by Mimi Milan
“Bless the night and the stars in the sky! That girl…”
Her sentence trailed off. Rhett cleared his throat, anticipating the interrogation to follow.
“Hi, mom.”
“Honey, where have you been?” she asked. “We thought you was just going to class.”
“I did go to class.”
“Well, why are you getting home so late? That ended over an hour ago. Then I tried calling and everything, but you didn’t answer. Didn’t you hear your phone? Did you lose it or something?”
Rhett bit back the retort hanging on the tip of his tongue. He would not be ugly to his mother no matter how exhausting she had become. After all, she was just doing what mothers did best – worrying for her young. If there was anything at all to be said about Margie Marshall, it was that she certainly played the role of mother hen. He just wished she would realize that blind didn’t mean helpless child – especially when there really were younguns to worry about. Namely, his sister Caitlin needed to be reined in. The girl was like a green broke horse – trained to the saddle but still wild enough to buck.
“I’m fine, ma.” He shifted the bag on his shoulder, the art supplies growing heavy. “Just got to talking is all. Nothing to worry about.”
“Got to talking to who?” his mother inquired. “Oh, Lord. It wasn’t some girl, was it? That would just crush Amy – bless her heart. You know how she adores you so.”
Rhett clenched his teeth, fighting hard to control his mounting anger. If he had said it once, he had said it at least a dozen times. “Mom, Amy and I are no longer dating. That ended months ago. Remember?”
“Oh, nonsense.” His mother clucked her tongue. “The poor girl’s confused is all. It’s a big adjustment to make – especially for someone with such lofty goals like the ones she had. Just give her some time and she’ll come around.”
If by “lofty goals” his mother meant waving from a float in the town’s parade, then Amy had gone from aiming at stars to shooting at kneecaps. The truth was that the woman never had any intention to do anything other than be a wife and possibly a mother – not that either one of those was bad. In fact, he kind of liked the idea of someone taking care of the home while he played provider and protector. However, Amy’s domestic skills began and ended with ordering takeout. And her cleaning skills couldn’t have passed a brown glove test let alone a white one. Bottom line, the woman had been interested in marrying a man who could keep her in a lifestyle of her liking, and Rhett’s unfortunate accident had thrown a wrench in her plans. At least, for as much as she knew. He had never told her about the house he had built with his father and brother, hoping to make it a wedding present. Then there was the accident and her meltdown during one of his therapy sessions.
“Listen, mama. Amy and I are never—”
“Oh, hush with your ‘never’ and come on in to eat.” She clapped her hands as if rounding up a bunch of chicks, her attention apparently turned to Clark. “You, too, young man. The food isn’t getting any warmer, you know.”
Clark scuffled along the porch. “Yes, ma’am.”
The screen door squeaked open and closed.
His mother called out again. “Well, come on. You’ve got to eat if you’re gonna keep your strength up.”
Rhett sighed. There was no use in telling her his physical strength was not the issue. He lightly tugged at the leash, signaling to his young guide that he was ready to walk. “Come on, Bear. I bet there’s a biscuit in there for you.”
They made their way up the front steps to where his mother held the door open for him. He bent down and unleashed the dog, allowing him to take off to follow the scent of baked ham. Here, in the safety of his parents’ home, Rhett knew every knickknack and corner. Perhaps it had been all the childhood games of hide and seek, or maybe the time spent helping his siblings learn how to walk. They would cruise about, holding onto his fingers as he counted the steps they took. Whatever the reason, he could have easily made his way about blindfolded. It was a shame he couldn’t say the same about his own home… yet. Somehow – some way – Rhett would learn the new place as well as he knew this one. Then he would finally find his freedom. Until then, he was going to enjoy the best ham dinner that could be found east of the Mississippi. He walked through the living room, towards the kitchen, inhaling deeply. The tantalizing aroma made him smile.
“Smells good.”
“Oh, well…” she laughed off the compliment. “I don’t like to brag, but I do believe this is one of my finer achievements. I actually pulled the gravy off. Made it just like my mama this time, God rest her soul. I think she would’ve been pleased.”
Rhett only nodded, choosing silence over a response. There had been a continued sadness hanging over the household ever since Grandma Bea passed on a few months earlier. Perhaps if it hadn’t happened the day before Christmas, things would have been a little different. Then again, maybe the loss would’ve felt the same regardless of the day it occurred. One thing for certain, the holiday would never be the same without her.
He made his way to the sink to wash up, and then took his seat at the table beside his brother who had already begun to dish out food for the two of them.
“Act like you’ve been taught some manners,” a voice boomed. A chair scraped across the kitchen floor as their father, Frank Marshall, took his place at the head of the table. “You know to wait for grace, boy.”
Clark muttered his apologies through a mouthful of food while Rhett patiently waited for the moment to say “amen” and dig in. When he finally did, he concurred that this was indeed one of his mother’s finer meals. Make no mistake – she was never a slouch in the kitchen. However, the ham gravy evoked memories of the one Grandma Bea used to make. There was just the right amount of brown sugar to hit that sweet tooth without going overboard.
“This is delicious, mama.” He raised a fork to cheer her accomplishment. “No doubt I could make a meal of the gravy all by itself.”
His mother laughed. “Thank you, honey. I’m glad you like it.”
“You’re lucky it turned out,” his father said. “Almost didn’t, though. You can thank yourself for that one.”
“Frank—”
“Nope. Boy needs to hear the truth, Margie.”
Rhett slowly laid his fork down. His temperature began to rise, equal to the anger coursing through him. He carefully reached forward, found his glass of sweet tea, and took a sip. When he was finished, he set it back down with just as much precision as he had used to pick it up. “And what truth might that be, pa?”
“What truth? What—” His father sputtered as if amused. “Boy, you mosey along around here like you ain’t got a care in the world. Going off to those silly art classes everyone likes to call ‘therapy,’ but you ain’t fooling me. I know it’s just a way to shirk off your responsibilities.”
“Frank!”
“Not a word, Margie! You know it’s true.” His father returned his attention back to Rhett. “We all know you always liked to do that drawing nonsense of yours, but the fact is it don’t pay the bills. But building homes? Now that’s honest work right there.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” Rhett countered. He lifted his fork to resume eating. “You know I would be no good on a site. I couldn’t see to hammer a nail even if you waved it in front of my face.”
“But you could!” his father insisted. “You could if you’d have that surgery Doc Brown suggested.”
Again with the surgery.
“Yeah, and I could risk never waking up again!” Rhett fumed. His fork clattered as he dropped it onto the plate. Why couldn’t his father understand the surgery’s risks outweighed the benefits? He wiped his mouth and threw his napkin down, standing to leave.
“Boy, don’t you dare walk out while I’m talking to you!” his father roared. “You’ll show some respect while living under my roof.”
Rhett quickly stood at attention. “Yes, sir! May I be excused, sir?”
Silence
fell over the room. He took the moment to drive his point home. He raised his hand in a mock salute. “Thank you, sir!”
He marched out and straight to his room, Bear scurrying behind him. He slammed the door soundly shut. Enough was enough. He didn’t have to live like this. After all, he did have his own house. So what if he was unfamiliar with the place and stumbled around like a fool? He’d hire an assistant of sorts – a cook, too. That way he wouldn’t burn himself on the stove like the last time. The small fire he had accidentally started had been the perfect opportunity for his mother to convince him to move back in. His own home turned into little more than an art studio that he only occasionally visited, turning his parents’ place into home base. That had obviously been a mistake, though. His mother was always worried; his father regularly combative. No, he definitely didn’t belong here.
Rhett made his way to the closet and pulled out his duffle bag, then rummaged through the closet and drawers until it was filled with the personal belongings that mattered most. He decided he would ask Clark to drive him back to his own home after dinner – maybe get him to sneak out a bit of food, too. That would take care of the issue of cooking for a day or two until he could get some groceries and arrange for some hired help.
A knock at the door startled him. Before he could hide the duffle bag, it creaked open.
“Looks like you’re planning a trip,” his brother said.
“Yeah, bro. I am,” he replied. “And I was kind of hoping you’d help me out with that.”
There was a moment of silence, then he felt his brother beside him. “Bag feels kind of light. Anything else you want to pack?”
“The kitchen fridge?”
Clark laughed. “Nice to see you’ve got your priorities straight. I’ll see what I can slip out while they’re watching the T.V.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Chapter Five
Luciana audibly sighed. It was bad enough that her aunt had insisted on accompanying her to the modeling session. Now she wanted to join them inside?
“Please, tía. I won’t be that long. Couldn’t you just wait in the car… por favor?” she begged her aunt, but the woman wasn’t about to back down.
“Wait in the car?” She gave her an incredulous look. “Estás loca? I’m not going to wait in a hot car while you’re busy inside being murdered… or worse.”
Luciana didn’t want to ask what the “or worse” might be. With her aunt’s overactive imagination, life was one big telenovela. She could guess what the woman was thinking. “Ay, tía. Get your mind out of the gutter. This guy is not like that.”
“Amor, all men are like that.”
“Yeah? Well, not this one.”
“And how do you know that?” her aunt challenged. “The artists are the ones you really have to watch out for. What was that guy? Something Van Gogh… cut his own ear off! The other one? Cómo se llama? Hugo! That’s right. Pretended to be in a wheelchair just to get Mili… and then he almost killed her!”
Luciana half groaned, half laughed. “Ay, tía. That’s a novela. He wasn’t real.”
“Doesn’t matter. ‘There is no new thing under the sun.’ If someone could think it, then someone could do it.”
“Yes, but not today.”
“How do you know?”
Luciana fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew her aunt wasn’t treating her any differently than she would one of her own children. Still, she wished the woman would lay off the mothering bit. She hadn’t had a mother since she was fourteen, and she had turned out alright.
“Remember what I told you, tía?” She dropped her voice and leaned in close. “He’s blind.”
“Why are you whispering?” Her aunt waved her away. “And that don’t mean nothing, nena. Remember that other movie—”
“Ya!” Luciana cut her aunt off, popping the door open. She tossed her phone back before stepping out of the car. “Here. Check your feed or whatever.”
“My—Girl, you know I’m not about all that.”
“Then use it to read. There are several apps to choose from.”
“Read?” Her aunt looked at the phone like some alien device. “What’s the matter with you kids? Haven’t you ever heard of a book?”
Luciana ignored the comment and the fact that there was indeed a book in the trunk she could have dug out if she so desired. However, she seriously doubted her aunt would be interested in an out-of-date biology text that couldn’t be returned for a refund after Lucy’s graduation. “Just stay here. Okay? The keys are in the ignition so you can listen to La Mezcla or whatever other station, you can turn on the air if you get too hot… you can even go for a drive so long as you’re back in an hour.”
“Oh, no. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Luciana conceded. “Just remember not to embarrass me. Okay?”
“Embarrass?” Tía Maria snaked her head at her niece. “Girl, I’m no Chilendrina. Be embarrassed when I show up in curlers and a bathrobe… Okay?”
Luciana snorted and waved. “Bye, tía.”
She closed the car door and headed up the walk, nodding approvingly as she studied the cute cottage. If she was ever fortunate enough to have a house, it would be just like this one. From the Victorian windows peering from between creamy slabs to the white picket fence, there wasn’t a thing wrong that she could pick out. Even the front door in its brilliant red was a great choice… and further proof that Rhett Marshall was the real McCoy if he had played a role in actually designing the house. Everything about it screamed “artist.” She couldn’t wait to see what it looked like on the inside. She tossed a look back to catch her aunt staring like a hawk. Luciana only shook her head and rang the bell. It resulted in the sound of a small dog’s bark followed by scratching sounds and the mandate to “hush.”
The door popped open. “Luciana?”
“Hi, Rhett. I hope I’m not late.”
“No, no. Not at all. Please, come in.” He stepped aside and held the door open. The small dog began to bark again. “You’ll have to excuse Bear. He’s still in training. Although, he’s pretty good when we go out. Can’t complain, though. He was a gift from a couple of veterans down at the VA.”
Bear jumped up, lightly pawing at Luciana.
“Aw. He just wants some love.” She kneeled to rub the dog behind his ears, and then thought better of touching a service dog without permission first. “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, if I pet the dog?”
“Go ahead,” Rhett replied. “I’m sure he would love it.”
Truer words had never been spoken. As soon as Luciana began to rub Bear’s ears, he flopped down on the ground to reveal his belly. She laughed. “Oh, my gosh. He’s so adorable.”
“He takes after his owner,” Rhett joked and she laughed again. He closed the door. “Well… do you want to look around first, or just get right to it?”
Luciana gave the dog a final pat and stood. “To be honest, I am kind of curious about your place. I mean, I was admiring it from the outside. I can only imagine how amazing the rest of the house looks.”
Rhett cringed. “Probably not as nice as the outside. Come on in and take a gander.”
They made their way through the house, him ticking off one room after another while she tried to refrain from judging his domestic skills. Clutter trailed from one end of the place to the other, making it look like a storage facility. Art supplies, building materials, tools, unfolded clothes…
This poor guy needs a maid!
No sooner did she have the thought, Luciana chastised herself. It wasn’t his fault that the place was a mess. After all, it wasn’t like he could see the mess piling up. Instinct kicking in, she picked up a couple of dirty dishes off the dining room table as they passed through to the kitchen. She tried to place them in the sink as quietly as possible, but they still lightly clanked against others that had piled up.
Rhett turned towards the sound. “Are you… cleaning?”
“Oh, no
. I was just…” she paused. What exactly could she say? After all, she was picking up after him. “Yeah, okay. Maybe a little. I’m sorry. It’s just a habit. I’m the oldest in a very large family, so I’m kind of used to cleaning up whenever I see something lying around.”
He slowly nodded as if processing what she was saying. “I know the place is a little out of sorts. I’m planning on getting a maid to help with all that, though.”
“Really? You’re looking for a maid? Because I happen to know—”
Movement caught in Luciana’s peripheral vision. Was that her…
“I’m sorry. What was that?” Rhett felt around the island in the middle of the kitchen and slowly made his way around it. He headed towards the fridge. “I thought you were going to say that you might know someone for the job.”
“Uh—” Luciana hesitated. There was no mistaking that head of hair. Tía Maria peered through yet another kitchen window. Her niece waved her away. “I, uh, actually know someone who owns a cleaning service. Although I’m not too sure she would be the right choice.”
“Why not?” Rhett located two cans of soda. He held one out as carefully walked towards her. She took it, thanking him.
“Well, how can I put it?” Luciana looked back at the window just as a puff of dark curls disappeared. She turned back to her host. “She’s… a little crazy.”
“Crazy? What do you mean she’s—”
A scream sounded from outside, startling them both. Rhett dropped his drink. Luciana dove to pick it up as soda gushed out onto the floor. “I’m so sorry!”
“Why?” Bear began to bark and run around Rhett’s legs, causing him to spin around, bewildered. “What was that?”
The voice that had yelled only moments earlier cried out a string of Spanish. Luciana grabbed some paper towels to mop up the soda. She groused, “That would be my aunt.”
Rhett commanded the dog to sit and then turned back to Luciana, a look of surprise painted on his face. “Your aunt?”
“Yes,” Luciana answered. She walked over to the trash to dispose of the wet towels. “She was a little concerned about me being alone in a strange guy’s house. Not that you’re strange, of course! I mean, you’re a man and I’m a woman—”