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“You don’t lie well.” He chuckled. She smiled at him, drumming her fingers against the table. “Let me ask you something, and if the question makes you uncomfortable, then say so.”
“All right.”
With a low, rumbling voice, he leaned in and looked down deep into her soul. “When’s the last time you’ve made love, baby?”
Everything inside of her went berserk. Alarms rang, warning signs, red flags. And yet, she ignored them and kept on trotting into enemy territory.
“So.”
“So?”
“You said, ‘say so,’ if the question makes me uncomfortable.”
He chuckled and nodded, then leaned back again.
“Fair enough.”
Soon their food arrived and if she said so herself, it was the best damn spaghetti and meatballs she’d ever had.
“Slow down,” he said in a teasing tone as he ate his glazed short rib cavatelli. “You’ve got to save room for dessert.”
“This is so good! It was nice of them to make me a dinner portion of the spaghetti, even though they usually only sell it for lunch. I’m pretty simple when it comes to food.”
She noticed the second entrée he’d ordered arrived boxed up, as well as one of the appetizers. When they finished up, she was full and happy. The night went on, the chatting getting easier. The man was a great conversationalist. So good, she almost forgot that he was trouble with a capital ‘T’. As he discussed the various beers his company made and invited her for a taste test, she thought about the fact that she’d dated a couple drug dealers in the past, and there was always a problem, besides the moral aspect she wrestled with.
Sometimes, it was like a normal relationship, and she barely noticed their activities. Other times, she felt like she was an inch away from endangering her damn self. It wasn’t something she was proud of, falling for the wrong men, but it happened often enough, almost unavoidably so because so many of the guys she was around felt trapped, like that was all they could do to survive. One couldn’t always judge a book by its cover. A propensity for crimes of survival and principled character weren’t always built on the same foundation. One of the nicest men she’d ever known was a damn booster.
“…And the shows are what really help market it.” She nodded at just the right times, making it appear as if she was deep into the conversation. Jude was a charming, intelligent, duplicitous man, used to getting what he wanted no doubt. “You’re not listening.”
“I am.”
“You heard me, but you’re not listening. You’re distracted. What’s on your mind?”
It unnerved her how well he seemed to be able to tap into her thoughts. He’d even done it at the grocery store a time or two. He’d say something that matched exactly what she was daydreaming about. It was uncanny.
“You believe in ghosts?”
He gave her a curious look as he crossed his arms.
“No.”
“I do.”
“You’ve seen one?”
“Several. Back home in Memphis, my daddy had bought an old farm when me and my sister were young. He’d be out there, day and night, tryin’ to get it up to par so he could get us settled. He got it dirt cheap, but the house was run-down, so he and Mama started fixin’ it up with the money they’d saved. We weren’t in there for more than a month before the trouble started. Strange noises. Like people talking in hushed tones. Dogs barkin’… We ain’t have no dog at the time, and it sounded like the barking was from the attic but when Daddy would check it out, the space was empty. Stuff started comin’ up missin’, too, put in different places. Daddy and Mama blamed us girls, but we didn’t do it.
“Me and Lily, that’s my sister, but of course you know that from your little report there,” she pointed at the stack of papers and rolled her eyes, “got to talking about some dark shadow person that watched us sleep. Only, we weren’t sleeping for we were scared. We kept our eyes closed, but prayed and cried most nights.”
“Did you tell your parents?”
“We tried, but they didn’t believe us. Well, they said they didn’t, but we found out later they’d been seeing and hearing things, too. I saw a dead White woman in the kitchen. I screamed and she vanished. Another month passed, and another, and that house was beautiful by the time Daddy and Mama finished getting it repaired, painted, and filled with pretty new furniture. Daddy had earned it from all of his hard work on the road. But the land was cursed. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong times ten. Fires started in the middle of the barns out of nowhere. The chickens Daddy had would be dead in the mornin’. No signs of injury. Just feathers scattered about, like they’d been fighting for their lives. Then come the arguin’. My parents, who were good to one another, started picking at each other, and it got so bad, things started getting physical. It was that house. That land. That place. We all knew it. One day, a moving van pulled up and off we went, never looking back.
“Daddy refused to tell me, Mama or my sister what had happened, but something horrible took place in that barn one night. He’d heard a commotion and went in there with his shotgun. Mama said minutes later he came back in the house, drenched in sweat. Early the followin’ morning, we were gone. Do you know why I told you this story, Jude?”
“I might.”
“Well, let me tell you, so you can besure.”
