Confessions of a Reformed Tom Cat

by Daisy Prescott

  Leaning down, I cocooned us in darkness. I could hear the pops and wheezes from the crackling fire, but the rest of the world disappeared and ceased to exist outside our bubble. My finger traced the outline of the unexpected delicate lace. Her chest trembled under my touch.

  “Still cold?” I exhaled warm breath over the swell of her breast and she shivered again.

  She replied by pulling me up to her lips. I smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, moving slowly centimeter by centimeter to her ear, leaving a trail of tiny points of contact. I licked the spot behind her ear and exhaled over the damp skin before pressing my lips to the same spot again. Her legs shifted, opening wider to contain my hips. I echoed her movement and tilted my pelvis to greet hers.

  Finally having enough of my slow progress, she held my face in her hands and bit my lower lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it got my attention. Eyes open, I focused on her face in the shadows of the blanket. Her expression held something I couldn’t pinpoint, but I felt the change in energy between us. Today was different than our previous encounters.

  Her fingers danced over my stomach, rising and falling as she went over the muscles of my abs. With a flick, she opened my jeans and I held my breath while she explored. I raised my hips and her fingers slipped further into my pants, reaching down my thigh. She paused and I waited.

  Her laugh began softly and built into more of snicker.

  “Haven’t we been over this? No laughing when your face or hands are near a man’s dick area.” I met her eyes.

  Her hands threw the blanket off of us and we blinked at each other in the gray light. I held my serious expression for a few beats before her infectious laughter caught me. She shoved down my jeans and stared at the red cotton revealed beneath.

  “I remembered how much you liked them before,” I explained.

  “I did. I loved them. They’re seared on my brain.” She slipped a finger beneath the waistband and tugged me closer. “But I really want the full view.”

  “Seriously?” I kissed her cheek, and she nodded.

  “Whatever the lady wants, the lady gets.” I hopped off the couch and dropped my jeans to the floor. Thick gray wool socks covered my feet and my gray thermal shirt ended at my hips.

  She gestured for me to spin around and I complied. I faced her again and posed, flexing my bicep and bending my leg for the full body builder effect. A body-builder sporting wood, in long johns. Ridiculous or not, I tilted my head and laughed.

  Curling up into a ball in the corner of the couch, Hailey rested her head on the arm and laughed until she wheezed. “You’re ridiculous.”

  I nodded and leaned over her, bracing my arms on the back of the couch. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to ruin my spotless reputation as a master seducer.”

  “I hereby promise to never reveal you’re a goofball. No one would believe me anyhow.”

  “That’s the beauty in playing into my reputation. I can do whatever I want as long as it doesn’t challenge the preconceived notions about my whoring ways.”

  “I thought men were bachelors.”

  “Same thing if said with the same disdain, trust me.”

  She ran her fingers through my mop of curls. I flopped down next to her and pulled her legs across my red-cotton covered thighs. “I like secret Tom.”

  “I do, too. And he likes you.”

  She scrambled into my lap, dragging the blanket behind her, once again wrapping us in a warm cocoon.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes.” I unhooked her bra.

  “So are you.” She lifted up on her knees and shimmied her leggings as far as she could without standing. Her legs got tangled and she face planted into my chest.

  “You okay?” I asked, rubbing the warm skin of her back.

  I felt her muffled laughter against my skin followed by an unladylike snort. Hands braced against my shoulders, she lifted herself away to stand. Keeping eye contact, she peeled off the final two layers covering us.

  “Condom in my pocket,” I instructed.

  “Prepared much?” She rooted around and pulled out the condoms I’d grabbed before leaving the house this morning.

  “Always.”

  She stroked me and then flung one leg over my hips, her thighs flanking mine as she lowered herself on me in one smooth motion. Moaning, I squeezed her boobs. She pulled the blanket over our shoulders before kissing me, sucking on my bottom lip, then swiping her tongue along the edge.

  I loved kissing her. Each time felt exciting and new, but also like coming home. Familiar, unknown, and utterly captivating, I devoured her mouth until we were both panting and sticky from body heat. Her forehead tasted of salt and something sweet, essentially Hailey. I tightened my arms around her, my fingertips resting on her shoulder blades. I lost myself in her floral scent, the way her body moved effortlessly with mine, and her breath on my neck. My fingers stroked her, adding to her pleasure as she softly moaned and arched her back. Our rhythm faltered and stuttered as we both reached for our orgasms. I let my head fall forward and grasped her hips, controlling the pace and angle as every muscle in my body began to pulse with pleasure. She tightened around me and sent me tipping over into animal instincts. I bit her shoulder, moaned, and maybe growled as I came.

  Her rocking slowed and ceased as she collapsed and snuggled into me. I cocooned her in my arms and kissed the top of her head.

  The fire sputtered. I knew I’d have to get up to add more wood or it would die out soon. I couldn’t imagine moving. Instead, I tapped her shoulder.

  “Mmmm,” she mumbled into my skin.

  “Sweetheart, you need to move so I can take care of business and stoke the fire.”

  “No.” She snuggled closer and stretched her arms for the throw.

  I pushed it further away, and she snarled at me. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”

  Finally, she rolled off me and became lost in the pile of blankets. Grinning, I ruffled her hair.

  I hopped across the cold floor to the trash can, then tended to the fireplace. Fire reestablished and blazing, I crawled under the blankets.

  “Shouldn’t we put our clothes on?” She curled into my side.

  “Nah, body heat is better for keeping warm. Trust me.”

  “I do. I trust you, Tom.” Her voice trailed off with sleep.

  I spooned behind her, wrapping my arm around her and resting my hand on her breast. Her hair barely hit her shoulders, its soft curls tickled my cheek. “Why the short hair?”

  “That’s a strange question. Why the beard?” She rubbed her cheek against my whiskers.

  “I asked you first.”

  “Kurt loved long hair, was almost obsessed with it,” she mumbled.

  I chuckled. “So you cut it off to spite him?”

  “I got tired of resembling a cartoon princess. It’ll grow back.”

  I twisted a short strand around my finger. “It suits you. You’re not the princess type.”

  “And the beard?”

  “For the ladies.” I dragged the rough scruff along the ridge of her shoulder, making her shiver.

  She snorted and curled deeper into my chest. “Of course.”

  The hum of the heater kicking on woke me up. Outside it was dark and still. I blinked open my eyes and the light over her stove was on.

  Thank God. The power had been restored. Hailey rolled into my chest and curled tighter against me. No reason to get up. I stroked down her side and over her hip and thigh before skimming around to gently squeeze her ass. She sighed and her hand trailed up my spine. I didn’t want to get up and break whatever spell the ice storm had created. Feelings of contentment and peace spun a sticky web inside of me, pushing away the dark thoughts and loneliness.

  With each pass of her hand down my back, the web grew larger, wrapping itself around my heart, then my lungs and ribs. My breathing paused and deepened as the sense of calm strengthened its hold on my brain. Normally, I’d be searching for my pants and saying my good-byes, bu
t not today. This afternoon I had nowhere I wanted to be and nothing I wanted to do more than this. Lying on the couch in front of the fire, I settled into the moment.

  Eventually, Hailey stretched and elbowed my rib so hard my eyes watered. In her attempts to adjust, her knee made contact with my balls.

  “Ouch! Fuck!” I felt like I was under a ninja attack.

  She struggled to free herself from the tangle of limbs and blankets, ending up falling to the floor in a heap of naked boobs and wool.

  If I wasn’t holding my breath from the pain, I would have laughed at her.

  “Are you okay?” Her head popped above the side of the couch and she rested her chin on the cushion.

  “I think I’ll live, but I’m starving.”

  “Hey, the power’s on.” She stood, naked and glorious in the middle of the room, pointing at the light above the stove.

  “Yeah, it came on a while ago, but you were sleeping. Good thing too, because the fire’s about dead and you’re out of wood.”

  “There’s more on the side of the house. Do you think you can walk?”

  I tossed a pillow at her, which she deflected with her mad ninja skills. “If I provide you with more wood, what’s in it for me?”

  “Hmmm . . .” She pulled her thermal and sweater over her head. When her mess of brown waves reappeared, she suggested grilled cheese and tomato soup.

  “With Dick’s cheese?”

  “And we’re back where we began.” She tossed my long johns at me.

  “Sounds like a deal. Can I wear my socks and boots, or only these?”

  She scrunched up her mouth in exaggerate thought. “Fine. No shirt, though.”

  After shoving my feet in my boots, I ran outside to the neatly stacked row of split wood next to the house and filled the log carrier. In record time, I stood in front of the fire, brushing icy raindrops from my hair, chest, and shoulder. I rubbed my arms to get warm again.

  She made grilled cheese and I opened the can of condensed soup, voluntarily stirring the pot to get rid of the lumps. I teased her about the songs playing on her docked phone on the counter.

  “Allman Brothers? Really? Were you born when they were considered cool?”

  “Let’s say I’ve always had a thing for men with facial hair.”

  I stroked my scruffy beard. I’d let it get longer recently and discovered Hailey liked to tug on it when we kissed. She also squirmed and squealed when I ran it against her skin.

  After dinner, neither one of us discussed my leaving. So I stayed.

  As we fell asleep in her bed, I wondered what kind of cereal she had in her cupboards.

  The next morning when I pulled into my driveway, Cara’s car sat in front of the barn. From inside the vehicle I could see her face and glower.

  Uh oh.

  “Hey sis,” I called as I got out of the truck at the same time she rolled down her window.

  “Where have you been? Your phone’s dead. No one could get a hold of you at all yesterday or last night.”

  Her tear-stained face and pink-rimmed eyes caused my heart to freeze.

  “Shit. What is it? Is Greg okay? Mom? Dad?”

  She shook her head as a fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. “They’re fine. It’s Pops.”

  A cold chill crashed through the tenuous weavings around my heart, shattering the tender sense of happiness I’d had when I awoke this morning.

  THERE ARE MOMENTS in life which remain crystal clear no matter how much time passes. Catching my first fish at ten. Driving a truck when I was eight. Cutting my leg with a chainsaw at fifteen. Pops had been there for most of them.

  I remembered nothing of the drive to Coupeville with Cara. I sat in the passenger seat of her car, numbly listening to her say things. She could have been speaking Chinese for all I understood. Blood rushed through my ears, muffling my thoughts and drowning all sounds beyond the thrum of my heart beating.

  Cancel that. I remembered the drive taking forever, and at one point yelled at Cara to quit driving like an old man. Wrong choice of words. She burst into tears and I had to hold the wheel while she searched for a tissue in her purse.

  She parked in the lot, taking up two spaces, but I didn’t comment. I fought the urgency to run into the hospital, but there was no point in running.

  Cara led me down a different hall in the other wing, away from the new life in the maternity ward. Silence greeted us when we turned the corner into a quiet waiting room. It smelled of disinfectant and the sterile sickness of hospitals. Family occupied two rows of seats, but no one spoke. Some napped, twisted and contorted into the uncomfortable chairs. Others stared at the muted TV, sipping weak coffee from tiny paper cups.

  My eyes settled on Gramma in the corner. Mom sat next to her and held her hand. Ellie was the strongest woman I knew, the matriarch and real head of the family. She was the heart and hope for us all. Today she appeared old and withered. Her hair, always perfectly done, was mussed as if she hadn’t brushed it, and her clothes were mismatched as if she dressed with the first things she could find.

  I walked toward them and crouched down to hug my grandmother. Her arms swept around my neck and she held on tight while my mother patted my back.

  “Oh, Tom, thank God you’re here. We’ve been so worried about you,” Gramma said, giving me a tiny smile. In her hand she clenched a handkerchief she’d twisted with worry. “We thought you might have been hurt in the storm, too.”

  Mom stood and said she needed a coffee. “We’ll find you some tea,” she told my grandmother, who absentmindedly nodded. Amy came over and took Mom’s seat. I scanned the room for Dad.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked when we were away from the family.

  “He’s talking with the doctor.” Her face crumpled and she sagged into my side. “Tom, it’s bad. Really bad.”

  Words from Cara’s ramblings in the car echoed in my head: head injury, stroke, coma, non-responsive in the ambulance.

  “Mom, he’s stronger than any of us. Pops isn’t going to let a slip on some ice take him down.” I ducked my head and gave her a confident smile despite my heart racing with fear.

  She returned my smile, but her eyes filled with tears. “The doctors don’t think he’s going to make it. We haven’t told Ellie yet. He hasn’t been responsive at all, and he was out on the ice for over an hour before we found him.”

  I couldn’t wrap my head around her words. “What was he doing outside in the storm?”

  “They refused to come over and stayed in their little house. He went out to get more firewood for the stove and fell. Ellie was napping and didn’t know. She called the house asking for him.”

  The image of my strong, larger than life grandfather lying cold and alone nearly broke me. My knees weakened and I faltered in my step. Clifford Donnely could not die. Not now. Not like this.

  I punched the wall with my fist and then rubbed the sting with my other hand.

  Mom stopped. I followed her gaze and saw Dad walking toward us with hunched shoulders and bloodshot eyes. When he saw Mom standing there, he shook his head and she jogged over to him, enveloping his six-foot frame in her petite five-foot-three one.

  Dad’s shaking body and Mom’s sobs knocked me in the gut, and I staggered.

  No, no, no.

  This wasn’t happening.

  Tears skidded down my cheeks and ran into my beard. I bent over and put my hands on my thighs.

  “No,” I whispered like a small, scared child. Once again I was the little boy who got picked on in elementary school until the bullies found out Clifford Donnely was my grandfather, and left me alone. Pops had always been my rock and my biggest champion. Didn’t matter if I didn’t make State or messed up another car, Pops would take me out on his boat or for some chowder and give me the talk. Sometimes it was a pep talk, more often than not it was a straight talk about not making a mess of things. He was both good and bad cop.

  Shoes squeaked on the floor behind me, and my sisters crowded around
our sad little group.

  “Dad?” Lori asked.

  Cara rested her hand on my shoulder. I covered it with my own and then stood upright. She hugged me and I hugged her, pulling Amy into the fold with my other arm.

  “He’s gone, sweetheart.” Dad’s lip trembled and fresh tears spilled out. I’d only ever seen my father cry at happy times like the girls’ weddings or the birth of a grandchild, or when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl. I couldn’t stand to see him blubbering. I shrugged off my sisters and strode up to the man I’d idolized and knew I could never imitate. He pulled me into a hug, crushing my ribs. This wasn’t one of those man hugs with the arm pats. This was parent and child, sharing sorrow, loss, and heartbreak. Tears flowed freely down both our faces, mixing and dampening our shirts before we pulled apart.

  “I’m glad you made it, son.”

  I tried to speak, but my voice had disappeared and I coughed to clear my throat. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.” I snorted and tried to keep the snot from running down my face. Giving up, I wiped my nose and eyes on my sleeve. “I didn’t tell him how much I loved him.”

  “He knew, Tom. He knew, trust me. None of us got to say good-bye, including Gramma.”

  At the mention of my grandmother’s name, our collective eyes met. Mom’s face went blank. “We have to tell her.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dad said, straightening his shoulders in resolve.

  “We’ll come with you.” My sisters fell in step behind him. Mom and I stood for a minute in the hall. She and I were most alike. We buried our emotions down deep where they could be protected and not damaged. She patted my arm and handed me a tissue from her pocket.

  As we gathered in the hospital room where Pops’ body lay, the collective space filled with sniffles and nose blowing. Cousins, aunts, and uncles who had been waiting or recently arrived crowded out into the hall. I was certain we broke some sort of hospital code, but Pops was a pillar of this community. Gramma stood near his head and said the Lord’s Prayer over his still body. I fought my own tears by squeezing Cara and Mom’s hands. At the end of the prayer, there was nothing more to say or do. We shuffled our feet; some touched Pops hands or rested a hand on his blanket-covered legs, saying a private, silent goodbye.