by Paula Cox
“Lard Have Mercy,” I corrected.
“Yeah. That place. I would still like to try the beignets and chicory coffee. I left in a bit of a hurry last night and didn’t have a chance to actually try them.”
I flushed at the mild rebuke, but he was grinning playfully at me. “Okay. That will be fine.”
“Will you actually stay and have dinner with me this time?”
I wanted to snap at him for being an ass, but I guess I deserved that, and it was obvious he was just needling me. “So long as you aren’t an asshole, yes.”
“Fair enough. How do I get there from here?”
I gave him directions and we arrived just as it began to rain, big drops that promised there was a toad strangler was on the way. He pulled up and stopped close to the door so I could hop out and dash under the covered front door to wait for him. He found a spot at the far end of the lot just as the heavens opened up and I had to giggle as I watched him squeeze out of the car ass first. MX5s weren’t designed for big, muscular, Americans, especially with the top up. He plodded, hunch shouldered, through the rain and then ran his hands through his hair when he stepped under the covering to squeegee the water out of it. Damned if it wasn’t a sexy move and I wondered if he did it on purpose.
“You ready?” he asked as he opened the door for me.
I stepped in and the smells I normally like so well assaulted me.
“What?” he asked as I stopped.
“I need some air,” I gasped as I stepped quickly around him and back outside. I took a couple of deep breaths and the queasiness began to fade.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he joined me, taking me gently by the elbow.
“Wow! That turkey sandwich is kicking.”
“What?”
“Lunch isn’t sitting that well,” I explained. “When I walked in there, the smells got to me. I thought I was going to puke.” I took another deep breath. “I’m feeling better now.”
“Are you sure? You want to go home instead?”
“No. I’m fine now.”
“Morning sickness?”
“Kind of early for that, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. One of the old ladies in the club used to carry a plastic trashcan around with her after she got pregnant. She was puking all the time, almost from the time she found out. We called her the barf-a-tron. Not in front of her, of course.”
“Weren’t you sweethearts,” I said flatly. “I’m feeling better. Let’s try this again,” I said as I stepped out of the way of a couple that was leaving.
We enter Lard Have Mercy again. At first I thought I was going to be okay, but then the nausea hit me like a punch in the gut. I shoved Cain out of the way and made it out of the door before I embarrassed myself. I was bent over, hands on knees, gasping as I fought against my stomach when I felt his hand gently caressing my back.
“As soon as you feel better, I’ll take you home.”
It took several long moments of panting before I felt well enough to stand up straight. “I’m better now,” I said as I straightened, enormously proud that I hadn’t actually puked in front of the restaurant.
“Wait here,” he said as he stepped from under the cover.
He walked out in the pouring rain and brought the car up in front of the door. I was just about to make a dash for it when I saw him squeezing out again and I waited, not sure what he was doing. I hoped he didn’t want me to drive because I really didn’t feel like it. Out of the car he walked around to the passenger side and held the door handle. I ran out into the rain and he jerked the door open for me and shut it behind me before he trudged around the front of the car and squeezed in. He was soaked to the skin and the windows immediately began to fog.
We drove through the rain, the wipers thumping out a steady rhythm as they fought to clear the windshield. As we waited at a light, he reached into his vest and pulled out his phone. After a couple of touches he placed the phone against his ear.
“Mom! It’s Cain. Good. Listen, I have a question. I have a friend that is suffering from morning sickness. No. No.”
He was juggling the phone as he drove and shifted gears. Sometimes I could hear a buzzing voice from the phone, but with the hiss of the tires, the rain roaring on the canvas top, and the wipers, I had no hope of making out what was being said.
“I’m in a car and it is pouring rain. Mom! I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? Right now, I want to know what to do about it. About four weeks. Uh huh. Uh huh.” He looked at me. “Are you allergic to peanut butter?”
I shook my head no.
“No. That’s it? Okay. Thanks, Mom.” He punched a button and tucked the phone away. “You have any peanut butter at your house?”
“No, I don’t think so. Is that supposed to help with the morning sickness?”
“It’s worth a try. Mom said it worked for her. We’ll stop and get some on the way home. Smooth or extra-crunchy?”
The ridiculousness of the conversation got to me and I grinned. “Smooth.”
***
“Wait here,” he said as he wormed his way out of the car and into the rain.
I watched him splash through the puddles and into the market, returning a few minutes later with a bag. He opened the door and, after placing the bag behind the seat, stuffed himself into the car again.
“Lovely weather you have here,” he said mildly as he wrung the water from his hair again. “Love the car, too. I think I will get one when I get home. It’s so easy to get in and out of. Especially with the top up.”
I tried not to, I really did, but I burst into giggles.
“You think it’s funny?” he growled playfully then flicked water into my face from his fingers.
“Stop! You’re getting me wet!”
“Oh, damn! Did I? I’m so sorry.” He then twisted his head violently side to side, slinging water everywhere, like a dog shaking himself dry.
I shrieked and put up my hands to ward off the flying water as I tried to make like a turtle and pull my head into my shoulders. “Stop!” I squealed.
“There. That’s better,” he said as he started the car then grinned at me.
“For who?” I cried and then giggled again.
***
“Here,” I said as I tossed him a towel.
“Thanks.” He took the towel and dried his hair then patted it over the rest of his body, soaking some of the water from his clothes. I thought about offering him the use of my shower, and dryer, but I had to leave for work soon and I didn’t want to give him any ideas.
I pulled the peanut butter, bread, and apples from the bag. “So this is supposed to work?”
“All we can do is try it. It’s loaded with protein.” He pulled a wicked looking knife from a holder on his belt and quickly cut an apple into quarters.
“Second drawer,” I advised when he started opening drawers, obviously looking for a spoon.
He pulled out a spoon, opened the peanut butter and dipped some onto an apple quarter before handing it to me. “Give that a try.”
The moment the smell of the peanut butter hit me I could feel my stomach roll over. I tried to hand it back. “I can’t.”
He refused to take the offered piece. “Alex, you have to eat something.”
I held my breath and bit off the end of the apple. My stomach rebelled but I chewed it up and forced it down. I waited a moment to see if it would stay, and after a few dozen breathes I could feel the sickness beginning to fade. I scooped another dollop of peanut butter onto the rest of the piece and ate that, too. By the time I had consumed the entire apple, I was feeling better.
“Want another?” he asked as he pulled another apple from the bag.
“One more, I think.” The peanut butter-coated apple was the best tasting thing I had eaten in a long time.
The moment he had the first quarter sliced he handed it to me, I smeared it with peanut butter and wolfed it down. “What about you?” I asked around a mouthful of apple.
When I returned from getting dressed, he handed me the grocery sack that had contained the bread, peanut butter, and apples. I looked into it and could see the last two apples, already quartered, and a sandwich, cut into bite-size squares.
“Remember what the doctor said. Eat often, anytime you feel like it. This should hold you for tonight. I will get more apples for tomorrow.”
His presumption annoyed me. “There won’t be a tomorrow.”
“We’ll see,” he said calmly.
“No. We won’t see, Cain.”
He looked at me a moment then sighed. “What’s the problem, Alex? Why won’t you accept my help? Help me to understand.”
“Because, Cain, I can’t trust you. It’s simple as that. You won’t tell me what you do, while at the same time you don’t seem open to change. The last thing I need is a drug smuggler, or whatever it is you do, in my life. Life is going to be hard enough without that.”
“Alex, I’ve told you over and over, I’m not involved in drugs. The Hounds are not involved in drugs. Drugs are a bad business and we want no part of that.”
“Yes you have. And yet, you won’t tell me what you do. How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“You’ll just have to trust me, okay?”
“How, Cain? How can I trust you?” I cried, setting the bag on the counter and holding my hands out to him beseechingly. “You obviously don’t trust me since you won’t tell me anything about what you do. ‘I’m in the import business.’ Well, guess what? Drug dealers could say the same thing. If I accept you into my life, into our lives, how do I know that someday you won’t stop coming home because you have been killed or arrested? How do I know that one day the cops won’t show up and take my child from me because I’m suddenly an unfit mother because I’m involved with you? How do I know that some thug isn’t going to kick open my door and gun us all down because of what you do? How do I know—”
“I won’t let any of that happen!”
“And how will you prevent it, Cain? Kill them first?”
“We don’t kill people, Alex! It’s not how we operate. Alex, you are going to have to trust me on this.”
“And there is the crux of the problem, Cain. I can’t trust you, because you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you, Alex!”
“You do? Then tell me what you do.”
I could see him think it over. “I can’t. I gave my word. I can’t break it.”
I gave him a ‘there you go’ hand gesture.
“Alex, I give you my word. None of your fears are likely to come true. I can’t promise you that I won’t die. I could get killed riding away from your house tonight after being hit by a car. You could die on the way to work tonight. Any of us could die at any moment. There are no guarantees in life. But you are blowing the risks it all out of proportion.”
“Am I?” I asked quietly. “Did you know I was raised by my grandparents?”
“No.”
“Yeah. My dad was a Dallas police officer. He was killed in a car crash – him and my mother. I can still remember them. Officially, it was an accident. But my grandparents think it was something else. I was about seven when Granny and Grandpa had driven up to see me and to spending a few days with us. Grandpa told me Dad said was investigating some kind of smuggling ring. He didn’t tell them what, but a few days before he died, he told my grandparents that he had a big break in the case he was working on. I can remember him and Mom dancing around the house because he was so excited about it, though, at the time, I didn’t know what the big fuss was. Anyway, they were going out for Mom’s birthday, just the two of them, when a wheel came off their car. The car hit the center wall and flipped over, then they were hit by a semi. Dad died at the scene, Mom later in the hospital. I still have the newspaper clippings that my grandparents saved.”
“I’m sorry, Alex, I really am. But that just proves my point. Anyone could die anytime.”
“No. Don’t you see? They were killed because of what he knew, or what he was going to do. I don’t know. Don’t you find it suspicious that right after he gets a big break in his case that a wheel comes off? When was the last time you heard of a wheel coming off a car?”
“But you don’t know it was related to his job. The police don’t give up on one of their own like that. It was probably just a terrible accident.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t take that chance. I’m sorry, Cain, but I just can’t. You need to go. And don’t come back.”
“Alex…”
“Just go, okay? Please?”
I watch his face go hard and then soften as he accepted my demand. “Fine. I’ll go. But I can’t let this drop, Alex. I understand your fears, but you are worrying for no reason. You really are. We have to reach some kind of agreement on this. I can’t let you drag my kid into the kind of life I had. I just can’t.”
“You have no say in the matter.”
“We’ll see,” he said softly as he picked up the bag and handed it to me again before he turned and walked out my front door. Hopefully forever.
Chapter 7
“Jill! Can you cover for me a minute? I need a break.”
“Sure, Alex. You okay? You don’t look so good.”
“Stomach is a little upset, that’s all. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay. Let me make a round then I will be right back.”
Jill, my relief bartender, moved off to do a quick check on her tables. The night had started out pretty good, but the longer my shift lasted, the harder it had been to stay focused. I had to tone down my routine, sticking with the stuff I could do in my sleep, simple flips and catches, for fear of dropping the bottles.
“Thanks. I’ll be back as quick as I can,” I gasped as Jill stepped behind the bar. I hurried to the back and dug in my locker, pulling out the plastic bag. I debated on apples or the sandwich for a moment, not feeling like eating either, but hoping that eating something would settle my stomach again. I opened the Ziploc bag and pulled out a couple of the apple slices. I felt my stomach heave over, but I stuffed the apple into my mouth and resolutely chewed and swallowed.
I damn near lost my battle with my stomach, running to the bathroom and standing over the toilet, swallowing convulsively, before the apple decided to stay down and I began to feel better. Finally, sure I wasn’t going to puke, I left the bathroom and ate the rest of the apple. Blowing out a great cleansing breath, I pulled the plastic bag out of the locker and, after folding it into as small of a package as I could, I took it with me back into the bar.
“Alex? Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost and sweating!” Jill exclaimed as I relieved her.
“Better now,” I said softly as I tucked the bag away out of sight behind the bar.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go home? We’re a little slow tonight. We can manage.”
“No, no. I’m okay now. Thanks for covering me.”
Jill grinned at me. “No problem. It’s a nice break from all the grabby hands.”
I spent the rest of the night nibbling on the apple or the sandwich squares when I wasn’t busy with a client. Once I was over the hump and was eating something every now and again, I felt a lot better.
During my down time, munching on another piece of apple, I thought about all that Cain had said, especially about what it was like for him growing up. I didn’t want that for my child, but as I told him, I didn’t want to trade one problem for another either. I wiped my hands on my bar towel after I popped the last of the apple into my mouth.
The problem with Cain was that he was so damned charming – dropping me off at the door, standing in the rain so I didn’t get any wetter than necessary, finding out what might help me with my sudden onset of morning sickness. I could have asked Granny what to do, and probably still would, but he didn’t wait around for someone else to do it. It would be a lot easier to hate him if he were a complete asshole. But he wasn’t. He real
ly did seem to be concerned for my well being.
But that was now. How about in a month? Two months? Nine months, when it really started getting hard? Would he be there then? I didn’t know. He could say he would, but talk was cheap.
I wouldn’t admit it, but it still bothered me a little that he left me after he got me pregnant. I knew he didn’t know, and I also knew it was just supposed to be a one night stand, sex with no strings attached, but it still hurt when I woke up alone in the room.
I wondered if what he said was true, that my biggest problem was my pride. Nobody had ever fucked me then just walked out on me like that. Maybe a little bit of it was my pride, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still a load of trouble. Maybe the Hounds didn’t sell drugs, but it was damn certain whatever they did, it was just as illegal.