Sister of a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  “Connor is an orthopedic surgeon, not a heart doctor. Half a muffaletta won’t kill him.”

  “I guess not,” Junior said almost as if he hoped it might.

  “Well, if you and Kiki get busy, put a sock on the door. I don’t want to walk in on anything.”

  Junior rose up to his full and imposing height. “I believe we are also going to be discussing art.” Having taken the high road, he brought his milk glass to the sink to be washed and left Xochi standing there without another word to say.

  Chapter Nine

  Xo used the shower first before waking Junior for Mass on Sunday morning. Only took two minutes of pounding on his door to do that. If he hoped for a more personal wakeup call like a gentle shake of his enormous shoulders as she bent over the bed, he would not get it. She shouted that the bathroom was his and not to eat before leaving. They made the early service at nine a.m. easily. He took communion to her surprise.

  “You’ve been to confession?” Xochi whispered as they lined up for a space at the communion rail to receive the host.

  “I worked it into my busy schedule. Nothing much to confess but impure thoughts. I was hoping for more by now.” She elbowed him in the ribs, not that he felt it.

  By ten-fifteen, they’d squeezed through the maze of tables at Café du Monde and secured seats near the sidewalk. “You see any of those dark guys today?” Junior asked after they’d placed their orders for the usual, beignets and café au lait.

  “No, never in church. Last time they were lingering outside and in the park. Not today. Eat slowly. Connor is going to meet me here and parking is always a problem. In the meantime, we should have a discussion about your getting your own place. I’m setting a two-week deadline for you since you lied about knowing New Orleans. I’ll bet you’ve been on a cemetery tour before and didn’t tell Rachelle.”

  “Nope, when I spent time in the city, I worked on my culinary skills. No time for tourist stuff. Only two weeks, that’s harsh.” He gave her the puppy dog eyes again, and she closed hers, blotting out their effect.

  “You just wanted to get into my—apartment.”

  “Hey, I buy groceries, I cook, I clean up, asking nothing in return but the sunshine of your presence.”

  Xo had seriously dark eyes, large and lustrous, which she knew how to roll at cheesy compliments. “How much time did you actually spend in Mexico because that sounds like a Latino pickup line if I ever heard one?”

  In the process of lifting another powered sugar heaped beignet to his lips, Junior snorted and blew a cloud across the deep green dress shirt, sleeves rolled up now, he’d worn with black slacks and a gold tie now stuffed in a pocket for church. Xochi refrained from dusting off that massive chest, and let him do it himself. He seemed disappointed.

  “I spent enough time there to polish up my Spanish, querida. Stayed with my mother’s relatives. No lying about that.”

  “Good, but you still get two weeks and out.” Why did her firmness pinch a little in her heart? When would Connor get here and rescue her from rescinding her demand?

  Junior called for a second order and worked through it just before the doctor showed up hoofing it from the Jax Brewery lot, a sheen already on his lean, intellectual face, his wire-rimmed glasses foggy from the humidity. Connor wiped them with a pink pocket square taken from his pale gray jacket pocket. “Sorry, I’m a little late. I’d forgotten about the New Orleans traffic and the parking problems.”

  “Better take that coat off. You’re gonna stroke out from the heat. You ain’t in Baltimore anymore,” Junior advised.

  “I’m sure I can find something to hydrate with at the grocery and the amount of salt in those sandwiches will surely restore the balance of my bodily fluids. Thanks for your concern.”

  “Any time,” Junior replied as if he regretted the warning and wished the guy would pass out on the sidewalk, maybe right now. Xo dug in her purse, the hot pink one he’d bought for her, searching for her wallet. “I got it. Go have a nice art walk.”

  “I’m sure we will. You have a great visit with Kiki.”

  “Kiki?” Connor raised critical eyebrows. “Sounds like a stripper name.”

  “An artist’s name,” Junior corrected. “Because I know real artists.”

  “Good for you. I know medical specialists who can put you back together again, way more useful.”

  Xochi made her way fast around the iron railing to join Connor who had been leaning in from the sidewalk. “Let’s go get our sandwich order in before Central Grocery has a line.” She dragged him off before another pissing contest could take place.

  They entered the battered old door with the red surround and inhaled all manner of things Italian, strong cheeses in the deli case and hard salamis hanging from hooks, briny olives and sweet basil, a hint of garlic. Early, they still had to take a number, but gathered other items for their picnic while they waited, water and soft drinks and a bag of Stella D’Oro cookies for dessert. The huge wheel of the sandwich dripping with the olive salad over the cold cuts came severed into quarters and wrapped heavily in butcher paper. Xo, worried about her new purse, asked for an additional plastic bag and stowed all within. Confident in his masculinity, Connor offered to carry the hot pink bag, but Xo said she could manage. They weren’t that far from his car—which had already heated up enough to melt the cheese in the muffaletta.

  The air-conditioning barely kicked in by the time they drove to City Park and found a space not too far from the art museum. Still full of beignets, Xochi suggested they walk a while before eating. Thanks to the benefactors, Sydney and Walda Besthoff, the sculpture garden boasting over sixty pieces of art remained free to the public. They found the site for the audio walking tour on their phones and entered the perimeter to stroll through the pine and magnolia grove and around the lagoon studded with art in the water. Reaching the deeper shade of the two-hundred-year-old live oaks, she and Connor laid out their lunch on a bench between them.

  Xochi noted he ate as meticulously as he dressed, no olive oil shiny lips for Connor Bullock or cookie crumbs on his chest to be whisked away by her fingers. He had conceded to the climate, shed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and opened his collar, but he still seemed very buttoned down.

  Of course, they discussed the art. Connor was not impressed by the glass baubles bedecking one of the oaks or the giant safety pin. He referred to Venus Victorious as chubby and Big Mama as obese.

  “When the Venus was created, being fleshy was in style. I hate to think how you’d describe me if I were a sculpture.” She’d dribbled some of the juice from the sandwich down the front of the patterned cotton dress she’d worn to church. At least the small flowers of the print helped disguise the stain, but Connor hadn’t tried to wipe it off.

  A man who thought before he spoke, Connor paused a moment before answering. “I’d say you are voluptuous and in the prime of womanhood—but you’ll have to be careful of your diet after thirty and especially after menopause when women really pack it on. You could wind up looking like Junior’s mother.”

  “One of the best people I know. Who cares if she’s fat? What did you think of Heroic Man?” Junior’s pledge that he would love her fat or thin, young or old, flashed through Xochi’s mind as she removed her hand from the cookie bag, closed it, and shoved the sack back into her purse.

  “Reminded me of Junior all bulked up, but the head is too small to make the resemblance complete.”

  “Are you saying Junior is conceited—because he is truly modest about his talents. I believe he still thinks of himself as a fat kid.”

  “I was speaking physiologically. He does have a big head, and I do recall him as an overfed blob of a child until the dads got him into football. Even then, it took years to convert all that mass into muscle. Right now, he’s working out hard, but when he retires, he’ll have to be careful, too.”

  “But I suspect he’ll always be sweet and kind like your father.”

  “My dad is a minister. That goes
without saying. It must be hard to maintain in the face of all the evil in the world. I hate to say it, but the Rev is a heart attack waiting to happen despite my mom’s best efforts to control his diet. He can’t say no to anything at those church dinners, and ladies keep bringing fried chicken and cakes by the house.”

  “Because they love him and want to show thanks.”

  “Yeah, they’re loving him to death.”

  That dampened the mood like the humidity did her dress. “Let’s walk some more.” Xochi rolled up the sandwich wrapper to be disposed of later with the drink cans and bottles, her purse weighing a lot less now. Maybe toting it through the garden had worked off the muffaletta calories. She hoped so.

  “I think my favorite pieces are Monkeys and that ladder leading up to the window, just hanging there in space. They’re clever and whimsical.”

  “Here’s one we can both agree upon.” Connor took her arm and pulled her behind a sculpture that spelled out LOVE. His lips were thin and dry, not matching hers very well. He didn’t try to gain entrance to her mouth, but cupped her cheeks with those long, slim fingers, soft and expert with none of the hardness Junior’s had developed from the thwack of the footballs. Pleasant and experienced without becoming too intimate, the kiss wasn’t bad for a first try, but where did Connor hide his passion, his zing? Not there, not yet.

  Two teens separating themselves from a group of parents ran ahead and photographed them through the opening in the big O of the letters. “Do it again,” they insisted. Connor moved in, but Xochi shook her head and went back to the path.

  “Awesome bag,” one of the girls proclaimed.

  “Thanks, a friend bought it for me.” She walked swiftly away.

  Connor slowed her down by taking her hand. “Not into PDAs, huh?”

  “Not into showing up on Pinterest or Instagram.”

  Then, she saw him, the man with the thin mustache and black aura. He smoked a slim cigarillo and sullied the ground of the sculpture garden with his flicked ashes. “Buenos dias,” he said cordially as he passed, but Xochi thought he might have been following them for some time.

  “We should go. The heat is getting to me.”

  Connor checked his expensive watch. “Right. I need to get back, too.”

  They lost no time returning to the car and leaving the park. Connor dropped Xo by her door and waited for her to go inside before leaving. Not knowing what she would find, she tread upstairs putting some oomph into her steps to give Junior and Kiki fair warning. Upon entering the living room, a traditional tri-fold oriental screen blocked her view of the plum-colored sofa. Beyond it, a series of grunts and groans originated. What was she supposed to do—assume the lotus position, contemplate the exquisite screen, and pretend she did not hear?

  The artwork did deserve her minute contemplation. It portrayed a garden, very traditional in Japanese art, but departed from there with poufs of gold and silver flowers on lavender stems. Fantastical insects and butterflies flitted among the leaves and small, charming imaginary beasts peered from the foliage. Kiki truly was an artist, not a stripper. Another deep groan obviously belonging to Junior sounded beyond the screen. Perhaps, she should back up and retreat quietly downstairs, go to the coffee shop across the street, and give them some time. The leftover cookies in her bag would go well with a black brew.

  Acting hastily on her thoughts, Xochi tripped over her own feet and very nearly punched a hole in the screen as she windmilled to regain her balance. It wobbled dangerously and would have crashed to the floor if Junior hadn’t been there, huge and barefooted but otherwise dressed, to steady it. “Xo? Why don’t you join us instead of abusing the art?”

  “A threesome on the sofa? No, thanks.”

  Junior laughed, big like he was. “No, in a foot rub. Kiki gives the best, another of her many talents. She’s teaching me exactly where to press.”

  The top of Kiki’s head appeared beside him, the girl not as tall as her screen. She must have used a footstool while painting it. “Yeah, shiatsu is another of my part time jobs, massaging the feet of weary tourists. Sometimes, they tip better than the restaurant clientele.”

  “Because they are really grateful. Few people want to rub feet. By the way, this screen is simply magnificent. I, um, tripped and nearly damaged it. Very sorry. Anyhow, it is worth whatever you asked for it.”

  “Junior to the rescue. He’s always there if you need him. Come on, since you’ve been walking in the park you could probably use a massage. Isn’t the sculpture garden abso mag? Let me do you. Junior, watch and learn.” Kiki moved around the screen and took Xochi’s hand to move her to the purple sofa and take off her shoes. “Lean back, relax. You have strong feet. Junior tells me you love to dance.”

  “Ah, yes. I hope you meant muscles and not stink.”

  Kiki laughed musically like tiny wind chimes stirred by a soft breeze. “I’ve smelled worse. Junior, observe.” She began pressing her fingers and palms on various parts of Xo’s sole, sometimes pausing to stretch the foot. Xochi tried hard to suppress a low moan very similar to the ones she’d heard when she entered the room, but it escaped against her will.

  “Now Junior, you try on the other foot.”

  He knelt on the floor, and Kiki delivered Xo’s heel into his wide palm. His long, thick thumbs covered more area than the girl’s delicate hands. Powerful, too. Xochi groaned. As he continued, she experienced something akin to sexual arousal, a definite dampening, a desire to stretch out full length on the divan and offer herself to her masseur. She yanked her foot from Junior’s grip. “Thanks, I enjoyed that.”

  “Ask me anytime.” Junior stared at his hands as if her very relaxed toes still rested there right above his crotch. She thought he might be hiding something as well.

  Kiki glanced at her My Little Kitty watch. “I need to get over to Coop’s for the dinner setup. Those ketchup bottles don’t fill themselves.” The petite artist tugged Junior’s earlobes. “Also an erogenous zone, the earlobe. I appreciate everything you did for me. That sale is rent and tuition all wrapped up in green.”

  She kissed Junior smack on the lips and gave his lobe a tiny tweak. Observing from her place on the sofa, Xochi thought their lips didn’t fit well together, hers much too tiny, lost on his, but it ended quickly. Kiki rounded her screen and pattered down the stairs.

  Alone with Junior and still slightly aroused, Xochi repeated, “Two weeks. Having you here is messing with my decision-making process. I need space to think.” She stood to give more authority to her words.

  So did he. “About what?”

  “Not ready to discuss it yet.”

  “You can tell me anything.” Dammit, he leaned down and kissed her, their lips so attuned they almost vibrated—like the rest of her. Her bare feet curled, and she stood on his to better meet his height. Her hands came up, holding him in place. His roved across the sensitive sides of her breasts, down her back, and cupped her bottom. She had to push back, had to, because she felt his arousal matching her own.

  “Stop! You need to go. Two weeks.” Leaving her shoes behind, she scampered away up the stairs to her bedroom, locked the door though she knew he wouldn’t follow, and threw herself on the duvet. Feeling cowardly and weak, Xochi pounded the covers with her fists. She needed to make up her mind, and soon.

  Chapter Ten

  Junior cupped his hands around the big white coffee mug and took a swallow of the coffee made in Tom’s pod machine. He brewed a much better beverage, but wasn’t about to alienate sympathetic ears by saying so. Alix sat on one side and Tom on the other at their dining room table. He’d already consoled himself with several slices of her almond-flavored Bundt cake gently drizzled with frosting, topped with slivered nuts, and far better than the drink.

  “So, Xo wants me to move out in two weeks. Says she needs space to think.”

  Tom bobbed his curly red head. “Her place is a lot smaller, and you do take up a lot of room.”

  Alix shook hers, straight white-blond
e hair flying. “That’s not what she means, Tom. Junior’s large presence is distracting her, probably sexually.”

  “See, that’s why I wanted Alix to stay. Get a woman’s perspective. Any ideas how I can keep from getting kicked out? I mean I want her to be aware of me—sexually.”

  “Watch it. Xo is my sister.” Tom stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth before he said too much, chewed, considered, swallowed. “I mean I think you are a great guy and would treat her right, but that’s up to her. You should back off.”

  “But, you and Alix lived here together until you worked things out between you.”

  “Doesn’t work for everyone. There might be an apartment in Daddy Joe’s building.”

  “Yeah, Brian Lightfoot and Howdy McCoy still live there. That would be like having two meddling uncles checking up on me.”

  “Didn’t you stay there last summer?”

  “Sure, but Howdy, your mom, and half-sibs were at the Oklahoma ranch most of the time, and Uncle Brian was distracted by Derek Steele. I mean mostly I worked at Coop’s day and night and hardly had any girls over.”

  “Then you didn’t do Daddy Joe’s old bachelor pad justice. If those walls could talk. I guess you didn’t remove Mama Nell’s plants from the bidet.” Tom stood to make himself another cup of coffee.

  “No, I promised to keep them watered. The location made that easy. Kiki called it whimsical. I’d say practical.”

  “Oooh, Kiki, the artist, waitress, foot massager, not a stripper, and former lover,” Alix reeled off.

  “Who told you all that?”

  “Xo when she called late last night because she couldn’t sleep. With Stacy sick, she didn’t want to wake her, but needed another woman to listen. I’m proud to be that woman. She says Rachelle gossips too much.” Alix took a second slice of cake. They’d worked out hard that morning at the training center and a bunch of carbs refueled all three of them.

  “Yeah, we aren’t sick so she didn’t mind bothering us,” Tom grumped. Obviously, Xo’s call interrupted something.