Jilted (13 page)

Saturday afternoon, Clyde stood in front of the deep fryer at the Dairy Queen, knowing he was using his work as a means of ignoring the worry in his mind. He had already talked to Hector Chavez and discovered that Neil was blowing hot air. Child Protective Services wouldn't even get involved unless Clyde had custody of Nathan—but Clyde was still anxious. Neil had made a threat, and even if his accusations wouldn't hold up in court, he clearly wanted to make trouble for Clyde, and he had plenty of power to do it.

“Hey.”

Clyde hadn't seen Lynda come in, and her soft greeting surprised him.

Her gaze met his, but she looked away quickly. “You get off soon, right?”

“Few minutes.”

She glanced at the time clock, then the parking lot, then the bubbling oil. “I'm sorry about last night.”

Clyde lifted a basket of chicken strips and hooked it on a rack to drain. “I'm not.”

Her hand fiddled with the neck band of her shirt. “I don't mean I'm sorry about everything. I'm just sorry … it took me so long.”

She was sorry.

Clyde separated two cardboard trays and scooped fries into them. Lynda just apologized for being so strung out on memories, she couldn't function in the present. He couldn't figure how to answer her. He looked past the ice-cream machine, through the plate-glass windows, and into the parking lot. “If you keep showing up right when I get off work, I'm going to get the wrong idea.”

She finally exhaled. “You're not the only one.”

He noticed an old Honda pulling into the lot. “There's my replacement.”

“Ellery Leach can cook?”

“It's just the Dairy Queen, Lyn. Anybody can do it.”

“Evidently.”

The teenager swerved into a parking space, loped across the asphalt, and shoved the glass door so hard it slammed against an adjacent table. When he came around the counter and into the kitchen, Clyde felt the instinct to brace himself as though a high wind were about to smash through the restaurant.

“Have you heard?” Ellery's face was pinker than usual. “It's all over town.”

Clyde rested an elbow on top of the slush machine. “Guess not.”

Ellery paused with his apron halfway over his head and stared at them. “Everyone's been talking about it up at the school.” He methodically wrapped the apron strings around his waist, then tied them in slow motion. “You know the Tarron boys have been dropping grenades out there in the lake?”

“Grenades?” Lynda picked at a hangnail.

Ellery rushed his words. “Yeah, and yesterday they blew up a spot down by the cliffs, and a rearview mirror blasted out of the water. Landed on shore twenty feet from where they were standing.”

“A mirror, huh?” Clyde walked to the time clock.

“Turns out the Tarrons found a car down there. It was too deep for them to see it much, but the Lubbock police are checking into it.” He smiled so widely, his braces looked like train tracks, and then he swiped his hand beneath his nose.

Clyde held the soap dispenser toward the kid and gestured to the sink.

Ellery peered from the soap to the sink, then shrugged and began washing his hands. “It's probably been out there awhile, so you can only imagine the shape the driver's in by now. Slimy, I bet.”

Lynda gave a disgusted grunt and walked away, and Clyde followed her.

“What?” Ellery called after them, but Clyde only shook his head and lifted his hand in a wave.

Lynda led him out the door, but her steps slowed until she stopped between two red outdoor tables.

“Want to go for a drive?” Clyde no longer felt an urgency to take her out on a real date. He would still do it eventually—court her like she ought to be courted, like she was something special—but after Neil's unexpected behavior last night, all Clyde wanted to do was be with her, hold her, pretend they were somewhere else.

“I don't know why I came by.” In answer to his question, she walked slowly to his car. “If you've got something else to do, I can head home.”

Clyde slid into the driver's seat and tried not to smile. In spite of all their problems, he thought it was cute, her showing up when he got off work, yet unable to admit she wanted to see him. “I've got nothing else,” he said.

“We could just drive around town.”

Clyde studied her. Crossed arms, tightened lips, furrowed brow. He started the car but then paused with his hand on the gearshift. “I told you CPS won't get involved. Neil's way out of line this time.”

She peered out the passenger window, looking away from him, and Clyde felt they were separated by a million miles.

“What about the car-seat thing?” she asked.

“Hector said it could only result in a Class C ticket. Nothing as dramatic as a restraining order.”

She released a heavy breath, then looked at him. “It'll be all right?”

“It will.”

When he backed out of the parking space and stopped at the street, JohnScott and Fawn pulled in. They were in JohnScott's truck, with Nathan strapped in his car seat between them.

With both vehicles blocking the entrance, Clyde rolled down his window and greeted his son-in-law. He would never get used to having a son-in-law, or a grandson, or a daughter. He would never get used to having a life at all.

“You already off?” JohnScott grinned at Clyde, then ducked so he could see his aunt Lynda.

“Just now.”

Nathan clapped his hands and squealed. “Cyde!” The baby leaned forward in his seat, slammed his head back, and then he did it again, laughing.

“What are y'all up to?” Clyde asked.

“Neil and Susan are coming over for dinner. We're just picking up a bag of crushed ice.”

“That right?” Clyde studied JohnScott, wondering why he looked older.

“The Blaylocks are pushing for Nathan to spend more time with Tyler.” JohnScott draped his wrist over the steering wheel. “I know it's the right thing, since he's Nathan's dad and all, but it still feels wrong.”

Fawn opened her truck door and walked around to stand by the passenger side of the sedan, and Clyde heard Lynda huff as she rolled down the window.

Apparently Fawn didn't want to discuss her problems, and Clyde couldn't blame her. He blocked out the women's small talk and lowered his voice. “JohnScott, do you ever feel like Nathan's got one too many dads?”

“Sometimes, yeah. I love the kid, and I'd give anything to be his kin.” His mouth curved downward. “Besides, it would be a lot easier without Tyler in the picture, babysitting problems or not.”

“Yep,” Clyde agreed. “Sometimes it's that way with Fawn, only I don't feel like I'm the one who's kin.” He cleared his throat, wanting to tell JohnScott about Neil's threat but not wanting to burden him. “I don't wish Neil away, but things would be simpler if she only had one of us in her life.”

Nathan kicked his feet and clapped, and JohnScott laid his palm on the baby's head, running his fingers through his curls. He looked at Fawn and Lynda, then pulled his chin in. “Fawn says her mom's been moody lately. Crying a lot. So there may be something going on between them that's made Neil crankier than usual.”

Fawn interrupted. “Hey, have you guys heard about the fuss out at the lake?”

“Sure enough.” Clyde knew Lynda would be ready to hit the trail, but he figured he ought to follow through with the conversation before suggesting they leave. He'd learned it was the polite thing to do, especially with friends and family. “Can't believe there's been a car on the bottom of the lake, and nobody noticed it.”

“They say it's in one of the deepest spots, but the lake is a little low”—Fawn laughed lightly—“and with the explosives those crazy boys have been using out there, things are getting stirred up.”

“Are they just going to leave it down there?” Lynda asked.

JohnScott's arm hung outside the truck, and he tapped his fingers against the door. “One of the coaches heard they're bringing a crane to pull it out.”

“When's that happening?” Clyde glanced around the DQ parking lot, almost expecting to see townspeople scurrying to the lake.

“Sometime this afternoon. They're rushing it on account of those bones.” JohnScott pooched out his bottom lip. “We can't go watch because Neil and Susan are coming over.”

“We could go.” Clyde turned to Lynda.

She shrugged. “Free entertainment, I suppose. What kind of vehicle is it?”

“A pickup truck,” JohnScott said. “I wonder if it'll turn out to be an oil-rig worker. Or a wind tech.”

“I bet not,” Fawn said. “If it was a company truck, it would have been reported missing.”

“Maybe it was,” he answered. “It'd be hidden on the bottom of the lake either way.”

Clyde's mind conjured up a wacky scenario that he wanted to share with JohnScott, but just then another car stopped on the street, waiting for access to the Dairy Queen entrance.

Fawn bounced around the two cars and back into her seat, and JohnScott lifted his ball cap, then replaced it on his head. “See y'all later.”

Clyde eased away from the parking lot, turning the steering wheel to head out of town. He didn't care if they ended up at the lake, or at the windmills, or a hundred miles away where nobody knew them. “This could be our first official date if you wanted it to be.”

“No candlelight dinner? No romantic movie? No flowers?”

“Nope. Just me. And a crane pulling a car out of the lake. It don't get any better than that.”

Lynda sighed dramatically, looked behind them as if checking for witnesses, then unhooked her seat belt and slid next to him. “Sounds like my kind of date.” She reclicked the middle seat belt, tightening it around her waist and anchoring herself solidly next to Clyde.

Suddenly he felt as if one of the Tarrons' grenades had exploded inside him, sending a spray of anticipation and peace through the interior of his old sedan. He chuckled, put his arm around Lynda, and pulled her snugly against his side. Right where she belonged.

Clyde and I were sitting so close together, our bodies touched all the way from our shoulders to our knees, and I thought my pulse might cause a blood vessel to burst behind my ear drums. I hadn't been on a date since Hoby left—hadn't really even wanted to talk to a man—but now, suddenly, I felt more attracted to Clyde Felton than I had ever felt to any other man before. And for the first time in years, I thought my cup might be half full.

“So …” I let the word hang, unable to verbalize my thoughts. Since I had plastered myself by his side and allowed him to pull me into his armpit, anyone who passed us on the highway would get an eyeful. The entire town would know, but I had come to the point that being with Clyde was more important than invisibility.

“So.” Clyde said the word with finality, with confidence and purpose. He squeezed my shoulders. “You all right?”

“Feeling a little unsure at the moment.”

“Unsure? Or exposed?”

And just like that, he hit the nail on the head, driving a shard of clear crystal into my doubts and allowing a ray of sunshine to penetrate the darkness. We were speeding down the highway, just below the Caprock where the turbines flailed their arms like happy children waving streamers in the wind. Streamers that swept away my concerns.

“You ever dreamed you forgot to get dressed, and you walked into a party stark naked?” I asked.

“That's pretty exposed I guess.”

“Hester Prynne probably felt that way.”

“You been reading
The Scarlet Lette
r
?”

“I watched the movie. Got it from the Video Barn.”

“Hmm. I reckon Hester felt exposed when she was in the stocks in front of the whole village, but Lyn … you're not her.”

“Maybe not, but thanks to Neil Blaylock, I was in stocks in front of the entire town for a while.”

He fell silent for a few moments before asking, “Why do you reckon he told the church you were unfaithful to Hoby?”

“He said it was because he never stopped caring for me, but I figure it was simple meanness and jealousy.”

“Sure don't sound like love.”

I peered at him then, studying the side of his face. His ear, his jaw, the ever-present scruff on his chin. Clyde had changed since we were young. Now he spoke less and said more. “How do you know the right things to say?”

He blinked. “I don't.”

“You don't think you do, but you do.”

He stared down the highway, frowning slightly. “When I read books in prison, it was sort of like I traveled all over and saw lots of different things, good and bad and beautiful and ugly.” His mouth twisted. “But I really didn't see anything but a cell, so I'm nobody to say the right things.”

I hadn't meant to send him back to those memories, and already I wanted the smiling Clyde back by my side. “I can't picture you reading.”

“Not much else to do.” He turned on the main lake road, tugging my gaze away from the merry children. “Any idea how to get to that spot they were talking about?”

“Not a clue.”

“I'll follow that guy.” He pointed to a white passenger van in front of us.

“Good Lord. Channel Eleven?”

“This is breaking news, Lyn.”

We passed cacti and pastures and curved around trailer parks and bait shops, following the van on a maze of turns. We ended up on a narrow, rocky road, a trail really, that seemed to be leading away from the lake. There were crags and small canyons and bluffs, and then we climbed up one last incline and suddenly I could see the lake snaking thirty feet below us.

The news van rolled to a stop, and Clyde pulled past it.

He reached through the steering wheel and shut off the ignition with his left hand, then pulled me closer with his right. “This isn't a typical first date, is it?” he asked.

“We're not a typical couple.” It felt strange to refer to us as a couple, but I supposed that's what we were.

The news man opened the back of his van and hurriedly removed a camera and tripod, but we stayed in the car watching him. He ran-walked to the edge of the bluff and popped the tripod open in one swift movement, and within a matter of seconds, he had the camera trained on the ground far below at the bottom of the cliff.

From the front seat of the sedan, we were too far from the bluff to see what was happening below us, and curiosity whispered to me, but it paled in comparison to the bullhorn blare created from being so near Clyde with the security of his arm around me.

He focused his gaze on my face, seemingly unconcerned with whatever was happening in the water. “We may never be a typical couple.” He brushed his lips across my forehead.

The tip of his nose traced a path from my temple, across my cheek, and then he paused with his lips millimeters from mine. I tasted the cinnamon of his breath just before I lost myself in the weightlessness of his kiss. At that moment I didn't care if the whole town knew about Clyde and me. I didn't care about anything at all except being with him, in the safety of his arms, knowing he wanted me, too.

When we pulled apart, the cameraman was looking at us. His shoulders shook gently with laughter before he went back to work, and my soul felt light. That stranger had acted as though we were any other normal couple. So maybe we were.

“We don't have to stay here,” Clyde said. “We could just go back and watch the windmills.”

“The side of the highway isn't any more private than this.”

“We could go on up the Cap. Maybe find an access road to get to the wind fields. Maybe even up to the base of a turbine.”

I felt as if a burst of wind energy swept through the car, leaving me exhilarated. The possibility of being that close to one of the huge windmills charged me with excitement, but even more than that was the thought of being there with Clyde, who knew me well enough to figure I would enjoy it.

“Surely you don't want to go parking on our first date,” I teased.

A surprised laugh puffed from his lungs. “I wouldn't mind parking on every date, Lyn.”

My neck and chest warmed.

“I love it when you blush,” he said.

“I don't blush.”

“Yes. Yes, you do. When you're nervous or embarrassed. It's beautiful.” His thumb rubbed a small circle on my cheekbone. “Because you're so pure.”

In a snap, my confidence vanished, and I pulled back just enough to distance myself from the discomfort of his words. I looked away from him, out the window, watching the news guy shifting from foot to foot as he waited for something to film. “How long do you suppose that truck's been down there?”

I felt Clyde's sigh as much as I heard it, almost condescending, as though I were an unruly child he couldn't control. “Years, I reckon, but they built the lake a few years after I left town, right? So it couldn't be longer than that.”

The truck didn't interest me, and I couldn't have cared less how long it had been at the bottom of the lake, or how long the lake had been there. The only real thought in my mind was whether or not Clyde's love was real. Or if it was even love at all.

“I'm afraid you'll leave me,” I said, wishing I could manage a first date without bringing up my past lovers.

“I know you are.”

“So how do I get over that?”

“Maybe just let me prove it to you.”

I scooted to my side of the seat, feigning interest in the lake. “That could take a long time.”

His gaze fell to my hand gripping the door handle. “We've got the rest of our lives, Lyn, and I'm in no rush.”

“But you said we're not kids anymore. You said you don't want to dillydally around.”

“I don't mean to dillydally, but I'm not going to rush you either.” His smile sent another wave of heat across my skin. “Not much at least.”

The intensity of his meaning compelled me to flee, and I yanked the handle. “Let's go see what's going on down there.”

Clyde followed me to the front bumper of the sedan. “Do you know this place?”

I studied the terrain, the jagged cliff edge, the way the road curved past two pump jacks, the rocky bluff on the opposite side of the chasm. Yes, I knew this place. “Neil used to bring me here. Before you went to prison.” I blinked away the stupidity of that last statement. Neil and I had roasted marshmallows and sat on the edge of the cliff tossing pebbles over the side and watching them fall to the rocks below. That was way before the lake was here.

I grunted, disgusted with myself. “You think we'll ever be able to have a conversation without mentioning Hoby or Neil?”

“That might take a while, too.” Clyde slipped a finger into my palm and pulled me toward the edge.

I followed him willingly, stepping over devil's-head cacti as the knee-high grass itched my shins, but I wasn't prepared for what lay below us. The lake came right up to the bluff beneath, but an arc of dry ground formed where once there had been water. Police cars and news vehicles scattered near the waterline, and a crane lay to our left, its highest pulley almost even with our feet. People were everywhere: officials in uniforms, Boy Scouts, townspeople. Several cameras were already rolling, and reporters jabbered in front of them.

I glanced at the man just down from us. “Isn't he the clever one?”

“We got lucky with him as our guide.”

Two scuba divers surfaced in the middle of the lake, swimming to the shore, and I noticed a metal cable traveling from the crane into the water, where it disappeared into the depths. The smell of the lake, stronger than usual, wafted toward us as the sun shone across the surface. Everything seemed to be happening in a flurry of activity, but from our perch above it all, I felt like a spectator watching a movie, uninvolved and distant. I squeezed Clyde's finger. “What did you read?”

“Read?”

“In prison.”

“Oh.” He shifted his feet. “Everything. Anything.”

“We're on a date. You should answer my questions.”

He chuckled.
“The Firm … Anna Karenina … Mein Kampf … 1001 Ways to Stuff a Turkey … Harry Potter.”

A man below yelled orders, and the engine of the crane revved and began to move. The line grew taut, but I turned to Clyde, more interested in him than all the turmoil below us. “That all?”

“Not hardly.”

“Clyde Felton, you just rolled your eyes.”

He smiled down at me. “You're a bad influence, I guess.” Slipping his arms around my waist, he leaned over and kissed me right there in front of half the town. His bravery sent a jolt of rebellion across my heart as I realized that any of those people would see us … if only they looked up.

He pulled away, chuckling, and his breath brushed against my cheek.

“So those are your favorite books?” I asked.

“I wouldn't say that, no.” He left one arm around me.

“So what's your favorite?” The crane jerked and strained when it began supporting the weight of the vehicle, and the commotion on the shoreline calmed, but the activity happening below us seemed insignificant compared to the scene playing out next to me. Clyde was talking about himself, sharing secrets, and enjoying it.

“Favorite book?” He pulled me a little closer. “That would have to be the Bible, I suppose.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and I could see a hint of his teeth, but then his gaze slipped toward the waterline, and he frowned.

I followed his gaze to see a muddy automobile bumper just breaking the surface of the water. Gooey, brown sludge cascaded from the vehicle, leaving a silty circle in the lake as it revealed two rear tires and a red towing mechanism. “The Bible?” I whispered.

The wind that had been nudging me now vanished, leaving me stifled in the heat of the late-afternoon sun. Water and mud poured from the windows of the truck as the crane pulled it farther out of the water. It wasn't a pickup. It wasn't the truck of an oil-field worker or a wind tech. I knew without a doubt it was the truck of a mechanic.

It was Hoby's wrecker.

Emptiness welled up from deep inside me, gently expanding like a hot-air balloon to suffocate me with its nothingness. “I should have known,” I said.

The water around the truck swirled, and the shoreline slid away, and the people became foggy and blurred. When the ground beneath me began to spin out of control, I felt Clyde's arms around my back and under my legs. He swooped me up and held me tightly against his chest just before the world went black.