Fat Tuesday(97)

"Is it watertight?" she asked as he approached the shack.

"I might get there without sinking."

"Where?"

"Dredd's."

"When?"

"In the morning. If the rain clears out. Could you fetch me a towel?

If I go in like this I'll track water all over the floor."

He'd worked stubbornly and steadily throughout the day in a drenching rain without any protective gear. His jeans and shirt were soaked through. He took the towel from her with a laconic "Thanks," then retreated around the corner to wash up. When he reappeared a few minutes later, the towel was wrapped around his waist. Saying nothing, he took a change of clothing with him into the bathroom.

His shoulders, she noticed, were sprinkled with freckles.

When he came out of the bathroom, he motioned toward the table.

"What's that?"

"Supper." Using what was available, she had laid out two place settings. She'd even found a candle in one of the drawers where cooking utensils were stored. It was standing in a pool of its own wax on a cracked saucer, but it softened the rusticity of the shack "It's just chili and beans, but I thought you'd be hungry since you didn't eat lunch."

"Yeah. Fine."

He sat down and she served the meal. A box of crackers and bottled water rounded out their menu. They ate in silence for several minutes.

He was the first to speak."Not quite what you're used to."

She lowered her spoon to her bowl and gazed around the single room. It was furnished with mismatched castoffs, warmed by a space heater, lighted by a Coleman lantern, but it was snug and dry, a sanctuary from the hostile terrain."No, it's not what I'm used to but I like it.

Maybe because it's so different from anything I've seen before."

"Didn't a Cajun beau ever take you to his fishing camp on a date?"

"I never went on a date, and I didn't have any beaux." She nibbled the corner off a saltine, then laid it on the rim of her bowl and reached for her glass of water. Catching his eye, she wondered at his astonishment."What?"

"You never went on a date?"

"Not unless you count Pinkie. I went straight from life with my mother, to Blessed Heart, to Pinkie's house. Not much opportunity for boyfriends. I didn't even attend the school-sponsored dances."

"How come?"

"I lived with Angel in a one-room apartment," she said quietly.

"My impression of men wasn't very favorable. I had no desire to go to dances. Even if I had, Pinkie wouldn't have permitted it."

They lapsed into another silence, broken only by their spoons clinking against the crockery bowls. Finally he said, "Did you ever consider becoming a nun?"

The question amused her, she laughed softly."No. Pinkie had other plans."

"The payback."

"I guess you could call it that. He married me the night after I graduated."

"No college?"

"I wanted to go, but Pinkie wouldn't allow it."

"Pinkie wouldn't have permitted it. Pinkie had other plans. Pinkie wouldn't allow it." Taking umbrage at his tone, she said, "You don't understand."

"No, I don't."

"I'm not ignorant. I took every college course by correspondence that was offered."

"I don't think you're ignorant."

"Yes you do. Your low opinion of me is all too obvious, Mr. Basile."

Looking ready to argue, he changed his mind, shrugged, and said, "It's none of my business. I just can't understand how a person, man or woman, turns their life over to someone else and says, Here, run this for me, will you?" Didn't you ever make an independent decision?"

"Yes. I once defied Pinkie's wishes and secretly applied for a job in an art gallery. I had studied art, I loved it, and during my interview I conveyed my appreciation and knowledge to the owner of the gallery.

He hired me. It lasted two days."

"What happened?"

"The gallery was burned to the ground. The building and everything in it was completely destroyed." She looked at him meaningfully."They never caught the arsonist, but I never applied for another job, either."

No longer eating, he sat with his elbows on the table, clasped hands covering his mouth, staring at her over the ridge of his knuckles.

There was a sprinkling of freckles across his cheekbones, too, she noticed.

His eyes weren't brown, as she'd previously thought, but green, so deeply green they appeared brown unless one looked very closely.

"Would you like some more?"

At first he seemed not to understand the question, then he glanced down at his empty bowl."Uh, please."

He ate his second portion in silence.

When he was finished, she began clearing the table. He offered to wash the dishes and she let him. She dried.

"I've never met anyone like you," he said."This morning you practically begged me to return you to your husband, when it sounds to me like Duvall defines emotional abuse. You're like a prisoner in your own home. You make none of the decisions. Your opinion doesn't count even where your own future is concerned. You're nothing except Duvall's possession, something he shows off."