The blonde bit her lip. When he looked back she was staring at him, not suspiciously, but she looked somehow… resigned. "And how long will that take?"
"Well, we can't get into the creek till the water goes down. It's falling fast. If we start this afternoon and work until after dark, you can leave late tonight."
"Y-you're just lucky!" she hissed almost tearfully. "Lucky we s-stopped here so you have B-bob to help you."
"I don't need any help, baby. I can fix it by myself."
Sylvia came in, smiling. The blonde was still staring angrily at Bailey. But he knew she wasn't that disappointed. It was written all over her face. She was trying to be sorry, but she wasn't really that sorry.
"Well," Sylvia said. "I guess you heard the good news, hunh? You might as well stay over for the weekend now."
Hell of a noble woman, Bailey thought. He finished his coffee and mashed out his cigarette and stood up. The blonde was still staring at him, and for his own part, he would liked to have been able to regret what he'd done. But looking at that hot little cunt, standing there waiting for him whether she knew it or not, he couldn't.
"Fix the kids some breakfast, babe," he said to Sylvia. "I'm going down to the barn and try to scare up some timber for the bridge."
CHAPTER NINE
The morning for Cathy passed like a slow eternity, or like a condemned prisoner's final sleepless dawn. Sylvia had cooked them a big breakfast which, though Bob ate heartily to help his hangover, she barely touched. Later she was able to get her husband alone briefly, again she tried to convince him that it was imperative they leave.
"We can't leave," he said. "It's as simple as that. We can't drive the car across the bridge."
"Then we could go without the car?" she'd replied.
"Go where? Honey, you're being foolish."
"Bob," she'd insisted, trying to make her quivering voice sound rational. "It's important for me that we leave. As I said before, if you love me, you will worry about my needs."
"I love you. But we're not going to do something down right silly just because you're getting restless."
"All right," she pouted, almost threateningly.
He stood up and put his hand on her shoulder, like she was a kid. "Look, honey, I'll go down and see if I can jack the car up and push it out of the ditch, like Jack said."
She'd said no more. After he left, she felt almost smug. She kept telling herself, over and over, You asked for it, Bob. I told you so.
She'd gone to the back yard to soak up some Sun. She knew what she should do was go down to the car and get a change of clothing and retrieve her personal things, but she wanted no further confrontation with Bob. He'd had his last chance. Instead she waited, resigned, soaking up the sunshine, not even bothering to go put on her bra and panties, which she hadn't retrieved till this morning. It was sometime after midday when Sylvia came out bearing a tray with two tall Bloody Mary's.
"Hi," the brunette said. "Thought you might enjoy a little refreshment."
Cathy looked suspiciously at the other woman, clad in tight shorts and a skimpy halter that looked like it might give way any moment before her voluptuously straining breasts. Then she smiled a feeble thanks and took one of the tall drinks. The two women sat at the table, drinking silently. It was Sylvia who finally spoke:
"Look kid, make the best of it. You're not exactly trapped in an elevator here. We can make an enjoyable weekend of it if you want to."
"Your idea of enjoyment," Cathy said bitterly.
In spite of apparent effort, Sylvia's smile faded. Again there was a silence.
"Look," Cathy said finally. "You know what's going to happen. You know why I want to go, or why I know we must go, even if we can't, even if maybe I don't want to."
The brunette was looking away, or had looked away the moment Cathy started to speak. And a moment passed before she looked back, smiling very faintly. The tears gradually filled her eyes and spilled and ran in big drops down her cheeks, the smile all the while on her lips. She nodded. "Yes, I know."
"Then why don't you do something about it?" Cathy asked anxiously.
Sylvia shook her head. She took a paper napkin from the tray and dabbed at her eyes. "Honey, there's nothing I can do. Bailey's his own man."
"You mean you're going to just sit by and…?"
"I'm going to… look out for myself, as best I can." She stood up suddenly. "You know where the bar is, and the ice is in the refrigerator. Help yourself… to whatever you want."
Tears still pouring from her eyes, she turned, and walked away, back into the house. Cathy stared after her, wondering if it had been herself she was crying for, or out of sympathy for her and Bob. It must have happened before. They must have done this before, so it must be out of feeling, sorrow or guilt, that she'd cried.
The blonde finished her drink, then drank what had been left in the other woman's glass. Then she rose and walked slowly back into the house, down the hall to the den. When she reached the window she saw Sylvia walking down the road toward the car, which Bob had on the jack. At the bridge she could see Bailey, with a pile of wood he must have carried down by hand. She watched Sylvia and Bob exchange greetings, her touching his arm, standing close to him, inspecting the situation of the car. Then Bob jumped the ditch and took the old board he'd tried to jam under the stuck tire the night before. He motioned Sylvia back away from it. He pushed on the side of the car with the board. It fell off the jack, back onto the road. So that was all, Cathy thought. That was all they would have had to do last night, even in the rain, and none of this would have been happening. Sylvia applauded and Bob got into the car and started it. She opened the door on the other side. She turned and looked back at Bailey. He turned away and disappeared down the bank beside the bridge. She got into the car and slid over very close to Bob. The car crept up the road. It stopped at the barn. After a minute or so the doors opened. Cathy moved back out of the window and peered past the curtain. Bob got out on one side, looking up at the house, almost right at her. Sylvia came around and took his hand. He hesitated, then put his arm around her shoulder. He looked back once more before they walked into the barn.
All right, you bastard, Cathy thought vehemently. She turned from the window, walked to the bar and made herself another Bloody Mary. She went to the kitchen for ice. When she came back she could see Bailey walking this way back up the road. She watched him pass the barn without pausing. She went over and added an inch of Vodka to her drink and sat down on the couch to wait.
She was half-finished with the drink when she heard him enter the front door. She sat with her legs crossed on the couch. revealed halfway up her thigh by the button she'd loosened on the skirt..Her breath was low and hastened, her eyes slightly glazed. Already she could feel the effects of the alcohol, which she'd drunk much too fast, pounding in her brain. She knew that in the long run it wouldn't even do her any good to try to resist what was coming next. It was fore-ordained, she thought, and it had been since Bob had insisted on turning off the road to stop at this old winery, which wasn't even a winery any more. She didn't even know if she wanted to resist, or why she should want to. But she knew that in the end still she would have to fight, even if it did no good. Even if she didn't really want to win.
The sexy young blonde took another long drink of the Bloody Mary. She listened to Bailey's footsteps approaching from the other end of the house. When he came into the den she sat her glass on the small table at the end of the couch and sat, still waiting in the same posture, watching him staring down at her.
The silence was long, thick, the kind of silence they said was cut with knives. He broke it:
"Your husband's down in the barn, fucking my wife."
Cathy recoiled inwardly at the coarse vulgar language, but somehow she almost managed to maintain the composed look on her face. "I don't care," she said. "I hope he enjoys it."