Devil Moon (12 page)

Oh, Lord, she thought, it's a good thing these kids never actually read. The school board would really be on her backside for recommending books about zipless fucks to fifteen-year-olds. Not that today's teenagers weren't already well acquainted with them.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. As the students emptied out of the room, Maddie removed her glasses, zipped up her brief case and prepared to hobble from the room on her bum ankle. She sensed Phil standing beside her. For a large man, he could move quickly, quietly.

Turning to face him she said, "Well, Mr. Wilcox, you led a spirited discussion with your students. You kept their attention the whole class period. I commend you."

"Back to 'Mr. Wilcox' is it? What do you say you and me blow this joint and escape for lunch. I'll be Phil and you can be Maddie."

He was so close to her she could smell his spicy aftershave and the intoxicating scent of
him
. Lord, he made her downright dizzy.

Desperately trying to retain her professional authority, she said, "You know, Mr. Wilcox, it really isn't proper for faculty to become too familiar with the administration."

He merely dragged one finger on her forearm, making lazy circles, sending shivers down her spine. "Come on, sweetheart, live on the wild side. Let's go to Burger King."

Without conscious thought, she leaned into him and whispered, "Too many students at Burger King. I know a quiet restaurant."

He smiled triumphantly, grabbed her briefcase with one hand and her arm with the other. "We'll take your car. Mine isn't fit for a neatnik like you."

She knew she should have eaten a tuna sandwich at her desk and avoided further entanglement with the formidable football coach. But as she let him lead her down the hall, the title of Tanya Tucker's song ran through her mind.
It's a Little Too Late to Do the Right Thing Now
.

* * *

Mama Corleone's Italian Bistro smelled of garlic and rich marinara sauce. Classic checkered cloths covered the tables. Wax-dripped Chianti bottles held flickering candles. Snuggled next to each other in a far corner booth, Maddie and Phil dipped cheese bread in plates of olive oil and balsamic vinegar as they finished heaping plates of spaghetti.

"
Fear of Flying
, huh? Refresh my memory, what's that about?" Phil asked.

"It's a biography of Amelia Earhart," she said with a straight face and picked up her lemon water.

"Uh-huh." He leaned against the rounded vinyl seat back, spreading his arms and stared at her as if studying a puzzle.

Feeling warm under his gaze, the rigid Miss Madeleine attempted staring him down. "Mr. Wilcox–"

"Phil."

"Mister, oh, all right,
Phil
, I wish you wouldn't look at me like a bug under glass."

"I'm just trying to figure you out."

"I've told you before. There's nothing to figure out. I'm a very straightforward, controlled person. No still waters running deep here."

"That's where you're wrong." He leaned his muscular forearms on the table. "Sometimes you really bust loose. Like your little performance at the game the other night. And that kiss in the bleachers. I didn't notice much control going on, sweetheart."

Maddie wilted. Keeping her assistant principal starch could be such a strain. She covered her face with her hands. "There's something about you that brings out the worst in me. It's very embarrassing."

Phil leaned into her, slid her hands down, not letting go. "Maybe I bring out the best in you. I know being with you makes me feel good, real good. Not like the usual screw-up Phil Wilcox at all."

She squeezed his hands back. "You're not any kind of a screw up. I know you've had your ups and downs, but who hasn't? You've given up a lucrative career for a high school coaching job to be near your daughter. Do you realize how rare you are? And from the looks of it, you're shaping up into an excellent teacher and coach."

Releasing her hands, he said, "I'm a drunk who's paying for past sins." His lips thinned to a bitter line.

"Well, at least you're paying. Most people never take responsibility for their mistakes; they only go around blaming others for their problems. The more I'm around you, the more I see admirable qualities."

A grin tugged at Phil's lips. "Damn, Maddie, I think you've got a crush on me."

She flushed, flapped her mouth wordlessly and then found her voice. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Say things to deliberately embarrass me."

"Because I like to see the real you, the soft Maddie beneath the stiff-necked Bostonian pill."

"Well, I wish you'd cut it out."

"No you don't. You want out of that straight-jacket personality you've manufactured." He leaned in closer. "Who did that to you, babe? Turned you into a prickly, punctual, pain in the ass?"

Maddie stared straight ahead. She knew when she'd turned hard and sharp. After the humiliating Thomas Smithton affair, she'd carefully built a brick facade around her heart and this slob football jock was causing giant cracks in it. Fear kept her from letting the walls tumble, exposing her heart to fresh injuries.

Phil took her hand again. "Come on, give. You evidently know my background pretty good. Spill it. You didn't get to be thirty-something without picking up some scars along the way."

"I'm thirty-two and, yes, I did have one rather unfortunate experience."

She gulped a deep breath as Phil simply sat and waited, circling small caresses over her knuckles with his thumb.

"I was engaged a few years ago to a college professor, Thomas Smithton. He was older than I. Very cultured and witty–when he wanted to be. We met my first year teaching freshman composition. He was the head of the English department. I thought he hung the stars and the moon. I suppose that was my biggest attraction for him, my absolute adoration of him. The Woodbridge pedigree also went in my favor, along with the Harris money. My mother adored him. Dad tried to warn me he was a user. But I learned that lesson the hard way. Anyway, we had a lovely romance enjoying the best culture that Boston had to offer. He seemed to be a perfect fit in my polished world, all of which proved to be an illusion."

She told Phil everything. Told him of her naiveté, her subjugation to a misogynist lover and the final public humiliation that drove her to Beaver Cove. She recalled her dark days after the newspaper story broke revealing Thomas' immoral behavior and total lack of remorse. And something in the telling freed her.

The baggage of betrayal and disgust slipped off her back for the first time in over three years. Every time she looked back into the strong brown gaze of Phil's eyes she felt him releasing her from the burden. The monolith Thomas represented in her mind began shrinking to the true proportions his petty personality deserved.

After she finished her recitation, they sat side by side in the round booth for a moment and then Phil said, "Well, that guy is yesterday's news. He was a liar and cheat and you're well rid of him. He doesn't sound like your type at all, a lightweight who goes to the ballet and drinks wine."

"Oh really? And what is my type?"

He pulled her so close to him their thighs touched and his voice seduced her with whiskey tones. "You go for more beefy guys nowadays. Someone who's been around the block a few times and knows a good thing when he sees it. Someone who won't lie, cheat or let you forget you've got eyes as pretty blue as an Ozark sky. Someone who will never call you Madeleine, only Maddie, honey, sweetheart or babe."

Maddie said softly, "Don't forget 'cupcake.'"

A grin tugged Phil's lips. "You like that?"

"I shouldn't. It's condescending and politically incorrect."

"Come here, cupcake." He drew her into his arms and kissed her in front of the Mama Corleone's wait staff and God. His touch was soft, tender and perfect. Giving, not taking. Healing, not hurting. Her mouth opened to capture all his flavor. A spectrum of light burst behind her closed eyes breaking into a rainbow of blue, red, and violet through the dark spaces in her heart.
Yes, this is what I've needed
. A small moan rose from her throat as her hands gripped the material of his shirt.

He lifted his mouth as one hand pressed the back of her head against his chest. His ragged breaths matched hers. The scent of him caused a trembling awakening deep in the core of her body and soul.

Phil muttered, "Jeez, I'm going to have to do ten laps and take a cold shower when I get back to school."

Maddie pushed away. "School! What time is it?"

He looked at his watch and winced. "Time to go and make up a good story about our car breaking down."

Dashing back to school, all was quiet in the halls when they arrived. Phil needed to retrieve something out of his mailbox before heading down to the gym. The two walked wordlessly on the shiny floor toward her office. The bond forged between them at lunch still held taut and strong, making Maddie want to jump into his arms and beg for one more kiss.

Instead she turned to him, plastered a Miss Harris prim expression on her face and said, "Thank you for lunch, Mr. Wilcox. It was most pleasant."

His eyes turned heavy-lidded and his head gave a small shake. "No more of this bullshit."

Pushing her two steps backward toward a closed door, she felt the door give way and found herself closed in a small janitor's closet with Beaver Cove High's burly football coach.

Phil's hands reached up to the sides of her head, sinking into her hair. "Don't ever call me 'Mr. Wilcox' again unless we're surrounded by students, do you understand? I won't let you put those prissy barriers up between us again. We've got something going here and I really want it. I really want you and you want me too, don't you? Say it."

Maddie felt the walls crumbling. "I…"

His hands moved to her upper arms. "Say it!"

Her voice came out in a breathy puff. "I want you too, Phil."

His lips crushed hers with the intensity of a man finding water after a desperate trek across a desert. He drank and drank, tapping the deep well of her swirling emotions, opening a river buried in the underground caverns of her heart, a gush of silvery passion shooting to the surface.

She never knew when her leg wrapped around his calf or when he backed her against the cool enamel sink, but reality struck in the form of a mop bopping her on the head.

"Ow!" She rubbed the spot as he caught tumbling janitorial equipment, noisy buckets and brooms bouncing off the wall.

It was so ridiculous, so juvenile, so delicious, they started laughing.

Phil put his arms loosely around her. "Go away with me somewhere next weekend. Let's take this the whole nine yards."

Held by the intensity of his possessive gaze, Maddie knew she would go wherever he wanted, give him everything he demanded.

Oh, Lord, he was going to score a touchdown right in her end zone.

Chapter Seven

Sex: the thing that takes up the least amount of time

and causes the most amount of trouble.

At two o'clock Thursday morning Wade’s wife, Ginger, tossed in her crumpled bed, enduring a restless sleep alone on the undulating waterbed mattress. Exhausted after a full day in the company of her hooligan children, she'd fallen into musty sheets worried about Wade.

He'd hit the road early Sunday morning for a race in Little Rock, pulling his shiny red racer on a trailer behind the pickup truck. He usually called to brag or complain about the outcome of the day, but there'd been no phone calls. Fearsome visions flashed in her mind of his car rolling and bursting into flames.

Wade's hollering penetrated her dreams. "Ginger! Ginger, baby!"

She imagined he called from a fiery inferno.

"Ginger, get your ass down here!"

She sat up and brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Christ on a stick!" Wade's voice wafted from the front yard.

Thank God, he'd come back home.

Out on the stubby grass, Wade stacked boxes from the truck bed. A steel gray moon cast a harsh light over the cluttered yard. The door banged behind Ginger as she padded outside dressed in a flimsy robe over her thin nightgown.

"What's goin' on?" she asked, coming down the steps.

The dogs circled, sniffing and growling at the boxes Wade set on the dusty ground.

He kicked one mongrel. "Get the hell out of my way, Lucifer." The big black yelped and slunk off.

"I brung our future right here in these boxes," Wade said. "We're gonna be rich, baby."

Ginger tiptoed in bare feet to the stack of boxes and opened a lid, revealing a case of cough syrup.

Pulling out a bottle she said, "What are ya doin'? Opening up a drug store?"

Wade set down the last box, hooting with laughter. "Oh, yeah! That's it, baby! A drug store, a by God, drug store. But we're only selling one drug. And it's sweet, baby, it's really sweet."