Page 4 of Fury
“Probably think I’m a stupid little girl who doesn’t know what the big, bad, scary world can be like.” She reached up, fingers tracing a scar on her breast through her shirt. “You don’t know me.” She pulled in a breath, then told him, “Ty’s my friend. He gave me somewhere to stay when after two endless years I left the man I’d been forced to marry at fourteen.” She didn’t pause, didn’t give him an opening to speak. “Ten years ago, I was sixteen and lost. He gave me somewhere to stay when I found out I was pregnant at sixteen. Gave me somewhere to stay while I carried that child, and he was in the room with me when that child was born. He helped me arrange an adoption that lets me see the boy, my son, but keeps that child safe from my own family. He pulled me back from the brink so many times. So very many times, Sarge. Ty deserves every ounce of my trust and love.” She leaned forwards at the waist, needing him to understand.
“He’s never, ever asked me for anything in return. Me loving him, being his friend, and helping him like this? It’s the least, the absolute least I can do.” Resolved, she tugged the collar of her shirt down, exposing the scar on the upper swell of her breast. Sarge’s eyes fixed on the rough letters visible on her flesh. “This was put on me by my own father. Carved into me by a man I should have been able to trust, but who sold me into that marriage Ty helped me get out of. I was owned, Sarge. Bought and paid for.” She released the fabric and stepped back. “I can’t ever pay Ty back.”
“Ty never said…” Sarge stopped to pull in a breath. Then eyes blazing, declared, “Hate that happened to you.”
“Well, join the crowd, because I hate it, too.” Suddenly nervous, self-conscious in a way she hadn’t been in a while, Bethy avoided looking at him. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll pretend this conversation never happened.” She swallowed. “Just don’t let Ty know you thought I should be afraid of him. He doesn’t need that to deal with, too. He’s already conscious of how it looks, a white girl from the hollers living with a big, black man.”
Turning, she kicked the shoe out of the door and put her hand on the edge. “I’m chilly now. I think the apartment’s aired enough. Keep me updated if you have time.” She swallowed again, her throat tight. “About Ty.”
Sarge touched her, put his hand on her shoulder as he walked past her and out the opening. Bethy let the door swing closed behind him, ignoring how he’d paused and turned to look at her, not caring if he had another thing to say. Twisting to face the empty apartment, she loathed how her eyes burned, nose stinging from the tears she fought back, refusing them permission to fall.Weak. Crying is weak. Swallowing hard, she repeated on a whisper, “Join the crowd.”
***
Forehead propped in one hand, Bethany stared down at the table in front of her. Silence surrounded her, then through the cans on her ears heard, “B.T., your intro. Pick it up.”
Jerking her head up, she looked around the sound room, heard the soft background music that usually accompanied her gossip segment and realized she had ignored her cue. Glancing down at the notes in front of her, she said, “Speechless. That song by the Tufted Ottomans always leaves me just speechless.” Scrunching up her nose, she rolled her eyes at the lame segue and looked up to see the laughing face of her tech through the window. “Gonna be a classic. One day. But now, for today, we’ve got a ton of stuff to talk about because there is a glorious rumor going around that the Wrapped Potatoes are in the studio and about ready to finalize their sessions. You know what that means, right? Means we’re only weeks away from a new release and those guys are such good friends, they sent over a sneak listen of what will become the first single off that album.” With that, she was solidly back on track, and the rest of her show went off without any more issues.
Hanging up her headphones, she waved to the guys in the other room, gathered her purse and quickly walked out, managing to avoid any conversation as she made her way down to street level. Stepping out from the studio into the warm darkness of a Nashville night, she paused a moment and tipped her head back, staring up at the black sky. It had been nearly a month since Sarge had picked up Ty, and all she’d gotten so far were terse updates that things were fine. This had been the fourth straight text that simply said,He’s good. Eyes up, she glared at the first star she focused on. Less a wish than a demand, she muttered, “I don’t want good. I want him well.”
“You okay, miss?” An elderly man stood nearby, hand in hand with a woman of about the same age, and both were looking at her with some concern. Embarrassed, Bethy nodded, and he scrutinized her carefully, then nodded his own response. “Take care.”
“You, too.” Bethy watched them stroll up the sidewalk for a few seconds, then turned to her car. Off to her second job, soon to be her main one, if things kept working out the way they had been. Within a few minutes, she was pulling into the parking lot of a building. On the front, above the door, was the logo for Iron Indian Records, the recording studio and label she owned with her brother, Davis Mason.
As she climbed out of her secondhand car, two nearby vehicles disgorged their own occupants and she grinned at the men walking towards her. Aaron Rodneyns, Jed Neville, and Thom Dagwood were the voice, rhythm, and melody behind the rock group, Wrapped Potatoes. “Hey, guys,” she called, wiggling the key into the deadbolt and twisting it, pulling on the door at the same time and holding it open with one hand. “Go on in, get set-up. I’ll be right there.”
“Hey, Bethy,” Aaron called, leaning in to brush his lips across her cheek in a barely-there touch. “Heard the plug. You’re amazing.” She gave the air near his face a lip smack and then grinned at the other two men, angling out of the way of Jed’s multitude of cases. She had a full kit set for him, but he always brought his own electronics, which was fine with her because those things were crazy expensive.
“Beautiful.” Thom reached out, cupped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her head forwards, dropping a soft kiss on her forehead. “How’s it going?”
“It goes,” she responded, shifting, getting ready to close the door when a feeling of being watched pulled every hair on her body upright. Scanning the lot, she didn’t see any other cars. “This is everybody, right? You didn’t bring any groupies tonight?” They laughed, and she grinned at them. But, the feeling didn’t go away, and she scanned the lot again. The glint of a reflection in one dark corner slowly resolved into the shape of a motorcycle, and she shivered as she watched it pull onto the road and turn away, accelerating into the darkness. Brake lights flashed in the distance, and then the bike was gone. It looked like the same one she’d seen several times in the past couple of weeks. Never close enough to recognize the rider, but the bike itself looked the same.Wonder who in the world that is, she thought, knowing if it were her brother or any of his friends, they would have come in, or knocked on the door and greeted her at least.
Dismissing the bike, she turned and let the door swing shut. “I’ll get some coffee going. You guys know where everything is.” Frowning, she shook her finger at Jed who had pulled out a cigarette. “Nu huh. Not in here. You smoke outside, Jed. Don’t make me hafta call your mama.” Pushing past the men, she left them in the studio and went into the tiny kitchen, getting ready for what she was sure would turn into another all-nighter.
***
“Telling you, Davy, this is a great group. I hate to turn them away.” As she walked through the apartment, Bethy balanced the phone on her shoulder, flipping through the pile of mail she’d just grabbed out of the box, most of it was for Ty, so she set those to the side to deal with separately. “I know we said we’d stick with just three bands until I had enough to hire someone, but I just know if I pass these guys up, they’ll sign with someone else and then they’re going to get jacked around.”
“Bethy,” Davy sighed. She heard noise on his end of the call, metallic sounds, and then a revving engine. “Honey, you’re the hands-on person. If you think they’re a fit, then you make ‘em fit. But you know, if they don’t fit, then it’s on you to cut ‘em loose. That’s hard for you, honey.” The noise suddenly muted and she knew he’d gone into the office of the garage he owned in Chicago. “We got plenty of bank for you to hire someone, so don’t let that stop you. You just gotta find the right person. We need more bank, we’ll make it happen. Whatever you need, Bethy.”
She stood still for a moment and let the warm feeling in her belly sink in. This, the relationship she had with her brother, was something she had longed to have for such a long time. He’d left home when he was sixteen and she was twelve. Life had changed for her after he was gone. From the time she was little, she knew all she had to do was tell Davy and he’d make it all better. Make it right. Once he was gone, though, nothing was right after that. “I love you.” He was silent, and she realized she’d blurted this statement, without anything to let him know what was going through her head. “Just that, Davy. I love you. I wanted you to know.”
In a voice rough and gruff with emotion, he handed it back to her, proving that once again, he could make anything better. “I love you, too, honey.”
She ended the call a few minutes later and stood, leaning against the countertop. Davy had always done what he could, done more than he should. Their father had his own path and used the whip of religion to drive his flock to what he wanted to accomplish. Even there, Davy had tried to save her.
An eleven-year-old Bethany lay on her stomach in bed, an unfamiliar ache low in her belly. She thought she knew what was happening. Aunt Barbra had warned her about what it meant to become a woman. Knowing that it was inevitable. They had talked about how to manage her body when she would become unclean. That was what Daddy always called it, and Bethy knew why the women sat to the side in church, and sometimes had to sit in the back, no matter who their husbands were. When women were bleeding, this condition their monthly reminder that they had much to repay for Eve’s betrayal of God and her temptation of Adam, they couldn’t be around the men. Unclean.
She rolled to her side and as she moved, felt something weird between her legs, a slippery warmth that was a lot like when the men anointed her. No one had visited her tonight, though so it couldn’t be that. Bethy lifted the covers and looked down at her body in the shadows, seeing a dark stain on her nightgown. Touching herself there was forbidden, but she needed to know so ran her fingers along her hip, and dragged the blue cotton up so she could see her underwear. They were also stained. Between her legs was dark with what she knew would be blood.
A sound in the hallway, then the rattle of her doorknob had her rolling out of bed, standing straight. Her door opened. “Unclean,” she whispered, looking up at the man.
“Fuck. Stay there, girl.” Uncle Ezra closed the door.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. Bethy hadn’t moved. She’d been told not to, after all. With a sobbing sigh, she threw her arms around her best friend. Tabby said, “Hang on, Bethy. Lemme get you to Aunt Barbra’s. She’ll see to you.” In the hallway, Tabby pulled them both to a stop, and Bethy could feel her trembling, even though it wasn’t cold.
At the end of the hallway stood two figures. Uncle Ezra, and Bethy’s brother, Davy. In a voice filled with gravel that belied his fifteen years, Davy said, “Ezra, you do not want to let me catch you near her again.” He moved a step closer to the older man, Davy’s already broad shoulders nearly dwarfing him. “Not if you wanna stay breathin’.”
“Your daddy runs this household, boy. Not you.” That was Ezra’s voice, filled with arrogance and disdain. The Ledbetters always wanted to remind folks that they had money, and influence. Aunt Barbra was blood, but the Ledbetters were congregation. Ezra wasn’t really Bethy’s uncle, but her daddy wanted her to call both Ezra and his wife, Loretta, aunt and uncle, to keep everyone happy. “He’s the one who let me in tonight. You think you got more sway than your daddy?”
