The Woman. Part 16

His father is grunting. He can hear him grunting which means it's loud. He's nearing home base. It occurs to him that he's watching his own dad down there. Is there something incestuous about that? Something gay gay? He doesn't think so. But he doesn't much care one way or another. He's watching this woman get f.u.c.ked, that's all. He's watching her t.i.ts fall up and down, watching her thighs quiver with each of his father's thrusts. He can almost smell her sweat.

And then suddenly he's coming. He's shooting j.i.z.z all over the gra.s.s at the base of the cellar door. It's f.u.c.king pumping pumping out of him in jets, in spurts. Like he's hemorrhaging out here and his c.o.c.k is so sensitive he has to take his hand away or he's going to groan out loud or faint dead away but it's shooting out of him anyhow - his c.o.c.k isn't done with him yet - and he's trembling all over and shooting and then finally he's still. out of him in jets, in spurts. Like he's hemorrhaging out here and his c.o.c.k is so sensitive he has to take his hand away or he's going to groan out loud or faint dead away but it's shooting out of him anyhow - his c.o.c.k isn't done with him yet - and he's trembling all over and shooting and then finally he's still.

The man clutches at her breast as though he wants to rip it off her body and then moans and shudders and releases into her.

If she has a child by the man she will kill it.

She has done so before.

Cleek thinks that once this really got going it was probably the best d.a.m.n f.u.c.k of his life.

Despite the odor of her mouth.

So what's wrong here? Why is it that he can't wait to tuck his d.i.c.k back into his shorts? Is he afraid of disease? He isn't, not really. He can't see her having the AIDS virus living alone out there in the woods. And anything else is treatable as the common cold nowadays.

What, then?

He can't figure it.

He looks at her. At her face, her eyes. And there it is.

He sees something cold and blank and without any emotion whatsoever or any regard for him at all. He sees himself looking back at himself.

He feels something vaguely like shame.

He b.u.t.tons her up. She looks fine. Like he's never been there at all. He turns off the cellar light and leaves her in the dark.

The Woman shifts a bit against the wooden plank behind her. When the man was f.u.c.king her pushing her back against it she had felt it give slightly, heard it give slightly. The man had not. The man was busy f.u.c.king her. She shifts her body up and then down with the plank wedged between one vertebra and the next and feels it give some more. It hurts.

But she will work on this.

TWENTY-THREE.

At quarter past three in the morning Genevieve Raton rolled over out of her sleep and out of a dream in which she was burning autumn leaves in the fireplace on her dad's old farm long since sold in favor of a condo in Sarasota, realizing much too late that the flue wasn't working right, wasn't drawing correctly, and that leaves alight with flame were burning on the hardwood floor.

Awoke with her left forearm shoved right into Laura Hindle's face.

Laura grunted and opened her pretty green eyes.

"Sorry," she said.

Laura yawned and smiled. "What's with you tonight, kiddo? You're not ordinarily a thrasher."

"No, I'm not."

"This is the third time, you know."

"It is?"

"Yep. The first time you kneed me in the belly. The second time we went hip to hip. C'mere."

She opened her arms and Genevieve nestled in.

She felt comforted immediately. The flesh comforted. It always did. The flesh was warm and safe. By now they knew each other's bodies almost as well as they knew their own.

"Is it that preggy kid? The one who reminds you of Dorothy?"

"I don't know. I was back at my dad's house. So maybe. She used to visit me there all the time. My parents thought we were only friends."

"You were friends."

"You know what I mean."

Laura was a social worker by day and a part-time bartender at Vance & Eddie's by night. She knew how to draw you out. Sometimes all it took was a silence at just the right time. Like now.

"Old dead leaves," she said.

"Huh?"

"I was burning old dead leaves."

Laura pulled back a bit and regarded her. Then gently kissed her forehead.

"Maybe you still are."

"As in...?"

"Yes. Fallen leaves. You really did love her, didn't you?"

"Not enough. Not enough to make her stay."

"Come on. You know better than that. People can't make other people stay. They only stay if they want to. Or need to."

Of course. She knew the truth in that. It had been a bitter truth at the time. But she was so very young then. And when you're young pain can take a long time to go away. And leave its residue forever.

She looked up into her lover's eyes.

"Do you you need to? Stay, I mean?" need to? Stay, I mean?"

Laura kissed her again.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she said. "I really don't."

TWENTY-FOUR.

Peg awoke sweaty and disturbed. She didn't know by what. She almost never remembered her dreams, especially the bad ones. But she felt sure she'd had a bad one.

Her mother was standing in the doorway. Darleen was already out of bed and somebody was running water in the bathroom.

"What are you doing, Peg? Time for school."

"I'm not feeling so good, mom. I'm really not. Okay if I stay home today?"

Her mother looked angry. She didn't know why she would, first thing in the morning.

"There's nothing wrong with you," she said. "Get up."

"It's only a half-day. Teachers' conferences, remember? Please? If I get up I'm gonna be sick."

It was true. She felt queasy.

If she got up there would be breakfast. The very thought of breakfast made her stomach turn. Her mother waved her hand in front of her face like she was swatting at a pesky fly.

"I don't have time for this. Fine!"

She stalked away.

What the h.e.l.l was that that about? she thought. She wasn't about to ask. about? she thought. She wasn't about to ask.

But she'd bet it had something to do with her dad.

Or that strange, almost fascinating creature in the cellar.

She pulled up the covers and closed her eyes and when the sounds of morning in the Cleek household eventually ceased, fell back to sleep.

Brian was standing at the school bus stop when the Escalade glided by. His father gave him the usual salute and Brian returned it.

With a lot more vigor than his dad was used to seeing.

Peg's desk was empty. With the kids all working on their pop quiz that was all she really had to focus on. The desk was empty The desk was empty. Up to today her attendance at least had been perfect even if her work was not. She thought, what now?

Laura was right. She was still burning leaves for Dorothy. In her arms she'd drifted off to sleep again and woke in the same position so evidently her thrashing had been over for the night. That didn't mean it was over for good, though. In a way she'd been thrashing around all day today.

By the time the school bell rang a good quarter of the kids were still working on the quiz and a collective groan went up from those who hadn't finished. It hadn't been a particularly tough quiz. But then it wasn't a particularly bright cla.s.s either.

"Enjoy your half-day of freedom," she said. "Leave your papers on my desk, please."

She watched them file by and thought, they sure can vacate fast. A few smiled at her, a few said bye bye, but for the most part they were just in a hurry to get the h.e.l.l out of there. That was fine with her. She'd have time for a smoke back by the ticket booth with Bill Fulmer before the conference.

She wondered what Bill would say about what she was thinking.

She dug the paper with the Cleeks' phone number and address on it out of her purse, placed it on her blotter and smoothed out all the wrinkles.

The bus ride home was typically manic when you had a bunch of kids with a half-day off. Loud and obnoxious. Kids throwing spitb.a.l.l.s in back. Guys flicking the earlobes of the girls in front of them. Some days he might have gotten a little obnoxious himself, what the h.e.l.l. But today he had other things on his mind. Good things. Important things.

So that when Cyndi walked up the aisle and sat down beside him she was a distraction he didn't need.

"Hey, Brian. A bunch of us are going to the movies. The new TWILIGHT TWILIGHT movie. Want to come along?" movie. Want to come along?"

"Nah. TWILIGHT TWILIGHT's lame. Besides, I gotta get home. Got stuff I gotta do."

Cyndi never had glommed on to the fact that he'd planted gum in her hairbrush. The poor kid really liked him. He could tell she was disappointed. But that's what she was - a kid. Just a kid Just a kid. Pretty, though. Too bad.

"Okay, then," she said. "Maybe next time."

"Sure. Next time."

Like there would ever be a next time.

He watched her slink back down the aisle to her seat and in a little while his stop came around and the door creaked open and he got off the bus.

Peg was lying on the couch, still in her pj's and covered by an old quilt, reading UNDER THE DOME UNDER THE DOME for the third time when he came rushing in headed straight for the kitchen. She considered saying something like for the third time when he came rushing in headed straight for the kitchen. She considered saying something like what's the big hurry, Brian? what's the big hurry, Brian? but she knew it would come out b.i.t.c.hy because b.i.t.c.hy was how she was feeling and besides, they were just about to bust Barbie and Rusty out of jail and gruesome though it was, that was a part she liked. but she knew it would come out b.i.t.c.hy because b.i.t.c.hy was how she was feeling and besides, they were just about to bust Barbie and Rusty out of jail and gruesome though it was, that was a part she liked.

So she said nothing. He didn't even notice she was there.

The note on the refrigerator beneath the magnetized ELVIS LIVES photo was in his mother's hand. Darlin's Darlin's dental appointment dental appointment it said, which he already knew. it said, which he already knew. Sandwich stuff in the fridge. Feed dogs, Brian. Home by 3. Mom. Sandwich stuff in the fridge. Feed dogs, Brian. Home by 3. Mom. No X's and O's today. His mother had been in a mood. No X's and O's today. His mother had been in a mood.

Instead of making himself a sandwich he wolfed down what his sister called a little-man cookie and pocketed a couple more. Took the keyring off its hook on the support ring and went back outside. He noted the old rusty push mower which had probably belonged to his grandfather leaning against the porch, one of its broken blades lying beside it. It had been down in the cellar along with all that other junk the day they made room for her her. He guessed his father had finally decided to throw something out.