Prom Night in Purgatory (Purgatory #2)(63)

Maggie tried to smile at him, a wobbly turn of her pink mouth, but he could see her unhappiness. “I miss you, Johnny. But I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I will survive losing you too if it comes in exchange for your happiness or your freedom. But I really hope...” she broke off then and stared at her Converse sneakers. “I really hope I don’t have to,” she finished in a rush, and her cheeks flushed, spreading the stain down her slim neck and into the V of her pink tee shirt.

“Can we start over, Maggie?” Johnny took the mop from her hand and pushed her glasses up on her little nose. They suited her, somehow, and he liked her all the more for the way they camouflaged her sexiness, making any guy have to look twice to see the obvious.

Maggie smiled at him like he’d hung the moon -- a slow spreading grin that lit her face like a sunrise. “I’d like that, Johnny.”

He leaned in and touched his lips to hers ever so softly, feeling his stomach flip over and his knees go weak at the contact. Her mouth was silky and her breath sweet, and the relief that coursed through him made him want to cry like a baby and bury his face in her hair. Maybe everything would be all right. He had Maggie, and for the first time he believed he would survive life after Purgatory. He had Maggie, and maybe that was enough.





~19~

A Time to Hate





1958


Roger Carlton parked his car across the street from The Malt and waited until he saw her come out. His lights were off, and the businesses around him were closed for the night. There weren't any cars in the lot in front of the diner, and he had seen very few automobiles pass on the quiet street that crossed in front of the popular hangout. Val rode a bike to and from work; Dolly and the other waitress, the little fat one, usually walked. It wasn't far for either of them. Roger knew Val would watch as Dolly made her way down the street. He didn't like the ladies walking home at that hour. Ten o'clock was still early on a summer night, but Val was protective. Roger eased his car out of the parking lot and circled around the block in the other direction. He would intercept her before she reached her house.

Roger was alone; he’d gotten rid of his friends when he went home to change. They had all thought it was a little too funny when Dolly Kinross poured that glass of lemonade over his head. Val had told her to go home, but apparently she stayed in the kitchen for the remainder of the evening, washing dishes and keeping a low profile. Val should have fired her. Irene's daddy owned the place. Maybe he would have to put the idea in his head that Val was letting the place go downhill. The guy was a Commie anyway. Anybody could see it.

Roger had watched her house for a while, but it hadn't taken him long to figure out no one was home. He had come back to the diner looking for her and had seen her through the front windows, sitting at the bar, having a cup of coffee while Val mopped the floor.

But now she was walking home, and his was the only car in sight. There she was. His headlights picked her up, walking along the right side of the road, heading straight for home like the good little mommy she wasn’t. His passenger window was down. He had made sure of it. He pulled alongside her and slowed as he matched her swift pace.

“Hey Doll. You like it when I call you Doll, don’t you? I heard my daddy on the phone with you a while back. Seems that’s what he calls you too. Like father like son, huh?”

Dolly Kinross folded her arms and kept walking as quickly as her legs would carry her. She didn’t look at him, but sighed and shook her head.

“Roger Carlton, it’s way past your bedtime, and I am not interested in babysitting. Obviously you didn’t get the message I was trying to send with that glass of lemonade. Go home before I tell your daddy that you’ve been bothering me. I heard you’ve been bothering Billy too, Roger. I won’t have it. You leave my boys alone, you hear?”

Roger felt a hot, pulsing anger radiate from behind his eyeballs. He swerved wildly in front of Dolly Kinross, almost hitting her in the process, and came to a screeching halt in front of her, blocking her way. He threw himself across the seat and out the passenger door, grabbing the stunned woman by her upper arms, pushing her into the car. He leaned in and pressed her back onto the seat of his daddy’s Lincoln, pressing his forehead into hers, holding her arms at her sides. He screamed in her face, his spittle landing on her cheeks.

“You will not talk to me that way, you whore! You think I want my daddy’s sloppy seconds! I’m not here because I want you! I’m here because I hate you!”

Dolly Kinross lay frozen, shocked at the violence and vehemence of the young man who, despite his claims to not want her, was practically laying on her, his body pushing into hers, his arms pinning hers between them.

“You need to get off of me, Roger. Someone will come along, and you will get in trouble. You don’t want that, do you?” Her voice was calm and serene, like she was talking to a naughty two-year-old, and Roger became even more incensed.

“You need to shut your mouth, whore! If someone comes along, what are they gonna see? You seducing the mayor’s son, that’s what! You think it’s gonna hurt my reputation any? You’re the one who needs to be worried.

Dolly didn’t respond but held herself very still as Roger seemed to momentarily get a grip on his anger. The truth of his words lay heavy on her chest, almost as heavy as Roger himself. People wouldn’t believe her. He was right about that. Car lights swung across the front window, and Roger stiffened. Apparently, he wasn’t completely ambivalent about getting caught.