When We Touch

by Tia Louise

  After my father was killed in the car wreck that also took Minnie, she kind of lost it. For weeks she stayed in her bedroom with the door closed, and I stayed at Tabby’s house.

  When she finally emerged, she was different. It was like she decided their deaths were God’s way of punishing her for not doing more to keep everyone on the straight and narrow.

  Now all I see are my mother’s eyes judging all our shortcomings and delivering instructions on how to address them via Pastor Green each week.

  I haven’t cared for Bob Green’s sermons ever since.

  “…and you shall be saved,” he ends ominously. “Let us pray and beg the Father to expose our hidden sins and save us from ourselves.”

  “That’s what I call church,” Tabby says, leaning forward. “Anxiety and upset stomach for the rest of the day.”

  I elbow her in the ribs. I know the source of that fire and brimstone, and I feel fine. It’s simply another of my mother’s methods for trying to control me—forcing me to be here, to listen to her judgmental bullshit coming from Marjorie’s mouthpiece.

  “Just a little while longer,” I whisper.

  It’s Coco’s last year of preschool, I’m making enough money to keep us clothed and fed. My daughter will be back with me in just a few short weeks, and I’ll start sleeping in on Sundays again.

  We’re finally released, and Tabby and I are the first ones out the back door. I linger around on the front lawn a few minutes, waiting for my mother to appear with Coco.

  “My advice on sex and idolatry is ‘don’t mix tequila with Googling your ex,’” I say, looking up at the small but imposing structure and remembering the one time five years ago when I entered Jack Lockwood in the search bar on Tabby’s laptop.

  “That was a crazy night,” Tabby says, giving me a grin. “You were wild.”

  I was miserable.

  With a rueful smile, I quote, “Beer makes you pee, wine makes you cry, tequila makes you pregnant.”

  “At least Coco’s dad was a gentleman and went away.”

  I cut my eyes at her just as Betty Pepper makes a beeline for me with Bucky on her heels. “Ember Rose, that cake you made was the star of Donna’s party!”

  “I’m so glad!” I give her a hug.

  “Hello, jump back!” Tabby calls, and I step away quickly when I see Bucky coming in for his turn to hug me.

  He’s dressed in cornflower-blue polyester suit with a shiny gold tie. I glance up to his face, and it’s not awful. He’s just so… weird. He has been since we were kids.

  “Hi, Emberly,” he says, and he moves his eyebrows in a way I’m sure he thinks is flirty, but it’s totally creepy.

  “Hi, Bucky.”

  “You have to make another one,” Betty continues, and her son’s pale blue eyes ogle my boobs.

  Like, seriously.

  In front of his mother.

  “My store manager Thelma’s anniversary is next Friday.” Betty finally notices her son’s inappropriate gaze. “Bucky! Go get the car!” He jumps and scampers off, and the old woman leans in close. “He’s got quite the package—”

  “What!” I pull back startled.

  “Thelma’s husband!” she scolds. “It’s the dark chocolate variety, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know André.” I’m just not sure about this repeat business.

  “Just wait til all the guys find out you’re baking their junk,” Tabby teases, jabbing my ribs. “You’ll be the most popular girl in town.”

  My mother appears at the top of the steps, and I feel my face go red. Even though I’m too old to believe it, I’m convinced she has a radar for when I’m “sinning.”

  Coco saves me. As soon as she spots me, she throws my mother’s hand aside and runs straight to me. “Mommy!”

  “Coco bean!” I swing her up onto my hip laughing, her purple and white gingham dress swooshing around us.

  Her dark curls are brushed smooth down her little back, and the very top is gathered in a white grosgrain bow as big as her head.

  “How did you sleep last night?” I ask when she presses her head against my shoulder.

  I only get a shrug. “Granny made me go to bed early with no treats.”

  “No treats?” My brows pull together in a frown. “How come?”

  “She said you were bringing me too many cupcakes today.” Her little head pops up. “Did you bring me too many cupcakes?”

  “I brought six purple monster three cupcakes, and you can eat them all if you want.” Cutting my eyes back toward the church, I see my mother in a chaste conversation with the minister.

  “Just save one for me.” Tabby pats her little back and drifts away to where Chad stands talking to one of the parishioners.

  Betty Pepper has me by the arm again. “Can you take an order for it now?”

  Blinking back at her, I’m momentarily confused. “For what?”

  Her eyebrows rise, and she makes her eyes big. “For the humpht cake.”

  When she says humpht she wobbles her head and jabs her index finger straight up—I imagine like a springing erection.

  I grab it in my fist quickly. “How soon do you need it?”

  “Friday. You know, the same night you’re going out with Bucky.”

  “Right.” As if I could ever forget that good deed gone wrong.

  “Are you making a cake, Mommy?” Coco’s head is up, and she’s lifting my hair around my shoulders. Her sadness over last night is ancient history now that too many cupcakes are waiting for her.

  “I need to be making more,” I say, looking over the crowd.

  Tabby gives Chad a little wave and starts back, but just before he slides those aviator sunglasses up his straight nose, I see his eyes linger on my best friend’s ass. The muscle in his square jaw moves, and it’s pure lust.

  It’s also pure busted when he sees me. I give him a little wink, and he turns quickly. I just laugh. Poor Chad. He’s been in love with Tabs since the town hired him, and she won’t give him the time of day. She says he’s too “law-abiding.” I call bullshit. I think she knows what I know… Chad Tucker would have a ring on her hand faster than she could say I’m not that kind of girl.

  “What’s that smug expression about?” she asks once she reaches our little huddle.

  “I see Officer Tucker punched your church card.”

  “My what?” Her black brow arches. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”

  “You’ll also be happy to know Betty here just placed another order for a humpht cake. Chocolate this time.”

  Tabby’s eyes widen even more. “Who the hell—”

  “Coco bean!” I cut her off loudly. “Run tell Granny you’re walking home with Aunt Tabby and me.”

  My daughter does a little hop on my hip, and she’s out of my arms, running top speed in the direction of the church.

  BP leans closer. “I put the word out you made the cake. You should have a few more orders across the week.”

  “Thanks, but remember to tell them I do legitimate baking as well. Birthday cakes, wedding cakes, anniversary cakes you can serve your pastor…”

  “What’s the fun in that?” The old woman clutches her purse against her lavender suit and starts down the lane leading to where her son sits in the car waiting, leering at me.

  I can’t help a shiver. I’m waiting for Tabby’s snarky response, but she doesn’t even notice. My best friend is so distracted, I honestly can’t take it anymore.

  “What is on your mind, Tabitha?”

  “Don’t call me that,” she says absently. “Chad calls me that.”

  “Well, it’s your name.”

  Cocoa charges back to us, blowing air through her lips like a loud little motor, and grabs both our hands. We set off at a leisurely pace in the direction of my mother’s house.

  “Speaking of Chad, he’s rocking that suit today.” I cock an eyebrow in her direction. “Has he been working out?”

  Coco takes off ahead of us chanting, “Work out… turn to the le
ft! Work out… turn to the right!”

  “Is that Supermodel?” My friend snorts.

  “Her teacher’s using it to teach them left and right.”

  “Shi—oot, all we got was the hokey pokey. I demand a RuPaul do-over!”

  We take a few more steps with only the sounds of my energetic preschooler filling the air between us.

  “Hey, Em?”

  I glance up at the change in her tone. “What is it?”

  “How would you feel if… say… I don’t know… Just for instance, if you were to bump into Jackson Cane?”

  I stop walking. It’s like I’ve been electrocuted. My heart is flying in my chest, and I automatically touch the painful space. “Of all the things…” I whisper. “Why would you ask me that?”

  Green eyes flicker to mine. “Just… he broke your heart when he left, and—”

  “No,” I shake my head, needing to keep the history accurate. “He left to go to college. He needed to leave. It broke my heart when he never came back.”

  I start walking again, albeit slower, and my hand moves from my chest to my stomach. Now I have heartburn.

  Jackson Cane left me holding onto a promise, and after a few months, he just disappeared. He stopped calling, he never wrote, he never answered my calls or letters…

  He was gone.

  And I was left to pick up the pieces.

  The shards.

  “So if he were to come back—” Tabby’s voice is slower.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We’re at the steps leading up to Mom’s front porch, and I’m angry. I can’t believe my best friend would bring this up. She knows his name only hurts me.

  “What if he did?” I snap before following my daughter into the house. “I’ve moved on.”

  I’m just passing through the door, when I hear Tabby say behind me. “Have you?”

  I’m still mad at Tabby a half-hour later when my mother launches into her weekly post-service post-mortem over our usual fried chicken lunch.

  “I thought the pastor’s words on lasciviousness were particularly well-timed with all that’s going on in the world today,” she says.

  It takes every ounce of willpower to hold my gaze on my chicken and not roll my eyes at her. Like I don’t know this is a direct reference to the penis cake.

  “That’s a word I’ve never been able to spell,” Tabby jumps in, saving me. “Lasciviousness… Lascivious. Ness. What does it mean?”

  “It means lustful… smutty… obsessed with s-e-x.”

  “Oh!” Tabby’s face brightens, and she shoves a huge spoonful of lumpy mashed potatoes into her mouth. “I can spell smutty.”

  I choke on my sweet tea and almost laugh, my anger at my best friend forgotten. If anyone can deflect my mother’s obnoxious, judgmental statements, it’s her.

  Naturally, I get a stern glare before my mother continues talking about her favorite parts of her sermon. I’m so tempted to say, I know you wrote the whole damn thing!

  Instead, I turn my attention to Coco, who’s creating a mountain out of her potatoes, complete with a moat in the middle for the gravy to run through.

  “Looks like you’re finished!” I cheerfully hop up and take her plate, cutting my mother off mid-sentence. “Who’s ready for purple monster number three?”

  “Me! Me! Meeeee!” Coco squeals holding her hand high and shaking it.

  I laugh and go to the refrigerator to grab the square container. “I made one for each of us with two left over.”

  Coco gets the first one, and she dives in smearing purple frosting all over her nose and chin.

  “Mm!” she squeals. “Chocolate and purple. It’s hot!”

  “That’s the dragon’s breath,” I say with ominous glee.

  “None for me, thank you.” My mother’s affected tone is like some old antebellum woman. Again, eye-roll suppressed.

  “Split one with me,” Tabby says. “I haven’t exercised enough this week for a whole one.”

  “Having a little dry spell?” I tease. “Officer Tucker would be happy to help you out with that, I’m sure.”

  “I like a man who’s faster than me,” she says, taking a pinch of purple. “Chad Tucker is too slow to catch me.”

  “Sometimes slow can be nice.”

  “Is that crude talk?” Momma snaps. “On the Lord’s day?”

  “What? No!” I act innocent as I sit down. It only reminds me of Betty’s order after church today. “Speaking of slow, I’ve got to get more orders coming in. I don’t know what to do.”

  Tabby leans forward on her elbows. “I told you. We’ve got to get your website up. Online orders are the hot new thing! And a delivery guy…”

  “I’m not interested in spending all my time online.” My last venture into cyberspace landed me a baby. A baby I love, but still.

  “Have you considered handing out fliers on the strand? I’m sure people out there are having birthdays, anniversaries… Maybe they just want cake by the ocean!”

  Shaking my head, I watch her take a bite of spicy chocolate. “I did that a few times this summer. It didn’t seem to make a difference.”

  “This is so delicious!” she cries. Just as fast, her eyes go wide. “I have an idea!” She’s out of her seat, taking my cupcake out of my hand and putting it in the box beside the remaining four.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Grab CC and the fliers. We have a cute baby and a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We need to hand out samples!”

  “I’m not a baby!” Coco cries, and I laugh. Her angry face is covered in purple.

  “It’s not a bad idea.” I go to the sink and pick up a washcloth.

  “It’s a great idea!” Tabby has me by the arm, pulling me to the door. Coco’s behind us doing her kangaroo hop again. “Coco! Stop hopping. Walk with purpose!”

  “You called me a baby,” my little girl fusses, and I know we’re pushing naptime.

  “I expect a raise once the money starts rolling in!” Tabby leads us to her car, the box of cupcakes in her hand.

  I scoop up my daughter and follow her. “I don’t pay you now.”

  “Exactly.”

  Five

  Jack

  I read somewhere the earth is round so we can’t see too far down the road. Opening my eyes mid-morning Sunday, the first thing I see is my hard-on tenting the elegant Matelassé blanket over me. The second thing I see is Ember across the room.

  It takes me a few seconds of blinking before I remember coming home last night after my run-in with Tabby and having a few more drinks. Then, possibly a little drunk, I dug her portrait out of the closet again.

  “Fuck,” I growl, sitting up and rubbing my face. “No more midnight cocktails.”

  Throwing the blanket aside, I stalk down the hall toward the bathroom. My feet make dull thudding noises on the soft pine floors.

  This place is really nice, I think, entering the sparkling bathroom. Bracing myself with one hand against the wall, I reach down and ease my erection toward the bowl so I don’t paint the elegant ceiling yellow.

  Out in the kitchen, I open and close the empty cabinets realizing quickly I forgot a few important things. I don’t even have coffee.

  “Dammit,” I growl, heading for the bedroom to put on clothes. I jerk faded jeans over my hips and a gray tee over my head. Scooping up a baseball cap, I’m out the door.

  Two minutes later I steer The Beast into town, searching for coffee and sustenance. It’s deserted, of course, since half the population is at church and the other half is sleeping it off. When I was a kid, the closest grocery store was two towns over. Thankfully, someone’s opened one here since then.

  I pull up outside the building I’ll be painting tomorrow. The sign reads, “Pack n Save Poboy Shop,” and it’s adjacent to the hardware store.

  A little bell rings over the door when I enter, but the place is empty. Only a guy in a ball cap sits behind the register studying his phon
e. I grab a plastic basket and make my way through the aisles quickly, grabbing a loaf of bread, coffee, filters. The refrigerated section has a limited supply, but I grab a package of ground beef, sausages, what looks like a decent steak. Cheese and a carton of cream, and I return to the front.

  The guy puts his phone down and quickly rings me up, placing my items in the plastic bags hanging beside him. I look up and read the menu. The listing is a full range of specialty sandwiches from pastrami on rye; to turkey, apple, Brie, and bacon; to New Orleans muffulettas; and Cajun shrimp and oysters.

  My stomach growls just reading it.

  “Hey,” I say, giving the guy a nod.

  “How’s it going,” he answers without looking up.

  “How long has this place been open?”

  He doesn’t smile. “’bout five years.”

  “You the owner?”

  Dark eyes evaluate me. “No.”

  He goes back to scanning, and it looks like that’s all I’m getting.

  I try again. “I’ll be honest, when I lived here, there weren’t many people of color in Oceanside Village.”

  “Still aren’t.”

  I think a moment, and as a last-ditch effort, I hold out my hand. “Jackson Cane. I used to live here. I’ll be painting your storefront starting tomorrow.”

  Brown eyes move from my outstretched hand to my face. “It’s not my storefront.”

  I think he’s going to leave me hanging, but he catches my hand in a firm shake. “André Fontenot.”

  “Good to meet you, André.” I motion to the sign. “You make the sandwiches?”

  “Yep.” I’m all bagged up. His work is done. “Thirty-two fifty.”

  Digging in my pocket, I pull out two twenties and hand them over. “I’ll stop in tomorrow and try one. Which do you recommend?”

  “Depends on what you’re in the mood for.”

  “Fair enough.” I nod, heading for the door. “I’ll be working every day for a week at least. Maybe I’ll try them all.”