SUMMER HEAT

Featuring Davin Hart, an original Russell-based character

By Atonia Walpole

Part One:

It was one of those hot sultry southern days when the air itself felt like a warm wet sponge. Myra lounged on the porch swing of the old farmhouse letting one bare foot hang over the side to keep the motion going. She rubbed the side of her iced tea glass over her forehead, leaving a trail of cool drops of moisture. The roar of a powerful bike brought her out of her reverie and she sat up straight, her whole body tensed, watching the trail of dust follow the bike. He was almost at the fork in the road. Would he take the left or the right today? She settled back down. He’d gone left. She smiled to herself. One day he's going to take the right road…the right road, she chuckled deep in her chest.

Myra Seldon got up and walked over to the edge of the porch, listening. The tractor was still. That meant he would be coming in for his dinner. She sipped her tea, letting the ice stay against her teeth until it hurt.

Wayne Seldon washed his hands and face at the kitchen sink, taking a palm full of cold water for the back of his neck. “Smells good,” he said, rubbing his face and neck with Myra’s kitchen towel.

She watched him with the towel. It irritated her to no end that he used her dish towels that way. Why couldn’t he go to the half bath under the stairway like anybody else would do? Nothing she had ever said changed a thing about him. He just was.

She dished up his potato salad and fried chicken, smothered squash and cole slaw, setting the plate on the kitchen table.

“It’s too hot to cook. I think we’re going to have salads for awhile, something cold and crisp.” she announced from the refrigerator as she filled a glass with ice and poured his tea.

“Salads? When you can cook like this? Nah, a man can’t work on salad, Myra.” He sat down and dove into his dinner. Myra fixed herself a plate and sat opposite him.

“I’ll turn on the fan,” she said, getting up and switching on the revolving fan that sat on the old dresser in the farm kitchen. The air conditioner had been out for two months and it was now getting into July.

“My mama never had a fan,” he said with his mouth full of squash. “I reckon she just sweated a lot.”

“I’m sure she did.” Myra forked a piece of chicken. His mama never had a lot of things. She looked up across the table as he ate his dinner. His daddy had never given a thought what his mama might need or want.  He took a drink of his tea, his light blue eyes meeting hers for a moment. Nothing passed between them.

Myra reminded herself he was a good man. He provided for her, looked after her. He was a hard worker and had brought the farm back from near bankruptcy  when his daddy died. Her gaze landed on his hands, busy with the knife and fork, rough and work-reddened. She let those hands caress her body at night. She let him because she was his wife and had been for twelve years.  She narrowed her eyes. When had the gray began to creep into his temples, a few flecks here and there in the dark brown close-cut hair still wet from the dousing at the sink.

“You’re not eating?” he said, reaching for another biscuit.

“It’s too hot to eat.” She pushed the food around in her plate, settling on a bite of slaw.

“It's summer, supposed to be hot. You should be out there on that tractor all afternoon.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” she said, getting up from the table for the tea pitcher.

He took his last glass of tea to the hot, stuffy front room and turned on the TV. Checking his watch, he waited for the weather report to come on.

Myra ran her hand through her damp hair, pushing it behind her ears. She looked at the table and the food she’d cooked for him. He’d made a big dent in it. He was getting a little thick around the middle. He could do with a few salads. She stood up and dumped all the leftovers into the garbage can and walked to the door of the living room. “I thought I’d ride into town. Is there anything you want?”

“Nope. What do you need from town?”

A change of air, a new life…Davin.  “Some personals,” she lied.

“It’s gonna rain. I’d better get the field finished if I can.” He got up and walked past her, picking up his still sweat-dampened baseball cap.

Myra leaned against the doorway until she heard the back door shut. She ran up the stairs, changed into a different dress, washed her face, applied a little lipstick, blotting it on a piece of toilet paper, and combed her hair out. She was still pretty at thirty-two. Her dark wavy hair lay hot around her neck but she wouldn’t put it up. Dark blue eyes looked back at her with a hint of devilment about them. Bedroom eyes he’d once called them.

The air conditioner in the car made chill bumps on her arms as she drove up the dirt road.  It felt good. She wanted to be chilled after the hot, humid house.  Pushing a CD into the slot, she turned up the sound until it blotted out everything.

As Wayne climbed up on his tractor, he glanced out toward the road, seeing the dust behind her car. He felt like he was always seeing the dust behind her, was almost afraid to see what was there when it settled. He started the tractor, turning it, and beginning another round. He failed to see the dust kicked up behind the bike as it headed up the dirt road again. 

Davin Hart

Unlike most of the people he grew up with, Davin had left home when he got out of high school and joined the Air Force for four years. When he got out, he went to college and got a degree. He’d spent his time in the force taking photographs and writing for them. Now he was writing for himself. He’d published a book and to his amazement it had gone to the top. He’d come home because his father had died and to take care of his mother.

In school he’d been the resident bad boy, caught smoking, caught skipping school, caught with Myra Boise in the locker room. His good looks and personality had seen him through. He could charm the birds from the trees if he wanted to. He’d sparked jealousy among the local farm boys because he seemed to get away with most anything.  The girls loved him but none more than Myra Boise.

Davin and Myra were sweethearts, lovers, a couple. He’d broken her heart when he left town. It had hurt him, too, but he wasn’t about to end up like his father, wasn’t cut out to be a farmer.  He’d asked Myra to wait for him. He’d come back for her after his stint in the military and they would go away somewhere. When he’d stopped writing to her, she panicked. Wayne Seldon had stepped in.

He kept pretty much to himself when he came back. He wasn’t a part of it anymore. His high school days were behind him as though they belonged to someone else. The girls he’d gone to school with still smiled when they saw him, usually with a baby on their hip, and tried to strike up conversations, asking him if he’d seen Myra. When she’d married Wayne it had been a blow but he knew it was his own fault. When he left this little sleepy farm town he’d left it all behind, including Myra. Now he was back. Nothing had changed, everything had changed. He didn’t fit.

He parked his bike in front of the roadhouse and went inside, looking for a cold beer.

“I don’t believe it! Davin Hart! Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“Hi, Dave, mostly around the house,” he replied, taking a cigarette out of the pack and tamping it on the bar. “Let me have an Amstel. When did you start bartending?”

“Oh, ‘bout five years ago. I bought this place, you know?”

“No, I didn’t.” He took a long drink from the bottle.

“Sorry to hear about your pa. How’s your mama holding up?”

“She’s okay, thanks, Dave.”

“Sarah went to the funeral. I married Sarah Cooley. Don’t know if you heard that or not?”

“I’ve been out of touch. Belated congrats to you,then.” Davin looked around the familiar bar. “We sure spent a lot of time in here.”

“Yeah, we did, thanks to Billy. He knew we were underage and turned a blind eye to us. Yeah,those were the days.” He leaned on the bar. “Mand whoever and you and Myra. I reckon you heard she was married?”

“Yeah, I heard that.”  Davin took another drink and a draw on his cigarette.

“Married Wayne Seldon, of all people. Sure took us all by surprise.”

Davin flicked ashes in the tray. He didn’t want to talk about Myra.  Dave listened to the silence for a minute then changed the topic of conversation.

“Hey, I read your book!” He laughed a little. “Who would have ever thought Miss Brevard’s failing pupil would have it in him to write like that? But what do old English teachers know anyway?”

Davin smiled. “She probably knew a lot. I just didn’t listen.” He finished his beer, paid, and left.

He got on his bike not really knowing where he was going and ended up down by the old mill, the pond where he’d swum as a boy and where taken Myra’s cherry away. He got off the bike and walked down to the edge of the pond, sitting in the grass. He lit a cigarette and allowed himself to think about Myra.

Myra Seldon

Myra was in the drug store looking through the makeup. She didn’t wear it but it was something to do. Something to pass the time. She picked up a bottle of nail polish and smiled. Revlon Cherries in the Snow. She’d worn that in school, dark red nails and toes. It had been a long time since she’d worn polish. Dark red nails and toes, bikinis and suntanned legs, nights at the mill pond with Davin. She bought the polish,  adding it to the People magazine and box of Tampax she didn’t need. Wayne might notice what she’d bought. He was like that.

She left the drug store, walking down the sidewalk, window shopping. It was after six and all the stores were closed. They didn’t have anything she wanted anyway.

“Myra, I thought that was you.” Sarah Brown closed her car door.

“Hi, Sarah, no kiddies?”

“I left them with Mama. Got to get a prescription filled for Henry. He’s got another ear infection.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Myra watched her step up on the sidewalk. When had she gained so much weight?

“I, uh, talked to Dave a little while ago. He said Davin had been in, says he looks good.” Sarah watched Myra’s face.

“He always did,” she said.

Seeing she wasn’t going to add anything, Sarah hitched her shoulder bag. “You’re right, Myra. He always did look good. I saw him at the funeral but he didn’t talk to anybody, hid behind them sunglasses.”

“You’d better get on in, Sarah. The druggist will leave at seven.”

“Yeah, see you, Myra.”

Myra went to her car and sat for awhile with the air conditioner blowing in her face.  Backing out of the parking space, she drove down the street. She stopped at the only stoplight in town and stared at the fire station across the street. Beyond that down a shaded dirt road off to the left and down a hill was the mill pond. She hadn’t been there in ages. Suddenly she had a desire to dip her feet in the pond. It would be cool and shady there.

ON TO PART 2

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