Round Rock - Michelle Huneven [87]
“Did Lewis come by?”
“Lewis? No. Why?”
“He and I had a talk this morning.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. You heard his inventory. How’d it go?”
“He did a good job. Took a good look at his shortcomings. And now he’d like to get back together with you.”
Libby gave a short, unbelieving bark. “Are you serious?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Did you tell him about us?”
“I felt I had to.”
“Thank God! And?”
“I shouldn’t have heard his inventory,” Red said. “It was a rotten thing to do. I thought I could get away with it.”
Libby reached to clasp his face in her hands. “I would’ve told him myself, but I never had the chance.”
Wincing, Red caught her hands, returned them gently to her sides. “He said he loved you, Libby.”
She swung away. “That’s just another thing he’s cooked up in his head.” She shaded her eyes and surveyed the crisped, golden-brown hills behind her house. “Oh, I suppose it is gratifying, a little, to know that I don’t thoroughly disgust him. Otherwise …” She grasped Red’s hand and kissed it.
“He quit, of course,” Red said. “I stopped by the Mills just now to drop off a check, but he’d already left. Told the desk clerk he was moving back down south. I thought he might’ve come by here.”
“No. And it wouldn’t have made any difference if he had.”
“I had to tell you what he said, though.” Red closed his eyes. “If not, I’d always wonder.”
Libby moved to caress Red’s face and again he shied away. “Also, he punched me.”
“No!”
Red turned to show her the faint dark smudge emerging on his jaw.
Libby grazed it with her fingertips. “This is only nervous laughter,” she said, trying to hold it back.
“It is funny.” Red smiled ruefully.
Libby grabbed the edges of his jacket, pulled his sternum against her forehead. “It’s been a month, Red. More than a month. I want to go to your house and lie down with you, skin to skin, no clothes.”
She sensed his resistance assembling—a pause, an alertness in his muscles, an intake of breath …
“This isn’t just a reaction to Lewis. Although I am thankful to him.” She looked into Red’s face. “Without him, I never would’ve got to know you. He made it easy. You were the one I talked to. You were the one who courted me. Lewis was just a smoke screen: when he cleared out, there you were. And I already loved you.” Libby tugged on Red’s jacket. “Now,” she said.
They drove in his truck without speaking. A few nervous smiles. Hands clutching. Libby felt empty and light. Once inside his bungalow, Red latched the screen door, then closed and locked the kitchen door. He moved down the counter, unplugged the telephone, untangled cords to the matchstick blind above the sink.
“You locking us in,” she said, “or them out?”
“Don’t ask me.”
The blinds fell in a soft clatter and the room filled with reticulated light.
He faced her, his weight resting against the counter, a swimmer about to push off. They looked at each other. Heavy furniture, it seemed, was being dragged around Libby’s chest. He’s a man, she thought stupidly. And then the panic arrived, the same she’d felt the first time she kissed him, the first time they lay down on a bed together. The panic came in hot waves, scalding, insistent. You can’t love him, she told herself. You don’t love him. This is just a silly experiment to see how far you two could go. A laugh on Lewis …
Red smiled at her with such kindness, her thoughts stopped in their tracks. “The back door’s still open,” he said.
She smiled too, then thought: Why, he’s a played-out loser who stinks of loneliness, a pathetic old drunk.
Red pulled himself away from the counter and was coming toward her, slowly. But I like this man, she told herself. I want this.
Red put one hand lightly on her hip, twisting her around until he was standing behind her. They started walking and her panic redoubled