by S. E. Hall
“I know,” I sigh dreamily, “the in-law quarters, right?”
He nods, snuggling me closer, lacing our fingers of one hand, the other cupping my neck. “How cool would it be to unplug the stove,” he snickers, “and give Conner some stone’s throw independence?”
“You need to turn off the gas to the fireplace too, but yeah, I hear ya. Very cool.” I tear up, ‘cause that’s all I do these days, at the thought. Conner—his own place, how he wants it—his domain to decorate and boss around whomever enters.
I love it, and more, I love that it was Cannon’s first thought too.
He truly loves my brother.
Chapter 32
Cannon took me out for some fine dining, which I know we’ll grow to love, at Hildebrand’s Hickory House. Although, right across the street is Not Short on Steak House, where, before you even have your menu, you’re briefed in a whisper out of the side of your server’s mouth, like they’d rather lose their tongue than have to tell you, that they’d “never say an ill word of the owner’s copycat sister-in-law and wish her all the success in the world.”
I love small towns.
If Aunt Bea waltzes in and asks me to quilt a few squares for the town bazaar, I do believe I’ll say yes.
After dinner, we stroll hand in hand down the infamous historic district. Everything’s closed, but the window shopping is nostalgically—says the twenty-three year old—delightful. At ten sharp, all the streetlights come on and a sense of homey security fell over me, Cannon too, if his wink and hand squeeze are anything to go by.
When we finally collapse in the hotel room, I just know, sure as I know I’ll have grandbabies with this gorgeous man across the room; it is time to make some calls.
The first is to my uncle, who didn’t answer, because he goes to bed with the sun.
Then I try Jarrett, who answers on the first ring, sounding happier than I’ve heard him in a long time. “You at Vanessa’s?”
“Yep!”
“Can I dial Rhett in and talk to you guys a minute?” I ask timidly, getting more nervous by the second.
“Sure. Hey, how are you, Mama Bear? How’s Conner, Cannon?”
“We’re all great, you?”
“Never better, truth.”
“I’m so glad. I miss you, though.”
“Me too, Mama, me too. We’ll be back together soon, though. No worries.”
Here goes. “Hang on,” I bite off a nail, “let me connect Rhett.”
Cannon stands and points to his chest, then out of the room. I shake my head no and hold out my hand, pulling him to sit right beside me.
Rhett answers in what may be a carnival and screams in my ear. “Liz, my girl, what’s good?” he slurs on a high decibel.
“Lots, actually. Can you go somewhere quiet and I’ll patch Jarrett in?”
“Ut oh, conference call.” He laughs. “Yeah, hang on.”
I flip over, get Jarret, and then have all three of us on by the time Rhett’s found the cone of silence.
“All right, that better?” he asks.
“Much. Jarrett’s on.”
“Hey, bro, what’s new?” Jarrett asks cheerfully.
“The pussy I just pounded. Never had her before.” He snickers, a poor disguise for pain-induced self-destruction, but that’s another call.
“Okay, guys, I want to tell you something pretty heavy, and I pray you’re happy for me, and Conner, and use this as a stepping stone.” In for me, hold, out for him. “I bought a house, with Cannon, right in between our parents. It has a house in back for Conner too, his own place. I’ve been learning a bit from Richard about the past, and I’m feeling a lot lighter.”
Jarrett’s first, although still stalled, surprisingly quiet for a moment before speaking. “That’s great, Liz, for all of you. The only thing I want is for you all to be happy. I mean it. So, no more See You Next Tuesday?” His tone turns sad, jabbing at a part of my foundation, my one steady.
“Not necessarily,” I hem-haw, and Cannon ducks his head to gauge my expression. “Rhett? What say you?”
“I’m of course happy if you’re happy, always. But I’m waiting for the punch line, or kick in the gut, whichever.” I hear him blow out…he smokes now? Only tobacco, I pray, though that’s bad enough.
“I’m giving you both my bus, free and clear. It’s yours, equally. And all the instruments, except Cannon’s,” I add quickly. “Go be big boys, brighter than all the lights. And always keep a ticket at will-call; you never know when I’ll pop in. It’s all yours—bus, equipment, song rights—hell, you can even have my notebook.” I’m weeping, but chuckle into the phone. I don’t want them to know I’m crying. “Just promise me you’ll do it right, and sterilize. Hire a new driver, though. Bruce’s days are over.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say, Mama Bear. You sure about this?” Jarrett sounds leery and I understand, we’re not practiced in too good to be good…only to not be true.
I lean my face into Cannon’s chest and inhale a big whiff of content cotton and musky man who loves me, letting it infuse my soul slowly. When it hits my heart and saturates it, when he understands and wraps me tighter in his arms and buries his face in my hair, I answer.
“I’m sure, more than I’ve ever been of anything.” It comes out a romantic whisper.
“Thank you, Lizzie, sincerely. Goddamn, girl, thank you. I’ll pay you back,” Jarrett whoops.
“No, you won’t. My payment is the last two decades of my sanity, thanks to you. And as for money, I never needed that, and it hasn’t changed. Just maybe swing by for Christmas, superstars.” I really weep now, no laughing anymore.
“Well, talk about losing your buzz, Liz. Put Romeo von Whistle Britches on the phone,” Rhett demands, which Cannon heard, hand already out.
This has me concerned…defining understatement.
“Hello? Hey Rhett, how goes it?” Cannon starts off nice. “I understand, I’d ask the same thing. More than my own life. Yes, yes, yes, definitely. Soon, you know she’s stubborn.”
I assume Rhett is grilling him or preaching because he’s quiet for a long time, running a hand back through his hair, then laughing, then holding me desperately tight against him.
“As long as I breathe, with every breath. Absolutely. I’ll even let you tie my hands behind my back.” He laughs. “Good lookin’ out, man, here ya go.” He hands the phone back to me with a chaste kiss on the lips and a wink, then leaves the room.
“Hello?” I say softly.
“All right, Liz, you’re good to go. Let him love you, and love him back, every day, hard. And have a guest room ready when I need my best friend ever fix.”
“Hey, Rhett, that was really good, not my best friend ever either. But I had a few things to add, ball hog, so I call dibs when we have mini-Liz nieces,” Jarrett, my sweet Jarrett, says.
“Noted; it was on the fly, man. We’ll work on it.” Rhett barks out a laugh lined with bittersweet goodbye.
In your life, you get five, maybe ten, if God thinks you’re super special, people you call “home.” I have two of the best on the line right now and I love them like fields love rain, birds love tiny, loose twigs, and campers love breakfast (‘cause let’s face it, you know it tastes better there).
And when did I do all this camping I’m always spitting poetic about?
“I love you boys so much. You need me, ever, for anything, I’m one call away. Go be happy too. Bruce has the storage and bus keys. I have the title. And you—you both have everything else you need inside you. Let other people see it too; I’ve been selfish for far too long.” I hope they understood my snot-sucking ramble.
“Love you, Mama Bear, talk soon.”
“I love you, Liz,” Rhett sniffles non-discreetly, “forever. Any woman I think twice about, will be run down a checklist. Of you.”
Sob. “Bye, boys.”
***
Two things happen the next day.
First, gloriously first, I wake to the soft
pitter-patter of a rainstorm outside and Cannon inside me. No words, no music, just our mouths making love, our bodies reverently doing the same.
He runs his hands over every part of me; toes, ankles, fingers, even his precious, ticklish armpit kisses. Forehead, elbows, navel, the two dents right above my butt, definitely my butt, shoulder blades…no fraction of my skin isn’t physically assured it’s adored and cherished.
And then, in a deep, lazy morning rumble, he whispers in my ear, “When I’m inside you, can you remember anything that happened before we had each other?”
Unequivocally, immediately, I’m able to honestly answer. “Nothing.”
His face beams and his eyes water, a glistening haze over gems such a rich chocolate you can imagine them melting in your mouth, when he says, “Me either, Siren, me either.”
With that, we remain locked in each other’s gaze as we come together, in and around each other in an act too beautiful for even song lyrics.
***
The second wondrous event—Conner is coming home!
I swear I could run the thirty-five miles faster than Cannon drives them. And when I see him? Well, I teach Bubs what a full-body tackle really is!! Like, 112 pounds of me knock 240ish pounds of him on his ass, then suffocate him in slobbery kisses and tears.
I missed him.
I love him so damn much.
And I’m super jealous of his tan.
“Cannon, help!” He laughs and pleads. “She’s crazy for me, get her!”
“Oh, please, you can take her,” Cannon encourages him. “She missed you, Bubs, let her have her lovin’.”
He’s instantly still under me, his blue eyes bugging out the size of saucers. “Cannon called me ‘Bubs,’” he whispers—which means like a seven on a one-to-ten scale of volume.
Hmm, so he did.
“Is that okay with you or not?” I actually whisper back.
He bobbles his head with a goofy smile. “I like it. He loves me.”
“Yeah, Conner, he really does.”
“Uh hmf.” My father clears his throat, breaking up the loving, yet Wrestlemania-esque, undignified spectacle we’re making in the foyer, and I spring up, embarrassed, straightening my attire.
He’s smiling, scratching his chin. “Elizabeth, don’t fret. I think it’s fabulous you can pummel your brother. It lets me know I needn’t worry about you taking care of yourself, should you meander up on a,” he ponders, “street fight? Turf war? What is the lingo these days?”
Obviously he “took something” for the long flight and it hasn’t worn off. Turf war? Maybe the in-flight movie was West Side Story.
“Mr. Blackwell,” he steps to Cannon and offers his hand, “nice to see you again. Will you be taking a hiatus from the band as well?”
“Yes, sir, as long as Lizzie does. She was the only reason I was ever there in the first place.”
“Bubs and Lizzie?” He perks his overly bushy eyebrows and restructures his stance to what he thinks is intimidating. “Seems you’re rather close to my children…”
Cannon nods, not biting, no defensive shift in his demeanor. “I’d like to think so. Working on getting closer every day. In fact, you may have to start calling me Cannon soon.”
“That’s his name, Dad.”
“Thank you, son, I’m aware.” He grins at Conner. “Well, Lord knows, Conner’s an excellent judge of character. And that one.” My father indicates me with a head gesture. “If you’ve won her over, you’ve certainly earned the right to be called Cannon.”
“Whaddaya say, Lizzie, have I won you over?” Cannon asks, all cocky.
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh yeah,” Richard slaps him on the back, “she likes you.”
Okay, well The Brady Bunch was only a thirty minute show, so it’s time to G-O. “Conner, where’s all your stuff?” I ask.
“In mine and Vaughn’s room,” he beams.
I turn venomous on Dick—fair, sociably acceptable form of Richard—and prop my hands on my hips. “You gave half his room to someone else? There’s nine of the fuckers and he was here first. Why the hell—”
I’m brutally rebuffed mid-ballistic tirade by…Conner. “I want to share with Vaughn, he’s fun. It was my great idea, huh, Bethy?”
Done, overloaded, I rub my temples and pinch my eyes shut. “Bubs,” I soothe as calmly as possible, “please go get your stuff. It’s time for us to go.”
“Lizzie, maybe you should—”
“Butt out, Cannon! Not your brother, not your nightmare! I. GOT. THIS.”
“Sir?” He looks pleadingly to my father, whose lip twitches as he extends a “by all means, be my guest” arm and slight bow.
“I’ll grab a couple scotches and meet you in the study.” He points. “Third door on the right.”
And then I’m hoisted up by a nosy Neanderthal, thrown over his shoulder, and carted down the hall of my childhood home. I hear Conner titter, then yell, “I’m going to play too, Sister! Bye!”
He’s probably off to find Laura’s spawn, no doubt locked in the attic, surviving on cookies sprinkled with suspect white powdered sugar.
Cannon throws me down unceremoniously on the leather sofa and makes sure to stand between me and the door. “You,” he points a menacing finger at me, “are being an ass. I love you, and I’m not mad at you, but Goddamn, you witchy, mood swinging, sexy girl, for once, shut the fuck up and listen! Look around, my love, everything you need to stop hurting is right in front of your face.”
“You’re going to need this.” Dick strides in, shuts the door, and offers Cannon a tumbler of amber liquid and ice. “Elizabeth.” He takes his domineering, self-vindicating seat behind the overly large, compensating-for-something desk and crosses one ankle over his thigh. “At first, you were young and fragile. Then you were angry and confused. Next you went to bitter, defensive, and downright hateful. Now, now you’re just complacent, scared to death to have to live every day without your staple defense mechanisms. Well, grow up, young lady!” he barks, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re young, beautiful, talented, wealthy, responsible, loved,” he glances at Cannon, who nods brusquely, “and wasting it all on blatant stupidity. I’ve apologized for every role I’ve played in that and would kill for a chance to make up for it.”
Cannon gains some mercy, or maybe empathy, and comes to sit beside me on the couch, grabbing my hand twice since I denied him the first attempt.
My father pulls open his desk drawer and rummages about, then shuts it and approaches me. “This is the key to your mother’s safe deposit box at Federal Bank downtown, intersection of Patty Boulevard and Warne. Has the bronze statue of the horse out front.” He sets the key in my palm, after prying my fingers back. “I’m not sure of the box number, as I’ve never been to it, but the password is ‘Dusty.’”
My pony.
“What’s in it?” I speak, not worthy of even being called a whisper.
“Like I said, I’ve never been to it. But as her only daughter,” he chokes up and pulls out that handkerchief I hate, dabbing under his eyes, “I would imagine jewelry; hers, perhaps your grandmother’s, I don’t know. What I do know is I’ve changed my mind on our compromise. I’ve spent eight years biting my tongue on stories not my own. I’ve repented and confessed, both to God and you, and I’m done. Conner’s at a good, healthy place in life. He loves me, he loves Laura and her kids, but above all, no contest, he loves you, Elizabeth. Now let him, and me, live as peacefully as we can and go fix yourself. It’s time.”
“You think a few necklaces are gonna fix me?” I snap, glaring at him like the man he obviously is, the one who lost his mind.
“Elizabeth,” he sighs, tugs at his hair, and heads for the door, “shut up. Conner and I will be here when you get back, but only I will answer questions, away from him, and not at the dinner table Laura and Alma will have set.”
I must seem deranged, glancing from the door he shut to the bronze key burning a hole in my hand, to C
annon, then repeating the cycle all over again.
“No more excuses. You scared?” he asks.
“No!” I snap. I’m not. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity. For some closure. Right?
“Oh, I think you mean yes. You know, even when you hide and build walls upon walls, I still find you, see you. So you might as well come out and let everyone see your beauty.” His soft smile is more love than pity, so I spare him and fling myself in his arms, never going to admit I’m petrified. He kisses the top of my head. “I’m right here.”
Chapter 33
Like I needed the name of the bank or the streets—the bronze horse is…noticeable.
I ask Cannon to keep the car running, in case I just say “fuck the secret box” and rob the joint instead, but what do you think he did?
Turned it off and linked his fingers with mine, opened the door, and let me walk in first with a whispered “I love you” behind me.
Of course.
The beautiful, dark-haired woman who greets us wears a nametag that says, “Riza, Branch Manager,” and has us welcomed two steps over the threshold. She’d better, since they need all the customers they can get to pay for that horse monstrosity out front.
Why Cannon curls up his adorable nose at me I know not; I didn’t say that part out loud.
“Nice to meet you, Riza.” He shakes her hand and her loins (again, if we women have those) with his high-voltage charm and toe-curling voice. “This is Elizabeth Carmichael, and her father sent her with a key to see about a lock box?”
Riza’s good, so professional and polished, in fact, that standing even an inch further back, my practiced, cynical eye would’ve missed the slight pupil dilation and lip twitch. But alas, I’m right here. And I caught it.
“You’re Anna’s daughter?” she asks.
“Was.” I cross my arms. “If you knew her, you’ll know she’s dead. Seven years. It was in the paper and everything,” I sneer crudely, “so that’d be a was.”
“Knock it off,” Cannon growls at me, smiling even wider at her. “You can imagine it’s a rough day for her.” He shrugs and apologizes on my behalf.
