“I’m sure that Cathy can maneuver you into the job Miss Davis has open, although I’d be reluctant to accept the position if I were you. She’s a stingy, dried-up old stick of a woman who won’t even gift wrap for free at Christmastime. If you can work for her, you deserve to be canonized.
“Finally, in case you haven’t noticed, Cathy’s eyes have grown misty every time she looks at Graham. Unfortunately, we never had children of our own. I’ve little doubt she’ll spoil him rotten while you’re with us.”
“With you?” Jade cried. “Oh, but I—”
“Be quiet, Miss Sperry. I’m not finished, and time is of the essence. What you obviously didn’t know is that Cathy and I have often taken a deserving student into our home for the term. We decided not to this year only because last spring semester we had a bad experience: the young man absconded with a pair of silver candlesticks. It wasn’t the damned candlesticks I minded so much, but that my previously accurate gauge of human nature had failed me. You have restored it.
“So, unless you have designs
on the silverware, you and your son are welcome to reside here for as long as you’d like. In any event, I’ll take it as a personal affront if I don’t see your name on the list of enrolling freshmen by the conclusion of registration today. Your transcript was damned near perfect, and it would be an abhorrent waste of intellect if you didn’t further your education because of something so petty as shortage of money. Cathy, I have a hankering for fried oysters for dinner tonight.”
With a brusque motion of his hand, he left.
Cathy Hearon patted Jade’s arm. “He gets like that sometimes, but you’ll get used to it.”
Chapter Twelve
Columbia, South Carolina, 1978
“Hey, Hutch! I thought you’d died or something. Come in, you ugly son of a bitch.” Neal Patchett held open the door for his friend. Hutch stepped into the cluttered front room.
“Y’all busy?”
“Hell, no. I’m glad you stopped by. Lamar!” Neal shouted. “We’ve got company.” Finding a spot between the posters of Loni Anderson and the Dallas Cowboys’ Cheerleaders, Neal banged his fist on the wall. “Shovel out that chair, Hutch, and sit down. Want a beer?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“I thought you were in training, Mr. Jock.” Neal socked him on the shoulder as he went to the kitchen for the beer.
“I am. Screw it.” Hutch took the cold beer from Neal and chugged it, then belched loudly. “Ah, that’s good. Hi, Lamar.”
Lamar emerged from the hallway. He had a paisley necktie draped around his neck, although he was wearing a pair of cut-offs and a tank top. In his hand was a tennis racquet. “Hi, Hutch. How’s football practice going?”
“The team sucks this year. Don’t count on any bowl games. Unpacking?”
Lamar set aside his tennis racquet and removed the tie from his neck. “I’m trying to get my bedroom organized.”
“Why bother?” Hutch asked as he sprawled in the ratty easy chair. “This place’ll be trashed within a week anyway. That’s why I like it.”
For the second year, Neal and Lamar were sharing digs off campus. The house was old and roomy and far enough away from neighbors so that the police weren’t called until the parties got entirely out of hand. Their freshman year, Hutch hadn’t been permitted to live with them because he was on the football team and was required to live in the athletes’ dorm. He had envied them the freedom and relaxed atmosphere of the house.
“Last spring when Myrajane came up to pack for Lamar’s return home, she took one look inside and nearly fainted clean away,” Neal chuckled. “If my old man hadn’t been there to catch her when she fell backward, we’d have had an outline of her body there on the front porch. You know, the way Wile E. Coyote leaves a hole shaped like himself when he falls to the desert floor?”
He took a joint from the drawer in the end table, lit it, and took two tokes. Hutch ruefully declined when Neal offered it to him. “Better not. Donna Dee can smell that stuff a mile off. I’ll have another beer, though.”
Neal passed the joint to Lamar, who puffed on it as he gave Hutch one of his nervous, tentative smiles. Neal returned from the kitchen and handed Hutch another beer.
“The little wife’s got you on a short leash, huh?” Neal retrieved the joint and inhaled. “Damn fool bastard, why’d you have to get married right after we got to this pussy farm they call a university?”
“It’s not so bad,” Hutch grumbled.
Neal cupped his hand behind his ear. “What’s that noise, Lamar?”
“What noise?”
“Don’t you hear it? Sounds like the rattling of a ball and chain to me.”
“Go to hell.” Hutch drained his second beer and crumpled the aluminum can in one fist. “At least I can get off every night.”