CHAPTER 6
LILA
Carl started coming to the restaurant earlier in the evening and sticking around until closing. Sometimes Crete showed up to eat with him, but usually he was alone, and every time I came by to refill his tea, he’d try to start a conversation. He gave up pretty quickly on asking personal questions when I repeated the same vague answers, and instead he started telling me about everybody who came in. Darrell, the crippled guy with the comb-over, supposedly was left as a baby on the steps of the old rooming house and taken in by the owner, but everyone knew he was really the owner’s illegitimate son. Jacob Deary, the redhead with the pockmarked skin, had been caught screwing his neighbor’s horse. Apparently, no one in Henbane could keep a secret. Their dirty laundry flapped around out in the open for all to see.
It was nice to have one familiar face at the counter every night, especially since the rest of the customers continued to whisper and stare. One guy started muttering prayers whenever I came near him. There were a couple of greasy-haired ladies who didn’t want me touching their trays, and Gabby had to serve them. She apologized like crazy, but there was nothing she could do about it. I considered spitting in their burgers, but every time I had a thought like that, I reminded myself that I couldn’t afford to get fired. I had nowhere else to go.
Crete arranged for Carl to drive me home when he couldn’t do it himself. “Seems like you’re working a lot of hours,” Carl said one evening as we pulled up to the garage. “Days at the farm, nights at Dane’s? You getting along all right?”
“It’ll even out,” I said. Crete had promised the winter was slow as molasses and I’d have more time off, but I didn’t really mind working. I had nothing else to do, and it kept me too busy to think about other things. I slept so hard I didn’t remember my dreams, and I liked it that way.
“I’ve noticed some folks at the restaurant not treating you right,” he said.
“They’re not quite as friendly as I expected small-town people to be.”
“It just takes folks around here a while to warm up to strangers,” he said. “Don’t let it get to you.”
“It didn’t take you long,” I said.
He glanced at me sideways and looked away. “You never felt like a stranger to me.”
Ransome treated me well enough, though she didn’t seem to have any interest in getting to know me better. She never asked any questions about my past, and that was fine by me. Crete came out to see us in the field some mornings before work, and Ransome always had a worried look when he showed up. I got the feeling he wasn’t normally so hands-on at the farm, at least not before I started working there. He took pains to make sure I was getting settled in. He stocked my fridge one night while I was at Dane’s, and set up a little oscillating fan. He hadn’t come through with the air conditioner he’d promised, though, and it was getting hotter by the day. Nights weren’t much better; the air was so humid, it felt stifling even when the temperature dropped.
One night after work, when I’d been in Henbane about a month, I got in Crete’s truck, turned the air on high, and stuck my face right in the vent. Crete laughed at me. “Still ain’t used to the weather?”
“Tell me you’re not hot, too,” I said. “It’s like walking around inside a sponge.”
He rubbed his hand over his stubble. I liked how he always looked like he needed a shave but never actually had a beard. “Well,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s one way to fix that. Wanna go for a swim?”
“In the river?” I asked. I’d been eyeing it every day when I left Dane’s, though I hadn’t taken a dip. The rivers I’d swum in back in Iowa were brown and murky, but the North Fork was perfectly clear, and you could see all the way to the bottom. “I’d love to. But I don’t have a suit.”
“Hell,” he said, grinning, “you don’t need one. It’s hot enough to jump in in our clothes.”
“Let’s do it,” I said. It would be the first truly impulsive thing I’d done since I got to Henbane, and I considered that pretty good.
He drove us out to a quiet spot on the river not far from his house and opened up a cooler on the tailgate. He cracked open a can of Budweiser and dug a second one out of the ice. “I know you’re not twenty-one,” he said, weighing the can in his hand. “But you’re old enough to vote, so I figure you can handle a beer.”
He opened it for me, and I licked the foam that bubbled out. We sat together on the tailgate, sipping our drinks. The river was calm and flat on our side and made a shushing noise on the far side where it slid over the rocks. Trees crowded the opposite bank, thick with fireflies and the unceasing insect songs, which I was starting to get used to. Crete set down his beer and pulled his shirt off over his head, and I couldn’t help admiring his chest, the bands of muscle tapering to his waist. He caught me looking at him and gave me a crooked smile. “Okay with you if I get down to my skivvies?”
I blushed in the darkness and nodded, remembering how I’d felt that first day when he called me beautiful. He hadn’t said anything like that since, though I did notice him watching me at times. He was charming and friendly, but for the most part, he kept things businesslike. He was my boss, after all. He stripped to his boxers and stepped to the water’s edge. “You coming?” he asked.
I hopped down from the tailgate and unzipped my shorts, stepping out of them as they fell. I left my T-shirt on and tentatively stuck one foot in the water. “Yikes!” I said. “That’s cold.”
He laughed. “That’s the point, right?” He walked out toward the current and sank underwater, then popped back up and shook himself like a dog. “Whoo!” he hollered. “Come on in.”
I tiptoed into the water, squealing as it inched up my body. When I was waist-deep, I dove under and came up with a gasp. We bobbed around in the water for a few minutes, and then I had to get out.
“Not hot anymore?” he asked.
“N-no,” I stuttered, my teeth on the verge of chattering.
“Hey,” he said, sloshing out after me. “I’ve got something that’ll warm you right back up.” He rummaged around inside the cab and came back with a sleeping bag, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, and two plastic cups. “Can you spread this out?” he asked, handing me the sleeping bag. I unzipped it and laid it out in the truck bed. Crete climbed up to sit next to me and handed me a cup, tapping it against his. “Cheers.”
I choked down several gulps as quickly as I could to get it over with. It tasted awful. I’d never had whiskey straight before, only once with Coke, in a much smaller glass. The sound of the river was soothing, and we leaned back to watch the stars for a while. My shirt stuck to me like papier-maché, and the breeze made me shiver. I folded the bottom of the sleeping bag up over my feet.
“Still chilly? Do you mind?” He carefully slid his arm around me, and my body tensed involuntarily. I was suddenly aware of several things at once: the warmth that spread through my belly as the whiskey worked its magic, a heaviness fogging my head, the intense brightness of stars against the dark, the unexpected arousal at his touch. “Beautiful night,” Crete said, and I leaned in to him, allowed myself to relax against his bare chest. I tried to remind myself that he was my boss, that I should not be so close to him, but my head filled with static. I was increasingly distracted by the sensation of his skin against mine, the heat where our bodies met. I swallowed the rest of my drink and felt it burn all the way down. I dropped my empty cup and noticed that his was mostly full.
“Here,” he said. “Do you want to take this off? It’s just making you colder.” He helped me remove my wet shirt, and there we were in our underwear, eye to eye. There was an unspoken agreement in the way we looked at each other. He wanted to cross the line, and I wanted him to cross it. I wasn’t sure in that moment if it was Crete I wanted or just the physical release, and I didn’t care. He pulled me gently onto his lap and I wrapped my legs around him, felt him pressing against my damp underwear. Our lips touched and heat flowed through me. He wasn’t a good kisser, unfortunately, shoving his tongue in my mouth like he wanted to choke me. I started to feel dizzy, and as he unhooked my bra, I thought I might be sick. I pulled away from him.
“I don’t feel good,” I said. “Maybe I drank too fast.” We sat quietly for a few minutes, his hand resting on my knee. My head was spinning.
“Let’s get you home,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, fumbling to clasp my bra and feeling around for my shirt.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have given you so much.” He helped me into the cab and rolled down the window in case I got sick. The bumpy road made me feel worse, and I closed my eyes, resting my cheek on the door and letting my hair drift out the window in the night air. Crete squeezed my hand as we drove.
Back at the garage, he half-carried me inside and laid me down on the bed. “You gonna be all right?” he asked, pushing my hair out of my face. I nodded. I was so tired. He sat down next to me and traced his fingers along my back, but sickness had dampened any desire, and his touch made me feel like throwing up.
“I think I just need to sleep,” I mumbled.
“I’ll stay awhile,” he said. “Keep an eye on you.” He continued to stroke my hair, and I didn’t have the energy to tell him to stop. He spoke in a low, soothing voice as I drifted off, and his words began to slip away, no longer making sense.
I woke up the next morning in my nightgown, which I didn’t recall putting on. My head was ringing and I’d overslept. The alarm on my clock had been turned off, and I found a note from Crete on the dresser: Told Ransome you’re taking the morning off.
I showered and dressed and nibbled on some crackers in bed, trying to recall everything that had happened the night before. I’d agreed to go swimming, which wasn’t so bad, but things had quickly gone downhill from there. I was beginning to think I wasn’t so different from an alcoholic. I couldn’t let myself make one small, impulsive decision, because that was guaranteed to lead to a whole six-pack of bad decisions, some likely to end in regret. I was fairly certain that I hadn’t slept with my boss—I had no memory of things going that far. In the agonizingly bright light of day, I knew what a mistake it would have been to screw the guy I was contractually bound to for two years. It was incredible luck that I’d gotten sick when I did, because nothing else would have stopped me from going through with it. Crete probably felt the same way, like he’d dodged a bullet. We’d just gotten carried away.
I had a little speech ready for when he came to drive me to Dane’s, but I figured I’d give him a chance to go first. Then I could agree with what he said and get on with my day. When I first got in the truck, he asked how I was feeling, and we had a little laugh about my low tolerance for alcohol. I thanked him for helping me home and waited for him to launch into the reasons why the previous night shouldn’t have happened. But he didn’t.
“I was thinking you might like to come over to my place after work tonight,” he said. “We could have a real dinner.”
I squirmed, not sure how to start my speech. It didn’t dovetail easily with what he’d just said. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m still not feeling very well.”
He smiled at me. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll pick you up after work.”
“Maybe … maybe it’s not the best idea,” I said softly.
He was quiet for a minute, chewing on a toothpick. “I thought we had a good time last night,” he said, his eyes on the road. “Sure seemed like it.”
“No, I did, I had a … It was fun,” I said. “I was just thinking it over, the whole employee/employer thing. I don’t want to … cause any problems.”
“Nothing wrong with having a little fun,” he said. “You worried I’d fire you over it?”
“I don’t want to mess things up. I do that sometimes, and I really want to keep this job.”
“You don’t need to worry about your job,” he said.
“Still, I think it’s best if we don’t. You know. We can just … keep it professional.”
He nodded without looking at me. “If that’s the way you want it.”