by Amber Burns
The seven-hour drive to Rosebay was a torture. I was trapped in a metal cage on wheels when all I wanted to do was transport myself to Vanna’s side, haul her over my shoulder if reason didn’t get through to her, and carry her off to my cave and sex her back into my life.
So, yeah, given my state of mind, somehow I managed to get a go-ahead from Jordan, reserve a car from the rental store – that looked suspiciously like the forest green sedan I drove in, and hit the road. To keep myself occupied, I called for that ‘backup’ Wes highly suggested.
The verdict’s out on that still, but I definitely appreciated the company as soon as I stretched my legs at our rendezvous stop in a Charleston hotel. But even Wes would be speechless at my choice for extra muscle.
My wingman takes the steps down from the front door hastily, too lightly for a guy his size pressed into that grey, sleek sausage of a suit. But he does it, and I’m not shocked.
“You look like hell and back. I’d tell you to relax, if I didn’t think you’d slug me for it.” His meaty palm clamps up on my shoulder.
A former wrestler, current Reservist, River Garza is body-guard, bouncer, and ass-kicking material. Small guy, more wide than tall, his grip compensates for what he lacks in torso and legs.
Scary, beefy and loyal to boot, I’d come in to Rosebay with all the ammo I needed.
Unfortunately, River’s sharp observation skills are not wanted.
Though five inches off me, River has got me locked in a staring match. He’s waiting for me to talk, to explain why I’ve pulled him out of Columbus for his own three-hour drive to Rosebay, a place he’d likely never set foot in prior to me dragging him out and with so vague a reason.
All I’ve given up is that I’m after my girl.
And that’s all I plan to give up. At least for now.
River must sense this as he drops his hand and tucks both of his palms into the pockets of his pressed dress pants. “So, where do we go from here, Sergeant?”
I ignore the sarcasm lacing his comment and the ‘Sergeant’ crap he’s pulling to annoy me into giving up answers I just don’t want to give up.
Rather than telling him to fuck off and stop screwing around, I gesture to the small, square-ish lawn to our side. “Big enough for a tent, do you think?”
River knows I got him. He smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling with the genuine emotion.
Going to have to try harder than that, bud.
“Seriously though, I’m going to call my contact,” I pull out my cell, dialing Wes and getting the call through. The dial tone is picking up its second ring when an older lady emerges from the house over and a thought seizes my limbs, pointing me in her direction.
I close the phone once I have her attention. Pausing with the large, burgeoning garbage bag she’s carrying, she drops it at the feet of her floor-brushing muumuu and brushes the flyaway strands around her sagging features.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re lost on our way to a wedding. Would you know where I’d be able to reach the Sterlings?”
“And you are?” her gaze flits to River, too, encompassing us both in that suspicion.
“Family friends of the bride,” I say, giving her some serious half-assed truth: River has yet to meet Vanna and I’m not telling him anything, and I have no plans to be Vanna’s friend. Ever.
It’s all or nothing for us. That’s what it’s coming down to, and Vanna will know as soon as I can locate her.
I’m starting to realize if this lady can’t help us, it’s likely Wes and Violet won’t be able to do much on their end, either. “We drove in for the wedding,” I add, seeing the lightening of her rumpled features. Her jowls wag as she nods, her arms like hangers for an abundance of aged and fat flesh.
“Oh. Well, you’re still a day early. The wedding’s tomorrow.” She points her chin in the direction of the Sterling residence. “Donald and Melissa are over the moon, they are. Melissa, especially,” she’s sniffing now, eyes narrowing. Her conspiratorial lean-in brings a wave of her overpowering deodorant mingled with burnt toast and coffee. “I think it’s downright odd of that Sterling girl to return home and be marrying so soon.”
So I’m not the only one who thinks this whole marriage shit is totally crazy.
“Can’t tell you where Melissa and Donald rushed off to so early in the morning, but if you’re looking for the men, they’d be at one of them nudie shows in the city.” By the ‘city’ I figure she means Charleston, a little over half an hour from Rosebay.
“Now if you’re searching for the Sterling bride and those girls who are her so-called bridesmaid – I know for a fact my granddaughter, Mindi Lou, never walked in the same social circle as that Vanna, no counting for why she’d sign up to be in this sham of a wedding,” she rants on long enough to give me a chance to throw a silent plea at River.
He sees my pain and he’s enjoying it. Probably his way of meting justice for keeping him out of the loop at this point, which means I’m in this part alone.
“Sounds like you’ve got every reason to be angered, ma’am,” I smile through the fake sympathy. Vanna’s got me jumping through all sorts of hurdles. This goes against my blunt nature to say it how it is. Amos Fuller doesn’t lie unless he’s backed against a wall, and I’ve yet to find myself backed against a wall before a certain curvy, dark-haired beauty…
“That I do.” She nods hard enough to shake the excessive layers of skin under her jaw. “If I wasn’t so busy cleaning and cooking house, I’d go down to that Tilda Sterling’s house and drag my Mindi out of there.”
“Tilda?”
“Donald Sterling’s younger sister. The bride’s aunt and the host of this party my Mindi’s gone off to.” She wrinkles her nose, shaking her head like I’ve forced her to cuss and she’s itching to gurgle with watered-down toothpaste. “No God-fearing woman, that one.”
“Where does Tilda Sterling live?”
She’s back to looking at me, the intrigue like a live spark in her eyes.
“I have a gift for the bride.”
Uncrossing her arms, she resumes lifting the garbage and moving in the direction of the large black receptacle at the edge of her lawn and property.
“Let me help you with that.” I haul the garbage up while she’s busy flipping back the lid. I drop it in and shut the lid, brushing my hands off and meeting her lifted chin, glinting eyes.
“As much as I hate Tilda, the last thing I need is sending over menfolk she might not want. I don’t care for this circling ‘round to me.”
“And it won’t, ma’am, and that I promise you.” Because I won’t be here any longer than to grab my girl, I smile through the thought, ignoring the ‘what if’ of the whole situation.
What if Vanna doesn’t want to come with me? What if this isn’t some sham and she’s really planning to marry this other guy?
“Long as I don’t hear this again, you’ll find Tilda’s so-called home on Season Lane. Thirty-four Season Lane to be exact.” She sighs, wistfully glancing at her house. “Only wish I could go with you myself. Pull my Mindi out there, box her smart on the ears and bring her on home with me.”
I try not to laugh at the image of her causing hell; honestly, I don’t believe she wouldn’t be a force to reckon with, and I wouldn’t mind Wes’ extra ‘backup’. She’d be great distraction, too, considering I hadn’t planned breaking up a party.
She’s swinging into giving me directions when I cut her off. “No need. We have GPS, ma’am. Thank you for your help.”
I linger to give her a nod and a smile, this one actually authentic. River’s in the passenger of my rental. I’d managed to convince him to let me drive us. It’s the only way I could have control when everything else around me seems to going on without my say-so.
“Got your information, or are we setting up camp?”
“Thank God no.” I start the car and pull from the curb in front of the empty Sterling house, a little too glad, in hindsight, that I bumped into Mindi
Lou’s grandmother and not Mr. and Mrs. Sterling.
“Do you mind? Thirty-four Season Lane.” River preps the GPS while I pull on the seatbelt.
He’s got it going and I look to the dashboard-implemented device as it locks on the address, apparently a twelve-minute drive from here.
“Treasure at thirty-four Season Lane, Sergeant?”
“Not the kind you’re referring to, First Lieutenant.” I don’t take my eyes off the road, but I feel River’s smile and I’m smiling too.
“Really can’t answer me, Amos. You’ve no idea what kind of treasure I’m thinking of.”
“I could say the same for you.” I shrug, keeping my eyes out for Season Lane, then house number thirty-four.
He’s beating the bush. I’m not going to bite. Besides, he’ll see what kind of treasure I’m thinking of.
It’s to my left and I’m driving the wrong way. I do a U in the fairly empty road, parking behind the line of cars spilling in front of thirty-six Season Lane’s charmer of a bungalow.
“Lovely place,” River, sans the coat jacket, is waiting for me to round the front of the car, letting me lead up the cracked path splitting the dry, browned lawn in half. The short three stone flights to the front door call for some serious renovation, just like the rest of the house.
Much like the Sterling place, Vanna’s aunt Tilda and hers need to find a contractor and designer to spruce up the place. The neighbors don’t fare any better. It seems like the whole street is falling asleep where home improvements are concerned; says the super snooty fitness trainer with recent promotion bringing his annual salary to a near-six figures, three-bedroom, close-enough-to-beachfront property and year-old Lexus SUV.
It’s a sobering reminder to wake up, open my eyes and remember Vanna grew up in Rosebay, with these people and these places surrounding her. I should be grateful to anywhere and anyone that’s brought her into my life.
Reaching around me River is knocking the less painted, more metal door. “Looks like you needed help there.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He’s right. If he hadn’t knocked, we’d probably be standing out there long enough to convince myself that this is all a mistake.
I’m nervous as shit.
Sounds come from inside, and I realize once the door swings open there’s a screen door on the other side. I’m not sure what we look like to this woman: Two large guys on her doorstep, with all the potential to be mean, nasty fuckers, even when River is far from violent and I could count on one hand how many fights I’ve been.
“Hello there,” rather than look frightened or wary like Mindi Lou’s grandmother, this lady looks ready to jump either me or River.
The first thing I notice is the tiara. It could have been elegant – though I imagine the diamonds are actually zirconia, and she ruined it with a gauzy, cotton-candy pink veil. Add the coils of black seemingly springing out of her skull and the whole look was tacky as fuck.
She’s definitely more than willing for us to interrupt her. “Come in, come in. You’re letting all that cold in, and we can talk as much out there as we could in here.”
I try to keep myself small, shoulders huddled in the narrow entrance, and I can’t imagine how River’s feeling. He’s standing sideways, back to the overflowing closet, looking cool for a guy who’s packed into a sardine of a home.
Our hostess, somehow balancing on her ridiculously thick clear pumps, is pulling down her miniskirt and leading us further into the house. “Take off your shoes and come on.” She’s waving us closer from the doorway down the hall, “we’ve got just about everything here tonight.”
We do as she says, only as I’m hoping we’ve got the right address and Vanna’s somewhere in this place. River is still letting me lead, that’s why he doesn’t bear the brunt of nearly two dozen eyes.
I stand still in the door way, giving River enough room to see what we’re dealing with.
“A hen,” he mutters under his breath, a sigh not too far off.
Forget breaking up a party, we’ve walked into a fucking hen and the gaping jaws of ten women, hostess included. It hadn’t occurred to me as obvious as it might seem. Nothing about this screamed Vanna.
My sweet, shy Vanna.
There’s no way she put this together.
Speaking of Vanna, she isn’t sitting in the living room among these girls who are dressed to party for the club.
They’re sitting around the living room on worn couches and the questionable carpeting, all circling the coffee table in the center and the motherlode of alcohol.
I step aside for River and approach the dark-haired, older woman who let us in. “Sorry for interrupting – ”
“Shh,” she pressed a finger to her pursed, red lips, a finger coiling a strand of jet-black. “We’re not here for anything but fun tonight.”
Yeah, but I was.
“Actually, I’m – we’re here to see Vanna. Vanna Sterling,” I add the last part in case I’ve seriously made a mistake on the address. And here I thought I could trust Mindi Lou’s grandmother. I glance at the faces of the other women. The ladies range from middle age to almost as old as my Grandmamma.
None of them is wearing a nametag that proclaims her as Mindi Lou. So with little to run on I wait for my already tipsy hostess to give me answers.
“You’re not the strippers?” she asks like I didn’t ask my own question.
How cliché.
Behind me I hear River guffaw. He’s deft to mask it as a cough, the humor still crinkling his eyes. One of us finds this hilarious.
“No, no strippers here. I really need to see – ”
“Oh, no you don’t. No making demands, Mister. This is my home, my rules.” She grabs two shot glasses, one right out of the hand of one of the girls.
She shoves that one into my hand, and not waiting to see what I do with it she raises the glass and tips it back to the catcalls of her companions. I don’t touch my shot. “Whatsa mattah? Not fun for you?” she’s slurring some of her words, the alcohol working through her waifish figure.
“You’re Tilda Sterling?”
“Now you know my name, stud, what’s yours?”
Now that I know I’m in the right location, I hand the still full glass to its original owner. “Amos Fuller, and I’m here for Vanna.”
There are more catcalls. One lady, rivaling her hostess in intoxication, latches onto my thigh, and tugging my jeans for her attention, asks, “You ain’t Vanna’s husband? She got a man on the side up from where she came from?”
It’s one of those questions I’m better off not answering.
“Can I speak to Vanna? It’s urgent.”
“My niece is on time out, right ladies?”
Time out? What the hell does that mean?
I ask my hostess minus the cursing.
“She doesn’t want to have fun! And we don’t want party-poopers, even the bride,” she leans in and whispers bride, giggling, “to ruin our fun.” She raises Shot Number Two – or Eight, depending on the obvious liquid ‘fun’ River and I missed prior to our arrival.
“So she’s on baby duty, since we’re too fun for her.”
I try to keep my tone pleasant, or at least polite. I have no plan to get turned out now when Vanna’s this close. “Where?”
Tilda looks down the adjacent hall towards three rooms, one of which has to be the bathroom and the others bedrooms, I figure, given the layout of the one-story spread.
I move to the bedrooms, planning on checking both for my girl. I don’t count on being such a prized object. For such a small thing, Tilda’s got a hold on me rivalling someone twice her height and body mass. “Stay, handsome. Let’s party.”
I’m wondering where Tilda’s husband is; she said she had a child. He needs to monitor this hellion of a woman. Mindi Lou’s grandma was right on all counts. I’ll have to send another muumuu back to her from Atlanta once I get what I came for in Rosebay.
It’s a struggle to get her off me. Wors
e than a leach, she’s a second away from climbing me, wrapping her legs around my middle and having her creepy way with me.
I almost forget River’s with me until he’s materializing by my side, removing Tilda’s arms in seconds. Vanna’s drunk-ass aunt transfers her attention to River and he’s taking it like a champ.
If I didn’t know he could handle Tilda, I wouldn’t leave him alone to spite my sister. We both know Iris would be more than capable of hurting him if he cheated; thankfully we all know River isn’t sleazy scum.
“Go on. I’ll keep the ladies company.” River has my back. If it were me, I’d have backed out the door and waited in the car.