Homefires (68 page)

Anger propelled me to my feet. “I know you despise me, Kirk. Now, I know why. Someone named Cheryl.”

He was suddenly in my face. “This is not about another woman.”

The smell of alcohol hit me like a mallet. “You’ve been drinking. Oh, God, Kirk – of all times to stay sober, this was it.” I turned away. “I can’t believe you couldn’t stay sober for – ”

His strong fingers spun me around. “Hit me now, Janeece,” he said with that quiet lethalness I’d always feared. He gave my shoulder a little shove, “C’mon,” he taunted, “hit me now.” Another shove, a bit stronger. “Hit me.”

I struggled to maintain my footing, staring at the huge fist swimming before my terrified wet vision. “I don’t want to hit you, Kirk,” I heard myself say in a dead voice.

And I knew Kirk was drunk. “I’m not drunk,” he said as though reading my mind. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

I didn’t doubt that for one minute. “I’ve got to go home, Kirk,” I headed for my purse again, only to be blocked as he snatched it up and emptied its contents on the sofa. He grabbed my purse, extracted all the money from it and threw it onto the heap.

“You’re what I made you,” he said, eyes burning. “You couldn’t make it on your own if you tried,” he sneered.

“Then you shouldn’t care that I’m leaving,” I said, looking past him, waiting for him to calm down and step aside. I knew I must be careful not to push him over the edge. I’d always known violence lurked in Kirk. Somehow, I’d known.

“Leaving?” His gaze narrowed meanly.

I looked dully at him. “Going home.”

Slowly, he handed me my car keys. I was suddenly glad for Kirk’s strong work ethic that prevented him from simply closing down the salon and following me home to resume the fight. We welcomed walk-in clientele so we had to keep the door open during our posted working hours.

At the house, I’d just stepped out of my shoes when Kirk came in.

I stared at him warily.

“Don’t,” he said, pain flickering in his eyes.

“What?”

“Don’t look afraid of me.”

Tears welled, then spilled over as I gazed at him. He slowly approached me, then tentatively reached out to touch my wet cheek. “Oh, Neecy,” he moaned and hauled me against him, his arms squeezing me so tight I could hardly breathe. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.” He lifted his head, then pressed his forehead to mine, whispering, “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“Kirk,” I said, “do you love her?”

He stiffened, then said quietly, “No. I haven’t talked with her in a long time.”

“Why did you – ?” I couldn’t put it into words.

He pulled me over to the den sofa and settled me onto it. “Neecy, it all began when I thought you were wanting to have an affair – to purge yourself, you said. I knew that guy – Johnny
Revel – was sniffing around you at school. That’s when I realized I couldn’t keep on hurting, either. I convinced myself it was stupid to feel so territorial and jealous at the thought of someone else looking at you. So – I let myself get caught in another situation that I thought would de-sensitize me, so to speak.” He settled back against the cushions. “I came down to the beach that night because I realized what a fool I’d been but when I saw that guy in your room – I went crazy.”

“I told you, Kirk,” I said desperately, “there was nothing between Chris and myself. Not that night, not ever.”

He looked at me with such sadness, it took my breath. “I want to believe you, Neecy. I think I do. But – ”

“Kirk, I was so sick, I couldn’t have – ”

“What if you hadn’t gotten sick, though, Neecy?” Kirk asked gently.

I gazed at him for long moments. I didn’t have an answer for him because, looking back, I realized how vulnerable I’d been at that point in time. I’d been aroused by a man young enough to be my son.

“Kirk – ” I licked my lips and decided to be honest. “I finally understand that sex isn’t always about love. It can be – but doesn’t have to be.”

He gazed back at me and I saw questions in his eyes, but he didn’t ask them. I was grateful.

“Janeece,” Kirk’s brow furrowed, “do you think we’re gonna make it?”

“I don’t know, Kirk.” I reached out to touch his hand. “I really don’t know.”

I wish I could say Kirk didn’t backslide into occasional pugnaciousness after that talk. But with Kirk’s complexity, sailing didn’t resume smoothly. The next week, Callie’s mom died. Anne called me with the bad news.

“Where’s the family going to receive friends?” I asked.

“At Forest’s Funeral Home.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Anne. How’s Chuck’s tech college studies going?”

“Great, according to him,” Anne informed me. “You know he’s into computer studies, something he can handle with his limited endurance.”

“My my. He’s indomitable. Is Poogie still spending time with him?”

“Whenever her Mama takes her. She’s getting a little more pushy about being with her daddy, though. Brags on his good grades.”

“That really warms my heart, Anne.” I paused. “Thanks for taking care of him all those years he was sick and alone.”

“He’s my young-un, Neecy, just like you and Trish,” she said softly.

“I know. See you at Forest’s tonight. Love you.”

“Me, too. Bye.”

That night, folks overflowed the funeral home when Kirk and I arrived. I felt Kirk stiffen beside me as I signed the guest register. From the corner of my eye, I saw his head lift like a beast sniffing out danger. Wary, I turned to the target of his gawk. His old high-school nemesis Hugh Nighthawk huddled with other old high school friends at the far end of the large receiving room, unaware of our presence.

I turned on my heel and headed in the opposite direction, praying Kirk would follow. Callie stood beside the bronze casket with its spray of red roses, Mollie’s favorite. Her burst of dark hair hugged her pale cheeks in a bob that swayed as her head dipped and moved in grateful animation. Her beauty still took my breath. I slowly made my way to where she greeted an elderly couple from Mollie’s church. I stood silently, waiting my turn to speak to her, choking back sudden, overwhelming tears. I could see Mollie’s lovely profile framed by a gust of white wavy gloss, horizoned slightly above the casket break. It could have been superimposed over Callie’s face without changing much with its patrician nose set over generous, patient lips I’d never heard utter an unkind word. Even after Callie’s worst shenanigans, Mollie had given Cal the benefit of a doubt. To a fault at times, but now I realized Mollie, with her husband’s drinking and philandering, had handled things the best she knew how.

Increasingly frustrating battle-of-wills with Dawn had loosed my compassion for others in like situations.

The older couple moved on. Callie sighted me and her dark eyes rounded and filled with tears.

“Neecy,” she whispered on a sob. We fell into each other’s arms and bawled like babies.

“She’s so pretty, Cal,” I sobbed. “Like an angel. She
was
an angel.”

“Got that right, Neecy.” When we finally wound down, Callie pulled back to look at me through red, swollen eyes. “I’m so glad you came, Neecy.”

“I’ve missed you.”

She snuffled and tried unsuccessfully to blink back tears. “Me, too.”

“Cal – I’m sorry about all the junk – and that I’ve not been to see you while you’ve been nursing your mama through cancer – ”

“That was then and this is now. You’ve had your own battles, Neecy. I know that.” Her hands gently squeezed my arms. “Let’s not look back.”

I smiled at her through new tears. “Okay.”

“Oka-a-ay.” She held up her hand and we did a high-five, tears coursing down our cheeks.

“Kirk!” Callie turned to give Kirk a big hug. I no longer felt threatened by their warm relationship. Felt, in fact, that I’d been stupid to ever have been. “Don’t get gone.” Cal grabbed our arms as we prepared to move away. “I want you to come over to the house when I leave.”

Kirk and I meandered to the lobby area to wait for Callie. Hugh was nowhere to be seen. The disappearing act no longer amused me. Because I never knew what to expect from Kirk these days. Since I’d found out about the phone calls, not much had changed. Ours was an unspoken, spider-web fragile truce, the one-day-at-a-time and let’s-see-what-happens brand.

I still whiffed the telltale alcohol smell on occasion. But not as often.

Kirk insisted I ride with Cal to her house and he followed in our Buick sedan. “He wanted to give us time alone,” Callie murmured tiredly, exhausted from grief and all those months of hanging in there with Mollie. “How are things, Neecy?” she asked.

I hesitated, wondering how much to reveal to her during her own time of distress. “Okay,” I replied, deciding it wouldn’t be fair to dump on her. “Not perfect. Just – okay.”

“Mmm. Takes time.” She gave a long ragged sigh, slumped over the wheel as though it were the only thing between her and acute collapse.

“How about you, Cal? What you going to do now that both parents are gone?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. Then a matter of fact, “I’ll stay on in the house.” She shrugged. “Why not? It’s paid for and it’s home.” She gave a little snort that transported me back to younger days. “At one time, I couldn’t wait to get away from here. Remember?”

I laughed. “Do I. You wasted no time in fulfilling your dream, either.”

Her gaze settled dully on the road again. Her aborted grunt of laughter didn’t reach her face. “Turned out to be a nightmare.” Another tremulous sigh, then a conscious lift of features and shoulders. “Until I met God.”

The sudden reference stunned my senses, like a brash intrusion. How far I’d drifted.

“How about you, Neecy? You leaning on Him?”

Paralyzed with revelation, I couldn’t speak.

“Things like that – what happened to you and Kirk – can bring on bitterness, Neecy. I’m not saying you’re bitter,” she added quickly, seeing me tense. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that when a good person like you gets slaughtered by hurts, it’s difficult as blazes to keep a straight head. I don’t know what’s transpired in the past ten years, but I know –
feel
– you’ve fought a horrific battle to stay sane.”

She relaxed for a moment as she navigated her old plunker Ford around condolence-bearers’ vehicles and into her teensy drive. Kirk had already joined the men occupying the front porch with its endearing white swing and neatly whitewashed, weathered rocking chairs. Cigarettes blinked like fireflies in the silvery darkness.

Callie turned to me, her silky dress rustling against the leather car seat, in no hurry to join her guests. Suddenly, I felt her intense love, one I’d never have dreamed, all those years ago, would have evolved. I swallowed a huge lump.

“Callie,” I spoke impulsively, hoarsely, “you can’t imagine how much your love means to me just now.” I blinked rapidly, hating the free-falling tears streaming my face, revealing to her my need, my depletion. She took my hand and squeezed and in an instant, it didn’t really matter. “Oh Cal – I don’t want to burden you right now wi – ”

Her fingers gripped mine so tightly I felt them begin to numb. “Don’t you
ever again
close me out of your life, Janeece Whitman Crenshaw,” she sniped in the old Callie vernacular, tart and concise and final. “We can’t let go of each other again.”

We fell into each other’s arms and bawled it out. When we cranked down, sniffling and blowing noses heartily into Kleenexes, Callie looked me blearily in the eye. “Now, here’s what I want you to do – my prescription, for whatever it’s worth to you.”

“This next week, you get alone somewhere, meditate and pray. Then – we’ll talk again.”

I stared at her, perplexed yet knowing she was right. There had to be a starting place for my odyssey back. I’d just needed Cal to remind me
where.

“Thanks, Cal,” I whispered, the darned tears puddling again.

She flashed a fervent smile. “Payback time, Neecy.” She shrugged elaborately as her own dark eyes moistened. “Just – payback time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 

The Starlight Motel room was small and plain. But it was clean. Kirk had kicked up a fuss when I told him my plans to withdraw for a time to meditate.

“So,” he drawled, his face just short of a sneer as he paced the floor like a caged pit bull, “You’re gonna go back to being little religious, Neecy, huh?” The smell of alcohol reached me halfway across the bedroom, but tonight, it didn’t upset me as much. His words, however, punched me with the impact of Joe Frazier’s boxing glove.

I gazed at him, struggling for calm. “I’m going to be
me,
Kirk, is all.”

He glared at me as though wanting to say more, but he didn’t.

“I’ll call you when – ”

He was suddenly in my face. “Why can’t you tell me where you’re going?”