?”

Deacon caught his breath and banged his head softly against the doorframe. “Abso-fucking-lutely morti-fucking-fying.” A real laugh slipped out, and she covered with a big hiccup.

“Dammit,” she giggled into the phone. “I’m giving you a two on that one, just for cracking me up!”

“I deserve a five—I’m going to live.”

“Nope. A one for resorting to humor instead of an honest emotional response. Here’s an easy one—how much do you weigh?” Deacon sighed. “I have no idea.”

“That’s skipping the question, Deacon—I’ve got three more minutes, and if we’re not done because you’re stalling, Crick’s going to follow through.”

“One-sixty.” It was one-forty-five—Jon had made him get on the scale that morning like some sort of goddamned prison warden.

“And that’s a one for lying. If you’re one-sixty, I’m five-ten. You’ve got one more chance on that one, buddy, or I’m covering for him while he gets the fuck out of dodge.”

“That’s a court marshal, Lisa,” he said through a dry throat.

“That’s how much we give a shit. One minute and three questions.”

“One-forty-five.”

“Eat something, dammit. What are you going to do if Benny and the baby have to leave?”

Deacon made a sound like he’d been gutshot. “Send Crick our address from Canada,” he said, so stunned by the brutality of the question that he said what he’d been thinking from the get-go.

“Wow, Deacon—your first five. Next question—how bad are the finances?”

Deacon whimpered. He actually whimpered. “In the fucking toilet, are you happy?”

“One more. Crick wants to know if it was worth it—all this pain he caused you, all this shit you’ve gone through alone. Was it worth it, Deacon? Would you do it again?”

Deacon closed his eyes, saw Crick’s face on that one day, when they were merged and moving and the whole world was green-filtered sunlight and the wonder of each other’s skin. Saw Crick in Georgia,
It’s like a part
of you only I can see.

“In a heartbeat,” he rasped. “I’d do it twice, just for that handful of days. Tell him that, okay?”

“Deacon, they’re back,” she whispered, and then, in her “acting voice,” said, “It’s okay, baby. I just needed to know you love me…. No, no, you don’t have to worry, I won’t do anything I’ll regret. Just hang in there… it won’t seem that long, I promise.”

“Tell him I love him,” Deacon said brokenly.

“I love you too, baby. I wouldn’t change a goddamned thing.” Keeping Promise Rock

Crick @DP—So, how you doing.

DP @Crick—Go the fuck away. I’m not talking to you.

Crick @DP—Was it really that hard?

Benny @Crick—He said go away. He’s out at the stables right
now—whatever you did, it was too goddamned rough.

Crick @Benny He was falling apart. I needed to see how bad.

Benny @Crick—You could have just sent Jack the Ripper—it would
have been easier on him.

Crick @Benny—You expect me to just let him lie to me? Blow
sunshine up my ass about how he’ll be fine?

Benny @Crick—He HAD some pride about holding it together,
asshole. Nice of you to rip that away like a stuck bandage.

DP @Benny—Log off, darling. The boys need to talk.

Benny @Crick—Hurt him again and I’ll give Melanie your e-mail
and tell her you have money. I’m so mad at you I could rip your balls off.

Crick @Benny—OUCH.

DP @Crick—She’s very protective.

Crick @DP—So. Am. I.

DP @Crick—I’m not five, Carrick. How are you supposed to look at
me like an equal when you treat me like a child?

Crick @DP—I wasn’t treating you like a child…

DP @Crick—You couldn’t let me have my illusions of holding it
together? You couldn’t let me pretend?

DP @Crick—Except for those two weeks, Carrick, pretending’s all
I’ve done in life. It’s kept me together fine. You just rip that away?

Crick @DP—I don’t want you to ‘pretend you’re fine’ Deacon. I
want you to BE fine. I want you to BE WONDERFUL. I want you to have
the whole world, dammit!

DP @Crick—The world is overrated, Carrick. All I want—have ever
wanted—is The Pulpit and you. I’d settle for you.

Crick @DP—You don’t deserve to have to ‘settle’ for anything.

DP @Crick—I didn’t deserve to have my heart dissected in an
ambush.

Crick @DP—I don’t deserve to have to pick through your emotional
denial to see how you really are.

DP @Crick—Well I’m NOT fine right now. Are you happy?

Crick @DP—No.

DP @Crick—I’m sorry, Carrick. I know you mean well. If you were
here, asking these questions, I could deal. But using a go-between…

Crick @DP—She’s all I had.

DP @Crick—Well my pride was all I had.

Crick @DP—I wish you could see yourself like I do. You’d see that
you’ve never had anything to be ashamed of in your life.

DP @Crick—I’ve got to go. I still love you. Talk to you tomorrow.

Crick @DP—Running away, Deacon?

DP @Crick—Damned straight.

Crick logged off and put it in his pocket, sighing. Lisa looked at him from across the commissary table and raised her eyebrows.

“He didn’t take it well?”

“I damaged his pride. If you’d have asked me before, I would have said that wasn’t a flaw of his.”

Lisa patted the back of his hand. “You’ve got some of that, Crick.

Just talking to the guy, I think he’s got a lion’s share.” Crick yawned and stretched and wished he were home. “We’d probably argue about this at home too, you think?” His partner laughed and took a dainty sip of her diet soda. “I think you two are well matched, but even the best couples fight.” She gave him a winsome smile. “Don’t worry, Crick. Reading your letters, seeing your texts—it’s enough to make me believe in love. Twu Wuv ith what bwings uth together today….”

Crick laughed and grinned at her. “Popcorn, you are like a reward for something good I didn’t know I did.”

“Punky, you are like the big sister I never had.” They both laughed then, and Crick started to plan what he’d do with Deacon’s scrawny, half-starved body while they were waiting for Crick’s hair to grow back and Deacon to put on some muscle. Mmmm… best thought of the whole day.

Consequential Truths

Crick @DP—Whatchadoin?

DP @Crick—Bills, what else?

Crick @DP—Money still tight?

DP @Crick—Would you settle for ‘we’ll live’ and not bitch about
details?

Crick @DP—Have you learned nothing?

DP @Crick—Please, Carrick. For me? My head’s killing me, and
I’m trying to get creative with numbers.

Crick @DP—Since you asked so nicely, okay. Wanna know what I’m
doing today?

DP @Crick—If it won’t gross me out, piss me off, or make me buy a
ticket for forward area, sure.

Crick @DP—I’m training a replacement.

DP @Crick—ooooowwwwooooohhh BABY! Talk dirty to me some
more!

THEY managed to sell two of the six yearlings, and Even’s wonder-cock was getting a hell of a workout, but still, money was going to be tight.

Deacon was getting good at figuring out what bills needed to be paid immediately and which ones could be put off until later. Little things 212

became a pain in the ass—the burlap bag with carrots was replaced with store-bought, because the farmer’s market suddenly wouldn’t sell to Deacon in spite of the fact that Parish had been one of the founders of the community endeavor. They had to haul the fertilizer to a farm in Woodland because the one in Levee Oaks was suddenly full up.

But Deacon believed firmly that it was small shit—miniscule, gnat-biting bullshit, and it was okay. Benny planted a carrot garden while Parry Angel played mudcakes next to her, and Deacon’s new connection in Woodland got him two boarders to replace the five that had been pulled after the “Driving While Gay” trial started. It was okay—everything had to be okay.

Crick was coming home.

Still, having to do the weed whacking by himself instead of hiring a service was a pain in the ass, and he was heading into the stable to get his third bobbin of nylon line when Andrew squealed into the driveway, barely missing the pigs.

He’d been picking Benny up from Amy and Jon’s house. Amy, who had always been so tiny and so vital, was not taking to the pregnancy thing well. She’d started bleeding right after Deacon’s trial and had been on bed rest ever since. Benny went over three times a week to keep her company, clean the house (although she said that two people made zero mess compared to the three single people and the baby who spent time at The Pulpit)
,
and cook dinner. Jon tried half-heartedly to tell Deacon that all the care was unnecessary, but Deacon had laughed evilly.

How hard is it to accept a little help, buddy? Consider it my legal
fee.
Because of course the two of them hadn’t charged Deacon a red cent.

And that was it—Jon had shut up and gratefully accepted Benny’s help, and Deacon, Andrew, and Patrick had all pitched in to take up the slack on the business end of things. Once a week, Jon or Deacon made dinner, and they ate at Jon and Amy’s instead of The Pulpit
—
and Amy tried not to get all weepy on the lot of them because sometimes, family really was a blessing.

But apparently not today.

Today, Benny was ripping Andrew a new asshole as they got out, and she continued to rip it as she got Parry Angel out and grabbed the bags of groceries and the craft supplies that she’d bought to help keep Amy entertained. (They had both taken up knitting with a passion, and, so far as Keeping Promise Rock

Deacon could tell, had produced enough scarves to be measured in acreage instead of feet.)

Deacon, who had never heard her speak sharply to Crick’s Army buddy, actually dropped the weed-whacker and walked over to help her with the groceries, just to see what her damage was.

“I swear to God, Andrew Carpenter, if you ever do such a dumbshit thing again, I will never, ever speak to you, not even at your goddamned trial.”

“There’s not going to be a trial, Benny,” Andrew snapped back. “If there was a trial, that fucker would have to own up to what he did to you—”

“And what if he did!” Benny turned to Andrew in tears. “What if he decides to own up and gives them one more reason to take Parry away from us? Did you ever think of that? No—you wanted to be my knight in shining armor so bad, you forgot that maybe there was a fucking reason I never brought this topic up!”

“Whoa!” Deacon dropped the groceries and took Parry out of Benny’s unresisting grasp. “Benny, Andrew, you put the shi—stuff in the house”—Parry Angel had been getting pretty good at repeating things now that she was fifteen months old—“and I’ll put the baby down for her nap.

Then, when you two have cooled off, we’ll have a little chat about this.

Unless”—Deacon looked seriously at Andrew—“you think the police will be here before then?”

Andrew shook his head and turned his head over his shoulder and spat. “He’s a coward, sir—he doesn’t want his daddy to know what he did anymore than he wants the rest of the world.” Deacon nodded. “Well then, we’ve got time. C’mon, Angel, you ready for a song and a bottle?”

The baby nodded and patted his cheek with chubby little hands and then laughed. “Deek deek!”

Deacon laughed into her face, blew a bubble on her neck, and looked meaningfully at Benny and Andrew, who obeyed his order and started working together in glum silence.

When the baby had her bottle and a book and a song from Deek-deek, he found that Benny had made sandwiches. She and Andrew were 214

standing in the kitchen. They were quiet, but that was an improvement, so Deacon got himself a sandwich and thanked Benny politely.

After he’d taken a couple of bites, he said, “So I take it this is about Parry’s father?”

Benny nodded and looked away.

“Okay—Benny, you and I will talk in a minute, okay? You want to go… put away your yarn or something, and then come back?” She looked gratefully at Deacon then and nodded, a miserable little smile on her face as she hurried away. She was wearing jeans and one of Deacon’s T-shirts, and she looked her age, which was barely sixteen. She was so competent sometimes, Deacon forgot she wasn’t as grown as she tried to be. He sighed and looked at Andrew.

“Okay, Private, it’s your turn to talk.”

It was simple enough. Andrew and Benny had come out of the grocery store, pushing the cart and flirting with the baby, when Benny had stopped dead right in the middle of the sidewalk and shut her mouth, turned the cart around, and started a really roundabout way to the car, which was only a few spaces down from the front.