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CHAPTER 37

The Power Of Song

      NOBODY SPOKE much after Gallatin had finished.

      It was closing time anyway and people went home just as usual, although several of them stopped to tell Gallatin and the band how much they'd enjoyed the music.

      As people passed Lucy, many of them spoke to her. Tagg wished her good night, of course, but she had no idea what she answered him. She remembered that Gene left in a hurry, going home to Melida.

      The band put away their instruments and headed back to the house to get some sleep. Shark went with them.

      When the doors were securely closed, Bobby said, "I'm walking Swan home tonight."

      Of course. Tonight he would have to. "What do I say to Normalade?" Lucy asked him dreamily.

      "Tell her . . . say I'll be home later. Say that somebody got stuck in the sand out back, and I had to go get Clive to drag them out."

      "But you will come home? Because if you don't — "

      "I'll come, Sis; I swear. But right now I'm going. Swan's waiting for me."

      "Wait — if you take the pickup, how will I get home?"

      "You take it. I'll walk back, or she'll bring me. I'm going, Lucy." And he did go, leaving Lucy all by herself.

      She swept up alone. Washed up, turned off the lights. Turned off the sign. Locked up, and went out to the pickup.

      As she drove slowly down the washboard road, she noticed that the wind was all gone, and the air was clear as frost. Looking around, she began to see that it was a truly beautiful night, with a big white moon, almost full. Everything looked so clear it hurt her eyes. She was halfway home before she realized she'd never turned on the headlights, because the moon's light was so bright. The pickup moved slow and dark, almost silent along Old Trail Road, hardly raising any dust behind it, ghosting along like a dream, because she drove so slow.

      The house was all dark except for one light in the front room. When Lucy got in, Mrs. Panadero was alone and Normalade was already asleep upstairs. So they two just said good night, very softly, and Mrs. Panadero went away.

      Lucy turned off the lights and went out on the screened-in porch.

      She took off her things in the dark. She just dropped them on the floor and let them lie.

      And then, as she stood naked in the dark, and her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw that someone was there waiting for her.

      It was Gallatin.

      Lucy was not surprised or startled. She'd known from the look in his eyes tonight that he would be here. Naked as she was, she came into his arms, and he opened up his arms for her, and his hard, strong hands touched her body.

      He kissed her mouth and her eyes and her throat and her breasts. Kissed as if he was hungry for her. As if he could eat her up with kisses.

      Kissed the inside of her elbows and the palms of her hands. Got down on his knees and kissed her stomach, and then drew her down on the hard cold floor beside him and kissed her thighs. Rolled her over and kissed her back and her bottom — exactly as someone would kiss the innocent body of a tiny baby.

      And all the while she was winding and twining herself around him like a pliant vine, wrapping herself round him like vines of honeysuckle. Wanting to cover him, to slide all over him like a water-reed, to bind his body to hers and never let him go.

      Wanting to get closer and closer. To be covered with the same skin, to become a single creature with him, to move as he moved, and feel what he felt.

      Until they were trembling with the same motion. Until she couldn't tell where she left off and he began. Then she opened herself to him, and he entered her body with a hungriness that made her shudder with her own hunger. It hurt, but weight of him was on her, bruising her back on the cold board floor of the screened-in porch — and she wanted him to weigh more, to hurt more . . . to crush her and consume her so that she could get still closer into him.

      And then . . . there was a moment of piercing sweetness when she knew nothing but sensation.

      When that happened, she departed from herself, just as she had done during his singing. Except that when she had been listening, she had felt only distance and loss . . . and this time she was inside the joy of closeness to him and the touch of his warm skin.

      And all this time, neither of them had said a word, nor made a sound.

      Later, when they had rested, they climbed into Lucy's narrow bed and covered themselves with Lucy's quilt. There they went to sleep, still naked, twined around each other, cuddled up like puppies, soft together as two cats.

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