Sadie's Mountain (13 page)

We used to do this when we were kids. I’d be at his house or he at mine and we’d be doing completely different things—like I’d be working on some math homework and he’d be playing his harmonica or reading those science-type books. We just liked being in the same room together. No one had to impress or entertain the other. We could just be.

 I like this—I like him. Not just the him from before, this him, now. I start to feel warm all over as I look at him. He’s so beautiful. I love how he shakes his fork up and down twice each time before he puts food in his mouth to make sure nothing drops. It’s so cute, and endearing. Some things never change. I wonder why he looks so far away in thought. And that grin?

“What are you thinking about?”

“You really want to know?”

“I think so.”

“I’m thinking about that kiss,” he says, and my tummy clenches. I blush at his mischievous smile.

“Well, I was thinking about how we used to just hang out sometimes not talking. How we could always be ourselves with each other.” He nods his head yes as he takes a bite of bread.

“Both of us are thinking about the same thing, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Bout all the reasons we are so good together.”

“I think you’re breaking a rule,” I admonish, but I grin and he relaxes.

Before I know it, my plate is nearly licked clean. I look at his and his looks the mirror image of mine. “Excuse me,” he says and scoots back and takes the ticket to the counter.

While he’s paying the bill and chatting with Liz at the register, I actually take the bread and swipe it across the plate so I can enjoy the last little drop of that delectable sauce.

 “Thank you,” I say when he comes back. 

“The pleasure was mine, Miss Sparks.” The truth is, I think he really means it—selfless as he is with me.

“We’d better go. I don’t want to be late. I have a small part to play as one of the presenters. Are you ready?” 

“One of the presenters?” I ask as he pulls my chair out for me.

“Yep.”

“Just what do you do, Mr. Dillon Mcgraw?”

“To put it simply, I’m an algae scientist,” he says, as he opens the door for me.

An algae scientist? What the hell is that? And what does algae have to do with mountaintop coal mining?

I ponder that all the way to the car.

“Can I ask you something?” Dillon asks once we’re back on the road.

“Depends,” I say, looking up at his clenched jaw.

“Okay. It can wait.”

Oh, it was one of those personal questions he’s been asking all day.

He turns on the stereo and I wonder if he’s planning on asking me the question with a song since that’s not forbidden in my friend rules.

A lovely, slow guitar begins to echo within the car. It’s Adele again. His iPod says
Don’t you remember
. I look up at him. His eyes never leave the road. His expression is impassive—slightly distressed, maybe.

“Don’t you like any other musicians?” I tease.

“She shares my angst—in this album, especially.” He looks at me briefly, so sad, so confused.

Adele sings about being left abruptly. I find myself having a conversation with the song—with Dillon.
I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I’m so sorry I made you sad. Of course, I remember. I’ve never forgotten you.
It’s building and building.

You did nothing wrong. I remember—everything. I do. I do love you. The missing piece, why we cannot be together cannot bring me back to you. Her voice gets louder, and he starts to sing along.
Yes, of course I remember why I loved, love you.
That’s what the song is asking. I’m pinned to the seat. This hurts. The hole in my chest pinches from the inside out. Knowing how confused he is about why we can’t be together the way he wants, especially after today.

I’ve given him so many mixed signals. I’ve climbed onto his lap. I’ve kissed him. My body has betrayed me so many times. After that kiss today there’s no doubt that we have a chemistry I’ve never experienced—not since I was fourteen.

We’re drawn together like perfectly matched atoms. For that brief moment, his lips made me forget all of my fears, my hang ups. This is the first time in my adult life that I’ve had a glimmer of hope for a full, and yes, fulfilling life with a man. This is what they call cohesion. The Law of Attraction in full swing.

With him life would have been perfect—in a perfect world, not the world we live in. It would have been untainted and real. I wouldn’t even have to think. It would be as easy as breathing pure, clean air into my lungs on a warm evening.

But there’s more—always more. How do I explain the aspect of danger to him? How do I show him that I’m protecting him, too, without telling him and getting him hurt? This is such a shadow over my life—a heavy burden. These are my thoughts as I listen to his feelings played out through another’s soulful—mournful voice. This is what I need to say as I watch the trees until they become blurs...

I’m not sure how long we’ve been driving. I must have dozed off in the car. He’s holding my hand. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but his warm hand in mine feels just right. The car is filled with his scent. It’s warm in here. Perfect. I don’t want to move.

“Wine always makes me sleepy,” I say, as I open my creaky eyes. He chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“You talk in your sleep.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t know that. Last time we slept together I think you were five and I was eight,” he says.

“What’d I say?”

“You mumbled, mostly,” he says, but smiles too wide to be telling me everything.

“What else did I say,” I demand, my tone impatient.

“Ah, we’re here,” he says, as he looks for a parking space. The dimly lit parking lot is packed. He’s not going to tell me what I said. What was I thinking about when I fell asleep? I’ll worry about that later. I’m looking for a police car. Scanning for a demon behind the wheel.

“Who are you expecting to be here?” I ask, obviously nervous.

“Well, everyone who cares about Gauley Mountain is probably going to be here and everyone that wants to blow the top off the mountain, too.”

As I get out of the car I feel unsafe like I want to hide under something so I grab Dillon’s arm as I look around like deer-meat in an open field. He stops and tucks my hand into his arm like men and women used to do in times gone by. “Don’t be nervous,” he says. “I’ll be right here.”

Who will?
He’s going to be here. My own private boogie-man. I’ve had nightmares about him for almost half my life and it feels like I’m about to walk into one right now.

Chapter Eleven—The Hell Mouth

Walking up to the door of the auditorium tucked under Dillon’s arm like a baby bird, I think about a guest professor who gave a lecture in Dr. Sander’s Women’s Lit course my third year at Berkley. He was talking about the Hell Mouth—an image that became popular in old Europe during the Anglo-Saxon time.

 From a sinner’s point of view, the hell mouth was a monster that would devour one’s body as they entered.
“Christians believe that their bodies will rise again during the coming of Christ. Only then will they be granted entrance to heaven.”
I’d heard this many times. But, as the guest professor explained, if the person went into the hell mouth there would be no body to rise when Christ came back for them.

It was an excellent fear tactic. If you aren’t good and do as you’re told, your body will be devoured and you will never reach eternity. The idea of the lack of anything in the afterlife is almost worse than the idea of burning in hell for all eternity, which is what I’d been taught.

Something comparable to the hell mouth was promised to me, I realize. I’m not allowed to have a relationship with Dillon or my body, in pieces—no less, is promised to be buried in Donnie’s yard. All these years, the image of me in pieces, in a location unknown to anyone, always made me feel vacant, desolate, and embittered, just as, I’m sure, the Christians in old Europe felt when they were threatened similarly.

Showing up with him means I’m breaking that rule and there’s nothing I can do about it now.

I shudder as I cross the threshold of this brick building with the too large AMS on the façade. The auditorium smells of bouncy balls, old rubber shoes, and cheap coffee. It’s like being in a dream standing here inside the busy room. Dillon looks down at me as if he’s unsure of what I’m thinking. I know he feels me trembling next to him.

“Are you okay?” I nod yes, but I’m not really breathing.

“I’m just nervous.”

“Why, baby?” He tips up my chin to examine my eyes. It’s always been his way of trying to read me. I purse my lips so they won’t tremble.

“I’m not good with crowds,” I lie. He doesn’t believe me. I can see his disbelief as he scans the crowd inside the room with us. He’s seen my blogs; fans, readers, or parents and children boxing me in behind a table during a signing, or surrounding me during a book reading. “Is there someone here you don’t want to see?”

“No,” I say, unconvincingly. I know what he’s asking me is:
“Is your rapist here?”

I’m afraid to look around but when I do, that’s when I see him. The embodiment of all my ills is standing near the podium ready to make an announcement. He looks different—thinner, cleaner, more authoritative in his uniform. His dark hair, no longer messy and untamed, is combed backward like a black slide. His face is more rugged, but if he wasn’t a monster underneath, I would say he’s bad-boy attractive—
like Ted Bundy was
. His arms are stout, muscular and his stomach is now flat and narrow in comparison to his heavy broad shoulders. He hasn’t seen me yet. He’s looking down at something on the podium.

“Sadie, do you want to go say hi?” Dillon says, as I stare at his brother.

“No,” I say, almost a whisper. “Don’t you have to go get ready?” I ask, because I just want to be away from him before Donnie sees us and realizes we’re together.

“They already have my PowerPoint. That’s what I was doing today when I left.” He looks confounded. I’m looking around, eyes darting all over the place for somewhere to hide.

Okay. He’s not going to let me hide somewhere in the back row.

I move a bit to position him between Donnie and me thinking that he can block me from view. “I don’t want anyone to see me.” I lean over and put my hands on my knees. “I’m having a panic attack.” That’s true. I am.

“Do you need me to take you home?” he says, leaning down and taking me under his arm again.

“Yeah, I think this was a mistake.” Just as I say that, I bristle. I feel him before I see him. Donnie stands next to Dillon leering over me as if I’ve just broken the law—his law.

“Dillon, what’cha got here?” Donnie says—his voice like poison wrapped in a sugar coating. I have no idea what is holding me together at this moment. I guess it’s fear. I know that if I’m not calm, Dillon will notice my reaction and he might piece it together.

“Donnie, you surely recognize our old neighbor, Sadie,” Dillon says, proudly letting go of me to shake his brother’s hand. I’m dizzy and put my arms out slightly to gain my equilibrium.

“Of course. How could I ever forget Sadie?” Donnie says, mockingly. I’m so conscious of how I look right now, trying to keep a straight face, i.e. not looking like I’m being raped all over again. “Come ‘ere, girl, and give your old friend a hug,” he says, reaching his bear paws toward me. He smells of too strong, almost sour, cologne. I gasp and nearly trip over myself to get to Dillon.

Protect me, please.

“Donnie,” Dillon says, putting his arm in front of me protectively, “Sadie doesn’t really like to be touched.”

“Sure does look like yur touchin’ her to me,” he says, his tone stern—jealous.

“I think the difference is, she was my best friend all our lives. She’s a little more comfortable with me. Just back off,” Dillon says. He looks shocked.

“You know, ‘Ol Len over at the Gravity Tunnel gave me a call today,” he says, widening his stance and wrapping his chest in a fist clenched, crossed-arm sweater.  “Said you had some woman pushed against the wall in a compromising position—if he hadn’t come in when he did, he said, you two would a’ been naked in a minute or so. Sound familiar?”