When Darkness Loves Us

There was still lots of money in her purse. She walked into town, ignoring the bite in her ankle, and walked directly to the bar. She opened the door and went inside, her mouth and throat parched from the walk and the anticipation.

The room was even more magic than she remembered. It was cool and dim, and empty, except for Mike, who sat on one of the stools, writing. He looked up with a surprised smile.

“Martha! How nice to see you!”

She smiled back. She was getting used to people since Priscilla had become her friend. She knew how to smile, and sometimes she could talk, knowing the right words, and sometimes they didn’t all bunch up in her mind and clog her mouth.

“How would you like a drink?”

She nodded and climbed gently onto a stool.

“What would you like? Root beer? Coke?”

“Root beer.”

He brought her a frosty mug, then came around and sat on a stool next to her. “You look very nice today.”

“Thank you.” She spoke slowly and clearly.

“Are you in town to do some shopping?”

Shopping! I know shopping! “No, went shopping already.”

“Where are your packages?”

“No, no, before. With Pris. Bought television.”

“A television? Gee, that’s great. Keeps you company on the farm, eh?”

Martha thought about this. “No,” she said.

“Pris took you shopping?”

She nodded.

“Who’s Pris?”

Her brow furrowed. Who’s Pris? She took her fingers and made scissors around her head.

“Oh, Priscilla. The hair stylist. I know her.” Oh, God, Mike thought. Priscilla. Golddigger.

Martha smiled and nodded. She sipped her root beer.

Mike and Priscilla had gone to school together. They were the same age, thirty-two. Mike inherited the local tavern from his dad, and Priscilla went away to beauty school. She came back after years of bad rumors had circulated about her and got a job with Shirley’s Hair Salon in town. She was a wild one, all right. Spent all her money here at Mike’s, hustling. Mike sighed. Every town’s got to have one, I guess. But this is no good, her taking advantage of Martha.

“Priscilla cuts your hair?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nice. She does a good job, doesn’t she?”

Before she could answer, the door swung open and three young men walked in. They took stools at the bar and ordered beers. They wore Levi’s and dirty T-shirts rolled up at the sleeve. The one next to her had heavy brown arms with large smooth muscles. Martha looked at them carefully, but when one looked back, she quickly sank her gaze into the foam on the top of her soda and kept it there.

“Martha?” It was the man next to her. She looked up slowly, shyly.

“It is you. Hi. Remember me? Leon. I cut your lawn.”

It took a moment for Martha to understand what he said, she was so flustered that a stranger would talk to her. Then she remembered seeing the boy on the tractor, waving to her as he left. She always went inside when he came. But surely, it couldn’t be this boy. The last time she had seen him he was young and skinny. And this boy was older; this was a man.

She smiled at last, lines of confusion leaving her forehead. “Leon?”

“Yes, Leon. Let me buy you another drink.”

“No. I buy. For all.” She looked at Mike, then busied herself in her purse. She pulled out a wad of bills and handed them to Mike. All eyes at the bar looked in amazement. Mike took the wad of bills, picked out a five and gave the rest back to her.

“Hey, Martha,” Leon said quietly. “You shouldn’t carry money around like that. Someone’s likely to steal your purse.”

“Yeah, like me,” one of the other boys said, then snorted a laugh. He was cut off short by hard glares. His face reddened.

“I’ll tell you what. After we finish our drinks, I’ll take you home, okay?”

Martha smiled. “Okay!” Another friend. She glowed inside. She looked at Mike. He smiled, relief flooding through him. Thank God. Leon’s a good kid. Always helping out. Jesus, I don’t want any trouble over this woman.

When Martha had slurped up the last of her root beer and wiped the mustache from her lip, smearing her lipstick and exposing some of the scar, Leon left his friends and walked out into the afternoon sun with her. He held open the door of his old pickup truck parked at the curb and helped her inside.

They bounced their way to the farmhouse, truck squeaking and rattling. “Gee, I better get over here with my mower pretty soon, huh?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Weeds.”

Leon killed the engine and jumped out, ran around and helped Martha down. He walked to the door with her. “You know, we could fix this place up a little bit.” He looked up at the sagging roof over the porch. “This needs shoring up.” He bounced on his toes. “Porch is solid.” He walked across and looked around the side. “Chicken coop looks pretty sad.”

“Lemonade?”

“Sure, I’ll have some lemonade.”

They went into the cool interior and Leon sat in a kitchen chair while Martha filled two glasses.

“You know, it looked like you have enough money in your purse to fix the roof there by the porch and the chicken coop too. And the whole place needs painting. I’m looking for a job, and I’d sure like to help you out.”