Chill Waters by Joan Hall Hovey
He stood near the ancient gnarled apple
tree that for years now had produced only sour, wizened apples, waiting for
her. The hot thick air hummed with the chirping of crickets. Behind him, an
occasional fat June bug bumped against the screen door, drawn by the
night-light. Now and then a car passed by, seeming only to emphasize his sense
of aloneness. Not much traffic on Elder Avenue since they built the thruway.
Three houses down, Nealey’s old black lab
set to barking excitedly at something – a raccoon scavenging in a garbage can,
most likely, but it could just as well be shadows. The mutt had a game leg and
was as deaf as his mother’s turquoise plastic crucifix that hung on the wall
above the TV. The old man oughta have him done away with, put the damn thing
out of its misery. Maybe I’ll do it for him one of these days, he thought, a
grin playing at one corner of his cruel mouth. As he retrieved the pack of
cigarettes from his jacket pocket, he heard Nealey’s door open, heard the old
man’s low, gravelly voice call the dog inside.
He gazed up at the starry sky, grin fading
as he envisioned Marie and that hotshot kid in the fruity white blazer slow
dancing under these very stars. Bodies molded together, the kid’s hands moving
over her, groping… his breath hot in her ear…
With a muttered curse, he shook his head as
if to banish the image, checked an impulse to crush the pack of cigarettes in
his hand. Instead, he struck a match against the tree, but his hand was
unsteady and it took a few tries before he managed to get it lit. Leaning his
back against the tree he closed his eyes. The rough bark of the tree stabbed
like jagged stone through his thin nylon jacket. He sucked smoke into his
lungs, exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.
He wasn’t usually a heavy smoker, but four
hours later, when he finally heard the car drive up, a small mound of butts had
accumulated beside him on the ground. With slow deliberation, he mashed this
latest one out too, and rose to his feet. Although stiff from sitting, at the
same time a power born of rage surged through his veins like electricity.
Music drifted through the open, car window
– a soppy Manilow ballad about a girl named Mandy. Above the music, her laugh floated
to him, high and lilting as wind chimes. Mocking him. The flirtatious note in
her laugh made his throat tighten, his hands curl into fists at his sides. But
it was the maddeningly long silence that followed, while the music went on
playing, that made him want to fly at them, yank them both out of the car and
beat that scummy kid with her until he had to crawl home through his own blood.
He wanted to do it. He saw himself doing it. It took all his will to remain
where he was.
At last she got out of the car. He could
see the pale flair of her skirt through the leaves.
“Night, Ricky. I had a really nice time.”
“Yeah, me too. Okay if I call you
tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“You wanna go to a movie? Christine’s
playing at the Capital.”
“Sounds great.”
The car door closed with a solid thunk. The
kid’s old man was a dentist; the car was a graduation present.
As Marie turned away and started up the
path toward him, the kid gunned the motor and drove off, taillights glowing
like twin rockets, swiftly disappearing into the night.
Now the only sounds were the crickets and
the soft click of her shoes on the cement walk. Yet she looked to be almost
floating toward him, her white, strapless dress blue in the moonlight.
When she left the house tonight, her black
glossy hair had been swept up into a satiny swirl, a few wispy curls trailing
down past her ears; now it was messed up. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he
moved deeper into the shadows.
Her pearl drop earrings swayed lightly
above her bare shoulders as she walked. He knew how smooth those shoulders
would feel beneath his hands because he’d touched them before. He had touched
her. Had tasted the warm, throbbing hollow of her traitorous throat, crushed
her mouth beneath his own, sometimes to silence her crying. Even now, he could
taste her salty tears on his tongue.
As she drew nearer to where he stood in the
clot of darkness, she touched her fingertips to her mouth, a small secret smile
on her lips like the goddamn Mona Lisa. Face all soft and dreamy – all of it
for someone else – never for him.
He waited until she was directly parallel
to him, then stepped out of the shadows. He enjoyed hearing her gasp of shock,
in seeing her hand leap to her breast in fright, the smile vanish as she
stumbled on the walkway, nearly falling.
“Damn you! You scared me half to death.
What’s wrong with you? Why are you always sneaking around? Always watching me.
Can’t I have one normal…”
His hand clamped hard and sudden over her
mouth, cutting off her words. It made him feel good to see those lovely eyes
widen with shock, then fear. Fear that turned swiftly to terror, then to
pleading. But it was too late for that. Too late. The beast had risen up in
him.
“It’s midnight, Cinderella,” he whispered.
Had me sitting on the edge of my seat. Just added it to my 'to read' list.
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