Gazing at my phone, I know I’d be all over that man if I was still a single woman with no kids. But I am, so I can’t be. I suppose I could talk to him and let him know what my problem is.
I have a feeling he wouldn’t care. It’s not that I think kids would scare a man off. I’ve seen plenty of men take on women with their own kids. It’s not unheard of.
It’s just that I think a man would complicate our lives at this point. We’re still kind of a mess. There are still nightmares all three of us have on occasion. There are still odd times when one of us bursts into tears for reasons others would never understand.
I try very hard never to fall apart in front of the kids. I do fall apart, though. Mostly after they’ve fallen asleep and I’m in the shower to drown out my cries. I do have my weak moments. What man would understand that? What man would want to be a part of this mess?
Not the ultra-wealthy, Jude Hurst. I know it. He might not, but I do. If I let him, he’ll take what he wants from me and that’s it. And that man could completely steal my heart. I know he could.
My heart has pounded with only a few words from him. What would happen if I got an actual taste of him? If I felt his hands all over my body, what would happen then?
The light from my cell phone screen shines. I have the phone on vibrate so any incoming calls won’t wake the kids. And I see it’s him calling. I guess he decided not to leave it up to me.
But I won’t answer. I can’t answer. I shouldn’t answer.
The light fades as he’s hung up. And now I find my heart really pounding. What if he needed something? What if he’s in trouble?
I shake my head with the stupid thoughts. I’m nothing to him. He’d never call me in the event of an actual emergency. I’m being stupid and making shit up to make an excuse for why I need to call him back and make sure he’s alright.
The screen lights up again and it seems he’s sent me a text. I pick the phone up and see he’s sent, -Pick the phone up when I call you back in five minutes, please.-
Okay, so now I know he’s fine and I can stop lying to myself that he needs anything other than a booty call. So I text back, -I’m asleep. Don’t call.-
Not even a second passes by then he’s texted back, -Bullshit! Answer your damn phone when I call you in four minutes.-
Well, now he’s cussing at me!
I can’t accept being treated that way, anyway. Thank goodness he’s making this easy for me. So I text back, -No.-
There’s nothing coming back. I thought there would be something coming right back. A vague threat of him showing up at my door. Or the promise of a special night with him. Something to tell me he is not giving up. But nothing is coming back.
Maybe he has given up. Maybe he understands now that I am a woman who means what she says. No matter how ludicrous it might be that I do not want to go have drinks with a man who is gorgeous and loaded as well as completely charming in his own right.
No, I’m a woman who has her reasons for her actions. All the things I do are calculated for the risks involved. And Jude Hurst is a risk. A huge risk. A risk that is so not worth taking.
What am I saying? He is completely worth the risks involved but I don’t have the freedom to take that risk. Not any freedom at all. I’m held accountable for two little lives after all.
Why did he have to look at me the way he did? Why did he have to touch my cheek with the back of his soft hand? Why did he have to look into my eyes with those mischievous eyes of his?
I swear the man has little secrets that must be wonderful because his eyes dance when he looks at you. When he looked at me, anyway. When he took that picture earlier today and posted it to his profile he had that look.
I wonder why he did that.
Quickly, I open up Facebook and stalk his page again. And I find another interesting thing there. Before, when I checked his relationship status, it said single. Now it says, it’s complicated and guess whose name is under that status?
Mine!
I cannot believe he’s added me to his social media profile. So I do a friend request.
It’s not because I want anything to do with him. It’s simply because he’s seen fit to put my name up there with his and we’ve yet to even have a simple discussion. He’s so presumptuous!
An instant later he has accepted my friend request and has sent me a direct message full of kissy-faces.
Then my phone starts vibrating as he’s calling me.
Well, now what do I do?
JUDE
After three rings I’m feeling a bit tempted to hang up and send her a barrage of direct messages. But then something happens.
“Hello,” she says in a whisper.
“Hey,” I say as I’m kind of caught off guard. “Why are you whispering? Is someone there with you? Because that guy, Dave, said you didn’t have any man in your life.”
“Um, no. No one’s here. I just don’t want to talk loud and bother the neighbors who may be sleeping is why I’m whispering.” I hear a shuffling sound then she says in a normal tone of voice, “So why did you think it would be okay to put my name on your Facebook profile, Mr. Hurst?”
“Why were you stalking me, Miss Noland?” I wait to see how she’ll take that because I think she might take it kind of badly.
“I make it my business to know as much as I can about men who want to go out with me. So I use the resources society affords me to do that,” comes her viable answer.
“Oh,” I say as I was preparing myself to get bitched out. “That’s smart of you, Mercy. Very smart. You seem like a smart woman.”
“I am,” she says with not one word after that.
She just states a fact and stops, so I ask, “Are you always so professional?”
“Of course not,” she says, sounding very professional. “I know how to act appropriately in many kinds of ways. Our relationship is a business one so I will remain on a professional level with you, Mr. Hurst.”
“I am never going to your spa as a client again, Mercy. So you can lose that tone with me.”
“Look, I know you’re probably a very nice man. I’m just not available right now. It’s nothing about you. I’m not trying to play hard to get in order to entice you. I’m merely unavailable. Can you understand that, Jude?”
She called me by my name! Now this is progress!
“Why don’t you tell me why you are unavailable, and I will tell you if I can understand that or not. And thank you for finally saying my name. It sounds sweet coming out of your mouth,” I say and lay back on my pillows.
Talking to her as I lay in bed reminds me of my high school days. Talking to a girl on the phone before I was old enough to simply bring them home with me or stay at their place or take them to a hotel room. It takes me back to simpler times.
“I just am. I don’t like to talk about myself. You can understand that, can’t you?” she asks with a sweet lilt to her slight southern accent.
“Did you grow up here in Dallas?” I ask her as I just have to put a place to that accent she has.
“No, I grew up in a tiny town called Utopia. It’s in the southern part of central Texas. Have you ever heard of it?” she asks.
I settle into the pillows and reach over to pick up the beer I’ve been nursing as I’ve been waiting for her to call me. To be honest I had to give up and call her. Not a thing I usually do once I’ve put out a text to call me.
I have a lot of pride after all!
“I have heard of it. So when did you move to Dallas?” I ask and take a sip of the beer, finding it warm now and get up to go get me a cold one from the mini-fridge in my bedroom.
“My parents and I moved here a little over four years ago. My older sister had gotten married and moved here with her husband. They met in college. They both went to The University of Texas. She was a cheerleader and he was a football player and they fell in love very quickly. Anyway, they got married after they graduated and when she became pregnant, we all felt like we wanted to be clo
ser to them. To enjoy the baby, you know.”
“I do,” I say. “Who doesn’t want to enjoy the new baby in the family? So that brought you here to our fair city then. And how long do you plan to live here?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose for at least the next sixteen years. I do like my job. It pays well and I should stay in one place,” she says.
“Why do you need to stay in one place for sixteen years?” I ask as that sounds odd to me.
“Um, oh.” She’s quiet for a moment and I find myself freezing in front of the little fridge in a panic.
Shit! I’ve hit a soft spot with her. “Not that it’s any of my business. So let’s go on to another subject. When I accepted your friend request I went to your page and noticed you haven’t used it in a long time. Why not take a selfie and put it up there so I can see your gorgeous face?”
“I’ll think about it. I’m too busy to get on it. I think it was a little over two years ago when I was on it last. I use the site for the spa now. I post a lot on that site,” she says.
“Nothing personal, though,” I say as I pull out a beer and pop the top open and go back to my bed.
“No,” she says. “Personal things aren’t meant to go on that site.”
“So who does know you, personally?” I ask then take a drink of the cold beer.
“Not many. I’m just so busy with work and…” she just stops talking.
“And?” I ask.
“Work, that’s all. I’m very busy with that,” she says. “What do you do?”
“When?” I ask then feel stupid. “I mean I don’t have to work. I do things like travel, hunt on occasion, and stuff like that.”
“How rewarding,” comes her sarcastic reply.
I’d love to get offended but she’s not wrong. “I know. I’ve been kind of consumed with trivial things. Like drinking, carousing for wild women, and wasting money. I need a positive influence in my life, Mercy. Do you know anyone who might be of help to me?”
She laughs and I love the sound. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh. It’s sweet, sexy, and fucking honest. Not premeditated to enchant me. Not rehearsed to sound exactly on pitch like I’ve heard so many times from the pretentious women I now know.
“Are you talking about me being a positive influence on you, Jude? I assure you I have very little influence over anyone,” she says then I hear her sigh and wonder why that is.
“Mercy, do you ever eat breakfast on Saturday mornings?” I ask her. “Because I know you don’t do drinks after work on Friday nights. So I was thinking a little coffee, a few pancakes, maybe a donut or two and a little conversation would be a thing you might like to do.”
“Really?” she asks me as if she doesn’t believe me at all.
“Really,” I say then put my beer down. “I don’t want to merely get in your pants the way I know you’re thinking I want. I want to get to know you.”
“That’s like the one thing I can’t allow, Jude. I really am sorry. It’s just so complicated,” she says.
“See, the thing about that, is it’s alright with me. Didn’t you see our relationship status, Mercy? It says those actual words. So I’m cool with complicated. And I’m only talking about an hour or two for breakfast in the morning. I’m kind of aching to see you again.”
“Aching?” she asks.
“Um, hm.”
“I tell you what. Can you let me call you around nine or ten to let you know if I can make it?”
The only answer I have for her is a quick, “Yes.”
Wow, we may have a date!
MERCY
Nervously, I pace back and forth as I tell the babysitter, Mrs. Jensen’s daughter, Becky, where the cheese and crackers are that stop Mia from crying and where the first aid kit is, then she assures me she brought her own.
“Wow, you are prepared,” I say as she nods her head.
“I am. And I have your number. I promise to call you if anything at all happens to either of them. I’ve been in the classes for six months to learn all kinds of ways to take care of and interact with children. You can trust me, Mercy,” she says with a sweet smile.
“I know I can, Becky. Thank you. I’ll only be an hour,” I say then turn to leave but turn back. “Or two. Will that be a problem, if I’m two hours instead of one?”
“Heck, stay all day. All night even. I can handle these two. Have fun. Mom told me you haven’t gone out at all in two years. Since it all happened. So who is this lucky fella who has you finally going out?”
I hesitate to say his name then think maybe someone should know who I’ll be out with. One never knows who might be a killer or a kidnapper after all. That’s what Mom used to say. “His name is Jude Hurst. We’re going to meet at the Denny’s down the street. I don’t want him to know where I live. Not yet, anyway.”
“I completely understand. And are we talking about a member of the Hurst family that owns that huge oil company?” she asks as her hand goes to her slim hip. Becky is a young twenty and looks all of sixteen with her high ponytail and classic sweet kid looks.
“Yes, he’s part of that family,” I say as her mouth drops open.
“Okay, girl!” she says then holds her hand up for a high-five.
I laugh as I give her the high five she’s requested and feel kind of giddy. “Okay, I am out of here. I will call you if it goes past two hours.”
With a wave, I leave. We purposely put the kids in the backyard to play with a puppy she brought to distract them from my departure which I found pure genius on her part.
My hands are shaking as I hold the key fob in my right hand and press the button to unlock the Mazda that was my sister’s. I inherited that too. I have three cars now. Hope’s little, red Mazda, her husband, Jasper’s, four-wheel-drive truck that I have never driven, and Mom’s Suburban. That’s what I use when I have the kids with me.
I realize that’s been most of the time. As I sit in the soft leather seat of my sister’s car, I sink back into it and turn the radio up. It’s been a month since I’ve been anywhere in this car. And that was a quick trip to the grocery store while the kids were still at daycare and I got off early from work to do the grocery shopping.
I don’t like to take the kids to the store with me because people ask too many questions.
Questions like, ‘Are those your kids?’ and ‘Do you kids love your momma?’
People actually say that shit!
I can’t lie to them right in front of the kids. So I have to tell them I’m their aunt and then come more personal questions like, ‘Why do you have them?’ and ‘Where is their momma?’
It comes to me that the reason I keep to myself so much is that talking about what happened isn’t easy for me so I’d rather be alone. My therapist says that’s unhealthy. And she might be right.
I shake it off and put the car in reverse and leave the garage. My sister and her husband had a very nice home in a very nice section of a suburb of Dallas. The house has three bedrooms and baths with a four car garage. The garage is nearly as big as the brick house is.
The other vehicles I inherited were also Jaspers and also things I haven’t driven and never will. A couple of Harleys are parked in the other parking space of the garage. I should sell them and put the money in the kids’ accounts. That feels like a thing I should wait on, though.
Carter might want them when he gets older after all. So I make sure to start every vehicle once a week, on Sundays, and let them run for thirty minutes to keep their mechanical parts moving.
I find myself singing along to the song on the radio as I make the left turn to get to the Denny’s where he said he’ll be at, at nine this morning. I haven’t talked to him since eight. He sounded a little tired and I felt like I should’ve told him to forget about it but when I started to say something, he stopped me and told me to meet him, that he’d be there, waiting for me.
And as I pull into the parking lot, I see his chocolate Jag and feel a smile move over my entire face. “H
e’s here!”
I forgot to tell him what I was driving and I just realized he wasn’t the one to tell me he has that car. He’ll know I did more asking about him if I walk up to it. So I text him that I’m here in a red Mazda and see him get out of his car and wave at me.
I can’t feel my feet as I get out of the car as I’m nervous as hell. I purposely came here in the same fashion I always spend my weekends in. Hair in a ponytail, make-up free and shorts with a little top and flip flops. I have to dress nice every day of the week so I take my weekends seriously and dress down on them.
So let’s see if he likes the real me!
My voice cracks as I say, “Hi, Jude.” Thankfully, we both laugh.
He’s in shorts too and a light green button down he has the sleeves rolled up on about a quarter. He’s wearing flip flops too as I told him I was coming very casual. It makes me secretly happy he dressed down for me.
His expensive sunglasses have some name on them I can’t even pronounce and he pulls them off as he gets to me, extending both hands. I take them and give him a smile.
“Is it possible?” he asks as his thumbs run over my knuckles as he holds both of my hands.
“Is what possible?” I ask as I have to focus so my legs don’t give out with how his touch excites me and makes me want to lie down on the pavement of Denny’s parking lot and let him have his way with me right here on a Saturday morning.
He pulls me closer and kisses my left cheek then says, “That you look even better without any makeup.”
I laugh with an elation I’ve never felt before. Then tone it down. “Jude! You’re silly.”
He lets my hands go but puts one arm around my shoulders. “No, I’m serious. Anyway, you seem nervous and I don’t want that. I’m ordering you some happy face pancakes this morning. I want to see that beautiful smile for our whole date.”
“That’s the other pancake place. But you can ask. For you, they’ll probably do it,” I say as we walk in the glass door and the three old men at the counter look at us.
Mallory Page 105
