Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 10

So we had a small forced vacation, which about drove both of us crazy. By Christmas week, we were both eager for trouble. Anything to keep us busy.

Fortunately, I knew just the place to find all the trouble we wanted.

"How fast are we going?"

I glanced over at Ca.s.sie. "We're legal. Why?"

"That's not what I meant." She leaned all the way over to check the speedometer. "This car goes a lot faster than that. I bet you can get it all the way up to 55 if you really try."

"Speed limit's 55 on this road."

"Do you see anyone else doing the speed limit?"

A huge truck almost blew us off the road as it pa.s.sed, making me grip the wheel for dear life. The last thing I needed today was to wreck Ca.s.sie's BMW. If the crash didn't kill me, she would.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Ca.s.sie said, glowering at the truck. "I hope you die soon."

"Your Christmas spirit needs a little work," I told her, amused.

"Don't change the subject. Can't you at least do 60?"

Of course, but I didn't want to. Every mile we traveled got us a mile closer to home, and there was no reason to hurry to get there.

"Devvy?"

"The road's a little slick. Don't want to take any chances. Especially not with you, sweetheart."

That almost got me a kiss -- almost, because she caught on at the last second. Ca.s.sie knew me a little too well.

"Try lying to someone who doesn't sleep with you," she advised. "You just don't want to do this, do you?"

"It's not that I don't want to do it. It's..." No, actually, it was that I didn't want to do it. "Never mind."

Another monstrous truck barreled by; she threw a withering glare after it. "I can't think with all this pa.s.sing going on. Pull over first chance you get."

"There's nothing for a few miles."

"Then that would be the first chance, wouldn't it?"

Irritably, I pulled my sungla.s.ses down to regard the woman more closely. She smiled sweetly and then pointedly turned to look out her window.

Fine. If she wanted to be that way, fine. There was nothing much to see between Meridian and Hawthorne anyway but farmland, billboards, and the occasional pay lake, one of which we were pa.s.sing just then. CHASE'S, a big wooden sign said, right above a crudely painted fish. Fishing was none of my business, but it had always seemed to me that if the fish in that lake looked anything like the sign, people would be better off going to the grocery.

Then there was the occasional cl.u.s.ter of houses, not enough to const.i.tute a town but too many to be a coincidence. They never changed, even if their occupants did. Even after all these years, I could still pick out the ones that had the lawn jockeys, the sun b.a.l.l.s, the windmills -- and the one that had all of the above and the concrete dwarves. Right now, in honor of the season, the dwarves would all be wearing Santa hats. It wasn't something I necessarily needed to see again.

I slowed down a little more, hoping Ca.s.sie wouldn't notice.

"What on earth is that up ahead?" she asked suddenly, tapping her side of the windshield.

"The ice tree."

"The what?"

"Ice tree. The people who live there make it every Christmas. They put this really heavy plastic over the trees and spray water on it till it freezes. It takes a couple of weeks to build up enough ice. Then they put food coloring on it." Unwillingly, I smiled. "At night, they have floodlights, so you can see it from miles away. Want me to slow down so you can get a better look?"

Lost in stunned contemplation, Ca.s.sie didn't answer, so I slowed down anyway. It gave me an excuse to look myself. Not that I was going to admit it to her, but I kind of liked the thing.

"Wow," she finally said.

"Like it?"

She got her evasive look. I'd always hated that one. "Do you?"

"You haven't seen anything yet. Wait till we get to Hawthorne. I'll take you on a Christmas-lights tour."

"You don't scare me, Devvy."

"No? Are you sure? There's a house that has a 15-foot inflatable snowman. They light it up at night, too -- not that you could really miss a 15-foot inflatable snowman in somebody's front yard. The people next door..."

"Rest stop," she interrupted.

"I'm not tired. Anyway, the house next door has..."

"No, I mean there's a rest stop ahead. Pull off. I want to talk."

I considered pointing out that we were talking and quickly decided against it. Without comment, I pulled into the rest stop, parking as far away from other cars as possible. No point risking some idiot scratching Ca.s.sie's paint. "All right, we're pulled off. What's on your mind?"

"I want to know what's on your mind. You're driving like you're on your way to your own execution." Turning all the way sideways, she fixed me with her most intent blue gaze. "Is there something I need to know?"

"You'll know everything you need to know soon enough. Five minutes with my mother, and you'll think your family is the Cleavers."

"Get real -- n.o.body wants to be the Cleavers. Besides, your mother can't be that bad."

I didn't even smile.

"She doesn't have a tail. She doesn't breathe fire. I've met her, remember? Sure, she was a little cranky, but..."

"You don't even know what 'cranky' is yet."

"Bet I do. I know you, don't I?" She reached over for my hand and discreetly pressed it to her lips for a split-second. "I think...what's wrong?"

I yanked my hand back before answering. "Don't do that. Not in public. Not around here."

"You're kidding. How is that a problem?"

"Being stomped to death by hilljacks would be a problem. Trust me -- I'm from around here."

"n.o.body noticed. I was careful." She tried to take hold of my hand again, but I stuck it in my coat pocket. "Would you just relax?"

"This might be a good time to try practicing the Just Friends thing. You promised not to touch me in public."

"Yes, but this isn't your parents' house. It's..."

"Fifty miles away. Anyone here might know them. And anyone who knows them might tell."

Ca.s.sie bit her lip slightly, looking thoughtful. Then she slid closer and put a hand on my forehead. "Don't take this personally; I'm just checking for fever."

Getting seriously annoyed, I pushed her back.

"All right, all right. Take it easy. I'll behave while we're there. But if I have to be a nun for four whole days, I'd like to get a little physical with you first."

"What about this morning? That didn't count?"

A little smirk. "Well..."

"Well nothing. We were an hour late getting started because of that." Then it hit me -- I'd been so busy worrying about not wanting to get there that I'd forgotten how much trouble I'd be in for getting there late. Quickly, I checked my watch. d.a.m.n. "And now we're an hour and a half late. Mom's going to kill me."

Ca.s.sie slid closer again. "Think carefully before you answer this, honey: Are you sorry?"

"How stupid do you think I am?" I growled. "Would I say so if I were? No, I'm not sorry. I just don't know how I'm going to explain being late, that's all."

"Then don't." Making sure no one was close enough to see in, she put one hand way up my thigh and leaned closer. "One kiss? For the road?"

"Ca.s.sie..."

"I can't wait to see what this mother of yours is like," she said acidly. "If she's got you this paranoid from 50 miles away, she must be a real barracuda."

"My mother has nothing to do with it. I'm just not into PDAs. Now would you get off?"

She narrowed her eyes a bit. "Of course. After you kiss me."

Clearly, I wasn't going to win this one. And we weren't going to be alone for long; a battered old van was heading in our direction. "All right, dammit, I'll make you a deal. Get off me, and I'll see what I can do about sneaking into your room at night."

"You'll see?" She leaned closer and blew lightly in my ear. "You'll see?"

The van was getting closer -- close enough for me to notice the Confederate-flag license plate bolted to the front fender. And Ca.s.sie was practically on my lap, with no intention of going anywhere. If she did that blowing-in-the-ear thing one more time, I was going to be in bad trouble in front of Bubba.

"OK," I said quickly. "I'll make a point of it. Now for G.o.d's sake, back off before somebody sees this."

"I don't have to be a nun after all?"

"Only in front of people. Now get off. Please."

Ca.s.sie glanced over her shoulder at the van, which was signaling its intent to pull in to one of the parking s.p.a.ces near us. Without any further argument, she backed off, rolled her window down a crack, and started talking very loudly about opera -- a form of gargoylism, I was sure. That would scare the creatures away, if they wanted to make an issue of whatever they might have seen.

"I love you," I told her, truly meaning it.

She didn't miss a beat, working herself up into an outrage about the subt.i.tles at the Met, but she winked. She didn't like opera either.

The weather got worse the closer we got to Hawthorne, and I wasn't sure it was coincidental. About 10 miles past the rest stop, we'd run into some snow, and by the time we hit the first city exit, the stuff was practically sheeting down. Ca.s.sie tried very hard not to look nervous, with no success, but I couldn't blame her. Only a fool or a local (same thing) would be driving around town in this weather.

Well, maybe I could distract her for a few minutes. "Guess we'll have to skip the Christmas-lights tour tonight, Ca.s.s. You lucked out. But we still have to go by the Martins' house. I'll bet they have the big Rudolph on their roof again this year. What do you bet?"

"Maybe you should drive now and badger me later," she said in a small voice.

"I'm not badgering you. Believe me, you'd know." Not taking my eyes off the road, I reached over to stroke her hair for a second. "We're fine, sweetheart. I've driven in this town all my life. We'll be there in a few minutes. That's when the trouble starts."

She smiled mechanically.

"Let's go over the battle plan one more time," I suggested. "We don't tell them about the job thing yet. We don't confirm or deny our relationship. We avoid PDAs like the plague. We let them figure out whether there's any subtext going on. Check?"

"Check."

Squinting through the windshield, I barely made out the street sign at the stoplight ahead. But it was the right one. We'd be there after one more turn and six blocks. "One last thing."

"What?"

"Whatever my brothers tell you is a lie."

That finally did the trick. She relaxed visibly, not even flinching as we skidded a little going through the turn.

And then, too soon, the house loomed up out of the snow at the end of the cul-de-sac. There were lights on in every window, which could mean only one thing: My brothers were home. And that in turn could mean only one thing: My mother was going to be in a bad mood already, grinching about the electricity bill.

"Buckle up," I told Ca.s.sie as we pulled into the drive. "It's going to be a b.u.mpy Christmas."

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 10 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

Extra credit for finding the Marx Brothers and Monty Python references. They couldn't be helped.

CHAPTER 10.