Blackwater (3 page)

Momma is very good at not being caught with her lovers too, but we know she has them. We know our parents aren’t in love. They never have been I don’t think. But the marriage is perfect. From the outside looking in, everything is bliss. That's all I ask for in mine.

If I am honest, I can't picture Martin as my only lover. I can't even try to imagine his hands inside of my blouse or lifting my skirt. I can't see his lips sliding up and down my throat, as he pulls me into his lap. Not the way I can imagine it with Marcello. Not the way it is in the dirty books Angie's granny has. Martin's manners have always been perfect and sweet. The epitome of charming.

No, with Martin it'll be part of the act. The act of liking each other and loving each other. The act of enjoying his grunting on top of me, like my momma told me was expected of me. Martin is refined and proper and a true gentleman. It's why I can't imagine him with Margery Banks. Not when I constantly have to hide my hillbilly Baton Rouge ways from him.

A bead of sweat trickles down my cheek, just as the car lurches and stops. I'm thrown forward.

Ramón is cussing in Cajun French and slamming on the wheel.

"It's overheated, Cher. I'll walk to the next house and call a tow and a ride."

I look around at the forest and greenery. We're miles from the nearest house. He took the shortcut he always takes when we stop by his grandmamma's house in the bayou. It leads through a swampy area with no real population.

"Ramón, it's too hot to walk out there. You'll have to wait for nightfall. Stay in the shade of the car. You'll burn to death out there. It must be over a hundred today. Someone will come."

He smiles back at me. "I can't let you stay out in this. It's too hot for that. We'll both dehydrate if I don't go. Your greedy ass drank all the sweet tea."

I laugh and nod but I'm worried. I don’t want to be alone on the side of the road and I don’t like him going alone into the woods.

He takes his shirt off and leaves in his undershirt only. I grimace as the smell of his man-sweat fills the car. I lean my head out the window and wait. The side of the road is just thick woods. The old bent oaks and thick moss and bushes make it extra creepy. I watch him walk away from the car, getting smaller and smaller until he's gone. I can see the heat waves coming off the pavement.

I pull my head back in. I'm exhausted and needing my nap. I close my eyes and visualize what I want, just like Grandmamma Holt taught me to. I imagine I'm in my room with the fans blowing the air down on me in my thin nightgown. I have fresh sweet tea or lemonade next to me. The glass has ice in it and beads of condensation dripping down the sides of the tall glass. The ice cracks in the heat and dilutes my drink. I take a refreshing sip. The ice clangs against the glass and burns against my lips, because it is so cold. I sigh and lie back to try to sleep. In my mind I am cool and bunny is around my throat protecting me.

"Lorelei, wake up. Wake up. Danger."

The voices stir me. I pull away from them shivering but then I hear someone else.

"Miss, you alright?" It's a man.

I sit up and sway. "Ramón?" My eyelids stick together.

When I pry them open I can barely see through my fuzzy eyes and the fact it's now dark.

I'm trembling and shaking. I rub my hands over my clothes and feel that I'm soaked, like I've been swimming.

My eyes are blurry and nothing makes sense. I'm aching from sleeping on my side. I look around, confused.

"Where am I?"

My head feels thick and then it starts to pound. I wince and put a hand up to my drenched head.

"Get her some water." I look around. A man is at the window of my car. I'm still in the car. I'm still on the side of the road.

"Where's Ramón?" I ask a policeman I think I know.

He hands me the lid of a warm metal thermos. I put it up to my lips and sip the cool sweet tea inside. My throat feels dry and crusty. The tea feels forced going down, like it's carving its path. He waits for me to finish and then takes the lid. I can feel the tea land in my belly. It's an empty feeling. I feel sick.

"Where's Ramón? My friend…er…driver?" I ask again.

Another policeman is at the window suddenly. He shakes his head and looks around. He is older and has a flashlight in his hands.

"The man who found you is over there." He points and goes back to looking around the car. He speaks to someone I can't see.

"My friend? I need my friend. Y'all have to go look for him." My heart starts racing realizing he ain't here.

He speaks over me to the other man, "There's fluid over here. Looks like the car overheated. It was hotter than a billy goat's ass in a pepper patch today."

"True dat!"

They keep talking and I have no idea what's what.

I open the door and stumble from the car, feeling sick. Walking doesn't help.

Warm hands grip my sides and stop me from falling down into the ditch.

"Thank you." I mutter, assuming it's another policeman. I turn my head, instantly realizing how wrong I am. His face makes me blush. He is a handsome gentleman, not a policeman. I can't imagine how I look. I'm drenched.

He holds me to his chest. He is a dream. I'm sure of it. He is like nothing I have ever seen before. Dark, soulful eyes. Distinctive brow. Soft looking lips. Chiseled jaw with a slight cleft in the chin. Dark hair, that's styled but not like a businessman's, Thankfully it's also not fluffy and in his eyes like a boy's would be. The long hair of my generation is a crime.

He smiles and I feel faint. He looks young, but something about his face tells me he is older than I am, maybe by a lot.

He is confident and bold. The way he touches me, like he has a right to do so, makes me feel funny. No one touches me. Not with the intensity he is. No one would dare.

"Are you alright?" He seems distracted, or maybe inconvenienced, as he looks around, no doubt for someone else to take care of me.

I want to say yes. Instead, I rip from his arms and lose my stomach on the ditch behind me. He holds my hip pressed against him. His hands are on my waist as I retch and heave and my exhausted body convulses.

"She has the heat sickness. We need to get her to the hospital," someone says.

"Did anyone call an ambulance?" the man holding my hips against his body asks. Our pose would be indecent, if not for my vomit pelting the rocks below me with sweet tea.

"Nope."

His grip tightens, "Well that’s really helpful. My driver called and told you there was a girl unconscious in a car and you never thought to call an ambulance? I will take her myself." The man's voice grows angry. I throw-up once more and feel my legs starting to buckle. He lifts me off the ground.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I repeat, wiping my face.

He seems incredibly angry as he holds me in his arms and carries me to a car. He places me in the backseat and speaks softly, "The hospital, Ben."

My eyes flutter, "Sir, I'm terribly sorry."

He holds me to him and puts the back of his hand on my forehead. He smiles at me and the anger seems to be gone, "You have a fever." He pulls me into him. I think for a second he has kissed the top of my head as he strokes it. I'm sure I'm mistaken. Strangers don’t kiss the tops of girl's heads, not ones that look like him. "You have no need to be sorry. You're sick. I will take care of you."

I try to pull away from him but I have no strength. I lick my lips and swallow the things trying to escape my mouth when I speak, "My driver Ramón. Did you see him?"

He shakes his head and continues to hold me to him, "We never saw him, just your car broken down on the side of the road. Where did he go?"

I shake my head, "I don’t know. To get help. The car broke down. We was stuck." I don't correct my poor English. I'm too tired.

"What time was that at?"

I shrug and hold back a burp.

He kisses my head again. I knew it, he kissed my head. My heart starts racing but I'm on the verge of passing out. I don’t have the energy I need to freak out.

He murmurs softly into my hair, stroking it, "Just rest, my dear. We will have you right as rain in no time." Did he just call me dear? I must know him and not remember. He's too familiar.

My stomach flutters. I don't fear him. Not the way I should. I'm uncomfortable with him kissing my head though. If I wasn’t struggling to keep the contents of my stomach where they should be, and completely feeble to boot, I would move away from him.

"It'll be okay. We're almost there." He whispers and strokes my head some more. Something about his touch makes me relax.

The driver stops the car and opens the door for the man. They help me out. A small amount of relief fills me when I see the doors of the hospital.

The man lifts me up and carries me toward the light of the Emergency. In the bright lights, I'm stunned when I see his face. It's dreamy and sexy, in a way that makes the knots in my fragile stomach tighten. The muted light of the streetlight did nothing for him. He was incredibly good looking there. Here in the fluorescent lights he is stunning. His dark eyebrows furrow over his dark eyes when he looks at me. The corner of one of lips lifts into a lazy grin that contradicts his eyes. I attempt to grin back but suddenly I see him in flashes. My eyes are fluttering again. I can’t get them to open completely. When I gain control of them again, I see a nurse running to us.

"Lorelei? Honey, is that you? Is that Lorelei Huntington?"

I can barely lift my head to see Mrs. Kirsch. She puts a hand to my head, "Honey, you have a fever."

"She has heat sickness. We found her on the side of the road in a car passed out. Her driver left her there." His voice swims in my head. I want to defend Ramón. He would never have just left me there. Where is he?

I look back but the lights blend together making one long sheet of brightness I can't stand. I feel my stomach turn again when I attempt to sit up to see their faces.

"Baby, it was over a hundred out there today, my hair was sweatin. Who are you?" Mrs. Kirsch looks angry.

"Mr. Whitlock, at your service." The way he says Whitlock sounds foreign. In fact all his words sound foreign. I thought he was a Yankee at first.

The ceiling tiles and bright lights flash. My eyes are fluttering again.

"Are you a friend of the Huntington's?" Her nasally voice sounds feisty.

"No. No, I found her on the side of the road."

I lose the conversation in the flashing and the fluttering. I know I'm moving. In the flashes I can see the tiles changing. The motion is making me sick again. I turn my face and get sick down the side of my cheeks. I can see it dripping onto his arm. If I wasn’t nearly unconscious, I would be mortified. I know I will be tomorrow. If there is a tomorrow, please God, don't let there be a tomorrow.

I let the darkness that has threatened to come and fill my eyes, takeover. It's been wanting to since I woke. I've never been as exhausted as I am. Not even when the icy whispers stop me from sleeping.

I feel my eyes roll into the back of my head and I'm out like a light within seconds of stopping fighting it.

When I wake I can smell my momma. I would know her scent anywhere. It's custom made by Dior.

"Lorelei, darling. Are you awake?"

Force is required to pry my eyelids open. I glance around the hazy dim light.

"Momma?" I whisper.

Her cold delicate hands squeeze mine. She must be worried if she is touching me, "It's mother, dear."

"Lorelei, honey, you awake? Lordy, you look like something I drug out from under the porch." Mrs. Kirsch is there too.

I smile at her and nod, "I feel about that way." My throat crackles like an old witch's.

I feel less pain, but I'm still disoriented.

"You want a drink, honey? You must be spittin cotton by now." Mrs. Kirsch busies herself pouring water and fixing my blankets.

I can't help but notice the way momma is sitting, wearing an ivory cardigan and her pearls. I smile when I see her. Her blonde hair is coifed perfectly. She dressed up to come to the hospital. I bet she never even rushed. She's here for show.

My hand aches from a strange cold stinging sensation. I think I'm making the water sparks and shoot a fearful look at my momma. She frowns at me. I glance at my hand and feel relieved when I see it's a needle and tubes running from my arm. I haven’t had one of these since I had to stop eating to fit in my grandmamma's vintage gown for cotillion. I had to stop eating and drinking for two weeks. Momma made the nurses use one to feed me for the entire time. At least Ramón snuck me food.

Where is he?

"Ramón?" I mutter through a croaking thick throat.

She smiles softly and tilts her blonde head, "You need a drink." I can see that she is hiding something. Something terrible has happened. Her cold eyes have only filled with emotion once, when my grandmamma died. They look the same now as they did then. She was tremendously fond of my daddy's momma.

She dusts her skirt and straightens her back when she speaks with a perfect smile. "You scared us darling. We were terribly worried about you." If I had the strength to roll my eyes I would. She points to the handle at the end of the bed, "Lift the bed for her, Marianne."