The Secrets of Rosa Lee

He thought of what Reverend Milburn would say if his assistant minister was spotted in the town’s wildest bar.

Micah smiled, realizing he didn’t much care. If the Rogers sisters needed help, he’d promised to be there. End of story. He parked next to a huge Dodge pickup covered in mud and got out, pulling his suit coat off. It wouldn’t do to go into a country bar looking like a salesman or, he laughed, like a preacher.

When Micah walked inside, familiar sounds and smells greeted him. Smoke, whiskey, sawdust. The whine of two-stepping music that had been born in this environment and the clink of glasses. Raw laughter crackled within conversations carried at full volume.

Memories flooded his mind. His third year of college Amy had miscarried and couldn’t work for six weeks. He’d taken on another part-time job so he could stay in school. Sweeping up at a bar had been the only thing that fit into his time schedule. When they’d got back on their feet financially, he’d quit. Micah had been surprised how much he missed the people he’d met and watched every night for months. He’d learned that bar lights reveal layers of truth, like a CAT scan. Weaknesses, dreams and heart-aches show up clearly in tobacco-tinted illumination.

His eyes adjusted to the mixture of smoky shadows and twinkling lights along a ceiling covered in beer posters. The place seemed bigger than it appeared to be from the outside. A long mahogany bar ran the length of the far wall. Tables circled round a dance floor on one end, pool tables on the other. Most of the chairs near the dance floor were empty. A group of men played pool. Half of the stools were occupied at the bar.

Most of the men wore Western clothes. A few others looked like oil-field workers who’d put in a full day before stopping by. Muddy boots, Western or Red Wing, were the style. Women mingled among the men. A few looked like they’d lived on murky air way too long, for their faces were pale beneath layers of makeup.

Micah remembered it was Monday night. If this place was like the one he’d worked at, the folks in at this time of night were drinkers, not partiers or fighters. He’d guess they were folks with nowhere else to be and no one waiting for them. They’d finish the night alone with only a six-pack for company.

He noticed a tall woman behind the bar watching him. She had shoulder-length red hair pulled up on one side and an honest face. “You Micah Parker?” She spoke in the same whiskey-smooth voice he’d heard on the phone.

He shook rain from his hair. “I am. Are you Randi with an i?” He felt like a paperback detective.

She nodded. “From the way you’re dressed, you’re not working the oil field or any ranch around, but town folks are welcome here, as well.”

“Correct.” He thought of introducing himself by occupation, but for a moment, he just wanted to be Micah Parker, period. “I’m the designated driver for the Rogers sisters, at your service.”

Randi probably learned a long time ago not to ask too many questions. She pointed toward a beer and raised one eyebrow.

He shook his head. “How’d the sisters end up being your problem tonight?”

“They came in about an hour ago. Appears they had quite a scare today and decided some wine would help them sleep. According to Ada May, they went through every bottle in the house and were still frightened, so they drove over here.”

“They come here often?”

She nodded toward a hairy man serving drinks at the other end of the bar. “Frankie said he’s sold them holiday wine a few times, but they haven’t been in since I bought the place last year.” Randi grinned. “One of the guys over near the pool table commented that they shouldn’t be in a place like this, being retired teachers and all. Beth Ann hit him with her bag. Before I could get around the counter, they’d landed at least a half-dozen blows on other men standing within range.”

Micah fought down a laugh. “I hope no one was hurt.”

“No one that would admit it except Shorty Brown. He claimed a crochet needle poked out of her bag and hit him in the eye.” She leaned a little closer. “If he’d wanted to press charges I’d have had to call the sheriff instead of you.”

“I guess I’d better have a talk with the ladies.” Micah tried not to smile. “Where you got them locked up?”

She lifted the walk-through and motioned him behind the bar. As he passed, he realized she stood even with him. It wasn’t often he saw a woman his height. In the crowded space, she couldn’t step more than a few inches away. He brushed against her as he passed.

Micah kept his gaze steady on her eyes. For a second, their bodies pressed against one another. From the smell of her hair to the softness of her breasts against his arm, he became very aware of her as a woman.

He thought of the bar lights and hoped she couldn’t see too deeply into his thoughts.

“I put them in my office with a bottle of their favorite apricot wine,” Randi said, as though she didn’t notice anything unusual about standing so close to a man she’d just met.

Micah followed her into a small room behind the bar. It had a one-way mirror, so anyone inside could see what was going on at the bar. Papers and notes covered a desk and the safe in one corner sat open. The sisters watched the mirror as if it were a TV. Two empty glasses sat between them.

“Evening, ladies.” Randi greeted them with a smile. “I called your friend. He’ll see you home.”

Ada May giggled. “Evening, Micah. So glad you could join us. Would you like a glass of wine?” She lifted the bottle and refilled her glass to the rim.

“Yes, do have a drink if you’re allowed,” Beth Ann added. “You’ve already seen us home once today. There’s really no need to worry about us. I’m still sober enough to drive.”

Ada May downed her glass and tried to disguise a burp by coughing. She smiled up at Micah with half-closed eyes and said, “I do love apricots.” Suddenly her head hit the desk with a thud. She was out cold.

Beth Ann shook her finger at her sleeping sister. “She’s such an embarrassment. Can’t hold her liquor any better than our father could.”

Micah knelt in front of Beth Ann. “Would you like me to help you get her home? I won’t mind. I’m already here.”

“You’re a fine man.” Beth Ann nodded, almost falling out of her chair. “I may need some assistance. Ada May is no light load when she’s out.”

A few minutes later, Micah pulled his car around to the back door. Randi guided Beth Ann. As the younger of the two old maids slid into the back seat, she noticed her clothes had gotten rained on and proceeded to take them off. Micah helped the hairy bartender named Frankie half carry, half drag Ada May to the car. Beth Ann had been accurate. Ada May was no light load when she was out cold.

Micah put her into the front seat and turned to Randi, who stood across the car from him. “I’m not driving home alone with one sister out cold and the other stripping in the back seat. You’ve got to take pity on me.”

He must have looked helpless, because Randi shoved wet hair from her face and gave in. “All right, coward.” She glanced at the man standing in the doorway. “Frankie, close up for me, would you?”

The man nodded and disappeared.

When she looked back at Micah, she laughed. “I’ll go along with you, but I got to tell you, Mr. Parker, you disappoint me. I would have thought you man enough to handle two women at the same time.”

He didn’t acknowledge her humor as he held the door open. “You ride in the back with the stripper.”

She splashed through the mud and climbed in.

Halfway home, Ada May woke up enough to vomit. Twice.

Getting the sisters inside and in bed proved to be a greater chore than Micah could have imagined. Several times, he thanked Randi for coming along. He couldn’t have done it without her. Ada May insisted on brushing her teeth before turning in, but she wasn’t stable enough on her feet to stand. They all crowded into the tiny bathroom. Micah held her up, his arms locked just below her ample breasts. Randi helped her hit her mouth with the toothbrush.

By the time they finished, Randi and he were both laughing so hard, Micah couldn’t catch his breath. They collapsed on a worn couch in the small cluttered living room.

“You think you had a problem with Ada May.” Randi slugged him with one of the dozen pillows surrounding them. “You should have tried to get Beth Ann’s support hose off.”

Micah surrendered. “You win. I haven’t put a drunk to bed since my college days, and if I don’t do it again in this lifetime it will be too soon.” He stood and offered his hand to help her up. They walked out the front door and onto an equally cluttered porch.

Two lawn chairs had been pushed close with a TV tray table in between them. An old, handmade backgammon board rested open on the table. Randi picked up a piece of the game. “Ada May told me tonight that the last thing they do every night is play one game. Whoever loses has to turn out the lights. Sometimes they argue over who won.” Randi stared at Micah. “On those nights, the lights stay on till morning.”

She tossed the chip to him. He placed it back on the board. “Stubborn women,” he said more to himself than her.

“That’s why it surprises me they were so shaken by what happened today.”

He had no answer. For a few minutes they both watched a car pass down the rain-swollen street.

Randi took a long breath. “I love the rain.” She held her hand out to touch a tiny waterfall sliding off the roof.

Micah raised his hand, almost touching her hair. Moisture sparkled in it like silver glitter.

She glanced at him with eyes the green of a dense forest. “What?”

“Your hair gets even curlier when it’s damp.” He hadn’t meant to touch it, but the mass was so beautiful, all shiny with red and brown highlights. He let the tips of his fingers brush one curl.

“It’s natural.” She winked. “All over.”

Micah turned his face to the rain. She’d done it again, he thought. Treating him like just any person—like just any man. It felt good and frightening at the same time. Since he’d buried Amy, he thought of himself as a father, a minister, a friend. He’d set all other definitions aside. Now, to be accepted for being nothing more than simply human overwhelmed him. He felt free somehow.

Randi elbowed him. “How about I clean up their place a little? No one wants to wake up with a hangover and have to face all the empty bottles sitting around.”

“I’ll help.”

“No way.” She spread her hand out across his chest stopping him from following her. “I think you should find a hose and wash out your car before you take me home. It’s too far a drive to hold my breath.”

Micah glanced out in the rain. “I’ll get wet.”

“I’m not riding back with that smell.”

“I’ll get wet,” he repeated.

Randi patted his shoulder. “You’ll dry.” Then, without warning, she shoved him into the rain.

Micah stumbled off the porch, laughing. He told himself he wasn’t attracted to her or any woman, but it felt great to have someone touch him. Just touch him. Not friendly handshakes or polite hugs, but an honest touch.

He dug around in the flower beds until he found the garden hose rolled up neatly beside a rosebush. He did his best to avoid stepping on any of the rosebushes. Everyone in town knew how the sisters loved their roses.

Turning the water on full force, he dragged the hose to his car and pulled out the mats. He hardly noticed the rain. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d been so alive. Maybe it was the excitement of this morning, or the way Randi talked to him, or maybe it was just time to start living again. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. It just felt good.

By the time he got the hose rolled back up in the mud beside the rosebush, Randi stood on the porch ready to go. He motioned for her to climb in and was surprised at how she walked slowly to the car and turned her face to the rain, as if it didn’t bother her at all.

When she closed her door, he said, “You really do like the rain.”

Randi shrugged. “I’ve been rained on a lot. It doesn’t scare me anymore.”

They drove back to the bar in silence. He thought about what she’d said, and what she hadn’t said.

The parking lot was dark when they got to the bar. The sisters’ van was the only one out front. Micah didn’t want this strange time to end, but had no idea what to say. He knew he wasn’t likely to see Randi again after tonight.

“You want to come in for breakfast?” She lifted the doorknob. “I always eat when the night’s over, then I can sleep until noon without waking up starving.”

He hadn’t had a bite since before the committee meeting that morning. “I’d love to, if you don’t mind? But I warn you, I’m starving.”

“I asked, didn’t I? I think I can fill you up.”

They walked to the back door. She reached above the frame. “Frankie kept locking himself out and we didn’t want to leave the door unlocked, so he installed a latch above the door. Lights flash in the kitchen and my office when this back door swings.” She led him down a hallway lined with boxes and mops to a tiny kitchen.

“Of course, I lock it when I head upstairs for the night. We figure only a tall drunk could reach the latch, providing they knew about it.”

He wondered if she often told her secrets so easily. Looking around the kitchen he tried to understand her. The kitchen appeared to have been added to the bar in the fifties. Nothing had been updated. The counters were red linoleum, stained and worn through in a few places. Pots and knives hung on the wall behind a stove. The refrigerator clanked out a steady beat. The place was spotless.

“Frankie used to serve hot appetizers years ago, but it got to be too much trouble.” She pulled a string on a bare light swinging from the center of the low ceiling. “I keep it open so when I’m stuck here I won’t starve.” She winked. “A girl can’t live on bar nuts alone.”

The cleanliness of the place surprised him. There was a wildness about this woman, but there was also an order.

“If you want to dry off, there’s a stack of towels by the back door.” She combed her hair with her fingers and twisted it into a wild knot behind her head. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Any way but scrambled,” he answered thinking of the thousand church breakfasts he’d eaten with scrambled eggs. He heard her banging around the kitchen while he dried his hair in the hallway between the back door and the kitchen. Using paper towels, he wiped mud off his shoes then washed his hands in a big sink that looked as if it would only be used to clean mops. The Rogers sisters’ rosebush had torn a two-inch rip in his trousers at the knee, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Since he had no comb, he raked a hand through his hair, hoping he wouldn’t frighten her.

Then he laughed. The woman owned the roughest bar for thirty miles around. Probably nothing frightened her. In all likelihood she told him about the back door’s latch because she wasn’t the least afraid of him.

When he walked back into the kitchen, the smell of steak and onions grilling drifted across the room. She motioned for him to sit before turning back to the stove.

Micah tried not to stare but couldn’t help himself. The lean woman in tight jeans and a rain-dampened Western shirt that stopped an inch above her waist was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered. She moved with an easy grace, but everything he knew about her told him she must be made of rawhide.

“How do you know the sisters?” She didn’t turn around.

“Maybe I grew up here and they were my teachers?” he offered.

“Nope,” she answered as if being tested. “I grew up here and they were my teachers. You’re definitely a transplant.”

“That obvious?”

She grinned over her shoulder and pointed with a spatula. “It’s the shoes.” When he didn’t answer she added, “No man from West Texas wears shoes with tassels. Those are for the big cities like Dallas and Houston. And while I’m at it, any self-respecting working man lets the mud on his shoes dry, then stomps it off.”

“Anything else?”

She set two plates filled with eggs and steak on the table. “In my line of work I’ve learned to read people. You’re not married, but you were. Divorced, maybe with a kid, grade school probably. You see him often.”

“Widowed. One child, seven.”

“Sorry.” She met his eyes. “I’m the same. My husband was killed in an oil-rig accident a few years back.”

“Cancer took my wife.” He wanted to change the subject. “How’d you guess so much about me?”

She opened two beers without asking if he wanted one and sat down across from him. “Wedding band you didn’t try to hide. Socks that don’t match. No woman would let you out of the house like that.”

Micah stared at his socks. They looked like a matched pair to him. But, one might be more gray than black now that he studied them.

“And I sat on a coloring book in the back seat of your car so either you’ve got a kid, or you’re not quite as bright as I thought you might be. A boy, I’d guess, since girls usually don’t color Spider-Man.”

He smiled. “I made it too easy, Sherlock.” He cut into his steak. “Now for the big question: why did you invite me in? I could be a serial rapist for all you know.”

She laughed. “Not with those shoes.” She took a bite, then added, “I knew you were safe, first because you were a friend of the Rogers sisters. They’re not the types to hang around with dangerous men. Second, you turn red every time I get within waltzing distance. That doesn’t sound like a trait a rapist would have. You’re safe all right, Micah Parker. Safe as a crosswalk.”

Micah wished he could think of a funny comeback, but he was too busy eating. She’d cooked what he was sure must be the world’s best steak.

Randi picked at her food. Every time he raised his gaze from his plate, she watched him. He always turned away first. He didn’t want to think about what else she’d be able to guess about him.

After finishing his steak, Micah started on hers. She moved her plate toward him without comment. He stopped to take a drink of the longneck, then made himself slow down as he ate the rest of her breakfast. She probably thought he was homeless by the way he consumed food.

“I’m on a committee with the Rogers sisters. Though, I knew who they were. Everyone does.”

“The committee that got interrupted by a flying drill bit this morning?” She leaned closer.

Micah nodded. Clifton Creek didn’t need a paper. News spread faster than butter on lava.

“I heard a few of the oil guys talking about it, but I didn’t pay a lot of attention. When the sisters came in, they wanted to talk about everything but what frightened them.” She wrinkled her forehead. “One of the oilmen said there’d been a little interest in the Altman property as a drill site, but no oilman would send a drill bit as his calling card.”

Micah leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What kind of interest?”

Randi shrugged. “Just rumors. The men in the bar are always talking about where to drill next. Most of it’s speculation and guessing. Since the old house sets on a rise, it would be the prime spot to drill if anyone decided to test for oil below.” She studied him. “You think someone was trying to tell the committee something this morning? Or trying to hurt one of you?”

“It could have been an accident. Kids may have found the bit and thought it would be great for shattering windows.” He stacked the empty plates and stood. “Maybe they didn’t take the time to notice people were sitting at a table on the other side of the glass.”

She followed, sipping her beer as he scraped the dishes. “Maybe someone wanted to stop the committee. I don’t know who else serves on the panel with you, but the Rogers sisters must have been frightened half to death. They’re tough old birds, but I’m not sure they’ll be interested in going back into that house. To tell the truth I’m surprised it didn’t fall down around the committee this morning.”

Micah dried his hands. “It bothers me to think that someone could have been hurt. Really hurt.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “It could’ve been you.” Her words were soft against his ear.

He took a long breath and for once in his life decided not to think, but to act. In half a turn his body brushed against hers and he lowered his mouth toward her lips.

She slowly molded against him, as smooth flowing as liquid passion. Then, when they were so close their breaths mingled, she smiled. A smile that told him she could read his thoughts.

“I think it’s time we call it a night,” she said as she stepped away.

She walked across the kitchen. “You know,” she said in that low voice of hers, “I was wrong about you, Mr. Parker. You’re not safe.”

He didn’t know if he should apologize or try again. It seemed a lifetime since he’d known the rules—if he’d ever known them.

He thought it best to say good-night. “Thanks for the steak.”

“Anytime,” she answered. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.” The look she gave him said so much more.

“Nice to meet you,” he echoed, thinking she was a blast of fresh air in the cellar he’d been living in for years.

Ten

Lora Whitman folded her napkin and tried to give at least the appearance of paying attention to her mother. She should have pretended sleep longer and cut the time at the breakfast table in half. Working for her father was easy compared to having to live with her mother. Luckily, the house was big enough for Lora to have her own wing on the third floor with a study, a bedroom and a small workout area. Her mother rarely ventured into her rooms, claiming the stairs were too much for her.

“I can’t imagine how frightened you were, dear. I told everyone how you just couldn’t face talking about the accident yesterday. Not even to me.” Isadore Whitman finished her coffee. “Of course, you were so worried about that Professor Dickerson from the college who had a heart attack that you rode with the first car leaving for Wichita Falls to check on her.” Isadore stopped long enough to spread her lipstick just wider than her lip line. Her own private answer to BOTOX.

Trying to keep her voice calm, Lora corrected, “First, Mother, it wasn’t an accident. A ten-pound drill bit almost the size of a football isn’t something that just flies into a window. Second, Sidney Dickerson didn’t have a heart attack. We feared she had, but the hospital checked her out.”

Lora knew she was wasting her time. Isadore lived in a fairy-tale world. Oh, not with giants and dragons, but the kind of make-believe with parties and parades. In Isadore’s fairyland, streets could be named Candy Lane just because she bought the only house on the block and daughters grew up and married well. And never came back home to live.

“Morning, ladies.” Calvin Whitman’s booming voice entered the room a few seconds before he did. A large man, he leaned back a little more each year to accommodate his ever-expanding belly.

He patted Lora’s shoulder as he passed. “How’s my little girl feeling today?”

Lora nodded her hello. She’d always be her daddy’s little girl. Unlike Isadore, he hadn’t wanted to give her up to marriage and seemed happy to have her back home. In fact, Calvin would be happy if nothing ever changed in his world but next year’s Cadillac colors.

“I’m fine.” Lora stood. “I thought I’d go in early and see what landed on my desk yesterday while I was out.” She was never sure if she truly helped her father’s business, or as the boss he simply found work for her. In either case, she didn’t complain. Her ex-husband had served her with papers, cleaned out all their accounts and packed her things so fast she hadn’t been able to give notice. She was lucky to find work, period.

“This early?” Isadore glanced at the clock. “Don’t even think about work yet, Lora.”

Calvin helped himself to breakfast laid out in silver dishes along the sideboard. He rattled one of the lids and peeped in as if fearing what might be inside.