Slow Burn: Iron Horse Series

by Danielle Norman

  For years, I’d replayed my mother’s words in my head and had held them like the gospel, pulling tidbits here and there when I needed a little assurance that I was making the right choices. “Do you know that I heard everything she and Dad said the night she left?”

  “You did? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” London looked hurt.

  “What did they say?” Holland scooted closer, finally paying attention.

  “Mom and Dad had been friends before they got married, and that was what ruined their marriage, they didn’t have the romance. I don’t want Asher and me to end up like Dad and Mom.” My voice was almost a broken whisper. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Asher, he’s the kindest man I know.”

  “Paris Jean Kelly, you are not Mom. God, I wish you could hear yourself.” London looked more pissed than concerned. “None of us knows how good of friends they were before they got married, but I have seen you and Asher, watched you two together all of your lives. And when Asher went away to college, it was as if you were lost without him. When you found out he was coming home, you turned into a totally different person. When something is wrong, Asher is the person you call. He’s the person you trust, and I can’t believe you’re so unwilling to admit that to yourself.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That Asher is your soulmate. You are giving up something that is fated because of what some crazy woman who abandoned her children and husband said. You’re using Mom’s excuse for leaving Dad to keep from admitting that you’re in love with Asher—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Whatever.” London waved her hand, totally dismissing me. “So, what was Mom’s excuse for leaving her three little girls? Can’t say that we were her friends. Are you going to use that same excuse and abandon your children?”

  “Never. I’d never leave my kids.”

  “Then why are you sitting here claiming to be anything like Cora Lee Kelly?”

  Holland stood, glaring. “You are even more stupid than I thought. Damn. I can't be here for this.”

  I flinched as she slammed the door behind her.

  “Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses to cover up for your fears. It's been pathetic watching you two all these years. If you don't recognize the mistake you are making for what it is, then I guess there isn’t much else I can say.” London rose and moved to my bedroom door. “There is breakfast in the kitchen, help yourself. I’m going to get Tera and take her out for some fresh air. I think that I need some as well.”

  I waited until London shut my door before getting up and dragging myself off to my bathroom, because I smelled terrible. It took me almost an hour to get myself ready and out to the kitchen. It was the first time I’d been out there since Friday, when I’d decided to go to the meat locker.

  I smiled when I saw a large package of beef tips wrapped in brown paper from the butcher sitting in the fridge. That someone had taken time to grab food from the outdoor freezer and finish the job that I didn’t, as well as set some out to defrost, settled something in me. This was all going to work out. It had to. Asher was going to realize I was right, and he’d start coming back over, he had to.

  There was no harm in being the first to cross that invisible divide between us, so I grabbed my phone and shot him a quick text.

  * * *

  Me: I’m getting ready to start lunch. I hope you stop by.

  * * *

  I’d never had to initiate a text conversation with Asher before. He was always just here. Breakfast, lunch, and most dinners, I could always count on Asher at our house.

  I smiled when I saw three bubbles appear. It was weird that something that said nothing would make me so happy. Well . . . that was, until the text came through.

  * * *

  Asher: Thanks for the invitation, but I can’t. Busy.

  Me: Oh. Then maybe dinner.

  Asher: Not tonight. I’m meeting Marcus.

  Me: I miss you.

  Asher: I miss you too.

  * * *

  How could four words hurt so much? I miss you too. But they did. I stared at the last text, praying that another would follow, one more where he’d say he changed his mind and would come over.

  I watched for the bubbles, prayed, my heart picking up speed then plummeting with the realization that none would appear.

  By Friday, I was lost. I’d been sending Asher text messages every day, and he always had some excuse for not being able to come by.

  I was hurt. I kept telling myself that the hurt was over losing a friend and nothing else. I was clearing away the dinner dishes when London walked in holding Tera.

  “Hey, do you mind watching her while Braden and I move all this stuff over to our house?”

  “Of course not.” I grabbed the small speaker for the monitor and clipped it to my jeans as she laid Tera in the bassinet. “You sure you don’t want me to do that instead? You could stay here.”

  “No, I’m fine. It’ll do me some good. Besides, it’ll do Braden some good. The man is going crazy. This no sex for six weeks . . . you’d think he’d been sentenced to death, the way he’s acting.”

  I held up my hands in protest. “No. Stop right there. You have a tendency to overshare. I don’t want to know any more.”

  London let out an evil laugh. “You mean you don’t want to hear what I did last night to alleviate . . ."

  “Nooo. Shut up. Ooo, gross. You’re my sister, but worse than that is Braden. I’m sorry, but I look at him like a brother.”

  London winked. “Thank god I don’t see him as a brother. I’m pretty sure the things we’ve been doing are illegal in at least twenty countries, and probably some states.”

  “Go.” I pointed to the door and then returned to the dishes, but as soon as London left, I hightailed it to Tera and lifted her into my arms. We settled into the rocking chair, and I held her while she slept. Someday there would be a man who I would be willing to do anything for just to have a few moments alone with them. Someday, Tera, someday I was going to be someone’s girl.

  The knock at the front door had me heaving myself up with Tera still in my arms and then gently laying her back down in her cradle.

  When I finally made it through the house again and to the front door, my damn hands were sweating, and I was praying it was Asher while also hoping it wasn’t. If it was Asher and he felt he needed to knock instead of walk right in, then it was just another reminder that our friendship was truly over.

  But it wasn’t Asher.

  In fact, it wasn’t anyone I recognized, yet, I knew that I knew her. She was me—well, me in thirty years.

  “Mom?” The single word cracked as it passed my lips. It was such an unfamiliar word.

  “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know that you remember me.” I glanced down at her hands gripping her purse. She had acrylic nails. No one out here had fake nails. They were impractical. I couldn’t very well grip Ursula’s reins tight if I couldn’t even make a fist because my nails were so damn long.

  Lost in thought, I stood there staring at her, not sure what to do. Was I supposed to invite her in or slam the door in her face?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve missed you three so much. Plus, I heard that I’m a grandmother, and I can’t wait to see the baby.”

  “Ummm.” Okay, words weren’t coming to me. I had no clue what to say or do. I needed to call London.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’m tired, I’ve been traveling for hours to come see you girls.”

  “Yeah, sure. Won’t you have a seat?” I stepped back, pointed to the sofa, and allowed my mother, Cora Kelly, to walk into the home she hadn’t stepped foot in since I was seven years old.

  “This place hasn’t changed one bit, it still feels like home to me.”

  Home? Whose home? Not her home, I wanted to say but didn’t. I watched her as she moved around the large room. All I could think of were the number of times I’d imagined her returning, and
suddenly, the feeling seemed to be crushing. All the birthday, holidays, even my high-school graduation, I had wished for her to be here, and she had missed them all.

  “So, it took a baby to get you to come see us?”

  “Well, that and I just heard about your father . . . I’m so sorry. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was. He did a lot for us.”

  “Where are your sisters? Where’s the baby?” Cora asked.

  Looking at her was like looking into a mirror . . . one I wished I could shatter. Our hair was the same shade, one a poet might call the color of honey, but I called dishwater. Our eyes were what a romanticist would wax on about being similar to dark chocolate, but truthfully, they were the same color as manure. Our height, our body shape, probably even our shoe sizes were almost identical. The only difference was that she had wrinkles.

  “The baby is sleeping. Why don’t you have a seat, I’ll go fix us some iced tea and I’ll send a text to Holland and London.”

  “Okay, thank you, Paris.”

  Walking into the kitchen, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my group message.

  * * *

  Me: HOLY SHIT, Cora is here.

  London: Cora? As in our mother?

  Me: Yep, that’s the only Cora I know.

  London: WTF?

  Holland: I’m on my way.

  Me: Hurry please. She wants to see Tera.

  London: Ah, fuck no, don’t let her anywhere near my baby. You hear me?

  Me: Okay. I would never. Calm down.

  * * *

  I put the phone down and grabbed glasses and tea before starting a pot of coffee and calling Cora into the kitchen with me.

  I’d just set out the sugar and cream when the front door flew open and Holland ran in. She halted in the archway to the kitchen and stared at the woman sitting in what once was Daddy’s chair. None of us sat there, but I didn’t stop her when she’d chosen that spot. Before Holland could say a word, London came in, Braden close behind her. I fought to hold back my smile as I heard him whispering to her, “Stay calm, London. Let’s just think this through. I’m here with you, honey.”

  But London was obviously having none of Braden’s soothing words. “What’s she doing in Dad’s chair? There are seven more around the table for her to choose from.”

  “London—” I snapped.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll move.” Cora slid one seat over, bringing her coffee with her. “You three look beautiful. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Cut the bullshit. What do you want? We haven’t seen you in almost twenty-two years, so you can’t tell me that you all of a sudden missed us.” London’s words were harsh, but she’d been the one most affected by Mom’s leaving. London had been ten and took it personally.

  “I just heard about your dad. I was so sorry to hear it. That’s when I heard you had a baby as well.”

  “Where?” London glared at me like it was my fault that Cora knew all of this.

  “Where what?” Cora looked from Holland, to London, to me.

  “Where did you hear the latest news about us?”

  “Have a seat, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Braden moved and pulled out a chair for his wife, then held out a chair for Holland and me before taking a seat next to London.

  “Your dad and I always stayed in touch. I thought about you girls often, so I used to write to him and ask him to send me pictures. Every now and then, he would, usually on your birthdays. Well, I hadn’t heard from him in a while, so I decided to try to contact Wally. He and your dad were always so close. He told me about your dad passing away and then about London getting married and having a baby. I knew that I had to come see you all. It sounds bad, I know. But with your dad gone, I could finally see you. He wouldn’t let me see you before. He used to return all of the letters I would write you three.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, he didn’t want you to leave in the first place. Maybe when we were younger he was trying to protect us, but not once we were older.” I looked to my sisters for their thoughts.

  “She’s right. That doesn’t make sense,” Holland agreed. “Dad was all about family.”

  “I don’t believe it,” London murmured, crossing her arms and totally blocking off anything Cora had to say. London looked at me and then at Holland. “If Wally told her about us, then he needs to go. He has no business talking about us, especially to her. After all the bullshit last year, I would think he would know that.” London pushed back from the table.

  But I couldn’t blame her for being angry. Wally had endangered all of us and is lucky we forgave him in the first place. It was his misguided love for someone who he’d thought was his son that left him open to the manipulation of a man who ended up assaulting London.

  Although I didn’t see anything wrong with Wally telling Cora the obvious facts that were clearly public record and not gossip, I understood London’s point, and I’d always be on my sister’s side.

  Asher

  I’d been working on drowning what was left of my heart for the better part of a week.

  “Hey, Asher, why do you look so sad? Care if I sit?”

  Glancing up, I was nearly poked in the eyes by boobs. Unfortunately, they were boobs I’d seen before. Well, boobs that many of us had seen before. “Hello, Etta. I’d like to be alone if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t be like that, Asher. Where’s your tagalong?” Her words were meant to be a barb to Paris, which was both unwelcome and infuriating. I refused to let her know anything or think anything bad about Paris.

  “She’s at home. Her sister just had a baby, so it’s kind of hectic around the house.”

  “Well, since you’re here all alone, why don’t you dance with me?”

  “I don’t feel like dancing.”

  “Oh, come on. Please?” Etta pouted.

  Did girls not realize that there was absolutely nothing sexy about looking like a fucking duck? I looked to my brother, silently urging him to save me from this nightmare. Thankfully, he did.

  “Hey, Etta, if you don’t mind, my brother and I have some shit we need to talk about.” Marcus set the beer in front of me and then slid into the chair opposite me.

  “Suit yourself. You know where I’ll be.” Etta rubbed her fingers down the side of my cheek. I reached up and grabbed her hand and pushed it back toward her.

  Etta was blonde with blue eyes, and her breasts were clearly as fake as her personality. She was everything Paris wasn’t.

  Fuck.

  Why couldn’t I stop thinking about Paris?

  “You look like you've just been hit by a Mack truck,” Marcus said as he took a swig from his own mug of beer.

  “That good, huh?”

  “Was it something Etta said, or are you and Paris still on the outs?”

  I cocked one eyebrow and stared at him over the rim of my drink. “Paris. I’m fucking delusional. All this time I thought that we were working toward something. Fuck, I even asked Sam if I could marry her one day.”

  “You did?” Marcus choked on his drink as it went down the wrong pipe, obviously shocked by my statement.

  “I did. I knew he wouldn’t be around for me to ask him when it was really time, so I had a talk with him when he was in hospice. He gave me his blessing; he said he knew it would always be Paris and me.” I took a long swallow. “Why doesn’t she fucking see it? She’s so goddamned blind. I’m good enough to fill in when she needs a date, wants to go out—hell, even when she wants to kiss someone. But I’m not good enough for her to date. We’re done.”

  “I don’t believe that for one second. Give her time. I’ve never been able to figure her out. London was easy because she was so methodical. She was a rules kind of girl. Holland is all fire and runs based on emotions. But Paris? I don’t know . . .” Marcus shook his head as he tried to figure it out.

  “Heart. Paris rules with her heart.”

  “Maybe that’s it, and since I no longer have a heart thanks to
Maria . . .”

  “The bitch,” we both said in unison.

  “I guess that’s why I don’t understand Paris.”

  A few years ago, Marcus had fallen in love with a girl who seemed sweet at first, but then, almost overnight, she decided that she wanted more, that he wasn’t giving her enough. I was not sure exactly what he wasn’t giving her enough of, because he gave her everything. Fact was, the girl was immature, self-centered, and was only interested in Marcus as long as he gave her gifts. When money was tight because he was opening the bar, she was ready to move on.

  “I’m sorry, Ash. It will get better.” Marcus raised his mug and held it out to me in a moment of brotherly solidarity. We silently toasted.

  “Thanks. I'll be fine. I need to wrap my head around the idea that the only woman I've ever loved rejected me. I’ve spent almost thirty years being in love with her, and when I finally tell her, she says, ‘Nah, I don’t feel the same.’”

  Marcus lifted his head and saw something over by the bar. “I’ll be right back. Jett needs something.”

  “Bring me back another one, will you?” Marcus nodded and then headed to the bar. Jett had been working for Marcus since just after he opened. He made great drinks but was shitty at customer relations.

  I dwelled on all things Paris as I finished my beer and then smiled when another was slid in front of me.

  “From your brother.” Jett smiled and then headed back behind the bar.

  “Thanks.”

  Sometime between me sitting at the table and this moment, the bar had gotten crowded. Sure, the place was always busy, but on weekends it was slammed thanks to dollar drafts and the house band Marcus had brought in. He’d even moved the pool tables and old pinball machines from the middle of the bar to the back, so he could add a small stage and a dance floor.

  Most of the people here were regulars, but there was one girl standing by the far wall, her shoulder propped against it, who wasn’t. Something in her eyes mirrored my own. They were sad, lost, as if she were longing to drown away the feelings.