“You said ain’t! That first night we were together, you said ain’t twice!”
A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “A little local color. I’m not apologizin’.”
“There are comic books all over the house!”
“I was just livin’ up to your expectations.”
She collapsed then. She turned her back to him, crossed her arms against the nearest tree trunk, and rested her forehead against her wrist. All the humiliations of her childhood returned to her: the taunts and cruelties, the awful isolation. She had never fit in, and now, neither would her child.
“I’m going to take the baby to Africa,” she whispered. “Away from civilization. I’ll teach her myself, so she doesn’t have to grow up with other children taunting her.”
A surprisingly gentle hand settled over the small of her back and began to rub. “I’m not going to let you do that to him, Rosebud.”
“You will once you see what a freak she is.”
“He’s not going to be a freak. Is that how your father fel
t about you?”
Everything within her went still. She pulled away from him and fumbled in the pocket of her Windbreaker for a tissue. She took her time blowing her nose, wiping her eyes, regaining her self-control. How could she have let herself fall apart like this? It was no wonder he thought she was crazy.
She gave her nose a final blow. He held out her glasses, and she put them on, ignoring the strands of moss caught in one hinge. “I’m sorry for causing such a dreadful scene. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never hit anyone in my life.”
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He grinned, and to her amazement, a dimple popped into the hard plane of his cheek. Stunned, she gazed at it for several long moments before she was able to pick up her train of thought.
“Violence doesn’t solve anything, and I could have hurt you quite badly.”
“I’m not trying to get you cranked up again, Rosebud, but you don’t have a whole lot going for you when it comes to packin’ a punch.” He took her arm and began steering her back toward the house.
“This is my fault. Everything’s been my fault from the beginning. If I hadn’t let myself buy into every conceivable stereotype about athletes and Southerners, I would have been a more astute judge of your mental abilities.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me about your father.”
She nearly stumbled, but his hand on her elbow steadied her. “There’s nothing to tell. He was an accountant for a company that manufactured paper punches.”
“Smart man?”
“An intelligent man. Not brilliant.”
“I think I’m getting the picture here.”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“He didn’t have a clue what to do with you, did he?”
She picked up her pace. “He did his best. I really don’t want to discuss it.”
“Did it occur to you that your problems as a kid might have had more to do with your old man’s attitude than with the size of your brain?”
“You don’t know anything.”
“That’s not what my diploma says.”
She couldn’t respond because they had reached the back of the house, and Annie waited for them at the screen door. She glared at her grandson. “What’s wrong with you? You get a pregnant woman upset like that, it’ll put a mark on the baby, for sure.”
“What do you mean?” He bristled with belligerence. “Who told you she’s pregnant?”
“You wouldn’t have married her otherwise. You don’t have that much sense.”