Stand By Your Man

Chapter Twenty-four

While Sheila cleaned up after Wombat, I listened to my messages. There were the usual assortment of hang-ups and solicitations, then Terry Griswald from the Mobile Home Kingdom came on.

"Ms. Reid," he said, his voice thin with anxiety. "The fellas heard about Vernell being arrested. I'm sorry, but done all of 'em walked out. I'm still here, though. Are you gonna be coming down anytime soon? I reckon we oughta talk. That VanScoy fella stopped by again. Said to tell you and Vernell it's seventy-five now. Well, all right, I guess. Call me."

He sounded desperate. I figured he was, too. Christmas would be coming up in six weeks. I knew he had a wife and new baby to think about. What was I going to do?

The next message was from Vernell himself. "Hey, baby," he said. "Listen, you've gotta take care of a couple of things for me." Yeah, right, like returning three million dollars to the Redneck Mafia. "Call Brenda McCoy at Cornerstone Realty and tell her to just hold on. I'll be ready to sign the contract in a couple of days. The same with the house, too. Tell her I want a full-price offer."

Then Vernell cleared his throat and hesitated. "Baby, listen, I don't want you to think nothing about this, but if she says anything about the Satellite Kingdom being up for sale, don't worry. I'm just selling off the land and the office. It's no big thing. I talked to the lawyer and all after you left. It don't look like I'll be leaving here for a little while, so I'm gonna need you to kinda step in and help me out." There was a pause and then Vernell spoke again, so softly I could almost not make out the two familiar words. "I'm sorry."

Sheila was standing in the doorway, listening, her eyes wide and red-rimmed.

"Why is Daddy in so much trouble?" she asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know, baby."

Wombat skittered into the room, sliding across the slick wooden floor, unable to stop himself before he crashed into the bed and fell backward. Sheila smiled and picked him up, snuggling him in her arms and burying her face in his soft fur.

The roar of a motorcycle running up into the backyard distracted the three of us. Tony Carlucci was back. How he'd managed to get back out to Bess King's farm, retrieve his bike, and return to Greensboro in such a short amount of time was beyond me, but I didn't care.

Sheila was past me, over to the door, outside, and down the steps. Tony smiled when he saw her, removed his helmet and pointed to little Wombat. As I watched from the doorway, she held the dog up to him and he slowly shook his head. He reached over and shut off the bike.

"What in the hell is that?" he said.

"Like, a dog," Sheila answered. "I think he looks like you." They laughed like old friends, until he looked up and saw me in the doorway.

"I suppose you're planning on working tonight," he said.

"Yep."

He looked at Sheila, watching her run after Wombat, her back to the two of us.

"How about I take her with me?"

"Not on that thing."

Sheila turned around, listening. "We can take the truck," she said. "That way Wombat won't be here alone. You know I can't leave him, don't you?" She turned to Tony, her face open and vulnerable. But he had gone dark on her. He stared past her, looking first at Wombat and then off down the alley. He was seeing Popeye. He was remembering and he was hurting.

It frightened Sheila. She didn't know and couldn't understand the rapid change that had come over Tony.

"He won't make a mess," she said, mistaking his hesitation.

Tony didn't answer her. Instead he rubbed his hands across his face and shook his head.

"Yeah, all right. We'll take the truck and drop your mama off at the club." The smile came back and the look he gave her reassured her. "But I'm gonna drag your ass out at two a.m. to go get her. This isn't some slumber party where you hang around painting your toenails and looking pretty. We've got some things to do. I can't be babysitting no kid, you got me?"

Sheila puffed up and gave him her best womanly look. "I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself, like, totally."

"Yeah, right," he said. "Whatever."

He'd done it. He'd worked her and she'd fallen for it.

"I've gotta take a shower and get changed," I said. "Why don't you two go pick up a pizza or something?"

Tony shook his head. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"You didn't see the patrol car in front of the house? I'll be fine. Go pick up a pizza and bring it back. You can drive the truck."

I reached into my pocket to fish out money, but Tony wouldn't take it.

"Wombat likes meat pizza," Sheila announced.

"Dogs don't get pizza. Dogs eat dog food."

Sheila was right back at him. "Wombat eats whatever I say he eats."

They argued all the way to the truck and were still fighting as they drove off. I watched them until they were out of sight, standing on my porch as the late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon. In the early evening dusk, the world seemed more sinister than it had a mere thirty minutes before. For a moment I felt as if someone were watching me, standing just outside my line of vision, following my every movement.

I shook it off, turned, and went inside, switching on every light I came to. The shades were still pulled down, the blinds and curtains closed. No one could see inside. No one could watch me here, but still I felt ill at ease. I walked through the house, into the living room and opened the front door. The cop car was gone.

"Okay," I muttered. "You were just here a minute ago. Where are you?"

It couldn't matter. I couldn't let this matter. Wherever he was, he'd be back. "It's probably just shift change," I said. "There'll be a new guy here any second. Go on, take your shower. Tony's picking up a pizza, but his bike's here. People will think he's here and I'm not."

But I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I closed the front door, locked it, and leaned against it. It was five fifteen by my watch. Outside people would be returning home from work or their classes at the college. Lights would start to pop on all over the neighborhood. No one would bother me now. It would be stupid to make a move now.

I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and left to take my clothes off and grab my robe. I opened the closet door and felt the panic hit. I remembered him coming up behind me, throwing me against the far wall, his knife biting into my neck.

I raised my fingers up to touch the thin scab and felt myself begin to lose it. I froze, trembling, and crossed my arms to grab at my stomach.

"No, no, no," I moaned, rocking back and forth. "No. Stop this. It's okay. He's gone. It's okay." But nothing I said helped. I sank down onto the floor, aware of the sound of the shower, knowing that it ran on and on and I was powerless to stand up and go turn it off. The fear swept over me in wave after wave of icy nausea. I couldn't breathe.

As I sat, trying to regain some control, the back doorknob rattled, twisting slowly back and forth.

I screamed, drawing air deep into my lungs and pushing the sound out like a wall to keep the intruder away. I barely heard him call my name. I stood up, grabbed a knife from the butcher block in the kitchen, and turned back to face the door, and as I did so, I realized it was Weathers calling to me, shaking the door in his attempt to reach me.

I dropped the knife and half-ran across my bedroom to turn the lock and let him in. His face was raw with concern, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.

"Maggie, what is it? Did I scare you? I knocked first but I wasn't sure if you were here. Didn't you hear me?"

I shook my head numbly. "No. I was… I went… and then I…" But I couldn't form the words that went with the thoughts.

He stepped inside the room and held me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into him and just standing there. After a minute or two he pushed back enough to look into my face.

"Is that your shower?"

I nodded and the panic began to subside, ebbing as quickly as it had surged.

"Yeah." I tried to laugh, but it was a hollow attempt. "I, um, I was going to get ready for work, you know, but I looked out the window and the patrol car was gone. And then I came in here and, I guess that was that." My voice drifted off and I just stood there for a moment before I remembered the shower. "I'd better go turn that off."

"Go take your shower," he said. "I'll be right here."

Part of me wanted to send him away, to tell him that I was fine now and didn't need anyone watching out for me. But the rest of me shook inside and my nerves felt like Jell-O.

I wound up not saying a word, just grabbing my robe off its hook in the closet and walking into the bathroom. What was wrong with me? I'd been home since the shooting. I'd been inside the closet. I hadn't panicked then, why now? Probably because it was my first time alone. It would be better now. I wouldn't panic the next time. But when I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, the feeling returned. The steam covered the mirror and thickened the air so I couldn't breathe. The window, tiny and shuttered, seemed an open portal for intruders.

I had to step over to the door, open it, and look out into the hallway. Weathers was right there, his arms folded across his chest, an easy smile on his face.

"You were thinking maybe I'd join you?" he asked.

That took the panic away. I took a deep breath and tried to smile. "No, actually, it's just a little bit close in here, I was just going to let some cool air in."

I didn't fool him. His eyes softened, but the smirk remained. He wasn't going to baby me.

"Well," he drawled, "maybe while you're in there, you might compare your shower to mine. You didn't seem to mind the steam over at my place."

"I didn't mind it at all," I said, before I could stop myself. He'd done it again, charmed me into forgetting that he was only in it for the game.

"Hey," I said, unknotting my bathrobe slowly and letting him watch. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" The robe started to slip open, just a little bit.

"No," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."

I smiled. "Oh, that's funny. I thought you had to ran car-pool for the junior police auxiliary."

His face reddened and I closed the bathroom door.

On the other side of the door I heard him chuckle. "Funny, Reid, real funny."

I jumped into the shower and pulled the curtain. It was my shower again, my bathroom, and my home.

I stood under the hot water until I felt it begin to cool off, reluctantly turning it off only when I knew I had to. I stood behind the curtain and reached out for my towel, feeling around on the rack and realizing that it was gone.

"Real funny," I yelled. "Bring my towel back."

I waited a second and was rewarded with the sound of the door opening. My towel flipped up over the shower curtain and I grabbed it, pulling it down and wrapping it around my body.

"So you had to resort to stealing my towel?"

I whipped open the curtain and came face to face with Tony Carlucci. He was standing there with a broad smile on his face and his finger to his lips.

"Shhh," he whispered. "Wouldn't want Sheila to hear you, would you? She and your friend are out on the front porch. I believe she's uninviting him to dinner."

"Oh no!"

Tony grinned. He was enjoying the situation. He stood there, staring at me, his eyes covering every inch of my body, slowly examining.

"Get out!"

"Looks like you missed a spot on your back," he whispered.

"Get out!"

Tony shrugged and held up his hands. "Whatever you say. I was just trying to help out." He slipped out of the room just as I heard the front door slam and Sheila come storming back through the dining room, her footsteps stopping just outside the bathroom door.

"Mama!" she cried. "How could you let that jerk inside our house?"

"Sheila, were you rude to him?"

"Well, I should hope so," she huffed. "And then I told him all about that girl and Nosmo King. You know, I think he actually was forced to listen to me. See, I told you I'd be a big help!"

I sighed into my towel and looked at myself in the mirror. "Whatever," I muttered.

"What did you say?" Sheila demanded.

"Nothing, honey, just go set the table."

"Whatever!" She clomped off into the kitchen and could be heard pulling open drawers and fumbling with silverware.

It was one of those days, one right after another, right after another.