Page 35 of The Reformatory

At the gate, Lyle moved in front of her, blocking her path. “He slapped me pretty good,” Lyle said.

“I heard.” If Gloria weren’t so angry about Mister Red’s outrageous statements, she might have told him how she’d felt sorry for him.

“I knew he would, or worse. But I did what you asked, Glo. And if he says he’ll call the warden, he will. So it’s good Robbie won’t get those lashes, right?”

Gloria blinked away tears. “If it’s not too late.”

He touched her shoulder. “Come on, now—you stop that crying.”

The tenderness in Lyle’s voice made her queasy. “Okay,” she said. “Good night, Lyle.”

But he did not let her pass, and his hand rose from her shoulder to the back of her neck. His palm was callused and rough. “Well, before you rush off… don’t you think I deserve a kiss? And I’ll make sure he don’t forget to call the warden.”

Gloria wanted to slap Lyle McCormack more than she wanted to kiss him. He’d made a threat sound like an invitation. But she’d kissed a boy once before: Henry Dooley behind the schoolhouse when she was fifteen. That had been all right.

“Then you’ll leave me be?” Gloria said.

“Quit stalling,” he said, and moved his face close to hers.

Gloria tried to keep her lips tight, but Lyle’s kiss was wet and eager and he kept angling to pry her lips open. His tongue was a limp, warm worm. Gloria felt herself gagging.

Lyle pushed her back against the gate. His full body pressed to hers, both hands holding her shoulders still. He rubbed his belly against her, then she was shocked to feel him press his groin to her. She shifted away. His hand traveled from her neck to her shoulder, then dropped to her breast. He squeezed childishly. No one had touched her chest that way before.

Gloria stomped on Lyle’s foot, and he cried out, surprised. “Stop it,” Gloria said.

“You promised me a kiss.”

Gloria wriggled free, scraping her back so hard against the wooden gate that she rubbed her skin raw beneath her dress. “I never said you could put your hands all over me!”

“I just thought—”

“There’s nothing between us, Lyle. Leave me alone!” Gloria said.

“Why are you so sore about it? You’re real pretty, Glo. Don’t you like me saying that?”

Gloria was careful to keep a two-foot distance between her and Lyle so she could dash from his reach. She would climb that gate if she had to. She was more certain than ever that Papa had never behaved this way. If Lyle got hold of her again, she might not be able to get free. If she screamed, only his father might hear. And what would her scream be to Mister Red?

“Open the gate,” Gloria said. “Let me go.”

Gloria’s future sat waiting in the long seconds she waited for Lyle to respond. She worried that if Lyle touched her again, she would find her way back to that waiting shotgun like Isaiah Timmons over his missing boys. She imagined the gun now, still leaning against Red McCormack’s work shed.

With a sigh, Lyle flipped the latch and opened the gate at arm’s length. Gloria hesitated; she still would have to pass too close to him to get by.

“Daddy’s sure right about you,” Lyle said. “You Stephens niggers are so uppity. Even a white man’s not good enough for you.”

“I’m engaged,” Gloria lied.

Lyle didn’t answer. Lyle sighed again and stepped away from the gate. In his icy silence, Gloria wondered if he meant to tell his father not to call Warden Haddock. She wondered if a kiss was Robbie’s only chance. But she could not kiss Lyle again.

“Thank you, Lyle, for doing right,” Gloria said. And she ran past him through the open gate. One of the dogs barked at her, matching her pace inside the fence.

Lyle slammed the gate behind her. “Don’t come back! Just like he said!”

Gloria barely heard him. Her hearing was swallowed by the barking, the pounding of her feet on the road, and her frantic heartbeat as she escaped McCormack Farm.

She could almost—almost—hear the footsteps of others who had run before her.

III THE FUNHOUSE