Jeff Abbott - Promises of Home

I couldn’t look at Trey as I wheeled him to his ex-wife. Despite the anger I still felt for him, it smacked too much of serving the Christian to the lion. He was confronting the woman he’d abandoned, and there was no escape, and I wanted her to give him the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. But at the same time I felt sorry for Trey. And no, it’s not that men always stick together. He’d acted unforgivably. But there was something so terribly implacable in my sister’s face, even as the wreck of the man she’d loved was set before her. I prayed Candace never looked at me that way.

Sister uncrossed her arms and put her hands behind her as I stopped Trey’s chair. She wavered for a moment; seeing him was unnerving; I knew that from experience. This was not the Trey she’d loved and bedded and bore a child with and grew to hate. This was some other man to her, and I could see the confusion cross her face. She looked at me; I shook my head. She glanced at Hart, who suddenly found a need to go up on the porch. I didn’t want to leave them alone, although I knew I should.

Trey spoke first. “Hello, Arlene.” His voice was steady but not strong.

“Trey-” She got the one word out before her voice failed her. She drew a deep breath. “You look awful.”

“I know. You look great, though. Pretty as a picture.”

The compliment was ignored. “Why are you back, Trey, and why didn’t you let me know?”

“I wasn’t hiding from you, Arlene. I wanted to call, but I didn’t think you’d talk to me.” He maneuvered the chair so he could see both Sister and me. “I hear tell you’ve got this wonderful new diner. Maybe we can leave Clevey’s family and friends to grieve and go over there and talk.”

As much as it pained me, I agreed with Trey. He was trying to defuse the situation and keep Sister from humiliating herself-or him, for that matter. The inevitable tears and recriminations would be easier to mull over if they were displayed in private, like photographs of intimate memories.

“Look, Trey,” Sister said. “I just want to set the record straight. I don’t care that you’re back in town. I don’t care that you got hurt. All I care about is that you stay clear of my boy. You do that and we’ll be fine.” Great, I thought. Preemptive strike here at a house of mourning. Her shock must’ve fogged her judgment.

“I’m not staying away from my son, Arlene.”

“You don’t have any rights to him. You abandoned him. You gave up any claim on Mark and I intend to hold by that.” Her voice was more sure now, as though she’d slipped into her prepared speech.

“I didn’t abandon him. I sent you money every month for him-”

“There’s more to being a father than sperm and loose change.” Sister’s hands balled up into fists. “I’m sorry, but fatherhood isn’t like the rodeo. You don’t pass on riding the bull if he’s a little more ornery than usual. You have to get through the whole ride, Trey. You don’t have a boy, then leave him when he’s eight, then decide one day to come back.” She gestured at the chair. “Is that what this is? Hoping for Mark’s pity, now that you’re a cripple?”

“Sister, please!” I said.

Her glance at me had an edge to cut a throat.

“What are you afraid of, Arlene? That he’ll want to see me?” Trey smiled, but without an ounce of warmth. “I think that’s what you’re afraid of, baby doll. You’re worried he’s gonna forgive me and like me just fine. A boy wants a father, God knows that’s true.” Bitterness tinged his voice and he stared down at the ground for a long moment, then looked up. “I’ll bet you Mark wants to see me. That’s what this whole little scene is about, isn’t it? I still know you awful well, Arlene. That’s just like you.”

“You don’t know me. You don’t know a damned thing about me.” She pointed at his chair. “You’re not the same man you were when you left. Well, I’m not the same woman. I’m a whole lot tougher and smarter now, Trey. I’ve had to be. I’m not going to fall for any crap you give me about you wanting to be a father to Mark. If you cared about Mark, you wouldn’t have come home with a new family to rub in his face.”

“Nola and Scott have nothing to do with Mark,” Trey said tightly. “They’re fine people, and they’ve been good to me. But they’re not my family.”

“You’re so wrapped up in yourself you can’t even see how your actions hurt anyone else. That’s just like you, Trey.” Her voice mocked him, turning his words like a knife. “Go. Go somewhere else where you won’t be torturing your own child.”

“So, finally, you admit that Mark is mine. I have every right to see-” And that’s when Sister stepped in and belted Trey. Not a slap, but an honest-to-God punch. His head snapped back. I heard Hart say “Jesus!” and Bradley cry out in surprise.

Sister pulled Trey back into an upright position by his shirt. “You get this straight, you son of a bitch!” She was yelling now. “You come near us and I’ll get a restraining order on you double-quick! Mark is my baby- my child! You gave up any and all rights to him when you decided a bunch of stupid cowboys were more important than we were. And I hope when you die, God sends you straight to hell and lets a bull stomp on you for eternity!” She let him go and turned, stumbling, sobbing. I chased her and grabbed her arm.

“Sister, for God’s sake!” I glanced back at Trey. His lip bled, speckling his shirt. He stared at Sister with stunned dark eyes. He buried his face in his hands-I couldn’t tell if in pain or in shame.

“Let me go, Jordy.” Sister tried to pull away. “Let me go home to my boy.”

“I don’t think you ought to drive.”

“I’m fine to drive.” She shrugged off my arm. She watched as Davis, Ed, and Hart humed toward Trey. “I see he still has his friends. They’re bigger idiots than I was… to care about him.”

“Sister, please, listen to me. I know you hate him. I don’t blame you. But I don’t think threatening him is going to do you or Mark much-”

“Jordy, just shut up.” She examined her right hand; the knuckles were beginning to swell. “It hurts. I never hit anyone before. I thought it was supposed to hurt them, not you.” Her voice sounded ragged.

“Please, let’s go home. I’ll follow you in my car.” I steered her to her Hyundai and got her inside. Davis ran up to me.

“Jesus, is she okay?”

“Yeah, I think.” Hart and Eula Mae tended to Trey, who wasn’t looking our way. Ed shuffled his feet nearby, shrugging helplessly at me. I saw Bradley on the porch, Mrs. Shivers standing by him, gently holding his arm. Wanda and her mother, Ivalou, took the scene in greedily, carefully cataloguing each moment for later embellishments. Steven Teague stood apart from everyone else, watching with a clinically emotionless face. Cayla Foradory smirked at me for one strange moment, then went to Bradley’s side, ushering him into the house.

“See how Trey is-what his reaction to all this is,” I said to Davis, “and call me later.”

“Why?”

“Look, quit being a lawyer for a minute and be a friend. I don’t want him calling Junebug and filing assault charges against my sister.”

“Considering how Junebug’s sparking Arlene, I don’t think there’s much danger of that.” Davis smiled.

“Guess not. Look, I got to get her out of here.” Sister was already revving the Hyundai for all it was worth.

“Fine. I’ll call you.” Davis nodded. I got into my car. Sister wheeled out and I followed, peering once in my rear-view mirror to survey the hornet’s nest she’d stirred up.

Lightning flashed across the pitch-colored sky, its jagged edges cracking the vault of night. Time barely passed between flash and rumble; the storm was here, announcing its tumultuous debut. The rain began a slow but building patter on my windshield.