by Hamel, B. B.
When I’m finished, I carry the food upstairs on a tray. My mother’s door is shut, but that’s not unusual. I push it open and step inside to find her still in bed.
She looks up at me, a little smile on her face. “Hi, honey,” she says.
I sit down on the other side of the bed and slide the tray over into her lap. “Morning,” I say.
She smiles and sits up. Her eyes are startlingly blue, beautiful and wide. Her hair is messy from bed, mostly brown with some gray peppered through it. Her skin is pale and loose and the bags under her eyes suggest she didn’t sleep very well again.
At first glance, my mom doesn’t look sick. She’s not hooked up to machines, she’s not in constant pain. There’s no obvious sign that her disease had started to progress again after years of lying dormant.
But if she gets out of bed, it’ll become obvious very quickly. Her limp starts small during the day, barely a shuffle, until she starts to get tired. Soon her left foot doesn’t raise high enough, something called a “drop foot,” and she needs a cane to get around. These days, she just starts out using the cane, not even pretending like she won’t need it at some point.
Multiple sclerosis is a hell of a disease. It affects everyone differently. Some people get it late in life, or at least are diagnosed late, and they go from walking and healthy to wheelchair bound and dying over the course of months. Some people, like my mom, get diagnosed sooner, or get a lucky form of the disease, and can go years without showing any outward signs.
But the symptoms were always there, just subtle. She’d tire easily, she’d go to the bathroom constantly, she’d complain of headaches, her eyesight would get blurry. The injections they put her on when I was six helped keep the disease from progressing too far, but it was always there, always a possibility.
She’s been fine for so long. But two years ago, something changed. I don’t know why or what, but she took a turn for the worse, and rapidly went from being able to move around without any issues to suddenly having to constantly fight exhaustion and limping.
I know she’s terrified of ending up in a wheelchair. I know that’s always in the back of her mind. But she keeps going, keeps fighting, even if things aren’t easy for a sixty-two-year-old woman that can’t work on her feet for any stretch of time.
This is why I’m home. I never planned on coming back to Pine Grove, but when I realized that she “retired” because she simply can’t work as a waitress at the diner anymore, I knew I had to come back. I knew I had to get a job, and fast.
“You’re too good to me,” Mom says, smiling. She sips her coffee.
“Got any plans for today?”
She nods. “I’m going to try and go for a walk.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really.” She takes a breath. “I’ve been cooped up in this house feeling sorry for myself for too long. It’s time to get out.”
I grin at her. “Good for you. I’ll come help.”
“No, no, you don’t have to. I’m not that bad yet.”
“Really, I want to. I don’t have work today.”
“They gave you the day off?”
I nod. “House is clean.”
She sighs and looks away. She hates that I’m cleaning a house to make money, but even she agrees that the money is too good to pass up.
“Well, that won’t matter for long,” she says, although she keeps saying that. She thinks she’s going back to work soon, that she’ll take care of us again.
I don’t have the heart to tell her the truth. I can’t bring myself to say the words: no, Mom, you’re never going back to work, you’re lucky if you don’t end up in a wheelchair in the next year.
I’m just not that cruel.
She eats her breakfast and I nibble on some toast. She asks about the Hammetts and I tell her what I can. I tell her about the house, the butler, all the money stuff, but I keep all the creepy things to myself.
“They’re actually nice,” I say. “They just have a bad reputation.”
Mom waves her hand. “You know how this town is.”
“I sure do.”
“Folks don’t know a damn thing, but they’ll sure tell you stories.”
I grin at her. “Aren’t you the same, though?”
“Sure am,” she says proudly. “And one day, you’ll be telling stories, too.”
I roll my eyes. “I hope not.”
We finish eating and I take the tray downstairs to clean up while she gets dressed. I whistle to myself, sipping some coffee, while I rinse off the dishes.
When I’m halfway through, there’s a knock at the door. I pause, surprised. We aren’t expecting anything right now. There’s another knock and I take a step toward the door. The knock comes a third time, insistent, louder now.
I walk up to it and look through the window, moving aside the curtains.
My heart skips a beat.
Staring back at me is Dean Fish.
“Who’s that?” Mom calls from upstairs.
“Nobody!” I yell back and pull open the door.
Dean rubs the back of his head as I step out into the stoop. He steps back away from me as I pull the door shut behind me.
“What do you want?” I hiss at him. “Come here to stab me, too?”
He winces. “Look, about that.”
“I don’t want to hear it, asshole. What’s wrong with you? What made you turn into such a dick?”
He winces again and can’t seem to meet my gaze. “Is he alive?”
I stare at him for a second. Letting him stew in the uncertainty. It’s not like he deserves to know anyway, and I’m not sure why he’s asking.
“He’s alive,” I say.
Dean looks relieved. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“You didn’t mean to stab him?” I cock my head. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d have a lot of control over.”
He glares at me. “What the fuck do you know? You left for college, got your fancy degree. The rest of us were stuck here.”
I glare right back. “Don’t blame your misfortune on me, Dean. And don’t blame it on Case.”
His eyes flash rage. “It is his fault,” he hisses. “He fired my fucking dad.”
“He had to,” I say. “He’s trying to keep the damn mill open, trying to keep as many of you employed as possible.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Yeah, it is. Look, I don’t know who’s telling the truth and who isn’t, and honestly, I don’t care. All I know is, one of you stabbed the other one.”
He stares at me for a second. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Good. I didn’t bring my knife out with me.” He looks hurt but I hear my mother yell something from inside. “I need to get back inside.”
“Wait a second,” he says.
“Bye, Dean.”
I pull open the door.
“Hold on. Eden, just listen.”
I look back at him. “I don’t want to listen. I already heard what you had to say.”
“You fucking—”
I slam the door shut in his face. I can hear him yelling outside, but I don’t stop to listen.
“Honey? Are you okay?” My mom’s standing at the top of the steps, frowning down at me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just some crazy guy out there. I’ll take care of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
I hurry into the kitchen and grab my cellphone. I dial Case’s number, heart beating fast as it rings. He gave it to me last night, but I didn’t expect to use it so soon.
He answers, though. “Hello, sweet Eden,” he says.
“It’s Dean,” I say. “He’s here, at my house. I think he’s pissed.”
Case is silent for half a second. “I’ll be there soon.”
He hangs up and I turn just as my mom gets down the steps. She’s walking with her cane, not limping too badly yet, although I can tell she’s not having a great day. She goes to the door.
“Wait, Mom,” I say, but she pulls it open anyway.
Dean is halfway down the driveway, still cursing. I hurry over to my mother as she steps out onto the porch.
“Dean Fish?” she calls out. “What in the world are you doing?”
He looks at my mom, anger turning into surprise turning into shame. “Hi, Mrs. Ricks,” he says.
“Why are you out on my driveway shouting?”
“Ah, uh, no reason, ma’am.”
She gives him a look. “Go home, Dean. Take a shower. Clean yourself up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But the anger is back, a little bit at least.
I don’t say anything. Dean walks to his truck, gets in and drives off.
My mom steps back inside and gives me a withering look. “Care to explain?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can, even if I wanted to.”
She sighs. “If working for these Hammetts is going to be trouble—”
“Mom, no,” I say quickly. “It’s not that.”
“Everyone knows Dean’s father got fired from the mill. Everyone knows Dean’s not happy about it. Is he giving you trouble?”
I shake my head, inwardly surprised she put that much together so fast. “No,” I say. “He’s just confused.”
“Confused. Well. That’s not the word I’d use for those Fishes, but okay, sure.”
I grin a little. “What word would you use?”
“Stupid,” she says. “And a little wicked.”
I laugh, relief slowly flooding through me as she limps over to the couch and sits down. Just as I’m about to join her, I hear the squeal of tires out front and a door slam.
“Shit,” I say softly. I hurry to the door and open it just as Case comes running up the steps. There’s a black sports car sitting in the driveway, engine still running.
“Where is he?” Case demands. “Dean! Where are you?”
“Case, Case, calm down,” I say. “He left.”
Case slows down at the steps, blinking. “He left?”
“My mom scared him off,” I say. “Believe it or not.”
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Shit. I thought I was about to get into another fight with that asshole.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “Thanks for coming so fast. But he’s gone.”
He takes a deep breath again and leans up against the railing. “God damn. Hurried all the way over for nothing.”
I frown and step toward him. “Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“No, it’s fine. You did the right thing. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. I think he was trying to apologize at first, actually.”
“Really?”
I laugh a little. “He wanted to know if you were okay.”
Case grins. “You told him I’m dead, right?”
“Nah. Didn’t want to freak him out too much.”
“Missed opportunity, there.”
He looks like his old self as he gets his breath back. I hear my mom shuffle in the living room and stand.
“Is that your employer?” Mom calls out. “Came to take care of that Fish idiot?”
Case grins at me. “Your mother?” he asks softly.
I nod to him and turn back inside. “Yeah, it’s Case. I’m sorry, Mom. It’s all fine, though.”
“Well, tell him to come in and say hello.”
I look back at Case, eyes wide, and he grins at me. “Don’t be rude, Eden,” he says softly.
I groan. “You ass,” I say softly, but I know there’s no way out of this one. I step inside and Case comes in after me.
What seemed like a nice, cozy little place just minutes ago suddenly feels like a tiny dump. Case being in my childhood home makes me so self-conscious it almost hurts. We didn’t have much growing up, even before my dad left. After he skipped out, we had even less.
My mom did what she could, provided what she could, but things were always tight. I knew it and understood and never asked for much, but even now, years later, it’s obvious how poor we really are.
Case is used to a huge mansion, to luxury and money. This little house is the total opposite.
But he doesn’t look around or make a face. Instead, he walks right up to my mother and introduces himself.
“Ma’am, my name is Case Hammett,” he says, “I apologize for all this.”
“No worries, Case. I’m Loretta but you can call me Lorie. That Fish boy is a moron, just like his father.”
Case sighs. “They’re not so bad. Things are just hard in Pine Grove these days.”
My mom nods. “Tell me about it. How’s my daughter been treating you? She working hard?”
He grins and looks at me. “She’s a very hard worker, Lorie,” he says.
She nods like that’s no surprise. “Always was. Didn’t surprise anyone when she went to college. I was so proud of her. Did you know that she has a degree?”
He grins and nods. “I know.”
“Shame she’s cleaning houses.” Mom sighs and I turn beet red. “She could be doing so much better, don’t you agree, Case?”
“I do, Lorie,” he says, grinning huge now. “But she’s been such a big help to me. That house is hard to maintain.”
“Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say. Quickly. “Case, how about a tour?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Fine, fine,” Mom says. “Just don’t bring any other Fishes over here, okay?”
I grab Case’s hand and pull him away from my mom. “Kitchen back there,” I say, pointing. “Rooms up here. Come on.” I drag him up the steps.
He laughs to himself as I get him up away from my mother.
I push him into my room, shoving the door shut behind me.
I don’t know how I got into this situation, but it’s already out of hand. Case here, in my bedroom?
I’m losing my freaking mind.
10
Case
I turn to face Eden as she breathlessly pushes me into her childhood bedroom. I get a glance at the space—pink, frilly, posters on the walls—before she glares at me.
“What was that downstairs?”
“You mean, being polite to your mother?” I cock my head. “I have manners, you know.”
She makes a face. “Not that. The bit about me doing better than cleaning houses.”
“Oh. Well, that’s true, you could.”
She sighs, exasperated. “Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“No games. I’m only here because you called, remember?”
She winces a little. “Right. Well. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I know you do.” I laugh a little and turn away. I get a closer look. The bed is messy, a little twin shoved against one wall. There are posters for a few rock bands, all with female singers. There’s a desk against one wall, and everything is surprisingly… pink.
She walks past me and straightens up. “I haven’t lived here in a while,” she says.
“You used to, though.”
“In high school. And even then, this was a little… young, I guess. I was already moving on.”
“Right.” I walk over to a bookshelf and run my fingers over the spines. “Harry Potter, Wheel of Time… and Fifty Shades?” I grin and hold it up. “I didn’t know you were into this.”
She blushes like crazy. “Everyone was into that.”
“Right.”
“Put it back, perv.”
He shrugs and slips it back. “I won’t pretend like I didn’t read it too. Pretty explicit stuff.”
“Whatever. It’s fun.”
“Oh, I know. It’s the first time I recognized myself in a book.”
She sits on the bed and crosses her ankles, legs out straight ahead of her. “Christian Grey? I can see that, I guess.”
I make a face. “In some ways. He’s more of a little priss, though.”
“Priss?”
She shakes her head, grinning. “I know what your taste is.”
“Do you?” I walk over to her. “Do you really think you know?”
“Sure. You like to humiliate. Control. Dominate.”
“Is that so?” I ask softly. I tip her chin toward me, straddling her legs. “What makes you think that?”
“Everything you asked me to do,” she says. “Don’t get me wrong. I liked it too.”
“I know you do. But it isn’t the humiliation I like, although I will admit, the control is enjoyable. No, that’s not quite what I’m into.”
She frowns a little. “What exactly are you into then?”
“It’s very specific,” I say softly. I step forward, pushing her back onto the bed. I step back and grab her knees and spread her legs apart, kneeling down in front of her. She looks at me. “Do you want to know?” I ask.
“Not here,” she says quickly. “My mom’s downstairs.”
“Fuck your mom,” I say, maybe a little too harsh. “She won’t come up.” I reach forward and tug at the tight sweats she’s wearing.
She bites her lip. “Tell me first.”
“Guess.” I pull the sweats down her legs.
“Shit. Case, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m still a little… sore.”
“Good.” I laugh gently. “That’s what I want.”
“You want me to be sore?”
“Very, very much so.” I pull her panties off next. “I can stop whenever you want, little Eden. But I don’t think you want me to.”
“Case—”
“I think you want me to strip you. See, as mysterious as you think my motives for this are, I know exactly what you want.”
She stares at me, biting her lip. “What is it?”
“All the reasons you stated,” I say softly. “You want to be humiliated. But more than that, you love being the poor girl fucking the rich boy. You love that the most.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes. You do. You love that I look down on you. Do you want me to tell you how small your house is? How dirty your room looks?”
She glares. “No, asshole.”
I bend forward to kiss her legs. I nibble up her inner thighs before finding her wet little pussy. I tease it with my tongue, and she groans. Despite being angry, she readily lets me tongue her wet cunt.