The Devil's Fire

by Rue Volley

  He pulled the chair out for me, and it helped me feel a little less awkward about the entire situation. It would probably be best if I acted like it didn’t happen.

  Ignoring issues always works. Right?

  I sat down and placed my hands on my lap. I could feel the heat coming off of him as I sat next to him at the table. He was extremely attractive. He had dirty blonde hair, pulled back in a man bun, and a scruffy beard that was just a shade darker than the blonde hair on his head. He wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off some amazing tattoos on his muscular arms.

  He extended his hand. He had a large sterling silver ring on his middle finger. I shook it without hesitation. His grip was firm, and his hand engulfed mine. I expected it to be callus from working on homes, but it wasn’t. His skin was soft, he must be new at this type of work.

  “Brad,” he said, never taking his eyes off of me.

  “Abigail, I’m her offspring.” I let go of his hand and pointed at my mom.

  “Yes, I made her.” My mom nodded, setting a large coffee cup down in front of me and filling it up to the top. I was grateful, I needed it so badly. “She nearly tore me from bow to stern, but here she is.”

  I sighed and took a sip of my coffee, gripping it with two hands.

  “We might as well get the inappropriate conversations out of the way this morning, right Mom?”

  Mom ignored me. She walked back to the kitchen counter and grabbed the bread that popped up out of the toaster. She started to butter it and then waved her knife around as she continued.

  “Her head was so large—my God, like a melon.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another drink. I wasn’t even going to try.

  He grinned, showing off his straight, white teeth. His companions drank their coffee in silence. They both got up and looked at him. “Well, breaks over. Back to it,” one of the men said.

  He started to rise, but my mom delayed him. I knew what she was doing. Damn her.

  “Go on guys, but I have a job for you,” she winked at Brad.

  She barely looked at me and continued buttering her toast. “Abigail has a problem with her bed.”

  I glared at her in shock. “I—what?”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked as I glanced at him. I shook my head. “I don’t think that I do.”

  Mom laughed. “She does, the frame is loose, it squeaks when it gets moved.”

  The look on my face was priceless. “How would you—”

  She interrupted me, “It needs to be tightened up, and I don’t have the arms for it, but you look like you do.” She turned and took a bite of her toast. She chewed and raised her eyebrows.

  “Mom. I just slept on it, and it didn’t have any problems at all.” I looked at Brad, hoping that he would go back to work, but no such luck.

  She swallowed and took a quick sip of her tea. “You were drunk, you wouldn’t have noticed.” She looked back at him. “Could you check it out for her? I would appreciate it.”

  He smiled. He raised his hand, and I watched the muscles flex in his arm. “I would love to check out her bed, and fix it, of course.”

  He stood up, and I wanted to crawl into a hole. “Abi, take him upstairs and show him.”

  “I don’t even—” she gave me that look and nodded toward him. I stood up in defeat. “Okay—this way,” I said as I walked past him and he followed me.

  He stopped halfway up the stairs when he noticed the picture of me and my dad on the fishing trip.

  “You like to fish? Me too.”

  I looked at the picture. “Only with my dad.”

  He paused. “He looks like a cool guy.”

  “He died when I was still in high school.”

  “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

  I turned back and looked him over. “My bedroom is up here.”

  He followed me upstairs and down the hallway. I stopped at my door and then looked back at him. “I didn’t mean to sound rude back there, sorry. I just, I don’t talk about my dad.”

  He nodded to me. “It’s okay, I get it.”

  I opened my door up and stepped in. He followed me into my room and looked at the walls. They were covered in posters of glam rockers and eighties memorabilia. I scanned the room. “I liked the eighties and men in make-up.” I said, without remorse.

  “I can see that.”

  He spotted my bed. It was a wreck, it looked as if there may have been a struggle. “So there it is.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “She was—I’m sorry. My mom is going through her terrible forties.”

  He laughed. I did too. I rubbed my neck as his genuine smile kind of mesmerized me for a moment. He was charming. I usually didn’t go for lumberjack looking men, but he wasn’t a bad catch at all. I’m sure that he would make some woman very happy.

  “So I take it that your bed is not broken.”

  I felt the heat on my cheeks. “No, it isn’t.”

  He walked over to it, extended his hand and shook it. The headboard slammed up against the wall. I crossed my legs over and tapped my hands on my thighs. He looked back at me. His eyes were mischievious. “It’s a little loose.”

  He pulled a screwdriver out of his utility belt that extended across his hips. He lifted it to his mouth and bit on the side of the handle. He laid down on his back, quickly sliding under my bed like it was a car. I tilted to the side as his shirt moved up. I could see his finely shaped abs on his stomach. He pushed himself out from under my bed, and I started to look around my room. I slid my hands into my back pockets.

  “That should do it,” he stood up and tried to shake the bed, it was solid now.

  “You did that fast.”

  His reply was swift and flirtatious. “I have some experience with beds.”

  I blushed. The rosy color easily ebbed its way into my cheeks. My pale skin never masked it very well. He noticed. I hated it. He took a step in my direction and then stopped.

  Finally, he spoke, “I didn’t mean to.” He pointed his thumb back toward the window.

  I cleared my throat, pushing a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I know, my boobs are a lot more free-spirited than I am, I guess. Who knew?”

  I immediately regretted it. It sounded like flirting and in a way, I guess that it was.

  His head tilted ever so slightly to the right. “I—would you like to have a beer sometime?”

  I stuttered over my words, I usually don’t, but I wasn’t expecting to be asked out on a date.

  “I—I don’t know how to—don’t get me wrong, I just, there was this—I mean, it’s complicated.”

  “Guy?”

  I stopped. “Yeah, but the guy, he’s gone. He isn’t coming back.”

  He shook his head. “Well, he’s a fool, whoever he was, and hey—it’s just one beer.”

  I looked down at my feet. He continued to talk. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be around. Your mom has my number.”

  I nodded as all six-foot-five of him walked past me. I turned and watched him for just a split second as he left my room. His jeans were tight, and they hugged him in all the right places.

  I turned back around and let my head fall back. I laughed under my breath as I placed my hands on my hips. It seemed as if Mom was on a mission to get me back out and dating.

  I looked at the bed and walked up to it. I reached out and tried to shake it, but it didn’t move. I bit the tip of my finger and smiled.

  “Okay, Brad. You do know something about beds,” I said quietly to myself as I continued to grin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LIBERATED VAGINA

  ___________________________________

  I sat on the couch, staring at my mom while she painted her toenails black. I placed my chin in my open hand.

  I raised my free hand and lowered it in confusion. “When did this happen?”

  She blew on her toes and let her eyes float over to me, but only for a second.

  The devilish grin followed. “I don’t know what you
mean, Abi.”

  I laughed under my breath. “This new thing you’re doing. This new you.”

  Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched upward, she lowered her foot, waving a hand at me.

  “Give me your foot, honey.”

  I lifted my foot, and she took it in her hand. She made me turn sideways. She dabbed the applicator into the nail polish. I tilted my head and watched her. She placed the applicator to my nail and painstakingly started to paint it black. She was doing an excellent job, staying on the nail and avoiding my skin. It was something that I could never do, hence the reason I go without it most of the time.

  She was glowing. Her skin was flawless. She looked stress-free. I couldn’t be upset about it, it was just a huge leap from the Mom that I had always known and the new one standing before me.

  “This new thing is me enjoying myself. I’m allowed to have a good time, right?”

  I reached into the bag on the coffee table and grabbed a sourdough pretzel. I bit into it and chewed. “Yeah, I don’t mean that you can’t have fun, I just—you seem so different.”

  She stopped painting my nail and dipped the applicator back into the bottle. She started on toe number two and simultaneously blew on toe number one.

  “I am.”

  “I see that, but why? What happened?”

  She sat up straight and placed a hand on her hip. Her long hippie style skirt was split and was showing off one of her tanned legs. She wasn’t even wearing a bra under her dark tank top. Don’t get me wrong, she had fabulous breasts, as breasts go, but it’s my mom. I wasn’t used to seeing her so—I don’t know—relaxed.

  “Abi, last year I was wearing mom shorts and clogs. Doodling around in my flower beds with that big silly hat on.”

  “I love your gardening hat.”

  She pursed her lips, and I shut up. “Anyway, I came inside, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror, and I just started crying.”

  “Oh no, why?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

  She sighed. “Well, honey. I was standing there, belly all pudgy, I had those high-waisted shorts on,” she paused and pointed a finger at me. “Shame on you for letting me wear those, but anyway, I had dirt on my face. My hair was a mess, and it hit me. I looked like my mom, and my mom wasn’t about being sexy at all. She was the opposite of sexy. She beat it off with a stick.”

  “I don’t remember Grandma, very much.”

  She softened her tone, “Oh I know baby, but trust me, she was the queen of prudes. In fact, I’m shocked she even had me and my sister. We must have been an immaculate conception.”

  I laughed, and she went back to painting my toenails. “Anyway, I took off the hat, and put my hair up, cleaned my face, tossed the clogs and burned those damn shorts. I also started exercising and eating better. I feel incredible now and along with it, my sex drive—you know,” she wagged her eyebrow. I grimaced. She continued. “It just blew up. I think that’s why I attacked the mailman and the pizza boy—and the butcher.”

  “Oh for crap sake, Mom! It’s not take out. You don’t order men—and the butcher, too?”

  “I did that night,” she laughed, resting her chin on her hand. I shook my head. “Have you seen my freezer? I have steaks galore.” She waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen.

  “I—I don’t even know what to say to you, young lady. You’re out of control.”

  She smiled as she finished up my foot and moved on to the next one.

  “You could say ‘Congratulations, you have liberated your vagina, Mom’. Look, it’s a book, a magnificent one.” She got up and walked to the bookshelf. She returned with it in her hand. Yep, there it was in big bold black letters: Liberated Vagina, a guide to letting the cat out of the bag.

  I parted my lips, and she looked at me like she expected me to pull out the pom-poms and start cheering. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. She looked at the cover and back to me. “Does this bother you, honey?”

  I sighed. What could I say? The title was amusing, and the picture cracked me up. It had a woman holding a large bag off to the side that appeared to be moving.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, Abi?”

  I shook my head no. There was no freakin’ way that I was going to tell her that I was still a virgin, not while she was letting her vagina order pizza delivery boys and score better cuts of beef.

  “Nope, just thinking about your liberated vagina. Does it wave a flag, like Bono from U2?”

  She tapped my leg. “U2? I don’t even know what that is, but you should read this, it’s amazing. It starts off with the female orgasm and the actual location of the clit. It has a map, look.” She opened the book up and spread it wide to expose the map. I looked down. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t need a map. I was pretty sure that Jack had located mine on a few occasions.

  “Look, chapter one. Game of Moans.”

  “Okay.” I stood up and walked toward the door. She called out to me.

  “I’m here whenever you want to talk about sex, Abi.”

  I hunched my shoulders and spun on my heels. I shoved my hands in my back pockets.

  “I’m going to Birt’s store, do you need anything? Condoms, pregnancy test, batteries?”

  She laughed, “Milk.”

  “Okay then.”

  I walked out of the house. I stopped and let out an enormous sigh of relief. This was supposed to be a vacation, he said, time for me, he said.

  Great plan Marc.

  I walked the long aisle of candy and stared at box after box of chocolate this and that. Maple nut clusters, peanut clusters, chocolate on chocolate dipped in chocolate clusters.

  I leaned forward and inspected the maple nut clusters again, flinching when I heard a shrill female voice to my right. Her voice was one octave too high with a volume to match.

  “Abigail Watson!”

  I turned to see Lilyanne Culver rushing over with her big hair and breasts to match. Her sweet smelling gum popped right in my ear as she wrapped me up tight in her arms. Her oversized hot pink hoop earring slapped my cheek a couple of times, making me blink. I could smell the bleach in her hair, turning it from its natural chestnut brown to the platinum blonde that she preferred. It had been that way ever since I could remember.

  She was a friend of my mom’s, a flamboyant one. I use the word friend very loosely. Lilyanne was everyone’s friend because she was intrusive. We all know that type. They come in like a hurricane and just embed themselves into your life whether you want them to or not. To be honest, I was shocked that the town allowed her to stay because she was singlehandedly ruining the ozone with her hairspray.

  I coughed from her perfume, its pungent aroma made my eyes sting. She must bathe in it like Elizabeth Bathory bathed in blood. It just added to her theatrics.

  “Lilyanne, Hi. How are you?” I said as cheerfully as I could. She was also the queen of gossip in town. If I even hinted at sadness, then it would become a suicide watch in my front yard. I’m not kidding. She would blow it up ten-fold and then add like six more folds just for good measure.

  She let me go and backed up maybe two feet away from me. Her big blue eyes looked me over, from top to bottom and back again. She pointed at me with her long hot pink nails. They had little jewels embedded on the tips and the overhead lights in the store made them shimmer. I caught myself staring at them as she waved them in front of my nose.

  She began to speak, of course, it was proceeded with one big gulp of air so that she could come at me like a verbal locomotive. “Oh, look at you, Abi, all grown up. How are you? You look thin, are you eating? New York is so hard on the digestion, too busy for me, all that noise and pollution. I just couldn’t do it, my skin is too sensitive for that. I need fresh air, I bet that you missed it here!” She fidgeted with her hair. I hid my smile. She continued on without missing a beat. “Is there a man in the picture? I thought there would be, you know, men are such animals. I heard about that one—what was his name? Lander, Lansom
?” Her voice lowered as she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to remember.

  Her combo meal of questioning made me dizzy.

  “Lets’ see, I’m good, I eat—no eating disorder, I promise, New York is cool, digestion is fine, I don’t mind the noise and no, no man. It was Landon. It doesn’t matter.”

  She grinned and snapped her fingers. “Landon! That was it. Those rich boys are all the same. Don’t you worry about it one bit! But no man in your life—so ridiculous. You are gorgeous, just like your mama. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Man or woman.” She winked at me while simultaneously nudging me with her elbow. I knew that she was digging for information.

  I smiled back at her. “I haven’t liberated my vagina yet, I guess.”

  She parted her lips, the look on her face was priceless. Suddenly I was saved by Thomas, the owner of the store. He was the son of the man who built it. His father was buried in the same cemetery as my dad. He had lost his father my sophomore year in college. I remembered thinking about it when I heard the news from my mom. It brought back memories of how devastated I felt when I lost my dad. I guess Thomas left college and came home to run the family business that year. He abandoned his schooling and married his high school sweetheart.

  Thomas’s life was already mapped out for him. Even after college he would have ended up back here. He only went to major in business, at his parent’s request. He was his dad’s only son. He had five sisters, and none of them gave a crap about the store. They just cared about the money that it generated. So, the future of their empire depended on him.

  That was a lot of weight to have to carry on your shoulders. I didn’t envy him at all.

  I smiled at him as he continued to approach me. His dark brown hair was still cut in the same style, short and trimmed up to perfection. He always looked like he was ready to head off to boot camp. His brown eyes blended into his tanned skin. His entire family was tan. They spent more time outdoors than any people I had ever known. Hiking, camping out, canoeing and fishing—you name it. If it was outside, they did it.