by Pike, Leslie
He gets my message. We need to be alone to have that conversation. Pete’s been privy to enough.
“And the things we’ve talked about here, it’s private information. Both of you. Make sure you keep it to yourselves. I want to talk with Scarlett first.”
“You’re gonna tell her I know?” Sam says wide eyed.
“I am. When you care about someone you don’t keep secrets like this. She should know that you know. And that Pete knows too.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t say anything, Parish,” Pete says pretending to lock his lips with an imaginary key. “It’s in the circle of trust.”
“Come on, you two. Enough talking. Let’s go check out the lighthouse.”
Chapter 14
Scarlett
Baggage claim sucks even under the best conditions. This scene is out of a horror story. Hundreds of people are laying on the floor, leaning against walls, lined up and fired up. Ready to lodge their complaints. A hundred and forty cancelled flights have ruined an already flawed system.
“Let’s go out to the curb. He should be here in a few minutes. Where’s your cap, Sam?”
Suddenly aware he’s without the favorite knit cap my sister gave him, a look of panic sweeps his face. Shit. Please God, not today.
“Where is it!? I thought I stuffed it in my pocket,” he says furiously searching.
“Okay, we’ll find it. You had it when we were at the gate. Check the outside pockets of the carryon.
His shoulders relax, and an expression of calm transforms his face.
“That’s where it is. I remember now.”
He unzips the luggage and takes out the beloved hat.
“Put it on. It’s going to be freezing out there.”
We maneuver through the anxious crowds. No, I’ve misidentified the mood. Pissed off is more like it. Everyone but Sam and I have just had their Christmas ruined. I’ve seen more mad faces than happy ones today.
Children are crying with boredom and impatience. Adults are attempting to retain their cool and the one ounce left of the spirit of the day. But for us a cancelled holiday flight is the gift of the season.
As we exit the terminal I notice Sam’s expression.
“You’re happy, right? It’s all over your face,” I say chuckling.
“You are too.” He’s as confidant in the statement as I am.
“I’m sure our family’s disappointed. Everyone was looking forward to our visit.”
“I told you I didn’t want to celebrate any of the holidays. They all know too.”
“They do, Sam. But I had to consider everybody. All they want is to support us.”
We take our spot at arrival pickups, along the curb. The fact it’s fucking freezing isn’t the only negative. It’s a madhouse of cars and taxis moving excruciatingly slow. Every ten seconds or so a horn blasts.
“He’s probably stuck a mile back in this shit show,” I say.
“I’ll text him,” Sam says reaching into his pocket.
“Tell him we’re in front of the statue.”
There isn’t much of a wait until the ping of his response.
“He says he’s close.”
“Oh good.”
“And he says to look for a red Honda SUV.”
“What? Wonder what happened to the Batmobile?”
“He was gonna rent something different for a week. See if he likes how it drives.”
I look at Sam and realize the relationship he has with Parish is separate and independent of mine. I had no idea about the car or his plan. It’s kind of cool that they have their own thing. That they talk about whatever. Man stuff. I think it’s great.
“There he is!” Sam says pointing.
The red SUV pulls to the curb and Parish puts it in Park.
“Ho, ho, ho!” he says getting out and coming around to the back.
He’s dressed like Nanook of the North. Only his face is uncovered.
“Think you got enough on?” I say my eyes taking in the head to toe look.
He doesn’t answer at first, but just leans in for a chaste kiss.
Sam’s already used to our small displays of attention. As soon as the jig was up we let him see. It’s freeing.
“It’s about to snow, and I may have to put chains on. Get in you two. I brought some jackets in case you couldn’t get to yours.”
“Thank you. Our luggage is somewhere lost in space. They’re going to send it to the house.”
“Welcome back, Sam. The last six hours have been boring without you guys.”
“I never wanted to leave in the first place,” Sam says stating the obvious.
“It’s horrible in there. Out here. What a mess,” I say, sliding in the front seat.
There’s already a line of cars waiting to take our spot by the time the three of us have buckled in.
“How do you like the SUV?” Sam says.
“I like it. Thinking seriously about selling the Batmobile.”
“Oh man. I like that car. It’s cool.”
“You mean the bad paint job or the dent in the bumper?”
Sam laughs. I reach my hand across the center divide and entwine Parish’s gloved fingers in mine.
“I’m hungry,” Sam says.
“You just had a taco and a burrito in the airport!”
“That was an hour ago.”
“Sorry. You’re going to have to hold on. We need to get back before the storm hits,” says Parish as we pull away from the curb.
* * *
“Holy shit it’s snowing!” I blurt.
Warm inside our house, the scene outside stuns in its contradictions. It looks like Armageddon. Snow falling on sand is a strange sight. And the wind. I’ve never heard it so loud. In the distance, barely visible, is the dark raging sea.
“It’s beautiful,” Parish says, arms around my waist. “Like you.”
“You mean out of control and cold?” I tease.
“No. Something rare and a little wild.”
Sam returns from the bathroom just in time to see us snuggling. Although he ignores us, Parish releases his hold.
“So, what shall we do tonight?” I say.
“It may be Christmas Eve, but we aren’t interested in celebrating,” says Parish.
This makes Sam come alive.
“Finally someone listened!” He looks at me. “I know you were just trying to make Grandma and Grandpa feel better. Whatever.”
“I’m onboard. I’ll do whatever you two come up with. We can just watch a movie and eat a Lean Cuisine as far as I’m concerned.”
Parish takes a seat on a barstool. “Let’s not go completely goofy.”
“What do you have in mind?” I say.
“This is the perfect chance to be creative. Use our imaginations. Right, Sam?” Parish says.
Sam didn’t expect the ball to be thrown to him.
“I guess. I don’t know!”
“I think we should have an opposite holiday.”
Sam likes the idea before we’ve heard what the hell it is. “Yeah!”
“What’s an opposite holiday?” I say.
“We’ll take Christmas and its traditions and do the opposite. That can be our protest.”
“Like what?” Sam says with over the top enthusiasm.
Parish gets up and starts pacing while he thinks.
“Let’s see. Umm, well, there’s usually Christmas carols. Instead we could sing rap songs. Or play jazz.”
I watch as Sam becomes engaged in a way I haven’t seen before. This is taking him out of his own head.
“Now you come up with something,” Parish says to him.
“Okay. Umm, umm, I know! Instead wearing matching pajamas, we could wear each other’s!”
Parish and I let that soak in for a moment then get on board.
“Good one! You’ve got the opposite holiday spirit now!” Parish says.
“We can draw names for who wears what,” I add.
“Now you, Aun
t Scarlett. Think of something.”
Let’s see. It comes to me quickly.
“Instead of giving presents we could take away something,” I say.
It results in two confused expressions.
“Hear me out. We could each pick something we like that belongs to the other two. And we can steal it. That would be the opposite of having the Christmas spirit!”
I see Sam’s excitement.
“And it can’t be something big like a car, Sam.”
“Shit,” he says.
I’ll let that one slide because he’s so damn happy. I’m not going to sacrifice his few carefree moments just to make a point. Shit, I’ve come further than that.
“I’ve got a good one,” says Parish. “This would be a perfect night to go camping. You know, like it’s the middle of summer. In the living room of course. We can push the furniture to the walls and pitch our tent.”
Sam’s almost apoplectic at that one.
“Let’s have hotdogs and s’mores!”
“Wait! How’re we going to do that?” I say.
“This one needs a lesson in imagination,” Parish says pointing to me. His conspirator Sam nods his agreement.
Note to self…show Parish how wrong he is at a later date.
“What are we gonna have to eat besides the hotdogs? And can Parish make it?” Sam says with a sheepish grin.
Our laughter rises and takes up all the space in the room, pushing away any lingering sad thoughts. I know it’s a temporary fix but I’ll take it.
“How you two doing in there?”
Parish’s voice carries from the pantry to the living room, where Sam and I are pitching our makeshift tent.
“Don’t look!” I holler.
“Don’t come in yet!” Sam adds.
“I’m not! Jesus, you’ve been at it for an hour. Dinner’s almost ready. What’re you building, the Taj Mahal?”
“We’re using our imaginations.”
I hear his chuckle. My comments hit their mark.
“Okay, let’s get this over the top,” I say picking up the plum and orange beach throw we found in the linen closet. It’s huge.
He takes the opposite edges and we hoist it over the ladder placed in the back of the space.
“Now we need to drape the two wing chairs. Oh, and no farting in the tent, Sam. Please.”
He just laughs his rejection of my request. Why do boys find farting their favorite pastime?
When we finish it looks better than anticipated. It surprises us both. The back is elevated, and it sweeps down at the entry.
“Now put the tall lamps at each corner in front,” I say. “And if the cords reach let’s turn them on.”
We’ve created a kind of Moroccan tent for the likes of Ali Baba and his haram. The area rugs we used inside sets the theme. Six battery-operated candles and my phone playing my new playlist sets the mood. I looked for theme music and found Shahrazad. Inspiring.
There’s plenty of space for the three of us. The sleeping bags we retrieved from the garage are zipped open and ready for us to occupy. Because it seemed right, I placed mine and Parish’s close together.
“It looks so cool,” Sam says crawling his way inside.
“Let me see,” I say following him on my hands and knees.
It’s awesome. I’ve got to remember this when Parish and I are alone.
“Should we call the cook, to check it out?”
“Parish!” Sam yells loud enough to make me deaf.
We wait for his reaction like two kids who just stacked their first building blocks. His footsteps approach.
“Whoa!”
Peeking out the entry, Sam and I watch the reaction.
“Isn’t it awesome?” I say.
“Awesomely awesome. Let me in.”
He gets on all fours and joins us in our tent world.
“I love this. Very cozy,” he says stretching out on a sleeping bag.
“Peel me a grape, woman.”
I exaggerate my laughter and wipe an imaginary tear from my eyes.
“Stop! You’re hysterical,” I say.
“Isn’t she part of our harem?” he asks Sam.
Completely ignoring our little show, Sam crawls out past us.
“I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
He takes off for the kitchen, leaving Parish and I alone in Alibaba’s lair. He rolls over on top of me.
“Stop! He’s going to see us.”
“Shut up and kiss me quick. We’ve got thirty seconds.”
My hands lift to his face. “You always have the best ideas.”
I give him the most heartfelt, luscious, tempting mother of a kiss. It’s delivered softly and with a hint of tongue. The kind of kiss that can make a man hard.
When we part, he looks in my eyes and slowly shakes his head, side to side.
“What’s that for?” I say softly, kissing his chin, cheek and nose.
“When you smiled at me that first day, I wondered if I’d ever think of anything else.”
My mouth automatically curves up.
“I guess nothing will be the same anymore,” he says softly.
I’m not sure how to respond to the most wonderful thing a man’s ever said to me. So I say what’s in my heart.
“It’s out of our hands now.”
“Promise me you’re mine,” he whispers in my ear.
Chills travel straight to the soul of me. My fingers entwine in his hair.
“I’m yours.”
Then Sam’s voice breaks the magic. “Let’s eat, people! I’m starving!”
I’m going to kill that kid.
“Whose idea was this, anyway? I look ridiculous!” I say walking back into the living room.
Sam’s pajamas are comical on me. The top is much too small across my boobs. I had to put on a sleeveless T-shirt underneath. The sleeves come halfway between my wrists and my elbows. The bottoms are too loose in the waist and too tight in the ass. The crotch too short and it’s giving me camel toe.
Sam and Parish are laughing hysterically.
“Okay, don’t forget your getup. You definitely win the prize, Parish.”
Both Sam and I were waiting to see him in my nightwear, and it exceeded our expectations. I made sure to pick the most ridiculous outfit I could. The pink transparent long gown with fabric flowers at the shoulder straps. It was a gift from my own aunt who was an old woman when she gave it to me. But she knew what a young girl would like. I wore it so much two of the flowers went missing and the bright color faded to a blush. It’s been in my lingerie drawer for years.
I’ve kept it because when I was fourteen I thought it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. It was womanly when I wasn’t quite a woman yet. Now Parish wears it and I love it for a new reason. He’s man enough to laugh at himself.
“Your turn, Sam,” I say. “Parish, what do you wear to bed?”
I ask the question as if I don’t know the answer. Parish smiles and Sam rolls his eyes. Don’t think anyone is fooled.
“Well, Scarlett I don’t wear anything to bed. Sam are you ready to go commando?”
A look of horror passes across Sam’s face, but it morphs into an expression that tells me he’s in on the joke.
“Ah, that’s a big no! I’m gonna wear the outfit you always had on when you slept on the beach.”
Shit.
He heads for his room. There’s a shameful look behind Parish’s eyes and I want to kiss it away.
“Well, he’s right. Can’t blame him for remembering,” he says.
“Don’t be upset. He doesn’t realize what he said was hurtful.”
“I’m not mad. Just so he doesn’t come back carrying an empty bottle.”
He waves off any further conversation about his past, and I adjust the seam cutting off the blood supply to my pussy.
I see the fresh look in Parish’s eyes. He’s not hating my get up.
“What? You like this look?” I say, happy to move on to other topics.
“I especially like the bottom half.”
I peek down the hallway making sure Sam isn’t about to pop back in. Then my hand moves to the offending seam. I take the waistband and tug at it gently. Just enough to spotlight my lips. I rub my middle finger over the fabric and feel for my clit. There she is.
Parish’s eyes dart to the motherlode then back up. I saw his jaw tighten and the intake of air. Damn, man. I’d like to lay you down and ride you right now.
“Get over here,” he whisper yells.
I take the four steps that seem more like four hundred. Looking over my shoulder, he keeps eyes on the hallway. But his hand. Oh God. It slides into the waistband of my bottoms and traces its way from belly to lips. It finds the offending seam and pulls it away. His finger ever so softly vibrates against my clit. His breathing becomes heavier like an animal that’s about to devour the kill.
It’s so hard to hold back the moan that begs release.
Footsteps bring us back to reality. Sam’s coming. Parish pulls his hand away and I adjust my bottoms. We put a coffee table between us just in time.
“Ta da!” Sam says, entertaining the room with a leap.
Luckily, he has on a hoodie and running pants. He’s barefoot and without a whiskey bottle. But the corker is he’s drizzled some of my body lotion on his cheek, like the seagull has made a deposit.
All three of us break into fits of laughter.
“Nice. Very non-holiday of you,” Parish says his breath still slightly elevated, and not from laughing.
As he rises and walks past me toward the kitchen, I get a wink and a slap on my ass. Sam’s taking it all in.
“Hey!” I say. “What did I do to deserve that?”
As he disappears around the wall he calls back. “It was just a love pat.”
His words land in the center of my heart. And even though Sam has moved on to see what Parish has cooking in the kitchen, I’m stuck here. Staying steady in the glow of the moment. I heard the word love and nothing else.
Chapter 15
Parish
“I’m getting too old for a sleeping in a bag,” I say getting up from the floor.
I run my fingers through a head of out-of-control hair and find a butterscotch wrapper hidden inside. Holding it up for Scarlett to see before it’s stuffed in a pocket.
