Sadie's Mountain (23 page)

“I made us some chicken soup,” she says. As Dillon starts to say something on my behalf, I look him in the eye and I shake my head. My lips are tight. I’ll eat anything she gives me. I won’t be able to stand hurting her feelings.

“That sounds perfect,” I say, and fight back the nervous tears I feel for her that want to come out like fountains.

“When’s Donnie supposed to be home?” Dillon asks, pulling out the chair for me at the dark wood table.

“Any minute now,” she says.

I look at the table. It pulls on a string tied to a memory in my brain. This is the same one we used to do our homework on together. He taught me fractions at this table. I feel like one, too. Not quite a whole. My chin trembles.

“Sadie Jane,” yelps a voice from the past that I know so well. Dillon’s mom, Dot, pulls me out of the chair and into her arms. “You look so purty, honey,” she says, playing with my hair.
That’s it.
I start to cry and she holds me to her too large chest. “What’s a’ matter?” she asks.

“I’ve just missed out on so much while I’ve been gone,” I say, looking at the grey in her hair, realizing the skin on her face makes her look tired in her older age.

“Well, yer home now, and you don’t have to go nowhere, do ya?” she says, with a gleam in her eyes, her mouth folding up in a kind expression.

“No, I don’t,” I say as Renae hands me a tissue.
God, she’s sweet
.

“Are you gonna finally marry this poor boy, put ‘im out a’ his misery and give me some grandyoungins?” she says, with a chuckle. “Lord knows, he’s been a’ waitin’ on ya. Cain’t no body tell him nothin’,” she says. That reminds me, when is my period due? I think next week but I’ll need to check my calendar. How does that pregnancy thing work?

“What happened to yer face?” Dot asks Dillon.

“I had to fight off the guy,” Dillon explains.

“Lordy, son,” she says to Dillon. “He’d fight off a whole heap ‘a men fer ya,” she says to me.

When I look at Dillon, he’s beaming, glowing happiness from his pores. I want to go to him. I want him to hold me. I want to promise my life to him. I do want to marry him. But I have to do this first.

Another little boy comes out from under the table. He’s cute, about eight years old and he’s holding some kind of plastic superhero in his hand. “Daddy’s home!” he announces, and my heart stops for a whole two beats before it starts up again.

I hear the front door open, and his boots tromping through the entryway before he walks into the kitchen wearing his uniform, with a gun on his belt. His nose is bandaged, and he looks at me with a surprised contempt I haven’t seen before. This is worse than I thought.

“What are you doing here?” he questions Dillon.

“I’m sorry,” Renae says. She’s cowering over by the refrigerator. “I tried to tell you this mornin’ but you was in such a hurry to get out a’ here.”

“We had a break-in at the Sparks’ house last night, Donnie.”

“I know that,” Donnie says.
Yeah, I’m sure he does
. He looks shaken and starts to sit down at the head of the table. Before he can make it all the way down, Renae is placing a hot bowl of soup under his nose. He doesn’t even say thank you. He’s got her trained well.

“Why didn’t you call me back last night? And what happened to your nose?” Dillon asks, raising his voice.

“My two boys look like they been beat,” says Dot.

Yeah, by each other.

“I was on a call. Old Man Wilson was drunk again, beating on his wife. He got me pretty good,” he says, touching his bandaged nose. If I hadn’t been there last night I would have believed his lie, too. Plus, Old Man Wilson has been beating his wife since we were kids. It’s a likely story.

“So, what are you doing about this?” Dillon asks.

“Let me eat my food, kid,” he says, taking a big spoonful into his mouth. I wish I could melt into the wall. But I have a job to do here.

“Why don’t y’all serve yourselves,” Renae invites. I start to get up but Dillon leans over to me, saying, “I’ll get it for you, baby.” As he pulls away from me, I see Donnie’s expression. His eyes are too wide; his top lip is twitching. He’s squeezing the handle of his spoon so tight, I bet he’s losing circulation in his fingers.

“Thank you, love,” I announce to Dillon as I glare at Donnie and clench my jaw so tight it hurts. I lean back in the chair like a boss, and cross my ankle over my knee as if to say,
I’m not scared of you.
He gets my vibe and spoons a too large portion of the thick soup in his mouth. Some drips down his chin and, never taking is shaking eyes away from mine, wipes it with the sleeve of his dark blue shirt.

“How’s yer Momma?” Renae chirps from the kitchen. She’s filling little bowls of soup for the kids.

“She’s doing as well as possible,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “But she’s very sick.”

“How long are ya stayin’, honey?” Dot asks, as Dillon places the hot soup in front of me on the table.

“Thank you,” I say to Dillon. “I’m not leaving, Dot. Even after the wake,” I say, looking down, trying to push away the empty feeling of not having my momma alive. “Dillon’s asked me to move into the Page-Vawter house with him.” I refuse to look at Donnie. I feel anger emanating from his spot at the table. My breathing has taken a new pace. I’m shaking so I don’t want to pick up my spoon.

“Oh, honey!” Dot says. “I’m so glad. This boy’s been a’ pining for ya.”

Donnie shifts in his seat, but I refuse to look at him. Dillon runs his hand along my thigh under the table. It tickles, and I smile at him, taking my hand and placing it on his. He wraps his hand around the curve of my inner thigh.

 “I’m going to have my stuff sent over in a week or two.” Donnie drops his spoon on the table. I wince, and so does Renae, as the sound echoes through my bones like a cold wind.

“You didn’t tell me that!” Dillon says, beaming from ear to ear.

“Isn’t that what you want?” I whisper.

“Of course,” he says, grasping my thigh. I look down at the thick soup. I haven’t had meat in almost ten years. My stomach feels as empty as an air bubble so I find a nice sized carrot and spoon that into my mouth. It tastes like chicken, but I’m not going to say a thing to Renae. I can’t bear to hurt her feelings. She’s got the two boys eating their soup, and finally sits down silently, her back hunched over and takes a bite.

“I want some more,” Donnie says, hastily pushing his bowl toward her on the table. She jumps up and fills his bowl as fast as she can. I glare at Donnie. I hate him. Hate, in fact, is not strong enough of a word to match the feelings I have for him.

As I sit here, chewing the carrots and potatoes that taste like chicken feathers floating in a strong breeze, I try to think of another word for hate. Even words like abhorrence and disgust, don’t fully comprise my revulsion of him. There’s not a single synonym that seems strong enough for how much I loathe this man. I want him to die a painful, slow death. I can just see my daddy’s bullets piercing through the evil flesh that he pressed up against me over ten years ago. I can imagine the confused look on his face when he realizes I’ve killed him.

“Sadie?” My name sounds like it’s being said in a tunnel. I shake my head.
Who said that?
Dillon touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, confused.

“Donnie’s ready to talk to you,” he says, pressing his lips together. I look around and everyone is done eating. The two boys aren’t even at the table anymore. Dot is helping Renae at the kitchen sink.
How long have I been fantasizing about retribution?

“Let’s go out to the porch,” Donnie bellows.

“Okay,” I say, as my heart falls to my stomach. I stand up like a spring, the chair protesting against the wood under my feet. I catch my balance and bend down to kiss Dillon.
This is for you, too
, I think, as I allow my legs to take me somewhere private with the man who tried to kill me last night.

Outside, the crisp air ruffles my hair. From here I can see the rickety shed with its peaked roof. It looks smaller than I remember. It sits there like a disgrace. How opposite my experience with Dillon last night was in comparison to what happened to me in there. I can imagine what it would feel like to rip the wood apart with my bare hands. My compulsion feels so real, I can almost feel the splinters prickling my hands.

As I lean up against the railing, the same one I’d accidentally tipped Dillon’s dog Mitty off when I was a kid, I think it sure is a long way down. I’m surprised he lived through it. As the back door shuts behind me, I spin around and start to talk before he can. I have the upper hand this time.

“What the hell was that last night?”

“What? You think you can bring
him
home with you and nothin’s gonna happen?” he says, taking too many steps toward me.

“How long were you watching us?”

“Long enough to know he ain’t no man,” he says, moving even closer to me. I hold my breath. His natural scent has always been a deterrent—plus, it reminds me of the past, the shed, and what he did to me. I bristle as he leans up against the railing, boxing me in. His proximity makes me feel miniscule, like a mouse in a trap.

I force myself to speak. “He’s more man than you’ll ever be. He doesn’t need a knife to sleep with me.”

“That’s all he knows how ‘ta do, sleep,” he says, with a deep mocking laugh.

“He didn’t have to cut my throat to make me his,” I say, defiantly, my voice deep.

“Watch yer mouth, bitch.”

The tone in his voice turns a switch in me. I stand taller, moving my elbows out to make a reasonable space between us. “Let me make something very clear,” I declare, heaving words at him as though they are toxic. “What happened last night is never going to happen again. Do you understand?” I say, slowly, methodically.
Damn that felt good
.

“Listen up,” he says, coming even closer to me, making himself taller, more angular. “I’ll say it slower this time so ya’ understand what I mean.” I lean back and cross my arms. “You ain’t allowed to see him no more. You definitely ain’t movin’ in with
him
, neither.”

“What if I don’t care what you say?”

“If you don’t do as yer told, next time you won’t be so lucky,” he says, putting his hand on his gun holster and smiling to cover up the demon hiding behind his teeth.

“That’s just it. There won’t be a next time, Donnie. Things have changed and I think you should know just how much.” I reach into my purse, pull the phone out and hold it between my hands like a relic of my faith. “Before you even think about trying to take my phone, just know that you’re going to want me to have it. Without communication from me to someone back home in California, the happy little life you have here is over.”

He swallows hard and takes a step back. Finally, he looks scared. This feels amazing.

“Before I share my proof, just know that what I have here is already completely safe. I’ve recreated it so that everyone in the world will be able to hear it in a matter of minutes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he says, scraping at his stubbly chin with his fingernails. He looks completely confounded.

“I think it’s better to just let you hear.” I push the play button. His voice reverberates in the air around us like a landslide.

“Dillon can’t stop me, Sadie. Besides, that wadn’t the deal...I ain’t sharin’ you with him. I won’t, ever again. Do you have any idea the things I done to men during this war? I could take care of it so he’s in extreme pain for the last moments a’ his life and nobody’s gonna ever find his body. Places nobody goes to up in the mountain. Perfect place to put somebody you don’t want around—somebody who’d be gettin’ in the way.”

“So, you’d kill your own brother.”

“In a heartbeat. I told you, I ain’t sharin’ you.”

I push stop. His nostrils flare, his jaw clenches, and he stands there like he’s a bomb ready to explode. He grunts and paces, pushes his fist into his palm like he’s smashing my face instead. I need to remind myself to breath. I exhale and brace myself with the railing, push my back into it until it hurts.

Aunt Lotty had a boyfriend for a while who was a loan officer. He told me once that when you propose a deal to someone you state the expectations and terms and then stop talking. The first one to speak is the loser. I’ve stated my deal and I’m not talking first.

I stand here for minutes in complete silence as he paces back and forth like a wild lion who knows the taste of blood, knows what it feels like to hunt, but can’t anymore because it’s newly locked behind a chain link fence. I’m sure he’s trying to think of a way to kill me right now. Maybe, just maybe, he realizes he lost. He can’t hurt me or he’ll be ruined. He can’t even piss me off because I’ll post the recording and he’ll lose everything. He’ll go to prison. He did this all to himself—dug the hole and now he has to lie in it.

“So what yer sayin’,” he says.
Ha! He spoke first
. “Is you don’t want nothin’ to keep that recording private ‘cept for me agreeing to cancel our original agreement,” he says, as if I might be recording him again.