Reckless: Shades of a Vampire (7 page)

So she gives a big smile, and a big slice, to all -- especially the dirty old men.

Emma is otherwise paying little attention to the details of who is coming through the serving line until Judith, the girl her age from the church, approaches holding her two-year-old daughter by the hand. Judith’s daughter has plump cheeks and arms, and is dressed in a white cotton dress with pleats from the waist down.

Judith is wearing tight, low-riding blue jeans and a snug white t-shirt with an American flag emblem on the front under the words “God Bless America.”

“Hello, Emma,” Judith says.

“Happy Labor Day,” says Emma, clumsily.

“I guess it is a happy day,” says Judith, turning back toward her husband. “We got him home today. He ain’t never home these days. Always working. But not today. Thank God for Labor Day.”

“Yes,” Emma says. “Thank goodness for Labor Day.”

“Thank God for that ham you mean,” says Josh, Judith's husband, stepping up toward Emma with his plate extended. “I sure am hungry.”

“Why don’t you get a plate and come and sit with us after you finish serving?” Judith tells Emma.

“Oh, thank you,” Emma says. “But I’ve got work to do.”

“Nonsense,” says Judith. “You gotta eat, girl. I insist. You ain’t never gonna have any fun if you don’t stop serving everybody all the time. Take a break, girl. Eat.”

Judith walks on down the service line with her daughter and Josh keeps his plate in front of Emma, waiting for something more. Emma looks up at him, and he is looking directly into her eyes.

“That’s a good idea,” Josh says. “Why don’t you join us, Emma? Get a plate. Sit down with us.”

Emma’s cheeks turn splotchy red at Josh’s suggestion. She reaches to the table with her right hand, to steady herself. Her stomach churns, and her inner-thighs tingle. She thinks about doing her thing. She thinks about Josh doing her thing to her.

“I…” she stammers, looking away.

Emma had never paid much attention to Josh before. Her father didn’t hold him in the highest stead because he was a distant relative of Judith’s and her got her pregnant before they married – a sin, according to the Bible.

“No one born of a forbidden union may enter the assembly of the Lord. Even to the tenth generation, none of his descendants may enter the assembly of the Lord,” preached her father frequently from Deuteronomy 23:2.

Emma’s father said it was the man’s fault but that the child would pay the ultimate price nonetheless. Cousins being hitched and having babies wasn’t unusual on Sand Mountain. Emma knew of more than she could count. That wasn’t the problem. The baby out of wedlock was the problem.

“A baby created in sin doesn’t have much of a chance,” her father often said. “One of illegitimate birth shall not enter the congregation of the Lord.’”

Emma notices that Josh is taller than her father, who is six-foot-one. Josh has sandy blonde hair, a strong jaw and thick muscular neck that reminded her of a rounded hay bale. Josh is wearing jeans that fit snug, black cowboy boots, and a fitted white t-shirt. A green John Deere cap snuggles to his wavy hair.

Josh has the day off from his job -- pulling lines for the Tennessee Valley Authority, a power source for electric utilities throughout the region. He gets paid big money for overtime, everybody on Sand Mountain knew. Such jobs were hard, physical labor in the elements, but they were coveted by most men in the area because the wages were higher than anywhere else before time-and-a-half with overtime.

Any job with TVA was a good job, was the common knowledge, and Josh worked for TVA.

“That piece will be fine,” Josh says, pointing to another piece of ham already on the platter Emma served from.

“You have quite an appetite,” Emma says.

“Yes, I do.”

Emma gathers herself, serving more ham on top of the one she had already placed on his plate.

“Come join us now, you hear?” Josh says, before moving down the food line for some of her mother’s deviled eggs and the other assortment lining the row of tables. “Get yourself a plate, and come on down and join us.”

Emma’s face flushes again. Josh smiles at her. She smiles, but does not respond. A few moments later, while serving ham to the next person in line, Emma watches Josh move down the service line from the corners of her eyes. She feels quivery inside, and her pulse quickens.

She thinks of Michael, watching Josh.

Emma sees Josh join Judith and their daughter at a table far enough to the end to catch a bit of shade from Emma's favorite tree. She serves ham for another 20 minutes until the line is extinguished, and every man possible has eye fucked her, glancing all the while across to the quiet and still Denton farm and back to the tree where Josh and Judith sit with their daughter eating.

When the last person passes Emma serves herself a small piece of ham, and moves down the buffet, shooing away the occasional fly while filling a plate with remaining morsels. She takes an ice tea and plastic utensils rolled into a paper napkin from the end of the line and walks slowly toward the tree where Josh, Judith and their child are sitting.

Judith sees her coming.

“Emma,” she calls. “Yoo who, Emma. Down here. Come, on down, join us.”

Emma walks to the table and takes a seat by Judith, directly across from Josh, and puts her plate on the table.

“Looks like you are hungry,” Josh says.

“I guess so,” Emma says softly.

She doesn’t look up.

“Marybelle is so picky,” Judith says, referring to her daughter. “All she wants is crackers and bread. That’s it. Crackers and bread. More, more, more she says. Crackers and bread.”

Judith tries to get Judith's daughter to eat a deviled egg.

“Emma’s momma made these honey. Didn’t she Emma? Try a bite Marybelle. Come on now. Everybody likes deviled eggs.”

“No!” the two-year-old says.

Judith grabs her daughter’s arm, squeezing firmly.

Marybelle cries out.

“Don’t you talk to your momma like that,” Judith says, tightening her grip.

The girl is crying.

“Judith,” Josh says, signaling his wife to take the girl from the table.

“Come on,” Judith says, snatching her daughter from the chair. “We need to cool down now, you hear?”

“She thinks she knows what she’s doing,” says Josh, of Judith. “I don’t know if she was ready to have a baby. No patience.”

Emma keeps eating, taking small bites and chewing slowly.

She feels Josh’s boot brush against her right foot.

Emma turns her foot inward, toward his boot, so the exposed skin on her foot brushes every so softly against the leather.

Emma squirms in her chair. She can feel her pussy pulsing, and dripping. 

“Didn’t you graduate this year?” Josh says.

She doesn’t look up, or answer.

“Emma,” Josh says. “Didn’t you graduate this year?”

She looks up. Josh is looking into her eyes. His eyes are green, she notices, and she twists again in her chair while pushing her foot into his boot.

“Yes,” she says softly.

Emma clears her throat.

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. Yes, I graduated.”

“I thought so,” Josh says. “Are you gonna go to college? Work? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I mean. I work here. At the parsonage.”

“Do you date anybody?” Josh asks.

Emma blushes, and looks down.

“No, I…” she says, stopping before she finishes the sentence.

Josh moves his foot, the one touching hers, to the other side of her foot. He presses it there, and moves his other foot to where his boot touched before, so that her right leg is sandwiched by his legs and boots.

“Ahhhh,” she mutters softly, twisting in her chair.

She wants to look back at his green eyes, but is afraid she will leap at him if she does.

“Well, that’s a shame Emma,” says Josh. “A pretty girl like yourself not dating anyone. That’s just a shame.”

Emma keeps looking down and doesn’t respond.

“I think they’re scared of your daddy. That’s all. They’re just scared of him.”

“Maybe,” Emma says.

“It’s tough being the preacher’s daughter,” Josh says.

She doesn’t respond.

“I heard you got bitten by a snake, Emma,” Josh says. “What happened?”

“My father said he didn’t let go.”

Josh squeezes her ankles with his boots. She fans herself with her left hand, casting brief glances at Josh as he talks. She touches the scar on her neck with her right hand. Her heart is beating fast. Sweat is beading on her lower back despite the cool day. Juice is running from her groin, and she fears she is making a wet spot on the chair.

“Here,” she says, tapping finger from her right hand on her neck. “It bit me here.”

Josh leans on the table toward Emma with both elbows down for a closer look. He glances in the direction of Judith, walking back toward the table with her daughter.

He looks back at Emma.

“If I wasn’t already hitched,” he says, “I’d ask you out. I’m not afraid of your father. God is my witness. I’m not afraid of your father.”

Emma gazes into Josh’s t-shirt.

"I'm not afraid to fuck you either," Emma says.

"What?" Josh says.

"I'm not afraid to fuck you either."

"Well, I..." he stammers, shifting in his chair and leaning closer to Emma across the table. "I would love to be the first to pierce the preacher's daughter."

“The barn,” she says.

“What?” Josh asks.

“The barn,” she says again.

Emma points.

“There.”

“Meet me there Sunday night, just after the service.”

“What?” Josh asks.

“There,” Emma says. 

Judith and her daughter arrive back at the table. Emma stands up, grabbing her plate and drink.

Josh scratches his head.

“Where are you going Emma?” Judith says. “Why, I didn’t even get to visit with you, honey.”

“I’ve got to go,” Emma says, walking quickly away with her hands clasp across her buttocks to cover the wet spot on her dress.

“What was her problem?” Judith asks Josh when Emma is out of earshot.

Josh doesn’t respond. Instead, his eyes, and full attention, are fixated on Emma as she briskly walks away.

And Josh did rub her feet with his legs. He did ask her if she dated anyone. He did say he wasn’t afraid of her father. He did say he wanted to fuck her. He did look with his green eyes into hers when she said it, and, he must have seen her quiver when he responded.

Must have.

Emma wants Josh in the barn just like she had wanted Michael barn. No, she wanted Josh to be Michael. Not much she could do about it. The thoughts gripped her body, and mind. They wouldn’t go away.

Besides, she doesn’t have to handle snakes anymore, for a while at least, so there is no risk there in being bitten again, she figures.

Emma knows Josh is married, of course. That is a problem. But maybe she will just kiss him. She doesn't have to fuck him. 

Yes, that’s all, she tells herself.

I’ll just kiss him if he shows up at the barn.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

If Josh shows, just one kiss is it -- nothing more.

Saturday evening, the day before she hopes to meet Josh, Emma thumbs through her closet to find the dress she will wear on Sunday when she hopes to meet him. All she has to choose from are essentially the same, except for the color. Her mother wouldn’t allow her to make styles other than what she approved, and what her mother approved of was the same dress, in different colors and different thickness of material for the appropriate season.

They are all pastels except for the black ones in summer weight and winter weight she wears to funeral services for church members. Emma once tried to wear a black one on a weekday in the winter, but her mother chided her to immediately change.

“Nobody died,” her mother said.

Emma’s most-worn colors are yellow, white and lavender, according to those revealing the most worn experience. But she picks out a white one to wear Sunday, and looks in her dresser to find her newest lace panties and bra to wear as well. She pulls them from the stack in her drawer and places them on top, so she can easily find them Sunday morning.

Touching the lace, Emma remembers Michael and quivers. She looks in the mirror next to her dresser, licks her lips, and opens her mouth every-so-slightly, closing her eyes to imagine Michael’s lips and tongue touching hers.

“Ahh,” she sighs.

Sunday’s are good days for Emma anyway since they are the only day of the week she doesn’t have chores waiting for her at the breakfast table. The Sabbath day is for rest, her father says. 

Emma has noticed she doesn’t listen to her father’s sermons anymore, after the snakebite. She doesn’t much listen to him at the breakfast table, either. When he talks from the pulpit, she thinks the words sound like the cars passing up and down the highway -- one bumps along just like the other. At the breakfast, she mostly just mutters, “Yes, Sir” or “No, sir” paying little attention to what he actually says.

But she likes Sundays because there are no chores. And as for tomorrow, it promises to be especially good Sunday if Josh shows at the barn.

Emma starts the day as usual. She peers from her bedroom window upon opening her eyes to see the rising sun. She walks to the breakfast table in her nightgown and slippers, fully covered, according to her father’s demands. She sits down, and eats eggs, bacon and biscuits lathered in honey without a word spoken between herself and her parents, also at the table.

Her father says once, “Pass the honey,” but doesn’t direct it at anyone in particular rather to whomever can deliver the request.

Her mother does.