The Long Hot Summer

She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of something else. She was successful in putting it out of her mind, but, in the trade-off, the topic circled back to another unpleasant topic. Her grandmother asked, “Did you see Johnny got rid of that old dead tree in the yard?”

Nicole concentrated on growing a nasty headache, the kind that drained your complexion and dulled your eyes. The kind that would excuse her from the supper table.

“Nicki, did you hear? The tree’s gone.”

Nicole opened her eyes and glanced out into the front yard. “Yes, I noticed,” she said without emotion.

“Make sure you comment on it at supper. Say he’s done a fine job, or something to that effect. A little praise is what he needs to hear right now. It will boost his confidence.”

“I think I’m coming down with a headache,” she primed.

“Well, take something before it gets out of hand, dear. You wouldn’t want it to spoil supper.”

“No,” she agreed, “that would be unfortunate.”

A stingy breeze, slow and barely evident, drifted onto the porch. Like a greedy beggar, Nicole raised her chin in an attempt to cool her warm cheeks. She could smell the potted azalea in the corner, the fried chicken Clair Arden was preparing for supper. “Will it rain tonight?”

“No, but maybe tomorrow. So did we decide on green or gray shingles, Nicki? I think you said green, right?”

Nicole felt a tug on the uneven hem of her orange tank top. She glanced down to see that Gran had wheeled up close.

“The shingles, Nicki. What color? I can’t remember what we agreed on.”

“We didn’t, did we?”

“We certainly did.” Mae arched a thin brow. “This drifting in and out that you do—is it a creative thing, or is there something on your mind I should know about?”

“What?”

“I keep telling myself it isn’t that I’m a boring old woman, but that you’re simply creating upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“In the mind, Nicki. Honestly, one minute we’re having a conversation, and the next you’re lunching with the fairies.”

“I was thinking about how to remodel the attic,” Nicole lied.

Mae pointed at Nicole’s splattered tank top. “Is this another one of those fashion statements? What do they call this one? Homeless, or the rag of the month?”

Nicole didn’t feel like smiling, but Gran’s comments were always amusing. The dress code in Common was definitely not as liberal as in L.A. “Have the ladies at the garden club been talking?”

“Of course,” Mae admitted honestly, her eyes reflecting not a bit of censure. “No one moves to Common without getting a head-to-toe and a couple dozen opinions for free. Pearl Lavel tells me her son saw you last week at the post office and he’s been talking about you ever since. Sounds to me like you made quite an impression on Woodrow. If you’re wondering, he’s single and twenty-seven. I don’t believe he’s a strong enough personality for you, though, and Clair agrees.”

They’d had a similar discussion earlier in the week. Only, it had been in reference to Gordon Tisdale’s son, Norman. He was single, too. A thirty-six-year-old teacher at the grade school. Gran and Clair’s assessment of Norman, however, was that he didn’t have a sense of humor—a vital component for a lasting marriage.

Nicole rubbed her temple, the headache she’d been hoping for was going to be a reality very soon if they started talking about eligible bachelors, marriage and babies.

Mae glanced at her watch. “It’s almost seven. Johnny should be coming soon.”

The comment prompted Nicole to look across the road to the wooded trail. The sun was sinking, causing shadows to grow between the trees. Soon the mosquitoes would come, and like a gray cloud of doom they would chase anyone with half a brain inside. “Did you know his family well?”

“Yes. Delmar and Madie were good people, honest and likable. Madie was the prettiest girl in town, I always said. And the men agreed. They were all after her.” Mae returned to the azalea bush and began plucking dead blossoms. “That old farm was a curse, though. Nothing ever grew in those fields, no matter how hard Delmar tried. Finally, he gave up and took himself off to town. Got a job at the lumberyard working for Jasper Craig. No one else in town would hire him, but Jasper surprised everyone and took Delmar on. It lasted a few months, then the accident happened.”

“What accident?”

“Delmar was run over.”

“Run over? Was he killed?”

“I’m afraid so. The driver of the car must not have seen him. It happened down the road about a mile. They never did learn who was behind the wheel. Henry found him early that morning. We called Sheriff Tucker, and he came out. Delmar was so badly mangled, they didn’t show him at the funeral. Poor Madie cried her eyes out for months. Johnny…well, after that, things just got harder for him. Then Madie got sick a few years later and died from cancer. Day after we buried her, Johnny ran off.”

Nicole turned to face her grandmother. “You wanted him to stay, didn’t you.”

Mae’s eyes turned warm with affection. “The first time I saw that boy something inside me melted. He was barefoot and so skinny he was all ribs and legs. He had a smart mouth and language like nothing I’d ever heard. ’Course his orneriness was just a front, you see, a way to cover up being scared. The kids in town were awfully mean to him. It’s why I know that fight at Pepper’s wasn’t all Johnny’s doing. I’m not saying he didn’t participate, but I know in my heart he didn’t start it.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Farrel Craig was on the other end of that fight. Anytime that boy got near Johnny, there was trouble. Farrel and those two puppets of his, Clete Gilmore and Jack Oden, used to chase Johnny home after school everyday. It started way back in grade school.” A honeybee buzzed around Mae’s head. She paid no attention as she went on. “I’ve never told this to a soul, but Henry and I would have adopted Johnny if he hadn’t run off. Yes, Nicki, I wanted him to stay, and I would be lying if I denied I want him to stay now. Running away from your problems isn’t the answer. Deal with the demon, I always say. Or the demon will chase you all your life.”

Nicole gazed across the yard, not knowing what to say. The summer oak leaves began to rustle, and she angled her face to catch the elusive evening breeze. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the night sounds coming alive in the distant bayou.

Suddenly the feeling of being watched intruded on her, and she opened her eyes just as a shadowy figure broke through the oak grove and started across the road. She fixed her gaze on Johnny Bernard’s slow, ambling gait, on the quiet strength he exuded with each step. No one else walked quite like he did, she decided. There was something mesmerizing about the unhurried way he moved. Something raw and earthy. Primal.

He wore a white T-shirt stretched over his iron chest. He’d even taken the time to tuck it into a pair of jeans that were in better condition than she’d seen him in so far, but even at this distance, she could see they weren’t hole-free. He was crossing the yard now, his shiny black hair moving slightly in answer to the sultry summer breeze. She hadn’t wanted to think about their afternoon meeting at the pond, but suddenly she could think of nothing else. The memory of how easily he’d handled the snake, the way he’d gotten her attention by skipping rocks practically under her nose. The way his silky tongue had slid over the bottom of her foot.

Aware that her heart had begun to race, Nicole quickly spun away from the railing.

“Nicki! Nicki, where are you going?”

“He’s coming.” Nicole headed for the open French doors that led into the study, her voice straining to sound normal. “I’ll tell Clair supper will be on time.”

Mae arrowed her wheelchair in front of the open French doors leading into the study. “You don’t mind wheeling an old lady in, do you? Nicki went to tell Clair we’re on our way.”

Johnny had seen Nicole shoot inside like someone had lit a fire under her. Instead of commenting on it, though, he sauntered up the steps and positioned himself behind the old lady’s chair. “You trust me to keep it under the speed limit?”