Devil Moon (19 page)

Randy's accustomed mask of impish whimsy was suddenly ripped away, replaced by a soul-revealing, sad countenance. His shoulders drooped as if the weight of the world had been thrust upon them. He stood frozen at the bar staring at Brent's departing back, unaware that Maddie looked on. His face mirrored so much internal pain, she turned away, embarrassed by her unintentional invasion into his private life.

By the time he returned to the table, he'd painted his happy face back on. "How about sharing an order of 'Death by Chocolate' for dessert?" he said as he took his seat.

"Perfect," Maddie agreed.

* * *

Their river walk hotel room featured two queen beds, dresser, entertainment center and full bath. Blue and burgundy tied all elements of the decorating together with efficient monotony. Maddie took the bed closest to the picture window. From the fifth floor the view of the river flowed long and peaceful, even at night. Tall lamps along the winding sidewalk cast a yellow glow as far as the eye could see.

Maddie rested her forehead against the cool glass, standing in her stocking feet, gazing at the water. City lights obscured the stars. No moon appeared in the evening sky, just hazy darkness against the skyline. She longed to get out of her constricting clothes. For the first time, she'd had to find a safety pin to hold her skirt together around her expanding waist.

Randy stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in pajamas adorned with cartoon characters. "It's all yours. How do you like my honeymoon jammies?"

Maddie pulled her equally sexy flannel nightgown out of her bag. "Fetching, very fetching."

She took a long, hot shower that felt heavenly. God, what a stressful week. Surely, she'd been through the worst of it. Now it was simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and carrying on like the Woodbridges before her. She hoped that darned, unpredictable Harris blood didn't get her in trouble.

Refreshed by their showers, Randy and Maddie enjoyed a kind of slumber party, watching the romance channel while eating junk food and drinking caffeine-free soda. She fell asleep before eleven o'clock to the sounds of the TV and the blowing air conditioner.

The room was dark and quiet when she awakened two hours later with terrible indigestion. She imagined a sparking firecracker sizzling in her stomach. Groaning as she sat up, she tried not to awaken Randy as she stumbled to the bathroom. She turned on the light and poured herself a glass of water, hoping it would douse her flaming insides. Gulping liquid in the doorway, she glanced back into the room to see if she'd disturbed Randy.

Light pouring out of the bathroom revealed his bed, empty, still perfectly made up. He was gone. The bridegroom had flown the coop. She sat on the edge of the bed and composed a mock press release in her min
d.

"The Randall Baileys have returned from their rapturous honeymoon where the pregnant bride endured miserable gas as the groom was off visiting with 'friends.'"

She'd gone through the looking glass into a tilted wonderland.

That's when she noticed it—the full moon now high in the sky. She switched off the glaring bathroom light, crossed to the window in her billowing nightgown and opened up the curtains as far as they could go, allowing moonlight to bathe the room. The heavenly body remained at once her friend and foe, affecting the tides of her being.

Tonight a mixed mood enveloped her, joyfully sad, as she realized she was no longer alone with the moon. She leaned back on her pillow and placed her hands on the small tight mound forming beneath her bellybutton. A new body, a fresh soul grew every moment of every day, developing in her womb, under her heart. A bubbling thrill coursed through her veins.

But at the same time, she felt so…lonely. She wanted to share the miracle, tell someone about all the minute changes happening to her. But, it wouldn't be Randy. She knew that now. Their friendship only went so far. It didn't go to the deepest intimacies. Tears formed in her eyes as loneliness descended on her like a blanket. She stared up at the moon and sank into the forbidden wish that Phil's warm arms were around her tonight.

* * *

Phil puffed an expensive cigar as he sat on the cold concrete steps in front of his apartment staring at the light bulb moon. Smoking wasn't a regular habit, but every once in a while he craved a good cigar. The famous Kipling quote floated across his mind.
"A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke."

His team had barely won tonight's game, thanks to a last minute interception and sprint into the end zone. He should have been happy. The team was three for three; Melissa had joined the squad as water girl and personal advisor to the coach. His life counted for something again. So, why did he feel hollow and empty inside?

Sum it up in three words—Madeleine Woodbridge Harris. Christ, he probably needed to add the
Bailey
by now. The earlier anger of the week had been easier to deal with than these sorry blues. He had to laugh at himself, looking over his shoulder all night long for Maddie's honey blond hair in the crowd. Instead, he found only bleached blond Pam waving wildly at him at every opportunity.

He'd known about Randy and Maddie's hurried trip to Little Rock, having overheard gossip in the teacher's lounge. Still, he'd been foolish enough to hope the rumor was false. Shoot him for being a friggin' idiot. That overwhelming, territory-marking kiss he'd left on Maddie had backfired on him big time. While instilling his taste and scent in her, he'd inhaled
her
essence, implanted
her
flavors in the center of his psyche. Which was why he sat shivering outside in the cold, attempting to put a damper on his ardor. It beat tossing and turning in his empty bed.

A few more puffs on the cigar focused his thinking. What the hell had happened? Why would she run off to marry that twinkle-toes? The facts just wouldn't add up in his mind. She was the kind of woman who would have a big to-do wedding, a lah-dee-dah affair back in Boston with the upper crust. This turn of events resembled an old-fashioned Arkansas shotgun wedding where the bride was barefoot and pregnant.

Barefoot and pregnant…barefoot and pregnant

Son of a bitch…He'd be a goddamned son of a bitch!

Phil stood and ground the cigar out under the heel of his shoe. Could pregnancy be the missing piece of the puzzle? The age-old explanation for hasty marriage rang some gut-level bell of truth.

Had Maddie and Randy actually conceived a child? Nah, he couldn't buy that one, but he could see marriage to Randy being her way out to respectability. So who was the mysterious stud? Some summer fling? At any rate, he knew one thing for sure—it wasn't Phil Wilcox.

No, Phil was just a damn fool who couldn't get one woman out of his mind. He knew he'd be watching her whether he wanted to or not. Would she soon be wearing blousy outfits? Would Randy perform another teachers' meeting skit to announce the coming of the stork? This time they’d probably do a scene from
Father Knows Best
. Randy might smoke a pipe and call Maddie "kitten."

Whatever the truth might be, she’d obviously made her bed; now she could lie in it, without Phil Wilcox.

As he took heavy steps toward his apartment door, he told himself to forget the woman, turn on ESPN and fall asleep in his recliner. But instead he continued to his dim bedroom and lay back on the bed, hands folded behind his head and stared up at the passing moon through the small window. He'd have sworn a face appeared before the shining orb, a face with wide blue eyes surrounded by soft wheat hair dancing in the breeze.

He flipped on his clock radio. A haunting, melancholy Elvis asked the musical question,
Are You Lonesome Tonight?
Phil's heart beat along in 3/4 time.

Yes, damn it, he was lonesome tonight. He fell asleep with empty arms.

* * *

Reba Finn scooted her bottom on the wooden ledge as close to the open window as possible as she gazed at the man on the moon. Even though it was the middle of the night, she couldn't sleep because of all the noise and smells rising from downstairs. Her folks had a houseful of people, all hyped up on the stuff her mom had learned to cook. The stink of the chemicals gave Reba a headache and she hated the way it made everyone act—wild and scary. The pot hadn't been so bad. The smell of it had always been a part of her life, making people quiet and spaced out, not loud and crazy.

Reba gulped a deep breath from the cold air of the open window, which chilled, but brought relief to her throbbing head. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms about her shins, feeling air swirl around her naked legs covered by a thin nightgown. Faith stirred in her sleep, snuggling a doll in her small bed. Reba looked back into the room, seeing the slant of the loft roof in the blue evening light. The rough unfinished room with its unpainted rafters and walls served as the girls' sanctuary from the rest of the family. Faith's crayon colored pictures decorated the short walls and Reba had managed to paint a garage sale vanity a cheery yellow to brighten the room.

Sometimes Reba's fertile imagination allowed her to escape reality, and she could be a kidnapped princess waiting for her Prince Charming to break into the evil castle and carry her away. Other times, she just huddled in her bed and managed to sleep away a bad day. Now, she had a new dream, a dream given to her by Mr. Bailey. Maybe she could sing her way out of this hellhole and take her brothers and sister with her.

Noise from the downstairs got suddenly louder and meaner.

"Don't you tell me about racing! You don't know your ass from a hole in the ground!" Wade's voice came through the floor loud and clear.

Fear tinged Ginger's voice. "Let him go, Wade!"

"Get away from me, you stupid bitch. If it weren't for you and those damn kids, I'd be on the circuit right now. You're just nothing but a weight around my neck—a fat, stinking weight!"

Even through the walls, a slap resounded followed by objects crashing to the wooden floor.

Ginger's sobbing reply pierced Reba's soul. "I hate you!"

Another spaced-out male voice joined the melee. "Hey, man, take it easy. I didn't mean nuthin' by it."

"I'm getting the hell out of here." Wade said. "Gonna find me a woman who doesn't look like a damn pig. This shit better be cleaned up by the time I get back."

The screen door slammed. Reba watched Wade's rangy figure climb into his truck. It peeled out onto the gravel road. Ginger's whimpers mingled with muffled comments from other unknown guests.

Reba inhaled a deep breath and lifted her eyes to the sky, attempting to rise above the disturbing trembling in her stomach. The brightness of the moon offered her hope, brought a hypnotizing sense of calm as she stared and stared at the shining celestial body.

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight."

And some wishes are granted by that old Devil Moon.

Chapter Twelve

I wonder who's been sleeping in my bed?

The Three Bears

Wade's truck jostled over the potholed road leading to the main highway. "Damn, stupid bitch…"

He pulled out without looking for oncoming traffic, stomped the accelerator and fishtailed onto the black ribbon of asphalt.

His mind raced in a thousand incoherent directions, shooting images of cars, fireballs and women darted through his head like a waking nightmare. He wanted another hit, needed the burst of euphoria from the crystals, pissed that the elusive state of ecstasy got harder to achieve. He also wanted sex, ached to be buried in a woman and blasted to mindless outer space beyond the reach of inner demons.

The flash of trees in his headlights reminded him of ghostly figures, the living dead stalking sorry sons of bitches in the night. He passed a few mailboxes clustered together for the rural postal worker's convenience. Short fences and long driveways that lead to homes clustered around the lake zoomed by. He slowed down; his mind worked to bring up a steady idea. That Miss Harris lived around here, just around the next bend.
Now there's a sweet piece of ass.
Just thinking of her smooth skin and soft hair made his dick hard. He cut his lights and pulled into her gravel road.

Porch lights seemed to greet him, saying
Come on in, Wade
. He got out of the truck and slammed the door, not bothering to be quiet. An image of her naked, long legs and high breasts propelled him toward the house. He jiggled the front door. Locked. Walking around to the well-lit back porch, he searched in the flowerpots and under the doormat where he found the extra key in typical Arkansas fashion. The back door opened noiselessly.

Making his way through the kitchen into the living room, the outside lights offered ample illumination in the still rooms. He stood mesmerized on the plush carpet, inhaling the clean scent of potpourri, soap, and furniture polish. This place didn't stink of ashtrays and baby shit like his house. Even without another hit of the spoosh, he felt better, less jumpy. He moved toward a hallway and guessed which door opened into her bedroom. A strong lavender aroma hit his senses and pulled him into the room. The bed lay bathed in moonlight from the bay window. Fluffy pillows rested on the thick comforter. No beautiful white body lay sleeping in the bed.