Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Weathers didn't want to let me go, but he knew he couldn't stop me, I'd answered all his questions. I told him all about my talk with Bertie Sexton. I told him in graphic detail how I'd been bashed over the head in the closet of a mobile home. I left out only one little thing- Sheila's revelation. That would just have to wait.

He rolled right up in front of the Golden Stallion, announcing to the world and Cletus, who was working the door, that Maggie Reid had arrived with a police escort. He could've just grabbed a megaphone and shouted, "Appearing live from the Greensboro jailhouse, Miss Maggie Reid!" But I didn't care. I was on time and leaving Weathers behind.

"Page me if you can't find a way home," he said, as I slammed the car door. If he were the last ride home, I wouldn't call him. If he were the last ride anywhere, I wouldn't call him. But I didn't say it. For once I kept my mouth shut. I was going to need him later, when Sheila decided to quit stalling and tell the police what she'd heard.

The band was warming up as I walked through the front door of the Golden Stallion. If Cletus was surprised to see me pull up in a police car, he didn't say a word. Instead he raised an appreciative eyebrow at my black dress and high heels, cocked his head to one side, and gave me his attempt at a wink. Cletus couldn't wink. It looked more like a squint accompanied by a lopsided leer.

Sparks took the band into my theme song when he saw me standing at the back of the house. It was show time. I cut through the crowd, greeting a few of the regulars, and walking like I owned the place. This was where I belonged. For a few short hours, life was going to be uncomplicated, just me and the music and the boys in the band.

Jack was blowing on the harmonica when I stepped up to the mike, dancing across the stage in his loose-shouldered, knee-lifting dance style. Sparks had his head bent to the pedal steel, ferociously playing a lead. And Sugar Bear was slowly leading the boys off the intro and into the song. I looked out on the floor, flashed my biggest grin, and started singing about lonely cowboys.

The house was unusually full for a Tuesday night. Carvette, the line-dance instructor, had a large group of fat ladies stumbling across the floor behind her. Had to be a promotion with the weight-loss clinic, I figured. Carvette was big on working the public relations angle. The Young Bucks dance team took up the side of the floor closest to a table of young secretaries who were celebrating and impressed by what the farm boys had to offer. It was going to be a swinging night.

"Where have you been?" Jack had snuck up behind me, and I hadn't even heard him.

"Home and chasing up after my young'un," I answered. "Gettin' my head half bashed in and driving on the sidewalks of Greensboro." Jack laughed; obviously I had to be kidding. Sparks frowned at him, thinking we were going to mess up, and I slid into the last verse.

Jack stood right by my side, playing softly and shuffling in place. His jeans were wrinkled and he still looked as if he could use a good hot meal. The boy needed a mama.

"Can I catch a ride home with you?" I asked between songs.

"Sure." He looked surprised. "Need a place to stay?" He looked hopeful and a little lonely. Where was that Evelyn of his? Then I remembered him crying the other night, and realized what must've happened.

"Sorry, sweetie," I said, the same way I'd talk to Sheila, "I'm going to sleep in my own bed for awhile. Those water beds make me seasick." He laughed and went back to his harmonica. When this current crisis was over, I was going to have to find that boy a good woman.

It was a good night for making music, but as the first set came to an end, I realized that Mama Maggie wasn't too happy. By the end of the second set, my mama instincts were going haywire, and I could no longer deny that Sheila might be in trouble. I'd tried to believe that she'd gone off when Keith came by, and probably she had done just that. He'd probably come to the front door and carried her out to dinner and then driven her back home to Vernell's. But what if she hadn't?

I tried to call her just before the last set started up, but there was no answer at the Spivey castle, only the answering machine with Jolene's tinny little TV voice instructing me to leave a message and "have a nice day." I hung up and ran up the steps to the stage. Where was that girl?

"She's probably asleep, Maggie," was Jack's theory. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning. The whole house is sleeping, if you ask me."

"But she just took off."

"All teenagers just take off," he said, turning back to his harmonica for a brief moment. "It's what teenagers do."

I didn't feel better. Instead, I felt more and more apprehensive. Deep inside my bones I could feel it. Something was not right with Sheila.

I kept scanning the door all through the last set, half expecting to see uniformed officers, or Weathers. It was the McCrarey gift of second sight, I could feel it, tingling my scalp and running down my arms. Even Jack sensed my unrest, sticking close by me as I sang the last few songs.

"All right," he said, when the last number drew to a close and the house lights came up. "It's last call. We can leave. I'll take you home, or wherever else it is you need to go."

"Home. I can feel it, I need to go home."

Jack looked at me, looked deep into my eyes, and locked onto my fear. "All right, Maggie. We're leaving now." He spun around, blew a kiss to a young girl with curly brown hair who'd been watching him from the dance floor, and started heading for the back door. "You coming?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes," I yelled, running to catch up.

"It's a good thing that dress has slits up the side," he said. "But you're gonna be cold."

I didn't redly pay any attention to him, that is, not until he walked up to a small motorcycle and unfastened the two helmets that were tied to the seat.

"I always come prepared," he said, handing me a helmet.

"Jack, what happened to your car?" I asked. I knew the answer before he even said a word.

"Evelyn has it," he said softly. "I figured she needed it more than me."

I stared at the lonely little motorcycle and back at my kindhearted friend. When I finally met Evelyn, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. Who would leave this sweet man and take his car?

The early morning air had turned cold, and I knew it would cut through my flimsy dress like a million tiny knives. For a brief second, I thought of calling Weathers and taking him up on his offer of a ride, but I had my code of ethics and Weathers was not an option. Jack offered me his suede jacket, but I wouldn't take it.

"You'll be up front," I said, "I'll just hunch down behind you. Let's go." The anxiety I'd felt inside was reaching the panic stage now. It didn't matter how I got home, I just had to go.

As we pulled out of the Golden Stallion and onto High Point Road, it began to sprinkle. By the time we hit Holden, it was pouring. Water slid down my neck, running the length of my back and sliding down my legs. I leaned as close as I could into Jack, but it didn't help. We were both soaking wet. Jack was working to stay focused on his driving, slowing down to an almost-crawl and braking carefully as we came up to a red light.

"Sorry," he called back to me.

"Hey, it's not your fault it rained. I'm just thankful you're taking me home." I was shaking with the cold and wishing like anything for shelter. Why did I ever agree to let Weathers drive me to work? What kind of a deal had that turned out to be?

By the time we pulled up in my backyard, I was numb. I half fell off the back of the bike. My dress was ruined and water squished out of my shoes in noisy little gushes. I looked like a black-and-red drowned rat and I felt a hundred times worse.

"Thanks, Jack!" I called. "Do you want to come inside and dry off?"

He shook his head but all I could see was the tinted glass of his faceshield. "Might as well go on home. I'm soaked through anyway," he said. He backed the bike out into the yard and swung around. I was up the steps and inside as he gunned the engine and tore off down my back alley.

"Sheila?" I called into the darkened house.

No answer, but I hadn't really expected one. I checked the answering machine, water dripping down my legs and forming little puddles at my feet. No messages.

"All right, baby girl," I said to my empty bedroom, "Mama's coming after you. If you're not in trouble, you soon will be!" But my heart wasn't in it. I knew my girl was in trouble, the same way my mama always knew when I needed her. It was a gift and a curse, but it was certain knowledge. My daughter needed me and that fact was all I could think about.