Clay's Quilt (19 page)

“Can't you sleep, honey?” she had asked.

“No.”

“Will it help if I sing to you, then?”

“It might.” His voice had been so small, so quiet.

She began to sing an old church song to him. He had not protested and had watched her, his eyes open wide, full of questions. When she'd finished, he had said, “She always sung songs from the radio to me. Do you know any of them?”

“No, all I know is church songs, baby.”

“Well,” he had said with finality.

Easter couldn't go to the door and spill her old fears to him. He had lived through so much disappointment, and she wasn't about to add another. It was bad enough that he had to live with the knowledge that his mother had been murdered. She backed out of the driveway and drove home.

W
HEN
A
LMA AND
C
LAY
walked into the Hilltop Club, she felt like she ought to be wearing a scarlet letter on her blouse. As soon as the cigarette smoke and perfume and loud music washed over them, she felt very ashamed. It was bad enough, she reasoned, that she was here, in this place her parents had always regarded with such fear. To make it worse, she was not even divorced yet, and on the arm of Clay. The guilt she carried along with her was so real, so solid, that she could actually feel it biting into her ribs.

She had been raised better than this. She was not like Evangeline, either. Evangeline didn't care about anything as long as she was having a big time. Even though Alma danced and played a rollicking, skirt-twirling fiddle and kicked back shots of Jim Beam until daylight, she was still saddled with this awful shame that she could not get rid of. Her mother had once told her that she possessed “a conscious heart.” She knew that this
was true, but she wished that she could be like Evangeline. It would be nice not to give a damn about anything. People like that certainly lived longer, free of grieving themselves to death.

“What's wrong?” Clay asked as they made their way through the swimming crowd. He held her hand tightly and nodded to everyone they passed.

“Nothing,” she lied, and noticed that all eyes were upon her. She knew it was because she was with Clay Sizemore. She and Clay had been here together twice already, but she still couldn't get used to the fact that everyone watched them. Women saw her with Clay and envied her. Men looked her up and down and realized that Clay had seen something in her that they had missed when she had gotten up there and played that fiddle. She found herself pulling the top of her blouse together; she felt downright naked in her outfit, which Evangeline had picked out for her.

Clay went to a round table near the dance floor and turned the
RESERVED
sign facedown, then held two fingers up to the waitress. He put his arm around Alma's shoulders and breathed hot into her ear, “You're lying. What's on your mind?”

“Nothing, I told you.” Dozens of scents swirled around them, and she breathed them all in deeply, thinking she might be able to soak enough sin into her body to free her mind. “I hope you're in a dancing mood. I want to dance all night.”

Roe came to the table with two bottles of Miller Lite and two shots of bourbon balanced on her cork-lined tray.

“S'that what you wanted, baby?” Roe asked Clay as she slid two napkins onto the table and placed the drinks on them.

“That's right,” he said.

“How are you doing, Alma?” Roe set her tray down long enough to give Alma a shoulder-crushing hug. She gave Clay a peck on the cheek that left a set of pouty, bright pink lips on his face. “I already told you Clay's my special customer. If you
jealous, you might as well get over it, cause I have to love on him, he's so pretty. Anything you'uns want, just holler.”

Without even thinking beforehand, Alma scanned the crowd with an intent look on her face. She had done this every time they had come before, as she was always sure that Denzel would be among the drunks. Clay threw back the shot of Jim Beam and chased it with a gulp of beer, then breathed out as if his mouth were on fire. He had told her that he planned on getting wild tonight.

“You gonna get drunk with me?” he asked.

“I might do it, but I can't chase liquor with beer,” she said, and scooted her icy bottle toward him. “Sorry, but I need a Pepsi. Then I can outdrink you.”

Cake, Geneva, and Goody came in, their boot heels announcing them like a trio of galloping horses, and hollered to Clay and Alma from the door. They scuffled about the table, trying to find places to sit, and Geneva screamed out across the crowd for Roe to bring her and Goody a fifth of Wild Turkey.

“Alma, this is my cousin, Geneva, and her man, Goody.” Geneva smiled politely and lit an incredibly long cigarette. Goody reached out across the table and shook Alma's hand. “They're both crazier than hell.”

“You damn straight,” Geneva said, exhaling a square column of blue smoke. “I'm Clay's favorite cousin.”

“He's got more cousins than anybody I ever seen,” Alma replied.

“Old mountain family, honey. We kin to everybody in Crow County one way or another, legitimate or not. Clay said you was from way up on Victory. I figured he'd have to go to the edges of the county to find somebody he wasn't kin to.”

Roe brought the fifth, and Goody ordered another round for Clay and Alma, and a Pepsi. “Let's party!” Cake hollered out,
and people at several tables behind them squalled out in agreement. Saturday night had begun.

A
LMA PROVED TO BE
a good drunk. Her personality was not so much changed as it was heightened. She made friends with Geneva and Goody quickly and tried to talk to Cake as much as possible. He warmed to her, admiring her ability to sling back shots of whiskey. He wrapped his arm about her neck to sing along to songs he liked.

“Let's go dance,” Cake said loudly to Alma.

“Lord, no,” Alma said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

They all egged her on.

“I'm too drunk, and Cake's too good a dancer,” she said. “I don't know if I can keep up with him or not.”

“You'll keep up fine,” Clay said.

“Go on,” Geneva said, and poked Alma in the ribs. “Dance with him.”

“I ain't much of a dancer no way,” Alma said, leaning over the table so they could all hear her. “When I was growing up, my daddy wouldn't let us dance. Me and Evangeline would sneak and practice dancing in front of the mirror with the radio turned down low.”

“Shit, now,” Geneva said, “I've seen you dance.”

Alma laughed loudly without knowing why. She caught herself laughing and felt absolutely free.

“Come on,” Cake said, and pulled her up out of her seat.

She bent down and kissed Clay on the lips and took off for the dance floor.

Evangeline was in top form tonight, moving seamlessly from one song to another, bringing down the house with her growls on a Lynyrd Skynyrd song, killing them all with her famous
cover of Loretta Lynn's “You're Looking at Country,” which got her wild applause and moved people to stand up on their chairs, clapping and hollering. By the time Cake and Alma reached the dance floor, Evangeline was launching into “Sunspot Baby.”

Cake was a wild dancer, never staying in one place for long. At first Alma followed his moves, but then she took off on her own, circling him, shaking her hips. She closed her eyes and listened to her sister singing, to the band playing. She and Cake danced so well together that it seemed they had practiced their moves. He grabbed hold of her and twirled her on the chorus, laughing wildly in her ear, and she snapped her fingers and stomped her feet. She thought of nothing but the music.

Evangeline was dancing all over the stage, too. She had sung for the last hour without taking a break, and if she was tired, it didn't show in her voice. The band members were all sober and had played their fingers nearly to the bone by the time they took action on their own, calling for a break. While Evangeline took a breath, Lige, the lead guitarist, stepped forward and announced that they were going to take fifteen minutes.

Cake walked closely behind Alma as they left the dance floor. “See, you're a good dancer, just like Geneva said.”

“That was fun,” she said. “I'm having a good time. Ain't been drunk many times in my life.”

“I see now why Clay's so crazy over you,” Cake said.

When they got to the table, Geneva, Goody, and Clay clapped and laughed. “Best two on the floor!” Geneva yelled.

Alma bent down to whisper in Clay's ear. “I'm going to go talk to Evangeline while she's on break.”

Alma burst into the room behind the stage, where Evangeline was sitting in a metal folding chair, killing a whole beer in one long swallow.

“How's it going?” Evangeline asked, taking the bottle from her lips.

“Good. Real good. I'm having a ball.”

“Hellfire, girl.” Evangeline looked into the mirror and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. “You're in love with him. It's wrote all over your face. God awmighty, a blind man could sense the hots from you all.”

Alma smiled and lay her head on Evangeline's shoulder for a second.

“Plus you're drunk as Cootie Brown,” Evangeline said nonchalantly. “You'll be climbing into bed with him tonight.”

“Shut up,” Alma told her, and took the lipstick away to use herself. “I feel like playing some fiddle. Got anything you need me to play on?”

Evangeline stood up quickly and dusted off the lap of her dress. She eyed her sister. She put her hands on her hips, looking at Alma like she didn't know what to say.

“What is it?” Alma asked.

“Alma, Denzel's here.”

“What?” She felt herself grow completely sober.

“I seen him come in while I was doing the last song. He come straight in and started playing pool. He can't see your-all's table or the dance floor from up there.”

“Oh, God. Oh, shit.”

“Don't freak out, now. He might not say a word.”

“I thought you told Frankie not to let him in. He'll definitely say something if he sees me—he'll show his ass good and proper.”

“Frankie wasn't at the door when he come in, and besides, they'd had a hell of a time if they'd tole him he couldn't come in. He's just been up here two or three times and hain't never caused no trouble.”

“I wouldn't here when he come them times, though. I knowed we shouldn't have come here.” Alma walked toward the door. “I'll see you in the morning. We're leaving.”

“No,” Evangeline said firmly. She grabbed Alma by the arms. “Honey, you can't run away from him all your life. If you're gonna live in this town, you're gonna see him. Just have a good time, don't worry about it. He can't do much—I done tole Frankie to keep his eye on him.”

A
LMA WALKED BACK
through the crowd. She kept her eyes focused on Clay, who was laughing and slapping the table because of something Cake had just told him.

“Alma, you all right?” Geneva asked as soon as Alma reached the table. Geneva put her hand to Alma's cheek. “You pale as a ghost.”

“I ain't been drunk since I was a teenager. I guess I pushed it.”

“Did you throw up?” Geneva prodded. “Need me to walk outside with you?”

“Naw, I'm all right.”

Clay was drunk. He wrapped his thick arm around Alma again and kissed her on the jaw. She put her hand on his face and drew his lips to hers, suddenly not caring if Denzel saw them or not.
I am in love with him,
she announced to herself. She knew she should make up some excuse to leave, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't want to run from Denzel the rest of her life. She kissed Clay for a long time, and she felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Clay,” she said, but when he turned around and looked at her with his glossy, red eyes, she knew if she told him Denzel was there, he would go wild.

• • •

A
FTER SEVERAL SONGS
that she claimed she didn't want to dance to, Alma finally got up the nerve to walk to the bathroom with Geneva. They had to walk right by the pool tables, and she breathed a loud sigh of relief when she saw that Denzel was no longer there. If he wasn't playing pool, he must have gone home. There was no way he would be dancing.

“I know my head has to look like a rat's nest,” Geneva said as they slid through the crowd, but Alma paid her no attention. There was a line to the bathroom, as always, and Geneva talked ninety miles an hour while Alma scanned the crowd. She didn't see him anywhere.

As soon as they came out of the bathroom, Alma saw Evangeline step into the white glow of the spotlight and look out over the crowd silently while the band warmed up for a song. Alma heard the notes Lige strummed on the guitar and the slow, steady beat of the drum, and she knew what Evangeline was about to say.

“You all know that my little sister is the best damn fiddle player in Crow County, now don't you?” Evangeline announced, and the crowd burst into clapping and wolf whistles. Everyone turned to Clay's table to look for Alma, then looked around the room until they saw her and Geneva standing at the bathroom door. “Come on up here, baby.”

The crowd continued to clap while Alma shook her head no.

“They all want to hear you play for em,” Evangeline said. “Come on, now.”

It seemed as if she would never make it to the stage. She felt every eye on her. Evangeline handed her the fiddle that she had sent Frankie out to the car to retrieve. She capped her hand over the microphone and whispered, “He's gone. Play your heart out.”

The band's low strumming began to grow louder. “We gonna
do a killer for you, now,” Evangeline said. “This is ‘Bile Em Cabbage Down.' I know you all like to clog every once in a while, so get the hell up.”