Swamp Happens: The Complete Swamp Bottom Series

by Cora Kenborn

  There was only so much I could allow my mother to dish out before the man in me kicked the boy out of the way and stood up for his woman. Coming to my feet, I ran a hand across my thick beard. “Ma, that’s—”

  But Addie beat me to it.

  “Okay, now I may have peed a little.” Crossing her legs at the ankles, she held onto the refrigerator door and glanced down.

  A slow grin replaced the scowl on my face. Her comeback was perfect. Funny, and a little self-deprecating, with just enough sass to let Ma know she respected her but didn’t take her too seriously.

  God, I loved her.

  Ma slapped Addie on the back and howled. “Jesus, Addie, you need to lighten up. How long were you stuck in that castle?”

  “Plantation,” I corrected, sinking back into my chair.

  Disregarding me, she picked up the knife and went back to chopping. “Same thing.”

  Addie hugged the glasses and bottles to her chest, her voice soft. “Ten years.”

  “Well, princess, it looks like you ditched the bitch-ass prince and got yourself a warrior. Good for you. I don’t care who he is, never let a set of balls dictate your life. There’s nothing a man can do for you that you can’t do for yourself.”

  “You’re not helping my case, Ma.”

  Digging into a bowl of mashed potatoes, my mother swung around and pinned me with a smirk while stirring vigorously. “Boy, I love you, but sisterhood is a thing. Get used to it. So long as Addie, here, treats you nice and keeps the goods closed off to everyone else, she’s got my vote.”

  Holding a fork up to my face, I debated on whether to save it for the meal or stab my own eardrums. I didn’t care who you were, hearing your mother analyze your sex life was right up there with colonoscopies and jury duty.

  My debate ended as Addie returned to the table with a glass of sweet tea for her and a beer for me. I couldn’t take my eyes off the swing of her hips as I took the bottle from her and downed a long drink. “After all that, you’re drinking tea?”

  Giving me a half-smile, she slipped her hand in mine. “Nervous stomach.”

  I tried to temper my expression and act like it was every day that Addie Dubois allowed public displays of affection. But the truth was that they were rarer than hen’s teeth. The minute her soft skin pressed against the rough callouses of my palm, my pulse raced, and my lungs burned as if I’d just run a marathon.

  Jesus, Cole was right. I needed to tuck my pussy in and act like a man. This shit was ridiculous. No self-respecting guy got his balls in a twist over hand-holding.

  Man up, Zep!

  Making sure Ma stayed occupied, I brought Addie’s hand to my face. The sweet smile painting her cheeks faded as I licked her middle finger and closed my lips around it, sinking it slowly into my mouth. A satisfying mix of heat and fear swept across her eyes as she tried to pull away, but refusing to be denied, I lightly bit down on her skin.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Pulling her finger from my mouth, I ran the tip of my tongue along the creases in her palm before dipping it between the opening in her knuckles. “Getting your mind off your stomach. What part of you is it on now?”

  She swallowed hard. “I might want that wine now.”

  A low chuckle rumbled in my chest, and I glanced up at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah, you probably do.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ma set the table and heaped out oversized helpings of everything, doubling Addie’s portions while chastising her for being too skinny. I watched with intrigue as Addie stared at her plate like Ma had just crawled on the table and took a shit in the middle of her red beans and rice. Wielding her fork like a weapon, she twisted her face in disgust and speared a piece of green okra.

  “Something wrong?” I whispered, grabbing her knee under the table.

  Shoving the whole thing in her mouth, Addie attempted to smile as she alternately gagged and chewed. As her face drained of all color, I watched the trajectory of her fork, not entirely sure she wouldn’t try to stab me with it.

  “So, Addie,” Ma broke in, changing the subject. “Are you getting used to living the plebeian life again? You know, I hear good things about DuBlanc since you took over.”

  “Well, I do have a marketing degree. It feels good to finally put it to use and make my own”—raking the back of her hand over her forehead, she blew out a rough breath—“my own way.”

  Making a spectacle over Addie in front of my mother wouldn’t win me any favors. She was far from the girl I fell love with so many years ago, but what made Addie, Addie hadn’t changed. When backed into a corner, she came out with gloves tied and arms swinging.

  Instead of demanding she tell me what the hell was wrong, I nudged her leg and whispered as Ma returned to the kitchen, “Hey, are you sure you’re all right? I’m getting kind of worried about you.”

  Nodding, she inhaled another piece of okra and chewed like she’d lost a bet.

  “Well, I guess I know what to make every time you come over. I had no idea you loved okra so much.” Tilting her chin toward Addie’s plate, Ma carried the entire pot to the table and waved it under Addie’s nose.

  Addie’s face turned from pale to green, and she shoved her chair backward. “Where’s the restroom, please?”

  Taking her seat, Ma watched her carefully while spearing a piece of okra onto her fork right out of the pot and pointed it down the hallway. “Second door on the right,” she said, taking a small bite.

  I tried to catch Addie’s eye before she disappeared down the hall, but she kept her eyes averted. The minute she was out of sight, my mother dropped her fork and stared at me.

  I was way ahead of her. “Since when do you eat anything green?”

  “It looked tasty.” Offering a smirk, she flicked the piece of okra from her fork into a napkin and crushed it.

  “Don’t bullshit me, woman.”

  She stared down the hallway with a pensive look and took a sip from her beer. “Nervous Nelly you got there, son.”

  While we both knew Addie tended to be more neurotic than most the women I usually dated, her behavior tonight seemed a bit off even to me. If anything, she was meticulous about appearances and perceptions. Something else was bothering her, and it didn’t sit well with me.

  “She just wants to make a good impression.”

  Ma threw her hands in the air, feigning innocence. “Hey, I’m like Switzerland over here.”

  “Is that why Switzerland ended up fucking up Germany’s game plan in World War II? They took lessons from LeBlanc women?”

  “Son, are you comparing yourself to Germany, or do you not get how sarcasm works?” Folding her arms on the edge of the table, Ma straightened her spine and pinned me with a stare that made me feel like I was fourteen years old again and getting caught jerking off in the bathroom to her JC Penney’s catalog.

  What? Ma wasn’t a Victoria’s Secret subscriber.

  “However,” she added, picking her fork back up, “I did talk to Michael last week.”

  “Jesus, Ma, it wasn’t your place to tell Michael about Addie and me!” The reminder that I still hadn’t told Addie that half of New Orleans probably knew about us settled like a rock in my stomach. I raked my hands through my hair, dislodging it from the combed back style I wore for today. “Now others know, and I have to tell Addie, and it’s become a huge damn mess.”

  My mother held a hand in the air in defense. “I didn’t tell anyone else.”

  “I know,” I muttered, hating myself for the clusterfuck I’d created. “I did.”

  “Looks like I’m not the LeBlanc with the loose lips.”

  “Who’s got loose lips?” Addie stood at the edge of the hallway with one hand braced against the white painted wood molding and the other brushing across her lips.

  As if we’d been caught plotting world domination, Ma and I stood so fast that Addie’s untouched tea toppled over and flooded her plate.

  “I’ve got it,” Ma called out, carryin
g the dripping plate to the kitchen.

  Addie busied herself with cleaning up the mess, and after a few moments of silence, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “What the hell is going on with you?”

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

  I grabbed her wrist, stopping her obsessive cleaning. “You were fine in the truck. What gives?”

  Giving me a defeated look, she slumped into her chair and threw her soggy napkin on the table. “Okay, fine. I hate okra.”

  “Then why the hell did you eat it?”

  “To be polite,” she hissed, as if the concept of not doing so would have been a fate worse than death. “I didn’t want to offend your mother.”

  “Addie, you’re with me not Roland. In this family, we don’t give a shit about etiquette or which fucking fork goes where. If you don’t like something, feed it to the dog like a normal person.”

  A smirk settled across her face. “You don’t have a dog.”

  “Oh, now you want to hit me with logic? Where was that when you were stuffing your face with vegetables straight from Satan’s asshole?”

  “So,” Ma interrupted, carrying a fresh plate and glass back to the table and placing them in front of Addie. “What are your intentions with my son, Adelaide?”

  “Intentions?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you know you broke him when you left.” She flung a hand toward me, her face a mask of forced innocence. “What are your intentions this time? You plan on sticking around, or are you just here for a giggle and thrill?”

  A decent person would’ve rescued his girlfriend from what had to be her worst nightmare come true. A gallant man would’ve stood up to his mother for poking a stick at an already skittish kitten. Lucky for me, I wasn’t decent or gallant and found the whole exchange amusing as fuck. Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest and let it play out.

  “Well, I, uh, back then it… I don’t plan on… I’m sorry, did you say giggle and thrill?”

  Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.

  “Oh, come on now, sweets,” she said, giving Addie an exasperated eye roll. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, you know. I’m no prude, and if this one over here thinks I don’t know he’s been boppin’ his bologna to my department store mailers since he was kne-high to a grasshopper, he’s not giving me much credit.”

  “Ma!” A freak bolt of lightning could come take me out any time now. Maybe there were some nice bikers outside I could piss off and have kick my ass until this moment faded into a blurry haze.

  As a slow grin broke across Addie’s face, I realized the worst had happened. The tide had turned, and the united front my mother and I always had was now severed. The woman who’d changed my diapers and taught me right from wrong changed jerseys mid-game and was now playing offense for opposing team.

  “Didn’t know you preferred more frugal shopping, Zep,” Addie laughed, her earlier aversion to okra replaced by unnecessary jokes about my formative years. “If you like, after this, we can go raid the clearance rack at Walmart. I can find you some really nice leopard print hip huggers, and you can knock yourself out.”

  What the fuck?

  Ma let out a loud snort and high-fived Addie across the table. “Not gonna do it, honey. Judging from years of experience, you’d have to take a picture of some middle-aged woman wearing those cheek splitters to churn this one’s butter.”

  “Are you two done? I’d kind of like to walk out of here with my man card still intact if that’s all right with you.”

  Addie lost it. The plastic shell she’d worn the minute she got in my truck shattered as tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks. It was honestly the first time since we got drunk after Roland served her with divorce papers I’d seen her so happy and carefree.

  This was my Addie. This was who she was before some asshole with a fat wallet and a wandering eye turned her into a complacent ice queen, and if it took a little mortification to dig her out of the grave he buried her in, so be it.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed to Ma as Addie wiped her eyes.

  She said nothing, only smiled and winked.

  Switzerland, my ass.

  My mother still played for my team after all.

  37

  Deep Waters

  Zephirin

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  As I glanced at my watch, Ma shifted her eyes toward the door, the corners of her mouth pulling down as she wrung her hands. “You can’t leave until dessert arrives.”

  “I don’t think we have any room,” I said, watching Addie’s eyebrows slant together in confusion. “We’re full and Addie’s tired—wait, did you say arrives?”

  No sooner had the words formed when the front door slammed shut and a cackling voice carried across the room. “Sorry I late. I bring pie.”

  I loved action movies. There was always that climactic point where the villain revealed their master plan along with their conspirator for the a-ha moment. All the evil, the backroom dealings, and shady shit suddenly made sense.

  Shit didn’t get shadier than the old woman hugging a bottle to her chest like an eighty-proof pack-mule.

  “Grand entrance as always, Babs.” Ma nodded toward her one empty hand. “Where’s the pie?”

  “Social security check late.” With her normal white puff of hair abnormally slick to her head, Addie’s grandmother shuffled her feet toward the table. “Okay, I bring vodka. Pie make you fat.”

  Addie’s glass slipped out of her hand and slammed against the table. “Babs, what’s…um, what’s up with your hair?”

  Running a wrinkled hand over the top of her head, Babs grinned. “You like? I flat iron just like Kardashian. Liv say it keep old lady young.”

  I passed a glance between the two women. “Do you two hang out often?”

  Ma shrugged, hiding a smirk behind her beer bottle. “Babs may have come to the bar a few times.”

  “I go every Thursday for karaoke,” Babs announced, shuffling across the room in a bright red velour tracksuit. She stopped short in front of Addie and raised an overgrown gray eyebrow. “Adelaide Rose, why you look like you about to toss cracker?”

  “Cookie,” Addie corrected.

  “No thanks. I have cheeseburger in car.”

  Addie’s mouth dropped open, and she glanced around her. “Kevin’s here?”

  “Bah, you bring pig to dinner?” Swinging the bottle by the neck, she flung a gnarled finger at my mother. “You say no pets! I leave Fluffy home because you say too dangerous for alligator. You lie to old lady, you go to hell.”

  The sudden influx of estrogen in the room made me want to hunt and kill something just to reaffirm I hadn’t spontaneously sprouted a vagina.

  Jumping up, I reached for the glass bottle in Babs’ hand. “Want me to take that for you?”

  Hugging the bottle to her chest, the old woman grinned, her dentures slipping as she clicked them back into place with her tongue. “Ah, bearded clam digger, you have much to learn. Take lady’s coat or virginity, never vodka. You take lady’s vodka, she take your manhood.”

  A half hour later, my mother and Babs had shot half the bottle and were heavily engaged in a heated discussion over the mysticism of the dead musician “Forever Twenty-Seven Club” and a subsequent drinking competition over who could name the most members. They’d barely gotten past Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin when Babs pulled out a rolled joint and lit the end.

  “You know why music people chewed dust? Too many vice.” Holding up one finger, she waved it in front of my mother’s face. “Only have one vice whole life—live forever.”

  Picking her head up off my shoulder, Addie deadpanned her with a dramatic sigh from across the room. “You drink and smoke, Babs. That’s two.”

  “And you have husband and boyfriend, devochka moya. Babs do math too.”

  And, here we go.

  Anytime someone mentioned Roland, fun immediately came to a grinding halt, and Addie became stiffer than a
fifteen-year-old watching grainy Cinemax.

  My eyes fell to the hem of Addie’s dress which was currently balled up into her fist, “It’s late,” she mumbled. “Do you mind taking me home, Zep?”

  As soon as I stood to say our goodbyes, my mother bolted to the kitchen, her hands waving in the air like a crazy woman. “Wait! You need food to go. Let me wrap up some okra.”

  “Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” I could’ve sworn I heard Addie mutter “fuck my life” as she broke out into a run after her, but I couldn’t be sure.

  The moment Addie left the room, her grandmother clambered to her now bare feet and dropped down beside me on the couch, the faint smell of Ben Gay and Stolichnaya burning my nostrils. “Life expectancy for Russian woman is seventy-three. You know what it is for man?”

  There was no right answer, so I winged it. Hitching a foot on the coffee table, I closed my eyes and shrugged. “Seventy-five?”

  “Fifty-nine.” Propping her feet beside mine, I cringed a little as she rubbed an overgrown toenail across my ankle. “Understand, Mister Clam Digger?”

  I had no fucking clue, but honestly, half the time I didn’t think Babs knew what the hell she was saying. “I’m going to go with no.”

  “Russian woman responsible for grow children, bear children, feed children, raise children, and still work fingers to bone for tiny crust of bread.” She pinched her fingers together and shoved them in my face to emphasize her point. “Still, they are treated weaker than man. My Charlie was husband number two. I have first husband who treat me like cocksipper treat my Addie.”

  I wasn’t sure what brought this on, but just the reminder of how Bordeaux had treated the woman I spent a decade pining over ignited a primal response. “Addie will be divorced soon, too. Count on it.”

  “Divorce? I not divorced.” At my blank stare, she let out a cackle and tucked the extinguished joint back into her purse. “More than one way to end marriage, Zephirin. I have my Addie home now. If cocksipper number two treat her bad, is on like Llama Kong.”