by K. Anderson
“You didn’t.” Michael lifted his head, having found his smile again. He inhaled deeply. “Actually, part of the grief counseling I received after losing the baby involved coming here and doing what you’re doing, right now: feeding the newborns.”
“Really?” Erin chuckled, surprised.
He nodded. “Mm-hm. Like I said, human or animal – a baby is a baby, and it needs care. Sometimes a mother will give birth but not have the nurturing instinct, so they reject the infant. Like this little guy, here. His mama didn’t want him. We’ve been taking care of him, seeing to his survival. That experience led me to choose this as a career. I worked my way through college, did my internship both here and at Brookfield Zoo.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, you have to lose a life to find out how important it is to save one. I lost two. I can’t tell you how many I’ve kept alive.”
Erin had often heard her mother talk about the elation she felt after a life-saving surgery. By that same token, she had learned to tell when Mom had failed, based on how she would come home and not speak to anyone, just go to her bedroom and close the door. She nodded. “I understand,” she said quietly. She smiled. “And I think what you’re doing is a great thing. Very admirable.”
“Thank you.”
With feeding time finished, they found themselves feeling a little hungry. “Let’s grab a snack from one of the concession stands,” Erin suggested. “And this time, I’m buying.”
“Big spender,” Michael teased.
“Hey, have you seen these prices?” Erin asked. “Six dollars for a hot dog! Five dollars for a big pretzel – and extra for the cheese!” She held up her hand. “And I know it sounds funny to hear me complain, considering that my family comes from money, but once I get a job I’ll be moving out and covering all my expenses on my own. My brothers can do it; I should be able to do it, too.”
“And fiercely independent,” Michael added to the list of Erin’s personality quirks. They walked up to the concession stand. “You got that from your mother.”
“I also inherited some of her bossiness,” Erin said. She pointed sharply at the window. “Now, get up here and tell them what you want.”
Michael chuckled. “Yes, you definitely got that from her.” He gave Erin a playful wink as he stepped past her and placed his order.
Yep, I still find him attractive, Erin thought. I’m doomed.
Chapter Six
The sound of loud voices coming from the master bedroom made Erin groan and roll her eyes. Just the other day, she had passed that door on her way to the living room and had happened to hear her mother let out a sharp cry of “Michael!” followed by loud moans. She had known in an instant what that meant. She had tried not to picture them having sex, but the moment she had heard Michael’s deep voice and then the rapid thump of what could only be the headboard hitting the wall, Erin had felt something twist low in her gut, a sensation so sharp it made her clit quiver in sympathetic response. She had to race out of the house, but she had been unable to purge her imagination of Michael’s lean, hard body moving, narrow hips pumping…
Now, as she came downstairs and started toward the kitchen, she did not hear sounds of passion. No, she knew the different tones of her mother’s voice, and this one meant only one thing: anger. Jesus, they’re fighting? Curious, Erin backtracked, moving quietly on the balls of her feet back along the hallway toward the master bedroom. She began to make out bits of the conversation.
“All I’m asking is that you take some time off and spend it with your daughter!” Michael said. “She’s been home three weeks and you only see her a maximum of ten minutes a day, if that.”
“I do not appreciate being told how to be a parent to my children!” Mom snapped. “Erin is a grown woman; she does not need me to hold her hand every second of the day.”
“You’re missing the point, Marianne.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Mom said. “I have students to teach, I have patients to see, and I have to leave now.”
Erin could hear her mother’s heels on the hardwood of her bedroom floor. Quickly, she scooted back down the hall to the kitchen, heart pounding. She heard the sharp creak of a door opening. Erin threw open the refrigerator door and pretended to be searching for something to eat when those quick, crisp footfalls reached the kitchen. Erin poked her head around the fridge door. “Hey, Mom,” she said with forced brightness. “Have a good day at work.”
“Thank you, honey.” Grabbing her leather briefcase and her car keys, Mom spared Erin a quick smile before marching out the back door.
Erin watched her through the window over the sink, until she saw the black Mercedes drive away. She let out her breath in a rush. Well, that was intense, she thought. She found it hard to believe that they would be arguing – and that it would be about her, apparently, and the fact that she and Mom never spent any time together.
Michael came into the kitchen a minute later, stopping in the doorway. He looked surprised to see Erin standing there. “I didn’t realize you were up,” he said.
“I’ve recalibrated to the Central Time Zone,” Erin assured him. She hesitated. “Look, um…I couldn’t help overhearing…”
Michael closed his eyes and swore under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft with sincerity. He moved to stand with the island counter between them. “I don’t want you or your mother to think I’m trying to tell either of you how to live your lives. I would never do that. I’m just…frustrated, I guess.”
Whenever I get frustrated, I like to have sex, Erin thought, but held her tongue. Of course, her brain just had to remind her – again – about the sounds she had heard the other day. It had not even occurred to her at the time that it had happened in the middle of the afternoon. On a weekday. Wait a minute. Mom took time off work to come home for sex? That meant one of two things: one, Michael had to be great in bed or two, her mother was a size queen who would be willing to give up a few hours of work just to get her hands on the Kowalski sausage Michael seemed to be smuggling in his pants.
“It’s okay,” Erin said, her words coming out a dry rasp as she tried not to envision, based on the size of the package, the actual size of what Michael kept in it. She cleared her throat. “I’m, ah, actually used to it. This is the way it’s always been. Even before I was born, according to my dad and my brothers. Mom is addicted to work. You either learn to adapt or, as in my father’s case, you leave.” She shrugged. “That’s just the way it is.”
“Forgive me if I find that a little abnormal,” Michael said. He spread his hands over the countertop. “I come from a large, close-knit family of blue collar workers. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the thought of people having kids and never spending any time together.”
Erin nodded. “I get what you’re saying – I do. My friend Corrine and her family are the same way. She has five sisters and three brothers. They get together every Sunday for dinner at her parents’ house. Phones, Gameboys – everything gets put in a basket and they focus on each other. They play board games. They work together to prepare the meal. I’ve been there a few times as a guest and the first few times it just blew me away that a family could be like that.” She rolled her shoulders. “Mine is the abnormal one. My brothers haven’t come home for Christmas in years. Brandon has to Skype with Mom just so she can see her grandchild – I think she’s actually met the child in person once. Her first grandkid, who will be two this year. I think Dad has been out to see them at least once a month. But Mom?” She shook her head. “Nope. And I don’t know if it even bothers her at all. I don’t think badly of her for it. I know she’s helping a lot of people and when you’re a doctor you sometimes have to make sacrifices. Some people can look at it and say it doesn’t seem fair. I think we could all walk away and she would still not change. It’s who she is.”
“So I’m beginning to see.” Michael fell silent for a few moments. His gaze wandered across the counter to Erin’s pajama shirt of choice, an oversized white and
black pinstripe baseball jersey with black stylized letters spelling out SOX in a descending diagonal emblazoned in over the heart. “White Sox fan, huh?”
“All my life,” Erin said.
Michael pursed his lips. “You know…I have season tickets,” he said.
Erin’s eyes widened. “You do?”
He nodded, chewing on his lower lip. “Double Play, Lower Box, close to third base. Game starts at one o’clock. They’re playing Kansas City.” He glanced up at her and raised an eyebrow. “You want to go?”
“Is this a trick question?” Erin laughed. “Oh my god, yes!”
“Well, your mom said she wanted us to hang out together.” Michael shrugged. “I can’t think of anything that bonds two red-blooded Americans together like a game of baseball.”
Erin looked at the digital read out on the stove’s clock. It was almost ten. “I can be ready to go by 11:45,” she said. “That should give us time to get there, park, grab a couple of beers, and get to our seats.”
“Sounds good.” Michael motioned her in the direction of the door.
Erin grinned. As she made her way past him, she slapped him lightly on the arm. “Bitch,” she muttered. “All this time, you’ve had season tickets… You’ve been holding out on me!”
Michael laughed.
They got to the stadium by noon. The sky had started to cloud up. The local weather forecast called for evening rain but it could roll in faster. “Just hold out until the end of the game,” Erin said, looking skyward with palms pressed together in supplication as she and Michael made their way into the building. She had traded her white sleeping jersey for one in black with white lettering and white and grey bands at the ends of the short sleeves, over a pair of white pedal pushers.
“I thought you weren’t particularly religious,” Michael said mildly. He had gone with one of the “South Side” t-shirts popular among fans and a pair of faded jeans.
“The Sox are my religion,” Erin said.
The seats turned out to be great. They waited until after the singing of the national anthem before getting their beers and settling in for the game. On more than one occasion, Michael laughed at Erin’s enthusiasm.
At the top of the eighth inning, the stadium vibrated with thunder. Menacing clouds hung overhead. By the middle of the eighth, the first fat raindrops began to pelt the fans and players alike. The call was made amidst much booing from the stands: the game had to stop. While the groundskeepers raced to cover the field, everyone else hurried to get out of the downpour.
“Come on!” Michael shouted to Erin, who shrieked as a brilliant flash of lightning and an explosion of thunder cracked the air around them. They made it to Michael’s Jeep Cherokee and clamored inside. The rain had started coming down with such ferocity they could not see past the hood, the roar of it beating down on the roof drowning out the sound of their labored breathing. Erin and Michael looked at each other. Hair plastered to their heads, water dripping from nose and chin, clothes soaked through…they started to laugh.
And then, Michael leaned across the center console, and pressed his mouth to Erin’s in a kiss.
At first, she froze, startled. But then all that pent-up attraction, all those forbidden fantasies, rushed forward. Erin grabbed at Michael’s face with both hands as she returned the kiss. He pushed back the driver’s seat and dragged her over into his lap, straddling it. His hands cupped her ass, moving up under her jersey, touching bare skin. She ground her hips down on his groin. She could feel the heat and firmness of it pressing up against her crotch. They broke the kiss for a moment to gasp for air. In the interim, Michael fumbled with the buttons on Erin’s shirt until he succeeded in getting them all undone. He pushed the jersey off her shoulders, exposing the black bra holding her breasts. Erin gazed down at him, watching as he drank in the sight of her heaving chest. A moment later, she moaned as he pressed his face into her cleavage, his breath hot on her skin. The windows fogged up but it didn’t matter if anyone could see them. Erin could feel Michael’s hands on her hips, now, pulling at her, guiding her into a deep, rocking rhythm. She felt him lift up into each pass. She placed her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes, head tipped forward. It felt so good, even if she knew in the back of her lust-fueled brain that they should not be doing this.
The blast of a car horn right next to the Jeep made them both jump. It also broke the spell. Erin looked down at Michael. He blinked several times, looking around and then down at their bodies. “Oh,” he rasped. “I’m…we…”
She nodded. “Yeah.” She climbed off him, returning to the passenger seat. She could still feel a tingling between her legs, unfulfilled desire. She could only imagine how much worse it had to be for him. Her fingers shook as she buttoned up her jersey and then combed her fingers through her wet hair. The Jeep started up. She looked over at Michael. They traded another silent, shaken glance. It’s there, Erin thought. He feels it, too.
Erin looked away. What do we do, now?
They did not speak for the ride home.
Chapter Seven
For the next few days, Erin and Michael avoided each other. Neither of them could deny the connection between them, the spark. One thing that stood in their way of resolving this conflict: Erin’s mother. It went unspoken but Erin could tell neither of them wanted to hurt Mom.
Erin decided to get out of the house for a while and let things cool down. She asked Corrine if she could crash on her sofa, no questions asked. Of course, Corrine had said yes, but she did not need a confession this time to know why Erin had to flee her home. Erin knew Corrine could see it. She already knew Erin had been struggling with her attraction to Michael; for her to suddenly want to stay over a few days spoke volumes.
At the end of the week, Erin decided to go home. For one thing, she had only packed a small tote bag for her stay at Corrine’s. You can’t stay away forever, she chided herself. Just go back. Act casual.
Wonderful scents assailed her as she entered the house. She passed the dining room and saw the table set for a romantic candlelight dinner, two places. In the kitchen, she could hear the sound of water running, the oven opening and closing. And Michael. She could hear him talking, holding a one-sided conversation.
“Working late? How late? Seriously?” He snorted. “Well, it was going to be a surprise but I made dinner.” Pause. “Bistecchine di maiale. You said it was your favorite.” Another pause; Erin could hear his agitation mounting. “Well, what if I brought it up to the hospital? Could you take a break long enough to eat?” He paused again, and she heard him disconnect emotionally, every word clipped. “Okay. You know what? That’s fine. Yep. No problem. I’ll just leave it on the table and you can eat it when you get home after midnight.”
Erin jumped when she heard the oven door slam, followed by another violent crash. She peered into the kitchen. Michael whipped off the apron and flung it across the room. Grabbing a pair of silicone pot holders, he swept a steaming pan off the stove and headed for the dining room. He stormed past Erin without seeing her. She heard him drop the pan on the table, causing the place settings to rattle. Cautiously, Erin moved to follow. She found Michael leaning over the table with his back to her, an apron tied around his neck and waist over a dark t-shirt and jeans. She could see the tendons standing out on his arms as he gripped the edge of the table, and for an instant she thought he might flip it. A floorboard creaked under her step. Michael whirled around, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. Startled. He relaxed when he saw Erin. “Your…mother…is working late.” He motioned to the food. “I made Florentine pork chops, roasted vegetables with a sage and butter sauce…” He sighed, and she could see the emotional exhaustion in every line of his chiseled face. “Are you hungry?”
Erin moved around him. Reaching into the pan, she selected a cherry tomato and bit into it. Flavor exploded across her tongue. “It’s good,” she said softly. She looked up as Michael pivoted to face her. The air felt heavy around them. She could feel her heart pounding.
>
They came together suddenly, moving simultaneously, both of them desperate. Michael grabbed Erin’s ass, kneading it, pulling her up on her toes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. Their tongues spiraled into each other’s mouth, pushing, fighting for dominance and retreating. He lifted her up and then she found herself on her back across the table, Michael shoving the plates aside to give them room. Erin pushed herself up right, sitting on the edge of the table. She grabbed at Michael’s t-shirt, rucking it up to expose his hard abs. Michael assisted by stripping the shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. Swooping in, he caught her lips in another kiss. She raked her short fingernails over his chest. Again, they parted, and she lifted her arms so he could remove her tank top. She took the initiative and unhooked her bra, quickly flinging it away. Michael grinned when he saw her now bare breasts. He cupped his hands up under them, lifting them to his mouth as he bent his head to suckle at her nipples. Erin gasped at the rough drag of his beard stubble across one sensitive peak.
Pushing her to lie back, Michael hooked his fingers in the waistband of her capris and tugged both them and her panties down together. Once he had her naked, he took a moment to look her over, the blue of his irises almost nonexistent due to his widened pupils. Reaching over to the casserole dish, he dipped his fingers into the butter sauce and drew circles around her nipples and down her belly. He leaned over her and retraced that path with his tongue. He slid his hands under her knees and lifted her legs up and spread them apart. Erin watched him, quivering, as he kissed down the inside of one thigh. Her head dropped back on the table when his mouth reached her mons. Just as she imagined it, his tongue swirled up between her labia, seeking out her clit. She arched her hips up her fingers trying to find purchase on the linen tablecloth beneath her. “Oh god,” she breathed, pelvis jerking in time with every flick of his tongue. “Yes…please…yes…”
