“My heavens, no!’’ A tiny smile creased her mouth. “Wouldn’t I be a sight in a leotard?’’
Delilah spread her anvil-sized hands, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. “No, I never needed to exercise. I’ve always been strong. My father was German and my mother Norwegian. They were both from hardy, peasant stock. All my brothers and sisters were big, too. But I was the biggest. My father used to call me Schweinchen, which means piglet in German. He meant it as an endearment.’’
“That’s a nice memory,’’ Mama said.
“Not really. The kids at school took my father’s nickname for me and turned it into ‘pig fart.’’’
I pictured a heavy little girl in glasses, ridiculed and teased. Sympathy for Delilah was beginning to come easier.
But then I looked again at those big hands, dwarfing the butterfly mug as if it were a doll’s teacup. What kind of damage could they do? Jim Albert was dead, tossed like a sack of garbage into Mama’s trunk. First Emma Jean vanished. And now Delilah’s husband had, too. Several of those unraveling strands seemed to start with the woman sitting across the table from Mama and me.
“Emma Jean called me the night she disappeared,’’ I said, watching carefully for Delilah’s reaction. “She knew who Jim was cheating with. She told me she was going to confront the other woman. So, you’re saying the confrontation never happened?’’
Delilah continued to stare at the table. My question hung in the air. Finally, she looked up with narrowed eyes. “That’s just what I’m saying.’’ She filed the sharp edge from her voice. “Mace, I don’t know who Emma Jean believed was the other woman. Maybe there was more than one. I do know I cheated with her boyfriend. I asked God and my husband to forgive me. I was going to ask her, too, even though I was terrified after seeing her waving that tire iron.’’
“You’ve just been telling us how strong you are. Why would you be scared?’’ I said.
“Emma Jean’s nearly as big as I am. She’s ten years younger. If there was ever going to be a confrontation, I don’t know that I’d come out ahead.’’
I looked over at Mama. She was munching on her fourth pecan cookie, looking thoughtful.
“Why’d you do it, Delilah?’’ she finally said.
I had no idea what she was talking about, and I’m used to deciphering Mama Code. Delilah’s eyebrows were so tightly knit she looked like she was trying to do higher math.
Mama clarified. “I mean, why’d you cheat on your husband in the first place?’’
Delilah sighed. Was it sadness? Or was it relief Mama was only asking about sex?
“I only did it once, you know?’’ She touched the tight, beauty-shop waves in her hair. They sprang back. “I’d gone to the drive-thru to pick up some sodas for the youth group’s pizza night. Jim was there. He complimented me; told me how nice I looked in blue flowers. I looked like a pretty flower myself, he told me.’’
If Delilah had been wearing the same floral dress we’d seen her in at church, Jim Albert had been a liar as well as a weasel.
“I couldn’t remember when a man last acted with me that way. I liked it. It made me feel young again.’’ She lifted her eyes to us. I thought I saw the passage of sad and lonely years reflected there. “You may not know it by the way Bob acts in public, but I’ve had to put up with a lot from my husband. Bob’s a serial cheater.’’
I shot a quick glance at Mama. Both of us remembered the creepy scenes with Pastor Bob in his office and at Hair Today.
“It’s humiliating.’’ Delilah dabbed at her eyes with Mama’s handkerchief.
I was back to feeling sorry for her.
“It got so bad at our last church, the board forced Bob out. We prayed and prayed about it. He begged me to forgive him. Again. Things were good for a while, but then I saw the signs he was starting to slip. Again. And then, one night, Bob never came home at all. The next day, I met Jim Albert for the first time at the Booze ‘n’ Breeze.’’
“You’d had all you could take.’’ Mama patted Delilah’s hand, perhaps thinking of all those nights she waited to hear the key turn in the lock with Husband Number 2.
“That’s right, Rosalee. And when Jim Albert started flirting, I was ripe. I still didn’t know who Bob was playing around with, but I was certain he was playing around. Again. A couple of days later, I went back to the drive-thru, and there was Jim. I didn’t have the first feeling for him. A man with a diamond pinky ring, can you imagine?’’
She was married to a man with whitened teeth and clear-polished fingernails. Myself, I didn’t see how a pinky ring was that much worse.
“He told me he had some special cartons of soda at discount prices in the back. I knew full well that was malarkey. But I didn’t care. He left this girl with funny braids in charge.’’
I flashed on Linda-Ann, the slacker clerk.
“We went to his office and he locked the door.’’ Delilah traced the rim of her butterfly cup. “We did it right there, on a stained couch of brown-and-white plaid that smelled like stale cigarettes. I remember looking at a bare lightbulb on the ceiling. A Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders poster hung on the wall. The poster was crooked, and the beige paint was peeling.’’
Tears dropped as dark spots on the front of Delilah’s pink housedress.
“I didn’t feel a thing.’’ She hid her face in the lacy handkerchief.
Mama stroked her hair. “Let it all out, honey.’’
Something had been niggling at me throughout Delilah’s confession. I thought and thought. Her sobs slowed to whimpers. Finally, it came to me.
“Ms. Dixon, did you say you asked your husband to forgive you?’’
She lifted her face from the handkerchief. “Oh, yes. I got down on my knees and begged. But Bob was furious. Angrier than I’ve ever seen him. I was actually frightened he’d hurt me. And I never felt that way about him or any other man.’’
“He must have gotten over it,’’ Mama said. “He seemed sweeter than strawberry pie at the beauty parlor.’’
Delilah blew her nose. Mama’s hankie wasn’t up to the challenge. I tore two squares from the paper towel roll and handed them over.
She spoke from behind a wad of towel. Her voice was bitter. “Oh, Bob’s a very good actor. He’s had a lot of practice, pretending he isn’t cheating.’’
“So he was angry you’d been with Jim Albert?’’ I asked.
She nodded, her eyes wide. “When he stormed out of the house that night, he was in an absolute rage.’’
“Delilah, honey?’’ Mama and I exchanged a look. “Did Pastor Bob own a gun?’’