Though I knew I was torturing myself, I stole a glance over at her. Her crystal blue eyes were open and they rested on the painting on the wall. It was the one she’d talked me into bringing home...the one she said would always make her think of our honeymoon.
“Merry Christmas, baby.” I murmured, hoping it wouldn’t startle her.
She rolled in my direction, and it was obvious that she was surprised I was awake. Our eyes locked in silent conversation. A thousand words seemed to pass between us, and the yearning I felt for her had never been more intense.
“I thought I lost you...” I felt my throat closing up as the warring emotions of my memories and my longing overwhelmed me.
Cautiously, she moved closer, and I shifted so she could rest her head in the crook of my arm. She sighed deeply, her hand caressing my bare chest.
“I thought I lost you, too.” She murmured, her nails trailing lightly over my flesh.
Feeling bold and desperate, I brazenly pulled her tighter against me. I ached to kiss her, to touch her, to get carried away the way we used to. I wanted to show her I was receptive, but I’d never push her knowing what she’d experienced. Molly was going to have to take the lead.
As if reading my mind, when her fingers trailed down my stomach and glided lightly over the waistband of my boxers. I sucked in a breath, and my body responded to her immediately. She pressed herself against my side and I could feel her hardened nipples through the thin material of her nightgown. She slipped her hand into my boxers, and intense ripples of pleasure accompanied her light touch. A throaty moan escaped me, and she tilted her face up to mine. She brushed her lips across mine, and after several long, agonizing moments her mouth closed on mine. Our kiss was gentle, curious, and exploratory. There was nervous energy behind it, like we’d never kissed before, yet her taste was so deliciously familiar. When she pulled her lips away, I was crushed.
“Joe?” Her voice was timid and she surprised me when she placed a wet kiss on my neck and another on my chest.
“Yeah, baby?” I gasped, her firmer grip making it nearly impossible for me to think.
“I just want to feel good again.” She whispered.
I gently rolled her onto her back, kissing her as if my life depended on it. In many ways it did. Because I needed her like I needed oxygen. I’m sure Dr. Greene would have called this statement unhealthy...but it didn’t make it any less true.
Her voice was raspy when she spoke again. “Can you help me feel good again?”
Placing her hand on top of mine, she moved it downward until it was on her hem of her nightgown. She guided it up the soft skin of her thigh and under her nightgown until I could feel the heat between her legs. She arched her body up toward me, and I knew she wanted what I wanted. I brushed her dark bangs aside and as I kissed her I recognized the glassy look of lust in her beautiful eyes. “I’ll do my damnedest, baby girl.”
And I did.
“HOW’S IT GOING back here?” I called over the clanging of pots and pans and the rhythmic sounds of chopping. The kitchen staff all looked up at the sound of my voice, but no one stopped what they were doing.
“We’re surviving!” Sanchez hollered in response, and I nearly hit the ceiling. For a guy who spent his first six months working for me barely speaking above a whisper, he sure had a set on lungs on him.
“What can I help with?” I narrowed my eyes and peeked around the three people working in between us. I spared a glance at the prep counter, which was covered in chopped veggies for salads. Remembering how Joe and I had christened that counter, I felt my cheeks pinken.
“You’re supposed to be out there celebrating.” He shot back, not looking up from his impressive knife work.
“So are you.” I put my hands on my hips so he knew I wasn’t playing.
“We had a rush. I just can’t leave these guys hanging.” His gentle tone made me grin, and I tossed on an apron over my new skirt and blouse. Of all the advice my daddy had ever given me, the only piece he’d been wrong about was hiring an ex-con. Sanchez was a gifted chef...a natural...and it wouldn’t be long before he’d leave me behind in the dust. It was a damn good thing he had a loyal streak, because I found him indispensable.
“Well, then tell me what you need. I’m not eating cake until you’re at the table with me.” I insisted, and he rolled his dark eyes skyward.
“Another batch of your potato salad.” He finally replied, slicing up a full rack of ribs ten times faster than I ever could. “It’s a hot item tonight.”
I smiled to myself as I slipped on two oven mitts and lifted the boiled potatoes off of the stove top. Though I loved preparing Daddy’s signature dishes and all the memories that came along with them, it was satisfying to hear that customers were enjoying the new items I’d added to the menu.
Mollybelle’s opening had been a smashing success. The Chronicle salivated at the story more than my cooking, and my restaurant’s write-up was a much bigger deal than it deserved to be. The reporter chose to paint Mollybelle’s as some giant victory. The defiled damsel pulls herself up by her own apron strings. The rehash of my abduction sold lots of papers, and my restaurant, which they heralded as ‘a scrumptious revival of a past Austin institution’, was just the juicy jalapeno on top of the sundae. Had I not been a local businesswoman, I’m sure the story of my ordeal might have faded into obscurity. Unfortunately, between the restaurants I was involved in and the fantastical details of my tale, the public seemed spellbound.
Luckily, Sanch and I could back up all the hype with our kick ass combination of Daddy’s bestselling recipes and my new spin on a few classics. We were a month out from our ribbon cutting ceremony, and word of mouth still had us packed every night. Folks begged us to open for lunch, and Stacy was helping me hire more staff to accommodate the demand. Though a lot of guests still referred to the place as ‘Hildebrandt’s 2’, we were building a reputation as a force to be reckoned with in a city overflowing with quality barbecue. I wasn’t complaining; comparing me to my dad was the highest form of flattery.
Knowing we had people waiting on the two of us, I worked as quickly as I could to peel and chop the potatoes, mixing in ricotta cheese, apple cider vinegar and red onions, I added my secret blend of spices and presented it to one of the staff.
“Now what?” I called, awaiting his instructions. I owned the place and made the menu decisions, but once we set foot on this side of the swinging doors, Dirty S. was in charge.
“Go on, Little Mama. Get back out to the party.”
I tilted my head, pouting a little. “Are you coming?”
“Give me ten minutes. Check on my wife, would ya?” His prideful smile made me grin and I nodded.
Stacy was halfway through her pregnancy with their first child, and she still went a million miles a minute. She’d completely streamlined the baked goods business, which she’d named after my lemon truffle, The Sour Puss. It made money without a lot of maintenance, and functioned with minimal supervision. This allowed her to help me open Mollybelle’s. I insisted on paying Sanchez a handsome salary as my head chef, so Stacy was doubly invested in our success. She insisted on training the hostesses herself, and she refused to step back until I had what she deemed ‘a suitable manager’.
Sanchez worried that she was doing too much, but I assured him that Stacy was just fine until she said otherwise. Unlike me, Stacy was only having one baby. They’d just found out she was a girl and they’d picked the name Isabella Pilar. They were already calling her Izzy for short. I was overjoyed for them, and thrilled to give all the clothes Eva had outgrown to someone I considered family.
As I searched for Stacy, I couldn’t help but admire the fruits of Joe’s labor. He truly had a gift for blending form and function, and could have easily made a career out of interior design. He’d kept most of the great elements of Hildebrandt’s, but put a contemporary spin on the booths. His change in the lay out made the space more user friendly and added plenty of cool ambiance.
We’d managed to keep one special element from Daddy’s days. When I told Mom I was finally opening the place, she told me she had a present for me. She’d kept Dad’s original neon sign. Mason dug it out of her attic and restored it, skillfully bringing it back to its incredible vintage glory. It now hung over the bar large as life, casting a red glow to the entire bar area. It was no wonder that people were confused about what we were called. But I loved it, and I liked to think he would have loved it too.
After a couple of minutes of searching, I found Stacy at the hostess station, lecturing a waitress on the difference between sexy and sleazy. I stood behind the eagerly nodding girl with my arms folded across my chest. When Stacy dismissed her, the waitress scurried away.
She tossed her head back and arched her back as if trying to stretch to counteract her swelling belly. She looked like she had a volleyball stuffed in her shirt and was so damn cute she made me sick.
“Ugh. Some peoples’ kids! No one needs to see your thong when you’re serving them baked beans.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” I replied. “Ready to go have some birthday cake?”
She shook her head, and her long hair tumbled around her. Without looking up from her station chart, she tapped her pen against her lips. “We’re too busy. Y’all start without me.”
“You want me to tell Eva and Logan that Aunt Stacy’s too busy for their birthday?” I laid it on thick and she sighed, wearing such a guilty expression I almost apologized.
“I suppose they can manage without me for forty five minute,” she conceded.
“Lovely.” I grinned. “We saved you seats.”
The three of us all finally made it into the side room where our private party was in full swing. Joe sat between his dad and Mason on the far side of the table. He and his dad looked chummy, and the recent way Joe had opened up to him touched me. I wasn’t sure of the details, but I knew James had a lot to do with our salvation. I hoped they’d continue to rebuild their relationship, since it was obvious to me that Joe had a gaping hole in his heart where his father should have been.
Joe bounced our big boy on his knee, and Logan seemed completely contented hanging close to Daddy while the other kids ran around like animals. I noticed Logan had his blankie clutched in one hand and was eating a piece of birthday cake with the other. Blue frosting covered his chubby face and I just shook my head and sighed. Joe spoiled those two rotten, and you can bet he’d be taking them to the dentist when the time came to fill all their cavities.
Mac sat across from Joe with his arm around Kelly. He was telling a story that had the entire table engaged in uproarious laughter. Kelly looked up at him as he spoke as if she hung off his every word. The two of them had been in particularly good spirits all night. I wondered if they planned to move in together soon. With Francis shacking up in the widow Campbell’s boat house, Mac was practically living above Joe’s shop on nights he didn’t have Malcom Jr. anyway.
“There you are!” Kelly spotted me, her brown eyes sparkling. “We’ve been waiting on you to start presents.”
“‘Bout time, baby.” Joe stood and tossed Logan over his shoulder, fireman style. Logan giggled maniacally, and I shook my head.
“If he throws up, it’s on you,” I stated.
Joe looked over his shoulder at Logan.
“Literally.” He quipped, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his joyous expression. He flipped Logan around into his arms so that he could hold him properly, kissing his frosting covered face. Logan looked over at me and grinned with teeth the shade of blue jeans.
“Mama!” He called, as if I’d been lost at sea and he thought he’d never see me again. He held out his arms for me. “Pwesens!”
“You think we should open presents?” I asked in an overly excited voice. As a quick aside to Joe, I muttered. “Grab the wipes and I’ll go round up the birthday girl.”
“Eeeeva!” Joe called playfully over the roar of the crowd. I spied my little girl’s bouncing blonde curls as I neared the far end of the table. She was playing some version of tag with Jamie. Eva spotted me and her hazel eyes flew wide like a teenager who’d spotted a patrol car outside a kegger. She squealed and hurried away, disappearing around the corner by the restrooms with her cousin Jamie trailing close behind.
No longer amused, I barked out in a much sterner voice. “Eva Rose!”
“Damn, girl! You sounded just like mom right there.” Mason’s wry smirk inspired me to slap him playfully on the back of the head.
“Shit.” He complained, rubbing the back of his Bruce Willis style-buzz cut. “You hit just like her, too.”
“That’s not true. If I’d have hit you, you’d be lyin’ on the floor.” Mom gestured with her fork from her place at the head of the table. Joe snickered and I pointed to Logan, who was reaching out for Mason’s beer bottle. He snagged it in his tiny hands and lifted it like he was going to take a swig. With lightning reflexes, Joe snagged it away.
“Not for a few more years, son.” He deadpanned. “You’re two years old, not twenty one.”
We gathered around and Kelly handed me the first present. A glimmer caught my attention and I shoved the gift at Joe and jumped to my feet.
“Kelly!” I exclaimed. “What’s that shiny rock on your finger?”
She froze like a deer in headlights and Robin and my mother gasped.
“We didn’t want to steal your thunder, kid.” Mac drawled, taking Kelly’s hand. He was glowing suddenly, and as Kelly nuzzled him, she looked positively radiant. “I asked her to marry me last night.”
There were a few minutes of pandemonium, and Sanchez took off to check the bar for champagne. Everyone was on their feet hugging and jockeying for position to congratulate the happy couple. I saw Joe shake Mac’s hand and Mac pulled him in to whisper something. Joe nodded and flashed him a dazzling smile.
I was overwhelmed with love for him in that moment, and I glanced down at my own wedding rings. As I admired them, I couldn’t ignore the scratches on my band. Joe had offered to buy me a new one or have them polished out, but I refused. Like the scar on his temple, it served as a reminder of what we’d endured. I wore it like a badge of my private victory, and didn’t see ever fixing it.
The fervor had finally died down, and we’d just started opening gifts when Lisa and Jay arrived. They looked a bit frazzled, muttering about traffic as I handed them drinks. Joe wandered up and gave them a hard time about being fashionably late, and Lisa cocked a sassy eyebrow at him.
“Don’t get testy just because you have a facial disfigurement and now you have to come down and rub elbows with the rest of the common folk, Joe.” She replied. There was a pause as it sunk in to everyone present that she’d just joked about the two inch scar that was the only visible evidence of his altercation with Draven. Jay and I exchanged bemused glances. Knowing Lisa like we did, we expected nothing less.
“I still think you’re hot, Joe.” Granny called out from the far end of the table, breaking the awkward silence. Moments later everyone was laughing.
IT TOOK ME three trips to carry in all the toys Logan and Eva scored at the party. Meanwhile, Molly carried in both twins one at a time, which was no easy feat as they were both fast asleep and totally dead weight.
“Is that everything?” I asked, but she shook her head.
“Blankie.” She mouthed, cradling Logan closer. As I ran out to grab his blankie from the car seat, I ruminated about a recent conversation Molly and I’d had regarding our son. Eva was already completely potty trained, but Logan showed no interest. Though Robin assured us that girls are easier to train that boys, we were still apprehensive. We understood that a lot of kids weren’t potty trained by age two, but to see such a marked difference in interest raised red flags. In addition, Logan couldn’t sleep without his blankie, and sometimes woke screaming as if he had night terrors. He was such a sweet and happy kid during daylight hours, Molly had serious concerns that all that time alone in Draven’s funhouse had perman
ently traumatized him.
We discussed it with our pediatrician, and she assured us that children were very resilient and the Logan would have no memory of the brief event since he was so young. I know this didn’t totally alleviate Molly’s fears, but she told me she chose to believe the doctor was right. Logan was such an easy going, happy boy, I wanted to believe it as well.
As for my wife, the countless hours she’d spent with Dr. Greene had been invaluable. She’d started a daily medication for depression shortly after our breakthrough, but she wanted to wean off of it now. Our couple’s counseling really helped us identify some destructive patterns and we’d both committed fully to doing the work.
When we showed up at our first appointment hand in hand, Dr. Greene seemed thrilled.
“You two deserve better than this. It was an unfair blow to suffer period, but so early in your marriage...” He shook his head and his eyes were sympathetic. I could tell he’d been thinking about Molly’s story, and it disturbed him.
“Enough with the sad eyes, doc.” I sighed, having had my fill of that for a lifetime before Molly and I were even an item. “We need help, not pity.”
So we talked. We worked. We went when we were sick, too busy, or weren’t in the mood. We went when we were feeling great and wondering if it was necessary. Dr. Greene praised our efforts, and eventually he’d scaled us back to bi-monthly appointments. Very recently, we’d been instructed to make all appointments monthly check-ins. We were excited by the development, and hoped to use the free time for a regular date night.
I had date night on the brain when I entered Logan’s room. I came to a sudden stop clutching his tattered yellow blankie in my hand. I watched as Molly paced slowly with him, humming a lullaby. Seeing her with him that way, reminded me of the eery dream I’d had while they were missing. I’d forgotten all about it until that moment. I remembered Jess being in the dream and tried to recall what she’d said to me.
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