We ate in silence except for Solomon’s occasional contented sighs. The reason I was so pissed at Maureen eluded me. Finally, I felt the weight of Solomon’s gaze and looked up from my plate.
“What’s with you?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“Look, Ruby,” he stabbed a slice of cucumber with his fork, “we have several more days of traveling together. I think it’s only fair we all open up a little bit. I know you’re fond of Maureen.”
I bristled. “What makes you think that?”
He fingered the pewter sand dollar on the suede strap.
Wilting, I focused on the ranch dressing left on my plate, noting that it looked like I felt—mixed up with various ingredients floating in it.
“What set you off just now?” he pressed.
My frustration mounted. I picked up my fork and swirled a radish slice in the dressing. Why was I so pissed? Then it hit me with force. How many times had my father done the same thing to me? How many meals had I cooked for Dad only to have him grab a six-pack, a box of Twinkies, a bag of potato chips, and then go sit in the recliner to watch one sports program after another?
A memory washed through my mind. “Dad,” I’d said the night I’d cooked the last meal I vowed to ever cook for him again, “I made fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy—”
“Shut up, Ruby,” he snapped from his ratty recliner. “The ball game’s about to start.”
“Why don’t you come in here and have supper with me?” I prepared him a plate and set a knife and fork on the table next to it. “I fried the chicken usingMom’s recipe, just the way you like it.”
“I’m happy with my beer and Twinkies,” he said.
“But, Dad, you need to eat right and—”
He never looked at me, never got up from his chair. “Fuck off, Ruby!” His words and tone sliced through me faster than lightning. “I don’t need you or your help!”
With tears pouring down my face and trying desperately to keep my sobs quiet so I wouldn’t set him off again, I left Dad’s plate on the table, packed all the food into containers, put them in the fridge, and left.
I pushed the memory aside and looked up at Solomon with tears in my eyes.
“Ruby?” He put his fork down and reached for my hand, squeezing my fingers. “I’m enjoying the meal,” he said. “Doesn’t that count?”
With a slight wobble to my lower lip, I replied. “Yeah, but Maureen isn’t.”
“Sweetheart, you can’t control other people’s actions.”
Solomon’s comment shocked me. For a long moment I just sat there staring at him with my mouth ajar. He was right. I couldn’t control what others said and did. I’d lived my entire life worrying about everyone else—my father, co-workers, acquaintances, my landlady—and how they would react to me and whether or not they’d like, love or hate me. However, it all boiled down to the fact that I had to live my life, not them.
Standing, I stacked dirty dishes and walked around the counter to deposit them in the sink. Although it seemed as though a ray of sunshine had finally penetrated my dark world, I had to mull over the revelation more, define it and examine it for cracks.
“Ruby,” he said, “are you okay?”
The concern in his voice touched me. With my back to him, I began washing and rinsing the dishes. “I’m fine.”
“If I offended you, I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “No, you didn’t offend me. It’s just that...well...”
He stood and walked into the kitchenette. Warm, strong hands settled on my waist. Solomon drew me against him, the heat of his body comforting. For a moment I allowed myself to lean into him.
“What is it, Ruby?”
Solomon’s breath caressed my ear, and a delicious shiver wiggled through me. His touch, his aroma, and the seduction of his voice all wove a treacherous spell around my body and heart. It would be so easy to give in, take him by the hand and lead him into the tiny back bedroom so he could have his way with me.
It didn’t matter that I’d suddenly had a revelation that had given me a dose of much-needed emotional strength. It didn’t matter that I desired Solomon’s touch and his body straining against mine. I knew the truth, and the truth was that my life was cursed and love wasn’t an option. I had to avoid the calamity that would strike my heart if I allowed Solomon to woo me any further.
“Never mind. It’s not important.” Pulling away from Solomon, I forced resolve into my voice and focused on finishing up the last of the dirty dishes.
“Are you sure?”
For an instant I almost changed my mind, almost spilled all the sorrow and agony I felt on his doorstep. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
A gusty sight escaped him. Instead of walking away, he withdrew a tea towel from a drawer and dried the dishes. I let the wash and rinse water out of the sinks, sprayed them down, and then stowed the dry dishes in various cupboards. We worked together silently, and I realized how much I enjoyed Solomon’s companionship, even while we completed a mundane task.
“So tell me more about yourself,” he said, hanging the towel on the oven’s handle. He turned and sat at the table.
I placed the leftovers in the mini fridge. “You’re lucky you know what little you do about me.”
“Why?”
“The more you know, the more likely you’ll run.”
He arched a white brow. “Seems like I should’ve run when you first displayed your powers, but I didn’t. I’m still here.”
Heat rose to my cheeks.
He caught my hand as I passed him and pulled me over to his seat. “We’re meant to be together, Ruby. We both know it.” His pale gaze bored into mine. “When I saw you that first time, I felt a pull that scared me. Then when you stayed at my home and we kissed,” he slipped his hand under my shirt and brushed his thumb back and forth along my belly, “there was no doubt in my mind. I don’t know how I know you from someplace, but I do.” He skimmed his hand around my hip and palmed my ass. “And you can deny it all you want, but something bigger than both of us is going on, and we’re the characters in this sinister play. Whatever it is, it’s why we need to go to Key West.”
Shunka woofed softly from his spot in the center of the kitchenette.
“Traitor,” I whispered over my shoulder.
Solomon released my hand and cupped my cheek with it. “Deny it, Ruby. I dare you.”
His touch on my belly, my rear, my face—oh, how I wanted him. But he was right. Something bigger than both of us was indeed happening. I only prayed it didn’t turn into a catastrophe.
Solomon wrapped his arms around me, his mouth claiming mine.
No, no! I can’t let him do this to me! I have to fight...
But the more his mouth moved against mine, the more I wanted from him. Whimpering, I returned his kiss. His tongue tickled the seam of my lips, and I parted them, allowing him access.
The bathroom door screeched open.
“Bathroom’s free if anyone wants a shower,” Maureen announced.
Solomon pulled away, his eyes dark gray with need, and walked to the tiny bedroom off from the kitchen. “I’ll get out of here so you can change. I’m going to relax for a few minutes.”
She smiled at him and removed the towel wrapped around her hair. He stepped through the door and shut it.
“There are leftovers in the fridge.” I flipped on the television with the remote and climbed onto the end of my bed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t eat,” Maureen replied softly. “I really don’t feel like eating.”
“That’s fine.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound like you are.”
“Really, I’m not, but if you keep pestering me about it, I will be.”
“Sorry.”
“There you go again.”
She tossed me an apologetic look and tucked the bath sheet tighter between her boobs. Sitting, she silently combed o
ut her hair.
The bed’s softness called to me, and I considered retiring early. Surfing channels, I watched Maureen out of the corner of my eye. Without any makeup, she looked extremely young. She leaned over, head between her knees, and combed her hair backward. In many ways, she was so innocent. I wondered what it was like to go through life as she had, drifting from one town to another, viewing the world and people through her eyes.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked, pretending to be more interested in television.
The Malamute padded over and flopped down on the floor between our beds.
“Yeah, I guess.” She straightened and smoothed her hair with the comb. “I just had a bad case of nerves.”
That got my full attention. “Nerves?”
She dropped the comb on the bedspread, turned, and then looked at me with such pain-filled eyes I was flabbergasted. Tears welled up in them. Not the sort of tears she usually displayed, but ones of such agony that words failed me.
“I wish I could tell you,” she said.
“So talk to me about it.”
“I can’t. You’ll think I’m a horrible person.”
“Maureen, I’m the last person to judge anyone.” Oh, but hadn’t I? Hadn’t I assumed she was a brainless hussy when I first met her and that Solomon couldn’t be trusted?
Hypocrite! Inwardly, I cringed.
With sorrow in my tone, I added, “No one judges you or thinks badly of you.”
“Maybe not, but if I tell you what’s bugging me, you’ll judge me just the same.”
“Try me.”
Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Sighing, she shook her head.
“All right, I’ll not press about it.”
“You’re friendship means too much to me, Ruby,” she said with conviction. “I don’t want to lose it.” She sniffled and used the discarded towel to wipe her eyes.
“Don’t you think we’ll part ways once the business part of our trip is completed?” I said.
“No.”
Blinking, I sat quietly. She had said that one little word with such assurance it left me unsettled.
“Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. If you do, that’s fine too.” I pointed the remote at the TV, surfing from the Game Show Network to QVC to the SyFy Channel.
“I used to be a prostitute,” Maureen blurted. “My mother was a prostitute, and Aunt Lula is the Madame of the cathouse I grew up in.”
I dropped the remote on the floor. The back popped off of it, and the batteries rolled helter-skelter across the carpet.
Chapter Twenty-Three
At that moment many things about Maureen suddenly made sense. The means in which she got money for her fancy French-tipped nails despite Lula’s wired money, her statement about doing a guy a favor and being paid with a meal, and her reaction to my smart-assed comment about the truck stop hookers. To say I was shocked would have been an understatement, but I had enough faults of my own, so I wasn’t about to cast the first stone.
Sobs pelted the room. The door to the back bedroom opened, and Solomon hurried out.
Unsure what to do, I just sat there, feeling helpless and stupid.
“I’m so sorry, Ruby!” Maureen balled the towel and shoved her face into it. “I know you hate me now.”
Her muffled words stabbed my heart. How could I hate her? It was then I realized I considered her my best friend—the only true friend I’d ever had. I hadn’t known her long, but somehow we knew one another from another time. It didn’t make any sense, but our friendship was still something we both recognized.
I moved over to the other bed, my foot catching a battery and sending it careening under the dresser. Solomon leaned against the kitchen counter, his haunting gaze on us.
“Maureen,” I said, “it’s okay. I don’t judge you. I don’t care about your past.”
On the floor, Shunka whined and placed his muzzle between his paws.
What could I do to make her feel better?
At a loss, I put one arm around her shoulder and drew her to me. The aroma of deodorant soap and perfumed shampoo tickled my nose. She sobbed harder.
“Judas Priest and cherry Popsicles! Calm down, Maureen. Everything is okay.” I shot Solomon a look for help, but he only smiled. Scowling at him, I half hugged my hitchhiker and jostled her shoulders to get her attention. “You’re my friend and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you,” she sniffled, “really mean that?” She lowered the towel slightly, her big, watery eyes peeping at me over the edge of it.
The stunned and yet delighted expression almost made me burst out laughing, but the sensation fizzled the instant I realized I truly did mean what I’d said.
“Yes,” I hated the emotion in my voice, “I really mean it.”
Maureen sighed and relaxed against me. She sniffled several times, hiccupped and sniffed harder. Solomon crossed the room, picked up a box of tissues from the dresser and slid the box over the bedspread where I could reach them. He strode back to his room and closed the door.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you.” I handed her a tissue. “I don’t intend for things to come out of my mouth the way they often do, and—”
“It’s your defense mechanism,” Maureen said. “I understand. You have a lot of secrets and too many scars.”
There’s nothing like stunning me into silence.
Desperate to turn the discussion away from me, I said, “Do you want to talk about what you just told me?”
“Nothing to tell, really.”
She sighed and straightened, looking at me with such a relief that I almost envied her. Oh, to be able to cleanse myself like she’d just done, to unload years of heartache and misery by confiding in someone.
“Want to go out by the pool and talk?” I suggested. “We can look at the stars and enjoy the evening.”
Her pleased smile gave her an angelic look. “That would be great.”
****
After she dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, we poured ourselves glasses of soda and made our way outside. As promised, I left the door open so Solomon could hear us should we have any unwanted visitors. In the enclosed pool area, we sat on chaises in the far corner beneath a shade tree hanging over the poolside.
The motel lights and moonshine danced upon the pool’s surface. Despite the day’s humidity and the lights of Florida City, the sky boasted a nice view of the stars. The jagged silhouettes of the surrounding palm trees framed the blue velvet expanse scattered with white pinpoints. A tropical breeze stirred the water, and the filtering system mingled with the sounds of traffic on the main strip. Occasionally a parrot screeched, and I caught the distinct odor of chlorine threaded with the subtle aroma of some sort of night-blooming flower.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind go blank. I couldn’t sort through the craziness of the past few days, nor the emotions surging through me like ocean tides. None of it made any sense. It all seemed surreal.
“Tell me about your mom,” I said, looking over at Maureen.
She turned on her side and drew her legs up. “I was so young at the time I don’t remember much about her except her big green eyes, long blonde hair, and she always smelled like lilacs. She was one of Aunt Lula’s girls. There were sixteen to twenty prostitutes who lived in the brothel at all times.” She sighed, and her gaze moved to the sky. “One of my mother’s regulars fell in love with her, and when she wouldn’t quit the business and marry him, he beat her. Lula rushed my mother to the hospital, but Mom died from internal injuries. After that, Lula raised me.”
“So you worked in the brothel when you were old enough?” I surmised.
“Yes.”
“But you left.”
“I knew there was more to life than selling my body. I got a call one day from my son. He’d tracked me down, and I realized I couldn’t bear it if he knew the truth about me. I left the brothel and I’ve been wandering the country ever since.”
With my soda halfway to
my mouth, I stopped and gaped at her. “You have a son?”
She nodded. “I had him when I was fourteen. Prostitutes in places like Madame Lula’s practice safe sex, but sometimes condoms break, and I hadn’t been on the pill long enough for it to be effective yet. That’s how I got pregnant. I had the baby and put him up for adoption. Once Payton turned eighteen, he tracked me down, but he doesn’t know I’m a prostitute, and neither did his adoptive parents.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-one.”
“So that makes you...?”
“Thirty-five,” she replied.
“We’re the same age.”
She smiled.
“You can’t run away from your past, Maureen. Trust me, I know this well. And we’re both still young, so we have our entire lives ahead of us. I don’t want to spend it running from mistakes, do you?”
“No.” She sipped her drink and sat quietly for a few seconds. “I thought maybe if I was out in the world, I’d see and do things that would give me something to talk about with my son. Something besides ‘oh, by the way, I’m a high-priced whore.’”
“I lost my mother when I was very young.” The admission sprang from my mouth before I could stop it. However, it was liberating to say it aloud.
Her startled gaze flew up to meet mine. “Really?”
I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was a young teenager when it happened, the time when a girl needs her mother the most.” Pain, as it always did, stabbed my soul. “My father blames me for her death, which is one of many reasons he resents me so much.”
“Why does he blame you?”
The question surprised me, and I sucked in a startled breath.
“It’s okay,” said Maureen.
Taking the risk, I surged on. “I caused a fire with my power and my mother...she...”
Maureen reached over and threaded her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. I bit my lower lip and drew strength from the pain.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.”
After several minutes, I squeezed her hand back and said, “We’re a lot alike.”
The Sorcerer King and the Fire Queen Page 22
