by Leslie Pike
In the mirror I see the figure standing in my doorway, I smile my reaction. “I needed that. I don’t like anything I tried on today.”
She eyes the pile of clothes lying on my bed and smiles.
“Oh, you look pretty too! Let me see.”
I walk to her and lift her hands. The dark-blue shorts look adorable with the aqua sleeveless top. “This looks great, Mallory. You have a gift for putting things together.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I know I’ve said it before, but you’ve got great legs, honey.”
She shakes her head as if I insulted her. It’s so hard for her to accept a compliment. There’s hardly one she believes.
I take her face in my hands. “I want you to try to have fun today.”
She looks me in the eyes and my heart sinks a little when I recognize the pain she carries.
“Yeah. I’ll try,” she says softly.
“Good. That’s all I’m asking.”
The doorbell sounds. My stomach turns.
“Are you nervous?” she asks reading my face.
“No! Well, just a little. I know, it’s stupid. He’s just a man.”
I try to brush off the thought of him, but she’s not buying my indifference.
“Not really, Mom. He’s Atticus Swift. And I can tell you think he’s hot.”
“What? I think he’s handsome. But that’s all. What do you know about hot?”
“I’m thirteen, not three.”
We exchange smiles and the unspoken message that I need to acknowledge she’s becoming a woman. It’s hard letting go of the girl though.
It’s a quick trip to the front door in our small two-bedroom apartment. I give a glance around making sure the place looks neat, pulse quickening as I reach for the knob and swing open the door.
Oh Lord.
Here in front of me, with that movie-star smile, stands a god. He’s wearing navy shorts and a soft looking short sleeved white top that spotlights his guns. It practically floats over his pecs. Jesus McMuffin. He carries a four-pack container with a drink for each of us.
“Morning, Charlotte,” he says with that sexy voice.
“Morning.”
We stand staring at each other for a drawn out moment until he says, “Can I come in?”
“Oh, yes! Sorry. Don’t know where my head is. Come in, Atticus.”
He walks in and looks around. “Very nice. Looks like you.”
“It’s not much,” I say, suddenly aware I sound like my daughter. Or maybe she sounds like me.
“I brought us a coffee and Mallory a mocha smoothie.”
“Thanks. That’s just what I need,” I say taking the hot Grande.
“Hi, Mallory!”
I turn to see her walking from the bedroom. She’s smiling as he hands her the drink. It’s obvious she likes the man. He doesn’t know how rare it is to get that kind of reaction.
“Hi, Mr. Swift. Thank you.”
“What? That’s my father’s name. Call me Atticus.”
“Okay.”
“Are the girls ready to have a good time?”
That’s a loaded question if ever I heard one. But yeah. I know I’m ready.
“Absolutely. We’re looking forward to it,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
Mallory stays silent.
“Well, let’s go then.”
Of course I’m sorry Atticus broke his clavicle. What kind of a woman would I be to think otherwise? Except it’s such an enjoyable day I can’t deny his injury has worked in my favor. While the kids are occupied with a once-in-a-lifetime baseball game with their favorite players, he and I sit together in the sun. We’re on the low comfy chairs he was sweet enough to think to bring.
The picnic basket he pulled from his trunk was a surprise. Even though there’re barbecues lining the open field and tables of food provided, Atticus said he wanted something better. He raided his mother’s refrigerator for what’s proved to be the best finger food I’ve ever eaten.
The rolling, grassy hill leading down to the field and the groves of Pecan trees that surround three sides provides a beautiful backdrop. He chose a spot for us that isn’t easily seen by the crowd. Not the kids running around the open field or the adults watching. We can see it all, but they can’t see us.
“Looks like Mallory’s having fun,” he says offering me another bite of his grandmother’s fudge.
I can tell he’s enjoying me savoring his family’s cooking. A small sound escapes my lips as the fudge melts on my tongue. The look I get from him and the tensing of his jaw makes me want to rip his clothes off and lay on top of him. Stop it!
Returning my attention to the game, I watch as she guards second base. The Maverick second baseman stands to her right, and they’re having a conversation while the batter walks to the plate. I turn to Atticus.
“You have no idea how much today means to us both. That girl there…” I say pointing to a laughing Mallory, “…I haven’t seen for a long while.”
His eyes on Mallory. “Because of the burn?”
“That and more.”
“Where’s Mr. …” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t know your last name.”
God with that smile I’d spill state secrets. “Bay. Charlotte Bay. And he wasn’t my husband. Mallory’s father is deceased.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.”
“It must have been hard on both of you.”
“Mallory never knew him.”
He looks surprised at the comment. “Why’s that?”
I take a beat before I decide to continue. What the hell do I care if he knows the real me? There’s no reason to hide my past, I’m not ashamed. And he’s going to forget it all in a day or two anyway.
“I was seventeen when I met Will. Let’s just say I let my heart make the decision I should have used my head for. Or maybe it was something south of that.”
“That’s pretty common at seventeen,” he says.
“True. But my choice had unintended consequences. I became pregnant in my senior year. The day he found out I was pregnant and keeping the baby he said he wanted nothing to do with us and took off with his friends. That was the last I saw him.”
“What a prick,” he says with disgust.
“He was just too young. He was a child himself.”
“That’s kind of you. Really kind. But how did he die?”
“He and his friend got drunk that night and hit another car.”
He lets that sink in for a moment. It kind of feels freeing to tell my story. I haven’t in a long time.
“Does Mallory know the circumstances?”
“Not everything. She knows that we weren’t married. I’ve showed her a picture in the yearbook because in this age of computers I knew she’d go digging. But I left out the part that he ever knew or had a bad reaction.”
His nod tells me he agrees with my decision.
“I told her he died in an accident before I had a chance to tell him I was pregnant. That way she’s been able to keep a positive picture of him in her mind. I don’t want her to ever know the details.”
“What about family? His? Yours? Didn’t they want to be involved?”
“You’re thinking too logically.” I laugh a little at my words. “Family involvement has never been an issue for me. Ever. My parents weren’t in the picture. I lived with my grandmother, and she passed away when Mallory was three. Will came from such a dysfunctional family, and of course they never knew about the baby. I didn’t want my girl to find them or be around them, so I said he lived with an uncle. That’s part of the reason we moved from Pittsburgh to Memphis.”
“Damn. What you’ve been up against is more than most of us ever experience.”
“Be happy for that. Anyway, that’s why I’ve worked so hard to create a stable home for Mallory. I’m devoted to it.”
“What about the burn? How did that happen?”
I take a deep breath.
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“She was at her best friend’s home for Fourth of July three years ago. The girl’s brother had some illegal fireworks. He threw one in the bedroom the girls were hiding in to scare them. It was a horrible.”
The memory wounds me still and it all comes back as I tell it. I cover my face with my hands, suddenly overwhelmed by my own story. Tears wet my eyes. Oh shit. I haven’t cried about any of it for years. What a stupid time to pick now.
“Oh, Charlotte! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I wave away his concerns and keep myself hidden. Then I feel a strong arm around my shoulders. He’s come to my side, kneeling on the blanket. He pulls me to him and whispers in my ear. “Just let it out. Let go. I’ve got you.”
That’s all I needed to shove me off the cliff I’ve stood guard on alone all these years, and onto the unstable sands of sorrow. I never allowed myself the indulgence of spending much time pitying my circumstances. But it can’t be stopped right now. I cry.
“I’m sorry…oh God,” I squeak out.
A gentle kiss lands on the top of my head and it shocks me. A tiny hiccup brings my tears to a whimpering halt.
He lifts my chin and looks me in the eyes. “There. Feel better now?”
I just nod my agreement.
“Sometimes we need to wail at the universe. You almost had me crying too.”
I chuckle a little. “Am I scaring you? I said way more than I ever have to a person who’s practically a stranger.”
“Not at all. And we’re not strangers. I want to get to know you, Charlotte. All of you.”
Sweet Jesus.
“I’d love to know you too, Atticus. As a friend. Can you do that?”
His expression tells me he didn’t expect to still be in the category.
“Why just a friend? Who knows what we’re going to discover? Maybe you’ll want me as your lover.”
He smiles a naughty grin and tips his chin down. Chocolate brown eyes gaze up. It’s almost overwhelming. I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
“What? No! I’m not looking for a lover. I have no idea how long I’ll be staying in Memphis and you don’t need a lover with baggage like mine.”
His expression softens. “I’m just messin’ with you.”
“But I’d be happy to make a new friend.” I say it firmly, but inside I know better. My real self is laughing hysterically at my response. Liar, she says.
“Whatever you say, Charlotte.”
After spilling my guts I got Atticus to talk. But there were no dark chapters in his life, not in his childhood or adult years. All except for Brick’s wife’s death. That was a heartbreaking story. Maybe that’s why he’s so focused on his job. Even when I cut his hair he’s on the phone. And when he’s not I’ve sensed he likes the quiet best, because he closes his eyes.
The brothers talk about each other with great affection. When I told Atticus, he looked happy. The sister, Bristol, is the only female sibling. He says when she heard I didn’t care for baseball she was glad. Hmm. That means he was talking about me to his family. Why does that make me happy? It’s the opposite of what I profess to want.
The Swift family sound like the ideal we all yearn for. At least those who don’t have anything resembling it. They sound playful, and the way Atticus described his parents, loving. It’s not very often you meet someone our age who loves hanging out with their family. It’s awesome the grandparents live on the land where his parents do, in a separate small house on an adjacent acre.
We talked about our dating history and habits, just like friends would. And there was a comfortable telling as if neither of us were lusting after the other. He called himself a dating whore, which to me means he’s a whore. So I said it. He laughed then denied it. Said the rag magazines exaggerate the facts every time he speaks to a girl.
We’re such opposites in many ways. I don’t date. He didn’t believe me at first, said it was impossible for a woman who looks like me not to have men vying for my attention. I told him I didn’t deny that. I denied dating. I’ve purposely chosen to devote my life to Charlotte, which threw him, I could tell. It’s hard for people to understand my choice when they’re young like me. The older folk always seem to understand. I think that’s because they have a wider vision of what real love entails. Sometimes it’s sacrifice.
All the stories are swimming in my mind as I wash my hands and check my reflection in the field bathroom mirror. I pick out the blade of grass sticking from my hair. Too bad it isn’t there because we were rolling in a passionate embrace on the hill. Stop it!
As I exit the door I see Atticus talking with Mallory and another young girl. She’s tall and lanky with dark curly hair. All three are laughing.
“What did I miss?” I say, walking up to the group.
“Oh Mom, it was so funny. This little kid just asked Atticus for his autograph then realized he wasn’t the player he wanted,” she laughs.
“And then…and then he made the worst face,” the other girl says mimicking a disappointed expression.
Atticus is getting a kick out of the girls’ laughter. “That kid’s gonna give me a complex! And you two think it’s funny?” he teases.
“Hi! I’m Mallory’s mom,” I say extending my hand to the girl.
She takes it and shakes without hesitation. “Hi! I’m Paige. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Bay.”
“Call me Charlotte.”
Atticus takes my arm. “This is Brick’s niece. She’s the prankster of the family. But we kinda like her.”
“Oh. Well I’ll be sure to watch my back.”
“Mom, can Paige and I go over to the games? Please!”
It shocks and thrills me that Mallory has made a friend. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Do you need some money?”
Atticus waves his finger. “No. Everything is free. They don’t need any cash for the games or food. But Paige, make sure you behave yourself. Don’t lead this one down your path. I mean it.”
She gives him a sweet-as-punch smile and an innocent look. “Me?” she says.
“Uh huh. You. Go.”
The girls turn and run off toward the carnival games and rides.
“Are you having fun?” he says.
“I am.”
“Want to have more?” His lifted eyebrow punctuates the question.
What a bad boy. My only answer is a half-smile I can’t hold back.
“Let’s go on a couple of rides. What’s your favorite? Ferries Wheel? Carousel?”
I think about it for a moment, knowing neither of those would be good for keeping us as friends. Those are lover’s rides. “Bumper cars. That’s my favorite.”
I get a stare in return. He’s sizing up my answer and deciding on his own. “Okay. But no promises I’ll be gentle,” he says with a naughty grin.
“Good. Me either.”
I think he liked that one.
There’s a line for the ride and most of the people waiting are kids. But we don’t mind. Seems we never run out of conversation.
“My brother told me you’re his seamstress too. That must be something. Bet he’s a pain in the ass.”
“What? He’s awesome. Knows what he wants and now that he’s been my customer for a few years we don’t need to spell everything out.”
“He loves clothes. He’s so particular, it’s a family joke. No one can buy clothes for him for his birthday or Christmas. He gets a lot of gift cards and cologne.”
As we chuckle about Brick’s habits I’m aware of the tall blonde woman coming up behind Atticus. What a beautiful girl. And sexy. Tight shorts and a cropped top highlight her spectacular figure. She puts a finger to her lips including me in whatever she has planned. Then she reaches around and covers Atticus’s eyes with her hands.
“Guess who?” she purrs.
I’m surprised by his expression. It isn’t a pleasant reaction. He removes her hands and turns a bit to face her.
“Hi, Tanya.”
“Hi, baby,” she says
in a familiar greeting.
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
Instead of returning her come on with one of his own, he takes my arm and introduces me.
“This is Charlotte. Charlotte, Tanya.”
She looks at me with her big baby blues, taking me in from head to toe. I can tell she’s not impressed.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I say, exaggerating how I feel. It’s not nice at all.
I get a nod for my effort to be friendly, then she turns her attention back to Atticus.
“Better watch out. I’m gonna get you.” She says it as if he’s standing here alone and is about to jump him. What the hell? He looks as surprised as I feel.
“Pardon?” he says.
“The bumper cars, silly!” She laughs and pokes a finger in his chest, as if she had no idea she said a double entendre, and Atticus has a dirty mind for thinking otherwise.
Asshole. Now it’s pissing me off. It’s just rude. He takes my hand, sending a message directly to her. She doesn’t miss the intention. I let it happen because who’s she to rain on our parade? Come on, I only have one day to be this carefree. But she doesn’t know that.
His hand feels so big in mine. It dwarfs my small palm. But we fit together beautifully.
She looks behind her. “Oh, there he is!”
A man’s walking toward us, and she waves him over. Atticus looks at me and rolls his eyes. Is that about the woman or man?
“Hi, y’all. Let’s get our bumper on! I’m coming for ya, Swift!” The man obviously knows Atticus, but I don’t sense they’re good friends.
“Charlotte, this is Bob Canner, our third baseman.”
“Hello, doll. And Atticus, I’m sure she knows who I am. I don’t think introductions are really necessary.”
Oh geez, vain enough, you boob?
“Actually, they are. I don’t follow baseball. Hello.” I extend my hand.
Bobby and Tanya find my declaration shocking. They both look like I just said I was an alien. But Atticus thinks it’s funny. He’s laughing at them both.
“Well, darlin’, what do you follow? This player?” He pitches a thumb toward Atticus who loses the laughter and replaces it with a disgusted look.
