“My bed is always open. To you, at least.”
“How reassuring. Actually, I could use a kiss right now. And another kiss. And then maybe a-”
“Yes, darlin’, I get the picture. I’ll come over after work. How about I have one of the cooks here fix up a big fried chicken dinner, and I’ll bring it over. We won’t have to cook and the Foradorys won’t have to face going out.”
“Your application for sainthood is stamped. Thanks.”
“Jordy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d never hit you.”
“Well, only once.”
We said our goodbyes and I hung up. Thank you, God, for giving me a Candace and not a Cayla.
Next I called Sister. She was in Junebug’s room and told me he was continuing to improve. He’d felt good enough to argue with a doctor today.
“He nearly had company in the hospital. I caught Cayla Foradory beating the tar out of Davis this afternoon.”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line. “My Lord.”
“Yes, Davis and Bradley will be staying with us for a while. She’d taken to hitting Bradley, too.”
“What?” Sister gasped. “But Davis said-”
“I know what he said. And you and I are going to have a little chat about when you choose to keep your mouth shut, Sister. And I don’t want a single word of complaint that they’re staying here.”
I could hear her give a long sigh. “You won’t. I’m glad he’s away from that crazy woman. Tell ’em to make themselves comfortable. And if that Cayla even looks crosseyed at me, I’m gonna punch her into next week.”
I said a terse goodbye and dialed Steven Teague’s office. His receptionist answered, perky and sharp.
“Mr. Teague, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s gone for the day. May I take a message?”
“This is kind of an emergency, ma’am. I’m Jordan Poteet. It concerns one of his patients.”
“I can have him return your call,” she said primly.
“Fine. He can reach me at home. Tell him it involves Davis Foradory.”
She repeated the message and, wishing me a good afternoon, hung up. I went back to the Foradory house to collect clothes for Davis and Bradley. I took Davis’s keys. Thankfully, Cayla was nowhere about. I quickly packed a suitcase for each of them, threw in a worn-looking teddy bear for Bradley, and came home.
After putting their suitcases in their rooms, I took a nap. Late in the afternoon, I went back down to the kitchen to fix myself a pimento-cheese sandwich, to tide me over till Candace came home with dinner. Scott Kinnard had come over to visit and the boys were up in Mark’s room. Davis slept in druggy oblivion, and Clo sat chatting with Mama, who apparency thought Clo was a newly made Mend and was telling her about her two delightful children, Arlene and Jordan. Clo smiled wistfully at me.
“Anne and I are having a nice chat. You want to join us?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll-”
“Hello,” Mama said brightly. “Have we met?”
I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to be reminded of the trauma in my own family after seeing the Foradorys fall apart. I excused myself to the porch with my plate. I like a little solitude now and then, and with this house busting at the seams, I wasn’t likely to get much privacy in the next several days. I sat down to enjoy my lunch and allow myself some quiet time.
The sky, indecisive for the past few days, finally offered dryness. The sun was edging below the horizon and the air felt brisk and cool. The clouds had scudded toward Austin, pushing in from the Gulf and finally shoving past Mirabeau. I sat on the chair and thought about poor Davis. He’d been through hell. And Clevey had been one of the devils, poking him with a hot trident. I felt deeply disappointed in Clevey. Now I had the proof of what he’d been up to. Victimizing a childhood pal for his own selfish reasons. He’d shown himself to be a blackmailer, just like Scott had suggested.
I chewed. But what did Davis’s troubles have to do with Trey? Blackmail over Davis’s beatings couldn’t have been what Clevey was coaxing Trey to get involved in. Why share the profits? And was Davis the “gravy train” that Clevey alluded to? My mind went back to what Nola told me. Trey and Hart talking. Trey asking if anyone else knew their secret. Hart saying Steven knew.
Just how did Steven Teague fit into this town? He’d worked here once. He’d left suddenly. He’d returned twenty years later, not exactly encouraging people to prod their memories and remember his brief residence.
He’d lived here, and Rennie Clifton had died, carrying a lover’s baby. He’d come back, and Clevey Shivers and Trey Slocum died.
It was time to confront Hart. Assuming Nola was truthful, he’d known why Trey left and lied. He’d apparently let Steven in on the secret. If I stayed here, I’d be nothing but a nursemaid to Davis. He needed time alone, and I needed to take action, to find closure for the giant rip my life had become.
I finished my sandwich and went back into the living room. Mark was hanging up the phone. Scott Kinnard and Bradley sat at the table, sipping Cokes and munching chips. Bradley didn’t look at me.
“Don’t ruin your dinners,” I muttered automatically. The chomping of chips continued.
“Hey, Jordy,” Scott greeted me softly. “Mom said she came over and made up with you today.”
“She did, Scott, she did.” I could see some of Nola’s strength in his face. “I think I understand your mom a little better now.”
“We moved this afternoon.” He didn’t look at me. “Out of Hart’s place. We’re renting a little apartment over off Bluebonnet Street.”
I knew the apartments-they were small and unkempt. “Well, I hope that everything will work out.”
“Me, too, I’d like to stay here,” Scott said. “We’re gonna see about getting me enrolled in the school. I’ll be in Mark’s class.” He gave a satisfied smile.
Mark spoke up. “That was Hart on the phone. He said we might be able to go riding later, if we wanted to come out and visit him.”
I glanced at Bradley. “We’ll see, Mark. I don’t know if Bradley’s up to horse riding.” Bradley didn’t acknowledge my reference to him. He seemed mesmerized by the ice cubes in his glass, surrounded by fizzing soda.
“Thought it might get his mind off stuff,” Mark said, shrugging. Scott looked at Mark and nodded.
The boys suddenly made my throat catch. Bradley looking like a younger Davis, Mark the image of Trey, and while Scott didn’t look like any of my boyhood confederates, he had the aching for acceptance that reminded me of Ed. I wondered if they’d stay friends for years, if they’d watch each other grow and change and leave Mirabeau. I hoped if they kept the bonds of friendship strong that they would never have to be tested the way my friends and I had been tested these past dark days.
“So Hart’s at his house?” I said. “Good. I need to pay him a visit.” I bade the boys farewell and headed out toward the horse ranch. Dusk was here, and a chill breeze made the damp air smell dank as a dungeon. I barreled along the road toward the Quadlander farm, ready to talk truth with Hart and find out why Trey’d felt compelled to leave all those years ago.
19
If it hadn’t been for the flat tire, I would have just zoomed up to the Quadlander place. And things would have been different, perhaps. Truth would have hidden for a while longer, and I don’t like to think about what might’ve happened. It might have been worse than what did happen.
Trey once told me, long, long ago, that you had to stare death in the face to become a man. That autumn night, I stared too long.
The tire blew, a galumphing, popping sound, about a quarter mile from the gate that marked Hart Quadlander’s property. I pulled over to the side, cussing a blue streak (that’s allowed when Candace isn’t around). The tire had picked up a nail and, being old and somewhat bald, had given quick surrender. I popped open the back of my Blazer and pulled up the carpet, staring at the flat spare.
Nothing to do for it; I slammed the door and started the hike up to Hart’s horse farm. I opened the gate that blocked the road up to his property and closed it behind me, looping the wire back over the post to hold the gate in place. I was careful to secure it; I had to help Trey chase a horse down once that’d bolted past the gate and I wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.