Gunpowder Lips

The single story yellow house was eerily familiar. Luther slipped into a strange nostalgic stupor for a moment as he pulled into the gravel driveway, recalling hearing his own voice mumbling and a feminine voice crying softly. That was the only time he’d ever seen her cry. Luther winced, hurrying to get rid of that awful memory once again.

“Who’s out there?”

His chest tightened with nerves when he heard that voice, usually soft but sharp with uncertainty and colored with that drawl he had himself. Melody was standing behind the screen door, trying to shield her eyes from the sun so she could see whose white car had parked in her yard.

Luther told himself not to be a coward and climbed out, watching her face carefully to make sure there wouldn’t be a violent reaction. Quite to the contrary she gasped, then the door was flying open and she was running the ten or so feet to throw her arms around him. There was no denying that the embrace was welcomed, and she smelled like baking and it was so wonderfully homey that Luther drug in a long breath of her almost unconsciously.

When she pulled back he could look at her better, and it brought a smile to his face. She was still beautiful, definitely the prettiest girl in Arbor if not in Alabama. Reddish brown hair that was just as thick as he remembered, tied back in a ponytail with a few short pieces loose in the front and tickling her forehead. Freckles dusted across her nose, rosebud lips in a jubilant grin, steely green eyes ringed with hazel shining as she looked at him with that same expression of warmth she had fourteen years ago.

“I didn’t think you’d come to see me.” she said quietly, breath blowing across his face.

Then Luther realized he was still holding her waist, and let her go with a cough, gold ring white hot on his left hand. “That was stupid of you.”

“Well, I guess I hoped.” sighed Melody, eyes roving over him the way his had just done to her. “Are ya comin’ in? I just made peach cobbler.”

His stomach responded for him, howling its fury that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. “That sounds great, Mel.” The old nickname fell from his lips easily. Almost too easily, Luther thought as he followed her into the house.

“You know, I almost didn’t believe Brody when he said you were coming back. He nearly got hit with a trowel ‘cause I thought he was lyin’ to me.” Melody chuckled, a few strides ahead of Luther so she disappeared into the kitchen. “Want some coffee, Luther?”

He removed his hat before sitting down at the table, the old wooden chair giving a tired squeak under his weight. “If it’s already made up.”

“I was just about to make a fresh pot anyway.” shrugged the woman as she sliced into the steaming cobbler on the stove, then glancing over her shoulder to smirk at Luther. “So what have you been up to for over a decade?”

“Not a whole lot. Thank you.” Luther took the offered plate with an appreciative smile, mouth watering at the huge chunk she’d cut him. “I’m actually here to talk about what you’ve been up to.”

Melody’s hands froze in the process of pouring water into the coffee maker and she spoke in a deadly voice. “Do not tell me Valerie and Brody sent you.”

“They asked me to talk to you, but I’m here on my own.” Luther swallowed the sweet and tart and absolutely delicious still-warm bite in his mouth before continuing. “Keith Fowler? Really, Mel?”

She made a bit more noise as she continued with the coffee, obviously upset. “I didn’t exactly have any other options.” she spit the words pointedly enough to make Luther falter in his eating. “And you should have heard my father talk about him. Like he was a saint come riding in on a golden fucking steed. Somehow he managed to leave out that he’s a heavy drinker and enjoys beating women.”

“Mel, I’m not tryin’ to get you riled up, I’m just worried ‘bout --”

“Worried ‘bout me?” she interrupted with a bitter laugh. “That’s interesting, considering you haven’t called or written or nothing in fourteen years.”

Luther waited a moment, thinking she was going to keep berating him. “We ain’t gonna argue about the past. I’m here to make sure that your future isn’t rapidly shrinking.”

“I can handle myself, Luther. I have most of my life, and I won’t quit now that Keith is coming back from prison.” snapped Melody, still with her back to Luther as she watched the coffee brew. “So I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”

“You are my business.” Luther replied heatedly, then realized what he said.

Melody finally turned to face him again, eyebrows furrowed with frustration. “Why?”

“Because I’m sheriff now, and everybody in this town is my business.” Luther saved himself quickly. “And I won’t just sit around and wait for the call that you’ve been beaten to death by that asshole.”

“Well, thank you so much for caring, Luther.” she put a hand on her chest in a display of false gratitude, her voice oddly thick and quivering. “But I do not need your help, or anyone’s for that matter. I have a gun, and I know how to use it. The only call you’ll get about me will be that I shot the sonofabitch.”

Luther took another bite of cobbler, staring out the window in lieu of her hurt face. “He had to’ve made friends while he was in there, Mel. He probably already has a gang of some sort around here, and I’m willing to bet he won’t hesitate sending them for you. They might even come of their own volition, especially if you shoot Keith.”

“Honestly, Luther, I don’t give a shit. I can take ’em all down if I have to.”

“You talk tough, but you’re just one person. A whole group of thugs are going to brush you off like a fly.” pressed Luther, the thought of armed men coming for Melody making his fist tighten on his fork.

Melody scoffed, pulling two mugs from a cupboard. “It’s nice to know you have such little faith in me. When I was thirteen I beat up Freddy, but you probably don’t remember that.”

“Do you really consider that such an achievement?” Luther chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

She glared at his attempt. “He was sixteen and a good hundred-and-fifty pounds heavier than me, so yes I do.” There was a pause where Melody pursed her lips, then gave Luther a skeptic look. “What are you really doing here, Luther? You know I can take care of myself.”

Truthfully he wasn’t sure how to respond, because he did know that. She was smart and tough, she always had been, and she did know how to use a gun. “That doesn’t mean I can’t worry.”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about me.” Melody muttered, gesturing at his left hand where the wedding ring rested. “Your wife here?”

Luther was a little surprised at the direction their conversation had taken, but he nodded. “At Muddy’s. She hates it here already.”

“Hates it?” the woman looked confused, maybe a little offended. “Why?”

“I dunno.” sighed Luther, eating his last bite of cobbler rather sullenly. “She’s used to the finer things, I guess.”

“Gonna have to get over that here.” observed Melody, moving on before Luther could reply. “I’d love to meet her. You should bring her here for dinner and I’ll make a real good meal. Show her that not everything down here is rustic.”

That idea sounded horrifying, but Luther nodded slowly. “I’ll ask what she thinks.”

“Alright.” Melody chewed on her lip, seeming to have forgotten the coffee she offered Luther was now finished preparing. “Well, I was about to go to the store. So unless you’re going to follow me and make sure Keith ain’t around…”

Luther gave her a disapproving look before standing up, reapplying his hat. “Thanks for the cobbler, Mel. It was delicious.”

“No problem, Luther.” she grinned, all traces of anger disappearing from her still-young face.

She led him to the door, as if he didn‘t know how to find his way out of the familiar home. “Watch out for yourself, Melody.”

“You do the same.” was the last she said to him before the screen door shut with a loud crack.

Shaking his head, Luther got back into his rental car and started it up. It was only then he noticed the ancient rusting red pick-up truck parked underneath a tree, and he couldn’t help grinning a little as he backed out of the driveway. A lot of memories had been created in the bed of that truck when the two teenagers were alone and it was dark and silent. Luther could recall holding a body close to his, resisting his urges because she was just too young to go any further than kissing. Only fifteen when he was seventeen…he still felt guilty for letting her wiggle her way into a relationship with him.

Then again he wouldn’t trade that last year of his life in Arbor for anything…not even a completely different family. And his family was one of the things Luther Dubose could not stand to think of unless he was drunk.