Baby

by Sapphire Knight

  I speak to a few of the older ladies that stop by regularly to either check out books or to donate them and also to Carissa down at the corner Stop N Shop. The only other real human contact I have is when Sinner stops by to check in on me. I don’t know why he took it upon himself to do it, but I’d be a bit more lost if he hadn’t. His visits give me something to look forward to—if only there were more of them.

  My mother’s always come and gone as she’s pleased, especially once I got older and could pretty much look after myself. The kicker was, I wasn’t expecting her to decide to not come back home. Ever. She’s been gone for months...part of me wonders if she’s dead in a ditch somewhere having gone off with another bad man. I wouldn’t know the first place to go searching for her either if I did want to attempt to hunt her down.

  I honestly can’t say it would surprise me if she was dead. Would I be sad? Who knows; I barely saw her before. I like to imagine I would be, but I’m also a realist. It sounds horrible, someone not mourning their mother, but she never much deserved that title.

  “All set, Mrs. Muncey?” I enquire kindly and smile up at the seventy-year-old senior who has an addiction to smut books.

  I enjoy when she stops by the library. I could talk about books all day—not to mention her outfits. She shows up wearing the most random things. Sometimes she looks as if she stepped straight out of an old-fashioned movie, all dressed up for tea time. There have been other days where she’ll show up looking like a nineteen-fifties housewife, with a freshly baked pie and all.

  “This’ll do, Jude. Any update on that new release I was asking about? What was that name I told you to check for again?”

  “No ma’am, no news. I put in an order request, but Mrs. Turpin likes most of our books to be donated since the budget’s so small. I wrote it down though. I can look it up if you’d like.”

  She pats my hand. “No need, dear, I know you do your best. Maybe one day I’ll stop over to make a donation so you can do a big order.” She winks.

  “That’d be great; the library would appreciate any kind of support,” I reply with the same thing I say to her each week.

  We have this conversation at least once, sometimes twice a week, and it’s always the same. It reminds me of that movie Groundhog Day. I don’t know if she does actually have some money stuffed away somewhere that she could donate, but I just take it for what it usually is—an empty promise. She’s a nice old lady though, so I really don’t mind repeating myself.

  “You have a good afternoon, my dear, and keep your nose out of trouble.” She squints and wags her finger in my direction making me smile.

  “Yes ma’am, enjoy your book.”

  “Oh, I intend to.” With a smirk, she takes her leave.

  I can’t help but laugh a little. I bet she was a spitfire when she was younger if her book choices have anything to say about her. I’ve read them all, and she has a taste for suspense and lots of sexiness. Not that I can blame her, I love those types of books as well. They give me wild dreams if I read them at night.

  My so called “crazy” afternoon consists of a new yogurt flavor that I have a feeling could be life changing or traumatizing. I’m nervous and excited all at the same time to try it. Unlike me, Carissa’s boss actually lets her order new products to try out at the store. As soon as I walked in yesterday, she was beaming, telling me about a new whipped Boston cream pie flavor they just got in.

  Yes, the town really is that small. It’s a blessing and a curse. I can walk to pretty much everywhere, which is convenient. The downfall is that there’s a whole lot of nothing here. When I say nothing, I mean we don’t even have sidewalks, and the only stoplight is on the main road to slow traffic down a bit. Our town’s so little we don’t have a Dairy Queen, and those places are all over Texas from what I’ve been told.

  We have a diner though that specializes in fifty-cent burnt coffee, soggy grilled cheeses and the best apple pie I’ve ever had. But again, no sidewalk; they have a gravel parking lot. There’s the Stop N Shop that doubles as a grocery store and a gas station. They have a deli in there to get a fresh sandwich, but it’s a waste of money.

  We have our library that’s a single large room with bookshelves lining the perimeter, a desk in the center, and a smaller table to hold our one community computer. The selection is so poor as far as libraries are concerned; I’m surprised it’s still in business. Mrs. Turpin put in a tiny bathroom last year, thankfully. Before that, I’d have to lock up and run to the store every time I needed to use the restroom.

  The town has a hole-in-the-wall bar that’s painted a hideous yellow color on the outside, so you don’t miss it. I’ve only seen the inside once, and I wasn’t impressed. Everyone younger than eighteen is bussed to the next town over for school. There’s a thrift shop, and the neighbors have yard sales from time to time, so that’s how most of us get a different clothing selection.

  I think the only reason any of us is even employed is from the people passing through. We’re in a part of Texas that doesn’t have a major highway, so we get a lot of people traveling to get to the highway from small surrounding towns. Half the time they aren’t even trying to be on this road, and they’re lost. It keeps us locals entertained.

  I don’t know why anyone would want to live here and have a family, but I’ve never known any different. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve lived here in the trailer—a few blocks back—my entire life. It’s been a boring life at that, and I suppose most would be grateful. I’m not; it’s left me with nothing to do but age well beyond my young years.

  If it wasn’t for my birth certificate saying Dallas on it, I’d almost assume my mother had an at-home birth, and it was a miracle I didn’t die. That didn’t happen though. As far as that piece of paper states, I was born in a huge hospital in the city of Dallas. I even have a picture of my mom holding me in the delivery room as further proof.

  When I was little, I’d dream that my nonexistent father was there waiting for me to return. I wish that were the case. I highly doubt my mother has a clue who the lucky man was, to begin with. And it’s not like there have been any men popping up over the years claiming to be my father, so who knows.

  If it wasn’t for the computer and school, there’d be an entire world out there that I didn’t know existed. My old high school teacher said it’s borderline neglect keeping kids cooped up in these insignificant, good-for-nothing towns. I’m taking her advice and working on college courses to get out of here someday. She showed me how to get financial aid, and it’s been a game changer for my future. I work my butt off to get good grades, so they never question whether I’m worth funding.

  The change of scenery couldn’t come soon enough, either. I want to travel the world and discover everything I’ve missed. Someday I’ll leave this place and never return, just like my mother has.

  I haven’t left here yet, but I promise myself I will no matter how long it takes me. I don’t have a car, but I save every extra penny I can. I’m hoping after I finish this degree that I’ll find a job online to help with the costs of everything else. I’ll literally move anywhere and give it a shot—just get me out of here. I figure if it comes down to it, I can get a college loan or something to get a cheap car and finally escape if I have to.

  My stomach rumbles, and I’m drawn back to my lunch. I’m the only one in the library, so may as well pop open this little plastic container of mystery. Peeling the lid back, I take a sniff.

  It doesn’t smell bad, so I grab my spoon and dip into the thick, whipped yogurt. Please be delicious, I silently chant on repeat. I really don’t want to have to chuck it in the trash and be left hungry for the next few hours.

  The coolness mixed with the creamy texture hits my tongue, and bam! The delightful sweet flavor of cream and a hint of chocolate hit me like a warm gust of wind. It’s freaking amazing. Carissa is a genius. I can easily see why she’s in charge of the ordering. Pair this with Muddy Buddy’s peanut butter chocol
ate Chex snacks, and the two are basically life changing. I don’t know how she finds this stuff, but I hope she continues.

  The bell above the door jingles, and my sweet vacation with bliss is cut short by Herald coming to exchange the latest book he’s borrowed. What I wouldn’t give to have that crazy life Mrs. Muncey had mentioned as she left. Herald’s not much entertainment for me around here.

  “Hey, Herald.”

  He’s in his usual khaki slacks, suspenders, and a short-sleeved flannel printed shirt. He tops the look off with a New York Yankees ball cap, and he’s always dressed the same, alternating the colors of his shirts. “Hi, Jude. Good day so far?” he asks, pushing his wire-rimmed specs up higher on his nose.

  “I can’t complain much; the sun’s shining outside.”

  “That it is,” he agrees, hurrying over to his favorite bookcase.

  The strong wooden case is painted a crisp white and consists of five shelves full of mysteries. He’s read them all, probably a few times. He starts at the very top and reads book by book, stopping in every few days to exchange them for others he’s already read.

  I wonder what he’d do if one day he came in, and a new book was in the next book's place? I wish Mrs. Turpin wasn’t such a tightwad. I’d be ordering new stuff to read left and right. This town would finally have a spark in their imagination if we got some new paperbacks around for them to devour.

  “I scrolled through the order and wanted to let you know, they’re all in the right place, Jude.”

  “Oh, thanks, Herald.” Smiling pleasantly, I mark the notebook with his returns and the others he’s checking out. Not that it really matters; he always returns them, nearly to the very hour each trip.

  We had to adjust a few numbers because Herald freaked out awhile back saying they were in the wrong order. It doesn’t matter much to us if a few are off, but we changed them, and it made him happy. Since then, he comes in each week and tells me if they’re in the right order. I already know they are though since we never get anything new.

  “Any plans today?” I question, changing up our usual exchange as I imagine being able to travel to some far-off place. I wonder if he’s ever lived anywhere else or has an exciting story to share.

  “Plans?” He stops his glancing around, his confused gaze locked on me.

  “Yeah, anything fun to do later?”

  “Nope, just getting an apple and then heading back home. I can’t leave Felix home alone for long, you know.”

  “Oh, right. Well enjoy your new book and tell Felix hello.”

  “Thanks, Jude.” He takes his recent selection, leaving me in silence again.

  I don’t want to end up like Herald, mid-forties and acts like he’s sixty. Felix is his cat, and the furry ball of fluff probably wouldn’t notice if he was gone twenty minutes or two hours. Maybe if he missed a meal, ‘cause Lord knows that cat is fat. In a sense, I guess I already am like him.I do the exact same thing, every day, just like all these people I greet coming in here.

  Maybe I should change it up and attempt going to the bar again now that I’m older. I did once when I was fifteen and was kicked out. I doubt they’d care much now that I’m considered an adult, although I don’t want trouble and I’m sure that’s what I’d find there. That or a bunch of old men with drinking problems and that’s not my idea of a good time.

  My cell phone beeps. It’s the one that mom’s soon-to-be- ex-husband, Sinner, left behind for me, signaling a new text message. His is the only number I have in here besides the Stop N Shop and the library. I had very few friends when I was in school, and I stopped talking to them once we graduated, so I don’t have to worry about hearing from any of them. The girls got married right away, and most of the guys are busy helping their families with their farms. Those two options pretty much sum up the after-graduation life around here…so exciting.

  Sinner: I’m stopping through. Do you have food at your place?

  It’s the same message he sends before each of his visits, and every time I do a silent happy squeal inside. The first time he came back, and Mom was gone, I didn’t have any food in the house. I didn’t have any money to buy it since my wonderful mother had stolen it. and he went a little ballistic when I told him exactly that. Since then, he’s made it his mission to make sure I’m fed whenever he’s around.

  Me: I have yogurt and popcorn.

  It’s pretty much the best thing to snack on while doing homework. If I get really hungry, I can always buy a loaf of bread and some peanut butter or something. It’s not the greatest of options, but it does the trick, and I’m able to save money. Any penny helps.

  Sinner: I’m ordering you a pizza right now. You need more food than that. You home?

  Me: No, I’m at work still.

  Sinner: When are you off?

  Me: 4:30

  Sinner: I’m sending it at 4:45 then. You should get it after you’re home and it’ll be paid for. Don’t tip them either, I will.

  Me: Thank you.

  I receive no reply, but that’s normal. I’ve also learned not to argue with him over buying food or try to tell him I’ll pay for it. That gets me absolutely nowhere except having to deal with a pissed-off biker. And angry motorcycle dudes are pretty scary when they want to be.

  And hot! He’s so freaking hot with irises the same shade as graphite, and hair as dark as iron. Not to mention way too old for me, but for some reason, that fact doesn’t even register whenever he’s near. All I can think of when I look at him is that his jawline is so sharp, covered in his dusky five o’clock shadow and how I want to lick it.

  I’ve never licked a man before, but I want to lick him. Pretty much anywhere he’d let me. He won’t though. I’ve tried throwing myself at him like in the books I’ve read, and it gets me nowhere. It’s pretty embarrassing, too because you’d think a bad-boy biker would want to have sexy time as much as they can. I know I’d like to have it at least one time in my life.

  At first, it was subtle hints I’d send his way, but that wasn’t working. So, I went full-on hussy, and in return, he acted like I was a total weirdo. That sort of thing’s not good for a woman’s ego, especially one who’s never had sex before. You’d think that would entice him even more, but he doesn’t know. We’ve never gotten far enough for me to bring it up.

  Yes, I get that it’s a bit strange since he’s technically married to my mom, but we both know she couldn’t care less about him or me. In return, why should he care? At this rate, I’ll die a virgin, and that can’t happen. I refuse to be some shriveled up timeworn woman living in the middle of nowhere and not at least attempt to get the one hot guy who comes through to let me lick him.

  I thought guys liked that sort of thing? Who knows, but apparently my books are wrong. The men my mom has brought home wanted to be all over her all the time, so I thought I was onto something, but I guess not. Lord knows none of it even fazes Sinner.

  Hopefully, it’s not too awkward when Sinner comes for his visit this trip, given my poor flirting skills. Maybe I'm not being patient enough, and persistence is the key? Regardless, I don’t plan to give up on getting what I want any time soon.

  It’s pretty sad how excited I am about the fact he’s sending pizza. However, it’s the only time I ever get to eat it. The Stop N Shop sells the frozen ones, but they’re nowhere near as good as the pizza he has delivered. Then there’s the part where I could never afford it, so it’s a treat.

  Last time he even brought ice cream. He ate it straight from the carton, and each time his lips sucked that spoon, I got goosebumps. I couldn’t stop imagining him doing something similar to me or him letting me eat the ice cream off him. My guess is it would’ve tasted even better that way. I nearly suggested we give it a try but didn’t want to push my luck too far.

  Clearly, I have some pent-up need if only he’d satisfy that like he does my hunger pains. I wonder if he has another woman. That could make sense, but I’d be surprised if she didn’t g
et angry with him for coming to check on me. I’m glad he’s divorcing my mom, but at the same time, I’ll miss him not visiting me once that happens. I remember she’d fly off the handle if the guys she was seeing even mentioned another woman’s name in front of her.

  I’m not like that though. I don’t see the point of jealousy if people are open with each other from the start. I figure you either want to be with someone or you don’t. There’s no middle ground in it, and one thing is for certain, I want Sinner. I’d never had the chance to keep him in my life for the long term so I’ll settle for right now if he gives me a chance.

  All I can do now is watch the clock and wait while the minutes pass by, and they always go by extra slow it seems. How ironic. I actually want to go home now and can’t leave quite yet. With pizza and Sinner on the way though, I’d be a fool not to be excited about one thing if not the other. This trip could be the one where I get lucky and am finally able to run my tongue along that gorgeous jaw of his—amongst other things.

  Maybe eat that slice of pizza off his body this time around...

  Every saint has a past and

  every sinner has a future.

  -Oscar Wilde

  Getting Saint distracted is fairly easy now that his cock’s satisfied along with his need to offer blood up in sacrifice. He was pent up in more ways than one, so hopefully, he’ll remain relaxed for a while. Our relationship may be out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t imagine not having one with him. As for what we do sexually, well, we keep that between us and whoever we’re sharing for the night. There’ve been many times I’ve wanted to show him affection but have held myself back. Maybe one day that’ll change.

  As for now, I have other things on my mind; namely, a young woman named Jude. I’m able to eventually sneak away while he’s busy having a drink with Spider and Exterminator. The two are still NOMADS, so we don’t see them much. They stopped through town when they heard we’d be having a hog roast.