Round Rock - Michelle Huneven [62]
IT WAS still mostly dark when Lewis brought coffee outside to her. She raised up on one elbow, took the mug. The coffee smelled rich but was too hot to drink. She could hear a distant train, although she knew of no tracks anywhere in the valley. In the morning chill, she caught a first whiff of autumn.
“Hey,” said Lewis. “Did I tell you I’m staying on at Round Rock through the end of the year?”
“You are?”
“Yeah. I’ve got some papers I need to finish, but I can do that here. And if I keep squirreling away the dough, I won’t need a loan for the winter quarter.”
“Oh, good for you,” she said absently. Only later, as she processed insurance claims at the union hall, did she wonder if he maybe was staying on because of her. Uh-oh. It was like having a romance at summer camp and then being told you have to stay through Christmas. What was acceptable in the short run—unheated cabins, primitive plumbing, a lover with countless quirks—became a jail sentence.
He had yet to take her to a movie, to spend the whole day with her or even two nights in a row in her bed. Since Joe had come, she hadn’t even been invited to dinner at Red’s. Everything was on his terms. If they were going to keep seeing each other, Libby decided, there would have to be some big changes.
LIBBY had a tough week at the union hall, what with the end of the quarter, and everyone rushing to get accounts balanced. She worked late four nights in a row. Coming home on Thursday, hungry and exhausted, she lowered two slices of bread into the toaster and the lights went out.
This had happened once before, and Stockton had taken care of it. She remembered where the fuse box was and found two scorched fuses but didn’t know if she should touch them. She phoned Billie and got her machine. There was no way to call Lewis; he didn’t have a phone at the Mills. She lit candles and got ready for bed, prepared to leave home repairs for the morning, then remembered all the catfish in the freezer.
“Red?” she said. “You’re not asleep or anything?”
“No. Joe and I are sitting here with the eggs, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh, God, I haven’t been over to hold ’em for a while.”
“That’s okay. Joe’s taking up the slack. I have to fight him for them. Everything okay?”
She explained her situation.
“I’ll be right over,” he said.
“Oh, no. Not for a blown fuse,” she said. “Can’t you just tell me what to do?”
“I can try.” He instructed her to throw the breaker and pull the fuses, and stayed on the phone until she returned.
“Okay,” she said. “I got ’em.”
“We can get your lights back on,” he said. “But first you have to promise me one thing.”
“Depends.”
A chuckle. “Promise you’ll buy new fuses first thing tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” she said.
He told her to wrap the offending fuses in aluminum foil and again stayed on the line while she went back outside, inserted the silvery cylinders into their clamps, and threw the breaker. The trailer’s windows glowed yellow; a nimbus of bugs formed instantly around the porch light. The air conditioner rumbled back to life. Libby ran back to the telephone. “Let there be light,” she said.
She pulled the bread out of the toaster and decided to make herself a drink instead. She found a few inches of scotch Billie had brought over last spring, mixed it with Diet 7-Up, and added a wedge of fresh lemon. Why had she stayed in this stupid valley?
Headlights lanced the windows and climbed the wall behind her as Lewis’s pale Fairlane rolled up behind her Falcon. She went out to the deck to meet him. He bounded up the steps, grabbing her around the waist. They kissed, then he pushed her away with such force that she stumbled backward on the deck. His face was wild, as if she’d bitten his tongue.
“You’ve been drinking!” His voice was a strangled squawk.
She fought a surge of laughter. “You could taste it? I’m sorry.”
He worked his cheeks, rolling the taste around in his mouth. “It’s so weird after all this time. Seven months.”
She touched his arm. “I didn’t know you were coming,” she said softly.