Recap of previous chapter: Sookie runs into more roadblocks in her attempts to find Eric, but turns up the name of another lead, Pamela Ravenscroft, through Amelia's dad. She realizes the name is familiar and remembers why: Eric had suggested she call Pam for help with historic home preservation. When L.L. warns her vehemently not to call Pam, Sookie starts to wonder what Eric might have been hiding from her.

And, we're flashing back...

Chapter 9: Independence Day, Part 1

"Crap. It's Sam. I need to take this."

I had barely heard my cell phone ringing over the din of the boisterous bar crowd and would have missed it entirely if Eric hadn't pointed it out.

Eric and I had broken from our usual routine of hiding ourselves away at either my house or in the "love shack," as we'd come to affectionately call it, to spend the evening blending in with the mass of tourists in Provincetown celebrating July 4th. It might have been the first major holiday in...cripes, forever that I wasn't working. Sam had been surprised, wondering aloud what plans I had, but when I ignored his not-so-subtle curiosity, he dropped the matter. He couldn't really put up a fuss in any case since I'd always been so reliable.

But I would need to take his call.

Sounding harried, Sam wasted no time with pleasantries. "Sookie, I've got a problem here with Debbie Pelt. She's causing a big commotion, claiming she's going to "Were" tonight. I told her it wasn't a full moon and gave her a rare steak, but that didn't seem to calm her down. And I can't get in touch with Alcide."

I winced. Sam had limited understanding of mental illness and limited tact for dealing with it. Debbie could be especially tough to manage. I'd seen her like this once or twice before, when her mental illness had hijacked her brain, shoving out all evidence of rationality. To make matters worse, once she destabilized, she had a bad habit of taking up alcohol or much worse.

"Sounds like she's gone off her meds again." Last time she had done that, she ended up wandering naked in the cedar swamp. "What's her face look like?"

"To be honest, I never thought she was very pretty. I always wondered what Alcide saw in her."

"Her skin, Sam. Does it look like she's been picking at it?"

"Oh, yeah. And her teeth look like hell."

My stomach sank. Meth mouth. "Just call 911."

"You sure?"

"Nothing else you can do. And I'm really sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Well, yes and no."

Sam sighed into the phone.

I rolled my eyes. "All right, all right. Let's not get into this discussion again. I know you have your hands full. Call if you need more help."

As I was hanging up, I could hear Sam in the background, "Debbie, how about another steak?"

I took a big swallow of my gin and tonic. Then another.

Eric sat next to me, shoulder-to-shoulder, quietly watching for a few minutes before reaching his arm across me to squeeze the bands of tension tightening in my neck. I rolled my head, trying to relax into it. Sitting here amidst the celebratory crowd, suddenly, I felt extremely out of place. I wanted to be back in the comfort of my own home.

Finally, he broke the silence between us, "Why do you do it?"

"What?" I knew immediately what he was asking, but stalled for more time.

"Why do you do it?"

I sighed, not really interested in getting into a deep discussion at that moment. He wasn't asking an easy question, one that even I didn't know how to answer to myself. It was a question that would likely verge into personal territory I had never intended to cover with him.

Here, in a bar, on a summer holiday, in the middle of people having fun.

I deflected, "I started this meal program arrangement with Sam..."

Immediately he interrupted me, apparently ready for my dodge. "Not just that, but more broadly, why do you help people?"

"Damn, can I finish a sentence?" I pulled my arm away from his, annoyed that my good mood had been broken by Sam's call and now Eric's pushiness. At times like this, his intensity was a bit too much, to say the least.

He held his hands up. "Go ahead." He turned to sit squarely on his bar stool and take another drink of his beer. To his credit, he waited, rotating the cardboard coaster in his hand.

I took a deep breath, not knowing where to start, or even where I was going. "Gran started it."

That wasn't entirely true. She had set up a fund, but hadn't quite figured out how to administer the money before she died. Fortunately, this fund was separate from my personal accounts, so it wasn't decimated when I went broke. And then one day it started innocently enough, when I happened to run into Maudette Pickens on my way into work. She'd looked so down-on-her luck that I pulled her in with me, sat her in a booth, and bought her lunch. It took off from there.

"But you continued it. It's your program now."

"The nice thing about this kind of a program is that it's a less threatening way for people to get hooked into the system. People trust me because I'm just a working girl slinging hash just like they are."

"Mm-hmm..."

I deflected back to Sam. "Sam's been extremely flexible.. There are huge liability issues for him, which we've managed well so far. Most of the time we can solve the problem by giving people a meal and helping them get hooked in with other established agencies. Those agencies do the heavy lifting. And we've never promoted ourselves as anything but a free meal. Actually, promoted is not the right word here because we never promote ourselves as anything. People talk. Word-of-mouth brings in people who need help. They just know we're here. But there's no doubt that we get crisis situations too. That's why I feel bad now being too far away to help."

"But essentially that means you always have to be there."

"This is the first time I couldn't be there to help."

"I'm not blaming you for anything. I'm just saying it's a really big responsibility."

His laser-like questions were making me squirm. While I had no trouble sharing the intimate parts of my body, the intimate parts of my psyche were mostly off limits. It wasn't part of our summer plan. Mentally, I imagined myself sliding off the bar stool and wandering out into the crowds outside on the sidewalk. I wouldn't get very far before he'd track me down.

Instead, I reached across to slide my hand up and down his thigh, reaching ever higher.

He placed a firm hand on top of mine, stilling it in place. His eyes, never leaving my face, were waiting expectantly. Inside, I wriggled again, then blurted out, "It's just what I do. I'm good at understanding people."

Without pausing, he rejoined, "Yes, but you could use that ability any way you wanted...business, for example."

I wrinkled my nose. "I want to help people, not take their money."

"Okay. So...?" He was leaning toward me, practically pressing his body against mine.

I tried another tactic, attempting to lead him into a discussion of a related, but different topic. "So basically what you're asking me here is whether there is such a thing as altruism."

Eric rolled his eyes and waved his hands impatiently. "No. I'm not asking whether altruism exists-whether it's possible to do something good for someone else for completely selfless reasons. We can save that debate for another time, though I have little patience for it because it always comes back to the question of how you define altruism."

"Hmph. So I guess we can't talk about anything you don't want to talk about."

I wanted to take a big, long gulp of my gin and tonic, but it was gone. Tipping way, way back to get one last trickle, my head started to swim. I raised my glass to the bartender to ask for another one, but Eric's large hands clasped around mine, bringing them back down to the bar.

"I guess we can't talk about anything that you don't want to either."

"Eric, that's different. You're asking me really personal questions. Grilling is more like it."

He pulled back, still fixing his gaze on me. His intent eyes flickered as though he were reading the text of my face. What he saw there, I wouldn't know.

"Never mind then. I thought it was a simple question."

Taking my hands in his again, he pressed his lips to mine, insistent and unmoving, staunching the ooze of hurt feelings, waiting. My heart pounded in my ears in that way that only he could make happen.

Oh, hell, I wanted to smack him.

Oh, hell I wanted him to throw me up on the bar.

I must have moved or done something to signal a green light because next thing I knew, his tongue was moving against mine. Yeah. The bar sounded good. The vibration of a moan rippled in my throat. What was it that we had just been fighting about?

He squeezed my hands. "I want to take you somewhere special."

"What do you mean?"

"Walk with me." He pulled me off the stool, threw some money on the bar, and guided me out the door, his hand pressed firmly in the small of my back.

Exiting out onto the street, Eric and I immediately became absorbed by the crowds gearing up for a party. It was an eclectic mix of people, to be sure. Parents pushing strollers mingled with a diverse crowd of singles and couples looking for a different kind of fun. The undercurrent of sexuality rippling through the streets would only become stronger as the night woke up. A drag queen in impossibly high heels stopped to hand us a flier advertising a show. I admired her tan and wondered if it was real or sprayed on.

Within a few blocks, we rounded a corner and headed down an alleyway that abruptly became dark and quiet, even on a night when people seemed to be crawling out of every corner.

"Where are we going?"

"Do you trust me?"

I stopped to look at his face, but it was obscured by shadow. There was no way to know.

"Sure."

"And here I thought you were smart."

"I didn't say what exactly I trusted."

"And what is that?"

"I trust that you know where we are going. I trust that you get your way, one way or another. Most of the time."

"Right. So why bother resisting?"

"There are all kinds of ways of resisting."

"Tell me."

"I can follow you without necessarily agreeing with you."

"How is that resisting?"

"Maybe I'm following you to watch and observe you."

"Observe me? Am I a science project?"

"Mmm...more like a case study."

"Oh? So let me get this straight. You're assessing me right now. And following me down a dark alley is resisting me? Is that what you're saying?"

"You'll never know for sure, will you?"

"I think I will."

He stopped to push me firmly against a high fence in the alleyway. Tangling his fingers through my hair and grasping the back of my neck, he kissed me deeply in a way that made all the parts of me plummet and soar at the same time. Wrapping my arms around him for support, I sank my hands deep into his back pockets and pulled his hips firmly against my body. His fingers trailed down my neck and played with the thin straps of my sundress.

He backed away. "Come with me."

"See this?" I took an exaggerated step forward. "I'm putting one foot in front of the other, following you. It's all part of my plan."

"Mm-hmm. And you could stop at any time, right?" He drew me along another few feet and then stopped again, dipping me backward over his bent knee and leaning down to nuzzle his soft lips into my cleavage. His free hand slid underneath the flare of my skirt, tickling upward, upward...upward…and then stopping.

"I'm not following you just because you're dropping little treats along the way."

He snickered, grinning at me lasciviously. Standing in front of me, his body close to mine, he reached down for my hand to kiss my palm. "Is that what I am to you? A little treat?" He brushed the wispy hairs that had escaped my ponytail from my face. "Hmm?" And then, his mouth on my palm again, he stepped back, forcing me to take another step toward him.

"I'm still collecting data, by the way."

"You are?" He stepped back yet again.

I laughed, finally, at the two of us in this dark alleyway, and stepped toward him to press my body against his. That's when he launched his next wave of attack, abruptly scooping me up and slinging me over his shoulder. "Gotcha now!"

"Eric!" I didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "This is all going in my report!"

We rounded a corner into another alleyway, and then suddenly, he was stepping up into a brightly lit room. I reached back to grab at the back of my dress, concerned now that my backside was exposed.

"I'm going to set you down now."

When he did, I found myself in the middle—of all places—of a bait-and- tackle store, looking face-to-face with a short man in his fifties or so with red hair.

"Ah! Welcome! I'm Russell."

Looking around, I saw that the walls of the small, cramped store, smelling of fish and musty wood, were covered in peg board, on which hung packages of fishing lures, hooks, and line. In one corner, a small display of fishing rods stood tall, and in the opposite corner, the electric motor of a live tank hummed. Compared to the darkness in the alleyway, the intense fluorescent lights gave everything a garish hue. The neon fishing lures on the wall practically vibrated. Up front, where we stood, a glass case displayed reels. Under my feet, the bare, unfinished wooden floorboards crunched with sand.

Though I took all of this in in only a fraction of a second, my disorientation made me forget my manners, not even acknowledging Russell's greeting.

"You must be Sookie. She's a skittish one, isn't she?"

"Yes," I stammered. "I mean, yes, I'm Sookie. And no, I'm not skittish."

Russell looked at Eric, who was practically beaming.

I offered my hand, in spite of the slight. "Pleased to meet you."

He startled me by taking my hand and kissing it. "Feel free to look around." Amusement coated his voice.

"This is your bait-and-tackle shop?"

"Yes. For about 15 years now. But it's been around even longer."

"Russell...enhanced it," Eric added.

I wondered, given the rustic nature of the shop, what he could have possibly enhanced, but smiled politely.

I read the names on some of the packages of fishing lures. "Gulp Alive. Kickin' Minnow. Swim'n Eel. Mister Twister Sassy Shad."

"Sweetie, we have all kinds of bait in here."

I looked at Eric for a clue.

"Eric, Sookie is being a good sport. I don't think we should tease the poor girl anymore. Come over here."

He walked behind the case with the fishing reels and pulled a rustic box out of the display. He set it on the counter and paused. Eric nodded. I was much too confused to even fathom what could be going on here.

Russell opened the box. Lifting off a top tray full of an assortment of feathers and strings and hooks and pliers, he revealed, underneath, another tray, lined in plush velvet. It glittered with sapphires.

"Oh!" I couldn't help myself. It was the last thing I expected to find here, in the middle of this dingy little bait-and-tackle shop. There were so many of them, they frightened me.

Eric explained, "Russell likes to travel to Asia. He buys these gemstones directly from the families who mine them. Then he brings them back here and sells them as a side business."

"Didn't I say I sell all kinds of bait?"

I pulled my hands back. One little tip, and they would all scatter on the floor, mix with the sand, fall between cracks, get trampled and lost.

I was so distracted by the blue jewels—I had never seen so many of them at once—that I didn't notice anything else until Eric was there facing me, pressing a velvet-covered box into my hand.

"Look inside."

Without thinking, I snapped it open, revealing a sapphire brooch, its round center stone surrounded by a sunburst pattern of swirling, radiating sapphires.

I'd never seen anything like it.

"You designed this?" I asked Russell.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before answering, "With a little help."

"It's lovely. It reminds me of the sea and sky all at once."

I was still admiring the brooch, tracing its spires outward, when Eric's hands pressed atop mine. Suddenly he was pulling the brooch out of its box and reaching to pin it on my sundress.

I recoiled, pulling back as though he were dangling a snake in front of me.

"Uh-uh. Oh, no." The pin tempted promises of love and commitment and a happily-ever-after that ultimately would languish unfulfilled. I wanted no more heartache. "I thought you understood." We'd laid out the ground rules from the very beginning. I'd only been able to physically abandon myself with him secure in those rules.

I glanced nervously at Russell, watching a very private moment between Eric and me.

"It is merely a gift from me to you. It means nothing more than I want you to have something beautiful."

Russell added, "And it has already been purchased."

It was on my mouth to impulsively say "Then he shall have to give it to someone else," when Eric, apparently realizing Russell's blunder, leaned in quickly to press another one of his firm, soothing kisses on my lips. Then in one swift movement—his body still molded against mine, trapping me against the counter—he reached down to pin the brooch at the top of my sundress.

Watching the two of us, Russell frowned slightly, then brightened it with a smile. "There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Before any other warring emotions could surface, he spoke lightly, "I think it's time we visited Bartlett's store."

Russell's eyebrows raised.

"That's where you're taking her next? Interesting."

I looked questioningly at Eric.

"It's where I got my belt. Russell's partner owns the store."

Now I was intrigued. "Goodbye, Russell."

He laughed. "Nice to meet you, Sookie. I look forward to meeting you again."

Eric immediately jumped in, "Russell is always a salesman."

"So you've done this before—pin a brooch on an unsuspecting victim?"

I could hear Russell's chuckling continue as we stepped outside.

"Eric, it's too beautiful. I can't accept."

"Really?" He laughed. "You want me to give you something ugly? Would that make it better?"

Ah...there it was again-that smile that caught hold of me, made me want to see more. Play with him. Forget about the weight of the brooch tugging on the gauzy fabric of my sundress.

"All right," I joked back.

"That sounds like a challenge. If I buy you something ugly, will you promise to keep my gift?"

Our game made no sense. It might have been the most ridiculous thing I'd heard, but the playful side of him always intrigued me. "Okay, but I get to judge. Final word is mine. And not to give you any hints or anything, but you'd better bring your A game if you're going to win this."

Together we made our way out of the alleyway, into the throngs of ever-increasing crowds, at such a fast clip that I practically had to trot to keep up with his long strides. Since we'd gone into the bait and tackle, the energy level had amped up a notch as the crowd anticipated the start of the fireworks. More drinks had been drunk.

Eric practically accosted a man dragging a souvenir cart, and then dismissed him unceremoniously when he discovered he was selling stuffed toys and balloons. He growled into my ear, "Trivial accessories."

He crossed the street, which had been taken over by pedestrians, to stop at another vendor, briefly considering a stars and stripes bandanna before touching a big foam hand, index finger pointing upward, with USA #1 printed across the front. I stifled a grimace. Eric shook his head. "That's pretty damn obnoxious, but I want your hands to be free."

I sighed dramatically. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to take off this pin. Guess it really wasn't meant for me after all." Stopping in the middle of the street, I looked down, fiddling with the clasp. It had pulled a small hole in my dress.

Then, suddenly, I was on the ground.

Thanks for reading!~

Disclaimer: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.

Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!
I monkeyed with this after mmhs beta'd it, which means that any mistakes are L.L.'s fault.