Doves for Sale

by Lila Felix

  “Just get in. If you get E-coli, I’ll hold your hair while you throw up.”

  “This better be silly. There’s gonna be trouble if it’s not.”

  I start off slow and by the time I reach the corner I’m at full speed. The wheels on that cart can barely keep up. The cart tips to the side on the curve, going up on two wheels. Aysa squeals and a childish giggle erupts from her mouth.

  I’ve got her.

  I haven’t run in a while and after a few rounds, I’m done for.

  “It was time you learned.” I say in between heavy breaths.”

  “Learn what?”

  “How to be silly.”

  “I think that was an excellent lesson.”

  I look forward to a lifetime of lesson with Aysa on how to be silly.

  I hold the basket for her as she wraps her arms around my neck and twist around to let her down, except she doesn’t let go. Legs wrap around my waist and don’t show any sign of letting go.

  “Kiss me, Ezra.” Her breath touches my ear with the plea.

  I turn my head just in time to meet her turning hers. The smell of sunshine radiates from her skin. I taste it on her lips. I carry her all the way to the car like that, her legs jailing my waist, her mouth never leaving mine.

  ~~

  I go to her house bearing coffee. I know she’s bound to be in a bad mood. I did what I could the day before, but losing your money and your identity in on fail swoop of a purse has got to put a damper on any Monday morning’s attitude.

  I knock on the door three times before she answers it. Her hair is everywhere. Wordlessly, she grabs the coffee from me and turns around, leaving to me to take the liberty of going in and shutting the door behind me.

  My girl is so not a morning person.

  That’s okay. I get her nights. One day all of her nights will be mine.

  She walks away, I become aware of just how comfortable she’s gotten around me. As she stretches up to pull her hair into a more manageable mess, I see one of those off the shoulder shirts that she loves but this time she hasn’t even bothered to cover the lace peeking out from the bottom of the shirt.

  She perches with her back leaning against the threshold of the kitchen and takes a long drag of the coffee. It has to burn her mouth, but I think the pain is worth the gain in her case.

  I stumble backwards on one long, fluid motion at the sight. I’ve seen this girl so many times. I’ve seen her in grief. I’ve seen her in pain. I’ve seen her in pain at my hand. I’ve seen her in sarcasm and in silliness.

  And I’ve seen her in the church where everyone is equal, yet she considered herself less.

  She still takes my breath, steals it from inside my chest.

  I lean against the door for some strength.

  Who she is defines what kind of man I will be.

  And right now, I’m the kind who wants to spend every second with the creature before me.

  “What?”

  “What?” I parrot back.

  “I’m the one who’s loopy in the mornings, don’t you start. What are you looking at? I know, my hair is a mess.”

  “You’re beautiful. But you should get dressed.” I point a shaky finger at the lace that I swear is calling my name.

  “Why?” I know every lilt and intonation of her voice. This isn’t a why because she wants to know the reason. It’s a why because there’s still a little part of her that doesn’t get why her being undressed in front of me would cause such a commotion in me.

  And believe me, it’s causing all kinds of commotion.

  “Because my hand on this doorknob is the only anchor keeping me from throwing you over my shoulder and bringing you back to bed. Please, sweetheart. I’m determined to do right by you and you’re not helping me.”

  She stands up straight and takes a quick look down at herself. Her eyes bulge and then every part of skin I can see turns bright red as she rushes to her bedroom.

  I’m not sure if running to her bedroom makes it worse on me or not.

  A few minutes later, when she comes back out, I am still plastered with my back to the door.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes.” She groans when trying to look for a purse that’s no longer there. She picks up a wallet that we bought her the afternoon before so when we got her license, she’d have somewhere to put it.

  “You have your birth certificate and stuff?”

  “I have everything listed on the website.”

  “Don’t forget your coffee.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She quips back.

  At the driver’s license office she nearly pitches a fists pounding on the floor tantrum when I pull out cash to pay for it.

  I take no pride in paying for her stuff.

  In taking care of her.

  Absolutely none.

  “We should’ve gone to the bank first. At least maybe they would’ve given me some money. I have some in savings.”

  She grumbled about her money in savings all the way to the bank.

  So I called her on it.

  Because that’s what she would’ve done for me.

  “You hate that I’m taking care of you? Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

  That stopped her piss-fit.

  “I would do anything in the world to help you. You know that.”

  “Including breaking my heart so I could get better. So we could be together again?”

  Her demons emerge and give me a look straight out of hell.

  “Yes.” She grind the word out.

  “So what’s money when my heart is tied to yours?”

  Three times. I’d shut Aysa Branton up three times—in the same morning.

  I won’t dare tell her I just counted that.

  It takes us hours at the bank to get everything straight. And it will be at least a month before her money can be returned to her account.

  So the next stop is my bank.

  “Where are we now?”

  “My bank.” With my eyebrow cocked, I dare her to say a word in protest.

  She stays quiet through the process of getting a duplicate debit card for her to use. She even takes the damned thing without groaning.

  “Look at me.” I demand gently when we got back in the truck.

  She does with a deep breath.

  “I want you to use this for whatever you need. And I got out enough cash for you to pay your rent. And don’t just use whatever you have to. Get whatever you need or want. I don’t care. And I don’t want to hear a word about you owing me or paying me back or any of that bullshit.”

  She responds by crossing her arms over her chest.

  I think I broke her.

  “You need to go anywhere else before I drop you back home?”

  “No. I can at least drive myself to the grocery store.”

  “Okay.”

  I drive her back to her apartment but don’t bother going in. It’s obvious she’s not happy with me.

  “You’re not coming up?”

  “No. I’m going in to work. Try to make up for the time I missed this morning. It’s no big deal. Be careful. Call me if you need me.”

  She exhales and I swear if she does it again, I’m going to ask her if she needs oxygen.

  “I’m not mad.” She whines.

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  I don’t get a response, she looks out the window. “I’ll see you later, Ezra. Call me when you get in from work, if you want to.”

  Pouty Aysa is adorable.

  Aysa

  I throw the damned debit card on the table and stare at it for a few minutes too long. I need to apologize to Ezra.

  I rebel against him helping because I’m not used to it, but the more and more I think about his actions of the day, the more I let the idea of being taken care of curl around me.

  Comforting me.

  I dig through the mail I picked up on my way to the apartment when my phone rings. I assume it’s Ezra.

  “Hello? I’m so sorry.”
>
  “What are you sorry for? What did you do?” It’s my aunt Hope and the surprise has me stuttering.

  “I’m sorry Aunt Hope. I thought you were someone else.”

  “Apologize to that fine boy after I get off the phone with you. I need you to meet me for lunch. The Pecan Pie?”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll meet you in a half hour?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  The Pecan Pie is a little dessert and coffee only café attached to the pecan factory that my aunt still owns. They make the best pecan pie in town.

  I slip a green dress on with some dressy sandals and quickly put on some light makeup and make sure my hair is fixed. Aunt Hope is an old-fashioned woman and no matter what, I always feel underdressed when I’m with her.

  My lips and eyebrows scrunch together when I flick Ezra’s debit card into my purse with my new license.

  And I blush.

  And the warmest tingles tickle down my spine.

  He did it.

  He became what he needed to be and what I needed him to be at the same time.

  I didn’t even know what I’d asked for those months ago.

  He knew.

  It’s a half hour drive to the Pecan Pie. I pull in and Aunt Hope is sitting with an envelope in her hand. Her hair is perfectly coifed and as usual, I’m not up to par.

  “Hi. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  “You look lovely. I’ve only been here a few minutes. I ordered you a piece of chocolate chip pecan pie. I think you’re going to need it.”

  The pie she speaks of gives me cavities from across the room.

  “Why? Did we not raise enough money?”

  “Let me show you this first.”

  She passes the envelope over to me and I open it, looking over at her in question. Inside is the listing of bidders from the fundraisers and the winners.

  Ezra has not only won one vacation.

  He’s won three of them.

  The bastard.

  From the list, I see that he’s bid on nearly everything and not chump change. He’d thrown down some pretty hefty bids.

  I swallow against the tears coming to the surface.

  He wanted to singlehandedly save the one place that I loved.

  “He would’ve won them all if I hadn’t put a stop to it.”

  My chin shoots up so fast, I almost throw my neck out. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve stopped him.”

  “You know, I saw you two out on the dancefloor. I think everyone in the place did. Half of the place wanted to be you and the rest wanted to be him. I approve.”

  “You didn’t answer me, Aunt Hope. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Ignoring me again, she signals for another café au lait. “I handled it. Why can’t you let the people around you handle things without wigging?”

  My aunt, the one with the gold necklace, earrings, bracelet and brooch that match perfectly, who speaks with the perfect northern Louisiana lull, just said wigging.

  “Wigging? I’m not wigging.”

  She leans in. “I can smell the wigging over the pecan pie.”

  I lean back and cross my arms over my chest again—throwing up my shield. “I handle things on my own—always have.”

  Aunt Hope fiddles with her manicure. “Poor Aysa, has people who love her and try to help her. She gets what she wanted all along and is now a piss ant about it.”

  I’ve known my aunt most of my life. She’s always been a pillar of class and morality.

  When I see her purposefully provoking me, I know something is up.

  “What else did you want to tell me? You might as well say it instead of making me mad so I’ll forget.”

  Her brown eyes tick upward to meet mine.

  She’s been caught.

  “Despite Ezra’s valiant efforts, it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry, Aysa. I even tried to buy it back myself, but my accountant advised me against it. I know you’re upset. I think that place means more to you than it did to me and I spent most of my married life in that house. I waited for the summers when you would come. We never had children of our own, but we considered you a part of our family. I’m so sorry.”

  I wilt in the chair. Pieces of pie and coffee pass in front of me, but I touch none of it.

  It isn’t just a house to me.

  It is so much more than the ghost in the attic and the smell of fresh bread that still lingers in the kitchen.

  It is the only place I’d really felt at home.

  “Are you okay, darlin’?”

  “No. Yes. I will be.”

  “I’m sorry, Aysa.” She holds my hand over the table and I sponge the comfort it gave me.

  “I’m gonna go.”

  We exchange hugs and I promise to call her.

  When I get home, I’m a wreck. I’ve lost the one place I relied on. I don’t really know how to handle Ezra and all his taking care of me other than to just accept it. And even though it’s just money, I don’t like the loss of control at my purse being stolen.

  I need the priest.

  And he’d better be ready for some cussing because the demons are scratching at my throat to get out.

  I call him but he doesn’t want me to come to the church. I think he’s afraid that my language will melt the walls of the church. He gets to my apartment a half hour later and I lay in to him before his ass hits the couch.

  “Your brother is a big, overbearing, horribly nice and caring man. I’m so in love with him that I can’t even stand my own skin sometimes. Is it really necessary for him to be such a loving protective rat bastard all the time? He can’t wig out? My aunt says I wig out.”

  Knox flexes his neck and cracks his knuckles.

  I hate when he cracks his knuckles.

  I may have some demons in me, but that boy has a little thug in him. He cracks his knuckles like a Tupac video.

  “I’m gonna need coffee if you’re doing all this. You go make some while I pray or faint. Something.” He waves his hands around encompassing all of me from afar.

  “Fine. Coffee for the collar.”

  A few minutes later, I shove a cup of coffee at him with enough Splenda to kill a camel, just the way the asshole liked it.

  I can call him asshole.

  ‘Cause I can.

  “So my brother is a bastard because he’s nice, caring, and protective? Tell me about that.”

  I gasp. “You said bastard.”

  He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a fence bad word. Technically, it’s okay. What are you gonna do, tell God? I’m here for you, not me, sister.”

  I’m worked up, but none of the reasons are hashing out.

  I’m not making sense.

  “Ugh. Yes. He’s a bastard because he’s all trying to take care of me and ‘oh spend money out of my bank account’.”

  “Let’s skip over my brother because I have a lot to say about that issue and you’re not going to like it. What’s the deal with your aunt?”

  “She thinks Ezra is God’s gift to all women.”

  “And you don’t.”

  “Of course I do. That’s what I’m trying to say! Didn’t you listen to anything I had to say?”

  Knox closes his eyes and sends up a prayer, probably not the first one.

  “Aysa, I’ve never really had a best friend. I have friends who are in the priesthood with me, but they are more of brothers. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. The kid who studies scripture at lunch doesn’t really draw a crowd, at least not a good crowd. That was until you showed up.”

  His confession breaks me down and I stop dead in my tracks and sit on the coffee table.

  “I love you, Knox. You’re my best friend too.”

  “I know. That’s why I have to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “You are bat shit crazy.”

  An indescribable noise bursts from my mouth.

  “You told Ezra to let you know when he’d become someone you could rely on. Someone you
could feel safe with. Someone who could put your needs before his own. That’s what he did. He became that man with no one else’s help other than that drill sergeant psychiatrist I sent him to. And yet here you are, throwing it back in his face.”

  The sky falls on me in that moment.

  Here I am getting everything I always wanted, everything that matters, and I’m ripping apart at the seams.

  I look at Knox and expect a smug grin.

  He’s returned to the priest, but I don’t care. I sit next to him and he puts his arm around me.

  “Is that all you’re upset about?”

  I sigh. “They’re going to sell the college. They didn’t make enough money to keep it running.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  He and his brother both calling me sweetheart is endearing. My heart swells with gratitude. I got the man and his amazing brother as a friend.

  And yet, here I am, whining.

  “It’ll work out. You’ve been on the winding road for so long. When things start working out, just be grateful. You deserve it more than anyone else.”

  Knox must have left the door open a little because Ezra comes through the door before knocking. I don’t even hear him come in.

  “You know, there’s a joke brewing somewhere in here. The door was open. Knox, I know you don’t lock the church, but you have to lock the door here.”

  Knox chuckles and I move with the jolting. “I’ll watch that from now on.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It is now. Aysa had a little meltdown but nothing the collar can’t handle.”

  “Good.”

  Ezra looks at me. I confirm my calm with a nod.

  “Well, my job here is done. Call me if you need me again, Aysa. I’m always here for you.”

  “Thanks Knox.”

  Ezra comes to sit next to me. An apology feels necessary.

  “I’m sorry for today.” I say, trying like hell not to cry.

  “You want to explain?”

  “Loss of control? I’m not used to people taking care of me. I’ve been told I need to learn.”

  He turns to me with a look in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. Finding out new things about him has become my favorite obsession.

  “I know that you and I are trained to read between the lines on these things and really find the core of the problem, but people get upset about things. Regular people get their feelings hurt and then they get over it. The issue with us is allowing ourselves to be normal people.”