by Cora Brent
As soon as I pulled away in the old Chevelle I felt better. I even gunned the engine like a man when I got on the turnpike. The deli was less than a mile away. It used to seem like a huge distance, back when I was a kid and taking the long walk with Rocco to get a box of pastries from the bakery next door.
I was relieved that there was no one inside the deli who knew me. No awkward greetings to tend to. I ordered my sandwich and found a strange small pleasure in the fact that they still layered the meat high and wrapped the whole thing in wax paper. There was a narrow bench right outside the deli. I sat right down and dug into my food, pausing to take sips from my can of soda. It was rather nice, sitting on a bench in my hometown and eating lunch.
After finishing the soda and balling up the wax paper, I tossed everything in the trash and was about to take off. I didn’t want to go back to the house, not yet, but I had no idea where to go. The few friends I’d had in high school had escaped around the same time I did. The last few times I’d visited I hadn’t found time to make it out to the Giordano Auto Shop. Maybe I should swing by and hang out with Getty for a little while. He was always good for a laugh.
Then I caught a whiff of sugar and mascarpone cheese. Rignetti’s had been around for some forty years. About a decade earlier the Italian bakery’s original owner had died and it was eventually bought by Benjamin Hollis, a Jamaican immigrant. After a little bit of local grumbling, people were quickly satisfied that the Hollis family would keep selling the same quality Italian pastries that the place had long been famous for. Ben Hollis worked a tireless seven days a week with his wife, Betty, and their three daughters; Abby, Carly, and Sheryl.
When I passed by the display window, Sheryl was there, setting out a couple of cakes. She looked up and her surprised face quickly turned to a grin. She tossed her long black braids over one shoulder and beckoned for me to come inside.
Sheryl was ready to envelope me in a hug as soon as I walked through the door. We’d always been friendly, even when she and Rocco were on the outs. She was gentle and beautiful and probably too good for him. Maybe after eight years of a tumultuous relationship, she’d finally figured that out.
“I thought you’d be in town for Jack’s wedding. I was hoping to see you,” she said and her delight was sincere. Sheryl didn’t share the chronic biting kind of sarcasm that characterized the Giordano family. When she said something to you she meant it. I’d always thought that she and Rocco balanced each other out really well, but maybe I didn’t know a damn thing.
“How are you, Sheryl?”
She shrugged, losing her smile. “I guess he told you.”
“Not really. He just said you guys weren’t together anymore.”
“Yes. It’s not like the other times, Claudia.”
“He said that too.”
Sheryl winced a little. Then she seemed to recover and tried to smile again. “So how are you? How’s life in the wild west?”
“Not very wild. I graduated from school and I’m hiding from the fact that I can’t find a decent job by returning to school. And I was engaged. You probably heard about that. I’m not engaged anymore.”
She cocked her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Too much sun today. Can we sit down for a minute?”
Sheryl led me over to a bench by the door. She patted my arm in a sisterly fashion. “So what do you want to study? When you go back to school?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the weather. I’d like some hint about what’s going to happen before it actually happens. Surprises kind of suck. You think I’d look cute standing in front of a green screen and issuing warnings about high pressure systems?”
She grinned. “You’re funny. Your family misses you. Rocco misses you.”
“I think he misses you too.”
Sheryl nodded absently. She seemed to be staring at a basket filled with fresh baked baguettes but I had the feeling she wasn’t seeing anything in front of her. “Sometimes you just get too settled, you know? You can picture how you want things to be but yet you wait. And wait. And you know what? It’s possible to not even realize that you’re waiting. You’re following this internal set of rules and you don’t even know who wrote them. If you’re lucky then eventually you realize that nothing will ever change unless you change it.”
Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. When I spoke up she flinched a little, like she’d plain forgotten that I was sitting beside her. “What if you’re not lucky?”
She blinked. “Then I guess you wait forever. Or at least until it’s too late to do anything differently.”
Without meaning to I thought about the way Easton’s hands had felt all over me. I thought about the way my body responded before I went cold with icy reason. I hadn’t always been like that. Stony. Glacial. At least I liked to think I hadn’t.
“I better let you get back to work,” I said, standing.
Sheryl looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry, Claudia. I didn’t say something to upset you, did I?”
“No.” I waved a hand. “It’s not you at all. It was good seeing you.”
She nodded. “If you get a chance, stop by again before you leave town. Wait, you want to hang around for a second and I’ll grab you a few Neapolitans?”
“Thanks,” I coughed. “But that’s all right. Save ‘em for the old folks.”
I dashed out of there as Sheryl stared after me in bewilderment, probably figuring she was lucky to be away from us crazy Giordanos.
I drove back to the house sluggishly. It was empty inside. I was suddenly very tired as I trudged up to my room. My eyes were closed before I hit the bed. They didn’t open again until darkness had settled. I’d heard something, a car engine. I recognized the sound because I’d ridden in that car this morning.
Slowly I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The strap of my tank top slid down and I rolled the other strap over my shoulder, pushing the shirt down to my waist. I unhooked my bra and stared at my breasts as the faint glow of the moon played across my skin. I cupped them, feeling the nipples harden. In my suitcase was the one slightly sexy thing I’d brought with me. It was a simple white dress, really meant to be worn casually, or to bed. It was short and had thin straps. I smoothed the soft cotton over my body, removing my bra and underwear. I felt excited. I felt good. I wanted to feel even better.
His car was outside. I hoped he was in his room. I really hoped he was alone. After pausing by the liquor cabinet and downing a fiery shot of courage I closed my eyes, feeling the hard punishment of the whiskey travel through me. I would knock on the door. Screw that. I would just open the door. I’d grown up in this house. I knew how to get through every single lock in this place using only a butter knife. I grabbed one from the kitchen drawer, knowing it would take me less than five seconds to get the door open. It ended up taking less time than that. Easton hadn’t even pushed the lock. He sat on a peeling vinyl chair in the middle of the room. He was reading a book. A book for crying out loud. Easton Malone was reading a book with his shirt off and I almost sank to my knees. He glanced up in surprise when I barreled through the door.
“Don’t say a word,” I warned, dropping the knife as he dropped his book.
I kissed him. More accurately, I crashed into him. He was still seated when my legs went around his hard body, straddling, grinding, demanding. Easton grabbed the straps of my dress and yanked. The sound of the tearing fabric got me even wilder and when my breasts grazed his bare chest I almost passed out. As for Easton he didn’t need any urging. He was everywhere, his fingers sliding deep inside me as his mouth wreaked havoc on every inch of skin his lips could find. I felt my body being lifted as he moved to his bed. It was nearly violent the way he fell on top of me. I heard the groan of the mattress and felt part of the bed frame collapse beneath our combined weight.
Easton stopped long enough to reach for something in a shabby nightstand beside the bed. He tore off the condom wrapper with his teeth and I barely had time to tell whether he had it on b
efore he pushed my legs wider and plunged into me. Another man might have paused first, might have given me an appraising look to see if it was okay before he went for broke, but Easton wasn’t the type to hesitate. And god help me, I loved the primal feel of being at his mercy. I loved it so much I came more quickly than I ever had before and I couldn’t even be quiet about it. As the manic bliss of the orgasm began to subside I clutched his muscular back and sucked at his neck. He still tasted like the ocean.
Easton pulled back suddenly. He loomed over me with his dick still somehow buried deep. The look on his face was pure triumph. He’d wanted this from the beginning. And now he had it.
I watched his face change as his thrusts quickened. He shut his eyes and let out a sound as wild as a roar as he shuddered and came.
He collapsed on top of me and we fell off the bed together, a tangle of sweat and skin. Easton finally showed a tender side as he pulled a battered quilt from his bed and gently covered me with it. We were lying side by side in silence on a scratchy throw rug for an untold number of minutes. Finally I sat up and began to hunt for my clothes.
Easton objected. He grabbed me roughly and pulled me back to the floor.
“Roll over, baby. I’m not fucking done with you. Not even close.”
I scowled, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I thought I told you not to say anything.”
He smiled. “You didn’t mean it.”
“Is that so?” I squeaked.
“Yeah,” he said confidently and pulled my legs apart. “So get ready for a long, dirty night, Claudia, and the whole time I’ll be saying the foulest shit you ever heard.”
He kept his promise. And I loved every sick, filthy minute.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ANYA
Utter bliss.
She wouldn’t have believed it existed, that she could possibly fall even more in love than she was when Jack knelt at her feet and asked her to be his wife. It was in the small moments, like the possessive nature of his hand at her waist or the way he fixed her coffee the strange way she liked it, with a tiny drop of honey.
There was a whole vibrant city outside their hotel room but they’d barely seen it. Anya wasn’t sorry at all. She was sure they couldn’t possibly be missing a thing. In two days it would be over. The honeymoon would end and they would need to return to the world.
No, that wasn’t right, she scolded herself. It wasn’t the end at all. It was just the start of the beautiful life they were meant to share.
“What are you thinking?” Jack asked her. He’d emerged from the shower, dripping and god-like as he absently toweled off. “I can tell it’s serious because you look like you’ve been sucking on a lemon.”
“I could suck on you instead.”
Jack raised a dark eyebrow. Then he tackled her, pressing his naked body against hers. Even though he was so much bigger, so much stronger, he managed to be gentle about it. Jack would never hurt her.
And the thought of hurting him was unbearable. That was why she’d laughed it off when the fork fell from her hand the other day. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. It was just the first time he’d seen it. The tremors weren’t there, not yet. Anya didn’t know how long it would take before they would arrive. She only knew that sometimes her hands wouldn’t do what her brain instructed them to do.
I won’t let it rule me.
Maybe things would be like this for a long time before anything worse happened. Maybe her own mother had hidden the earliest signs for years before Anya noticed her hands shaking one evening as she tried to mix meatloaf for dinner. Anya would have liked to ask her. But of course that was impossible.
She only remembered one conversation with her mother about the hideous thing that lived inside them. It was when she was a child, not long after the genetic screening results had come back.
Anya was in sixth grade when she learned that she would not live to be old. She decided everyone in the world deserved her anger; her mother for passing the affliction along, her father for being helpless in its face, her friends who would never know such a terrible burden, even her little brother who’d been spared the sad fate that awaited her.
“Why?” she’d screamed at her father one week before he left. He’d been the one to insist on taking her and Easton for the test, and then told her the results. She beat on his chest and pushed him against the kitchen wall. “Why did you make me know this?”
He had no answer. He turned away, went to the front yard and started pushing the lawnmower over the grass.
Anya had stood at the window, looking out at the serene perfection of a June afternoon. She recognized one of the Giordano boys riding past on a bicycle. It was Rocco. His arms were confidently crossed in front of his chest as he managed to pilot the bicycle without holding onto the handlebars. Anya had a sudden vicious wish that he would fall right off and land in the street. She heard the soft rustling of a body as it scraped along the wall in her direction. Her mother had trouble walking without holding onto something. Easton laughed in the next room, entertained by morning cartoons. Anya closed her eyes when she felt her mother’s soft arms surround her.
“You can’t let it rule you,” her mother whispered as she rested her cheek on Anya’s shoulder.
How could you avoid letting it rule you? How could you wake up in the morning and feel carefree and happy when your future was so grim?
“Anya,” said her mother more insistently. “Today is a good day.”
“Today is a good day,” Anya repeated in a listless voice.
I won’t let it rule me.
But it had. It had for a long time. She remained grieved and angry for years, isolated in a way that no one could help her with. If it wasn’t for the love and obligation she felt toward Easton she would have long since sunk into self-destruction. She vowed that the long line of suffering would end with her. Anya swore she would never be a mother. She couldn’t bear the possibility of passing along this unwanted inheritance. Living with it herself was horrible enough.
In the meantime, there was a young boy who needed her badly. She felt something like a mother’s pride as she watched her little brother grow into a strong man. She’d done more work in raising him than anyone else. So in a way he was like her own child, a substitute for the real ones she was determined not to have.
Was it worse knowing or not knowing her fate? She wasn’t sure. But this was her lot. This was her life. There wouldn’t be another one. Time and maturity slowly calmed her anger.
I won’t let it rule me.
She’d started to change even before she fell for Jack. She’d made up her mind to live as well as she could for as long as she could. Now she had happiness. She had a man who adored her. She had everything worth keeping.
“You should do that more,” Jack groaned a short time later as he rolled back into the pillows.
“Suck you off?”
“Yeah. And just as importantly, talk about sucking me off.”
“Noted.”
“You never answered my question.”
“I thought I showed you the answer.”
“No, wiseass. Before that I asked what you were thinking.”
Anya scooted closer to him, resting her head in the hollow between his neck and right shoulder. “I was thinking about what you said the other day.”
“I was kidding about the threesome.” He winked. “I mean, unless you’re into it.”
“No. I meant something else.”
Jack kissed her. He wrapped a section of her hair around one finger and brushed it across her face. “All right, sweet girl. Remind me then.”
She felt a thrill of excitement as she whispered in his ear.
“Jack. I want to have your baby.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CLAUDIA
I felt so good and so bad at the same time. When we weren’t screwing our brains out like a pair of rutting dogs I found it tough to look Easton in the eye. He knew it too. He was having fun, putting his
hand up my skirt beneath the kitchen table or liberating his impressive package from his pants as he passed me in the hallway.
“What’s the matter, Claudia?” Getty smirked as he walked over with a pile of meat that Rocco had just finished barbecuing. He set it down on the old redwood picnic table. The morning he’d dropped Papa off -which happened to be the morning after Easton and I had sex for the first time - Getty had shrewdly taken one look at me and laughed himself silly. I told him he could go giggle himself into a damn coma and then stormed off as Papa’s confused voice drifted after me.
“Who is that girl?” I heard my great-grandfather ask in bewilderment.
Dusk approached and I felt distinctly uncomfortable in the combined presence of my great-grandfather, my two uncles, and my resident fuck buddy. I folded napkins as Easton waltzed past and plucked a hot dog from the stack of smoking meat.
“You’ll burn yourself,” I scolded.
He grinned, flicked his tongue out and licked the length of the hot dog.
Getty plopped down on a bench and nudged me. “So, enlighten me on the ways of youth. Does he spit or swallow?”
Easton cracked up and took a big bite, winking at me as he chewed.
I’m surrounded by vulgar boys disguised as men.
I stood up and stalked into the house, my dignity in tatters. It was my own fault. I’d fucked the kid from next door. Well, technically the kid from around the corner, but the point behind the geographic details was the same. My dear uncles, in all their perpetually sardonic Giordano glory, weren’t going to let me get away without some epic mocking.
“Claudia!” Rocco called from behind a haze of charcoal smoke. I ignored him and slammed the screen door to the kitchen.
I was standing over the sink, staring at the ugly pseudo-marble backsplash and trying not to feel disgusted with myself when the door opened.
“What’s wrong?” Easton asked.
I turned the faucet on full blast and plugged the drain, squirting dishwashing liquid into the rising water. “Nothing’s wrong.”
