By second period, there were sweat rings rimming the armholes of Lamar’s shirt. He was nervous, upset, and confused.
Neal and Hutch were absent from school. That alone made him feel adrift. He had considered staying at home himself, but that would have required making up an excuse for his mother. Whenever possible, he avoided having any interaction with Myrajane, especially if it involved dissembling. She could spot a lie at fifty paces.
During homeroom, the principal, Mr. Patterson, had announced to the entire student body that seniors Gary Parker and Jade Sperry had received full college scholarships. Everybody had applauded.
“I know you’ll want to extend these two outstanding students your congratulations,” the principal had said over the PA system. “Unfortunately, Jade is absent today, but be sure to remember to congratulate her when she returns to school.”
Upon hearing that Jade was absent, Lamar had really begun to sweat. Between classes, he met Gary Parker in the hallway but pretended not to see him so he wouldn’t have to speak. Could he ever face Gary again after what he’d done to his girl friend? Last night he had harbored a secret pride in his sexual accomplishment. In the cold light of day, however, he was reminded that his success had been at Jade’s expense.
Seeing Gary graciously accepting congratulations from his classmates brought Lamar’s guilt to the forefront. Swamped with shame and horror, he ducked into the nearest boys’ restroom and threw up in the toilet.
He had fourth period with Donna Dee Monroe. When he entered the classroom, he was relieved to see her sitting at her desk, but his relief was short-lived. His stomach lurched threateningly when she made eye contact with him.
She knew.
He could tell from the searching look she gave him that she knew. Somehow she had found out what happened after they had deserted her on the highway. The stare she leveled on him made him feel worse than he did when his mother flew into a tirade over one of his many shortcomings. He felt naked and exposed. He wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Instead, he had to endure fifty-five minutes of English class. The minutes ticked by with torturous slowness.
Who had told Donna Dee? Jade, he supposed. But when? How? The last time he had seen Jade, she had been lying on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest. He remembered thinking that it might be best if she just died. Then there would be no one to testify to what he had done. His mother would never find out. Of course, he had buried the thought quickly, before the Lord had time to hear it and strike him down.
Apparently Jade hadn’t been hurt as badly as she had looked. But how had she gotten back to town? Had she told anybody what had happened at the channel? Obviously so, because Donna Dee knew. Oh, Christ. If Donna Dee knew, then other people would find out, and eventually his mother would hear of it. There would be reprisals. No matter what Neal said, there had to be.
By now Sheriff Jolly probably knew. Even though his son was involved, he was a man of integrity. He would do what was right. Any minute now a burly deputy might come crashing through the door of the classroom brandishing a firearm and waving a warrant for Lamar Griffith’s arrest.
Blood drained from his head so fast, he had to lay it on top of his desk to keep from fainting. His skin was clammy. He felt nauseated again.
Lamar thought seriously about running from the classroom, all the way downtown, and throwing himself on the mercy of the district attorney. Better to rat on his friends and turn state’s evidence, better to have Ivan Patchett for a lifetime enemy, better to be locked up with thieves and pimps and serial killers, than to experience the wrath his mother would unleash.
As it turned out, Lamar missed his chance to make a mad dash for the door. While the pupils were supposed to be engrossed in reading Alexander Pope, Donna Dee approached the teacher’s desk and whispered a request for a pass to the nurse’s office.
“What’s wrong?” the teacher asked.
“I don’t feel well. You know.” She gave the teacher that look that women exchange to signal that they’re having their period.
“Of course, dear. Go home and lie down with a heating pad.”
Covertly, Lamar watched Donna Dee leave. As she closed the classroom door behind her, she looked directly at him, but he failed to interpret the meaning of her silent communiqué. It looked like she was telling him to keep his mouth shut.
By the time school was dismissed for the day, his unsteady knees barely supported him as he rushed to his car. Because he didn’t know what else to do or where else to go for answers, he drove out to Neal’s house.
It was situated on a piece of prime real estate. From the highway, a gravel road wound through thick woods. The cultivated lawn surrounding the house was as wide as a football field. Three ancient live oaks protected it with a dense canopy of branches. The roots snaked along the ground like lava tubes.
The two-story brick house was impressive, but Myrajane Griffith scorned it. “Old Rufus Patchett didn’t have a lick of good taste. He designed that house so it would have eight columns across the veranda, when six would have done just as nicely. Rufus wanted to rile Daddy by building a house grander than ours. It’s trashy to be so ostentatious,” she’d often said.
But recently she had contradicted herself, saying, “It’s disgraceful the way Ivan has let that lovely house go to rack and ruin. It needs a woman’s touch. He should have remarried long ago. That Eula who works for him is a slovenly housekeeper. She’s lazy and insolent.”
Lamar had the good sense to keep his mouth shut and not ask where his mother got her information. To his knowledge, she had never set foot in the Patchetts’ house. She had dropped him off many times but had never been invited inside.
Ivan’s father, Rufus, had made a fortune in cotton. The sweat of cotton pickers, sharecroppers, and gin workers had gone into the mortar that held the pastel bricks together. Rufus had been clever. While his contemporaries were haggling with brokers to squeeze one more penny out of a bale of cotton in a declining market, he’d switched to growing soybeans. Like Myrajane’s family, most of the cotton planters had lost everything. They’d sold plots of acreage to Rufus f
or ten cents on the dollar just to keep from having to pay the taxes on soil they could no longer afford to cultivate.
Rufus had been land-hungry and gobbled up property right and left. Ignoring the derision of his peers, he had continued to plant soybeans. When it became feasible, he’d built the factory so he could manufacture the by-products himself. After Rufus died, Ivan had inherited all the land and the factory and the power that went with them. One day Neal would do the same. And his son after him.
Lamar, rather than feel envious of his friend, was relieved to know he didn’t have that kind of responsibility ahead of him. He had been suckled on stiff-necked Cowan family pride and frankly thought it was destructive and stupid. What good had it done the Cowans? The only ones left were a distant cousin or two and Myrajane, who was stingy, grasping, and possessive. She’d made life hell for Lamar’s late father, whom he still missed. Maybe if she had started out poor, they all would have been happier.
As Lamar approached the house, he saw that he wasn’t Neal’s only guest. Hutch’s car was parked out front in the circular driveway.
Eula answered the door. Conscientiously, Lamar wiped his feet on the mat before stepping into the marble vestibule. “Hi, Eula. Is Neal here?”