Table

by ML Mystrom

  As I was bringing up the last load, Martha came by with a key.

  “Don’t rightly have a call for such way out here, but I figured you’d want to lock up. Need you to gather the eggs tomorrow morning out the coop and bring ’em up at the big house. You done good with the squash. Need to get the ’maters tomorrow morning. Might need to thin out the turnips later this week. Taters are almost ready, too. My boy’ll get them in with the backhoe soon as the tops get browner. Here’s the contract. See you in the mornin’.”

  The woman turned and went back down the steps, again without looking back. I didn’t know who decided older southern women were supposed to be gently sweet and demure. Martha was as hard and dry as the gravel in her driveway and seemed to be just as tough. The contract she handed me could barely be called one. It was nothing more than a piece of torn out notebook paper with the word contract handwritten at the top and lines on it asking for name and social security number. Not even an official signature. Just name and numbers.

  I called Constanza Velasquez about doing some house cleaning work for her, and she had responded with an enthusiastic “yes-when-can-you-start?” I had gardening work in the morning and house cleaning in the afternoon, and whatever else I needed to do at this farm in the evening. With any luck, I could keep that kind of schedule and be able to get my finances back to a healthy place in no time. Then I could get back on the road and keep moving. Just a few more months was all I needed.

  It was deep into the night when I bolted up from the nightmare, gasping and gagging. I threw the worn comforter off my sweaty body, not wanting anything touching me, and jumped out of bed. The room was dark except for the dim reflection of the outside dusk-to-dawn pole light that lit up the backyard. I heard nothing but the burbling of the river and the night bugs singing a low chorus of buzzes and chirps. My breath slowed down as the quiet peace of this place settled around me. I was in an isolated part of an isolated town, on an isolated mountain, living with isolated people. There was safety here.

  A faint throbbing growl from a vehicle caught my attention. It was getting louder and closer, and my heart seized up at the unexpected sound. No, was my first thought as the panic climbed up my throat. I rushed to the window where I had lowered and shuttered the blinds earlier and slipped one of the blades up to see what was happening. A dark male figure was riding a motorcycle into the yard, pulling in next to my van, out of sight of the house. Both man and machine were huge and menacing, but I sighed in relief. This had to be Martha’s grandson coming home from his night job, whatever that was. A red Camaro convertible followed him and parked opposite the motorcycle and my van. The biker got off his bike and strode to the blonde woman emerging from the car. I watched as he gestured to my van and pointed to my room, shaking his head. I could faintly hear the woman’s laugh but didn’t hear her response. I watched as she shimmied back on the hood of her car, pulling her skirt up and spreading her legs wide. The biker took off his helmet, and I saw his head was completely bald, before it disappeared between the woman’s legs. I heard her squeal and saw her lie back on the hood, one hand balancing on the car and one hand grasping the back of the man’s head as he went down on her. He dropped his helmet in the grass and grabbed her hips, holding her still for his marauding mouth.

  I wanted badly to look away, but I was mesmerized. The sounds of her pleasure were harsh and foreign to my ears. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed sex. A very long time, and I was feeling something I’d never thought I’d feel again just watching the raw carnality in front of me. My sex pulsed as if waking up from a long sleep.

  The woman keened and grabbed the man by his ears as she came, looking like she would tear them from his head. He pulled her hands off him and anchored them at her hips, still going at her as she spasmed, her head thrashing against the car’s hood. I held my breath, but it didn’t look like she was fighting. It looked like she was digging in for more and the man was obliging her. She was making a lot of noise, and I glanced at the dark windows of the “big house,” wondering if the elderly women inside would be awakened. He finally raised his head and stood back between the woman’s spread legs, opening his black jeans, pulling out his cock. He took a few seconds to sheathe himself in a condom before pushing himself into the woman’s body. She gasped and grabbed for him again, but he held her down as he pounded inside her. He was brutal, slamming into her over and over again, and she seemed to relish every moment. She came again, screaming out her pleasure. It looked rough and wild, and I should have been appalled, but I wasn’t. The man thrust into the woman one last time as he threw his head back, and his low grunts reached my ears. He wasn’t as noisy as the woman, but the way he slumped over her body meant he’d found his satisfaction too. She ran her hands over his shining head and said something to him. They laughed and shared a moment before he pulled out of her. He took care of the condom and tucked himself in his jeans as she scooted off the hood of the car and righted her tight skirt. She went to hug him, and he squeezed her back, giving her a quick peck on the top of her blonde head. They had a few more minutes of muted conversation before she climbed into her car and left. He stood in the low light watching her leave and then turned and went into the house.

  I was wide awake now and buzzing from the show. Part of me was turned on and wanted to do something about it. Another part of me wanted to run like hell, leave everything I had and just escape.

  I did neither.

  I climbed back into bed and tears gathered in my eyes as I rolled over, curling into myself. Someday soon, I’d be free of my demons. At least I hoped so.

  Table watched as Lottie drove away. It had been just a few months since he had moved back to the farm, but this was the first night in a long while that he had been able to go out and be an adult. Money was tight and time was tighter, so he would take advantage of any chance he could to get a moment of privacy. Work at the tattoo parlor was going well, his grandmother’s garden was growing huge, and his baby daughter was thriving despite being abandoned by her mother. After Lottie’s headlights disappeared, Table glanced at the dilapidated van parked in the side lot next to the garage. Martha had mentioned looking for a tenant and helper for around the farm. He thought the offer was more than generous and hoped this new guy would work out. The last one put the L in lazy and Martha soon overworked him. Table wasn’t thrilled with the idea that some random stranger would be living with his grandmother and her sister, but he knew that anyone who didn’t measure up would soon be out on their ass, and for the time being, he would be there to help enforce Martha’s farm rules. He looked briefly at the dark window of the rental room before moving to the house and entering. There were four bedrooms in the ranch-style house, all of them small but at least private, or private enough. Both Martha and Carol’s doors were cracked slightly, but Angel’s was all the way open. Table quietly moved through the tiny room to the crib that held his world. The tiny girl was curled up, her puffy diapered bottom in the air. Her face made a few movements as he stroked a finger over the velvet softness of her young skin. He had never expected to be a father until that fateful night when his life turned on itself like a mountain road switchback. His wife, now ex-wife, had shown up out of the blue at his favorite bar while he had been on a date with a woman he was interested in getting to know better. Tamara had set the baby in the carrier on the pool table along with a bag that held a few supplies in it and walked out the door, leaving Table to cope. One look at the pink bundle that was his flesh and blood was all it took for the future to turn in the most unexpected direction. Table decided then and there that he had to move back to Asheville and the farm, both for help with his new fatherhood role and to figure out his next plans. He had thought he would be moving back permanently, taking up the farm as his inheritance and raising his daughter as he had been raised, but he found himself missing the mountains of Bryson City and the club family he’d left behind.

  Angel grunted and shifted in her sleep. Table smiled at the squirming bundle
. No need to make earth-shattering decisions tonight. His divorce had been finalized that afternoon and he had gotten laid in celebration with a good friend from his past. Life would work itself out. He left the sleeping child and went to find his own bed, content for now.

  Two

  The sun had risen, and the river sparkled with the morning light as I made my way down the steep stairs. Gathering eggs? I’d never gathered an egg that wasn’t already in a cardboard carton, but really, how hard could it be? I found out this morning when I ventured into the spacious chicken coop. Hens of all colors were flocking around a long row of nesting boxes that were full of different shades of brown eggs. They cackled and clucked as they milled around randomly. I went down the line, trying not to think about the chicken poop I might be walking on and picking up the warm orbs, until I came eye to eye with a red and orange hen sitting on a nest. She looked at me and cocked her head to one side, sizing me up. I swallowed, as I’d never been this close to a chicken that hadn’t been plated on a dining room table. The wicker basket was almost full, but I still needed to get the eggs that may still be in that nest.

  “Shoo!” I spat, trying to sound authoritative. The bird opened her beak and snapped it shut in a clicking sound. I tried again, this time with a hand motion. The hen just settled herself even further into the nest. I put the basket down and clapped at the cantankerous animal. All I got was a baleful glare.

  I was being intimidated by a damn chicken! I shook my head. This was a bird not exactly known for its intelligence level. I reached into the box, fully intending on slipping my hand under the bird to at least feel for any eggs. What I got was a lesson on how angry a chicken can get and the sharpness of its beak. It jumped at me with a loud squawk and pecked at me several times before I could yank back my hand. Then it came running at me and leaping at my legs. I yelped and fell back on my butt in the dirt, narrowly missing the basket as I tried to get away from the enraged fowl. The bird clucked at me and raised its head in triumph as it strutted off to a different part of the coop. My hand was burning and bleeding from several deep puncture wounds, and the worst part of the whole encounter? There weren’t any frickin’ eggs sitting in the nest!

  There were three short steps framed by a wooden railing to the back door. I knocked on the screen door, holding the basket awkwardly as I cradled my hand at my middle, trying to staunch the bleeding. I was expecting Martha or her sister to open the door, thinking they would be the only ones up at this hour. Instead, I got my second shock of the morning.

  The bald biker from the previous night answered the knock. He was tall, broad, and shirtless, showing off an incredibly colorful array of intricate tattoos on his defined arms and chest. The details were astounding. I forced myself to look up at his face and not at the gold loops decorating his dark nipples. The color of his hair, if he ever let it grow in, would be a dark, deep brown going by the neatly groomed Fu Manchu mustache and chin duster that framed his mouth. There was a touch of gray, indicating some maturity. He was big all over, his stomach and shoulders showing clear and precise delineations that could only come from a lot of physical work. Power exuded from every pore, and I found it both intriguing and intimidating. I should have been scared, but I wasn’t.

  Why?

  Because he had a tiny baby dressed in pale pink cradled in the crook of his hard bicep. He held her close, curling her securely into his body, protecting her. How could anyone be scared of a hard, strong man who was cradling a baby like she was the most precious person in his world? It was enough for me to relax. Right?

  His deep brown eyes regarded me silently, and I held up the basket.

  “I have the eggs.” My voice came out croaky as my dry tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  His mouth split into a grin that showed off the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. I could see his natural charm, the kind that was irresistible. One look at that devastating smile and women would be lining up. My lower stomach tingled as I remembered him burying his head between the woman’s legs and her reaction.

  He turned his head and yelled back in the house, “Yo, Nanny! Your tenant’s here with the eggs!”

  “Imma comin’!” I heard faintly from the interior.

  The baby squirmed in his arm and let out a little grunt. He jostled the pink bundle and made shushing noises at her. “Ch-ch-ch almost there, baby girl. Almost there.”

  He looked at me and smiled again. “Bottle’s not quite ready and she can get impatient. Name’s Table.”

  Table? Strange name for a girl, but the last year had been a strange one for me in a lot of ways.

  “Never knew a little girl named for a piece of furniture.”

  If I hadn’t been holding the heavy egg basket with both hands, I would have slapped one over my mouth. I didn’t want to anger my landlady and that probably should extend to her grandson.

  He seemed to take my faux pas in stride and laughed, those beautiful teeth flashing again. “Nah, my name’s Table.”

  “Nice to meet you, Table. I’m, uh, Lori.”

  His smile got bigger and he nodded at the fussing baby. “This is my little girl, Angel. Come on in to the kitchen. Nanny’s gonna have food ready soon and I’ll bet money she’s got a full plate with your name on it.”

  I entered the house like I was stepping back in time. The furniture was old, antiques you’d see in a museum-type house, but the pieces were still being used regularly and looked well cared for. I caught a faint scent of bacon grease in the air and heard the pop and sizzle of cooking meat. The kitchen contrasted with the antique look of the furniture. It was huge, with stainless steel modern appliances. Martha was shuffling around the stove, wearing another bright floral top, this time with blue denim capris. Her wiry gray hair stuck out and curled up into an odd-looking crown around her head.

  “Jus’ put the eggs on the counter,” she ordered as she flipped the bacon.

  Another elderly woman approached me. This must be the sister, Carol.

  “Ooh my! Looks like the biddy hens worked some overtime last evening!” She clasped her hands in delight and giggled. “You must be the Miss Lori that Martha let the room out to. Nice to make your acquaintance, dear!” She reached out a hand and took mine in both of hers. “Looks like one of them gave you what for. Let’s take care of those bites at the sink. I have some salve and some Band-Aids in the cabinet. We’ll get you fixed right up!”

  Carol looked and sounded the opposite of her sister. She wore a pale powder-blue house dress and beige orthopedic-style shoes, whereas the colors Martha wore were big and bold, and she was sporting bright orange Skechers.

  Carol fussed over my hands and her blue eyes glowed as she patted my bandaged extremities. “There we go, all done. Tell me, child, are you saved?”

  I faltered; I had no idea what she was talking about. Martha grunted and slammed a bowl down on the counter. Table burst into laughter, his head thrown back and mouth wide. Angel squirmed in his arm and made a few baby noises. A bottle was in his hand and he had plugged it into the baby’s mouth. She was eagerly downing the contents, oblivious to her father’s mirth. My stomach flipped again at the odd sight of the half-naked tattooed biker guy feeding a baby.

  “Carol, I done told you not to try recruitin’ for the church!” Martha stated as she pulled several white plates from a cupboard. “Not everyone goes to see the Good Lord on Sunday mornin’ and they ain’t all going to hell neither. Sit on down, girl.”

  It took a moment to realize she was talking to me. I was a little scared of the demanding woman, so I did as she ordered and sat at the round table.

  Carol sniffed and went to get silverware out of a drawer. I had the feeling of becoming a rope in a tug of war between the two sisters. My face must have shown something, because Table stepped in.

  “Stay here long enough, Lori, and Martha here will have you up at her secret still makin’ ’shine by the end of the week. Carol will ask you next about singing in the choir Sunday morning. Don’t pay any attention
to them and they’ll stop.”

  He lifted Angel to his cloth-covered shoulder and patted her back. She let out a loud burp and Table laughed again. “That’s my girl!”

  Martha scowled at him and plunked a plate in front of me, loaded with crispy bacon, three eggs fried in the grease, a pile of fluffy white grits covered with melting butter, and thick pieces of toast slathered with red strawberry jam. My eyes bugged out at the amount of food and I immediately calculated the amount of fat, carbs, and calories I was expected to consume.

  “I didn’t get t’ show my still to that last tenant at all! Carol scared him off right quick with her hellfire and brimstone preachin’ at the dinner table.”

  “I beg your pardon, sister! It was you scared him off with your talk about still flashfires, going blind from bad ’shine, and all that other nonsense! Plus you done worked him too hard!”

  “Bah! That ’n was jus’ too soft. He didn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty.”

  I just stared at the heaping plate in front of me. Martha put a larger one in front of Table and Carol brought two more, filling out the four places. Both sisters sat down and joined hands. Martha was to Table’s left and I was to his right. She placed her hand on Angel’s tiny one. Carol reached out her other hand and looked at me expectantly. Table did the same.

  I felt a choking sensation crawl up the back of my throat. I took Carol’s hand without a problem but I looked at Table’s offered one and hesitated for an awkward moment. My eyes rose to his as the silence grew uncomfortable. I could see the question in his deep brown eyes.