Carnal Innocence

bayou. Tucker kept an eye out for snakes as he settled down on
    Taking his time, he pulled out a cigarette, pinched a miserly bit from the tip, then lighted it.
    He’d always liked the water—not so much the pound and thrust of the ocean, but the still darkness of shady ponds, the murmur of streams, the steady pulse of the river. Even as a boy he’d been drawn to it, using the excuse of fishing to sit and think, or sit and doze, listening to the plop of frogs and the monotonous drone of cicadas.
    He’d had only childish problems to face then. Whether he was going to get skinned for that D in geography, how to finesse a new bike for Christmas. And later, whether he should ask Arnette or Carolanne to the Valentine’s Day dance.
    As you got older, problems swelled. He remembered grieving for his father when the old man went and got himself killed in that Cessna traveling down to Jackson. But that had been nothing, nothing at allcompared to the sharp, stunning misery he’d felt when he found his mother crumpled in her garden, already too close to death for any doctor to fix her seizured heart.
    He’d come here often then, to ease himself past the misery. And eventually, like all things, it had faded. Except at the odd moments when he’d glance out a window, half expecting to see her—face shaded by that big straw hat with the chiffon scarf trailing—clipping overblown roses.
    Madeline Longstreet would not have approved of Edda Lou. She would, naturally, have found her coarse, cheap, and cunning. And, Tucker thought as he slowly drew in and expelled smoke, would have expressed her disapproval by that excruciating politeness any true southern lady could hone to a razor-edged weapon.
    His mother had been a true southern lady.
    Edda Lou, on the other hand, was a fine piece of work. Physically speaking. Big-breasted, wide-hipped, with skin she kept dewy by slathering on Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion every morning and night of her life. She had an eager, hardworking mouth, willing hands, and by God, he’d enjoyed her.
    He hadn’t loved her, nor had he claimed to. Tucker considered promises of love a cheap tool for persuading a woman into bed. He’d shown her a good time, in bed and out. He wasn’t a man to stop the courtship process once a woman had spread her legs.
    But the minute she’d started hinting about marriage, he’d taken a long step back. First he’d given her a cooling-off period, taking her out maybe twice in a two-week period and cutting off sex completely. He’d told her flat out that he had no intention of getting married. But he’d seen by the smug look in her eye she hadn’t believed him. So he’d broken it off. She’d been tearful but civilized. Tucker saw now that she’d believed she’d be able to reel him back.
    Tucker also had no doubt now that she’d heard he’d been seen with someone else.
    All of that mattered. And none of it mattered. If Edda Lou was pregnant, he was pretty sure that despiteprecautions—he was the one who’d made her so. Now he had to figure out what to do about it.
    He was surprised Austin Hatinger hadn’t already come looking for him with his shotgun loaded. Austin wasn’t the most understanding of men, and he’d never been fond of the Longstreets. The fact was, he hated them, and had ever since Madeline LaRue had chosen Beau Longstreet, ending forever Austin’s blind dream of marrying her himself.
    Since then Austin had turned into one mean, hard-bitten son of a bitch. It was common knowledge that he slapped his wife around when the mood was on him. He used the same thumping discipline with each of his five children—the oldest of which, A.J., was now serving time in Jackson for grand theft auto.
    Austin had spent a few nights behind bars himself. Assault, assault and battery, disorderly conduct—usually carried out while spouting scripture or calling on the Lord. Tucker figured it was only a matter of time before Austin came after him with that shotgun or those ham-sized fists.
    He’d just have to deal with it.
    Just as he’d have to deal with his responsibility to Edda Lou. Responsibility was what it was, and he’d be damned if he’d marry responsibility. She might have been skilled in bed, but she couldn’t keep up her end of a conversation with a hydraulic jack. And, he’d discovered, she was as small-brained and cunning as a she-fox. That was one thing he wasn’t about to face over breakfast every morning for the rest of his