Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Nine

Jack noticed the long scrape down the side of my car first, then the flat tire. We had walked out of the Golden Stallion together, the energy necessary for performing quickly draining away and leaving in its place a bone-weary fatigue.

"Shit!" he swore. "What is that?"

My right rear tire lay flat on the ground, a gash torn vertically across the rubber, just below the rim. I stood there, trying to get my brain to accept the image. Then I saw the scrape down the passenger side. Narrow and jagged, it cut through the paint, leaving an ugly metal scar.

I looked around at the cars nearby. They were untouched. Why me? Why my car? What was going on here? "I'm coming," the voice had said. Was this it? The beginning?

I didn't say anything. Maybe I was afraid to open my mouth, afraid of the sounds that would come out into the cold, fall dawn. Instead, I gently lowered my guitar case to the asphalt and walked to the hood of the Beetle. Jack was squatting down by the tire, his fingers rubbing against the fraying rubber, swearing under his breath. Slowly and methodically, I pulled the tire kit out of the trunk, then unbolted the spare and began carrying it.

"I'll get that," he said, moving quickly to take the dirty tire out of my hands.

"No, don't!" I tightened my grip and practically shoved him aside in my hurry. I didn't want any help. I needed to feel as if there was something I could do, one thing I could still control in my crazy universe. I could change a damn tire by myself!

I knelt down, pulled out the tire iron and placed it over the first lug nut. I gave it a mighty wrench. When it didn't move, I stood up and jumped on the iron arm, demanding that it give. Slowly the lug turned.

To his credit, Jack never moved, never said a word. He stood there in the frosty morning air and watched, now and then stamping his feet against the cold. My car, I thought over and over. My car, my car, my car. My house, violated. My gun, stolen. My grandma's rug, ruined. Jimmy, dead. My daughter. What about my daughter?

I rocked back and forth on my heels, not just loosening a lug nut, but rocking to soothe away the tears that bit the edges of my eyelids and cut a pathway down my cheeks. My baby. My baby. Mybaby.

Once, when Sheila was four, I went to pick her up from preschool. It was raining and I was a little early, so I parked and walked up to the door to get her instead of waiting in the carpool line with the other mothers. I opened my giant yellow-flowered umbrella and held it with one hand, taking her pudgy, warm little-girl hand in my other.

I knew, even before she reached my side, that something was wrong. Don't ask me how. She didn't say a word to let on. She even smiled when I stretched out my hand to her, but it was a small, tight smile. Her eyes were huge and her shoulders stiff. We walked about twenty feet down the sidewalk, just past the edge of the line of vans and station wagons waiting to claim their children.

"How was your day, honey?" I asked softly.

"Mom," she said, a small tremor leaking into her lispy-lilty voice, "Will doesn't want to marry me. He said we can't be engaged 'cause his cousin Barbara is going to marry him." With that, all pretense of composure left her, and she began to sob, deep wracking gulps that shook her tiny body.

I stopped still on the sidewalk, in the rain, and knelt down by her side. "Oh, honey," I said, pulling her to me. "I'm so sorry."

We knelt there in the rain, half-hidden by my sunny yellow umbrella, crying. Sheila sobbing because her heart was broken for the very first time, and me because I couldn't save her from the pain of finding out for the first time that life can be terribly cruel and unfair.

I was having that same kind of feeling all over again as I stood by the side of my damaged car.

Jimmy's killer had done this, I could feel it in my bones, but try making the police believe that. No, if they didn't believe I hadn't killed my brother-in-law, they sure wouldn't believe this wasn't just random vandalism. The slashed tire was off, the spare securely attached. But everything in my world was changing. I stuck my hand inside my skirt pocket and fingered Sheila's little ring. What was going on here?

"Here," Jack said, gently taking the tire iron from my grimy hand. He tugged gently, and I let it slide out of my grip. He carefully packed the tire kit, tied it together, and then placed it and the slashed tire into the trunk.

I walked around to the driver's seat, slipped behind the wheel, and stuck the key into the ignition. Jack picked up my guitar, slid it into the backseat, and arranged his lanky frame in the front passenger seat. I turned the key and the car abruptly lurched forward and stalled. I'd forgotten to push in the clutch.

"Damn it!" I swore, stabbing my foot at the pedal. I reached for the clutch and tried to jam it into first gear, but Jack stopped me.

"You're all right," he said softly, his hand resting firmly over mine. "Now just stop a second. Let go of the clutch and breathe." He leaned back against his seat, letting his shoulders drop, watching me. I took a deep breath impatiently and started to jerk my arm back toward the gear shift.

"That's it," he said, gripping my arm and closing his eyes. "Now like this." He took a deep, New Age breath, holding it, then exhaling. "Breathe."

I did it. I leaned my head back against the headrest, closed my eyes, and took a long slow breath. My shoulders relaxed and I felt a tiny bit of tension leave me.

"Again," he said softly, "that's it".

I couldn't believe it. Here I was, deep breathing in my car at three in the morning, after some maniac had slashed my tire. The worst part was, it was actually working.

"You're fine," he said. "You can do this."

Damn straight, I thought, I can do this. And I can find the sorry dirtbag who did this, too. I leaned forward slowly and started the car.

"Who's Evelyn?" I asked.

He laughed and looked out his window. "That Evelyn," he said, "she's quite a gal." He reached forward and switched on the radio, pulling out his harmonica to play along with the country station.

He played for a moment or two and then I felt him watching me as I drove. "You know," he said, "you're thinking it's all related, but it might not be. The universe is funny that way. Full of coincidences."

He went back to his harmonica, not waiting to hear what I thought about the matter. I glanced over at him a few times, but his eyes were closed and he seemed lost in the music. In his world, events probably were coincidental; they probably followed some Zen kind of philosophy or Quaker kind of lifestyle. That was him. In my world, everything meant something. Like Mama always said, don't matter if the glass is half full or half empty, it'll still stain your skirt if it spills.

I listened to him playing,, my head jumbled up with ideas and thoughts, I was barely paying attention, but I did notice one thing. Someone was following us, and they had been ever since we'd left the Golden Stallion.

"Hey, you missed the turn," Jack said, as I drove right by Elm Street and turned right onto Church. Still there.

"It may be coincidence," I said, "but a car's been following us since we left."

"Get out!" He sounded more impressed than worried.

I drove over to Lee Street and headed back toward the Coliseum. Still there. We were definitely being followed. I whipped into a parking lot at Lee and Elm, then swiveled around to see what would happen next; The car drove right on past, a Jeep Cherokee, not new, but not more than a few years bid. It moved too fast for me to see who was driving or even catch a plate number.

"Damn! That tells me a hell of a lot," I said.

Jack stared after the car and back over at me. "Are you sure we were being followed?" he asked. "Maybe it was just-"

"Coincidence?" I said, interrupting. "I don't think so."

I let my foot off the clutch and pulled back out onto Elm, made the quick turn into the parking lot behind Jack's loft, and slid the Beetle into a spot under the only light in the lot. If someone wanted to hurt my car further, I would at least make it difficult.

Jack hauled my guitar out of the backseat and aimed his garage door opener at the back of his building. I scanned the parking lot, looking past it back to Elm Street. We were surrounded by buildings and alleys. A hundred people could be watching us, from almost anywhere, and we wouldn't see them.

Jack stood on his loading dock, waiting. I gave up trying to figure out who was lurking in the bushes and headed for the warmth of the wood-stove.

"Want something to drink?" he asked. He was pulling a Rolling Rock from the fridge and twisting off the cap. The garage door was slowly descending, closing us in. Suddenly Jack's place seemed small and foreign.

"No," I said, starting to turn away, but then changing my mind. "Yes, maybe I will." I am not a drinker. Not like Vernell and the Spivey clan, but the situation called for something. I just wasn't sure what.

Jack busied himself pulling out a second beer, draping it with a graying dishtowel, and twisting off the cap. If he sensed my discomfort, he didn't show it. Instead he walked over to the sofa with both beers and sat down in front of the woodstove.

"What a night." He sighed and took a swig from his bottle. "You look worn out."

"No," I lied, reaching for the beer to hide behind. "I'm always keyed up after we play. Changing that tire didn't even wear me out;." I took a huge swig of beer and choked. Mama said lies'll choke you, but it was the beer.

"Really?" he asked. He was sitting on the couch, shoes off, his legs drawn up Indian-style, looking at me as if I were the strangest thing he'd ever seen. "So, you're wide-awake, not sleepy at all." His voice had taken on an almost hypnotic drone, and I felt myself struggling, just the way a child fights a nap in the afternoon.

I pinched the inside of my leg, hard, and sat up straight. "Nope," I said, "not at all. Why don't you go on up to bed and when I get tired, I'll just turn out the lights and sack out right here. "I said it in my most motherly, matter-of-fact voice. A voice that I hoped said, "We both know I'm almost old enough to be your mother, but in case you didn't believe it, I'm not interested."

"Man." He sighed, a snorty kind of laugh escaping into the space between us. "You are one uptight woman."

"I am not uptight. I am telling you I'm not tired."

Jack leaned a little in my direction. "You were telling me that you didn't want me getting any ideas about us having sex."

I almost jumped backward. My cheeks flamed up, my heart pounded a little, but I held my ground. "Well, so what if I was? I mean, here you are, an attractive young man, and I come bursting into your place, looking for somewhere to stay. Well, how does it look? I wouldn't blame you for thinking it!"

He sat up straight, staring right into my eyes, smiling. I didn't see anything to smile about.

"Maggie, let's get a few things straight, okay?" I sat still. I was about to be on the receiving end of a lecture; I could feel it in his tone. I tried not to look at him with Sheila's impatient adolescent face. I hated lectures as much as she did.

"You aren't that much older than me. Lord, yes, you are damned attractive, but I don't prey upon women in trouble. I don't have to." Yeah, I thought, you've got Evelyn, and I felt foolish, but also more comfortable.

"Now, here's the deal," he said. "This couch is old. It's rump-sprung. You can sleep here if you want to, but I've tried it before and you wouldn't get any rest. I'm going to sleep in my waterbed, like I always do, and I'm suggesting you do the same."

I knew it! The alarm bells went off again. I stretched my hand along the cushion and wiggled a little bit, testing his statement. It was uncomfortable, but I still didn't think it was right to just crawl into bed with a man I hardly knew, New Age or not.

"It's a queen-sized bed," he said, taking another swig from his beer. "I sleep on my left side and I don't snore. And Maggie," he said, reaching over and covering my hand with his, "I won't touch you. Not on purpose, that is." He was laughing and looking at me. I felt foolish. "Keep all your clothes on if you need to. I won't, but you can. All I ask is that you take off those pointy-toed cowgirl boots. I'll even lend you a T-shirt."

I took a huge swig of beer. In fact, I about guzzled the whole thing, and then I looked him right straight back in the eye.

"You'd better not be telling anything but the God's honest truth," I said.

He held up his fingers in the Boy Scout salute.

"On my honor, I will try to do my duty…"

"Trying ain't good enough, Jack."

"Don't worry, I promise." He finished his beer and stood up. "Now, you are tired, aren't you?"

Truth was, I was so tired I was seeing and hearing things. I nodded and followed him up the winding stairs to the loft.

He lent me a T-shirt, long enough on me to come to mid-thigh, and a toothbrush. It was strange and awkward, figuring out who went first in the tiny bathroom and dressing and undressing in there, using his faded towels, smelling the patchouli oil and other scents that filled his space.

When I emerged from the bathroom, the bedroom was in almost total darkness, except for the skylight over the bed and one small candle by his bedside.

"You get the right side," he said in the darkness.

Clumsily I half fell into the waterbed, rolling up against him before I could stop myself.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, as my skin brushed up against his. He was totally-and I do mean totally-naked!

"Jack, you're… you're…"

"Well, I told you I was taking my clothes off."

"Yes, but I thought you meant you were changing into pajamas."

"Never wear 'em," he said calmly. Then he rolled slightly away from me. "That better?" He chuckled. "You are so uptight!"

"I am not!" I was edging, the best way I could, over to the wooden rail and as far away from his hot skin as I could move.

"Maggie, the human body is just a trapping for the soul. The world makes way too much of it."

I did not think I was doing any such thing.

"Maggie, it's just skin and parts. Take a deep breath and relax."

"You know, Jack," I said, fuming, "I've about had it with meditating reality away. If I breathe deeply, I will still know that I am lying in bed with a naked man!"

He chuckled a sleepier chuckle. "It's all relative, Maggie."

"What would Evelyn say about all this?"

There was a deep, prolonged sigh from the other side of the bed. "I'm sure, in her way, Evelyn knows all about it." He shifted a little in the bed, pulling the quilt a little farther up on his shoulders. The moonlight drifted through the skylight and touched his shoulders and made his blond hair seem to glow. "Go to sleep, Maggie," he murmured. "You are new to the world in many ways."

I lay there, listening, my body rigidly clinging to the far side of the bed. Slowly his breathing deepened. He was actually asleep. I stayed vigilant, thinking maybe it was all some kind of weird meditative state, but soon he began to snore gently. I clung to my edge of the bed for as long as I could, but eventually I fell asleep.

At some point in the night, I woke up suddenly to find my head nestled up against his shoulder and one of his hands resting on my arm. I was barely awake, and didn't move, because for that one moment I felt safe again.