The Truth According to Us (47 page)

“She did, but Willa's with you. Minnie said.”

Henry never paid attention to anything. “Willa's
there
,
”
Jottie said. “She spent the night there.”

“No, she didn't. The two of you went to Moorefield, is what Minnie said.”

Her brain refused the information. “No,” she said to Henry. “She's there.”

“No
. She isn't,” Henry insisted.

“Willa's not at your house?” Jottie whispered.

“No. Are you saying she's not with you?”

“No.”

“No yes or no no?” Henry demanded.

Lost
. Jottie closed her eyes tight, trying to find her.

“Jottie!” yelled Henry.

Where would she go? What would she want? Her mind wasn't working,
there were no ideas, no pictures, no traction. Finally, who knew how long it took, there was an itch—where did it come from? Yesterday. Yesterday, what had she said? Something about Layla, about leaving her alone in the house. It had seemed so strange. As if she were worried about Layla—but she didn't care about Layla. It was Felix she cared about, and Felix wasn't home. He wasn't. Though she hadn't checked.

“Henry, I got to go. I'll call back later.” Jottie held down the hook, her unseeing eyes fixed on a table of old men in front of her booth. Blindly, she fumbled for another nickel and dropped it in the slot. “Collect call, please,” she said to the operator. “Macedonia again.”

Layla woke to the blaze of full morning, hot and heavy. She was trapped under the weight of Felix's leg, bound by his arm. She stirred restlessly, her sticky skin peeling away from his.

He didn't move.

She could wait. After all, wasn't she where she wanted to be? She smiled to herself, looking proprietarily at the mixture of their bodies. She'd surprised him, she knew.
That must've been some finishing school
. She giggled.

“Shh.”

He was awake! She burrowed deeper against him. “We should get up,” she murmured.

Nothing.

She kissed his neck. “Get up,” she whispered.

His hand moved from her waist to her mouth and covered it.

She laughed against his palm. She wanted to exult with him. He needed to be awake so she could love him. “It's late,” she urged. “Rise and shine.”

He rolled off her and turned away. Far away, downstairs in the hall, the telephone rang.

“Telephone!” she called, hoping to rouse him.

Nothing.

She listened to it ring until it stopped. Then she examined the ceiling. She waited, her stomach gurgling. She was starving. He wouldn't want her to starve. She leaned over him and hesitated, remembering his strange, silent flight the night before. After a moment, she exclaimed, “It's after nine!” Silence. She tried again. “Do you know how many hours we've been in bed?”

He didn't move.

“Twelve!” she said. “Almost twelve hours.”

“In bed isn't sleeping,” he mumbled.

“I know. But aren't you hungry?”

He nodded, his eyes closed.

She could touch him now, she decided. She leaned over his shoulder, her hair falling in a curtain around his face. “We'll have years to sleep, Felix. Years and years of sleeping, you and me together. I'm too happy to sleep now.”

His eyes opened then and slid sideways in her direction. He smiled. “You want to know something?”

“What?”

“Jottie's always right.” He was almost laughing.

She shook her hair, tickling him. “Jottie?” She stroked his chest. “Pooh. I'm the one who's always right.”

With a swift movement, he reached around, flipped her onto her back, and rolled over, pinning her hands down with his own. She felt a prickle of alarm as his eyes traveled over her speculatively. “What was Jottie right about?” she asked, subdued.

“Mm,” he grunted.

“What?” She wiggled and his hands tightened. “What did she say?”

Finally he looked into her eyes. “I'll tell you later. It'll be a surprise.” He released her and rose.

“Stop,” Jottie said as they drove through Martinsburg. “There's a drugstore. I'm going to call again.”

Sol nodded and pulled the car up to the curb.

Inside an airless booth, she listened to her telephone ring fourteen times. She could hear its angry blare pushing at the walls of her house. Why didn't they answer?

Jottie swallowed. “Macedonia again,” she said to the operator, and gave her Mae's number. It rang and rang.

“Guess nobody's home,” the operator's voice came crisply into the fifteenth ring.

“Oh God,” whispered Jottie.

“Ma'am,” said the operator reprovingly.

“All right. Try this one,” said Jottie. Please, Emmett.

“In Macedonia?”

“No, this one's in White Creek.” Be home.

It rang only twice. “Hello?”

“Emmett!” she cried.

The operator interrupted. “Will you accept the charges from a Miss Jottie Romeyn?”

“Yes.”

“Go ahead,” said the operator.

“Emmett, can you go down to the house? Willa's missing, and I think—”

“What? Where are you? Jottie?”

She was crying. “Emmett, I'm—well, I'm in Martinsburg now—I'll explain it all later, but I told Willa to take Bird over to Minerva's to spend the night while I was gone, and she never went, and I think she's in the house with Layla, but they don't answer the phone, and”—she caught her breath the best she could—“can you go over and see? I'll be another forty-five minutes at least, and I just can't—”

“Sure, yes, I'll go now. Where's Bird?”

“She's with Minnie; they've gone off to the river or something. It's Willa. She never went—”

“Okay, I got it. I'll go right down. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Drive fast.”

“All right.” He sounded calm and sure. “I'll find her.”

“Please. Find her.”

Out on the heat-choked sidewalk, Sol was waiting for her. Mutely, he opened the car door for her, and she slid into the seat and pressed her foot hard against the floor to push the car forward.

I heard Father come into the kitchen. “Coffee, coffee,” he groaned, just the way he always did. My heart stopped racing and I felt a little cheered. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe the world would drop back into its normal place after all. I leaned forward to look through the open door and saw that it wouldn't. I could see only a thin slice of the kitchen—the table, a bit of the counter next to the stove—but Father was there and he wasn't normal. He had a shirt on, but it was unbuttoned over his undershirt, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows.

“Coffee,” he moaned, stepping around the kitchen. “Where do you suppose she keeps it?”

“Pantry?” said Miss Beck's voice.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, moving away.

“Refrigerator?” she said. I froze, because the refrigerator was right next to my cellar door. She came to look herself, bending to see the shelves. She was wearing Father's dressing gown, his silk one with the golden belt. The cord was cinched tight around her little waist, and she was barefoot. “Here it is.”

“Good girl. Now, coffeepot.”

“Over here, I think. You know how to make it?”

“Sure. I'm an old hand. Camping.”

“You camp?” Miss Beck laughed. “I can't picture that.”

“Picture it, lady.” He rattled around.

“I'll have to learn how to make coffee. Jottie showed me once.”

“Jottie doesn't make it strong enough.”

“She said it would put hair on my chest,” Miss Beck said.

He laughed. “Let me see about that,” he said, and Miss Beck squealed.

I jumped when the telephone rang, but they didn't hear me. They were jumping themselves, I guess.

“I'll get it,” Miss Beck said, after three rings.

“No, you won't,” Father said, kind of sharp. “Leave it.”

I was glad. It wasn't her house.

We all three of us waited, listening to the telephone. Fourteen times, it rang.

“Didn't you say something about toast?” Father asked.

“Yes. I'll make some toast.” Miss Beck went by with a package of bread in her hands. “How many would you like?” she asked.

“What?” He wasn't listening. I heard the half cough, half explosion that meant the coffee was perking. Father was listening to that.

“How many slices?”

“Oh. Two. No, three. I'm hungry.”

For a while they were busy with toast and finding the sugar, and then she said softly, “Felix, I'll learn how to cook.”

I could only see his back. He put the coffeepot carefully down on the stove and said, “Why would you do that?”

There was a tiny pause, and then she said, “Well. For us.”

He turned toward her and took a gulp of coffee. “Ah. Us. The folks at home, you mean. And here I always thought senators kept cooks. If not butlers. Cooks at least.”

“What?”

“You telling me your daddy doesn't keep a cook?”

“Wait,” she said. “Wait.”

“I
am
waiting. I'm waiting to hear why our senator from Delaware doesn't keep a cook. I'd hate to think it's because he's cheap.”

“How'd you find out?” I don't know why she'd be ashamed of having a senator for a father, but that's how she sounded.

He took another gulp of coffee and sighed. “Layla. I believe I told you a long time ago that was a trade secret.”

“Did you read my mail?”

He smiled. “I didn't have to, honey. It's printed on the envelopes. Senator and Mrs. Grayson Beck.”

“Oh.”

“You on a little research tour for the senator, sweetheart? Come to see how the other half lives?”

“No! Felix!” she gasped. “That's not it at all!” She moved close to him and put her hand on his shirt. “No. He threw me out, Father did. I really am on relief. Really I am. You have to believe me.”

He smiled at her and shrugged. “I don't mind. Fine by me if you're slumming. I've enjoyed it. Especially the last”—he glanced up to the clock—“fifteen hours.” He leaned down and kissed her lips. “I won't tell your daddy about that Red boyfriend of yours, either.”

“Felix! What—how'd you know about that?”

He didn't answer.

“He's not my boyfriend; he's not anything anymore. It's you that—” She put both hands on his shoulders and took a breath. “It's you I care about.”

I realized my hands hurt from gripping my book so hard. I loosened them.

He backed his head away from her. “Is that right?”

“I love you.” Her fists bunched up the cloth of his shirt. “You must know that, after last night.” She shook him a little.

He was quiet for a bit, and then he rubbed her cheek with his hand. “Poor little Layla. You don't know anything about me.” She stepped right up against him and put her arms around his neck, but he pulled them away. “You don't know a damn thing.”

“I don't care,” she said, holding tight to his hands. “I know everything I need to know. It's true, Father's a senator, but what does it matter?
It doesn't mean a thing about who I am or who we are or what we feel about each other.”

“Very democratic,” he said. “Very stirring.”

She stomped her foot. “You're being ridiculous, Felix. How could you think I'd—how could I have”—she blushed—“done what we did if I didn't love you? I've known since the first time you touched me that we were meant for each other. Nothing else is important—not where I come from, not where you come from. You could be a—an Eskimo, and I'd still love you!”

He laughed. “Eskimos everywhere will sleep soundly tonight.”

“Felix!” He was still laughing a little, but she put her hands on his face and made him look at her. She was pushy, that's what she was. “My past is unimportant. And so is yours. Nothing that happened before means anything to me. It's the future that matters.” She lifted her face to be kissed. “Our future.”

He didn't kiss her. He just looked at her. “Our future, huh? Yours and mine.”

“Yes!” she said. “You and me together. Forever. A lifetime.”

I stood up, not caring if I made a noise. She meant us. We were his past. She was telling him that we didn't matter, Bird and me. This was the moment I'd been watching for, the one where I'd face her down, where I'd prove myself.
The Beautiful and Damned
clattered away down the stairs, and I put out my hand to fling open the cellar door. “Father—” I started to say.

And then the screen door banged open and Jottie flew in, with Mr. McKubin right behind her.

I sat down again.

“Oh God,” said Jottie. “You're here. Where's Willa?”

Felix took a step back, his glance flicking from her to Sol and back again.

“Willa!” called Jottie.

“Get out of my house,” Felix said to Sol.

Sol's face was expressionless. “It's her house, too.” He pointed his chin toward Jottie.

Felix wheeled around to Jottie. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Felix,” she babbled, “I sent the girls to Minerva's to spend the night, but Willa never went, she never went there, and I don't know where she's gone, I don't know—is she here? Did you—” She stopped as he seized her arm, his fingers closing tight around it.

“You went to Moorefield to visit Irene,” he said, very quietly. “You sent the girls to Minnie's because you went to Moorefield.”

“But it's Willa—” she said.

“Willa's just fine,” he said smoothly.

“She's here?” Her voice soared with relief.

“She's upstairs.” His fingers pressed hard into her flesh. “How about you tell me where you were.”

Jottie looked down at her arm. “I wasn't in Moorefield.”

“She was with me,” Sol said loudly.

“No,” Felix said, his face tight. “Not Sol.”

“Felix,” said Layla, frowning at Jottie's arm, “you're hurting her.”

“You were with Sol?” He gripped her tighter and tighter.

“I came back,” she said evasively. “Didn't I?”

Sol shifted on his feet. “Let go of her, Felix.”

“Shut up,” said Felix, without looking away from Jottie. “You promised me, Jottie. We made a deal.”

“Some deal—she does whatever you say and you do whatever you want,” said Sol, taking a step toward him. “Would you let go of her?”

“Sol,” said Jottie, “just wait a second. Felix, let go.”

He dropped her arm. “Don't forget, I stood by you. And I came back with the girls. Don't forget what I did for you.”

Before she could speak, Sol exploded, “Goddammit, Felix, you act like you did her a favor—”

“Sol—” Jottie shook her head in warning.

“No, I'm not going to stop— You act like you did her a favor, you
bastard, when what you did was come crawling back here with your children when your marriage fell apart and make Jottie your goddamn slave. You're full of shit if you think you did her any favors.”

“Fuck you, Sol. You don't know anything and you never did.”

“No,
you
don't know anything. You want me to tell you just one of the things you don't know?”

“Sol,” Jottie pleaded, “could you—”

“No, I could not,” he said, shaking his shoulders impatiently. “I'm tired of tiptoeing around Felix. Felix, I'm goddamn sick of you. And I'm not afraid of you, either.”

Layla's eyes narrowed. “Afraid? I should think not—” she began, but Sol talked over her.

“Jottie and I are going to get married. She said yes. Do you hear me?” He leaned toward Felix, his eyes gleaming. “She said yes.” Felix turned to Jottie and stared at her incredulously as Sol continued to talk. “We went to Charles Town yesterday, for the Horse Show, and when I asked her to marry me, she said yes. That's what she said.” He gazed triumphantly at Jottie. “Didn't you?”

Briefly, she put her hand to her head. “That's what I said.”