Redemption Lane

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Sadly, it didn’t take long enough for Bess to explode, her flavor mixing with the chlorine. I wanted more. It was the sweetest honey I’d ever tasted.

  But I couldn’t dwell on that for too long because she took me by surprise and turned the tables on me, sliding my body to the steps where I was forced to lean back on the top step as she’d done.

  Her mouth was on me before I could blink, her tongue running up and down my length, stopping to pay attention to both the tip and my balls. Lifting my head, I leaned over to catch a glimpse of her bending over me, taking such intimate care of my cock that I nearly blew my load right there.

  “Oh fucking God, Bess, please don’t stop,” I murmured, rolling my head back and closing my eyes.

  And she didn’t. She slid me in all the way, taking every last inch in her hot mouth. She sucked me hard and long all the way to the end, where she refused to move and held on for dear life as I let go of my release down her throat.

  By the time we’d left the pool, showered, and crawled back into bed, naked and warm in each other’s arms, we’d been exhausted. With only a few hours of sleep, daylight had come too soon, and I’d kissed the fuck out of her that morning over coffee in my kitchen.

  After years of screwing Jake’s leftovers before becoming quite the lover myself, last night was the single most erotic and sensual night of my life. Now she was gone and I had to go home to a bed that smelled like Bess and a house that was empty without her.

  But she didn’t want to live in Florida. Couldn’t live here.

  And I couldn’t go back north. The place was a mental trap for me. An endless black hole of memories and secrets.

  Bess

  The sound of gravel crunching alerted me to a car coming down my driveway, and I ran to the door, flinging it open.

  “May! Brooks!” I ran out onto my porch without a coat, not caring that it was only twenty degrees outside.

  May got out of the car, and before she could walk around to the passenger side, my Lab came barreling out the driver’s side door.

  “Hey, sweetie!” May called to me as she shoved her car door closed.

  “Hi, May. How was my big guy?”

  Brooks had run up to the porch and shoved his snout into my leg, demanding a pet before he ran back down the hill and lifted his leg.

  “He was just fine. He’s so lazy,” she said with a big smile.

  “Good boy,” I said to my dog when he came back up the stairs. “He’s not lazy,” I said to May.

  “Well, we’re glad to have him, lazy or not,” she said as she came up the steps. As soon as she’d crossed the threshold, she gave me a knowing look, then plopped down onto the sofa without an invitation. “Okay, spill.”

  So I curled up on the other end of the couch with my legs tucked under me, still dehydrated from stale airplane air and feeling sore between my legs, and told her all about Florida.

  Except for the naughty details.

  When I was done, she gave me an approving look. “See? You came clean and let it all hang out, and survived to tell about it. Proud of you, girlie.”

  Then she said her good-byes and headed for home, leaving me all alone with my thoughts and memories.

  The next morning, I got up early. I was due back to work, but had somewhere I needed to go first. Pulling up to the church, I spotted Shirley in her Buick. Bundled in my parka with a hat tight on my head, I braved the cold to walk over to the only car with the engine idling.

  She cut the engine as I approached and stepped out of the car. “Bess, honey. You okay? How was it?”

  Before I could answer, Shirley pulled me in for a hug, squeezing me tight as she squished my face into her big boobs. I relaxed in the warmth of her scent, a homey mix of grease from the diner and an overly flowery perfume. I wasn’t sure why it felt familiar, but even with no mother or grandmother to speak of, the combined scents of cooking and heavy perfume brought me comfort. If I’d had female role models in my life, I was sure that was what they would smell like.

  “It was unreal,” I said in a low voice, trying to keep my lip from quivering. “So unreal, but now I’m back.”

  Shirley grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the building. Even though I convinced my lip to remain still, my glassy eyes probably gave me away.

  Squeezing my hand, she said, “Oh, honey. It’s okay to be happy and have an unreal time. And even more okay to be sad to leave it.”

  I nodded and then said, “But now that I’ve had a taste of what could never be, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same. And I’m already unsure of who the heck I am.”

  She just squeezed my hand a little harder and said, “Come on, you’ll feel better after this.”

  The morning meeting was mostly people who were happy to have survived the night without drinking or indulging in whatever their poison was, grateful to have made it through another twenty-four hours. In my mind, they were the most distraught meeting-goers, the ones teetering the closest to falling again.

  As Shirley blew through the doorway with me in her wake, it occurred to me that was probably why she went to the morning meetings. She was a mother hen, always wanting to help other people, to save them, and we were all her chicks.

  I knew most of the people there, but there were two or three newcomers, probably recently released from the full-time rehab program where I went. People in that situation usually decided to stay on in the day program until they were truly able to go back to their lives or what was left of them.

  Together we huddled in the cold basement as cheap coffee percolated in the background, next to a carton of doughnuts left open on the table. As we waited for the meeting to begin, each of us looked around the room and saw pieces of ourselves in each and everyone there. And hoped we weren’t as bad off as the next person.

  Shirley got up to speak today, and I sat up a little straighter in my chair. I’d never heard her share her story before, had only heard bits and pieces, so I kept my eyes and ears focused on my new friend.

  “Hi, my name’s Shirley—everyone calls me Shirl—and I’m an alcoholic. I’m pretty sure I’ve always been one. Since I was a teen or something like that and I watched my dad railing on my mom. I tried to make a new life for myself when I left home. Back then, I was going to school in the Midwest to be a nurse. But it was taking forever to put myself through school, and I never finished. That was when my drinking and using got real bad. When I felt like a failure for not making anything of my life.”

  She paused to look at her feet, and I thought I saw a tear drop to the floor. She sniffed a time or two before continuing.

  “Then I started babysitting and sort of cleaned up my act again. I lived in a neighborhood where there were a lot of young families, and some of them asked me if I could help them if they needed a break or to go to work. So I did their laundry and cooking while I watched their kids. I know, I know . . . how could I care for children while I was drunk? I rationalized that I didn’t, that I wasn’t drunk the next day. I loved those kids so much. I’d sober up on black coffee in the morning after passing out from being drunk every night, but it wasn’t right. I know that now.”

  Shirley cleared her throat and nervously smoothed her hair into her tight bun.

  “There was one family; I loved these people like they were my own. They often invited me to stay and eat with them, giving me care packages to take home. If I’d had a different family growing up, I wanted this one. They had the cutest kids I ever laid my eyes on. They used to snuggle up to me and say, ‘Read us a story, Miss Shirley,’ until I let them down.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, and as one slid down her cheek, I felt the telltale pricking in my own eyes.

  “One day,” she said, “I wasn’t quite myself. It was the anniversary of the day I should’ve graduated nursing school a few years before, and I really tied one on that night.” Her voice wobbled and she swallowed, trying to clear her throat.

  “The next day, I let those kids down. I had to lay down, take a rest,
do something to get rid of the ache in my head and my heart. My head was throbbing and I sat down on the couch with them and said we would watch some TV. But I must’ve fallen asleep and after a while, they got bored. One little guy got into something real bad. After that it was over. Destroyed . . . everything was ruined . . . because of me . . . and they . . . they moved and I lost them all.”

  Shirley put her head in her hands, crying in earnest at this point. Her shoulders heaved as she sobbed, but she finished her story with her mascara running and strands of hair coming loose, falling around her face.

  “It was after that, such a tremendous loss, that I dried up and moved here and made a quiet, boring life for myself. Now I’ve got a life with a man who loves me, a steady job, and lots of good friends. It’s not perfect, but it’s good.”

  She stared out at us with a tearful half smile. “There are days I wish that I’d faced all my demons. That I didn’t move, but faced life where I’d been living it . . . or not living it. But I did the best I could, and I’m here. And I wouldn’t have met you all if I didn’t come here.”

  Her story finished, Shirley gave us a bittersweet smile. As the group applauded and called out their support, she came back to her seat next to me. I squeezed her hands in mine and kissed her on the cheek before handing her a tissue, then helped her wipe her freckles free of makeup and dry her pretty green eyes.

  With all the emotion bled out of me, work felt like a breeze.

  I ended up a little late to work because of the meeting, but served breakfast in between chatting with Ernesto, and stayed on through lunch. The hotel was full and the restaurant was busy. My sections might have been packed all morning and afternoon, but that didn’t stop me from taking a quick peek over at the bar and picturing Lane sitting there on Christmas Day, or frequently conjuring up his smiling face.

  I tried telling myself that it was okay, giving myself permission to ache for the man and the loss of what might have been if I didn’t have so many ghosts in my closet.

  Lane

  One month later

  A long month had passed since Bess left. A very dry thirty days. An epic drought, so to speak.

  During those weeks we’d only spoken three times. It was mostly my doing.

  She did call me to thank me for the trip and the package I had delivered to her place the day after she returned home. I knew better than to believe she would ever pick up the phone and pursue me. She had done that once, and I didn’t expect it again.

  And I used that to my deranged advantage, because I was a sick and very twisted person. On paper, I was decent. But inside I was fucking tormented. I had been for years.

  The nice brother with skeletons in the closet.

  After that I’d only called her twice more, making light conversation and never tackling the elephant on the line.

  What were we? Or what could we be?

  Because the answer was painfully clear. Nothing.

  I was in Spain visiting a property for a large hotel conglomerate that wanted my services. The weather was gorgeous, the women were exotic and beautiful—not to mention ready, willing, and able—and I couldn’t get my head out of my ass.

  Every afternoon, when the whole fucking nation disappeared to take a siesta, I paced my hotel balcony. With a small tumbler of scotch, I would roam the tiny open space, looking out at the wide countryside in front of me as I thought.

  Thinking was very bad because it brought up my past, and that was a part of me I didn’t like to think about. I’d moved on, created a fucking dynasty through my own hard work, and the past had no place in that world.

  At the moment, I stared hard at the amber-hued liquid in my glass, the oaky aroma mixing with the salty seaside air. All it did was remind me of her brown hair spread out in front of me, salty waves crashing in the background. Of course, Bess’s face was in the middle of all that glorious hair, smiling up at me as I enjoyed her body, taking my fill.

  Sex had always been my escape mechanism, my secret weapon to burying everything else that tormented me. Now I was on a starvation diet from it, and it wasn’t working out for me. The nightmares had returned, and they wouldn’t stop. Bedtime had come to include a healthy drink and a long hot shower, where my own stroking did little to relieve my stress.

  I had just tossed the rest of my drink back when my phone chimed with a text.

  JAKE: Yo, bro! Where you at?

  ME: Spain. What gives?

  JAKE: I need some help.

  ME: Of course. What now?

  Jake didn’t text back. Instead my phone rang, his contact info coming up on the screen.

  “Yo, Jake,” I answered, already lacking patience where my fucking twin was concerned.

  “Listen, Lane, don’t be mad. I need money.”

  I’d stepped into my hotel room to take the call, but the four walls and the stale damp air were stifling. Walking back onto the balcony, I said, “What the fuck, Jake? Money for what?”

  “I had a deal go south. It went really bad.”

  “What deal? You own a gym, you’re not in finance.”

  “Well, remember Courtney?”

  I let out a long breath before answering. “Yes. From Christmas.”

  “She was a rep for this protein smoothie company, and convinced me to sign off on a PO for a huge recurring shipment. I can’t sell the shit. It sucks, and it keeps coming and the company wants to be paid. At least through the next six months, and then they’ll let me out of the contract.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jake! Can’t you keep your dick and your business separate?”

  “I said don’t be mad.”

  “Well, I am fucking mad. I can’t always clean up your messes, bro. Time to come to terms with that.” I sat down in the lounge chair and leaned my head back, closing my eyes in hopes of keeping a pounding headache at bay.

  “Yeah, I know. Just this time, Lane, and then I’m gonna get my act together. I would have the cash, but I just signed the lease on a second building and put a down payment on equipment. I’m opening a second location. I know the gym business, you know that. And I need to clear my credit to make the second place happen. I’m desperate.”

  I decided not to get into it anymore. “How much do you need?”

  “Twenty-five K.”

  “You’re a little fuck, you know that? Twenty-five K in smoothies? Courtney’s pussy better have been worth it.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “You know what? You’re a fuck or Courtney’s pussy was worth it?” I let out a snort. “Just fucking stop with the fucking yeahs and all the agreeing and get your shit together, Jake.”

  “Okay,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “Where is this vendor? I want to have a chat and see the contract before I bail you out.”

  “They’re sort of local.”

  “How local?”

  “Youngstown, Ohio.”

  “Shit. You know how I feel about that place, Jake.”

  “I know. Please?”

  “Fine. I’m scheduled to leave Spain in two days. I’ll have my assistant change my flights and head straight to you. Make all the arrangements on your end, Jake. I’m not waiting when I get there. I have a life and a business.”

  And no one to rush home to.

  Not waiting for one of his lame okays or yeahs, I disconnected the call and sent an e-mail to my assistant to change my travel.

  Then I sent a text that made my heart pound and my pulse race, a few typed words that I had dared myself not to send.

  ME: Hey! You’re probably at work since it’s morning where you are. I’m in Spain, but traveling back to PA tomorrow night. Can I come visit in a few days? I miss you and I’d like to see you.

  I didn’t hear back, but told myself she was busy at work, her phone tucked securely in her locker.

  AJ

  Spring had finally fucking come. With it the ground thawed and my shopping center project started to pick up speed. Which was good because my demons were eating at my gut
. I was being consumed alive, and I needed to keep myself busy.

  Bess was back. She’d been back for a month, but I knew better than to push her to see me. I’d already made that mistake once or twice.

  Throwing my truck in gear, my eighth cigarette of the morning hanging out of my mouth, its smoke coiling around me like my emotions were doing in my belly, I headed to the morning meeting. I couldn’t beg, but I had to see her. Just lay my eyeballs on her.

  I knew she was going regularly to the early one. Fucking Shirley. God-fucking-dammit. I’d known that lady for a long time. She thought she could save every fucking soul. I’d had enough coffees at her diner counter to know, and now she had her claws in Bess.

  I knew because she had told me as much.

  It had been late one afternoon and I’d been fucking freezing from standing out on a site. I’d just smashed my cigarette out in the canister in front of the diner and made my way to the bar as I held my last breath of nicotine in, letting it out as I took a seat.

  Who the fuck are all these people who say we can’t smoke inside buildings? Controlling assholes, that’s who.

  “Hey, AJ, what can I do for you?” Shirley had asked me.

  “Coffee, black,” I’d said.

  “Please. Thanks, Shirl,” she’d said, mocking me.

  “Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me, Shirley. I know you took my girl, turning her against me. God fucking knows what you’re filling her head with.”

  She’d slammed the coffee mug in front of me and leaned her elbows down on the counter as she gave me that glare that mommas everywhere do so well. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way, Andrew Jon. Not now. Not ever. Maybe I used to be a pushover once, but no more,” she said as she pointed her finger at my face.

  I lowered my head. I had a conscience—whether I let it show or not lately.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “You better be, boy. You had no business getting involved with that young lady other than helping her as a sponsor. What the hell is wrong with you? I should’ve stopped your sorry ass.”