Girl Meets Boy, continued
He strode off toward the sagging food tables with three Kellys close behind. I turned my chair a few degrees so I could watch discretely (I hoped). People moved aside for Ben without realizing they did so, stood back fro him a few inches without meaning to. It wasn't awe or fear that made them wary, I thought, but uncertainty. They all knew the stories the Kelly women had told me about Ben and many more, and they were not sure how to treat him.
I did not wonder whether he was aware of the reaction. Peabody was a private detective, observation his stock in trade. Of course he was aware. But I did wonder how he felt about it. And then I didn't. I was the black sheep of the Caravan tour. I knew exactly what those speculative glances felt like.
When they returned a few minutes later, Ben set how own paper plate, already drooping, on his chair, then shook out a napkin and laid it in my lap. He presented my dinner with a flourish and a French accent.
"I believe Madame ordered le bouef a la brisket, les baked beans, le salad du potato, le cornbread avec honey, le corn on le cob, et le piece de resistance, le Jell-O salad avec les petite marshmallows. Bon appetit."
Nolie fluttered her eyelashes and made kissy lips when Ben turned to retrieve his food. I found it hard to glare at her and suppress a giggle at the same time.
Dinner conversation was light, revolving around food and other family barbecues. Ben's eyes, though merry, were never still. He scanned the shifting crowd so relentlessly that I finally asked whether he was watching for someone in particular.
"What? No, just . . . watching."
"Benjie's always on the lookout for the unusual," Quin explained.
"You'd be surprised what I learn by keeping my eyes open," Ben drawled. "For instance, Nolie, did you know that your husband here — "
"Ben! Don't bother the lady while she's eating."
"Don’t interrupt, dear. It's not polite. Do go on, Benjie."
"Thank you. He has a tendency to — "
"Say, isn't that Uncle Hoppy over there? Maybe we should so say hello. Come on, honey." Quin made as if to rise.
"Give it up," his wife laughed. "You know I'll find out anyway."
Ben turned to me and did a double take at my plate.
"Madame does not adore le Jell-O salad avec les petite marshmallows?" he asked solicitously.
"'Fraid not."
"Mais por quoi?"
"Two reasons: le Jell-O and les petite marshmallows. Two great tastes that do not taste great together."
A wash of honeysuckle scent distracted me from the banter. A moment later, Nancy sauntered up with a small square of dry cornbread balanced on a napkin in her palm.
"Well, there you all are," she said, as if we'd been hiding. "Enjoying your dinner, I hope. And speaking of poor taste," she turned toward Ben and me, "I just heard how the two of you met. Honestly, Benjamin, is it not possible for you to have a relationship with a woman that's not based on violence?"
Shock silenced us for several seconds. When Quin finally spoke, I realized I had never heard him truly angry before. Its normal warmth gone, his voice sounded alien and dangerous.
"Nancy, that is a terrible thing to say."
She could not possibly have missed the dagger glares from all sides, but she laughed them off. "Oh, lighten up! What happened to y'all's sense of humor?" And away she went, getting the last word once again.
Leah, on Ben's other side, reached over to give his arm a squeeze. "Don't listen to her, Benjie. Nobody thinks that."
With an effort, he refocused his gaze away from Nancy's retreating back and dampened the fury in it.
"Thank you. You're very kind. Incorrect, but very kind." He patted her hand.
Clearly there was more going on here than I understood. Nancy's remark had been rude, yes; an accusation of violence against women could not be construed as playful. But apparently it held some more personal significance as well.
Sensing my confusion, Ben turned to me with a sigh. In a flat voice he said, "You might as well know, Kielle. You'll hear it soon enough anyway. I was married for a few years to a demon named Melissa. Missy. Missy used to beat the shit out of me, or try to, at fairly regular intervals. And now she's in prison for trying to kill me."
My mouth fell open in dismay. I'd known my pen pal Peabody was divorced, but I hadn't known why. All I could think of to say was, "Holy shit, Ben! That's awful."
"It was," said Quin. "And there are some people who can't believe Ben never hit her back. But he never raised a hand to that woman even at the worst times."
"And of course, there are those who also believe that I'm less of a man for not defending myself," Ben added wryly. He had a right to be bitter. If he struck his wife, he was an abuser; if he didn't, a wimp. No win.
"But you did defend yourself. Just not by hitting her," Nolie reminded him.
"Yeah." Ben sounded suddenly tired. The laugh lines around his eyes, which I'd been admiring earlier, were nowhere to be seen now. I laid a hand on his shoulder.
"That just makes what Nancy said all the more hurtful. That was extra mean, even for her. She is officially the uber-bitch."
"The uberest," Nolie agreed. Nods all around.
"All right, then, that's settled. So let's not dwell." Ben slapped a hand on his knee. "We need cake." He rose and started collecting dirty plates. Quin joined him, and they detoured past the garbage cans on their way to the dessert table. Nolie waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke.
"It was worse than he'll ever say," she told me grimly. "That scar on his arm?" She rubbed the outside of her own left forearm. "That's from where she came after him with a crowbar that last time. If he hadn't gotten that arm up over his head in time, she really would have killed him."
Leah added, "It was a compound fracture — bone sticking out, blood everywhere. And she did this in our driveway. In front of my child." That was perhaps the worst offense in a mother's book.
"They had been living in New Orleans," Leah went on, "but things had gotten so bad Benjie left and came back here. Just for a week or so, to clear his head, he said, but we were all hoping he wouldn't go back."
Nolie picked up the thread. "He was staying at Maura's with her and Quill. They'd dragged him to church, then over to Q and Leah's for Sunday brunch. When he got out of the car, she came screaming out from behind the garage and laid into him. Apparently she'd followed him to Atlanta to get revenge for his leaving her.
"Anyway, she missed with the first swing and took out the windshield of Maura's Lincoln. The second time, she swung overhand. He was trapped between cars and couldn't sidestep her like he usually did."
"The crunching sound . . . it was horrible." Leah shuddered.
"Quin managed to grab her from behind while Quill wrestled the crowbar away from her. Leah ran inside with Jocelyn to call 911. Ben just knelt there in the yard while she fought Quin and screamed at him, and wouldn't let anybody touch him."
"Quentin fainted dead away at the sight of the blood. He keeled at Jocelyn's birth, too," Leah put in with a shake of her head.
"So the cops hauled Missy off and the ambulance took Ben. His arm needed surgery. His sister Dani — she's an attorney — made sure Missy was prosecuted to the full extent of the law. And maybe a little bit beyond. And no one knows what Dani said to her, but Missy signed divorce papers within 24 hours. Then she went up the river. And that was that," Nolie finished.
"For most of us, anyway," Leah said. "Ben doesn't regret never hitting Missy back, but I don't think he's forgiven himself for the lapse in judgment he made when he married her."
I could relate. I had chosen badly, too. But not that badly. I whistled through my teeth. "That is one hell of a story."
The men reappeared then with slabs of warm chocolate cake and bottles of cold beer, which worked magic on our mood. Nancy's mean-spiritedness was banished for the rest of the evening.
Food and drink mellowed me so thoroughly that I wasn't even surprised an hour later when Ben joined the band onstage to sing a couple of blues numbers in a whiskey growl, nor when he piggybacked me to the bonfire, nor when he carried me to Maura's car around midnight. It had taken distressingly little time to grow used to having him at my side.
"What time do you have to leave in the morning?" he asked, leaning into the car window on my side. He smelled of wood smoke.
Maura answered for me. "We'll have to leave the house by 9:30 to get to the airport on time."
"May I call in before that and check on my handiwork?" He nodded toward my ankle, still wrapped and sore but no longer encumbered by ice packs.
"Of course, dear. Come for breakfast."
To me he said, "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind." I wanted to mind, or at least not to care, but no such luck. I was already looking forward to seeing him again.
"Until tomorrow, then." he took the hand I offered and pressed it to his lips, which were warm and soft, not dry and rough like a hard man's ought to be. Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear.
I did not wonder whether he was aware of the reaction. Peabody was a private detective, observation his stock in trade. Of course he was aware. But I did wonder how he felt about it. And then I didn't. I was the black sheep of the Caravan tour. I knew exactly what those speculative glances felt like.
When they returned a few minutes later, Ben set how own paper plate, already drooping, on his chair, then shook out a napkin and laid it in my lap. He presented my dinner with a flourish and a French accent.
"I believe Madame ordered le bouef a la brisket, les baked beans, le salad du potato, le cornbread avec honey, le corn on le cob, et le piece de resistance, le Jell-O salad avec les petite marshmallows. Bon appetit."
Nolie fluttered her eyelashes and made kissy lips when Ben turned to retrieve his food. I found it hard to glare at her and suppress a giggle at the same time.
Dinner conversation was light, revolving around food and other family barbecues. Ben's eyes, though merry, were never still. He scanned the shifting crowd so relentlessly that I finally asked whether he was watching for someone in particular.
"What? No, just . . . watching."
"Benjie's always on the lookout for the unusual," Quin explained.
"You'd be surprised what I learn by keeping my eyes open," Ben drawled. "For instance, Nolie, did you know that your husband here — "
"Ben! Don't bother the lady while she's eating."
"Don’t interrupt, dear. It's not polite. Do go on, Benjie."
"Thank you. He has a tendency to — "
"Say, isn't that Uncle Hoppy over there? Maybe we should so say hello. Come on, honey." Quin made as if to rise.
"Give it up," his wife laughed. "You know I'll find out anyway."
Ben turned to me and did a double take at my plate.
"Madame does not adore le Jell-O salad avec les petite marshmallows?" he asked solicitously.
"'Fraid not."
"Mais por quoi?"
"Two reasons: le Jell-O and les petite marshmallows. Two great tastes that do not taste great together."
A wash of honeysuckle scent distracted me from the banter. A moment later, Nancy sauntered up with a small square of dry cornbread balanced on a napkin in her palm.
"Well, there you all are," she said, as if we'd been hiding. "Enjoying your dinner, I hope. And speaking of poor taste," she turned toward Ben and me, "I just heard how the two of you met. Honestly, Benjamin, is it not possible for you to have a relationship with a woman that's not based on violence?"
Shock silenced us for several seconds. When Quin finally spoke, I realized I had never heard him truly angry before. Its normal warmth gone, his voice sounded alien and dangerous.
"Nancy, that is a terrible thing to say."
She could not possibly have missed the dagger glares from all sides, but she laughed them off. "Oh, lighten up! What happened to y'all's sense of humor?" And away she went, getting the last word once again.
Leah, on Ben's other side, reached over to give his arm a squeeze. "Don't listen to her, Benjie. Nobody thinks that."
With an effort, he refocused his gaze away from Nancy's retreating back and dampened the fury in it.
"Thank you. You're very kind. Incorrect, but very kind." He patted her hand.
Clearly there was more going on here than I understood. Nancy's remark had been rude, yes; an accusation of violence against women could not be construed as playful. But apparently it held some more personal significance as well.
Sensing my confusion, Ben turned to me with a sigh. In a flat voice he said, "You might as well know, Kielle. You'll hear it soon enough anyway. I was married for a few years to a demon named Melissa. Missy. Missy used to beat the shit out of me, or try to, at fairly regular intervals. And now she's in prison for trying to kill me."
My mouth fell open in dismay. I'd known my pen pal Peabody was divorced, but I hadn't known why. All I could think of to say was, "Holy shit, Ben! That's awful."
"It was," said Quin. "And there are some people who can't believe Ben never hit her back. But he never raised a hand to that woman even at the worst times."
"And of course, there are those who also believe that I'm less of a man for not defending myself," Ben added wryly. He had a right to be bitter. If he struck his wife, he was an abuser; if he didn't, a wimp. No win.
"But you did defend yourself. Just not by hitting her," Nolie reminded him.
"Yeah." Ben sounded suddenly tired. The laugh lines around his eyes, which I'd been admiring earlier, were nowhere to be seen now. I laid a hand on his shoulder.
"That just makes what Nancy said all the more hurtful. That was extra mean, even for her. She is officially the uber-bitch."
"The uberest," Nolie agreed. Nods all around.
"All right, then, that's settled. So let's not dwell." Ben slapped a hand on his knee. "We need cake." He rose and started collecting dirty plates. Quin joined him, and they detoured past the garbage cans on their way to the dessert table. Nolie waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke.
"It was worse than he'll ever say," she told me grimly. "That scar on his arm?" She rubbed the outside of her own left forearm. "That's from where she came after him with a crowbar that last time. If he hadn't gotten that arm up over his head in time, she really would have killed him."
Leah added, "It was a compound fracture — bone sticking out, blood everywhere. And she did this in our driveway. In front of my child." That was perhaps the worst offense in a mother's book.
"They had been living in New Orleans," Leah went on, "but things had gotten so bad Benjie left and came back here. Just for a week or so, to clear his head, he said, but we were all hoping he wouldn't go back."
Nolie picked up the thread. "He was staying at Maura's with her and Quill. They'd dragged him to church, then over to Q and Leah's for Sunday brunch. When he got out of the car, she came screaming out from behind the garage and laid into him. Apparently she'd followed him to Atlanta to get revenge for his leaving her.
"Anyway, she missed with the first swing and took out the windshield of Maura's Lincoln. The second time, she swung overhand. He was trapped between cars and couldn't sidestep her like he usually did."
"The crunching sound . . . it was horrible." Leah shuddered.
"Quin managed to grab her from behind while Quill wrestled the crowbar away from her. Leah ran inside with Jocelyn to call 911. Ben just knelt there in the yard while she fought Quin and screamed at him, and wouldn't let anybody touch him."
"Quentin fainted dead away at the sight of the blood. He keeled at Jocelyn's birth, too," Leah put in with a shake of her head.
"So the cops hauled Missy off and the ambulance took Ben. His arm needed surgery. His sister Dani — she's an attorney — made sure Missy was prosecuted to the full extent of the law. And maybe a little bit beyond. And no one knows what Dani said to her, but Missy signed divorce papers within 24 hours. Then she went up the river. And that was that," Nolie finished.
"For most of us, anyway," Leah said. "Ben doesn't regret never hitting Missy back, but I don't think he's forgiven himself for the lapse in judgment he made when he married her."
I could relate. I had chosen badly, too. But not that badly. I whistled through my teeth. "That is one hell of a story."
The men reappeared then with slabs of warm chocolate cake and bottles of cold beer, which worked magic on our mood. Nancy's mean-spiritedness was banished for the rest of the evening.
Food and drink mellowed me so thoroughly that I wasn't even surprised an hour later when Ben joined the band onstage to sing a couple of blues numbers in a whiskey growl, nor when he piggybacked me to the bonfire, nor when he carried me to Maura's car around midnight. It had taken distressingly little time to grow used to having him at my side.
"What time do you have to leave in the morning?" he asked, leaning into the car window on my side. He smelled of wood smoke.
Maura answered for me. "We'll have to leave the house by 9:30 to get to the airport on time."
"May I call in before that and check on my handiwork?" He nodded toward my ankle, still wrapped and sore but no longer encumbered by ice packs.
"Of course, dear. Come for breakfast."
To me he said, "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind." I wanted to mind, or at least not to care, but no such luck. I was already looking forward to seeing him again.
"Until tomorrow, then." he took the hand I offered and pressed it to his lips, which were warm and soft, not dry and rough like a hard man's ought to be. Oh dear, I thought. Oh dear.
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