“Ugh, what the hell are you talking about? Who’s gone?” He flips over and buries his head in the crevice of the couch.
“The puma that shit in your mouth.”
He rolls over to face me. He opens and closes his mouth slowly and a look of disgust washes over his face. “A puma did shit in my mouth.”
“Hurry up and get in the shower, whiskey breath. I can smell you from across the room. Grams will be down to cook breakfast any minute, and I don’t want her getting drunk off your fumes.”
I’m giving him a hard time, but Lord knows I’ve been there. I still like to keep him on his toes. He knows Saturday mornings are for fishing, which is why he sleeps over here on Friday nights. You think he’d learn and lay off the sauce, but his head is as hard as mine.
He nearly falls off the sofa and then trudges up the stairs, waving me off the entire way. Not even five minutes pass before I hear the clanging of pans in the kitchen. I follow the noise and find Granny and Mom cracking eggs and mixing pancake batter.
“Mom, what are you doing here this morning?”
They both greet me with cheek kisses and pinches as soon as I hit the doorway.
“Sarge didn’t have a great night. Granny and I had to tag team it,” Mom says in explanation, and that’s all she has to say.
The evenings are especially hard on Sarge. He seems to get even more confused than usual, and he’s much more agitated. It takes its toll on Granny, and sometimes two pairs of eyes help keep him out of trouble.
“Why didn’t y’all call me? I would have come over and helped.”
My grandmother lovingly slaps my cheek. “We know that, sweet boy, but your mom and I had it covered.”
Our conversation is cut short when Will joins us, and, of course, the kisses and pinches resume. Will winces with every high-pitched squeal, and I have to laugh. Maybe I’ll take it easy on him for the rest of the morning … but what would be the fun in that?
Breakfast commences with no sign of Sarge. When I ask about it, Mom explains he was up until past midnight, so he’ll probably sleep well into the morning. Even so, Mom and Granny are still up with the chickens, and I know they must be exhausted. Looking at them, you’d never know, and it makes me wonder how many times I’ve been left in the dark.
“Cain, why haven’t you invited your sweet little friend over for dinner again? She was such a darling. How has she been?” Granny leans in and smiles hopefully, and I hate to be the one to burst her bubble.
I slowly finish chewing my bite, buying a little extra time. “Um, I’m not sure. We don’t talk anymore.”
She watches me thoughtfully and waits for an explanation. I don’t have one, so I keep quiet. The truth is, it’s been weeks since I’ve spoken to Celia. I’ve kept my distance, just like I said I would. I’ve avoided her at every turn, staying away from Adam’s house, the clinic, or wherever I know she will be. I miss the hell out of her. But I don’t share that with Grams.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I look away and turn my attention to my cousin, hoping to end this line of questioning. “Will, where did you go last night? I don’t see your truck in the driveway—did you have to hitch a ride home?”
Will flings me the stink eye, and I can’t blame him. Oh well, he’ll get over it. The little fucker needs to learn how to take one for the team. I’m merely being a stellar cousin, teaching him the important lessons in life. He’ll thank me one day.
“Actually, I saw Celia last week, and she said to tell you hello, Granny,” Mom chimes in, bringing the topic back to the forefront and making my jaw hit the floor.
I drop my fork on my plate and turn my attention to Mom. “What do you mean you saw her last week? Where?”
What the hell?
Mom stabs her pancakes with her fork, takes a bite, and chews slowly, innocently. Yeah, I’m not buying it.
“She stopped by the house to visit with Moe and me. Actually, we have teatime at least once a week. She’s such a dear girl.” Mom flips her gaze to Granny who nods in agreement.
I cross my arms, lean back in my chair, and take a good look at the two Judases. I was under the false assumption that blood was thicker than water. “Well, isn’t that just cozy. Did you swap recipes, paint each other’s toenails, or was it another laugh fest at the expense of my rooster?”
Will chokes on his orange juice, Granny gasps and clutches her chest, and Mom slams a hand on the table, making the dishes rattle.
“Well, I never! Cain Bennett, I did not raise you to speak about private parts over a perfectly pleasant breakfast.” Mom’s voice hits a loud whisper—you know that thing moms do when they want to holler, but act too dignified to actually let it rip. It’s eerily similar to a kid’s whisper, in that it’s not a whisper at all.
“I’m not the one who started the private part talk, am I, Mom? You and Mo did that. And now that Celia and me aren’t talkin’ and she’s spending time at the house, there’s no telling what you two are gonna let fly. You probably already told her about the lingerie section of the J.C. Penney catalog I had stashed under my bed.” I lean forward in my chair and groan when her lip twitches at my comment. “I don’t like her going over there.”
My words come out like a decree, but I don’t get the response I’m hoping for. Mom and Granny scoff in unison, and Will has become extremely interested in the plate in front of him.
“Just because you’re still grazing around town, spitting out cud willy-nilly doesn’t mean your momma has to follow your lead. You brought that sweet girl over here. You introduced her to us. If they’ve forged a friendship, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to deal with it,” Granny states matter-of-factly.
“I’m not grazing, Granny,” I say, shaking my head. I stand up and put my dishes in the sink. I turn and walk out of the kitchen, stopping for a moment at the doorway. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe Celia’s the cow and I’m the cud?”
I don’t wait for their response. I walk to the utility room and gather my tackle box and fishing pole. I load up the truck and wait for Will. I look up when I hear the screen door creak, and frown when I see Mom walking my way. She pulls down the tailgate of my truck and hoists herself up to sit. Her legs dangle carelessly as she leans back on her hands. She smiles at me, and her eyes soften to the point of melting.
“I love you, son.”
I huff and stare at the ground, cursing myself for not being able to stay mad at her for a full ten minutes. It’s been that way all my life.
“I love you, too.”
We sit in silence for a bit, and the warm Louisiana wind whips around us, feeling more like a heater than a breeze.
“There’s a fire in that girl. I see it plain as day, although she tries to hide it. We’re like-minded—she and I. It’s like looking into the mirror. There’s a war inside her heart, and you need to let her fight it.” Mom loops her arm with mine and scoots me closer to her. I lean against the tailgate, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
“How is she?”
I know the answer may burn me, but I can’t stop myself from asking. What if she’s happy without me? How will I feel if my absence hasn’t fazed her at all? It kills me to think our time together may not mean as much to her as it did to me. I just don’t believe it. What’s left may be in shambles, but it was genuine … and reciprocated. There was nothing plastic about our relationship. It was, however, painfully temporary.
“Hmm … she’s asking the same thing about you. She even checked in on Biz,” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “That girl has the same lost look in her eyes that I see in yours.”
A humorless laugh escapes me, and she squeezes my arm. “This is the way she wants it. She basically threw me out of her house. She uninvited me to her life. Did she explain what happened? Because I still don’t get it.”
“She didn’t … and if she did, I wouldn’t tell you,” she says softly, sounding more like an apology than a statement. “And she’s welcome at our home any tim
e.”
“Nice.”
“Son, you and I are so blessed. We’re surrounded by people who love us and support us. Not everyone gets that, and, even if they do, many people lose it way too early in their lives. I’m not sure which category Celia fits in, but I can assure you, there’s emptiness there. I will not turn her away. You shouldn’t want me to.”
“You’re right,” I say on a sigh. Leave it to Mom to put everything in perspective. I only hope the day comes where Celia will count on me again, too.
Mom hops off the tailgate. “But I promise I’ll stay mum about your J.C. Penney catalog.” She breaks out into a feverish giggle and shakes her head. “Seriously, I can’t figure out what in the world you found enticing about old lady bras and girdles. You have to admit, it’s funny.”
I throw up the tailgate and wave her away with my hand. “I’m never gonna live that shit down. What can I say? Beggars can’t be choosers. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You have to make lemonade out of lemons—”
“Or porn out of Playtex?” She laughs.
“And you give me shit about private parts at the breakfast table? Seriously, woman, I need bleach for my ears. Isn’t there a rule about mothers using the word porn in front of their children? If there isn’t, there should be.”
Mom pats my cheek and shakes her head. “When have you ever known me to follow the rules?” She walks back to the house, barefoot and wild-haired. That’s my mom, carefree and full of fire. She looks back over her shoulder and smiles. “Give it time, Cain, she’ll find her fire. Be patient.”
Patience. Right. That’s never been my strong suit.
Adam meets us at the pond, and the fishing commences. He hasn’t caught one fish all morning, but he’s still got this dopey smile plastered on his face. It’s sickening, really.
According to Adam, the birds are singing, the bees are buzzing, the flowers are blooming, and whatever other happy horseshit he can conjure up. The truth of it is, Sara finally forgave his groveling ass, and he’s starry eyed in love. I’m happy for him, I am. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy—a more deserving family. It doesn’t mean I’m in the right headspace to watch it. The only thing warming my bed is Biz, and he’s way too fucking hairy for my taste. Don’t even get me started on his atrocious breath.
“Sara and the kids should be on the way to the movies by now. She took them to Alex’s art class this morning. Maybe I’ll call and see how things are going,” he says as he fishes his phone out of his pocket.
“Leave ‘em alone. They have your number. They’ll call if they need you. Plus, it’ll look like you don’t trust Sara if you call.” I grab his phone out of his hand before he can dial the number. His home screen is filled with Sara, Lily, and Gage’s laughing faces, all smushed together to fit in the picture. I hold the phone up and show it to Will. “Just in case you’re wondering, this is one of the first signs that a man has lost his balls.”
Adam grabs the phone away from me while Will howls with laughter. “Fuck y’all.” Adam scowls at both of us then turns his attention to the screen. And the dopey smile is back.
“Dude, I don’t know what to say. You’re just so … domesticated.” Will spits the word out of his mouth like it tastes disgusting on his tongue. I guess it does if you’re a nineteen-year-old college kid.
To me, the word tastes like apple pie, meat lover’s pizza, Mo’s homemade lasagna, and any other comfort food I can imagine. I’m just giving Adam a hard time, and if I’m being honest, my bitterness has come out to play. Jealousy feels like a cowboy’s blue jeans—way too fucking tight in all the wrong places. I’ve got to get out of this funk.
“I’ve got two kids, man. I was domesticated while you were having wet dreams about Peggy Sue from algebra class in the ninth grade. I let go of wild a long time ago. I love my kids, and Sara is…” He closes his eyes and inhales deep. “She’s the cherry on top of a great fucking life.”
I slap his back and give him a quick nod. “I’m happy for you, man … now put your vagina away and let’s catch some fish.”
Before Adam can tell me to fuck off, my text message alert interrupts. I fish my phone from my pocket, and I’m shocked to see TINK on the screen. It’s been radio silence for weeks, so I can’t imagine what she would be texting about. I feel the stirrings of hope deep in my stomach, but I try to swallow it down. For all I know, her hot water heater busted, so she’s calling the landlord to fix it.
Tink: Hey, Mr. Craig is back from the hospital, and I’m making a home visit this afternoon around three o’clock. I know you said I shouldn’t go alone, so you’re welcome to come.
I stare at the screen, waiting for the answer to come to me. She’s right; I don’t want her on that side of town by herself. While I’m thinking, my phone pings again.
Tink: He asked about you when I called him. I think he’d enjoy seeing you.
I would like to see him, but I’m not sure if it’s the right thing. Yes, I need to be patient, but that doesn’t mean I should be a doormat. Another ping.
Tink: And I’d enjoy visiting with you, too … Anyway, I’ll be leaving the clinic about 2:45, if you’d like to come.
“Musings from Never Never Land?” Adam asks with a low chuckle.
“Huh?”
“Is that Celia?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a part of me that wants to jump in my truck and break every speed limit to spend time with her. My heart wants the opportunity to change her mind. My soul craves her company. Thankfully, my head is still in the game. Because Celia may have reached out to me, but this meeting is on her terms. It would be so easy to fall back into the friend routine with her, but that’s a step backward I’m unwilling to take.
“Adam, what time is Sara due back with the kids?”
“She’s planning to take them for ice cream after the movie, so I’d say about four-thirty. Why?”
“Because I need a favor.”
“Garden” by Pearl Jam
Present Day
I RAISE AND lower my fist three times before I decide to knock on the door. After two light taps, I push up my purse strap on my shoulder and wait. In my other hand, I clench the envelope containing this month’s rent—also known as my excuse for stopping by Cain’s apartment.
I need to see him.
Last week, I sat inside the clinic waiting for him, going over all the things I wanted to tell him—Eddie’s first vet visit that dissolved into a fit of claws and hisses, my zoo trip with Lily and Gage with the spitting llamas, and every other little thing that happened in these excruciatingly long weeks without him. Mostly, I just wanted to hear his voice and make him laugh. I swear, his laugh should be bottled up and sold as an anti-depressant. Sure, Mr. Craig wanted to see him, too, but I may be guilty of suggesting Cain tag along for the visit with me.
When Adam showed up in Cain’s place, it took every ounce of willpower to keep my tears at bay. Adam tried his best to lighten the mood and pretend he didn’t notice the crushed look on my face. It killed me to think Cain didn’t want to see me as badly as I wanted to see him. Has he already moved on?
I knock again, a little louder this time, and the door edges open. I peer through the crack into his apartment, taking the unlocked and unlatched door as a silent form of welcome. I’ll take what I can get these days.
Cain lives in a loft on top of an antique shop in downtown Providence. The brick walls, exposed beams, and oversized leather furniture scream masculinity, very similar to the owner. The room is perfectly still, but as I look over the open space, my eyes land on the man in question.
Damn.
After enduring a several weeks’ long “Cain drought,” the image before me makes my mouth water. There he lays, in all his glory—mussed hair, bare-chested, wearing nothing but tattered blue jeans and glasses. Glasses? I didn’t know he wore glasses, but damn if they don’t look sexy as hell.
Papers litter his stomach and the floor, and a half-dozing Biz is cu
rled up into his side with an ear cocked up and sleepy eyes. Cain’s eyes, on the other hand, are shut tight. The steady rise and fall of his chest is mesmerizing, and my mind wanders to a day not so long ago where I lay in the crook of his arm, my ear to his chest, listening to the pulsing of his heart. I swear I can almost hear it now.
My eyes dance over his skin like fingers lightly brushing a path. My fingers itch to grab and tug his hair. My lips crave to kiss him … everywhere.
I reach the couch and give Biz a tiny scratch between his ears, and he settles back into his spot. Cain shifts his hips to accommodate for Biz, and his lashes flutter as his arm lifts and curls behind his head. Even from behind his lenses, I can count the rows of eyelashes that frame his emerald eyes. That’s right, the man has rows of lashes, thick enough to be the envy of every woman.
I place my rent check on the table and slowly lift the errant sheets of paper off his stomach. A quick hand grabs my wrist before I pull away, and I gasp, butterflies fluttering up my throat.
“It’s five to ten for breaking and entering, Tink. Hand me my phone so I can call the fuzz,” he says with a smirk. He chuckles under his breath when I pull free from his grasp.
“I most certainly will not get your phone, and I hardly believe I’d get ten years for walking into an unlocked house, with a barely closed door.” I release the papers and place my hands on my hips as they flutter to my feet.
“Maybe not, but I have every intention of crying rape.” His eyes dance with laughter, then he turns his attention to Biz. He yanks the dog’s ear and narrows his eyes. “Where were you on that one, Biz? She could have been a masked murderer, ya useless hound.”
“Aw, don’t be so tough on him.” I pout and give Biz a gentle pat.
Cain swings his legs to the floor and sits up, placing the dog in his lap. “He doesn’t like those pansy ass scratches, girl. This guy is a warrior.”
Storms Over Secrets Page 18
