Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (28 page)

“O
h, boy!” Little Shelby spun in a circle, stomping her red boots on the worn green kitchen tile. “No peanut butter tonight!” My heart stuttered, because her unguarded remark brought back all the times a peanut butter sandwich had passed for dinner throughout my childhood.

Robyn took an agile step back, just before Shelby brought a boot down on her toes. “I reckon tonight, your godmomma’s your fairy godmother. She bought your favorite. Noodles and pork.” Robyn popped open the white takeout containers until one gave her pause.

“What’s this?” The curvaceous blonde poked through the container, finally stabbing a tiny lobster tail. She held the sweet meat up with a doubtful look that made me laugh. “Looks like a fat, marinated bug.”

“Langostino lobster tail,” I explained. “That’s Happy Family. My personal fave. Chicken, beef, crab and lobster.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “You and Doris Ridenhour’s the only folks I’ve ever known to order that.”

I nearly dropped the plate I held. “I didn’t realize you knew her.”

Robyn raked the sweet meat off her fork with a shudder. “Practically lived with the witch for six months.”

I tried to exchange a glance with Caroline, but my friend studied her shoes. “Really? Um, how’d that happen?”

Returning to the containers, Robyn popped them open until she found the pork lo mien. “Here you go, munchkin.” She sat the box on the table and lifted the child into her booster seat. “Fork or chopsticks?”

“Fork, Gramma, fork!” Robyn spun to grab one out of the dish drainer.

I poked Caroline in the ribs. She jumped and jerked her head up. The fear in her eyes made me ache to slap the preacher. 

“Try the Happy Family.” I sank a spoon into the big container of white rice.

Caroline wrinkled her nose. “I’m sticking with what I know.”

Laughing, Robyn returned to the counter. “Me, too.” She pointed to a different box. “I hope that’s pork fried rice.” Her grin was apologetic. “Not a seafood fan.”

“Yes. There’s beef with broccoli, too.” I leaned down to sniff the expensive dish I favored, thanking Becca silently for forcing me to try it. My stomach rolled. “Oh, no.” I grabbed the container. “Does that smell funny to you?”

Caroline backed away with a violent shake of her head. “That’s like Mama telling me to taste the milk to see if it’s soured. Y’all must both think I look stupid.” She crossed her eyes, to the delight of her daughter.

Robyn leaned close, chuckling. “Smells fine to me. For fishy stuff.”

My appetite fled, but I added a small spoonful beside my rice.

“Hey!” Little Shelby cried. “Guess what?” She drummed the chair rung with her boot heels, until Caroline scolded.

“What?” Robyn slid her plate onto the table next to the child. Before she sat down, she smoothed the little girl’s hair and re-pinned a barrette. I couldn’t recall my grandmother ever making such a tender gesture. She’d wielded my hair brush like a weapon, making me feel my hair tangled just to spite her.

“My friend Kaylee got a new stepdaddy. How come she’s got three and I ain’t got none?”

I winced, waiting to see which chair they left me before I sat down.

“Kaylee Foster?” Caroline cocked her head in my direction while she pulled out her chair. I tried, and failed, to recall if we’d gone to school with anyone named Foster. “Isn’t she four, like you?”

The child’s ringlets bounced when she nodded.

Robyn laughed. “I’m thinking that word doesn’t mean what Kaylee thinks it means. Stepfathers sign on for more than a little poontan—”

“Mama.” The warning tone in Caroline’s voice was unmistakable. Robyn seemed like the women in my own family. They hadn’t pulled their punches when explaining that my sperm donor got my mother pregnant and disappeared. I’d known that information all my life. It went hand-in-glove with why I’d never felt I could measure up, because no matter what else I did, I’d always be the reason my sperm donor bailed on my mother. I wanted to hug Caroline for trying to protect her child.

I squirmed into the seat between the table and the wall, wondering how to turn the conversation back to Dale. My gaze landed on the corner cabinet. The thin coat of paint had soaked into the grain and gave away its humble plywood construction. But, in the center of the middle shelf, I spied something that might steer the conversation to less dangerous waters—and hopefully, back to the interesting tidbit Robyn had revealed about Doris.

“We have—well, Dale has—a pitcher like that.”

Robyn cocked a brow. “He does? Actually, Dale mailed that one to my mama, after he broke hers, that had been handed down from her mama. It’s called Autumn Leaf. You used to get those dishes by savin’ up coupons that came in boxes of Jewel Tea, back during the Depression.”

I studied the orange and gold leaves on the side of the ball-shaped pitcher. “Dale broke yours?”

“He did.” Robyn stabbed a clump of rice so hard, the tines of her fork skidded across the plate with an outraged shriek.

Caroline didn’t speak—or cringe. I darted a glance her way, but her eyes were unfocused. Was she reliving the afternoon? Maybe the best thing I could do for her was to keep Robyn engaged so she didn’t notice something was off with Caroline.

I screwed up my courage and took the plunge. “Okay, I’m dying over here. I wanna know about you and Dale so bad. But, I don’t want to upset anyone, either.”

Robyn’s eyes got the same faraway look. “Guys. They won’t do a gal the favor of bein’ all good or all bad. Dale used to beat people up for makin’ fun of me, because my clothes came from Goodwill. We had a thing, but after Jill moved in next door, couldn’t neither of us take our eyes off her.”

“Old man Martin used to live on Old Cottonmouth Road. Had a garage out back. He raised Dale for the state. Harley was okay, but his wife was a witch. She wouldn’t even spend a cent on second-hand clothes. Was always over at the church, beggin’ for hand-me-downs for him, and you know how tall he is. Always had bare wrists and ankles, poor fella. Kids on the bus always picked on us both—or they tried. Dale was always in trouble for fightin’. I wasn’t far behind.”

I abandoned my effort to eat the Chinese food, but recalled the doughnuts. Sneaking one out of my purse, I pulled off a bite and stuffed it into my mouth, hiding the rest underneath the table, so the child didn’t notice.

“Harley Martin grew up around NASCAR. He built dragsters and the odd race car. Taught Dale everything he knew, until Dale was pure genius under a hood. That old man never gave Dale a dime off any car he built, same as his wife never spent none of that state check on new clothes for him.”

She laid her fork down. “So Dale turned to racin’ for his money. Wasn’t long before Ridenhour snapped him right up. We decided that was our chance to get out of this town. Dale got me and Jill fake IDs. We all three got on that bus, thinkin’ we had the world by the tail.” The shake of Robyn’s head was nearly imperceptible. Only the swing of her hair told me I hadn’t imagined it.

I could drive Caine’s truck through the holes in her story, but didn’t dare ask her to fill in the blanks.

Every bit of life drained from her voice. “But Doris started talkin’ about sponsors and ‘corporate image’. That meant Dale couldn’t have two girlfriends who were both,”—she darted a glance at the child, who twirled her fork in her noodles, but hung on every word—“you know.”

Robyn lifted her fork. “Old witch kept hammerin’ on it. Said Dale’s sponsors and the fans wouldn’t stand for such a disgrace. She meant me. His fans already knew about him and Jill havin’... you know.”

Silence reigned in the tiny kitchen for a few minutes. I chanced another bite of doughnut, hating to set a bad example for Shelby, but reveling in the sweet, yeasty taste, while I waited for Robyn to finish. 

She sighed. “He hurled that pitcher at the wall. Then, he walked out that door and did what everybody does. He did what was best for him.”

“Jonny said he’d teach me to build my own car.” Little Shelby bounced in her chair. Noodles hung from her lips and she wore a big grin.

Robyn made a visible effort to smile, but shook her finger at little Shelby. “If you want your heart broke, fall in love with a racin’ man. They don’t sit still for nobody. They live a nomad’s life. The next race, the next car, the next season’s all in the world they care about.”

The child yawned, as though she understood that Robyn was talking to Caroline more than to her.

Robyn grabbed a paper napkin from the Tupperware stand that held the shakers in the center of the table. Wiping the child’s face, she met my avid gaze.

“Like I told you at Christmas, Dale done right by Caine, and when I asked him to help me out so I could go back to school, he done right by Colt. Looks to me like he’s done right by you, too.”

Robyn stared past my shoulder. Tears sheened her eyes. “One thing I ain’t never got, though. Why does Dale get a pat on the back for doin’ somethin’ single mothers do every damn day? Colt belonged to both of us. Not a damn soul woulda thought twice about Dale droppin’ him off here to go racin’, had things been the other way ‘round. I wanted to go back to school. To try and get what I cheated myself out of by runnin’ off half-wild. But, for that, I’m the root of all evil.”

“Look. Someone needs to go to bed.” Caroline pointed. Little Shelby’s forehead rested on the table. Her curls spilled around the box of half-eaten noodles, but she still clutched the fork in her chubby right hand.

“Poor lamb.” Robyn smiled. “I guess I wore her out, draggin’ her with me to pay bills.” She chuckled. “Trust me, that’s a long road. Reckon she’ll do without a bath tonight.”

The tiny cottage, perfumed with the familiar scent of my youth—heartache and desperation—closed in around me. “I have to get on the road. I have an essay to write and a class I cannot cut tomorrow at eleven. Don’t envy me, but I can hardly wait for the next riveting lecture on the American Hero in Literature.” I crossed my eyes, imitating Caroline, faking a levity I didn’t feel.

“I’ll walk her out, if you’ll put Shelby to bed, Mama?”

Robyn smiled, lifting the child to her shoulder. “I got her. I know you want a minute without me yakkin’ your ears off. Thanks for dinner, Shelby. It was wonderful. Can’t believe you ate next to nothin’.” She made a face and stopped rubbing the child’s back to shake a finger at me. “Doughnuts don’t count as dinner, young lady. Unless you’re... you know. Then, anything you fancy counts as dinner.”

My purse strap slipped from my hand, spilling open when it hit the floor. I knelt to grab the makeup and pens that rolled underneath the table.

“I had that happen to me at work.” Caroline knelt. “Damn pens rolled toward the other women, but natuLowe, the tampons went straight to every man there. I wanted to go through the floor. Can’t believe you don’t have none.” She handed me a pot of lip gloss, two paper-covered straws, and several pens.

Tampons.
When had I swapped my stuff into this purse?
Weeks ago
.
For Ernie’s funeral.

“You okay?” We asked the question at the same time. I hurried to say, “I’m fine. Just worried about you.”

“Sure. It was just a scare. I’m fine.”

We paused on the front porch. Crickets sang their little hearts out. Past the hedge, a light burned over the stove, visible through the parsonage window. A copper kettle occupied one burner. Red gingham trim on the curtains completed the obscenely normal picture.

“Caroline, it’s okay to not be fine. I understand why you wouldn’t want Robyn to know, but you can be yourself with me.”

She sank down in one of the porch rockers, shoving her hands between her knees. I perched on the edge of the matching chair.

“I know you don’t get why I wouldn’t let you call the cops. I mean, that was a real nice speech you made, but I’m already staggerin’ under the weight of words. Yours were pretty, but I can’t feel no weight from ‘em.”

After what Robyn had told me, I was at a bigger loss to understand why Caroline hadn’t wanted to tell the police that Reverend Shalvis had tried to rape her.

She stared across the street at the lighted church steeple, making me wonder if this was how Robyn had been, in her drinking days. “You don’t know what it’s like. This is what Macy’s tryin’ to save you from, Shelby. I used to be ridin’ in the car with Mama, and it felt like there was a contest goin’ on to see who could yell the word ‘slut’ the loudest. Or worse, they’d tell me I was goin’ to Hell for fuckin’ a guy I wasn’t related to any way but in someone’s damn mind.”

“Even now, some still whip their grocery buggy around if they happen to turn down an aisle I’m standin’ in. And every time, it’s like I get hit with another stone. After a while, the stones pile up so high, you can’t see past ‘em no more. No matter how hard I try to kick that wall down, I’m never gonna be no more than those words. Some words just hold power, like a brick holds heat after the sun goes down.”

“Caroline—”

“Let me talk.”

I wanted to run, but forced my spine to the back of the rocker.

“I ain’t gonna give nobody reason to say I seduced that bastard. That I laid
him
low.” She lowered her head. Her hair swung down like a curtain, shutting me out.

“I mean, I couldn’t get out from under those stones to go to college with you. I wanted to. My brain did. My heart did. But, deep down, I was scared to death that I’d just meet a bunch of new people with bigger stones in their hands.”

I ached to shut her up, but bit the inside of my cheek. It was too easy to imagine people like Joelle being rude to Caroline. Was there no place in the world where Caroline could feel safe and loved?

“I ain’t sure, to tell the truth, if gettin’ pregnant with Shelby was an accident or not, but it was a relief. Because then, I was exactly what they said I’d turn out to be. Just a white trash single mother who didn’t even know for sure who’d knocked her up.”

The bitter taste of my blood soaked my tongue for the second time today. The pain in her voice... if that pain was anything near the weight of a single stone, I marveled that she hadn’t killed herself.

My brain did one of those fucking sideways leaps and suddenly, I saw the bland little room at the funeral home down the street from the hotel, where I’d taken Francine for a private viewing of Ernie, but when I peered into the casket, the wax-like figure inside wasn’t Ernie. Caroline lay there instead, with all the life drained out of her. Her skin glowed like alabaster, but the bruises from all those stones left angry shadows that writhed under the lamplight.