"What would you like me to do now?"
"Carry me up to bed." She hooked her arms around his neck. "Here's something you didn't know about me. I've always, secretly, of course, fantasized about having some strong, gorgeous man carry me up the stairs. It goes against my sense of intellect, but there you are."
"A secret romantic fantasy." Determined to have this one night of peace, he laid his lips lightly on hers. "Very interesting. Let's see if I can fulfill that for you."
He rose, then glanced down at himself. "I'm going to lose the shirt first. It's a pretty silly image, some guy wearing nothing but a tuxedo shirt, carrying a naked woman upstairs."
"Good idea."
He dealt with the studs, the cuff links, then tossed the shirt over by her dress. He reached down for her; she reached up for him.
"How's it going so far?"
"Perfectly," she said, nuzzling his neck as he carried her toward the stairs. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
It broke his stride, but he shifted her and continued up the stairs. "I've been dreaming about my grandfather's wife. I never met her. She died before I came to Saint Chris."
"Really? What kind of dreams?"
"Very detailed, very clear dreams where we have long conversations. I used to listen to the guys talk about her and wish I'd gotten a chance to know her."
"I think that's lovely, and loving."
"The thing is, I don't think they're dreams. I think I'm having these conversations with her."
"You think that when you're dreaming?"
"No." He laid Dru on the bed, stretched out beside her, then drew her against his side. "I think that right now."
"Oh."
"That got you."
"I'm thinking." She shifted until her head rested comfortably in the nook of his neck. "You think they're some sort of visitation? That you're communicating with her spirit?"
"Something like that."
"What do you talk about?"
He hesitated, and evaded. "Family. Just family stuff. She told me things I didn't know, stuff that happened when my brothers were kids. Stuff that turned out to be true."
"Really?" She snuggled against him. "Then I suppose you'd better listen to her."
"THAT'S A smart woman you've got there," Stella commented.
They walked through the moist, heavy night air near the verge of Dru's river. The lamp in the living room window sent pretty colored light against the glass.
"She's got a strong, complicated brain. Everything about her's on the strong and complicated side."
"Strong's sexy," Stella said. "Don't you think she looks to you for the same? Strength of mind, of character, of heart? All the rest is just glands—not that there's anything wrong with glands. Makes the world go round."
"I fell for her so fast. One minute I'm standing up, then next I'm flat on the ground. I never thought it would be the same for her. But it is. Somehow."
"What're you going to do about it?"
"I don't know." He picked up a stone, skipped it out over the ink-black river. "You take somebody on, for the long haul, you take up their baggage, too. My baggage is damn heavy, Grandma. I have a feeling it's about to get a lot heavier."
"You've handcuffed yourself to that baggage, Seth. You've got the key, you always have. Don't you think it's time to use it and pitch that load overboard?"
"She'll never go away and stay away."
"Probably not. What you do about it is what makes the size of the load. Too damn stubborn to share it. Just like your grandfather."
"Really?" The idea simply warmed his heart. "Do you think I take after him in some ways?"
"You got his eyes." She reached up, touched his hair. "But you know that already. And his stubborn streak. Always figured he could handle things himself. Irritating. Had a calm way about him—until he blew. You're the same. And you've made the same damn mistakes he made with Gloria. You're letting her use your love for your family, and for Dru, as a weapon."
"It's just money, Grandma."
"Hell it is. You know what you have to do, Seth. Now go on and do it. Though being a man, you'll find a way to screw it up some first."
His jaw set. "I'm not dragging Dru through this."
"Hell. That girl doesn't want a martyr." She planted her hands on her hips and scowled at him. "Stubborn to the point of stupid. Just like your grandfather," she muttered.
And was gone.
* * *
Chapter Seventeen
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THE BAR WAS A DIVE, the sort of place where drinking was a serious, mostly solitary occupation. The blue curtain of smoke, thick enough to part with your hands, turned it all into a poorly produced black-and-white movie scene. The lights were dim, encouraging patrons to mind their own, with the added benefit of hiding the stains when someone decided to mind his neighbor's.
It smelled of last year's cigarettes and last week's beer.
The recreation and socializing area consisted of a stingy strip of space along the side where a pool table had been jammed. A bunch of guys were playing a round of eight ball while a few more stood around sucking beers, the expressions of bored disgust on their faces showing the world what badasses they were.
The air-conditioning unit was framed in a window with a sheet of splintered plywood, and did little more than stir the stink and make noise.
Seth took a seat at the end of the bar and, playing it safe, ordered a Bud in the bottle.
He supposed it was fitting she'd dragged him out to a place like this. She'd dragged him into them often enough when he was a kid—or if she'd had transportation, he'd slept in the car while she'd gone in.
Gloria might have been raised in a solid upper-class environment, but all the benefits and advantages of that upbringing had been wasted on a spirit that continually sought, and found, the lowest level.
He'd stopped wondering what it was inside her that drove her to hate, to despise anything decent. What compelled her to use anyon
e who'd ever had reason to care for her until she'd sucked them dry or destroyed them.
Her addictions—men, drugs, liquor—didn't cause it. They were only one more form of her absolute self-indulgence.
But it was fitting it would be here, he thought, as he sat and listened to the sharp smack of balls, the rattling whine of the failing AC, and smelled the smells that pulled him back into the nightmare of his childhood.
She'd have come in to pick up a john, he remembered, if she needed cash. Or if she'd had money, to drink herself drunk—unless booze hadn't been her drug of choice for that night. Then she'd have come in to score.
If the john was the target, she'd take him back to whatever hole they were living in. Sex noises and wild laughter in the next room. If it was drink or drugs, and they put her in a good mood, there would've been a stop at some all-night place. He'd have eaten that night.
If the mood had turned nasty, there would have been fists instead of food.
Or so it had been until he'd been big enough, fast enough, mean enough to avoid the punches.
"You gonna drink that beer?" the bartender demanded, "or just look at it all night?"
Seth shifted his gaze, and the cold warning on his face had the bartender easing back a step. Keeping his eyes level, Seth pulled a ten out of his pocket, dropped it on the bar by his untouched beer.
"Problem?" His voice was a soft threat.
The bartender shrugged and got busy elsewhere.
When she walked in, a couple of the pool players looked over, checked her out. Seth imagined Gloria considered their leering smirks a flattering assessment.
She wore denim cutoffs that hugged her bony hips and frayed at the hem just below crotch level. The snug top was hot pink, left several inches of midriff bare. She'd had her belly button pierced and added a tattoo of a dragonfly beside the gold bar. Her nails, fingers and toes were coated in a glitter polish that looked black in the ugly light.
She slid onto a stool, then sent the pool players one long, hot look.
It only took one look at her eyes for Seth to realize at least a portion of the money he'd given her had gone up her nose.
"G and T," she told the bartender. "Easy on the T."
She took out a cigarette, flicked on a silver lighter, then blew a slow stream of smoke at the ceiling. She crossed her legs, and her foot jiggled in triple time.