"You keep this," I said. "I don't need it anymore."
Weathers reached out and took the picture, and his fingers brushed mine. Our eyes met and held, the shock of skin on skin dancing up my arm, flipping my stomach over like the drop of a roller-coaster. He leaned across the seat and cupped my chin with his fingers. Ever so slowly and gently, Marshall Weathers kissed me. I melted into him, feeling myself sinking deeper and deeper.
He pushed back, his face inches from mine, looking deep into my eyes.
"Like I said, Maggie, you can do better."
I pulled away and turned to fumble with the door handle. I had to get out of the car because I'd suddenly had a memory that Weathers couldn't know about and I couldn't explain.
"How will I know, Mama?" I'd asked one summer day out on the porch, the two of us swinging on the wooden porch swing.
"Honey," she'd answered, "when the right man comes along, you'll know."
Suddenly the air inside the car was too close, and my head was spinning. I was too tired. My mind was playing tricks on me, and I was too tired.
"Good-bye, Detective," I said, my voice coming out in a husky whisper.
"I'll be in touch," he said.
I couldn't look at him. Suddenly, I was eleven, sitting on the porch swing with Mama, while part of me, the adult Maggie, was running just as fast as she could.
I ran up the steps to the loading dock and hit the remote button. Behind me, I heard the crunch of Weathers's tires pulling away and I sighed with relief. The garage door moved too slowly, and all I could think about was getting inside. I half expected to see Jack, but the downstairs was empty, another relief. I didn't need to deal with any more men at this particular moment.
I wandered over to the couch and sat down, pulling off my boots and searching for a quilt all in the same move. I wasn't going upstairs. I was going to pull myself into a little ball, right there on the sofa, and sleep and sleep and sleep, until all my crazy thoughts went away.
Chapter Sixteen
I woke up suddenly, startled and disoriented, but wide-awake. I had been dreaming about something, something important, something about Jimmy, but whatever it was vanished as I opened my eyes. In front of me on the coffee table sat Jack's white coffee carafe, a clean mug beside it. Jack had come and gone, it seemed, and this time he had not left a note.
I poured a cup of his strong French roast and proceeded to indulge in my one secret passion: the motivational infomercial. Aside from being held hostage by the Bonita Faye cosmetic lady once every few months, infomercials were my main personal indulgence. Especially this one guy. He was a tall man who sat out by his pool, behind his mansion, talking about how I, too, could become more successful than my wildest fantasies.
He was always on. If I flipped through the cable channels, he would be waiting for me, and I knew almost every word of his message by heart. He was a poor child, outcast by his peers because of his immense size. But he believed in himself. He called upon the power within, and rose through the ranks to finally parlay himself into a multi-million dollar corporation. His eyes shone as he stared out at his beleaguered audience. "You can do this," he'd urge. Then he'd bring on a bunch of shiney-eyed women, who all told tales of personal despair turned to gold.
This morning as I listened, I realized that I had been focusing on the wrong path. I had allowed myself to be caught up in the reality of my accusers. I had veered from the course to my financial success. There was a whole side to this situation that I had ignored. Jimmy was dead, there was no going back and fixing that situation, but he had left me a gift. I had a responsibility to myself, Sheila, and Jimmy's unsuccessful memory. If what Vernell said was true, and I had no reason to doubt him, I owned forty-nine percent of a very successful mobile home business and it was time to step up to the plate and assume responsibility for its continued success.
It was after two o'clock in the afternoon. For most of the business world, things would be winding down, but not the mobile home sales business. They seemed to be almost always open, that is, if Vernell's hours while we were married had been any indication. "We stay open until the last customer leaves satisfied" was their motto.
I stretched and poured a second cup of coffee. I was about to go down to the intersection of Holden Road and I-85 and claim my inheritance. If I knew Vernell, he'd be thinking that I was going to be a silent partner. He was probably thinking he could buy me out for a quarter the value of the business. Maybe that was why he'd been acting so peculiar and friendly. Maybe he was thinking I was an easy mark. Well, that might've been true a few years back, before I bought the Curley-Que Beauty Salon, but not now. It was time to look at the books.
I raced upstairs and hopped into the shower, my mind going ninety miles an hour with ideas. Mr. Motivation said that you must always dress like the successful person you intend to be. That was going to be a problem, as I had only country-and-western success clothes here and I wasn't going back to my place to hunt up a suit.
"They'll just have to deal with me as I am," I muttered to the shower. "Success is success, no matter what the costume."
I tried to tame my hair, pulling it back tight against my head, but curls insisted upon escaping, ringing my face. I toned down my makeup, but that only made my freckles pop through, and I looked like a teenager.
"That's all right," I said to my green-eyed mirror image, "once they meet up with the 'personal power deep within me,' they'll know they've met their match and I'm the one in charge."
I ran downstairs and poured another cup of coffee to take with me as I hit the road. Caffeine was my friend this afternoon and I had a feeling I was going to need all the friends I could get.
I sang as I drove across town, a song idea popping into my head. "He was a one-horse town on my freeway to love." I thought for a moment, searching for the next line as I drove past the coliseum. "I blew right by him. What was I thinking of?"
It was a beautiful September afternoon in Greensboro. The rainy summer had turned the leaves bright with fall color. When I'd first moved to Greensboro with Vernell, many years ago, I'd been afraid to live in such a big city. Now it felt like a small town, full of parks and neighborhoods.
The VW rumbled along down High Point Road, turning left onto Holden Road. I was almost there. A little edge of excitement began to gnaw at my stomach, or maybe it was hunger, since I hadn't eaten since yesterday. "Cast a commanding shadow," I muttered to myself, remembering Mr. Motivation's mantra for success.
Vernell and Jimmy's Mobile Home Kingdom was wedged in with a half-dozen other mobile home lots, all situated alongside I-85. "Prime location, Maggie," Vernell had claimed once. "Prime in terms of your customer visibility and prime in terms of easy-on, easy-off for delivery."
I hadn't paid it much mind at the time. I hadn't been interested and back then, the Holden Road exit of I-85 had been viewed as out in the country. I'd never dreamed that Greensboro could extend so far in such a few years. Vernell and Jimmy's pasturelike lot was now a tiny wedge in a sea of single and double-wide trailers, all waiting for the right person to come along and claim their housing prize. Jimmy and Vernell specialized in "Been turned down everywhere else? Credit a mess?" customers.
"Hey," Vernell used to say into the camera, "if you got a job, we'll get you a home." The Mobile Home Kingdom, simply the best in the business. I laughed to myself as I pulled up in the parking lot, but it was to cover all the emotions and memories that threatened to spoil my good mood.