by Brisa Starr
I nod and go back into the kitchen, where I sweep up the pieces as quickly and quietly as I can. Most of the pieces are large and medium in size, and I set these aside while cleaning up the small and dusty bits. I dump those into the garbage can, but I can’t bring myself to throw away the bigger pieces, knowing what this cup means to her. Even though she doesn’t want to see it, I place these pieces into a brown paper bag and set it aside on a shelf in the laundry room, tucked behind the mops where she won’t see it.
I step back into the kitchen, and I can see her in the living room where I left her. She’s resting her elbows on her knees, with her head hanging in her hands. I understand the sadness and challenge this now creates for her. Not only is she upset because it was her Granny’s cup, but it was her good luck writing cup — her talisman. With that gone, I’m not sure how she’ll feel about writing her book.
I enter quietly and sit by her on the couch and put my arm around her. She’s mad and berates herself, “How could I have been so careless?” Tears well up again in her eyes. She rubs her hands over her face and shakes her head in a frenzy of disgust.
“I can’t believe it’s broken. What am I gonna do?” she cries, and then looks up at the ceiling and whispers, “I’m so sorry, Granny. I’m so, so sorry.”
I have an idea.
“Come with me,” I hold my hand out to her and stand up. She reaches out and clutches my hand, and I give her a reassuring squeeze.
Too despondent to ask me any questions, she follows me silently outside to the back yard. We sit together on the patio swing, and I say, “See all of these wind chimes out here?”
“Yes,” she says softly and looks around.
“Well, they’re all gifts from my mom to my dad. He loved wind chimes and he collected them,” I say pointing to the different ones. I continue, “There must be at least 20 out here.” I turn back to face her and coser her hand with mine.
“Anyway, when I was growing up, any time I was upset about something — which was more often than I care to admit,” I say with a chuckle, “my dad took me outside to the back yard of our house where I grew up.”
“He always told me that I could ‘take my troubles to the wind chimes, and they’d carry them on the wind, far away from me.’ When I was really little, I believed him. When I got older, I thought it was all bullshit, but I knew he meant well.
“But then, the other day, I was sitting out here with all of the wind chimes making sounds on the breeze. I was trying to meditate, feeling a bit stressed, too, and I remembered my dad’s words.” I stop for a moment, thinking about my dad and the memories.
“I immediately felt better. The wind was blowing at the time, gently, like it is now. And the wind chimes just made me feel more relaxed. I let the wind carry my stress away. It worked. And that’s when I realized, my dad had been telling the truth.
“Try it,” he continues. “I know it won’t bring your cup back, or your Granny, but you might feel a little better.”
“That’s sweet,” she says as she looks around the yard, deep in thought. She looks at the wind chimes nearest us, hanging from the overhang of the roof. They swing gently in the wind, singing their hypnotic song, soothing both of us into something almost like a trance.
A final tear streaks down her face. Many minutes pass, and we sit there, holding hands, swinging and listening to the chimes carry our troubles away on the wind.
The moment is broken when a hummingbird swoops in from nowhere and hovers in the air scarcely two feet in front of Emma’s face, looking straight at her, its vibrating wings sounding like a miniaturized drone. The hummingbird stays there only five seconds, but it feels like a tiny eternity.
Enthralled by the bird, Emma’s face lights up, and then a wave of relief washes over her.
“My Granny loved hummingbirds. I think that was her, coming to check on me. And to let me know not to be upset.” She takes a deep breath and attempts a small smile. She looks at me. “Well, I must look a hot mess from all of my crying.”
“You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
She hiccups and then laughs, gently slugging me in the shoulder. “Yeah right. And don’t make me cry more with you being all sweet now, too,” she says, her voice brimming with emotion. “Thank you,” she adds while exhaling.
We sit for a long while, relaxing and listening to the chimes, comfortable without words.
12
Landon
A few hours later, I step out of the shower and towel dry. I feel terrible for Emma, and I’m heartbroken about her losing her treasured coffee cup. I don’t like her being anything other than happy. I only want her smiling, happy — that’s all I ever want for her. She lights up my life, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.
Determined to make it a good evening for her, I start planning the dinner I’ll make for us. We’ll relax under the stars and enjoy salmon, white wine... and each other. I’m glad she’s taking a nap. God knows, she needs the rest. It’s been a hell of a couple of weeks for the both of us. Our lives have been temporarily thrown for a crazy loop. And while it’s mostly been exciting, we’re also doing our best to stay calm in these weird times and having to self-isolate.
I want to create as much normalcy as I can, and my famous blackened salmon is a good start. I’ll serve it with a fresh salad. I start working in the kitchen prepping dinner. I put a bottle of wine into the refrigerator to chill, a nice, floral Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, which I know she loves and will pair perfectly with the fish. I prep the salmon and get the lettuce mix rinsed, dried, and tossed. It’s going to be simple, just greens, sea salt, olive oil, and fresh lemon juice from the lemons I picked off Mom’s tree.
I do enjoy this house, much more than I thought I did. I had originally wondered if I was dumb for coming here to work on some of the very stress that was caused by their deaths. I now realize there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Looking around the kitchen, I see my mom’s favorite copper pots hanging over the stove and the cobalt blue and orange Mexican ceramic spoon rest that I gave to her, many years ago.
Sitting outside earlier with Emma, and telling her about the wind chimes, I was moved by witnessing my own emotions while sharing the story with her. I liked seeing the chimes through Emma’s eyes. Silent though she was, I felt her appreciation for them and therefore, the connection to me.
Then the realization hits me like a ton of bricks: I’ll never sell this house. Ever. There are too many memories, too much comfort, and my parents’ energy still lives here, loving and strong.
Excited about this decision, and knowing that Sadie will be ecstatic, I head outside to set the table before I broil the fish. The back yard is large, and there are six different places where we can dine. I opt for the table under the orange tree, where the orange blossoms are still emanating their pure scent, a smell I anchored to Arizona years ago.
The cooking will only take a few minutes, and I still need to wake Emma from her nap. As if on cue, she steps outside. She looks angelic, with her hair in a long braid hanging over one shoulder, the tip of the braid tickling the top of her chest. She’s wearing a sexy, knee-length orange dress made of a super soft material that moves and sways with her steps.
“Hey,” I say, unable to articulate any other words when I’m so mesmerized by her beauty.
“Hey,” she responds shyly. She knows what I’m thinking.
“How was your nap?” I finish putting the silverware on the yellow cloth napkins on the table and look at her.
“It was wonderful.” The corners of her sexy lips turn up slightly. “Crying wears me out, and when I take a nap afterwards, I always wake up feeling much better.”
“That’s good to hear.” I join her by the door and take her hand as we go into the kitchen.
“My Granny used to always say, ‘Cry your heart out and nap it off.’ As usual, she was right.” We stand by the counter for a moment and I pour her a glass of wine.
“I wish I could’ve met your Grann
y. She sounds like a smart and sassy gal. Wise, too.”
“And I wish I could’ve met your parents,” she says and takes a sip of her wine.
I love hearing the stories about her Granny. They make me think of my own parents, and though it also saddens me that my parents never had the chance to be grandparents to any children of mine, it makes me happy that they got to experience it with Sadie’s son, Patrick.
Emma smiles at me, which distracts me from my reverie. “I see you’re making dinner,” she says.
“Yes, I’ve made another one of my specialties for you.” I walk to the oven and turn on the broiler, moving the rack to the top position. “I plan to make you swoon and beg me for more.” I wink at her, hoping her mood is light enough to play along.
She bites. “For more what? Oh! I know... more salmon,” she quips with a knowing giggle. “Well, I’ll be the judge of that.”
I look at her, the meaning of my gaze obvious, and I put the salmon into the oven. “No. Not salmon, my dear. If I remember correctly, I claimed you completely after I made steak for you.” I look her over seductively and a warm glow colors her face. I think she liked my term of endearment.
“Hmmm,” she says, pursing her lips, thinking something but not letting me in on the secret.
Seven minutes later, I pull the salmon from the oven and plate it. She carries the salad bowl and wine glasses, while I grab the bottle of wine, putting it under my arm. We go outside and sit down for dinner, just in time to enjoy one of the dazzling, orange and gold sunsets for which Arizona is so famous.
“I do love this place,” she says. “There’s something magical about it.”
“So do I,” I say and take a bite of my salmon.
We spend the evening talking about how much we’re enjoying our time in Arizona, despite the strange circumstances and how we feel like we’re in our own little bubble as we safely ride out the pandemic here. Together.
We discuss our love of the weather, too, and how much we both dislike the Midwest’s dreary weather and gray skies. I told her I’d always figured I would retire in Arizona someday, for the sunny weather and abundance of golf courses. She understands the draw for me and agrees, adding that she loves the Sonoran desert — its flora and fauna… its soul, she says — and how she could see herself retiring here, too.
“Would you like dessert?” I ask as I stand up to clear our plates.
“What’d you have in mind?” She asks and licks her lips, looking up at me from her chair.
“I wouldn’t mind licking vanilla ice cream off your tits,” I suggest and pierce her eyes with my gaze.
“Mmmmm. I’m listening,” she says and rises to help clear the dishes.
We take them into the kitchen and she immediately starts to wash them. I tell her, “Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them. Later.”
I stand behind her, my dick getting thick and meaty with desire as it rubs up against her sexy ass. The material of her dress is silky soft, and the straps are so thin that her shoulders look almost bare. I cage her against the counter with the edge of it pushing into her midsection, my hands on either side of her on the counter.
I bite the back of her shoulder where it meets her neck, and her head leans to the side, giving me more access. I rub my cock on her backside harder as I whisper into her ear, “I want all of you. Your pussy would be a perfect dessert for me, but I’d be happy to lick ice cream off of that, too.” I hear her gasp as she arches her backside into me.
She turns around and kisses me lightly on the lips and says, “As much as I would like you to take me right here, Landon, what would you say about going for a walk first?”
“A walk?” I ask, like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on me.
“Yeah. Isn’t anticipation the best aphrodisiac?” She looks at me and shimmies free from my possessive reach around her, ducking under one of my arms.
“Not for me, but OK. Fine. If that’s what you want to do, then that’s what I want to do.” I smile and acquiesce.
We put our shoes on and head out. It’s a beautiful night. The hot sun from earlier in the day has gifted us with a balmy warm night that oozes romance. It makes me think about what’s in store for us later. When I plan to take her, again.
Twenty minutes into our walk, she’s pointing out all the different plants by name. I have to admit, I never paid much attention to them before, but her excitement and depth of knowledge make me smile, and warmth fills my chest. For the first time, I believe I’m coming to see the desert through her eyes. Which makes me appreciate it more.
“And this is jojoba!” she exclaims. I’ve never seen it in person, but Granny loved it. It has the most amazing oil, and it’s so good for your skin.” She quickly looks at me, realizing that she’s wandered into my domain of expertise, skincare. And since I’m a dermatologist, she looks at me warily. “Have you heard about it?” she asks, tentatively.
“Only what I heard in a commercial once. But after researching your special honey stuff and elderberry sh-”
She cuts me off. “You researched it?” Her eyes glitter with amusement and pride.
“Yes. I did. I had to make sure you weren’t doing anything ridiculous or harmful.” Her wide grin makes me smile back.
“And? What’d ya discover? Hmmm?” She asks, buzzing with joy.
“You might have a point on some of these things. And I admit that my mind has opened a tiny bit. But don’t expect me to change my protocols for my patients when the way I treat them works just fine.”
Emma does a twirl and giggles, her dress flaring out. She looks so cute, and I’m glad I made her smile. She even starts to skip a bit, when we suddenly come to one of the many golf courses in the area that snake their way through the subdivisions, providing park-like views at every turn. We’re at the cart path between two holes from my favorite course, and I know it like the back of my hand.
I stop and look around. Not a soul in sight. I turn to walk on the cart path, grabbing her hand and pulling her along.
“We can’t,” she resists, pointing to a ‘No Trespassing’ sign. “We can’t go on there, Landon. It’s just for golfers, not the public.”
“Who’s gonna stop us?” I laugh. “There’s nobody out.”
“But... we’re not supposed to.”
“Don’t worry about it, baby. Come on, it’ll be nice.” She finally joins me and follows along, nervously looking around, and occasionally even behind us.
A few minutes into our walk on the golf course, she remarks, “You were right, this is really pretty.”
“I like walking on the golf course at night,” I tell her. When I was a kid, my friends and I used to sneak out at night and wander around the course we lived on. We were up to no good, I assure you, but I loved being out there at night.”
She nods and says, “It does feel a bit magical, walking under the stars, with the perfectly manicured grass. When I look up and see the silhouettes of the palm trees blowing gently in the moonlight, it looks like the palm fronds are dancing, and the sound makes me feel like I’m someplace exotic.”
I stop and turn to her. “You are someplace exotic,” I say.
And before she can answer, I pull her to me. My lips crash down on hers. She tastes so good. So sweet. I could kiss her for hours. I pull up her dress and she gasps, “Landon! No! Someone might see us!” she protests and swats my hand away.
“Shhh. No one will see us, my sweet. I have to have you. I want to taste your pussy. Right here, right now.” I pull her dress up again and make quick work of getting my hand under her thong. I plunge my fingers into her, and she’s already wet.
“Oh! Landon,” she moans, her whole being filled with desire.
I whisper into her ear, “That’s my girl, Emma. My sweet. You’re already wet for me, and you want this... just like I knew you would. You want my big cock inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she groans as I explore her sopping wetness with my fingers, her slick juices co
ating them. I move them up to her clit and rub her slowly but firmly, driving her wild.
“Oh, Landon… Oh. Oh! Yes!”
I kneel down on the grass and pull her soaking thong down to the ground. She steps out of it, and I put my head under her dress and start licking her between her legs, tasting her juices and lapping up her arousal, all over my tongue. I lick her from bottom to top and top to bottom, and she grinds her hips on my face as she’s about to come.
“Ohhh. Landon. My god! Yes! Oh my god... yes! Please. Please. Don’t Stop.”
I plunge my fingers back into her and flick my tongue faster on her clit, and she cries out my name as she comes in my mouth. I remove my fingers and plunge my tongue deep into her just as she’s finishing her orgasm so I can drink from her, swallowing her sweet gushing juice.
She’s about to collapse and I stand up. She wraps her arms around my neck. I hold on to her, my arms around her waist, letting her heartbeat settle a bit before I step back from her. I lift my shirt over my head and lay it on the ground behind her. She looks around, then at me, her gaze bold. She’s ready for it.
I point to my shirt on the ground and say, “Turn around and get down on all fours, on top of my shirt.” She does as I say.
I kneel behind her and hike her dress up to her waist, exposing her perfect ass, pale blue in the moonlight. I admire her sex from behind, her pussy glistening and dripping slightly down her leg. I grab a condom from my pocket, unbutton my shorts and push them down, my boxer briefs in tow. My cock swings out, grateful to be freed from the uncomfortable straining against my clothing. I tear open the wrapper and swiftly secure the condom on my raging cock. I kneel on the grass behind her and grab her hips, gripping her tightly, admiring her. Lusting for her. I release her hips from my grip and then smack her ass.
She lets out a little yelp.
“Shhh,” I say. I like her reaction, and my primal instincts kick in. I smack her ass again, harder this time. I like the darkened color it leaves behind, visible even in the dim light of the moon.