The Bourbon Thief(53)

“We fucked. That’s all. That’s it. I’ve fucked a lot of people. Didn’t make me married to them.”

“But you are married to me.”

“Not for long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re done. Tomorrow we’re getting the fuck out of here. We’re going back to Kentucky. I’m filing for divorce. You can keep your money, you can keep your farm, you can keep it all because I want nothing to do with this or you anymore.”

“But, Levi—”

He waved his hand as if chopping off her words as he walked from the bedroom.

“We’re done,” he said. “I should have known better than to trust a goddamn Maddox. You’re as bad as your mother.”

He slammed the door behind him.

“I’m not a Maddox!” Tamara screamed, a primal sound that scared her even as it erupted from her own body.

She sat up in bed, panting harder than she had even when Levi had been inside her.

“I’m not a Maddox,” she said again, quieter this time, speaking to herself.

Tamara crawled out of bed, wincing as she did. She ached inside. Sex with Levi hadn’t hurt, not in the usual way she thought of things hurting. There wasn’t a pain inside her. Instead, she felt hollowed out like he’d scraped her insides and opened up parts of her that had long been walled off until now, letting in light and fresh air. She didn’t want to close those parts of her up again, not so soon after seeing the light.

When she stood, she felt a rush of fluid from inside her, coating her upper thighs. Tamara looked around the room, found nothing except the corner of the sheet to use to clean herself. That made it too real for her, wiping Levi’s semen out of her. It had been so easy in her mind to plan things like Marry Levi and get pregnant to punish Momma. But now it was a real thing, not a fantasy. Oh, God, she could be pregnant. She really could be pregnant. And Levi was leaving her.

She didn’t want to cry, but she did it anyway as she pulled on her nightgown. From the day she’d met Levi, she’d wanted him, and having him was even better than the wanting. Didn’t he know how hard it had been for her to let him do that to her? Didn’t he know what it had meant for her to... No, he didn’t know. He didn’t know because she hadn’t told him. And she couldn’t tell him now. He’d think she was lying to make him stay. And if he thought she was lying, it wouldn’t matter because she’d never want to see him again, anyway.

Tamara picked up the lantern and carried it with her from the bedroom. Carefully she walked down the steps, afraid of falling in the dark, afraid of spiders, afraid of snakes. She clutched the cross around her neck and stroked it for safety and for luck.

“Levi?”

He didn’t answer her. She called his name again. Still no answer. She carried the lantern through the living room, into the kitchen, into the bathroom. No Levi, no Levi, no Levi. She took it into the little office, but she couldn’t bring herself to step across the threshold into the room where Daddy had shot himself. Still she whispered Levi’s name. He wasn’t there, either.

Weeping openly now, Tamara climbed the stairs again. The door to the pink bedroom, her bedroom, was closed. She set the lantern down on the floor by the door. She jiggled the handle and found it locked. Levi had locked himself in her bedroom. No. She was locked out.

“Levi—”

“Go to bed, Tamara.”

“I have to talk to you.”

“Go to bed. We’re done talking.”

“But—”

“There is nothing you can say to make this all right. So we’re done.”

Tamara pressed her hands to the door as if she could magically make it open by sheer wanting.

She knew she should go. She knew she should leave him alone to cool off. But she had his come inside her and they were in the house where her daddy shot himself and she was scared. She hadn’t been this scared or miserable since the night of the flood.

“Momma was going to kill Kermit,” Tamara said. She didn’t say it loudly, but Levi must have heard her because after a minute the door opened a crack, and she nearly fell into the room.

“What did you say?”

Tamara stepped back, afraid she’d made it worse.

“Momma. On my birthday. I had to pick—either she’d kill Kermit or she’d fire you. I had to pick. That’s what she did to punish me for kissing you. Your job or my horse.”

“Your mother did that to you?”

Tamara nodded.

“What did you pick?”

“I should have picked your job, but I couldn’t do it. And I couldn’t pick Kermit, either. I told her I was going to get you and Kermit and we’d ride away and she could shoot herself instead. She slapped me and left. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being able to save your job.”

“You think I would have picked my job over your horse? There are other jobs.”

“There are other horses.”

“Your daddy gave you Kermit.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Your mother is an evil woman.”

Before the night of the flood, Tamara would never have thought such a thing. Was her mother a little crazy? Well, yeah, but Granddaddy made everybody crazy. And who could blame her with her husband dead, too? And they’d fought a lot, her and her mother. She couldn’t have said she’d liked her mother all that much most days. But evil? No, Tamara would never have said that about her mother before that awful night. She’d felt sorry for her. Even in that big house with her big Cadillac and the credit cards Granddaddy paid for, there was something about her mother that had always reminded Tamara of a dog who had been kicked by its owner one too many times. But the pity was long gone. Her mother had killed the pity.