“Fine!” And it was fine. He was just what she didn’t want. She had no intention of falling for him in the first place. Nor he, apparently, for her. They marched back to the car. Relieved, she opened the door, the Mayor jumped in, she leaned over to hook up her sandal. He grabbed her around the waist from behind. She swung around to belt him and landed with her mouth on his, a drawn out whirl into oblivion so far away and intoxicating that when he let her go, she almost fell. He drove her home as they’d come, without saying a word.
Claire bolted awake in the wee morning hours. She’d been dreaming that someone had found her cameras. It was so real that she was more surprised than depressed when she sat up in bed and realized where she was. She pulled a nightgown over her nakedness, got out of bed, and padded downstairs. All the fans were in high gear, hot air gusts tearing through the house cooling nothing. The Mayor, asleep on the kitchen floor, put up both ears.
“Hi ya. Locked in?”
He loved this girl. You never knew what she was going to do.
“Come on, then. Sit out on the porch with me for a while. I had a dream. Shall I make us some toast? A little cinnamon toast wouldn’t hurt, would it? I’m so confused about this cop. A cop. Just what I didn’t want. What was it Swamiji used to say? Whatever it is that you fear will come at you as though magnetized. He really knew his stuff, that swami.”
The Mayor waited politely while she fidgeted around the kitchen stocking up, then they headed for the porch. Together they sank into the hammock and heaved a sigh. This was really the place to be. They had her up in the attic nowadays. She had a nice cot with a feather quilt in the box window but it wasn’t the porch. Now this was terrific. She with her thoughts and he with his rocketing heartburn. The spider on the rail had already rebuilt his web. He must just love this spot. Birds of a feather, she supposed. The rabbits in their cages began to scuffle. Claire covered the Mayor’s mouth and his infernal whimperings for more toast. “Who’s that?”
The screen door opened and there stood Michaelaen in his bathing trunks. “I knew I heard somebody up,” he rubbed his eyes with a fist.
Claire laughed. “Hop in.”
Michaelaen climbed up to join them. He gave the Mayor an affectionate bite on the ear—a habit of his, not always too comfortable for the Mayor but necessary to their familiar routine. He’d brought his Tootsie Rolls along. This was exciting. A secret club. “I’ll trade you one Tootsie for a toast,” he bargained.
“One Tootsie for half a toast, pardner. Take it or leave it.”
“How bout two Tootsies for a whole toast?!”
“All righty.”
They collapsed in giggles. Then he sat up straight and looked furtively around him. His cheeks filled up behind tightened lips.
“What’s the matter, Michaelaen?”
“Nuthin’.” He was remembering the last deal he’d made. With Miguel. He didn’t know what, but something bad had happened to Miguel. Maybe they never should have gone that time with the other kids, in there where they got to see those pictures. Those pictures where the little boys and girls didn’t have all their clothes on and they were doing stuff to each other. Only he wasn’t sure what. At first it had been fun, like. Only now he was a little bit afraid, because if he told, then Mommy could get shot. Or worse. So sure he wasn’t going to tell. And he didn’t want nothing bad to happen to Aunt Claire, either.
“Tell me. Come on. You can. I cut down smoking for you, didn’t I?”
That was true. She smelled better than ever. Not as good as Mommy, but good. And things were hopping since she’d come to live with them. Claire grabbed his foot and held it tenderly. That was the wrong thing to do. “I was thinking about the raccoon,” he lied. Claire was thinking about why she’d never had a child. There had been all sorts of reasons not to. And the part about becoming something dried up, well, that was all that that had been: a reason. Not wanting to have somebody someday look at her and think that. It wasn’t as if she would ever feel that way about herself, anyway. She always had been dried up in some ways and fruitful in others. No, that hadn’t been it. More often than not it had been the fear of being totally dependent on some man who would then turn on her. Without question, losing interest fell under the category of betrayal. And the men she’d chosen to love always would have strayed without the constant pull of her sexuality. Had she been hating men all along? Ridiculous! Although she could have been using her sexuality to attract the wrong kind of man just because she scorned them so much that she wanted to prove how despicable they were. Had that been another fear that she’d been trying to draw near? Hadn’t she searched the world finding unworthy subjects to love so she could always be right? So righteously right. Keeping busy hating the wrong in others so she wouldn’t have to hate herself. Claire took one good long look at Michaelaen and she knew that she had been wrong. She’d been wrong all along. A cool, light wind blew across the porch. A Canadian wind. Open Indian spirits come to look. The Mayor pointed his snout to the sky, then yawned, then fell asleep, as did Michaelaen, then Claire. The wind chimes wept above their heads and nobody knew what else would happen next.
CHAPTER 7