Dream Lover

by Stacey Keith

  She moved away from the piano and he didn’t see her after that. Brandon started his bike, wishing he hadn’t come here. Worried about why he had.

  On the way home, he kept seeing her hands move over the piano keys. Her shoulders gleaming in the lamplight. How utterly feminine she was, mysterious and unaware of him watching her hungrily in the dark. By the time he pulled into the garage, he’d forgotten about Roxanne and her friend, which was why it surprised him to see their car. He wasn’t sure what to do about them.

  He walked inside expecting to see them drinking beer with Long Jon in the wood-paneled living room or sprawled out watching television on the couch. A quick pass by the guest room where Long Jon slept revealed no signs of life, so Brandon looked in the kitchen. Long Jon sat with his back facing the door, drinking alone at the dinette table, three empties by his elbow and a full one in his hand. Even from behind, he looked lonely and disappointed.

  But that could only mean one thing. Brandon’s blood heated as he understood.

  He went to his bedroom and then paused at the door, listening. When he heard giggling inside, the nerve endings in his body tingled in anticipation. He’d done some crazy ass shit in his life. Women had been throwing themselves at him since he was Matthew’s age. He’d even had two women before. Beautiful women. It was one of his fondest memories.

  But he hadn’t had two women lately. And since each one, like a motorcycle, was customized a little bit different, he found himself curious to know what these two were all about.

  Heart pounding, he opened the door. Roxanne and her friend were waiting for him, naked on the bed.

  Chapter 8

  “Lisa Fisher? Hi, it’s April Roby from Raymond County Child Protective Services,” April said to the woman who’d cracked open the door. April heard hushed, urgent voices followed by frantic scurrying, and her heart sank.

  Lisa un-fastened the chain lock and let April inside. With the apologetic nervousness of a woman who didn’t much care for housekeeping, she gestured toward a crumb-covered couch.

  April tucked her skirt beneath her and took a seat. It depressed her that nothing had changed since her last visit. She knew how tough it was being a single parent, but the house smelled like diapers, beer and unwashed sheets.

  Jackson, who was fifteen months old, clung to the rails of his playpen. His five-year-old sister, Charleigh, peeked at April from the bedroom. God only knew what Lisa had told the girl about the mean welfare lady. She was probably terrified.

  “Mighty nice of you to check up on us,” Lisa said. She gave her a tight smile, which brought out the ugly purple and yellow bruising of a recent shiner. April sucked in a breath and curled her fingers around the thick case file in her lap.

  Oh, crap.

  Lisa was a year younger than April and worked afternoons at the Stop n’ Sip in Banderas. She rarely showed up for appointments, but April cut her slack because she knew it was hard to get away.

  But April wasn’t prepared for domestic violence. To give herself a moment to pull it together, she jotted down the time of day in the upper righthand corner of her home visitation form. Her fingers were shaking.

  Then she remembered. Lisa had an on-again, off-again boyfriend named Dwayne Hoakem. From the looks of it, Dwayne was living here. April spotted men’s sneakers sticking out from beneath the couch. A man’s leather belt hung over the door knob. And unless Lisa had a sudden interest in motorsports, that was Dwayne’s Hot Rod magazine open on the coffee table, right next to an ashtray piled high with cigarette butts.

  Brandon sure wasn’t like that, she thought. Brandon would never raise his fist to a woman.

  Instinct told her that Dwayne was probably in the next room, listening to every word they said. April had to figure out a way to get Lisa alone, especially since there were limitations on how much help April could give her. The trauma of removing children was often more damaging than letting them continue in an abusive household.

  “Have you been going to your parenting classes?” April asked, sliding on her glasses. She scribbled Get the children and walk outside with me on the front of the case file and then passed it to Lisa. When Lisa read it, her eyes grew huge.

  “I don’t have a car, Miss April,” Lisa stammered. “Most nights, the bus don’t run that late.”

  To April’s relief, Lisa went across the room and collected little Jackson. Then she cajoled Charleigh out of the bedroom and took her hand. “Let’s see if we can find a parenting center closer to you,” April said. “I may have a list in my car. Do you mind walking with me?”

  With her heart slamming against her chest, April gathered up papers, shouldered her bag, and followed Lisa outside. A woman came striding toward them across the dusty, one-lane road, small and no-nonsense, with her gray hair scraped back in a bun. She wore gardening clogs and a T-shirt that read Prayin’ and Slayin’ since 1939.

  “Goddammit to hell,” she growled at Lisa. “What happened this time?”

  April clasped the case file tighter to her chest, hoping it might protect her. She put on her best professional smile. “I’m April Roby,” she said, “May I ask who you are?”

  “Minnie. I’m Lisa’s grandma.” Minnie jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the old farmhouse behind her. Laundry fluttered on the line. “That sonofabitch Dwayne’s actin’ up again, ain’t he?” She glared accusingly at Lisa. “As the Lord is my witness, I’m going to blow a fucking hole in his ass.”

  April glanced nervously at the children. Little Charleigh hid behind her mother’s leg and stared up at April. The baby, who clearly had a cold, gave her a sloppy, fever-drunk smile.

  “May Lisa and I please speak privately?” April asked Minnie. “I’m really not at liberty to—”

  “Let’s cut the bull crap,” Minnie said. “No disrespect, but you gals down at County don’t know dipshit from apple butter. This is a family matter. Better let family handle it.”

  April paused to collect her words. “I’m not sure family is the answer here. If it were, Lisa wouldn’t have a black eye right now. I can keep her and the kids safe until we find—”

  “I ain’t leavin’ Dwayne.” Lisa slid the baby up higher on her hip. “I know he’s got his faults, but I want you to show me the man who don’t. He’s a good provider, and I sure as hell ain’t workin’ in a Stop n’ Sip the rest of my life.”

  “See?” Minnie said to April. “There’s tree stumps in Louisiana got more sense than my granddaughter. But she’s not going anywhere and you gals at County oughta just let this one go.”

  April took a deep calming breath. The sun was blisteringly hot. A cracked plastic bucket and a red shovel lay on the ground at her feet. A hound dog who’d followed Minnie over from the farm sat patiently by the mailbox.

  But the statistics on spousal abuse kept needling April. They wouldn’t leave her alone. Many abused women never got away. Many girls who saw abuse grew up to marry abusers. Many abused boys grew up to become them. April felt a bead of sweat trickle down her neck. Leaving Dwayne was clearly the right thing for Lisa to do. But how did she convince Lisa of that?

  “I know you think domestic abuse is just a fault,” April began. “But it’s not. It’s a serious issue, and one that can get way worse. What will you do when Dwayne starts hitting your kids?”

  Minnie made a sound of contempt. “That’s the day Dwayne’ll wake up with the whole goddamn bed on fire.”

  Lisa said, “Miss April, you seem like a good person. But you don’t know Dwayne. He can be real sweet sometimes.”

  “Is giving you a black eye sweet?” April asked, determined to get through to her.

  “Not sweet maybe, but you don’t know what it’s like being in love,” Lisa said, not unkindly. “These things ain’t always one color. Sometimes they’re a whole bunch of colors.”

  Minnie scratched the side of her face and then spat. “I wouldn�
��t worry over it too much. I can take care of Dwayne. And we got little Charleigh enrolled in tap dancin’ school two days a week now, don’t we, sugar?” Minnie crinkled her nose at Charleigh who stopped gaping at April long enough to smile.

  The heat pressed down on April like a punishing hand. Lisa stood blinking at her in the morning sun with the baby on her hip. She wore a black T-shirt with a dancing hamburger on it, obviously a giveaway from the local drive-thru. Minnie kept scratching her face and spitting.

  April pressed one hand to her temples, trying to blot the sweat.

  The last thing she wanted to do was petition the court to take Lisa’s kids away. And now she wasn’t even sure it would be in their best interests to do so. It probably wasn’t. But the idea of leaving them in the care of poor love-sick Lisa and Granny from “The Beverly Hillbillies” made April feel confused and hopeless.

  “I’m sorry,” Lisa said, almost pityingly. “I’m not as pretty as you are, Miss April. I don’t have a car or new clothes or a fancy education. And I sure as hell don’t got money to quit Dwayne, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

  Lisa grabbed Charleigh, turned around and trudged back to the house. Once she got to the porch, she waved. Then she went inside and closed the door.

  April looked down at the plastic shovel at her feet. She wanted to dig a giant hole with it and die.

  “You seem like a real nice gal,” Minnie told April. “I can tell your heart’s in the right place. But we’re a proud bunch of folks out here. Our ways ain’t your ways, I know. We just ain’t lookin’ for your help.”

  Minnie whistled for the dog and he came running, tongue out, tail wagging. Then she started out across the field toward home.

  April went to her car and stabbed her key in the lock. For a second, she leaned her forehead against it, all pretty in her new skirt and with her fancy education. She tried her best to hold it together, but all she wanted to do was cry, scream and throw things.

  She got inside the car and took off, the Banderas city limits sign flashing by as she picked up speed. Tears blurred her vision. Why did she suck at this? Why was this job determined to break her? You couldn’t make a difference in people’s lives. All you could do was watch helplessly as people circled the drain.

  At a coffee shop in Banderas, April stopped for a pick-me-up. She sat beneath a faded patio umbrella and called Joanna, hoping her friend could talk her out of doing something desperate, but Joanna wasn’t at her desk or answering her cell. April texted her instead to say she was on her way to the office.

  A minute later, April’s phone beeped. She read the text message: At the doctor for my checkup. He says any day now. Did you follow up on the Barrett case?

  Not yet, April texted back, but I will. She slipped the phone inside her purse and wondered if she had the courage to face Brandon and his brother after the fiasco with Lisa. But letting Joanna down, especially this close to her due date, felt a hundred times worse than going.

  Besides, Brandon wasn’t such a bad guardian. At least he was trying to keep Matthew out of trouble. And he certainly took pride in Matthew’s accomplishments. There was a lot to be said for a man who did that much.

  It took April about twenty minutes to drive over to Brandon’s house. But as she drew closer, a feeling of nervous dread came over her. That’s silly, she told herself. For all I know, Brandon might not even be there.

  She parked next to a blue car she’d never seen before and then looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Her heart was rattling even before she walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

  There were voices. A woman’s and then Brandon’s. He was yelling at the woman not to open the door. There was something familiar about the woman’s voice, but April couldn’t place it.

  Wearing only a man’s black T-shirt and her panties, Roxanne answered the door. Her mascara was smudged and she had a love bite on her neck. “April? What on earth are you doing here?”

  * * * *

  Brandon came stumbling out of the bedroom, buttoning his fly and still yelling at Roxanne to stay away from the door.

  When he saw April, his blood froze.

  They stared at one another. Then April’s gaze went from him to Roxanne and finally to the open door behind him where the other girl sat putting on her bra. Long Jon was nowhere in sight, which sucked because Brandon had a sudden crazy idea to blame him for everything.

  A mottled red flush crept up April’s throat and then blazed across her cheeks.

  “Well?” Roxanne said to her. “You coming in?”

  April turned and fled, her heels clattering down the stairs. Brandon went tearing after her. That expression of pain on her face…he couldn’t believe that he was the one who’d put it there. It felt like a wrecking ball had smacked him right in the stomach.

  She cared. He’d had no idea she cared. A part of him still didn’t believe it was possible. He didn’t know why her opinion about him mattered so much, but there was no denying it. All he felt was this driving, desperate urge to make it right.

  April fumbled with her keys in front of her car, but Brandon grabbed them away from her and stuffed them in his pocket.

  “Damn you, give me those keys,” she said in a voice he didn’t recognize.

  “April, let me—”

  She lunged for them but he took her by the shoulders and walked her toward the shed, where they could talk in private. The shed was dusty and full of broken skateboard decks and orphaned wheels, but there was a chair inside and April sat in it.

  Now that the shock was wearing off, he was starting to understand what he’d done. And he knew he’d have to convince April to forgive him for being really fucking blind and stupid and an asshole. But he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was too late. That he’d blown it for good.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she muttered, staring at the ground.

  “Because I didn’t know you gave a fuck, April.”

  She raised her face, her lovely face that was now strained and unhappy. “What makes you think I do? Because I’m angry? Please don’t flatter yourself.”

  He hesitated. “Yeah, but you’re really pissed at me. Like, girlfriend pissed.”

  “I’m disgusted. Roxanne? Seriously? Oh, and let’s not forget you’ve got that other girl, too. Are you even capable of doing anything that doesn’t involve your…” She lapsed into a pointed, injured silence.

  Sex was something he happened to be good at. Really good. But what was happening here wasn’t about sex. It was about him having a shot at a woman he might actually have feelings for…and then fucking it all up.

  April was hurt. He’d done that. And in one awful flash he saw just how predatory and selfish his behavior had been. He hurt good people. He wasn’t even raising Matthew right. What had Long Jon told him once? “Riding faster than everyone else guarantees you’ll ride alone.”

  Even Long Jon wasn’t talking to him right now because Brandon had been a shitty friend. What was he thinking, screwing those chicks all night while Long Jon sat outside in the living room alone? Who did fucking awful things like that?

  No, he had to face this head on.

  “I want you,” Brandon said, alarmed by the words that came rushing out of his mouth. “It’s true. I just never thought you’d want to be with a guy like me.”

  She stared at him.

  Was he actually saying this? Admitting how he felt? The painful tightness in his chest felt like he’d just bench-pressed a truck. At no point in his entire selfish life had he been this honest with a woman. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Brandon knelt so he could see her better. He wished he had a shirt on. It wasn’t right, talking to her like this when he didn’t have a shirt on. It made him seem like he wasn’t serious.

  “I think about you all the time,” he said. “Look, I know how crazy this is. B
ut I have no control over it, and you neither do you.”

  Apart from April’s obvious shock and disgust, he couldn’t really tell what she was thinking. Maybe he was in shock, too. He had a hard time making his brain work when he was around her.

  She burst into tears.

  He watched her helplessly. When he tried comforting her, she pushed him away. “Don’t touch me,” she sobbed. “I’ve had a terrible day.”

  “April—”

  “I don’t even know how you live with yourself.” Behind the tears, her blue eyes were still hot and accusing. “I can’t stand to look at you.”

  Brandon rubbed the back of his neck where all the muscles quivered under pressure. Before today—before this moment, even—he would have gotten angry, put her on the defensive, blamed her for not playing straight with him. But he couldn’t do that now. Not with April. Without his well-worn survival instincts to guide him, he didn’t know what to do.

  “You called me a pig once,” he said. “It’s true. I’ve been a selfish asshole for most of my life. But I want to be a better man.”

  She looked at him. Still pissed, still wary, but she looked. Even in the dusty old shed, she appeared angelic. Desire for her made his stomach hurt.

  “A better man for me?” she asked. “You need to be a better man for Matthew.”

  He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I just want to stop ruining everything I touch,” he said quietly. “Including Matthew. I need you to help me see the road ahead.”

  “I can’t help you see anything,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe I did want you, but that’s over now. You’re too much of an asshole, even for me.” She got up and put her hand out for the keys, ready to leave him here with the gut-wrenching guilt of what he’d done. What he’d lost.

  Desperation poured through him. He felt as though he’d been cheated by a God he didn’t believe in, doomed to wanting a woman he could have had but had squandered. He’d broken something exquisite and beautiful that he hadn’t known was sitting in his hands.