Nether Regions (28 page)

“There, baby, there, baby. That’s right,” Sophie was muttering as Delora manipulated her body. Delora could feel the swelling of Sophie’s nipples against her arm as Sophie passed into orgasm. Sophie keened softly as she shuddered against Delora and her arms reached to pull Delora tighter. Her slimness heaved and Delora could feel the rhythmic clenching of muscles inside Sophie as they closed on her hand. She felt she might faint from her own sudden, sharp arousal. Gently she allowed her touch to slip from Sophie.

Sophie, instead of being sated, became rougher with Delora. She clamped her mouth onto Delora with white-hot energy, tongue plundering. Delora felt passion transforming her, and she responded as ardently. Hands on Sophie’s breasts, she pressed the nipples between her fingers until Sophie moaned, then she cupped them in her hands. Sophie found the soap and used it to lubricate between Delora’s thighs. The soap fell with a clatter as Sophie’s hand gently, lightly penetrated Delora. Delora gasped, certain she’d never experienced such pleasure before. Sophie was pressing upward with firm yet gentle strokes and Delora exploded into her own climax as Sophie sucked at her breasts one after the other. Spent and exhausted, Delora fell back against the shower wall, her world spinning.

Gently slipping her hand from Delora, Sophie continued to caress and kiss her until Delora could see again.

Delora moaned as her body throbbed and spun in a dervish dance of sparking passion. “It’s never been like that before,” she admitted in a breathy voice.

Sophie had fallen against Delora, sheltering her from the spray, their sensitive, soapy bodies sliding together easily. She shifted herself and placed a forearm on either side of Delora’s head. She stared deeply into Delora’s eyes. “So does this mean you might like to do it again sometime?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

Delora ran her hands along Sophie’s hips. “Hmm, not sure. Kiss me again and let’s see.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Beulah lay supine on her bed, head whirling with thought.

She’d known the time was nigh for days—no, months really—since the death beetle had clicked her awake one morning at the beginning of summer. She had no problem with it—her life had been long and full. She’d loved well. The long line of men she’d loved or simply dallied with passed through her mind. She wondered which of them she’d loved the most. Oddly enough, she believed it to be perpetual playboy, Syria Boost, with his cocky good humor and playful lovemaking. Her coupling with him had been far too brief but more sensual than all the rest. She relived for a moment the sleek feel of his hands on her skin. He’d been one of the few to know how to really please a woman. He knew how to say all the right things to make a woman feel a certain way. He’d panted over her, working her body like a warm piece of clay, molding her into pleasurable pain and ecstasy.

Lying still, the sounds of the bayou cocooning her, Beulah experienced the thrill again, allowing it to pass from her as easily as she’d allowed Syria to pass on to his next woman. A man like that, who made loving his life, his talent, wouldn’t stay; she’d known this the first time setting eyes on him.

She thought of Faye and how she was drawn to those type of men, willing to sacrifice stability for that all-consuming thrill. Would Sophie follow that path? There’d been no indication of it; Sophie was as dependable as one season following the next. This comforted her as she knew her people would be cared for after her passing.

Delora’s sweet face rested on her mind’s eye. She would be good for Sophie. Beulah knew this. She sensed trouble coming but didn’t bother long with that thought. She’d once thought Sophie destined to be alone forever but saw then that the coming of the young woman would foretell the time of her passing. She was to be a comfort to Sophie.

Beulah remembered the pain of childbirth, how Keene’s birth had split her rudely into motherhood. She remembered the smell of Keene’s neck and how bringing him forth had seemed so right. She remembered the caul that had covered Faye’s face and how she had harbored such great expectations for the two of them, she and Faye as companion healers. Then granddaughter Sophie, born with the same golden hair as Faye and being more to Beulah than Faye could ever have been.

Pain, sweet and intense, flooded her mind as her brain suffered the assault of misplaced blood. A feeling of restful peace followed, suffusing her from fingertip to toe. She felt the Others approach, slowly surrounding her as they came to welcome her to Their side.

Beulah thought of all those she’d hated and felt relief to know she’d never fostered anger but moved on to more positive thinking. Her scorecard was good. Even the many lives she’d taken were held as mercy or forwarding the rightful order of things. Right and proper. Her acceptance by the Others was complete.

“I see you there,” she crooned, her voice barely audible. “I’m ’bout ready.”

She thought of all that she’d miss. The language of the bayou, Sophie’s smile, the smell of sweaty babies as she rocked them, the heat of sun on worn wooden floorboards, the prestige of helping the Manu Lisse and their gratitude, leaf lettuce fresh from the garden on a cool morning and the smell of new cigarette smoke after nightfall. Simple things she realized, but important to her. She hoped there would be touching on the other side. And good smells. And smiles.

The Others were closer and, as if reassuring her, she could feel them against the skin of her arms. Though ritual dictated otherwise, she was grateful that Clary and Sophie were about their own business and not tending to hers.

“Good,” she said. “Good.”

She drifted on.

Chapter Forty-Seven

It hit Sophie when she pulled into the yard. An important light had gone out. She was filled with sudden loss, her breath rattling through her chest on its way to the outside.

“No,” she muttered in disbelief. “I should have been here.”

Racing from her car, she leapt onto the porch and slammed through the kitchen door. She paused only when she reached the opening to Grandam’s bedroom. The body was there, lying calmly in the bed, but Grandam had gone. Acute loneliness beset Sophie; a keening of loss welled in her throat and escaped. Sitting on the edge of her grandmother’s bed, Sophie propelled her upper body to and fro, a low wail echoing in the room. She covered her face with both hands as tears fell freely.

Intellectually, Sophie knew it was time for her grandmother to leave, yet emotionally she was a small child abandoned by her only real parent and the pain was unbearable. Sensible, level-headed Sophie, who had known this parting was imminent, was nevertheless devastated.

Turning, she took the cold, brittle hand in hers and felt paltry that her hands could not heal this. Too late, too late. And she hadn’t been able to say goodbye.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you,” she whispered to the room. “
Atchava. Atchava. Rove. Misto. Danners rat méripen tard gilo púridaia múlladipóov. Non Tacha.”

After a time of silence, she added, “You shouldn’t have been alone.”

She pulled Grandam’s hands together and tucked them neatly on her abdomen, as she’d done for dozens of others. The time-marked face was slack, mouth and eyes partially opened. Sophie’s hands caressed the cool, aged cheeks, and she was able finally to turn away.

Staggering into the kitchen, she spread her arms, bracing her body in the doorway to outside. She sought solace from the bayou. How would she survive without Grandam’s daily guidance?

A warm blanket of sensation slid across Sophie. Surprised, she looked up to see if a sudden shaft of sunlight had appeared. Nothing was different yet the heat persisted even though she stood mostly in shadow. Peace followed the heat, and she knew that Grandam hadn’t gone anywhere. She was able to smile then, and she wrapped her arms around her own body in a fierce hug.

She sighed and hung her head. Next step. Move forward. Keep moving forward, that was the key and is what Grandam would say.

Moving mechanically, Sophie reached for the phone.

“Clary? It’s Sophie.”

“Hold on a minute, Miss Sophie. Clare’s here.” Salty, who usually took a good half hour to say anything, must have sensed Sophie’s urgency.

“Sophie? What you need, honey?”

“Grandam’s gone on. Can you come?”

Clary fell silent as she sensed the truth of Sophie’s words. Still unwilling to believe she said, “What do you mean, gone on?”

“It was her time, Clary. I’m gonna call Brother Kinder and then Womack. We’ll have to do things the outsider way because so many of her people were, but I’ll need your help to get her back after.”

“Okay,” Clary said in a low voice. “Twenty minutes. Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“Wait there at the house until I get there, okay?”

“I will.”

Sophie replaced the handset and paused. Brother Kinder’s number, a number that she had dialed by memory most of her life, eluded her.

Chapter Forty-Eight

An ominous silence fell at the French Club. Sensing it, Delora lifted her head and saw Rosalie approaching the bar. She was a formidable sight, a frigate on high seas, four hundred pounds of moving flesh. She’d taken the time to comb her short black hair into an orderly cap and to add to her already abundant cosmetic base. Her heavily mascaraed eyes studied Delora with more than the usual disdain.

“Hello, Rosalie,” Delora said evenly, although her heart felt as though it was going to pound out of her chest.

“Delora. I’m here to see what you have to say for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Delora asked. “What did I do?”

Rosalie insinuated her bulk sideways between two barstools and glared at her foster daughter. “You and Louie didn’t come home last night. You didn’t answer my calls. Then I get a call from Brother Kinder, find out your husband lies dead and you stay out all night like some common trollop. Where were you?” Her voice was a harsh whisper as she leaned closer to Delora.

“I was at the hotel is all, Mama, with the phone off. I’m not coming back.” Her chin lifted just a little. She heard Esther’s sudden indrawn breath behind her.

“What do you mean, not coming back? This is your home we’re talking about.”

Delora sighed and moved to light a cigarette with trembling hands. Hinchey cowered over to her left, his big hands curled paw-like around a beer bottle. His head hung low and she felt a sudden ache of pity for him. She knew he blamed himself for all that had happened even though not one iota of it was his fault.

She turned back to Rosalie. “Listen, I appreciate all you did for me, taking me in after my folks died and all, but I have to say life with you hasn’t been a warm, fuzzy experience.”

She drew on her cigarette as she watched Rosalie’s face change from amazement to outrage in the space of seconds.

“Well, excuse me for not being Miss Hoity-Toity June Cleaver. I gave you everything you needed. There’s no denyin’ that.”

Delora nodded. “True. But here lately, I been paying for it, seems like.”

The other woman grew indignant, her form wriggling for better vantage against the bar. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I work two jobs to pay you rent and utilities and a third so I’ll have some pocket money for myself. You also cash Louie’s disability checks for groceries just as fast as they cross my palm.”

Rosalie smiled a sickly sweet smile. “You’re an adult, Delora, and back at home under my roof. There’s nothing wrong in you helping with the rent and food and electric. Everyone at the church says so.”

Delora shook her head, a grim smile on her lips. Her cigarette had burned halfway down and a length of ash was resting on her work-weary hand. She looked down at it. “Louie’s disability covers all that. Why do you need so much more from me? Speaking of Louie’s check, I guess that’ll stop now, won’t it? I wonder if I’m gonna get widow’s benefits. Could that be why you’re in such a hurry to get me home again?”

Rosalie flushed a deep burgundy and had the grace to look sheepish. “I’m not worried about that, Delora, and I can’t believe you are. Your husband is dead. By the way, I have a lot of questions about how that happened.”

Refusing to acknowledge Hinchey’s panicked grimace or her memory of how Louie died, Delora replied with simple grace. “It was his time. You should just let it go at that, Rosalie.” She paused a long moment. “We don’t need to be stirring up any shit. Why don’t we just let the dead rest in peace?”

Delora expertly mixed a rum and Coke for Lem Staton and took it down the bar to him as Rosalie studied her.

“That’s your limit, Lem,” she said to the tottering older man as she placed the glass on the bar in front of him.

“Aww, come on, Lora, Don’t cut me off just yet. The night is young.” His eyes drifted curiously to Rosalie, who still stood sentinel at the bar.

Delora grinned at him. “Yeah, but you ain’t. It’s getting late and you need to sober up for about an hour or so before I can let you out of here.”

“That’s right, Lem,” Esther added, appearing at Delora’s elbow. “I spoke to Mary the other day and she told me to keep tabs on you.”

Lem shrugged and took a deep swallow of his fresh drink.

“You know better than to listen to her, Esther. Just cuz we married she thinks she can tell me what to do.”

Delora laughed hollowly. “And it’s a damn good thing. If she wasn’t looking out for you, no telling where you’d be today.”

Lem’s friends laughed and slapped his back good-naturedly.

Delora turned back to Rosalie, who started in on her right away. “All I know is if you’d been leading him proper he’d be alive today.”

“I did all I could to bring him back. Hinchey, too. He was already about dead when we got there.” Her voice trembled, and she hoped Rosalie wouldn’t notice. She’d always had a suspicious nature when it came to Delora.

“That may be, but I think I’ll have a word with Sheriff Jonas and tell him he ought to have another look into what happened that day.”

“Esther, watch the bar,” Delora snapped as she exited through the saloon-style doors. Her face grim, she motioned for Rosalie to follow her. Once Rosalie had extricated herself from the barstools they moved to the vestibule outside the bathrooms. Delora moved forward and placed her face right up next to Rosalie’s. “If you say one thing about Louie, I swear I will tell everyone I work with what you and Louie been doin’ while I’m out workin’ three jobs to support everyone.”