The Reading Lessons (31 page)

Unfortunately
,
there was no coaxing him back to her room. Crump told Nina he was sorry, but broken bones made him uneasy.

One week later, when Nina was able to move around on crutches, she made her way downstairs to the window seat to search for something worthwhile to read. It had been horrible knowing that all the really interesting books were downstairs while she was stuck upstairs. She’d just about had her fill of
Little Women
and Alice bumbling through Wonderland. With so many to choose from, it was pure chance she came across a book called
Handiwork of the Gods
in the bottom of the window seat.
Handiwork of the Gods
was authored by Luther Daniel Davies, and her heart skidded to a stop when she realized what the book was about. 

Nina always read the first few lines before making her choice, and she’d almost hobbled off with the more attention-grabbing title
The Hard-Boiled Virgin
, when the slender orange book caught her eye. Easing herself down on the floor to have a look, Nina whispered the opening passage out loud:

In Micronesia, people believed that the gods gave them the following message: 

You should be tattooed so that you become beautiful and so your skin does not shrink with age. The fishes in the water are striped and have lines; therefore, also human beings should have stripes and lines. Everything disappears after death, only the tattoo continues to exist; it will surpass you. The human being leaves everything behind on earth, all his possessions, only the tattooing he takes with him into the grave.

Nina had been spending a lot of time thinking about the picture she’d seen on Crump’s skin and had decided that it looked like a letter of the alphabet. Reading the little orange book, the pieces fell into place. 

Lordy,
Nina thought.
She monogrammed him.

Until she’d seen the look on her mother’s face after the bandstand collapsed, Nina had imagined Crump to be one of many. Now she felt sure he was something much more. Did Neville Pillwater wear Mother’s monogram on his fat hairy tummy? Probably not. Probably the most Neville Pillwater ever got was a discount-inspiring flash of knee. If Mother was mad enough to cut Crump up for coming to Nina’s aid when she was hurt, how much more insane would the woman be if he fell in love with her? 

But there were problems. 

Outside of Del Wiggins, Nina had never even stepped out with a boy, much less kissed one. She’d wrenched Clyde Bledsoe’s arm out of socket for whistling at her at the lodge once, and she badly regretted this now. Perhaps the boy might have proven useful for something, after all. Lord knows, he wasn’t much of a shot. Mother, on the other hand, knew the art of Micronesian tattooing. It seemed highly improbable that Nina could ever find the wherewithal to steal a man who would let himself be marked in a way he would take to the grave.

She returned to the book, hoping it might yield a much-needed tip . . . 

Tattoo enhanced the body as an object worthy of admiration. It marked a boy’s entry into manhood and the beauty of his tattoo attracted women to his manliness, proven by his ability to endure pain. Parts of the tattoo were covered by clothing and would only be visible during intimacy . . . 

“Hi,” he said. 

Nina slammed the book shut. Crump was standing in the doorway, smiling at her. 

“What do you want?” she asked. He’d not been to see her in two weeks.

“I came to do your bookshelf.”

“Now?” she stuttered, clumsily shoving the book inside another.

“How have you been?” he asked. “Is your ankle better?”

“It’s coming along. How about your eyebrow?”

The wound was a yellow snake of a mark now. “Just a little scar,” he said. 

Nina began to perspire. Perspiration, she decided, was a sure sign of love. Her imagination had long-since finished the part of the picture he hid inside his pants; the part that ended in twin mountain-like peaks just below his bellybutton. She was sure it was an “M”.

But why Mother’s middle initial? Why not “L” or even “W”. Nina didn’t even know what her mother’s middle name was. She only knew she wanted her mother to feel the pain of losing Hadley Crump. 

“What are you reading?” he asked.

She checked the cover of the book. “
Little Women.
”

“No you’re not,” he said. 

“I am,” she argued. She shoved the book in the drawer of her night table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sometimes you remind me of your mother.”

Was this good? Bad? A lie? Definitely a lie. “No one ever thinks I look like my mother.” 

Mother had pale hair and a girly figure and big blue eyes that made everyone think of sparkling sapphires. Nina had Grandma’s plain brown hair and a boy-body. Her eyes were the same color as her hair, and they never made anyone think of anything, much less sparkling sapphires.

“I didn’t say you looked like her. I said you remind me of her.”

Forgetting her need for crutches, Nina climbed out of bed. “Is that a good thing, Hadley?”

He picked at a loose chip of paint on the door. “Just don’t grow up too fast, Miss Nina. My mama used to tell me that, but I didn’t listen.”

And now you have an
M
branded on your body. And someone’s been whipping your hide...
“Where are your tools, Hadley Crump?”

He gnawed his lip. “Guess I forgot ‘em.”

Nina was glad she’d put on the red nightgown. It was the most womanly one in her closet. “Want to check my bookshelf anyway?”

“Sure,” he said, stepping forward. 

Nina held her breath.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “Your father told me to send you down for supper. Maybe I’ll have your shelf fixed by the time you’re done.”

“Or maybe it’ll take all night,” Nina said.

He shook his head. “You aren’t listening to me, Miss Nina.”

She pushed the door shut with her toe. “I can’t quit thinking about that picture on your stomach.”

His eyes darted to the door. “Hold on now, Nina.”

If not for her bum ankle, Nina might have jumped for joy right then and there. “You called me Nina.”

He looked rattled. “I’m sorry. Open that door. You’re gonna get me fired.”

“Why? What are you planning to do?”

“I . . . nothing. It’s wrong to talk like this, Miss Nina. For a million reasons, it’s just plain wrong.”

“Name forty.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re too nice for this, Miss Nina.”

“That’s only one.”

“That one reason is enough.”

Nina took another step toward him. “But you like me, Hadley, I can tell.”

Crump stepped back. “I like all you kids. I always have.”

“You like me best, I know you do.”

They did the step-up/step-back dance again. “Open that door or I’ll scream, Miss Nina.”

“Why do you like me best?” 

He reached for the knob with a shaky hand, and Nina laughed at him. “Go ahead and run, Hadley. We both know what will happen. One of these days I’m gonna get a better look at that picture of yours.” 

She touched the scar on his throat with her index finger and pulled away with a start. It was almost too hot to touch.

Hadley

Hadley

Hadley grabbed hold of the bedposts and closed his eyes. He shivered as her hair brushed the length of his stomach. How many times had he warned himself to be strong? Playing dumb never worked out for him. He’d tried to keep busy with the new White Flower Garden he’d started under the Silverbell tree, but after all these years, Hadley reckoned he was trained to succumb. 

“Quiet now,” she whispered. “We don’t want anyone to hear.”

He sunk his teeth into a corner of pink chenille bedspread, biting so hard, his molars nearly cracked. Hadley had been drawn into some crazy things over the years, but this took the cake. If he were caught in her bed, there’d be no explaining it away. 

“Open your eyes,” she said. “I want you to watch while I do it.”

Hadley opened his eyes and sucked the bedspread halfway down his throat. She was kneeling between his legs wearing nothing but a smile. 

“Am I beautiful?” she asked.

Her skin was the buttery color of a Francesca rose, the sort that Mama peeled apart and stirred into her Rose Pear soup. Hadley spit out the bedspread. “Delectable.” 

She cupped his cheek and gave him a kiss that was soothing and nice, but he was keenly aware that she’d never done anything like this before. 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She stuffed the bedspread back in his mouth. “Trust me.” 

Hadley’s stomach clenched like a fist as she set to work with a maddening precision. It was all he could do to hold onto the bedposts. He spit out the covers. “God damn!” he cried. “That hurts, Lucinda.” 

She’d given her sewing needle a bath in a teacup of rubbing alcohol, then held it over a flame until the silver blackened and glowed. Next came the ink—a grim concoction of coconut oil and ash that she pricked into his skin a full one hundred and seventy times before the awful thing was done. That she finished up the job with a soft sweet kiss hardly made up for the agony. 

“There,” she said, as though she’d just given him a most amazing prize. “Now you’ll take me to the grave.”

Hadley was twenty-two when Lucinda did the tattoo they’d read about in
Handiwork of the Gods
. He was twenty-four when she strangled him while re-inacting
Justine
. Twenty-eight when she used the riding crop on his skin as a follow-up to
Venus Wears Furs
. And thirty when she asked him to punch her in the eye like Cora from
The Postman Always Rings Twice
. He was a thirty-five year old man when Nina put the tip of her finger on his M. The tip of Nina’s finger was the worst. Her touch was more painful than needles. Hadley knew he should stay away from the girl, but he couldn’t. 

There was a long spell when Dickie didn’t go out of town, which didn’t help matters none. Lucinda was never interested in him when other people were around, and he couldn’t get two minutes of her time if Dickie was nearby. Meanwhile, her daughter stepped up her attack. 

She cornered him in the Reading Room, of all places, and asked him to read
Arabian Nights
while she sat with her newly healed ankle stretched out on the widow seat, watching his every move in a way that tied his intestines in a thousand knots. It scared him how much she could be like Lucinda. 

“You need to find a nice boy and settle down,” he told her.

“I’ve already found one,” she said, and, to his horror, she came and knelt at his feet. She would have put her hand on his knee, too, if he hadn’t blocked it with his elbow. 

“You need to get married and do things right, Miss Nina.”

“Why didn’t you ever get married?” she asked. 

He hated when she called him Hadley. “Wasn’t meant to be, I reckon.”

“Don’t you think I’d make a good wife?”

“Sure,” he told her. “A lot of boys are going to fall in love with you.”

She frowned at that. “No they won’t. No one’s ever interested in me after they get a look at Mother.”

The way she said it made his skin prickle, like she knew about him and Lucinda. “Let me tell you something, Miss Nina: you’re a lot nicer than your mother. Smarter, too. Don’t you never forget that.” 

She put her hand on his knee after all, challenging him with her eyes. “I want you, Hadley.”

Bearing such things was like swallowing knives. He stood up. “That ain’t never gonna happen, Miss Nina, do you hear me?” Her eyes filled up with tears, but he didn’t let that stop him. “And here’s something else that’s real important: you wait until you’re married for that. That’s what nice girls do.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be nice,” she hollered so loud, he could already feel how bad it was going to hurt when Dickie broke his nose. 

“Please, Miss Nina. Your daddy will call the police if he hears you talking to me like this.” 

She looked at him with those pretty brown eyes and ran from the room like her heart was breaking. Hadley couldn’t stand it. He found an old piece of violet writing paper and scratched down a note. 

We have to talk, Lucinda.

“Make it fast,” she said as she undid her dress. “He’s with Daddy Dick at The Banana Club, but that won’t tie him up for long.” 

Hadley waited until she was down to her slip. “I just want to talk.”

She snapped her fingers impatiently. “Hurry, will you? Jesus, Hadley, we don’t have all day.”

“It’s Nina.”

She crossed her arms. “Lord have mercy. Sometimes I think you’re more obsessed with that girl than you are with me.” 

“She’s trying to seduce me, Lucinda.”

He expected shock. Horror even. Anything but the nutty laughter that followed. “Dream on. You’re old enough to be her father.”

He grabbed her arm. “This isn’t a joke, Lucinda. If you were paying one bit of attention, you’d know I’m not dreaming. Heaven knows, she’s about as subtle as you are.”

Lucinda wrenched her arm free and stepped back into her dress. “What do you expect me to do, Hadley? Tell her the truth?”