He watched the old woman move towards him before she reached behind and rubbed her hand on his back.
"I think that's fine, Jax, just fine," she said gently, looking up at him. "How're you feeling today?"
He kept smiling, as he remembered Lacey asking the same question.
"I'm still bruised. But, I slept almost four hours straight," he offered, knowing that his sleep was going to be questioned as well at some point in this conversation. At first, he hadn't been able to sleep without pills, the kind that would knock him out for ten or twelve hours at a time. He'd weaned himself off those, too, taking a lack of sleep as the trade off.
"Good. Seems to me someone is getting better," she said, taking the bag from his hand and carefully pulling back the sticker to see what was inside. It hadn't escaped her notice that Jax had taken the empty cake box up to his room after they'd shared the sweet treat after dinner yesterday. So she was careful to keep the sticker unharmed and in one piece.
"You know, I think I am, Grams," he said on a low note, his eyes looking out the kitchen window but she could tell he was looking inward.
"I'm glad for you, Jax," she said and moved to grab a couple of small plates. "You want your muffin now or later?"
As they sat eating the still warm lemon muffins with blueberries tucked inside, Edie cast her mind back, counting all the differences in the Jax of now versus that angry, demanding, little smart-mouthed shit she'd picked up at the airport.
In all truth, he'd been a stuck-on-himself, arrogant little bastard.
She'd been warned about him by both the therapists down in Ojai and Dr. Norton here in town. About his attitude, his lifestyle, and the drugs they'd found in his system as well as in his pockets when he had been fished out of the ocean the day Denny had been buried.
Edie had gone to the funeral, held at that fancy cemetery, what was it called? Oh, yeah, Forest Lawn. Cemetery to the Stars. She'd never been to a funeral where the eff word had been used in the different speeches of remembrance given, where the attendees wore more leather than a herd of cows. Where a full bottle of vodka, another of bourbon and another of scotch were ceremoniously emptied over the coffin of the deceased.
The gathering afterwards was a real eye-opener. One she endured for exactly ten minutes before leaving. Then, she had sat in her rental car for a full half hour crying her eyes out for her delightful grand-boys. Both for the one who had died and for the other one who was out of his mind because his brother had died.
It was probably a month later that she'd received the first call regarding Jax. Asking if she could take him in. Detailing his issues, citing that, at the moment, he wasn't able to be by himself. She'd considered saying 'no', until she remembered what Pete was so fond of saying. "We take care of our own, Edie. They need us."
That particular conversation had been when Denny and Jax moved to the farm after her Vanessa and son-in-law Bill had been killed in a car crash. Jax had been four and Denny was six which had been a handful for her and Pete at the time. But, Pete had been adamant about bringing the boys into the house.
"Jax, do you remember when you lived here before?" she asked softly, her mind still caught in the past, remembering the feel of him as he snuggled up next to her on the piano bench or with a book on the couch.
He slowly brought his eyes up to hers, eyes so very much like his mother's, and grinned.
"Sing to me, Grams," he said after a few beats.
Edie couldn't help how her eyes filled with those softly spoken words, and quickly turned her head away so he wouldn't see how much his words, his memory, meant.
The same words he'd used when he was four years old.
It had been heartbreaking to have Bill's sister, Patricia, obtain custody of her special boys two years later. Somehow she'd gotten wind of Pete's diagnosis of prostate cancer and had gone to court, suing for custody. When the dust had finally settled, her two precious boys were moved all the way down to Lawndale, a small suburb of Los Angeles, to live. To spend their youth with their single aunt who Edie knew wanted the money from the estate more than she wanted the boys.
She and Pete had grieved over the loss of them for years.
*.*.*.*.*
Grams gave him a list of 'Things to Do' everyday.
Things that used to piss him right the fuck off, yet those jobs, like the one of cleaning out the garage and the Gramps' workshop, really did help. He'd been able to sort out as much shit in his head as he'd done in both the basement and the attic. Things that he now found comfort in getting it done, completed.
He'd also learned a lot about himself, Denny, his parents as well as his grandparents in the process. The old woman was a packrat, liking her scrapbooks and other memorabilia, carefully packed in trunks with lots of cushioning and wrapping. He had learned to go through the heavy wooden crates and metal trunks first since they held the most items of interest.
It was in the metal footlocker of his uncle who had died in a freak accident in boot camp back in 1976, Jax discovered his Grams dirty little secret. The entire footlocker was filled with Wynter's Vicious stuff: CDs, posters, professional stills, t-shirts and the like. The woman had more WV stuff than their most avid fan. Which included the different magazines and newspapers announcing the death of Denny. As well as death of the band, of Wynter's Vicious, since Denny was gone. Jay-sus. Who'd have thought it of her.
Jax hadn't spent time looking through that crap. He'd lived it and didn't want the reminder of it around him. Not now. Not when he was learning to live again.
It was the other stuff, the crates and trunks holding memories of his parents, of his grandparents in the early years that held him enthralled for hours. He didn't remember his mom or his dad. However, all the old items saved, carefully and lovingly kept, helped bring them to life.
He'd decided that he'd missed a lot not knowing them, not having them around.
Jax wondered if anyone would ever feel that way about him after he was gone.
The thought made him sad.
Chapter 7
I was in my place on the stairs when Jax ran up the next morning.
It was warm this morning, giving an early warning of the summer to come and he was already wringing wet when I watched his legs slow as he crossed the road towards me.
I couldn't help my heartbeat as he came closer, looking better than a man had a right to look on an overly warm Thursday morning, nor the smile I felt creep across my face.
"Hey, Lace," he panted.
"Morning, Jack," I answered. "Coffee?"
Was this becoming a routine? Having this gorgeous man share coffee with me each morning?
Did I want it to become a routine?
"No, thanks," he said, swallowing as he tried to get his breathing under control.
"Water, then?" I asked.
"Yeah, that'd be great," he said, using the sleeve of his t-shirt to wipe his face.
I moved quickly to grab a bottled water from the zero-sub and rushed back out to the porch.
He took the cold bottle and guzzled half of it before I'd even sat back down.
"Listen, Lace…," he started. Just like yesterday, I waited for him to continue speaking, sneaking a glance that caught on his eyes.
Oh, deep, sweet chocolate. Those eyes.
"Would you like to go for a drive tonight?" he finished at last.
I saw the bottle turning in his hands as he twisted the lid on and off, off and on.
Was he nervous?
"A drive?" I heard myself repeat.
"Yeah. I've, uhm, been here a while but I don't know much about the area," he said, no longer looking at me. He was still standing, too, not sitting down next to me like before. "I was hoping you could, you know, show me some sights or something."
I looked up at him, thinking.
A drive sounded pretty innocuous or ominous depending on where your head was at the moment. On one hand, I didn't know him, like, at all. I knew his grandmother, though. Plus, he'd been in the kitchen wit
h me alone yesterday and hadn't done anything that screamed 'serial killer' in spite of the butcher block full of knives sitting in full view next to the sink.
A drive actually sounded kind of nice.
"Okay," I said finally. "I'd like that."
I didn't miss the flare of surprise that flashed across his face at my answer.
"Great! Ah, what time? I mean, what would be a good time for you?" he asked, still twisting the cap of the water bottle.
"I'm usually done here by three so anytime after that'd be good," I explained.
"I'll see you around four, then," he murmured, his eyes big, his smile bigger.
He was absolutely beautiful when he smiled.
"See you at four, Jack," I said softly, breaking the easy quiet that had again grown between us as we did that crap-crazy stare thing into each other's eyes.
"Gotta go, Lace," he advised, leaning down towards me.
This time I made a point of not pulling back, not moving away. I'd seen how my movement yesterday had changed the vibe between us and was determined not to do anything to break it again.
"See ya, Jack," I whispered staring back up at him. I watched as he turned and began to sprint away from me.
Was this a date?
Is a 'drive' considered a date?
I'd never been asked to just to go for a drive. Shoot, I hadn't been asked on that many dates if the truth were known.
What if he had asked me out for like dinner or drinks or something, would I have gone?
I couldn't answer.
My last experience with dating hadn't gone so well.
Let it lie, then. Just take it as it comes and don't, for chocolate's sake, read anything into it, I told myself. Okay, warned myself.
Ricki came by with sandwiches around noon-ish, practically exploding with the intel she'd uncovered in her mad race to 'get the skinny' on the hidden, elusive rock star that was allegedly hiding out in our neck of the woods.
"I swear it's either Kevin Trimble of Worthy Victors or one of the remaining members of Wynter's Vicious," she exclaimed around a mouthful of Mel's tuna melt. "I can't be sure, you understand. I think those are the closest contenders."
"What makes you think that?" I asked, just for something to say. Actually, my mind was whirling about my non-date that was going to be happening in what? Less than three hours?
Yikes!
What was I going to wear? What does one wear for a not-quite-a-date drive kind of a thing?
When her voice wound down, I casually asked or as casually as I could. I'm not very good at prevaricating if you want the truth, "Uhm, Ricks? I heard one of the customers ask a lady if she wanted to go for a drive. If someone asked you to go for a ride with them, what would you wear?"
"Was he hot?" she immediately shot back. "Oh, God, please tell me he was hot and that she was hot and that he's been secretly lusting after her for, like, months and that…"
"Whoa! Hold on," I warned. Geez, I should've never brought it up because Ricki was like Beth in the hook-up department. "I was just wondering if you got asked out for a drive, what would you wear?"
She put down her sandwich to consider the question as she used a napkin to wipe her hands. Ricki takes wardrobe selection seriously, especially if there is the hope that a member of the opposite sex would see her.
"Jeans? Yep, well-worn jeans and a cute top that's not a t-shirt. A cool hoodie. Chucks or boots? Hmm," she pondered. "What kind of car?"
"I don't know," I replied.
"Well, the choice of car matters because would she need a hat or not? If it’s a Jeep or a convertible then a hat would be a no-brainer. But if it's just a sedan or something, then hair either in a high ponytail or loose. Car choice is a big deal, Lace," she said solemnly.
"I can see that," I said just as solemnly back. Raspberries in December. This girly crap could be a mine field sometimes.
She was still thinking, though.
"Where are you?" I asked when she didn't continue. With Ricks, silence sometimes speaks louder than the sounds she emits.
"I was wondering if it was a cleavage or no cleavage kind of drive," she answered at last.
Cleavage?
Uhm.
I don't think so. I mean, my girls were cleavage worthy yet did I want to showcase them for Jack? On just a drive with Jack?
Nuh-uh.
"Do you know if they've dated before?" she asked finally, wrapping up the rest of her sandwich and putting it in my small fridge in the postage stamp sized kitchen of the apartment.
"I don't think so," I finally said, looking at the rest of my chicken salad on honey wheat. Damn, I'd only eaten maybe a quarter of it and I was already full. Crap. I'd steadily been losing weight since Lilly had died and the doc had told me I needed to eat more.
How can you eat when your heart is still so heavy?
"Then no cleavage. But, the top has to be really cute. And instead of chucks or boots, then strappy heeled sandals," she announced with authority.
She glanced at her phone.
"Gotta get back, Lace, or the ol' lady will start frothing at the mouth," she said, hitching her jeans up and straightening her shirt. It was true. During working hours Ricki's mom could be a bit of a slave driver. "What are you doing tonight?"
"I'm tired, so I'll probably turn in early," I said, not looking at my friend as I out and out lied.
For the record, I'm a lousy liar. The kind of liar that gets busted every time I try to wiggle my way out of the truth.
"Talk to you tomorrow?" she asked, scooping up her oversized purse and grabbing the door to go downstairs.
"Yes ma'am," I shot back, putting my sandwich into the fridge and sucking back the last of my lemonade.
"See you, babe," she yelled as she left.
Whew! Got out of that one.
I cleaned up the crumbs and went back downstairs to work as I mentally reviewed my wardrobe, trying to find the 'cute top' and 'strappy heeled sandals' that Ricki had unknowingly suggested.
And, for chocolate's sake, did I even own a cool hoodie?
*.*.*.*.*
Jax did his shower thing before heading out to the workshop hoping to finish getting it cleaned before it was time to go to the early meeting of the AA/NA group that met at noon. If he wanted to be with Lacey, he needed to get a meeting out of the way early. The rules of his release said that he had to attend a meeting every day.
Some rules were made to be broken.
But some rules were court ordered and he wasn't going to fuck this up.
He'd made it just in time, slipping through the doors as the speaker of this unfamiliar group was calling it to order. There was no one here he recognized, yet the story given was the same.
Jax tuned it out, turning his mind instead to the selection of cars available for his time with Lacey.
Was this a date?
He'd never been on a date before. Hadn't ever asked a girl out; hadn't ever needed to ask a girl out.
Girls used to come to him, not vice versa.
He swallowed thickly and felt sweat on his palms.
Oh, Christ, what had he done?
This was completely over his head.
What if she…?
What if he…?
Oh, Christ!
He couldn't breathe right and his heart was fucking racing a million miles an hour.
Fuck!
Get a grip, man. She's just a girl. Just another girl.
He tried the breathing thing and felt his insides ease before the grip he had on the legs of his jeans released.
Better.
Okay.
Shit, his hands had left fucking wet spots on the light colored denim.
He wasn't going to think about it. Wasn't going to worry and stew like he did about the simplest things now.
If he was worried, he'd just talk to Grams when he got home. She'd tell him what to do or what not to do. She was good with that kind of shit.
Oh.
The serenity prayer.
The time in the meeting had gone fast, then again, this was the early meeting and people had to get back to work. He felt bad he hadn't really listened, however he had signed in which was the biggest part. It proved he'd attended.
"Grams?" he called when he was back at the farmhouse.
"In here," she called and he could hear the TV droning in the background. Oh yeah, Gram's stories were on. Those soap operas she was addicted to; the shows he used to watch with her as a little boy and then again when he was so doped up when he first came back.
He went and sat beside her on the old flowered couch, his eyes glancing at the sincerely old 22 inch TV directly across from the tired, flat cushioned sofa before his eyes moved around the room.
She hadn't changed anything since he'd lived with her and Gramps in the early nineties. Not even moved a table or one of her knick-knacky things. Same old, same old. Which was, he admitted, kind of comforting to someone who'd been lost. Reassuring, in its own way.
He waited until the music came on, signaling the end of the episode before he started talking.
"Uhm, Grams?" he started, nervous again. "I asked Lacey out for a drive and want to borrow one of the cars, if that's okay?"
He felt her eyes on him before he saw her root around for the remote to turn the TV off. Gram never had the TV on just for noise or background pictures. The TV went on only for certain shows then it got turned off. Since Jax wasn't big on letting the big, bad outside world in yet, he was more than fine with her viewing habits.
"I don't see a problem," she said finally. "Which one were you thinking of?"
"I don't know," he said, glancing at her. "What would you suggest?"
He saw her head tilt.
"What's the drive for?" she asked after a while.
"Ah…" he tried to think of an answer but, to tell the truth, he really didn't really understand the question. "Ma'am?"
"Well, if you want to impress her, take the 'Vette," she began. "If you want to impress other people, take the Caddy. If you just want to go for a drive with a nice young woman, take the truck."
He saw her reasoning and knew she was fishing for information without actually asking.
Everybody Falls Page 6
