Dabney

Box was relentless. He went with her everywhere now. She was never alone. They went to dinner together, they read together, they went to bed together. There were still no sexual overtures from him, which was a blessing.

During her walk, she called Clen.

He said, “Jesus, woman, when am I going to see you?”

She said, “I was free yesterday at five, but you had plans. What plans?”

He said, “That I can’t tell you.”

She said, “Elizabeth Jennings?”

He said, “I hate to tell you this, Cupe, but you sound jealous.”

“I am jealous,” she said. “What were the plans?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “But it wasn’t Elizabeth. She did, however, drop off a homemade blueberry pie on my porch with a little note.”

“Homemade pie? Elizabeth?” Dabney said. “Her chef probably made it.”

“Jealous and catty!” Clen said. He sounded delighted.

“I can come today at five, “ Dabney said. “Or do you have plans again?”

“No plans,” he said. “Except to devour you.”

  

Dabney went to see Clen at five, but she had to do so under the auspices of going to the salon to get her hair cut. She figured this bought her an hour and a half, which she and Clen desperately needed. She listened to his voice in her ear, she tasted his skin, she felt him squeeze her—it hurt! But squeeze harder!—and it was just like she had never been apart from him. He was hers, she was his, they were one.

But then the countdown began. They had fifteen minutes left, then ten, then five.

“Will you miss me?” she asked.

“I miss you already,” he said.

As Dabney gathered her car keys, she watched the storm cloud cross his face, which exactly matched the shadow over her heart. She hated to leave him.

“I have to tell Box,” she said. “I want to be with you all the time.”

“So tell Box,” he said.

She nodded. “I will.” And then she thought, I can’t.

  

She had asked Clen again what his plans had been the day before at five o’clock and he had again declined to say, calling her a nosey parker. Her gut told her it was Elizabeth Jennings and Clen just didn’t want to admit it, but they had such a good time together that Dabney didn’t want to spoil it in a tug-of-war of accusation and denial.

He deserved his privacy, she thought. Though she didn’t believe this.

  

When she arrived home, Box studied her hair with narrowed eyes. “It looks the same,” he said.

“My hair always looks the same,” Dabney said. “It’s looked exactly the same since the fourth grade, when my grandmother bought me my first headband. Pink grosgrain ribbon with navy-blue whales, purchased at Murray’s Toggery.” Dabney narrowed her eyes right back at him. “God, I remember that day so vividly. Why do you think that is? Because of the headband? My grandmother didn’t spend money on pretty things, but she bought me that headband to keep the hair out of my eyes and I was thrilled with it.”

Box moved in closer, then lifted a lock of her hair and sniffed it. “It doesn’t smell like it usually does when you get back from the salon.”

Dabney swatted him away. “What are you talking about?”

“Your hair doesn’t have the salon smell and it looks the same as when you left.”

Dabney couldn’t believe this. Box had never before noticed the “salon smell” of her hair.

He said, “Dabney, did you go to the salon?”

“Yes!” she said. There was exasperation in her voice that was exasperation about having to lie. “Call the salon yourself if you don’t believe me!”

For a second, she thought he might do exactly that. She tried to imagine how compromised Box’s dignity would be if he stooped to calling the salon to confirm that Dabney had actually been in for an appointment. And then when Lindsey, the receptionist, said that no, they hadn’t seen Dabney that afternoon, Dabney’s appointment was for Saturday afternoon (so that her hair would look nice and smell pretty for the Levinsons’ annual Backyard BBQ on Abrams Point), what would Box say?

Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry, because Box let the issue go, and Dabney was able to breathe. That night, they went to the Proprietors with Agnes—who seemed preoccupied and strangely quiet—and a certain normalcy was restored.

But as she and Box brushed their teeth and climbed into bed that night, she thought, I don’t want normalcy.

She wanted Clendenin.