T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (17 page)

She twisted the lock in the front door and deactivated the alarm system there. Car lights were already appearing. The broad ones that bumped down the road from the west belonged to Sally. The ones approaching from the east could only be Tib’s.

*  *  *

Lyla wasn’t watching as Tib entered, but it would do no good to ignore him. She recognized his tread and composed her face into a mask of disinterest. Just as she had it done, she heard his mother.
Oh, damn!

“Now, Lyla, where’s another apron? Why, I’ll just take yours!” Marji Marie Tibbet Wilson Johnson Spivy Blair Johnson’s hands deftly reached around Lyla’s waist. She had the apron over Lyla’s head almost before she could put down the coffeepot.

Sally rounded the corner from the storeroom and greeted her old friend with a squeal. “Mar-Mar! Haven’t seen you in ages, girl!” The two of them settled into a forty-year conversation begun when they both worked behind the lunch counter at Woolworth’s. “Have you seen the pictures of my new grandbaby?” were the last words Lyla heard as Tib took her by the arm and propelled her through the storeroom and up the stairs.

Lyla protested and struggled to get out of his grasp. Her final “Tib, dammit, you’re hurting me!” got through to him and he released her just as he pushed the door to the apartment open. They both stumbled through.

“Leave now, Tib, or I’m calling Dub!” She looked around for a weapon.

Tib picked up the broom and handed it to her. It was disguised as a mother mouse, from its soft gray ears to the chambray dress. “Feel safer? Hell, bet you didn’t need that last night, did you?”

“How
dare
you bring your mother in to cook for me!”

“She’s between husbands and bored. Least she can do is help me out. Besides, she was turning eggs before either of us was even thought about!”

“That’s not all your mother’s good at turning!”

“We are not here to talk about my mother.”

“We are not here to talk, period.” She started back to the door.

Tib caught her arm again. “No way. We’re having this out.”

“There is nothing to have out. You are behaving like a spoiled child and I bet your mother told you so.” Lyla warmed to the subject. “I’m only going to say this once so listen up, Tib. I do not belong to you.”

“We have an understanding.”

“No, you don’t have any understanding at all. Of anything.” She bounced the broom up and down on its bristles as she made her points. “I made a wager with the man. I lost. I paid the debt. It was painless. It is over. You are behaving like a jerk. Grow up!”

“So I can go betting—” frustrated, he spun his hands in the air, “—betting Nettie Jo Hamilton something stupid, and when she loses and I take her out to dinner because she lost, and then she attacks me by her backdoor and you find out about it, you’re not going to be jealous!” He had emphasized all the pronouns.

“Shoot, Tib, Nettie Jo’ll go out with you without a bet. She’ll even pay. Want to wager?”

“Lyla, that is not the point!”

“Hell, it isn’t! You got the hots for Nettie Jo, go ahead! Don’t let the two ex-husbands and the three snotty-nosed brats detract you from her at all. Personally, I think she’s always liked you. Probably can’t wait to notch you onto her bedpost. Mix up that gene pool one more time.”

He let out a cry of frustration and pulled out a kitchen chair. He sat down heavily, placed his head in his hands. “You are being deliberately perverse.”

Lyla placed the mouse broom back in its corner by the kitchen counter. “No more so than you, Tib. Let me get us coffee.”

He sat back in the chair and looked at her, frustration fading into desperation. “Lord, Lyla, I love you. I’d let you do anything.”

*  *  *

Lyla hadn't seen such an attentive group of customers in ages.

“Mar-Mar, ooh-wee! Been a long time since I’ve seen you on that side of the counter!”

“Shut up, you ol’ fool. What’ll it be? Surely you’ve changed after all these years!” Marji Marie deftly poured Norm a cup of coffee before she filled the other empty cups being held out to her.

“Why don’t you just bring me what you remember.”

“Somebody know CPR? I think Norm's about to have a heart attack just watching my new assistant.” Sally's line brought hearty chuckles from the entire group. Lyla couldn't help smiling as she watched Sally crack eggs down the length of the sizzling griddle.

Marji Marie chuckled as she expertly came behind and turned them and quickly scooted two of them onto a plate. She bedecked it with hash browns and biscuits and was ready to put it in front of Norm when Lyla took it out of her hands.

“You won’t mind, will you, Norm? I’ve got company for breakfast upstairs.” She winked at him broadly as she manhandled a pot of coffee and one of the linemen’s plates as well. She heard an anguished cry of “Lyla!” as she headed to the stairs. Norm’s words were not so sympathetic.

Tib still sat at the table, but she saw that silver had appeared as well as coffee mugs, butter, and jelly. “Scrambled or over easy?” She stood beside him.

“Scrambled. You eat after Norm.”

“I intercepted it. He never actually had it in front of him.” She sat down, poured their coffees.

They ate in silence, Lyla quickly turning scenarios over in her mind, seeking to formulate the best approach to a heretofore unapproachable subject. She suspected Tib was thinking along those lines also by the way his eyes would seek hers then just as quickly look away. She was righteously miffed and therefore determined not to begin. She was buttering her second biscuit when Tib finally found his voice.

“I don’t suppose we’re going to get anywhere until I say I’m sorry for bursting in here this morning.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry if you’re not.”

He took a deep breath. “Very well. I’m not.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

“Lyla! Sweet Jesus, woman, what do I have to do?”

“Be reasonable.”

“He kissed you!” She glared at him. “How can I be reasonable when I saw him grab you and kiss you?”

“He didn’t grab me, Tib.” She took a deep breath and put the biscuit down, letting it crumble as it fell. “I don’t—something has to—” she struggled to find the right beginning. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tib.” His eyes said that was a consideration long past. “We’re in a rut.”

“So you go kissing some stranger? Was the rut that bad?”

“He’s—” she stopped just short of telling what she’d promised not to. She massaged her temples and rested her elbows on the table. “Oh, Tib. I’m so sorry for this mess.” She looked at him, saw that hurt had replaced anger. So much for a promise to a virtual stranger. “He’s not gay. It’s a ruse he and Fletch have, to hide away. I don’t know who they really are or why they’re hiding.” She measured her next words. “I don’t care.”

“I’ll look at your book and his fishing license form and I’ll find out. Unless he lied on that, too.”

“That’s not the point. I enjoyed the evening. I enjoyed being with Sam. When it was over and we were sitting in the car, I wanted him to kiss me. I enjoyed that, too.” Tib closed his eyes as if to shut out the image. “Hell, Tib, you don’t even care enough to ask where he took me.”

“He started kissing you in the car? I don’t care where or what just who and—” now it was Lyla’s turn to close her eyes and shake her head. “Okay, where?”

“The Manorborne, after we had gone shopping. For him. Just for him.”

“Well, that’s kinda nifty on a chauffeur’s salary, now isn’t it? Like I can compete with The Manorborne.”

“This isn’t a competition.” She poured herself more coffee. “This anger of yours isn’t about Sam, it’s about us.”

“It’s about Sam and what it’s doing to us.”

“That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said this morning.”

“Then try this. Marry me, Lyla.”

“You haven’t mentioned marriage in three years. Why bring it up now?”

“I had gathered it wasn’t one of your favorite subjects. I mean, how many times can a man be turned down before he quits trying?”

“I’m sorry, Tib. I wasn’t ready for marriage three years ago.”

“And now? Are you ready now?”

“I don’t know. I’ve gotten rather used to our rut.”

“You climbed out last night.”

She thought about that. “Yes. And I liked that, too.” She raised her coffee mug to her lips and sipped cautiously. “I think you should go, Tib. I can’t think of anything else we have to say.”

He pushed the chair back and stood up. “Want me to leave Mar-Mar?”

“Think I’m not up to facing a counter full of curious men?”

“I’m just trying to spare you any awkwardness.”

“Thank you for the consideration, Tib.” She stacked the dishes. “But I think I can take care of myself.”

Lyla caught up with Tib as he opened the drawer below the cash register. She saw receipts fly as he dug for the license book. The counter-talk stopped altogether. Like a Norman Rockwell painting, they were all frozen in time, waiting for the Lyla-Tib show to continue. Well, there was no sense in disappointing them.

Tib turned to her. “You already send them to Austin?”

“No.” Her tone was icy. “Just hold your horses and I’ll find it for you.”

Norm broke the silence. “So you’re finally gonna find out—” Out of the corner of her eye, Lyla saw Mar-Mar stuff a biscuit in his mouth.

Tib leafed through the thin pages and scribbled down information on a notepad. Tearing the sheet off, he stuffed it in his shirt pocket. Lyla watched him glance briefly at the counter and calculate the damage this little scene was doing to them. He turned his attention back to her and kept his voice low. But what did it matter? They’d have heard a pin drop. “Do you want to know what I find out?”

“If his picture’s in the post office, sure. I want half the reward.” She answered in a normal level of voice, then dropped the book and receipts back in the drawer, slamming it shut. Neither of them was smiling.

Tib looked over at his mother. Her hands were closed on the tie of the apron. “You coming, Mother?”

“Only if Lyla doesn’t need me.”

Lyla saw the indecision on her face, knew Mar-Mar had no intention of going willingly. So why spoil her fun? “Stay if you wish. It looks like we could use the help today.”

“Well,” she brushed her hands down the front of the apron, the relief flooding her face. “I’d just be glad to. Run along, Tib. I’m sure I can get a ride home. Norm’ll take me.” She smiled at her son.

“Suit yourself.” Tib turned abruptly and forced his way out the door.

Lyla turned back to her customers. The embarrassed silence quickly dissolved into splintered conversations, their subject matter, she was sure, considerably hampered by her presence downstairs. Mar-Mar smiled sympathetically.

She tried to glance at her watch as little as possible. Her intuition told her that Fletch or Sam would show up before the morning was over and she was praying for later rather than sooner.

At seven thirty Harrison tore in through the front door, rounded the end of the counter and wildly ran up the stairs. Whatever had he forgotten? She glanced back at the front door and found Shep settling into his guard post and Dub striding in as if he still owned the place.

The group at the counter raised coffee mugs in greeting. Helping himself to a Styrofoam cup and a sweet roll, he balanced his large frame on the sink and began speaking to her between bites. “Harrison forgot his soccer shirt and some project for math.” The counter group nodded in understanding. “Why, hello, Mar-Mar. Haven’t seen you behind a counter in years.” He narrowed his eyes. “Looking for work now you’re between men?”

“Dub!” Lyla rushed to Mar-Mar’s defense.

“What did I say, huh?” He acted as if her indignation was uncalled for.

“I can handle myself, Lyla,” she whispered. “Believe me, I can handle Dub Lee.”

Lyla doubted anyone was very good at that, his wife included. Still, she bowed out of the conversation and went upstairs to see to Harrison.

He was coming down just as quickly as he’d gone up. He tried to catch his breath. “Forgot I had soccer practice and when I remembered last night, Grandma said it was too late to come get the shirt and the math. Grandpa’s not too upset though about taking me to school instead of the bus doing it. I think he wanted to come see how your evening with Sam went. Did you have a good time?”

“Yes, I did.” She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead and straighten his shirt into his shorts.

“That’s what Tib said when he came by the shop this morning.”

“Oh? What exactly did Tib say? Can you remember?” She was counting on Harrison’s steel-trap mind to not miss much.

He screwed his face up. “Something like if the night wasn’t hot enough already, then—”

“I get the idea. Time to go to school. Grandpa’s waiting.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Y
ou look like something the cat drug in,” T said as he poured coffee into a mug and slid into the breakfast nook across from Fletch. “I’m the one who stayed up most of the night.”

“It is hard to sleep with a violent concert down the hall.” Fletch massaged his temples and looked cross-eyed at his laptop.

“I closed the doors before I started.” He took a sip of the very black liquid. “Jeez, Fletch, did you measure or just dump in the entire package?” He reached for the artificial sweetener and the cream.

“If you do not like it, remake it.” He tapped on the keyboard.

“Making another grocery list? We haven’t eaten everything from the first binge.”

“I’m working on your contracts with the record company since they emailed the new ones yesterday. Yes, sir, renewal time. Needless to say, your escapades make them think they are taking a chance on you.”

“Bull.” T sat back down, kept doctoring the coffee. “We make more frigging money for them—”

“My point exactly. Lack of sleep has always given me a certain mean streak. I thought I’d work on it first thing.”

“Works for me.” T finally had the coffee at a tolerable level. “So what else is on the agenda today?” He hoped to sneak the question in. Being in Fletch’s bad graces, while giving him a sort of perverse pleasure in getting there, did not suit his purposes for today. He wanted to get back to Lyla and he wanted smooth sailing to do it. It had been a childish thing, playing the piano till nearly dawn. What should have been a joyful concert had turned into one of melancholy, as the images of her forbidden room and its picture-laden walls, the photo albums, the diplomas, the four-poster bed, had all converged and overtaken the memory of a sweet, soulful kiss. He had finally fallen asleep on the loveseat at five, probably about the time Lyla was rising. It was barely nine now. He could smell the coffee and close his eyes and see her smiling at him across the table at dinner last night. Or feel her touch on the back of his neck. Or the softness of her lips. Damn! He stretched underneath the table, trying to relieve some of the tension that was rapidly building in his body.