The Taste of Regret

The Taste of Regret

         Seen through the driving rain of a spring storm she resembled a wet cat, hunched over in the corner of the bus-stop shelter, protecting the child in her arms. He'd seen her outside the Guadalupe St. welfare office several times before when driving past, but hadn't stopped.

          Now, hailstones drummed on the roof of the pickup, giving him a sense of urgency. He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he veered over to the curb, leaned over to open the door and motioned for her to get in. As he reached out to help her get in, the touch of her made sparks fly--static electricity from the storm, he supposed. She slammed the door, cutting off the cold and the sweet smell of cedar that the norther brought down from the hill country.

          After she settled the baby  between them, she locked his gaze with those wide-open blue eyes that reminded him still of a child discovering her world. Her face looked like she had a bruise under one eye, covered with makeup, but perhaps it was a trick of the light.  Even with her hair down, half-covering her face with wet stringy ringlets, she looked fine, just as pretty as he remembered.

         And he knew exactly how she would taste if he ate her up like a bowl of ice cream.

****

         She glanced up at him from under the protection of her hair. She noticed some changes. The laugh lines on his face were a little deeper. The lock of hair that always escaped from under his Stetson, down onto his forehead, was graying. But under the worn jeans and denim jacket, his body still looked whipcord-thin and strong.

         He hadn't changed as much as she had, she thought wryly as she glanced down at her body. Three kids in a row had added a few pounds and shifted those she had. Jacquelyn fretted and gave a brief cry, wanting the breast, but she decided the baby would have to wait. The sudden drop in temperature outside frosted the windows and made the cab of the truck a warm and steamy private place. She smelled the musky maleness of him as he drove the pickup with studied concentration through the rain. Funny how his smell--leather, sweat, tobacco, horses, but mostly his plain man-smell--brought back memories of her initiation to love. She felt a stirring of heat in her loins as she remembered exactly how he would taste if she kissed him.

         Neither of them seemed to know how to start the conversation, she thought. There was either nothing to say or there was too much to say. Tires hissing, the truck slithered down the street between rows of vacant storefronts and honky tonks, between failed dreams and false gaiety.

         "Where you want me to take you?" he finally asked without looking over at her.

         "I live off Barton Springs Rd. Turn there." She forced some animation into her voice to break the tension. "I 'preciate you stopping to pick me up," she said. "I bet you didn't even recognize me," she said coyly.

         "Who are you?" he teased. "Did we ever meet before, little girl?"

         "Oh, Jack, cut out the little girl stuff," she said with some annoyance, mostly at herself for having started the game. "I'm a grown woman now with three kids. Not the little girl you used to know." Or tumble in the seat of an old pickup, she thought.

         "I reckon that's true," he said. He paused, seeming to turn that over in his mind, and then said carefully, "How are things going for you, Carrie?"

         That wasn't a question she wanted to answer. Unconsciously she fingered the faint mark under her eye. Then she turned away and looked out through the rain-swept window at the dark river passing under the bridge below them.

         "Oh, you know. Up and down. Petes out of work...again."

         Why had she said that, she thought. She didnt want Jack to pity her. She needed to move the conversation to more neutral ground. She glanced around the pickups interior as though she were a sailor home from a long voyage, looking for familiar things--and seeking signs of another woman's presence. She realized what she was doing and spoke to conceal her irritation.

         "What do you do? Shovel out the beer cans and ring-tops from the old truck and put them into the new one to make it seem like home?"

         "Oho, the little kitten grew up and got claws."

         "No. Just grew up, I guess. Are you still married?"

         "No. Elizabeth and I got divorced right after we stopped seeing each other."

         "Not because of..." She stopped because she was unsure if she really wanted to know.

         "Us? No, I can't rightly say that. She never suspected as far as I know. We were ready to move on with our lives, I reckon...just without each other."

         He grinned that lop-sided grin that made him so boyish and appealing still, and her heart leaped just like the old days.

         "After we stopped seeing each other? You mean after you broke up with me, don't you? He didnt answer, so she went on. "Why didn't you call me when you were free, Jack?" she said softly.

         "How would that have looked? I'm old enough to be your daddy."

         "I was over the age of consent. And as I recall it, I damned near had to get naked to seduce you. Women always make the decisions about sex, you know."

         "Haw!" He grinned. "And here all that time I thought I was the one in control, a goddam jackaroo seducer."

         She smiled back. "You were so slow I thought I'd be an old maid before you got around to making a pass at me." Then she turned a serious face to him. "Really, why didn't you call me?"

         "Well, I heard around town you had gone and got you a young fellow and were about to be married. Didn't think it was my place to interfere." He looked over at the baby in the carrier on the seat between them and nodded. "Looks like I was right."

         "Meet Jacquelyn," she said and held the baby up for inspection.

         "That's a pretty name. Nice baby. And you got two more...?"

         "Both boys. Jackie is eight and Billy's three. They're at their Grandmas while I took her to the doctor at the clinic. I dont have to be anywhere until five..."

          She stopped in confusion, her face aflame. It sounded like an invitation. That wasn't what she had meant. Or had she?

         He ignored her remark, continuing as though he hadn't heard, "I keep hearing around town about you being a writer. How'd you get started doing that?"

         He'd changed the subject and let her gently off the hook. If she wanted to be let off.
         "You started me off. Remember that diary you gave me for my eighteenth birthday? I used to write in it every day about what wed do or say."  

         "I gave you a diary? I don't rightly remember."

         "Thats why you write in a diary, so you wont forget the important things you learn about life....or the people who are important to you."

         "I guess there's a time when you have to put those girlish memories away."

         "Not all of them. Not the good ones."

         "No. Reckon not. We had us some good times," he said and sighed.

         "So you forgot about the diary. What do you remember?"

****

         As he turned onto Barton Springs Road, his thoughts raced back to that year when he was thirty nine, coming to grips with the reality of a failed marriage and unrealized dreams. He and Carrie met at a western dancehall and started going out. Carrie was just blooming into womanhood and loved him without reservation. It was a magic time in his life.

          How could he tell her about the sheer joy and anticipation of every meeting? Followed by guilt because there was so much difference in their ages. How could he explain about the burst of conscience that made him end the affair. Or the pain of giving her up? And how the diary was given with the secret hope, scarcely admitted to himself, that she might think of him sometimes with fond memories.

         "I remember I told you there'd come a day when you'd get married and have a bunch of kids. That it'd be best if you forgot about me."

         "You didnt believe it. Not the forgetting part. Not in your heart of hearts, you didn't."

         "I believed it," he said firmly. Another small white lie wouldnt hurt.

         "Well, you were wrong. You know what they say about first love."

         "No, what about it?"

         "It stays with you forever. I really did love you, you old fool."

She stared out through the pouring rain without looking at him, exhaled and firmly said, "Pull over into the park when we get there. I have to feed the baby or she'll cry."

****

          He turned into the park and found a parking area deserted and empty because of the storm, one they had used many times before. She turned to him, their eyes locked, and he felt the challenge in her gaze. As the windshield fogged over, she began to open the buttons on her sodden blouse. Simultaneously, without a word, they leaned toward each other to kiss.

         He knew exactly how she would taste. There'd be the sweetness of mother's milk--and the bitter taste of regret.