by Mary Martel
"Sam," Noble says, watching me carefully. "What do you think? Does it sound like a good idea to you? You're a part of this now too."
I shrug, not willing to commit to him. I have no problem looking him in the eye and telling him I'll think about it.
What I really mean is I'll tell Emerald and she'll get back to him. And I'll be there to back her up.
Emerald
Little old ladies who seem to have lost all of their senses, well, they wouldn't judge you for being a hoe... Would they? Lord, I hope not because I’m about to be up close and personal with one. Maybe not personal-personal, but I plan on sitting next to her bed. Close enough, right?
Shit, I was stalling. I don’t particularly care for the elderly anymore. It’s not anything against them, honest. I know the old lady behind the door looks like she could barely stand on her own or have her legs hold up her own body weight. She had looked a little wonky with what little bit of hair she had left appearing like it was the leftovers of her sticking her finger in an electrical socket.
She didn’t even seem capable of hurting a fly.
And therein lies my problem.
There was no such thing as sweet and innocent anymore. As kind as the old biddy may be, she was still running on borrowed time just like the rest of us. Her expiration date could be stamped on her paperwork any day now, then it's lights out until it's time to wake up and chow down.
Like hell I'd be that person she tried to sink her teeth into when she went all Grandma's Gone Wild - The Rabid Edition.
Fuck. I really am losing my shit here and have been since stepping foot into this house. Maybe it’s was me who's rabid, my time spent alone really having changed me.
I look down at the things I held in my hands and chuckle.
In one I hold a paperback and a cold can of Diet Coke. Don't get me wrong, I've had soda since the world went the way of the fuckfaces, but an actual, honest to goodness cold beverage? I don’t even give a shit it’s diet. It’s ice cold, caffeinated goodness, and that’s the only thing that matters. Hell, at this point, it could be caffeine-free, like a Sprite or some shit, and I probably would have been just as happy with it because it’s refrigerated.
In the other, I clutch my swords and the straps I made for them to wear with my regular clothes. The stretchy but incredibly sturdy material is made to put my arms through and criss-cross over my shoulder blades in the back. I’d sewn the sheaths into the holster, so the whole setup puts each pommel almost directly behind my head.
Easy access to my babies.
Now, the whole contraption is held in one hand because I don’t tend to wear them inside the house, but I also don’t want to scare an old lady.
Being around other people is seriously turning me into a pussy.
Fuck it, I think, tapping my boot against the bottom of the door. I don’t want to barge in on an old lady walking around naked or whatever. Or she might need a heads up so she can put her teeth in or some shit. You know, old lady business.
When no response comes from the other side of the door, I shrug, tucking my swords under my arm and reaching for the knob. I twist and push, expecting it to be locked. The door opens easily, however, and I push my way inside, closing the door softly behind me.
I hadn't asked for permission from any of the guys to see if I could hang out with the old lady today. I probably should have, seeing as they tried to hide her presence from me, but to hell with them. Besides, I can always ask for forgiveness later if I get caught, and some douche gets upset.
It’s a major relief to see she’s in the bed this time and not on the floor.
She looks tiny in the big bed, all propped up against a massive pile of pillows. A thick, heavy-looking comforter that could quite possibly be made out of denim covers the entire bed and hides her frail body from view. The only thing on display other than her neck and head are her arms lying one atop the other.
She isn’t sleeping, but she looks peaceful. Jesus, is this what life looks like for her every day? I'd die of boredom within a week if it were me being subjected to this BS. A quick glance around the room shows no television or stereo. Or, fuck, given her age, record player or maybe an 8 track. There is zero source of entertainment here for her. Maybe one of those guys downstairs needs some of this treatment then they’d give this ninny something to do during the day.
Now I feel even worse about my days spent resting on the couch with my ankle propped up watching the cowboys doing their thing on the television. That shit should have been up here for her this whole time.
Her head cants to the side as though she’s listening, but her eyes remain facing straight forward, unfocused. Maybe she’s… No, that seems far too cruel to be true.
With a heavy heart, I sit my swords down onto the comfortable-looking plush armchair beside the bed. Placing both my book and can of diet soda beside the lamp on the bedside table, I click it on and watch with sick fascination as the old ninny flinches.
It isn’t dark enough in here for her to have not seen me when I walked through the door, though, I had done it silently, my boots never scuffing against the floor. Her little head tilt had at least let me know she'd heard the door opening and the lamp clicking on.
Now the squeaky hinges on her door and the floorboards creaking outside of her room make perfect sense to me. It was fucking genius, really.
Moving very carefully and very slowly so as not to disturb the air, I step up to the side of the bed and look down at her. She never once glances in my direction.
"Joseph?" she calls out in a soft, frail voice. "Is that you, sweetheart?"
Aw, she called him sweetheart.
Slowly, about a foot and a half away from her, I wave my hand up and down in front of her face. I make sure to go slow enough to not disturb the air too much in front of her, so she doesn’t feel me there.
"Joseph?" she repeats, and her voice cracks nervously, making me feel like a complete asshole because I’m the reason behind it.
Still...
My suspicions have been confirmed, so that makes it somewhat worth it.
Blind.
Joseph’s granny is definitely blind.
I make a point to shuffle my feet along the floor on my extremely short journey back to the chair. I’m rewarded with her sharp intake of breath. I pick up my swords out of the chair and sit them down on the floor, propped against the side. I make sure to make as much noise as possible, so she knows exactly where I am.
I sit down in the chair and cross my legs at the knees. I want to answer her immediately, but I find my throat parched with a nervousness, which is so unlike me. Picking my Diet Coke up off the table, I pop the tab and take a sip. My throat and my insides instantly feel like they've gone into deep freeze. It feels fucking amazing, and for a split second, I wish I had grabbed a glass with ice cubes in it so that it could be even colder.
I face the old granny once again. She looks terrified and is shaking under her blanket. I can’t say I blame her, but I still can’t seem to find my voice.
I clear my throat, trying to force that nervousness back where it belongs.
What if she doesn’t like me?
And, why do I care so much?
Joseph's happy-go-lucky smile immediately comes to mind. I remember what it felt like to be pulled in against his chest with his arms wrapped around me.
Never you mind, I know exactly why I care. I’m going soft again because boys are starting to ruin my life.
"Joseph is downstairs with the other guys, Mrs. Ross."
Well, maybe he is. In reality, I have absolutely no idea where Joseph could be. I probably just lied to a little, old lady, but whatever. She doesn’t have to know that.
In a high-pitched, seemingly terrified voice, she whines, "Who are you? I want my grandson."
I’m starting to think I want him too, and the thought makes me lash out harsher than I mean to. "Calm down, lady, before you give yourself a stroke."
One bony, weathered hand raises a
nd presses against the saggy skin at her throat. "How rude. Child, you will not take that tone with me again. Do you hear me? I will not be disrespected in such a way in my own home. I don't care who you are! You'll speak to me with respect, or you won't speak to me at all."
She has some fight left in her; I have to give her that.
"The other day, I picked you up off the floor and put you back into your bed. One would think that should make us at least civil with one another, if not friends even. Do you bitch at all of your friends this way?"
If my mother had been buried, she would be rolling over in her grave at hearing me speak to the elderly like this. My grandmother had been buried in our family plot, and I bet she rolled over twice for the both of them. They'd been close like that.
"I... I... Who are you?" she sputters.
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? One I don’t even know how to answer any more.
"My name is Emerald, but you can call me Em," I tell her, sounding like Russ. "And I don't like peaches."
That could have gone better, and I don’t know why I told her about the peaches. Pure panic-induced word vomit because I don’t like talking about myself anymore.
"You're a bit of an asshole, aren't ya?" she cheerily replies, surprising the shit out of me.
I can’t even get angry at her because she’s right. My mother always told me to never argue with someone when they were speaking in facts because it just makes me look stupid. It had been in my early teen years when I'd been angry for no reason and argued with everyone over any stupid little thing that I could find. I have a feeling my mother would have liked this old broad.
The thought makes my heart sink a little. My mother has been popping up in my mind more and more, and I’m struggling to stuff her to the background again. Crying over the dead does absolutely nothing for the living. It’s a harsh way of thinking, but sometimes you have to be harsh in order to keep yourself safe.
I’m an emotional mess lately, and I’ve got a feeling being around other people is the main cause of it. I really need to get the hell out of here sooner rather than later.
"Is that any way to talk to your new best friend?" Even though she can’t see me, I smirk at her. I could very well be the very best friend this crazy old lady ever had.
She scoffs. "Girl, we aren't friends. Now, tell me what you're doing here. And I don't mean my bedroom but my house. My sweet Joseph didn't tell me we had visitors. He never tells me anything anymore. Thinks he's doing me a favor by keeping me in the dark. Like I don’t know the world fell to hell in a handbasket."
One thin, frail hand raises, and she waves the thing toward her face. "I'm constantly telling him I'm already in the dark, but he doesn't seem to get it. I don't know what's wrong with today's youth. Back in my day you respected your elders and you took their word as law. Now-a-days nobody listens to us old folks, which is utter horse shit if you ask me. Who has been on this earth longer, huh, girl? Me or Joseph? Don't answer that, it's obvious. You'd think he would come to me for my guidance and wisdom, but does he? No, he absolutely does not."
She huffs, and I have a feeling she’s just getting warmed up. Of all the stupid luck, she turns out to be a talker. Maybe I should put her down now and take us both out of her misery. Nah, unlike her sweet boy Joseph, I actually do enjoy the guidance and wisdom of the elderly. Being with Del had taught me that. Unfortunately for her, all the chitter chatter is pointless because in order to keep yourself alive “Now-a-days” you’ve got to be able to see the fuckfaces before they sink their teeth into you. Since she can’t, I understand why they wouldn’t exactly be running to her for advice.
I sit back in the chair and kick my boots up, propping them up on the bed. I get comfy and sip my Diet Coke while she rages and rants about not just Joseph but all of the guys who live in her house now. She keeps calling them "little heathens," and every time she does, the smile on my face gets a little bit wider. If she could only see how not so little Noble is, she might have a different nickname for him. Now the smile is so big my face hurts.
"What are you sipping on so loudly over there, girl? It's rude that you didn't bring me something to drink as well."
"Diet Coke. Want me to go and get you one?"
She makes a sound of disgust. "Good heavens, no. Diet, gah. I never understood why people drank that garbage. Doesn't it cause cancer? I heard that somewhere. No, I like my coffee and my whiskey, thank you very much. Now, if you want to get me a whiskey, I'll drink that, but I have to warn you my grandson hid it from me. I’m blind, for goodness sakes! He doesn't need to hide things from me when I can't even see them in the first place. Maybe if you tell him it's for you, he'll give you the whole bottle. What do you say, girl, do you want to get drunk with an old woman?"
Jesus, she can’t see me, so she has no clue how old I am, and she offers to get drunk with me. I may just be starting to love her. Only a little. It makes me feel like I’ve brought the best reading material after all.
Picking the paperback up off the table, I start leafing through the pages. I search for one part in particular that spoke of the Duke's "throbbing member" and just what he could do with it.
"I've got a better idea. How do you feel about lords and their ladies? There's this Duke in particular that I think you might enjoy. He has a massive member, and all the ladies talk about it, even the married ones who were supposed to have been virgins on their wedding nights. He either defiled them before they got married or after. Super scandalous.”
"This sounds interesting," she murmurs appreciatively as she sits back against her pile of pillows like a freaking queen and places her hands delicately in her lap.
Interesting is an understatement. I can only hope she loves the Duke and his throbbing member as much as I did the last time I read this.
"Later, I promise to look for your whiskey."
What I don’t promise is not to drink any of it.
***
"What the-"
At the sound of Joseph's loud confused voice, I bolt out of the chair as I pull one of my swords free of its sheath. Frantically, I scan the room, searching for a threat, anything.
Grandma Ross bolts up straight in bed. Her hair is matted flat against the side of her head, and the other half stands up straight in a fuzzy mess.
"Emerald!" she shouts, making me jump. "What's happened, girl? Was the baby the Duke's or not? I'm old, you can't leave me hanging like that. I could go at any moment!"
"What in the actual fuck?"
"Joseph Ross!" she shrieks in outrage, and I worry the old biddy really will stroke out at all the excitement. "You watch that mouth, or I'm going to have Emerald here rinse it out with a bar of soap."
"Emerald, huh?" I snicker while avoiding Joseph's eyes and looking anywhere but at him. My eyes land on the book at my feet. Shit, fuck. When I'd fallen asleep, the book must have landed in my lap then to the floor when I jumped up. The half-naked bodice ripper on the cover doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
The pad of Joseph's thumb brushes across my chin, smearing something wet across my face. "You've got a little bit of drool there, Em."
I shove his hand away and swipe at my face with the back of my hand. How fucking embarrassing.
"Shut up."
I kick the book, sending it flying under the chair. The noise it makes sliding across the floor sounds like a bomb going off in the otherwise silent room.
Holy big, hairy ass balls, this is a shit show of epic proportions.
"Joseph," Grandma Ross calls out urgently. "Is she pretty? Tell me, boy, I need to know these things. If she's ugly, that's okay, we can work around that."
Forgetting about my book, I turn on Grandma Ross, and, forgetting she can’t see a damn thing, I shake my fist angrily in her direction. "Suck on a dick, Grandma Death. I thought we were supposed to be friends but you're a fucking traitor."
"Emerald, what the hell? You can't talk to my grandmother like that. What is the matter with you?" Joseph asks, a
ppalled.
This is what spending the day being kind to a little old lady bought me. I won’t be doing it again, thank you very much.
"If she's ugly, you can always have sex with her in the dark with the lights off. Just so long as she gives you children. You know I gave your grandfather five. It's not right for a healthy, young, attractive man such as you to be all alone without a family of his own. I'm not getting any younger here, you know. I want grandchildren before I die."
And the wild man calls me a psycho. I’ve got nothing on this overdramatic granny throwing her death in everyone’s faces. If she keeps embarrassing me like this, I’m going to be back to hating her again…real soon.
Joseph clears his throat. Red creeps up his neck and begins to spread across his cheeks. I feel rather murderous, and he blushes. Unbelievable.
"She's definitely not ugly," he informs his lunatic grandmother. "She's the exact opposite of ugly."
Wonderful.
Just fucking great.
Joseph thinks I’m not ugly, and his whack job grandma wants me to give him babies after we have sex in the dark.
Stomping the two steps back to my chair, I shove my sword back in its sheath before tucking my arms through the straps and securing the holster to my back. They belong there, and it feels like coming home.
Because I’m irritated and want to fuck with her, I lie to the old bat. "The baby died, and the Duke drank himself to death. Oh, and when I find that whiskey, I'm going to drink every last drop of it all by myself."
There Granny, suck on that.
She gasps in horror, and her shaking hand flies up to her throat.
The other inhabitants of the house almost step all over each other to file through the door. Most of them are breathing hard like they just ran in from outside after hearing the commotion and probably did. Whelp, the gang is all here, which is my cue to exit. My elbow lands in someone's gut as I shoulder and shove my way through to the door. I don’t much care who gets nailed, I simply need out of the room. Pronto.
