Kathleen Creighton - One More Knight

Which was hard to figure, considering he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her, not in his whole life. If it was possible for a man to die from an overdose of desire, then he was surely a goner. But-and this was what didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him-he didn’t want her like this. Not a repeat of last night, mind-blowing as it had been. That had been then. This was now. The closest he could come to explaining it was that there’d been a lot of water under the bridge since, and for him, at least, it had brought them to an entirely different place. Much as it surprised him to realize it, mindless sex just wasn’t going to do it for him. Not tonight. Maybe never again.

It was then, as he sat there with the cold shakes of adrenaline withdrawal crawling through his insides, that he heard it: his brother Jimmy Joe’s voice.

You’ll know.

And he felt something inside himself shift, as if his own personal compass had just spun around and the needle was pointing steady and true at due north, and for the first time in a long time he knew exactly where he was and where he was going.

Still staring straight ahead, he cleared his throat and said tensely, “You want to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Her laugh was dry, sardonic. And not entirely steady. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“Don’t try to snow me,” he snapped, “because it ain’t gonna work.” He wasn’t angry, but he didn’t care if she thought he was. What he wanted was to break through that brittle shell of self-control she’d wrapped herself in, and if getting her angry back at him was what it took, that was fine with him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a voice just a little too breathy for the icy disdain it was trying to portray.

“You’re wound so tight I can hear you squeak. Look, I don’t know what’s goin’ on with you-”

“Jeez, my father just had a heart attack!”

“Don’t give me that-this isn’t about your father. Not all of it, anyway. Maybe you and your dad have some issues-”

“Issues?” She said it on a note of mocking laughter, as if it was a word she hadn’t expected to hear out of a Georgia redneck like him.

“Hey,” he said, “you’ve been in this shape ever since I met you. You think I can’t see it? Lord, woman, what kind of fool do you think I am?”

For a change she didn’t lash back at him but sat instead in hunched and sullen silence. He touched her shoulder and felt her flinch.

He took a breath and said more gently, “Look, we both know what happened last night was…I don’t know, some kind of escape thing. You as much as told me so, remember? You said you’d had a hell of a bad day, and all that. And I can understand that. And today hasn’t been so great, either. I understand that. But let me tell you, if you think you can…if you think I…” He stopped there, his hand clamped across his mouth, realizing finally that no matter how he said it, it was going to come out wrong. That any way he did it, it was still going to be a rejection.

“I didn’t hear you objecting.” Her voice was soft and dangerous.

He gave a huff of painful laughter. “No,” he said through his fingers, “I didn’t have any objections. Then. And just so we understand each other…the only thing I’m objecting to now is your motives.”

She muttered something both sarcastic and profane under her breath and lunged for the door handle. He caught at her arm, but not in time. She twisted out of his grasp and wrenched the door open.

“Where do you think you’re gonna go?” he asked quietly. “Room keys are in my pocket.”

For a long, tense moment she stayed poised there, like a bird about to launch herself skyward. Then she slammed the door shut and jerked herself around, tense and shaking. Bubba, finally roused by the noise and the hope of freedom, came to snuffle inquiringly at her hair. She twitched it angrily away from him and said, “Stop it!” in a choked whisper, then gave up and sat with her eyes closed in silent misery while the dog expressed his sympathy and concern for her in the way that dogs generally do.

Troy watched while strange sensations-aches and tuggings, softenings and tightenings-followed one another through his chest. Finally, taking pity on her, he barked, “Quit it, Bubba.” And then, gently stroking her wet cheek with the backs of his fingers, he said, “Look, why don’t you just tell me what’s going on? All I want to do is help.”

Oh, God, Charly thought, please don’t do this to me. She could take just about anything except his gentleness…that damn… kindness. First the dog and now him.

Please God, don’t let me break down. Don’t let me start to cry. If I do, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.

“Who was that in the hospital?” His voice was soft, inexorable. “The kid I saw talking to Dobrina? Somebody you know?”

The pressure in her chest was terrible. In desperate need of air, she caught at a breath-but there was no place to put it, and she had to let go of it unsatisfied.

“No,” she whispered, “I don’t know him.”

“Seemed like he knew you,” Troy persisted, staring ahead through the windshield. “Whoever he is, looked to me like he hates your guts.”

Pain stabbed her like a knife. She gave a high squeak of laughter. “Well, he probably does.”

His head jerked toward her. “But you don’t know him.”

“Nope.” She met his gaze defiantly, eyebrows arched, ironic little smile firmly in place. But she couldn’t hold it. The instant before it crumpled, she turned her face away.

“I only saw him once before,” she said, in a voice that ripped through her throat like claws. “That was on the day he was born. The day I gave him away.” She listened to stunned silence for a moment, then produced a laugh that tinkled in her ears like things breaking. “He’s changed a lot in twenty years.”

“You mean to tell me-” he had to stop to huff out air “-that was your son?”

“Yep, that’s what I’m telling you. That was-is-my son. Colin…Stewart…Phelps.” She drew the name out, then added, “They call him Cutter,” pronouncing it the Southern way: Cuddah.

“Good Lord,” Troy whispered. He shook his head like a dazed fighter. “But, hold on a minute, didn’t you tell me you gave him up for-?”

“Adoption. Yep,” said Charly, “I surely did. Signed the papers right there in that very same hospital, as a matter of fact. Then I…hopped on a Greyhound and skipped town.”

“Charly, why-?”

“Why? Well, see, there wasn’t really much use in my stayin’ around here, was there? Not after I drove my child’s father-who also happened to be the only son of the town’s oldest and most beloved family, not to mention my best friend-to commit suicide. Was there? My father sure didn’t think there was, and most of the townfolk agreed with him, Kelly Grace bein’ just about the only exception. Oh-and Dobrina, of course. Like I said, I think she loved-”

“Come on, Charly.” His voice was harsh as a slap. “Why are you doing this?”

She swiveled her head toward him. It seemed to take all her strength, as if the moving parts had rusted. “Doing what?”

“Talkin’ like this. Tryin’ to pretend like it doesn’t-”

“What do you think I’m doing?” The sound of her own voice shocked her. It sounded like the cry of an animal in pain. “Lord, what I’m tryin’ to do is survive!”

Bubba was on his feet again, whimpering. Charly threw up both arms to protect her face from another tongue-washing while Troy stuck out his arm to hold the dog back, and somehow or other, the next thing she knew they were tangled up with each other, his arms were around her instead, and she was fighting him, using her upraised fists to push him away, pummeling mindlessly at his rock-hard chest.

November 3, 1977

Dear Diary,

Well, I did it. Today after school I broke up with Richie. News sure does travel fast, because a little while later Kelly Grace called and wanted to know what happened and why I did it, and all. She’s mad at me that I didn’t tell her first, and because now she and Bobby can’t double date with us anymore. I didn’t tell her the real reason why I did it. I just said Richie and I weren’t getting along, which is true. He kept on saying if I loved him I’d let him go all the way, and I guess he’s probably right about that. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I don’t love Richie. I don’t want to marry him, that’s for sure! If I did that, I’d have to stay in this town forever, and I have bigger plans than that. First I’m going to California, and then I’m going to college, and after that…who knows?

Then a little while ago Colin came over. He’d heard about Richie and me already and wanted to know what was wrong. He told me he’s been worried about me for a long time because I haven’t been myself. We went for a long walk in the woods. It was a really nice day, sort of cold, but sort of warm, too, the way it is sometimes. And all the leaves are down, and the squirrels were running around all over the place, chasing each other up and down the trees and being real cute. So anyway, I finally told Colin. We both cried, and then we sat and talked for a long time, until it got too cold to stay out and almost dark besides. Neither one of us knows what to do. Colin says I have to tell the judge, though, that’s the first thing. I know I have to, but I don’t even want to think about it. I think maybe I should tell Aunt Dobie first. Maybe she’ll know what to do.

Thought for the Day: Isn’t it funny how one little tiny thing can change your whole life forever?

Even Charly knew it was no contest. How could it be? He was an ex-SEAL, for God’s sake!

She put up more than just a token struggle, though, fighting him partly out of panic and partly because she simply didn’t know-had never known-how to give in gracefully. She called Troy a son of a bitch, with every embellishment she could think of, as well as some she was shocked she even knew.