by Loren, Celia
I’ve actually gone three days now without exchanging any words with either Elaine or Robert, a new record. The last verbal interaction we had was when I wore my shoes into the house, and I guess there was some mud on them, because Elaine looked up from her TV show and said, “shoes off,” and then went back to her program.
I pull a pair of old sweats and a long-sleeved shirt out of the chest of drawers under the narrow window. The sweats are too short on me now, after my growth spurt over the last year. I pull them down as low as I can on my hips without them falling off. The shirt is short, too, but I want it to be tighter. I shot up in height and now I look too skinny. I’m six feet even, and I think I’m still getting taller.
I slip on my sneakers, grab my backpack, and walk quickly down the stairs of the small two-story house. I toss on my jacket on my way out the door, all without actually seeing Robert or Elaine. School is about two miles away, and I walk it every morning. There’s a bus, but I’d rather be in the open air.
My thoughts turn quickly to my younger brother, Marcus, as I walk down the wood-lined road, the trees reaching to each other above the cement. He sounded upset the last time I talked to him. I know his latest foster isn’t going well. He’s living a couple hours away with a family that has two other fosters staying with them, as well as two of their own kids. I could hear yelling and crying in the background behind him. I screamed at, then begged, my caseworker to place Marcus and I together, but we only were for our first foster, and then we were split up.
I don’t think Marcus really remembers our parents, who were killed in a car accident when I was ten and he was six. He always asks to hear stories about them when we talk on the phone, but then he tries to add details to the stories that aren’t quite right, and I don’t have the heart to correct him.
The school’s depressing, cinder block buildings appear through the trees and I sigh. Some of the kids seem to know their place here so easily. After I ran from my last foster home when the dad hit me, I was moved here mid-year. Everyone thought that was strange. In high school, strange is bad.
As I walk up to the outer buildings, I hear the sound of the rotary saw in the shop. That’s one class I do enjoy, and always get good grades in, as opposed to my mediocre scores everywhere else. I peer around the open garage door of the low building and see my teacher, Mr. Laurits, running his hand over a large piece of wood. Standing next to him is a man with a long, scraggly brown beard, wearing a black vest.
“Scott, what are you doing here so early?” Mr. Laurits calls out as he looks up and sees me. He’s my favorite teacher. The other teachers seem to phone it in and enforce rules arbitrarily, but everything he tells us is practical and useful.
“Gonna go lift in the gym,” I respond, glancing between them as they smile at each other. “What?”
“Flint here used to do that in high school, too,” Mr. Laurits replies, with a nod to the other man.
“You done growing yet?” Flint asks me gruffly as I walk a couple more steps toward them, examining the freshly cut piece of pine.
“Don’t think so,” I respond with a shrug.
“You’ll never put on muscle if you don’t eat enough. Especially protein. You can eat all the shit you want, but if you don’t get enough protein, you’ll never pack it on,” he advises me.
“Well, I try to eat as much as I can. The Ralstons don’t cook much, though.”
“The Ralstons?” Mr. Laurits asks.
“My foster family,” I answer him, looking down at the sawdust-covered floor. There’s a silence, as there usually is when I reveal that information.
“One of my brothers works at a supplement store and he’s always giving away promos. I’ll stop by with some protein powder next time I’m back to check on the shelves,” Flint breaks in.
“Shelves?” I ask.
“Flint just got married. I’m making some bookshelves as a wedding present. We both went to high school here, you know,” Mr. Laurits adds.
“Well, I better head out. Be back in a few days,” Flint says to Mr. Laurits.
“Thanks,” I say to him as he passes by me and heads to the rear of the building. He just waves his hand in response. I study the back of his vest as he walks by. It’s leather and has white embroidery that makes the shape of a devil with a skeleton head, and over the figure it reads “Satan’s Sons.”
I frown after him and then wave to Mr. Laurits as I head to the gym in the main building. A rumble breaks the morning quiet and I look back to see Flint pulling around the side of the shop on a Harley, picking up speed as he heads off down the road.
I stare after him, a black blur disappearing through the trees.
I envy his freedom.
Chapter Four
Violet
Present Day
“Hey Violet, I brought you a latte from next door.”
I hear a voice behind me and turn from my paperwork at the nurses’ station. It’s Dr. Green, and he’s holding two coffee cups from the Bean & Brew next door.
“One sugar, splash of half and half, right?” he asks. “The coffee from the cafeteria is so awful.”
“Oh, thanks,” I reply, giving him a polite smile. He’s always doing little things like this, but he never completely crosses the line. “I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”
“No trouble. I was getting one for myself, anyway.”
He’s definitely cute in his blue scrubs. I see Abby, a fellow nurse, raising an eyebrow at me. She thinks that he has a crush on me, and I’m not sure she’s wrong. I’ve made sure to reference my boyfriend around him, but it’s hard to explain that Drifter is more than my boyfriend; I’m his old lady.
“Dr. Green…”
“Adam, please,” he interrupts.
“Right, Adam,” I say, “Do you know who I’d talk to about seeing if there are any job openings? Maybe in janitorial?”
“Try stopping by Becca’s desk, in HR. Who’s it for?”
“My boyfriend’s brother,” I say with a smile. Hint, hint.
“Oh, great. Well, see you around, then,” he says, taking a sip from his coffee and realizing that it’s still too hot. I wince as he dribbles it out of his mouth and turns away.
“Girl…” Abby says, sidling up to me.
“He’s a doctor! There must be plenty of women who would be interested. I just wish he’d stop doing these little favors for me,” I say. Though I can’t help but think how good that latte smells.
“Just show him a picture of Drifter. I would take his cut over Green’s stethoscope any day,” Abby sighs.
“Me too,” I smile back at her.
After a stop by the HR department, I head home. The dogs jump on me as I enter the house, but quickly run over to the back door and start clawing at the glass, telling me know they need to be let out. I slide the door open for them and they sprint past me. I follow them out, and once they’ve relieved themselves, I grab a stick and toss it for them.
Kalb has longer legs and outruns Scout every time, so I grab another stick for him and throw it in the opposite direction, but they keep getting interested in the other one’s game. Eventually I just drop both and run straight for them. They split and bark at me excitedly, then try to chase me down.
I’m out of breath when I hear the door slide open and see Drifter walk out in his dirty work clothes. He smiles and then starts to run toward me. I wait for him to break away but he just comes right for me. I shriek as he scoops me up in one fluid motion and tips me back over his shoulder. The dogs start chasing us both around as I laugh and pound on his back.
Finally he deposits me on the ground, barely out of breath as I struggle to catch mine.
He leans forward with a gleam in his eye and kisses me softly on the mouth, the sweat from his hard day’s work glistening on his lips.
“Hi,” he whispers, pulling just a centimeter back from my face.
“Hi,” I whisper back, biting my lip. His proximity, the scent of his sweat mixed with dirt, cause an
aching knot to form in my stomach.
I slide my fingers under the hem of his white t-shirt, grazing his skin just above his faded jeans. I run my hand lightly across the tops of his pants, my fingertips touching the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. I hear him take a deep breath in.
“Hey, I bought steaks for dinner!” We break away from each other as Marcus calls to us from the house. Drifter smiles at me, then turns to wave to his brother.
He takes my hand and pulls me gently toward the house. I want to spend some more time alone with this delicious man, but I suppose hosts have duties to fulfill.
“The guy at the counter said to fry those with butter, not grill them,” Marcus says as we walk back in the house, the dogs trotting after us.
“These are really nice cuts of meat,” Drifter observes, turning over the package wrapped in white paper. “You didn’t have to spend money on all this.”
“That’s OK. I was just hanging out here all day, so I figured I’d run out and grab some food for dinner since you guys were both working.”
I frown. Kalb and Scout were acting like they’d been alone for hours when I got home.
“Oh, that reminds me,” I say. “I grabbed an application for you from the HR department at the hospital.”
“Thanks,” he replies, glancing it over and setting it down on the counter. “I’ll apply tomorrow.”
Drifter cooks the steaks like the butcher suggested, and they really are delicious. And I have to admit, it is fun to see him and Marcus together. Even though it sounds like they didn’t see much of each other growing up, there are still behavioral similarities between them that are eerie. I laugh as Marcus neatly layers a bite of steak with the potatoes and onions that are also on his plate.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, when they both look at me questioningly. “It’s just you both do that…arrange each bite so carefully.”
“Oh, really?” Drifter asks, glancing at Marcus’s fork.
“It’s just that it tastes best that way…you get a little bit of each food,” Marcus explains.
“Exactly,” Drifter confirms.
“Right, of course,” I reply, trying to wipe the grin off my face.
“You know,” Marcus says, “I also picked up this bottle of Knob Creek while I was out. Should we do a little tasting?”
“I don’t know…” I demur.
“Come on,” Marcus says, “It’s Friday…you have work tomorrow?”
“Well, sometimes I do on weekends…but not tomorrow,” I admit.
Drifter smiles at me. We’ve both been working so hard lately…I guess it has been a little while since we just had a fun night.
Four “tastings” later and I am more than buzzed. Actually, I am lying on the carpet in the living room trying to get the dogs to stop licking my face.
Drifter and Marcus have completely overtaken me, drink-wise. I try to do the math of how much larger Drifter is than me.
“Forty percent or more…right?” I say out loud.
“What?” Drifter asks, looking at me dumbfounded.
“You’re like that much bigger than me, so you can drink that much more than me, and that’s why you’re up there,” I point to the table, where he and Marcus are still sitting, “and I’m down here.”
Marcus and Drifter look at each other and burst out laughing.
“You laughing at me?” I ask narrowing my eyes at them.
“I would never,” Drifter replies, grinning at me.
“You’re laughing at me,” I accuse him, standing up.
“Uh-oh. I recognize that face,” Drifter says, eyeing me nervously. “Violet, whatever you’re about to do…maybe don’t.”
He knows me well. I jump forward and grab the half-full bottle of bourbon and sprint out the back sliding door into the yard. The dogs run after me before Drifter and Marcus have time to register what I’m doing.
“Violet!” Drifter yells after me, laughing. “Get back here!”
The back yard is completely dark, save for some light from the moon, and I’m not wearing any shoes. I didn’t plan this too well. I slow down and the dogs trot next to me, feeling the dry grass poke between my toes. I glance back and see Drifter and Marcus silhouetted against the yellow light from the house.
“Violet, do you even have shoes on?” Drifter calls out.
I giggle. I get in this mood sometimes when I’ve been drinking, I feel so antsy, like there’s fire in my blood. I stroll further into the darkness and take a swig from the bottle. The fiery liquid burns as it courses down my throat and settles in my belly. I take a deep breath, the scent of the night and dry earth flooding my senses.
I hear movement from the house and glance behind me. Drifter and Marcus have split up and are fanning out from the door. Probably in an effort to trap me and get their precious liquor back. I smile and click my tongue softly to the dogs. They expect me to run, but I’m going to hide.
I duck behind a line of scraggly bushes on the side of our property, near the fence. We had it planted right after we moved in so Kalb and Scout could run around out here without running away. I settle back against the wood slats. The dogs stand next to me, breathing their dog breath in my face, until I pat the ground. They lie down with a huff and Scout puts his head in my lap.
I take another sip of the Knob Creek and look around the yard for the Burrell brothers. I can just see Marcus approaching from about 20 feet away, the grey moonlight reflecting off of his light grey t-shirt. I wonder where he went today.
I lay my free hand on Kalb’s stomach so that he doesn’t move and give me away. Now I can see Drifter circling around to meet Marcus. They end up just ten feet from where I’m sitting.
“Where is she?” Marcus asks.
“She’ll turn up,” Drifter says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. “At least we’re at home.”
“She does this a lot?” Marcus asks.
“Every now and then, usually if things have been quiet, and usually following shots. One time at the Station I lost track of her and found her an hour later sitting on top of the roof on the building next door.”
“So you’re not the only runner in the relationship,” Marcus says, and I can hear an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. I reflexively pet Kalb’s stomach to keep him quiet, aware now that I’m overhearing a private conversation.
There’s a silence between the brothers.
“I…I’ve tried to…” Drifter murmurs. “You know that I…”
“Fuck, it was just an observation, man,” Marcus says, cutting him off with a harsh laugh. “Some people get lucky, some people don’t, you know?”
Scout whines softly, and turns his head on my lap to look at me. I wince. Bad timing, Scout.
“Violet?” Drifter asks.
“You found me…” I say, trying to keep my voice light, as though I haven’t overheard whatever strained conversation they’ve just been having.
I stand up slowly, shedding the dogs, my giddiness gone now.
“I’m winded,” I say, trying to fill the awkwardness in the air. “You guys wanna split the rest of the ice cream in the freezer?”
A few minutes later I’m curled up next to Drifter on the couch. Marcus shook his head at the offer of ice cream and went to bed. Drifter is staring moodily at the TV while I quietly spoon Rocky Road into my mouth, wondering if I should bring up the conversation he had with Marcus. I decide against it. I told him I would trust him, so if he wants to talk any more about it, he will.
I lean into his neck and kiss him softly. He absentmindedly strokes my thigh, and I shiver at his touch.
“Come on, let’s go to bed,” I whisper.
He smiles a little sadly at me. “I’m just going to stay up a little longer,” he replies. “You go ahead. I’ll be right in.”
“Sure,” I say, a little taken aback. I can’t remember the last time Drifter wasn’t in the mood. If there ever was a last time. “Goodnight,” I whisper, and kiss him softly on the cheek, h
is beard tickling my lips.
The bed is big and empty without him. I stretch my arm out onto his side so I’ll feel when he comes to bed, but I’m asleep before he does.
Chapter Five
I wake up slowly, blinking in the soft morning light filtering through the white curtains in the bedroom. I smile as I feel Drifter’s hand on my hip, his thumb running back and forth across the sheet, gently waking me up.
“Morning,” I murmur, looking up at him.
“Morning,” he smiles back at me. His bad mood from last night seems to be gone. “You feeling OK?”
“Yeah, the ice cream helped,” I reply, knowing he’s asking me if I’m hung over. My eyes flick up and down his body and I frown. He’s fully dressed in his riding gear. “What’s going on?”
“Flint just needs me to go on a short run,” he says. “Probably just overnight. Be back tomorrow evening. Sorry, I know this was our first day off together in a while.”
“It’s OK,” I reply. First rule of being a good old lady: don’t come between a Son and his club business. I turn over onto my back and run my hand over his cheek. He glances down and his mouth twitches. I follow his eyes and realize I slept naked last night, and am completely exposed.
“Hmmm,” he murmurs, running his hand between my breasts and down my stomach. “You are making this very difficult.”
I still under his firm hand. He locks eyes with me and continues his hand’s trajectory southward. I gasp as he crests over my mound, his middle finger plunging into my slit. He pulls it up against my g-spot and begins to circle his thumb around my clit as he stares at me. My mouth drops open in pleasure and wanting.
I see him glance at the bedside clock. Oh god, please don’t let him have to leave me hanging. He looks back at me with a crooked smile.
“I’ll have to make it quick…” he warns me. He presses another finger inside of me, and begins to circle them around. He licks his lips, knowing I’m already on the edge and could never say no to him.
