Indelible

She felt a lump rise in her throat as she was reminded yet again of how much had been taken from her.

Jeffrey pointed to a large building on their right. "There's the hospital," he said. "I was born there back when it was just two stories and a gravel parking lot."

She stared at the building, trying to regain her composure.

He handed her his handkerchief. "You okay?"

Sara took the cloth. She had been tearing up before, and for some reason his gesture made her want to really cry. Instead, she wiped her nose and said, "Must be the pollen."

"Here," he said, leaning over to roll up the window. "Damn dog-woods."

She put her hand on the back of his neck, brushing her fingers through his hair. She was always surprised by how soft it was, almost like a child's.

He looked up at the road, then back to her. He gave her one of his half-smiles, saying, "God, you're so beautiful."

She blew her nose to defray the compliment.

He sat up, slowing the car more. "You're beautiful," he repeated, kissing her just below the ear. The car slowed more, and he kissed her again.

"You're going to block traffic," she warned, but theirs was the only car on the road.

He kissed her again, this time on the lips. She was torn between enjoying the sensation and the odd feeling that half the hospital was looking out the blinds at the spectacle they were making.

She gently pushed him away, saying, "I don't want to end up being one of the 'local points of interest' for the next girl you bring here."

He asked, "You think I bring other girls here?" and she could not tell if he was serious or not.

A car horn beeped behind them and he resumed the posted thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. Sara knew better than to point out that this was the first time he had driven the speed limit since they had gotten into the car. Something had shifted, but she was not quite sure what. Before she could think of a way to frame the question, he turned onto a side street by the hospital and pulled into a driveway behind a dark blue pickup truck. A pink child's bike was propped against the front porch and a tire swing hung from the tall oak in the yard. She asked, "This is your mother's house?"

"Last detour." He gave her a smile that seemed forced. "I'll be right back," he said, and got out of the car before she could ask him who lived here.

Sara watched Jeffrey walk up to the front door and knock. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned back around. She waved, but then realized he probably couldn't see her because of the glare. Jeffrey knocked again, but there was still no answer. He turned back toward the car, shielding the sun out of his eyes and holding up his finger to her, indicating he would just be another minute. She opened the car door to get out as he ran around the back of the house.

Sara surveyed the neighborhood as she waited for him. The street was fairly similar to those in Avondale, which was not exactly the nicest part of Grant County. The houses looked to have been hastily built to accommodate the soldiers who returned from World War II, ready to start their families and put the war behind them. During the mid-1940s, the area must have been nice, but now it looked run-down. There were a couple of cars on blocks, and a fair number of the yards needed to be trimmed. The paint was peeling on most of the houses, and weeds grew out of the sidewalks. Some of the owners had not yet given up the fight, though, and their immaculate yards and vinyl-sided houses showed meticulous care. The one Jeffrey had parked in front of fell into this second category, with its carefully manicured lawn and well-raked gravel driveway.

Sara went up the drive, passing the truck. A large orange stripe went down the side, with the words "Auburn Tigers" painted in blue. There was an orange flag with a blue paw print on it swaying by the front door. She noticed the mailbox was painted orange and blue, too. Apparently, someone in the house was a college football fan.

Without warning, a small dog ran up the sidewalk and jumped at her, putting his dirty paws on Sara's skirt. She told him, "No," to no avail, then finally knelt down to pet the overly excited animal so he would stop jumping.

The dog barked, and Sara tried not to gag at his breath. She stroked back the fur on its head, thinking she had never seen an uglier animal in her life. Halfway down his back, he had curly hair like a poodle, but the fur on his legs was wiry like a terrier's. The coloring was an ungodly mixture of black, gray, and tan. His eyes bugged out as if someone were squeezing his testicles, even though a quick check proved he didn't have any. The check also revealed he was a she.

Sara stood, trying to brush the paw prints off her skirt. Georgia clay didn't have a thing on Alabama dirt, and nothing short of a long soak would take the stains out.

"Zaftig!" a man called from the driveway, and Sara felt herself blush crimson until she realized the man was not talking to her.

He held a shopping bag in one hand and patted his leg with the other. "Tig! Come're, girl." The dog did not leave Sara's side, and the man laughed good-naturedly as he walked across the front yard. He stopped in front of Sara, giving a low whistle as he looked her up and down. "Darlin', if you're one a them Jehova's Witnesses, I'm ready to convert."

The front door banged open, and a dark-haired woman around Sara's age walked outside. "Don't listen to that fool," she told Sara, giving her the once-over with considerably less appreciation than the man had showed. "Sara, right?"

"Uh," Sara stammered. "Right."

"I'm Darnell, but everybody calls me Nell. This'n's my husband, Jerry."

"Call me Possum," he said, tipping his orange and blue baseball cap.

Confused, Sara told them, "Nice to meet you both."

"Ma'am." Possum tipped his hat again before heading into the house.

Nell let the dog in, but not Sara. "So," she said, leaning against the doorjamb. "You're Jeffrey's new thing?"

Sara could not tell if she was joking, but she had had enough of this sort of treatment in Grant. She crossed her arms, resigned. "I suppose so."

Nell twisted her lips to the side, still not finished. "Are you a stewardess or a stripper?"

Sara barked a laugh, but stopped when Nell didn't join in. She squared her shoulders, choosing "Stripper" because it sounded more exotic.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Jeffrey said you work with children."

Sara tried to think of something witty, but could only come up with "I use balloon animals in my act."

"Right." Nell finally stepped aside. "They're all in the back."

Sara walked into the living room of the modest home, which contained more Auburn paraphernalia than was probably legal. Pom-poms and pe

Nell led her down a hall toward the back door, but Sara stopped in front of a framed magazine cover. Underneath the SEC Monthly ba

Before she could stop herself, Sara asked, "He played for Auburn?"

Darnell finally laughed. "He got you into bed without showing you his Sugar Bowl ring?" she asked, managing to make Sara sound stupid and loose at the same time.

"Hey," Jeffrey said, coming in a little too late for Sara's liking. He was holding a bottle of beer in his hand. "I see y'all met."