Nancy Bartholomew - Your Cheatin Heart

"Jack? What's wrong? Have you been crying?"

He turned and smiled softly, but his lips trembled. "I'm fine," he said.

"Did I scare you that badly?" I asked.

He laughed a little and shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. It doesn't have a thing to do with you. Except"-his voice faltered for a moment-"except just don't let anything happen to you, all right? I couldn't stand to lose anyone else right now."

"Is it Evelyn?" I asked.

"Yeah, but let's not talk about it right now, all right, Maggie?" He reached out and stroked my hair gently, as if I were much younger than him, and not the other way around. "Let's just go upstairs and go to sleep." He stressed the word sleep , as if I should understand that he, too, realized the moment we had shared was past.

I let him take my hand, and we walked up the stairs to his bedroom. This time, when I slipped in between the sheets, it no longer occurred to me to worry about his nakedness. Instead I rolled over to face his back, reached out my hand, and let it rest on his shoulder. Later, when he thought I was asleep, I heard a quiet sob escape his lips and felt him tremble.

I lay there wondering what to do, my hand still resting on his shoulder. In all of my life, I had never seen a man hurt this way, not over a woman, not over anything that I could recall. Even when my brother Larry's wife left him, he hadn't cried. I'd found him out behind the old barn, chopping wood in the middle of January, working so hard that even bare-chested in thirty-degree weather, he was sweating. But I never saw him cry.

Eventually, I heard the soft sound of even breathing and realized that Jack had drifted off to sleep. I lay awake for a long time, thinking about the men in my life, and wondering if one of them had been the voice on the phone, if maybe someone I knew had killed Jimmy and now wanted to see me dead. But why? What had I done to make someone so angry they'd threaten my daughter and try and frame me for murder?

I awakened alone and with a plan. Jack was gone and the carafe of coffee was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. I sat on the sofa, drinking and rooting through my purse and wallet. I had been surprised to see Marshall Weathers's card floating around in my bag a few days ago. I hadn't remembered him giving it to me, but now when I needed it, it was nowhere to be found.

"Come on, Weathers, I know you're in here," I muttered. I pulled out my wallet and started taking every picture, credit card, and paper out of the worn leather slots. It had to be there somewhere. Only after I emptied every last item out of my purse did I find the beige business card, wedged under a piece of leather at the bottom.

I sat for a few moments, studying the card and debating: Call or don't call? "Just don't think about it," I whispered to myself. "Just pick up the phone and do it." My fingers were cold and I realized that I was shaking on the inside. "What are you afraid of? He'll listen to you. He'll take you seriously." But maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd blow me off like he had when someone shot at me. Maybe he'd think I was making it all up to throw the suspicion off of myself.

I jumped up off the sofa and ran across the room to the phone, picked it up, and dialed before I could stop myself. He answered on the first ring.

"Marshall Weathers," he said, his voice deep and businesslike.

I hung up.

A few moments later the phone rang, echoing through the cavernous room. I jumped and stared at it. I started to reach for it, and changed my mind. I couldn't do it. What if it was him? "You're being ridiculous," I said aloud. The phone continued to ring but I walked away. Calling Weathers was a bad idea.

"I'm making a big deal out of nothing, probably," I said to the empty room. "I'll get my locks fixed. I'll just go over and pick Sheila up after school. Between me and Vernell, we can watch her. If somebody lays a hand on my baby, me and Vernell'll kill him."

That was the right decision. If I left it up to the police, they might not watch her like I could. They might figure I wasn't telling them the truth, and my little girl would be caught in the middle. That is, if Sheila were even in danger. Chances were, it was just a Nosy Parker with too much time on his hands, looking to scare someone.

I ran upstairs, took a quick shower, and threw on a pair of jeans and a purple sweatshirt. Eventually, despite what I'd told Weathers, I was going to have to go back into my house, even if it was only to pick up more of my belongings. I wedged on a pair of tan suede, low-top cowgirl boots and ran down the stairs. Weathers was leaning against my car when I stepped out into the bright fall afternoon.

"Ever hear tell of Caller ID?" he said.

"So, when I hung up you got my number?"

"It ain't rocket science," he said.

I jammed my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and stood on the dock staring at him. It was just as well that we were both wearing sunglasses. I couldn't see those powerful blue eyes and he couldn't look through mine and see what I was feeling. He stood there, his arms folded, smiling. I figured he was feeling right proud of himself.

"So, what'd you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

"It wasn't anything much," I said. I took my time walking down the steps and over toward him. "If it'd been worth bothering you about, I'd have stayed on the line. As it was, I simply changed my mind. So you ran over here for nothing, and I hate it for you."

The smile never left his face but that little muscle began to jump in his jaw. He looked at his watch, then back at me.

"It's past lunchtime," he said. "You eat yet?"

My stomach growled. "No." I was close enough to touch him if I'd wanted to. For an instant the idea crossed my mind. What would it be like to touch him? He stood there, still smiling, waiting and not saying a word. It was up to me, somehow I just knew it.

"You want to go grab a bite?" I said. I didn't look at him when I spoke. It wasn't that obvious; I let my eyes wander to a spot just below his collarbone. The man made me nervous, or else I'd had too much coffee.

"Sure," he said, like a teacher who's been waiting on a student to come up with an obvious answer. "That'd be fine. Where you got in mind?"

Weathers was never going to be a man to use two words when one would do. I tried to think of where to go, and could only remember the last place we'd been, the only place we'd ever been together. "Yum-Yums'll do, I reckon."

He nodded, the decision made. He didn't even ask if I wanted to drive. He simply headed for his car, unlocked the door, and waited.

"I don't feel like driving anyway," I muttered to myself. "Use his gas."

He was talking on his cell phone as we drove off, a series of grunts and "uh-huhs" that gave me almost no indication of whether the call was business or personal. He cut across town, heading for lunch, his driving as clean and spare as his conversation. I was a shameless eavesdropper. I stared out the window, tried to act disinterested, and listened as hard as I could.

"Yeah, uh-huh, well, I know that." He leaned his head to the left, balancing the cell phone while he turned down the radio. "I know that, too," he said, but this time he seemed a little impatient "Here's what you do," he said. "You tell her I said no. She'll understand that." He listened for a moment, grunted something I couldn't make out, and hung up.

For a moment he seemed to have forgotten that I was even in the ear. He had pulled into Yum-Yums, and now sat with the ear in park, his arms folded across the steering wheel, staring at the brick wall in front of him.

"Trouble at work?" I asked after a minute, in which we sat stone silent in his car.

He didn't jump perceptibly, but he came back from wherever he'd been and looked across at me.