Sweet Caroline(58)

J. D. wants an answer. And he deserves one. If I say no, are we over? If I say yes, then what?

Can I still go to church? I’m pretty sure they still frown on the whole sex-without—marriage thing. I’m really starting to enjoy Sunday mornings. Even braved another read of Jones’s Bible.

Is J. D. the one to give the gift I can never get back? Am I over thinking this?

Yes.

But if he wants to live with me, make love to me, why can’t he marry me?

Laughter and shouts rise and fall under the lights draped among the tree limbs. The band is setting up on the empty lot next to Bodean’s place. Torches burn along the path to the dance floor. (A couple of pieces of plywood.)

I scan Mars for the sight of J. D.

“You’re quiet.” Elle says.

“Tired, I guess.” Explaining J. D.’s living-together proposition will only ignite Elle. Why fire her up when I’m undecided? She’ll do some-thing crazy, like rocket over to Mars and perform the first intergalactic execution. At the very least, castration.

“I’ve seen your ‘tired’ face. This isn’t it.”

So I throw her a bone. “Cherry came into the Café just as we were leaving. She’s worried about Henry. Thinks he’s having an affair.”

“What? Oh my gosh, Henry? Never. He’s too uptight. Besides, he’s mad about Cherry.”

“Not Henry,” Jess echoes.

Swig of Diet Coke. “That’s what I said. I told her I’d pray for her.”

Elle bumps me with her shoulder, beaming. “I’ll pray too.”

Bodean’s on-again, off-again girlfriend, Marley, joins the triangle of Jess, Elle, and me. She’s five-eleven, athletic, and commanding. Bo keeps going back to her because she’s the only one confident enough to handle him.

“Look at that, will you?” Marley nods at one of the younger deputies’ girlfriends wiggling by and sublimely predicts the demise of low-rider jeans.

“Definitely on their way out,” Jess agrees. “Must make way for the high-waisters of the eighties. They’ll soon be the rage.”

“Oh, girl, please.” Marley cuts a sharp glance over at me. “My mama’s butt looked like a small island for an entire decade.”

Elle chokes on her gulp of soda. Her bracelets clatter. “Mine too. And two of my sisters. What a sad fashion decade.”

From the men’s huddle comes a roar. I look over to see J. D.’s hands raised over his head. At that moment, he looks over at me with a for-your-eyes-only smile and quickens my heart with a warm gush.

I smile back—for his eyes only. “Maybe.”

Jess asks for an update on Elle’s Operation Wedding Day. So far—and big surprise—Stu Green is the front-runner. Bodean’s party is a bust for new prospects.

An electronic screech pierces the air as the band runs a sound check. Scoping the Mars surface again for J. D., I decide it’s a lovely night for a slow dance and to tell him, “Let’s do it.”

“Anyone for a trip to the ladies’?” Marley stands.

“Me.” I down the last of my drink, toss it in the trash, and tag along with Marley to Bodean’s guest bathroom—which we find occupied.

Marley falls against the wall. “You and J. D. seem tight these days.”

I smile. “Getting there. He asked me to—”

Voices seep under the bathroom door. I give Marley a quizzical glance.

“Is someone crying?”

We lean close.

Sniff. “. . . she’s here tonight. With him.” Wail. Moan.

Marley mouths to me: “Who?”

One can only guess. There’s always a romance saga or two going on among the deputies.

“Look, he’s a jerk. I told you not to go out with him. Good-looking guys are always bad news.”

I snap straight. Marley touches my arm, shaking her head. No. But the swirl in my gut says yes.

“J. D. is not bad news, Trisha.”

Marley’s fingernails bite my flesh.

“I can’t stay here, watching him dance with her, kiss her, tell her all the things he’s said to me.”

“Beat him at his own game, Lucy,” Trisha pleads. “He promised you a dance or two, right? Make him want you over her. Be your gorgeous, sexy self. One dance and J. D. will forget that Caroline Sweeney ever existed.”

Marley claps her hand over my mouth. Beyond the door, we hear scuffling.

“Is someone out there?”

Jerking free from Marley, I bang on the door. “Lucy, it’s Caroline.”

Silence.

Marley takes over the door hammering. “Lucy, Trisha, we heard you.”

The door snaps open and two very beautiful young women wearing low-riders and tight tops face us with defiance.

“Didn’t your mamas teach you not to listen to other people’s conversations?” Trisha shoves past Marley. Lucy follows, her head high, eyes averted.

“Lucy, are you dating J. D.?” I am not ready for this showdown, but here goes.

She whirls around. “Caroline, if you have an issue with J. D., take it up with him.”

A surprising calm spreads through me. “Lucy, it’s a simple question. Are you, or have you recently, dated J. D.?”

“Answer the question.” Marley demands.