(I)
When Patricia opened
her eyes, the bedroom was shimmering in sunlight. She felt warm and
rested, ready for the day in spite of its circumstances.
The funeral, she thought. She’d dreaded
it, hadn’t she? Because she’d dreaded coming back here, but so far
her return had provided the opposite of what she’d expected.
I feel great, she realized, and then
she hopped up from the big bed and looked at herself in the dresser
mirror. And I look great, too. Her skin
shimmered like the light in the room. Her eyes looked back at her,
vibrant, bright. Her naked body had never appeared healthier, her
breasts heavy yet high, her waist tight, bereft of even a trace of
middle-age flab. And I’m starving, she
reminded herself. The aromas of coffee and bacon drifted into the
room, seducing her She quickly pulled her robe over her shoulders
and rushed into the hall toward the shower. She grabbed a towel
from the linen closet, then opened the bathroom door—
A blue-jeaned and
shirtless Ernie looked at her, a toothbrush sticking out of his
mouth. His eyes widened, and he flinched at the sight of her.
“Jesus, Patricia,” he mumbled through lips foamy with
toothpaste.
Patricia stalled,
blinked; then a shock bolted through her brain. My God, I’m practically naked! It had taken her a
second to realize that her robe hung wide open, affording Ernie a
complete full-frontal glimpse. Then her face must’ve turned nearly
as red as her hair. She pulled the robe closed and sprinted back to
her room, squealing in embarrassment.
She slammed the door
shut and leaned against it, bug-eyed. What in
God’s name is wrong with me? What kind of a complete airhead am
I? Was she that distracted by coming here? She didn’t feel
distracted at all; in fact, until she’d opened the bathroom door,
she’d been marveling at how good she felt, and how together.
Ernie’s going to think I’m an
exhibitionist!
Then she reflected
further: Maybe I did it on purpose. . .
.
Something in her
subconscious. She even admitted to herself that she’d been sort of
teasing him last night, when she’d bent over braless to untie her
shoes. She knew he’d been looking down her blouse... and she didn’t
mind.
And now
this.
He just saw everything. . . .
More reflections spun
around her head. Something weird’s happening
me. Since the minute I got back to
town, I’ve been horny as hell. Then last night I dream about having
sex with another man right in front of my husband-the lewdest dream
of my life. I took my nightgown off in my sleep, and I even had
orgasms during the dream, and then . .
. then I wake up masturbating. And to top it all off, the first
thing I do after Iwake up is expose myself to Ernie! What is going
on in my head?
Patricia was a very
logical woman, but she could find no logic in this. Agan’s Point is the town where I was raped. I should feel
very unsexual.
So why the opposite?
The good feelings she
had wakened with were ruined. She waited till Ernie was finished in
the bathroom, then showered quickly. She made a point to wear a bra
this time, an old baggy crewneck T-shirt and a cotton ankle skirt.
The frumpy clothes made her feel very unsexy.
Now for the hard part . . . She couldn’t sit here
all day. What am I going to say to
Ernie? A worse consideration: Did he
tell Judy what I did?
And what might he say
to any male friends? She knew how guys talked amongst themselves,
and in her mind she could hear it now: Yeah,
guys, I swear to God, she just walked right in with her robe
hangin’ wide open showin’ the whole package! Tits stickin’ out—damn
near poked me in the eye! And that red-hairt beaver? Yeah,
man! “Oh, please,” she muttered.
She summoned her
courage and walked straight to the kitchen.
“Good mornin’, my
sweet big sister!” Judy greeted her. She smiled brightly as she was
pouring the orange juice at the table.
“Hi, Judy,” Patricia
said dolefully.
“Sleep well, I
hope?”
“Yes, fine . .
.”
Ernie stood at the
stove, flipping eggs. He glanced over with half a smile. “Mornin’,
Patricia.”
She let out a
frustrated breath. “Ernie, I don’t know what to say.”
“Aw, don’t worry
‘bout it,” he dismissed. “Probably groggy when ya got up and forgot
you weren’t in yer own house. No biggie.”
“What are you two
talkin’ about?” Judy asked.
“Ain’t nothin’,
Judy,” he said fast, then severed the subject. “How ya want your
eggs, Patricia? Judy likes hers sunny-side down, ‘n’ I take mine
up.”
Thank God he didn’t tell her
what a ditz I am. “I’ll take mine up, too.”
“Ernie makes the best
eggs,” Judy bragged. “He kind of floats ‘em in butter and bacon
grease.”
“See, Patricia, out
here in the country we don’t worry ‘bout none of that citified
hogwash like cloresterhall’re whatever the hail it’s
called.”
“Fine with me. Mine’s
always been low.” Patricia sat next to her sister. “How are you
holding up?”
Judy crunched into a
piece of buttered toast. “Honestly, I feel much better than I
thought I would, and I know it’s
because you’re here. I can’t thank you enough for makin’ the
trip—”
‟I won’t hear talk
like that.”
“And I’m so, so sorry
for bein’ so out of it last night—”
“It’s all right,
Judy—”
“All drunk and weepy
and sleepin’ most of the day.
I’m just ashamed to
be like that for your arrival.”
“Quiet, I said,”
Patricia ordered. But Judy’s mood was actually encouraging.
Today she’s going to scatter her husband’s
ashes. I’d expect her to be a wreck right now, but . . . so far, so
good.
The three of them
chatted casually during breakfast, mostly Judy talking about her
business, which locals had died, gotten married, or left town, etc.
Eventually Ernie excused himself for some outside chores he needed
to get done before the funeral services.
Patricia found it
almost impossible to keep her eyes off him as he walked out the
door.
“Oh, yes, I’m afraid
Ernie never quite got over you,” Judy was saying over her
coffee.
Patricia smirked,
more at herself than at the comment.
“But I’m glad you
found the life you truly wanted with Byron.” Judy chuckled.
“Ernie’s quite a good-looking man, but not your type at
all.”
“He’ll find his Miss
Right one of these days,” Patricia said for lack of anything else.
“I’m totally in love with Byron, and I’m sure I always will be.”
But she continued in thought. If I’m so in
love with Byron, why am I having sex dreams about Ernie? She
wondered what her old psychologist, Dr. Sallee, would say.
Midlife crisis, I guess . .
.
Later, they walked
out back in the garden, which glowed resplendently in sun and
flower blooms. Every so often a cicada would fly cumbersomely
across their path, in search of a tree to hide in. Judy seemed more
circumspect now, her mind mulling things as she ambled along over
the fieldstone trail that snaked through the back
property.
“I know what everyone
thinks,” she said, plucking yellow petals off a small
touch-me-not.
“What do you
mean?”
“Everybody’s glad
Dwayne is dead.”
Patricia’s train of
thought stalled. You’ve got that right,
she thought, but said, “Don’t be ridiculous.” She struggled to say
something positive without sounding fake. “Dwayne was a difficult
person to read. He was misunderstood and . . .” Careful! she thought. “He had a pretty bad
upbringing. When you grow up around a lot of negativity . . . it
has a negative effect on a person.”
“Oh, no. Everybody
thinks Dwayne was a bad person and full well wanted to be.” Judy
grabbed her sister’s arm. “But he wasn’t. He was a good
man. He helped me so much. He loved
me.”
He loved the free roof you put over his head,
Patricia thought. He loved eating your food
and spending your money. “I know, Judy. I’m sure he was a
good man.”
“And those two or
three times he cheated on me?” Judy’s eyes were wide. “That was all
my fault.”
Patricia ground her
teeth. “Judy, how can that be your—”
“I gave him no
choice. A wife has more responsibilities to her husband than just
to run a business. I never made time for him. I was so busy with
the company, I’d neglect my duties to him as a lover.”
Patricia wanted to
wail. Dwayne had likely engaged in sexual infidelities more than
two or three times. “Don’t stress yourself over it now,” was all
she said.
“And those times he
hit me?” Judy vigorously shook her head. “I had it
coming.”
At that Patricia had
to object. “Judy, no woman ever has it
coming. No woman should ever be hit by a husband.”
“You don’t know,
Patricia. I’m sure I frustrated him, and then when I get to
drinkin’ . . . I can understand why he done what he
done.”
This was going
nowhere. Be a lawyer, Patricia ordered
herself. Judy is the claimant and she’s just
lost her case in litigation. Offer your summation, Counselor. . . .
“It may be true that a lot of people here didn’t like
Dwayne, but that’s only because nobody really knew him. Only you
knew the real Dwayne, Judy. You know he
was a good man. You know he was a good husband. He’s gone now, in a
terrible accident, so the best thing you can do is honor his memory
by not caring about what other people
might think. Remember Dwayne to yourself as the positive force he
was in your life and all the happiness he gave you.”
Patricia nearly
gagged on her words, yet they seemed to do the trick. Judy’s angst
was quelled now, and she quieted into contentedness, a sedate smile
on her face.
Patricia held her
hand as they continued their walk through high ranks of flowers and
hedges. She felt awful at her next thought. My
God, I’m so glad that ex-con prick is dead. Maybe now my sister
will find a man who’ll be good for her for a change. . .
.
They sat down on a
stone bench at the end of the path. Sparrows frolicked in a
birdbath. The air around them hung still in the sun, and through
the trees Patricia could see the glint of the river that emptied
into the bay around the other side of the Point. It really is beautiful here, she realized. The
thrum of the cicadas pulsed.
“It’s going to be
hard to keep on . . . without Dwayne,” Judy said. “The business ‘n’
all, I mean.”
Patricia smirked.
“Any loss takes a while to get over, but you’ll be fine.” Her words
hardened with insistence. “Your company is turning ten times the
profit that Mom and Dad got out of it. You’re a very successful,
self-made businesswoman.”
“Oh, that’s silly.
The only reason the business thrives now is because of the new
boats and equipment that you loaned me
the money for.”
She’s just feeling sorry for herself, Patricia
knew. She supposed that was to be expected. The future of the company might seem overwhelming right
now. “Judy, you paid that money back twice as fast as you
ever needed to, with interest. The company’s success comes from
your. brains and your hard work. You’ll do just fine.”
Judy seemed
reluctant. “Without Dwayne it’ll be so much harder. Sometimes I get
to thinkin’ . . .”
“What?”
“Oh, I guess I never
told ya. You saw the construction on the other side a’ the river,
right?”
Patricia remembered
from her drive in. “Yeah, waterfront condos, it looks like. Judy,
that‘s just the way things are. Everything gets bigger. It’s social
growth. All those condos’ll do is bring in more people—rich people,
by the way—who’ll spend more money here. More growth for you, too,
and your business.”
“Oh, I know, but I
never told ya about the offer, ‘cos it’s so recent.”
“Offer? Someone
offered to buy the crab company?”
“No, the land, the
entire Point. The construction man. His name is Gordon Felps. He
wants to turn the entire Point into a waterfront residential
community. He offered a million dollars for everything, and
remember, half of that land is yours, from Daddy’s will. You’d get
half the money. That’s a lot of
money.”
Patricia rolled her
eyes. My poor sister is such a hayseed
. “Judy, a million dollars for your company and all this land isn’t
nearly enough. Try three or four million, and you’d still be
foolish to sell. Where would you go; what would you do? I know you
enjoy running the business; you’ve told me that too many times.
”
Judy seemed doubtful.
“I know, but I’m getting old for this.”
“You’re only
forty-two!” Patricia exclaimed. “What, you want to sell everything
now and retire? That’s ridiculous. Wait
till you’re sixty-two, when you can
sell everything for twenty million.
That’s when you retire, lit-tie
sister.” Patricia wanted to object further, but then she took a
moment to consider the reality. She’s still in
mourning. She’ll be a little kooky for a few weeks, but then she’ll
come to her senses. “And besides,” Patricia went on, “What
about the Squatters? You’ve had offers before and didn’t sell.
Remember the last time when you called me about it? You’d said
you’d never sell the land because the Squatters would be kicked out
and have no place to go. Those people adore you; they’re like your
children. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about
them.”
‟I don’t know. Things
are changing. I keep hearin’ things, and it makes me
think.”
Patricia just kept
frowning. “You keep hearing what
things?”
“Well, that the
Squatters are startin’ to turn bad. Some of ‘em are startin’ to get
into the drugs, and some a’ the gals are sellin’ themselves ‘n’
all.”
Patricia could’ve
laughed. “Judy, the only difference between the Squatters and the
Pennsylvania Dutch is that the Squatters are even more puritanical. They make the Amish look like
party animals.”
“I don’t know,” her
sister repeated. “I get to thinkin’ that maybe they’re startin’ to
turn bad ‘cos of me.”
Patricia was getting
close to wringing her sister’s neck. “Okay, let me see. You give
them work. You give them a free place to live, free electricity,
and free water. So how are they turning bad because of you? You’re
the best thing they’ve got going for themselves.”
Judy dismissed the
notion with a wave of her hand. “I feel like a welfare lord. I give
‘em work, sure, but it ain’t nothin’ but minimum-wage work. The men
go out ‘n’ catch the crabs and the women pick the meat. It’s
sweatshop work, and most of ‘em got nothin’ but tin shacks to live
in. Don’t matter that I don’t charge ‘em rent for the land. It
ain’t much more than ghetto life, and I’m the one danglin’ the
bait. Lot of ‘em think there ain’t nothin’ else, nothin’ that might
be better for them out in the world.”
Patricia shrugged.
“For people like that there probably isn’t. The Squatters exist in
their own little society. They’re self-sufhcient, living off the
land. They’re pretty much uneducated and unskilled. The world can’t
save everyone. All that matters is they’re making the best of what
they’ve got and they’re very happy. They practically worship
you—you’re like their queen. I’m not saying that you have an
obligation not to sell the land if you really want to. It’s just
that there’s no reason to do that. And for God’s sake, Judy, you’re
not keeping them from greener pastures by giving them full-time
employment. If they weren’t here, they’d be standing in breadlines,
living in homeless shelters. If they think they can better
themselves somewhere else, then they’re free to leave. But they
don’t, because they know they probably can’t. They’re simple people
who live a simple, hardworking life. Same as the Amish, same as the
Quakers, same as a lot of the Appalachians. You’re not keeping them
down by keeping them employed.”
Patricia felt winded
after the philosophical exchange, and she felt frustrated as well.
Where is she getting these nonsensical
ideas?
Judy mulled it over
in the silence, then said, “You’re probably right. Guess I’m just
in a mood.”
“You’ve got a lot on
your mind. Just focus on today”.
It was about the only
advice Patricia could think of. This guy
Felps, she thought next. Maybe he’s the
one filling her head up with this crap. “So tell me about
this construction man who made the offer.”
“Oh, yes, Gordon
Felps. He’s very successful, been buildin’ luxury homes all up ‘n’
down the East Coast for a long time. And he’s very nice.” Judy
blushed, looking down at her knees. “He even asked me out when he
first come to town. Didn’t know I was married, a’ course, till I
told him. But he really is a nice man.”
By now, Patricia
thought she’d develop permanent wrinkles from frowning so much.
She is so friggin’ naive I can’t
believe it! “Judy, you own a lot of
valuable property. You have to be very careful with people who seem
‘nice’ if they have an ulterior motive. You know, like wanting to
buy your land for several times less than what’s it
worth!”
Judy didn’t even hear
her. “And I’m sure you’ll meet him today at the funeral. I think he
‘n’ Dwayne were even friends. I saw ‘em talkin’ several times,
gettin’ on real fine.”
Naive, naive, naive! “I will definitely look
forward to meeting Mr. Felps,” she said. Oh,
you can bet on that.
She was relieved at
the break now in the conversation, Judy keeping any further
thoughts to herself. Patricia just relaxed in the sun, peering
around at the spacious yard’s beauty. The cicada sounds seemed more
distant, lulling her. A wine cooler would be
nice right about now, she considered, but then looked at the
time. In another hour they’d have to start getting ready for the
services.
In the distance, she
could hear . . . something.
What is that?
A sharp thwack, thwack, thwack!
The noise persisted,
drawing closer.
“Here comes Ernie,”
Judy said.
Patricia glanced
around, then at the edge of the yard noticed a shirtless Ernie
going at the blocks of hack-berry bushes with a pair of hedge
clippers.
Thwack, thwack, thwack!
“He does such a
wonderful job with the yard,” Judy commented through a drowsy
smile.
The image caught
Patricia off guard. “Oh . . . yes. Yes, he does.” But her focus was
elsewhere—not on Ernie’s hedge work; it was on Ernie
himself.
On Ernie’s
body.
His toned back
muscles flexed with each thwack of the
clippers. Then his angle changed; she could see his chest, the
well-defined pectorals tensing, his six-pack abdomen running with
lines of sweat. He paused for a moment, wiped sweat off his brow
with a toned bicep. Then he got back to work.
Oh, for pity’s sake, Patricia thought.
She couldn’t take her
eyes off him, off the magnificent physique, and her mind dragged
her back to last night’s dream.
The terrific
sex.
Patricia could only
shake her head at herself. Her eyes stayed fixed on Ernie’s
sweat-drenched chest. I’m turning into a
sex-obsessed floozy!
She knew it was going
to be a long day.