by Hart, Cary
“What’s that about?” I slide in to the passenger seat. This time waiting for him to lock me in.
“A drunk who I kicked out of the club last week thought he would pay me back by kicking my ass, but instead got my door.” He waves it off as if it’s not a big deal.
“That sucks.”
“It goes in next week to get fixed.” He flashes me a smile before slamming the door shut. Giving it a little kick to secure it.
Watching Shapiro round the front of the vehicle I can’t help but wonder who he is and what’s his story.
Maybe if my story were different, I could explore those questions, but right now I only have one question in mind.
Opening the door, Shapiro climbs in, hitting his knees on the steering column. “Shit-motherfuc …” He jumps out and adjusts the seat.
I snicker.
He looks up.
The snicker can’t be contained and now I’m full out laughing. Like the “bending over you can’t catch your breath” type of laugh.
Now, it’s Shapiro’s turn to stop and stare. “Slamming my knees against the steering wheel … that gets you to laugh.”
Tears rolling down my face, I nod frantically, while trying to speak. “What can I say …” I try to gain my composure. “I’m an inappropriate laugher.”
“Well, I’m glad my pain could cause you pleasure.” He hops back in, starts the SUV, and throws it into gear, moving us forward, but his words hit home.
Pain.
Pleasure.
And just like that I pull my knees up, tucking them under me as I turn in my seat and lean my head against the cool glass.
I could feel his eyes on me. I’m sure his curiosity is getting the best of him, but how do I explain this? How do I explain that Tyler hurts me with his pleasure?
I can’t.
I won’t.
“Where did you go?” I can feel him reach out, but he quickly pulls away.
I wish I could tell him, but I don’t even know.
“You okay?” He tries again.
Ignoring his question. I ask my own, “Where is this new beginning you speak of?”
“Penny, if I said something …”
“Listen …” I sit up, still refusing to meet his gaze. “I think I have a right to know where I’m going,” I snap back. Picking a fight with someone who has been nothing but kind to me, but the inner guilt of who I let myself become and the embarrassment of what I let happen is a tad overwhelming.
“You’re right.” His grip on the wheel causes his knuckles to go white.
Is he mad at me?
“It’s not like I was hiding it from you, but every time I tried to bring it up, we got distracted.” Shapiro pauses to give me a chance to respond, but I have nothing to say. I’m out of words or maybe it’s excuses. Who knows. The line is so far blurred for me, I don’t even know anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, but I’m not for sure why. I have a right to know, but the thought of Shapiro being mad at me has me up in arms.
“Don’t do that,” he bites back.
“Why? Obviously, I pissed you off.” I point toward the steering wheel, his tan knuckles practically white. “And I’m sorry that I did.”
“Ohhh!” He relaxes his hands. “I’m not pissed at you so don’t apologize, but I’m mad as fuck that you even have to do this.”
“Yeah, well … I suck. Walking away is harder than it seems.” I draw my attention back to the window. Embarrassed by the situation.
“Trust me, I get it,” Shapiro mumbles.
“You do?”
“Yep.” He gives me an answer, but not a reason.
I’ve known the man for less than twenty-four hours and he’s already starting to irritate me. “Are you going to make me pry it out of you?”
“You want to know?”
Rolling my eyes, I let out a deep sigh while I throw my head back against the seat.
That does it. He lets out a rumble of a laugh. “I take that as a yes?”
“Yes, Shapiro. That is usually how it works.” I twist around to look at him. “Ask a question. Get an answer.”
“Is that so?” He smirks.
“Yes.” I poke him in the arm. “Looky there. You asked a question …” and then I point to myself, “and I answered it.”
“Fine. I usually don’t like to talk about it, but let’s just say …” He stalls for a moment before he finally decides to answer. “I have been in a situation where I needed to get out of town and where I’m taking you is where I always ended up.”
“Your great aunt’s?” I speak up recalling the conversation between Shapiro and Niki.
“Yup. Mama Ang.”
“Mama Ang sounds like a mobster’s wife’s name.”
“More like a godfather. Trust me when I say you are safe there. No one …” Shapiro shakes his head. “And I repeat, no one messes with Mama Ang.”
“Great.”
“Great? You say that like it’s a problem.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad she’s capable of scaring away the bad men. I’m just a little freaked out at the thought of being scared myself.”
“What? No!” His voice is laced with amusement. “Mama Ang will adore you. Maybe even spoil you.”
“I don’t want anyone to fuss over me. I just want to be treated—”
“Normal?” Shapiro interrupts.
“Well … yeah.”
“Don’t let the cottage with a white picket fence and magenta door in the middle of nowhere give you the wrong idea.” He looks over to me. “God, it’s a hideous door. Who paints their door pink? I mean really.”
“Well, apparently, Mama Ang,” I state the obvious.
“Yup!” He gets lost in thought before he continues, “Don’t get me wrong. She will fuss over you, but she will also expect you to work for your stay.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything different. I just need a few weeks to gather my thoughts. You know? Get a job, save up and plan out my next move.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have any family to fall back on?”
I wish.
“I grew up in foster care. Tyler was my only family.”
“I see.” He nods.
“You don’t,” I snap back.
“Penny, I didn’t mean … I-I didn’t know what to say. All I know is that I didn’t want our conversation to end so I said the first thing that came to mind.”
I want to admit that I feel the same way, but then what? We become friends? Have the occasional phone call? Does he come to visit so we can get to know each other better?
Stop it, Penny. You’re over thinking this.
Ignoring the internal battle going on, I break the silence.
“Does she really have a cottage in the middle of nowhere?”
Smiling he responds, “Yeah. You’re going to love it. Hopefully she has changed the spare room since I was there last.”
“Am I going to find your girlie magazines under the bed?” I tease. The thought of a younger Shapiro hiding magazines from Mama Ang makes me giggle.
“Believe it or not, I’ve never been into those type of things.” Shapiro avoids eye contact, opting to keep his eyes on the road. “I’m not into objectifying women.”
“Most men, at some point in their life, have flipped through a magazine or two,” I counter back. “Tyler started his collection when he was eleven.” I bend down to pick up my purse to busy myself. This conversation is getting a tad uncomfortable for my liking, but I can’t stop myself from explaining why I even made the joke in the first place. “His dad thought he needed to learn the birds and bees from somewhere.”
“I’m not most men and I’m definitely not him.”
“Nope, you’re definitely not.”
“Penny?” Shapiro taps the console between us. “We’re here.” He opens the door and hops out, retrieving my bag from the back.
Yawning, I reach my arms above my head and let out a little squeal. My muscles are a little sore from the drive
over. Rolling down the window, I let the cool spring breeze blow through my dark tresses and take in my surroundings.
Holy shit!
Shapiro wasn’t kidding. This isn’t a normal cottage in the middle of nowhere. This is like a real-life gingerbread house with a pink door, green shutters, and multi-colored Christmas lights strung across the gutters.
Either this lady is obsessed with Christmas or a little off her rocker. Feeling like this is a scene right out of Hansel and Gretel, I peek my head out the window and look for something I can use as a trail. Rocks? Flower petals?
“You coming?” Shapiro shouts as he heads to the door.
“Umm?”
“Shit!” He drops my bag and jogs over to my side of the SUV. “I completely forgot. I’m not used to this.”
“No worries.” I wave him off. “It just happened last week.”
“Well, that too.” He smiles popping open the door with a quick tug and kick. “I’m not used to having someone with me.”
“Right. Show me the way, Hansel.” I laugh inwardly.
“After you, Gretel.” He bows twirling his hand.
“You get it!” I jump out of the vehicle.
“She has an obsession for gingerbread houses. When you walk in, to the left, you will see wall-to-wall shelving filled with ceramic gingerbread houses.”
“Really?” I look up to Shapiro as we walk slowly, side by side up the sidewalk.
“Yeah. She has an online store where she sells homemade gingerbread house kits.”
“I bet Christmas is crazy.”
“It’s a little hectic, but the deliveries keep her busy year-round.”
“Deliveries?”
“She bakes all day to deliver the next morning before the sun rises.” Shapiro turns toward me as we reach the front porch. “Leaving baskets of muffins, cookies, brownies or whatever she is in the mood for that day on the doorsteps of those whose lives need to be sweetened up a little.”
“That’s so amazing. Do they know it’s her?”
“Frances, are you out here telling all my secrets?” A petite older lady swings the door open.
“Mama Ang!” Shapiro shouts.
“Frances is your God given name.” She turns to me. “And you must be Penny.” She pulls me in for a tight hug. “Frances Eugene Shapiro. I would hate it too if I were him,” she whispers a little too loud.
“I heard that.”
“Don’t be ashamed of who you are.” She gives me a tight little squeeze before letting go to place one hand on each side of my face. “Now, let’s get a good look …”
Shapiro barrels out a laugh and I try to turn to give him the stink eye, but Mama Ang isn’t having it. “Now aren’t you the cutest little thing.”
“Thank you.” I manage to get out as she pinches my cheeks.
“Frances, don’t you think so?”
“Y-yes, ma’am,” he stutters, and my face instantly turns red.
“Now, Penny, there is no need to get embarrassed. Embrace your beauty, my dear.” Mama Ang opens the screen door. “We better get inside. I have lemon poppy seed muffins in the oven.”
“Here let me get that.” Shapiro gestures for us to go ahead. “Ladies and crotchety old women who like to irritate grown men go first.”
“Frances, I’m going to let that slide.” She pats his chest. “I have no choice but to love you the most since your sisters are too busy to visit.”
“You would love me the most even if they did.” He winks as we pass by.
“So, Shapiro told me all about your delivery service and if you need help, I would love to. In fact, I always wanted to own my own bakery.” I confess a dream that I’ve kept locked up.
“He did now?” She stops in the middle of the front room as I follow her in. The glow to my left brought my attention to the collection of gingerbread houses that Shapiro told me about just minutes ago. “Frances? Did you really tell her all of it?” She throws her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at the man she obviously adores.
Shrugging his shoulders, he waits until she isn’t looking and whispers, “She calls herself the Bakery Bandit.”
“I may be old, but I’m not deaf.” She waggles her finger at him. “You better be glad you delivered this little blessing who’s adorable and loves to bake. I think we are going to make the perfect pair.”
“Glad I could help.” He gives me a weak smile.
“Come on, Penny,” Mama Ang hollers out as she turns on her heel. “We got some bakin’ to do.”
If this is my new life, I may never leave. Smiling to myself I take the first step then the next and the next. Focusing on where I’m going and not where I’m coming from.
“Shapiro, I don’t know how to …” The sound of the screen door slamming closed startles me. Turning, I see Shapiro standing on the other side. “What are you doing?” I close the distance between us. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“I shouldn’t.” He looks around, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I have to work tonight.”
“Oh.”
It’s all I can say. What I’m feeling right now is so much more than I was prepared to handle.
“You will be fine here.” He stands on the porch bouncing from foot to foot. “Now that she knows you love to bake, I doubt she’ll ever let you leave.” He laughs awkwardly.
“Okay.” I stick to the one syllable words I know I can choke out.
“Well, I guess I better be going?” He takes a step backward.
“Wait!” I fling the door open, stepping out.
“What’s up?” He puts his hands in his pockets as he steps forward.
“I just … I wanted to …” I close my eyes and breath, trying to gather the right words.
“Are you having second thoughts,” he whispers.
“That’s not it. I-I don’t … I don’t know how …” I stand there staring at the stranger who has gone out of his way to make me feel comfortable and I can’t get out the words I want to say. So, I do the only thing that feels right. I wrap my arms around his big beautiful body and hold on tight. Silently thanking him for keeping me safe, for providing a place for me to live and for just making me feel normal.
Breaking my hold, he removes his hands from his pockets and just stands there. Immune to the only emotion I was able to give.
“I didn’t know how to thank you … I’m sorry …”
“Don’t.” He grabs my hand and pulls me in. “Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for the way you feel.” His arms enclose around me. My own personal armor, shielding me from the pain.
Safe.
Protected.
10 months later
Shapiro
If I would have known she only had ten months left …
“Dammit!” I slam my hand down on the steering wheel, the sting nothing compared to what I’m feeling inside.
I did this.
I let jealousy get the best of me. I fell for a girl who ended up falling for someone else and in return I didn’t just ignore her, I ignored Mama Ang and stopped visiting and I did it all without an explanation.
Mama Ang helped me be the man she knew I could become. Caring for me when my own mother couldn’t.
She tried, but when you grow up in New York and the streets are your playground I was bound to get into the kind of trouble she couldn’t handle. I was headed down the wrong path. Prison wasn’t an if, it was a when.
But Mama Ang fought for me. Hell, she even fought against me, but what she refused to do was give up on me.
Nope. I’m the guilty party.
I’m the fucking coward. I can’t even find the courage to face my family. I’m sitting in my SUV watching the funeral from afar, just so I don’t have to run into her. The woman who captivated me the moment I saw her wide eyes and sad smile.
Walking through my door, trusting that I was going to make it all go away, and I did. I offered her the same opportunity Mama Ang gave me. A new lease on life. Something to live for.
<
br /> The problem? When I left Penny that day, I left a piece of me with her.
Mama Ang could see right through me. She sensed the connection before I could fully understand it and made me painfully aware every time I called to check on Penny.
“Frances, it’s been three months. I know you think you are protecting her, but you’re wrong. She needs someone like you in her life. She misses you.”
My passenger door opens and my twin sister, Freya, peeks her head in. “Hey, brother.”
Why did I get that door fixed?
“What’s up?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She slides into the seat next to me. “Out of everyone here, I would have thought you would have been front and center. Well, you and that girl that stayed with her.”
“Penny.”
“Yeah, that’s her name …” She trails off.
“How does she look?” I can’t help myself. It’s been four months since I have heard from her.
Four.
Long.
Months.
“I don’t know. I refuse to see her that way. Mama Ang in the casket …” She shivers. “I hate funerals.”
“I get it,” I respond. I don’t have the nerve to tell her I wasn’t asking about Mama Ang, but about Penny.
“You going to be okay? Mom said you and Mama Ang had a falling out.”
“We didn’t have a falling out.” I bring my hands up, making air quotations. “It was just …” I rub my hands over my face. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this today.”
“It’s not your fault, you know?” She reaches over to grab my hand. “She was alone and had a stroke.”
“Where was Penny?” I drop her hand, twisting around in the seat to face my sister who seems to know everything I missed out on.
“Apparently she moved out four months ago.”
“What the fuck?” I raise my voice, startling Freya.
“I don’t know who you are screaming at, but you better cool your tits, bro.” Freya reaches for the handle. “I need to get back to the funeral, but one piece of advice before I go.”
“If you must.” I wave her to hurry up.
“Forget this girl. If she doesn’t have enough respect to show up to the funeral of the woman who treated her like a daughter for all those months, then she doesn’t deserve you.”