by Brinda Berry
Leo pokes his head into the back door and his eyes round in amazement. “What the hell happened?” he mutters.
“Don’t ask. I’m going to run out to the market down the road. You mind finishing the cleanup?”
“No problem.” Leo closes the door and walks straight to Josie’s laundry room where she keeps cleaning supplies. “Go on.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes tops.” I go to find Ellen, but I realize she’s left without even a goodbye.
Maybe absence is best. The less interaction between Ellen and the women I love, the better.
Chapter Eighteen
Intruder
Josie
It’s five twenty-five p.m., and I should be thrilled to arrive home after a long day of fickle customers. But here I am in my car still in the driveway with the motor idling.
I’m a creature of habit. I drink real sugar in my tea, wear flannel pajamas in the wintertime, and when I’m feeling down, I reread my favorite books. I’ve done all these things since I was a little girl.
It’s the familiarity that gives me comfort.
So I stare at the front of my house. My bedroom curtains are closed.
I mentally replay my morning. As habit dictates, I got out of bed, flung open the curtains, and basked in the bright sunlight that comes through the east window.
I love opening those curtains.
My mind jolts back to the present and my current dilemma.
The curtains are always closed.
I nudge the gas pedal of my car. What’s wrong with me? I have the answer. Pregnancy brain. All nutrients are now feeding the baby and it’s a miracle I leave the house fully dressed.
For a brief second, I consider calling Dane to check the house for me. I have no doubt that he would leave Dastardly Bastards and rush over to play hero for me.
But paranoia won’t look pretty on me. I’ve already touted my superwoman-hear-me-roar woman credentials. Now I sit in my car with barely able to drum up a scaredy-cat-hear-me-meow.
What am I going to do? Call Dane every time I forget to open the curtains?
Wait a minute…Leo has a key, and he probably came over to leave something inside the house.
Of course. That’s it. Brothers.
I cut the engine and grab my purse. I always leave the light on so I won't have to come home to a dark house. Thank you Edison for electricity and light bulbs and modern innovation.
Scanning the kitchen, I exhale. Nothing out of place. The kitchen countertops are empty. A nice stack of mail sits on the counter.
But those damned curtains niggle at me like a song you can’t quit replaying in your head. I visualize the morning in my mind. My alarm sounded as usual at seven a.m.
I hit snooze at least twice. And then – darn it –I’m not sure. I didn’t get much sleep and overslept since I was so worried about Dane after the baby shower was over. He was quieter, distracted. Like me, this morning.
Curtains open? Or closed…
Stop thinking about it.
If an intruder wanted to break into my house wouldn't my flat screen television be gone? Or the MacBook Pro on my desk?
I kick off my shoes which have squashed my toes into tiny, red sausages. This will probably be the last time I attempt to wear heels. Every swollen part of me complains.
This is when I notice the top of my dresser, most days a blank canvas because no one needs clutter. But not this month.
Nope. I removed my rings last week since I can’t seem to jam them onto my fingers these size of hotdogs. There’s my beautiful opal ring given to me by my parents as a graduation gift, a teardrop diamond one that Leo gave me when I turned twenty-one, and the silver spoon ring from my grandmother. I look down at the floor thinking maybe I knocked them off with my belly that swings around like an uncontrollable construction crane.
No rings on the floor.
Now my heart stutters in an erratic stop and go. I swallow back a terrified cry. Whirling around, I run at the speed of a lumbering elephant and grab my purse on the way. If the intruder is still here, he's going to have to tackle me and there's a lot to tackle.
I jam my toe into the corner of the doorway in my frenzy. Pain spears through me from my foot all the way to my brain as if I’ve stepped on a landmine. Mother Effer! I end with a desperate hop to the garage.
Car. Get into the car. My hand misses the handle twice, and then I open the door and fling myself inside. Clicking the lock button, I dump the entire contents of my purse into the passenger seat. 911 or Dane?
Yes. I need Dane.
I grab my cell when it rings.
“Hello,” I say breathlessly.
“Hey, Butterfly. Calling to see if I can take you out to eat.” Dane’s voice is smooth and easy.
“I think someone’s in my house.” I look into my backseat and almost want to laugh at myself. It’s a little late to worry about locking myself inside with the intruder.
“Where are you?” Smooth and easy is gone, replaced with concern and panic.
“Still here. My house. It’s your chance to prove I can’t take care of everything. Come and save me now. You can say I told you so.”
“You’re inside the house?”
“I’m inside my car in the garage. Do you think I’m that crazy?” I ask in a whisper and peer around to make sure the thief isn’t sneaking up on me, and double-check the locks.
“Start your engine and drive away. Why are you still there?”
The logical, pregnant part of my brain says to listen to Dane. The tiny – really tiny at the moment – irrational pre-pregnancy part of my brain says to go back inside and catch the mother effer in the act.
“I—he took the ring my parents gave me and…” And I’m suddenly that heroine in a horror movie who gets the ax because she doesn’t run from danger. Sighing, I place my phone on the passenger seat and start my car and pull out of the garage.
My phone call switches to the hands-free device in my car and Dane’s voice fills my car. “…I’ll call 911. Better he takes your stuff than take you. Listen to me for once. Leave now. I'm calling the cops and I’m heading that way. Don't go back inside the house.”
Thank goodness the logical part of my brain is bigger.
So instead of doing anything foolish, I park a few houses down the road. At least this way, I can run over the SOB the minute he steps outside...holding my rings.
Okay, so the irrational part of my brain is still trying to win this argument. I want my jewelry back for sentimental reasons. That ring came all the way from Ireland, a souvenir from my parents’ wedding anniversary.
I wait for an eternity and no one leaves the house. A police car and Dane drive up at the same time. I start my engine and pull it forward so I can get closer. Getting out, I wince as my bare feet hit sharp pebbles on the side of the road and I walk toward them.
As soon as Dane gets out of his truck, he grabs me by the forearms and hauls me up to his chest. “You scared the shit out of me. You okay?”
I close my eyes and drop my forehead against his chest, reveling in the feel of his sturdiness. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I pull back and look at the officer. Waving toward the house with one hand, I usher him forward. “The door’s open. Someone has been in there. My curtains were closed and I always leave them open. My rings are gone.”
Once we’re inside the house, we search every room. It doesn’t look like a crime scene. Nothing large is missing, nothing is broken, and I half-expect them to doubt me about the missing rings. I don’t report anything else.
I can’t quit wondering why the expensive laptop and other things aren’t gone. Neither man makes me feel ridiculous because I can do that all by myself.
“The curtains were closed, and three rings are missing.” The officer records my statement. Officer Landry glances around before he gives me a brief nod. “The missing jewelry may even qualify for a claim on your homeowner’s insurance. You can get replacements.”
“I c
an’t replace those rings. Those are my memories. All the money in the world can’t buy those back.” Hopelessness edges my words. Officer Landry and Dane both walk outside and I frown. Neither has asked if I’m sure the rings were there in the first place, which is what I keep asking myself.
I take a few steps to the open door, uneasy at being alone in the house.
“Thanks, Officer,” Dane says, his face shadowed in the dim garage lighting. “I’m really just worried about how someone got into the house in the first place.”
“Since there doesn't appear to be forced entry, she probably left the door unlocked. Somebody needed some quick drug money. Jewelry is easy to pawn. It happens. We can check around at some of the local shops.” Officer Landry walks to his squad car. His hand presses on the knob. “You might consider getting an alarm system. Home security these days is inexpensive.”
“I’ll take care of that tomorrow,” Dane says without asking me what I think about it. I'm too distraught over my rings to even glare at him.
When Officer Landry’s gone, Dane pulls me into his arms and rubs big hands over my back. My protruding belly presses against him.
“We don’t fit together so good,” I say. My voice is sad and I can't help it.
“We always fit together, Butterfly.” Dane continues to hold me in the middle of the lawn. “I really do want to put in the system. Please. Don’t fight me on this one thing”
“Okay.”
Dane kisses the top of my head like I'm a child. He draws back and looks in my face. “Let’s go inside. You hungry? Want dinner? I’ll order something.”
“Yeah. I guess I could eat.”
“I don't believe it. No argument?” Dane gives me a sweet smile. “You must be worn out. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’d like to stay the night since you're being so agreeable.”
“Sure. I guess you can if you want.” I’m secretly relieved that he's staying. The last thing I need is for him to know how upset I am about the break-in.
The deliveryman arrives after half an hour. Dane and I have dinner in companionable silence. I give him my extra key so he can arrange for the security system to be installed. Afterward, we wander into the living room and watch reruns of Friends. It’s like it used to be between us when we spent time together on Thursday nights. Except this time, Dane pulls my head to his shoulder and I revel in the feel of his body against mine.
I watch television until my eyes grow heavy. “Thanks for always being here for me.”
“Always.” He rubs my arm with his big hand and warm shivers lick along my skin. There’s a need inside me tonight to be held and loved.
“You're thinking too hard,” Dane says from the doorway of the kitchen.
“Good decisions are never made at three a.m.” I linger in the open door of the refrigerator and glance between the chocolate chunk ice cream still on the shelf and the family-size bag of potato chips on the counter. “Sweet or salty. That is the question.”
Dane strolls across and grabs a bag of chips then maneuvers around me to grab the ice cream. “No need to choose. It sounds like both are necessary.”
My grin is sleepy and totally satisfied with his answer. You couldn’t sleep either?”
“I heard you in the kitchen. What about you? You always pilfer in the kitchen at three a.m.?”
I shrug. “This belly really sucks for women who sleep on their stomachs.” I follow Dane as he whisks past me with the ice cream carton.
I open the cabinet to grab a couple of bowls that he's forgotten and admire his retreating ass. Black briefs, appropriately tight. Yowsa.
He yells over her shoulder. “Leave them. We’ll eat from the carton.” The man has eyes in the back of his head.
“You,” I say with a grin, totally delighted at the thought. “I knew that this is how boys actually live. Eating straight from containers. Walking around in their underwear instead of getting dressed.”
“Yup.”
He walks straight into the living room and settles himself between some pillows on the sofa. Placing our midnight banquet on the coffee table, he grabs the remote control. “What are you in the mood for? Infomercials, world news, or movie?” He flicks through channels.
“Find the movie. I don't care if it’s already started.”
Dane settles on an old sci-fi movie, Aliens. He pops the top off of the cardboard ice cream container and settles back with his spoon.
“Where’s my spoon?” I ask.
He extracts a rather large scoop of ice cream from the half-gallon and points the spoon at my mouth. “We are sharing.”
I roll my eyes. This is a funny part of our relationship now. In the old days he would never assume I would share a spoon with him. I wouldn’t have minded his spit in my mouth via his tongue, but there’s something very intimate about sharing utensils.
“This is going to slow us down,” I say.
“I’m watching out for you. Now you won’t get an ice cream headache. He touches the tip of the spoon to my lips and I open my mouth like a baby bird.
Being fed by Dane feels sexual. No wonder some lovers choose to feed each other as part of foreplay. The cool sweet sensation of the ice cream forces a moan from me.
I close my eyes and swallow. “That hits the spot.” When I open my eyes, he stares at me with heat flickering in his eyes. Warmth steals into my cheeks.
He spoons another bite of ice cream and lets it hover between us.
“More?” The one word is husky and low. My pulse thrums fast as hummingbird wings. He’s teasing me now and I love this game.
He’s the perfect lover. So considerate. Slow when he needs to be and fast when my body demands urgency.
So what if he’s never said he loves me or asked me to marry him. He obviously wants me.
Why do I have to want it all?
He pulls the spoon back to his mouth. I want my lips and my fingers and other parts of me touching his lips. His tongue peeks out to lick the corner of his mouth and my gaze follows it.
“I’m done eating ice cream,” I whisper. I am such a wanton woman these days. I should be embarrassed at the way I throw myself at him all the time, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Not at all by the wicked smile that does even more than the ice cream to heat my imagination.
Chapter Nineteen
The Parrish Baby
Dane
Hospital visits are usually solemn affairs, but not today. Today, my friend is a father for the first time. It’s a big deal for Gunner, a guy who never expected a family.
Sitting in the car with Josie, I marvel at how much my own life has changed in a few short months.
“You look beautiful today,” I utter with a slight catch in my throat. Josie’s hair is longer than she normally wears it. Silky strands fall across her dark eyes as she frowns and pulls her cardigan sweater across her ever-growing belly. Her very kissable lips are plumper with a slight rosy flush.
I’d like to suck on that bottom lip.
Instead of fantasizing about dragging her across the seat so I can do just that, I start the engine and pull away from the curb in front of Dog Ears Bookstore.
“You don’t have to shower me with compliments,” she says, as one side of her mouth quirks into amusement. “I have a mirror at home.”
I glance at the road and back to her. “Then you must get all hot and bothered. That’s what happens to me when I look at you.”
“Funny.”
The girl has no clue. I heave an exaggerated sigh. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
She turns her head toward the window as we pass her favorite burger joint. “I should’ve brought a drink with me.”
“Did you eat today? Do you want me to drive through somewhere and get you a snack?"
She rests her hand on her stomach. “I had a late breakfast. I’m not hungry every minute of the day.”
“I know that. I’m just saying that we have time.”
“Okay,” Josie says. “I don’t wan
t you to name me ‘Dishonest Josie’…since you’re ‘Honest Dane’ and all. I’m not starving, but I suppose I could eat a small snack.”
“Now this sounds more like my pregnant girlfriend.” I sneak in the word girlfriend as often as I can. She doesn’t protest and it makes me feel better. I turn the vehicle into the next restaurant parking lot so I can buy my baby some lunch.
When we arrive at the hospital, I drive around the lot twice trying to find a close spot so Josie won't have to walk far. Finally, I pull into a spot on the second row near the front doors.
“Wait and I’ll help you out.”
She ignores me and places her hand on the door handle. It’s a race to beat her to it.
“Not helpless,” she mutters.
I like taking care of her and doing the things that I didn’t when we were only friends. “Hang on,” I say, warning and exasperation mingling in my voice. Running around to her side of the vehicle, I pause. It’s a tight squeeze between my SUV and the full-sized pickup beside us.
Josie opens the door and drops her right foot to the ground. She wedges herself halfway in and out of the door. “Uh-oh.”
“No uh-ohs. None.”
She laughs, low and husky and all kinds of enticing in spite of the circumstances. “I don't think I can get out. You may need to call 911 and have ‘em bring the jaws of life. Or just leave me. Save yourself, man.”
My lips twitch at her melodramatic speech. Still, I don’t want her to accidentally hurt herself. “Let me help you,” I order.
She reaches out her right hand and wiggles her fingers. “Grab my fingers and pull. It’s just a little tight.”
My lungs stop functioning. “Pull? What do you mean pull? I think we need to just put you back inside and let me move the vehicle.”
“Well, Piglet. If you hadn’t tried to poke jars of honey in Pooh’s mouth every time she turns around, this might not be a problem.” She chuckles under her breath.
