by Janet Leigh
My parents picked Eli and me up at my house. Eli was living in a rented space above the chiropractic office in Coffee Creek, and my house was “on the way.” It made sense for him to come ride with us. It felt like serious déjà vu when Eli and I climbed in the backseat of my mom’s Lexus. This ride would be smoother than the Ford Explorer from my youth, and since Melody wasn’t with us, I was entitled to a window seat instead of being squashed in the middle. My dad’s dark-black hair had turned gray over the years, but he still held every hair in perfect position with a can of Consort hairspray. He might be a health nut, but he was never giving up his aerosol hairspray. George Jones played on the radio, and my mom scanned her latest cooking conquest for errors. Eli and I looked at each other and smiled. This was family time. There would be nagging at Eli to find a nice girl and settle down. There would be subtle hints dropped about me taking some online classes toward a master’s degree, and there would be a degree of not understanding why Melody couldn’t make the Thanksgiving reunion. But we were family, and the two-hour drive to Mount Vernon let us catch up on one another’s lives, except the part of mine that was a secret.
The car smelled of sweet potatoes and cookies because everyone brought a dish to the reunion. That was family tradition. This year my mom made sweet potato casserole (a recipe of Paula Dean’s). I made a tray of chocolate chip cookies (slice and bake), and Eli opted out because his cooking skills were not so great. I checked my cell to see if there was any word from Caiyan. No text. I hit the app that opened my e-mail and scrolled through the shopping ads. An e-mail from Jake read, I hope you and your family have a happy Thanksgiving. Nothing from Caiyan.
We exited off the highway at the Dairy Queen, the only landmark available, and took the asphalt road through the tree tunnel, bumped along for a few miles, then pulled up in Trish’s yard. The white house sat back from the road, and a few kids were playing on an old tire swing that hung from one of the giant oak trees that populated the yard.
“I thought Trish had that swing taken down?” Mom asked.
“Aint Mable’s daughter is bringing all her kids. She has eight of them, and Mamma Bea suggested to Trish that if she didn’t want her buffet torn to shreds before suppertime, she should put the swing back up,” Dad replied.
Mamma Bea was my dad’s mother. She looked like Dolly Parton, smelled like White Shoulders, and could yodel like a Swiss milkmaid. She told me this was good for calling the sows in for feeding. A porch wrapped around the house, and I dreaded the stuffy smell that always hung in the air inside the small home. Dried flowers and bleach would stop you in your tracks as soon as you crossed the threshold. I took a deep breath of fresh air before entering. I was shocked. Gone were the smells of the past along with the furniture. The old brown flowered sofa that sat on the wall underneath the window AC unit was gone. The window unit had been removed, and a big picture window took its place with a perfect view of the tire swing tree. Cousin Trish was burning a vanilla-scented Scentsy on the mahogany entry table, and the whole room felt cozy. As usual, relatives came forward to greet my family. Aint Mable had had gastric bypass surgery and was no longer pushing three hundred pounds. Dad was making a comment about how he hardly recognized her, being so slim and all. There was still about a hundred pounds extra, but who am I to judge?
Mamma Bea entered the room, and her scent of gardenia mixed with the vanilla smelled like heaven. I wrapped my arms around her and felt that warm tingle that always made me feel special when I was little. She looked at me and smiled. Her hair was dyed a honey color and piled up on top of her head. Turkeys dangled from her earlobes, and she wore an apron that claimed her spot in the kitchen.
“I like your earrings, Mamma Bea.”
“Thanks, dawrlin’. I got them at Target. They were on sale two for one, so I bought these and a pair of reindeer earrings that have blinking noses.”
“I can’t wait to see them.”
She laughed, took my mother’s casserole, and returned to the kitchen. Gertie had driven down the day before, and I could hear her laughter from the backyard. The weather was crisp but not too cold today, and I had worn my black-and-white tribal sweater with my black Uggs just in case it was nippy. I followed Gertie’s laughter outside.
When I stepped off the back porch, I walked into backyard glory. Trish had gone all-out. A large white canopy tent was set up, and I could see tent heaters inside, making the area toasty. A long buffet table loaded with casseroles ran the length of one side of the tent. Round tables with rust-colored tablecloths were scattered about. On each table, a centerpiece of the horn of plenty spilled gourds and fall leaves onto the tables. A small squatty pumpkin carved with tiny holes sat in the center, illuminated by a flickering candle.
Gertie sat at a table and had her head thrown back in a roar of laughter. Her twin brothers bookended her and were also laughing out loud. Bobby Ray and Billy Ray were about six five and played tackle for the University of Texas. They never did very well in school, but once a college coach caught sight of them, their grades magically improved. Bobby Ray or Billy Ray was telling a joke. They were both huge with curly black hair, and their skin was the color of Milk Duds. Gertie had her ways of telling them apart, but to me they were just Gertie’s brothers. One of them had a gold cap on his front tooth, sporting the Mike Tyson look, but I couldn’t remember which one, so I just addressed them as hey, guys.
Gertie waved at me, and the man sitting across from her turned and stood as I approached. Marco.
I hadn’t seen Marco since the shooting last month. He was Vinnie’s nephew and a traveler from his father’s bloodline. It must have been karma that Vinnie met Trish at Marco’s grandfather’s funeral because their marriage brought Marco into my life.
Marco refused to travel but helped me save Gertie last month when a brigand was holding her hostage. He was six three and had washboard abs. He raced Formula One cars as a hobby and did nothing for a living. He came from the Ferrari family, a long line of Italian race car drivers and travelers. Working for anything but fun will never be an option for Marco. He took a bullet in the chest saving my life. He was my first kiss when I was sixteen, and the sexual tension that sparked between us was like lightning.
“Marco.” I approached, knowing he would greet me with the Italian gesture of kissing both cheeks. That’s just the way they roll in that family. I held out both hands and he grasped mine in his, leaning down to greet me. The electric shock raced up my arms and made my face blush.
“You look much better,” I managed to get out. His blond hair, compliments of his Swedish-born mother, had grown longer and curled around the collar of his white button-down.
He cocked a wolfish grin, knowing what his touch did to me. Continuing to hold both my hands, he said, “The doctor says I’m one hundred percent, and I’m going to start racing again soon.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, pulling loose of his grip. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
“My parents are traveling abroad, and Uncle Vinnie didn’t want me to stay in New York all alone.”
I doubted anyone who looked the way he did would be alone, but I’m sure he had his reasons for being here. Hopefully they didn’t include me. I’d met Marco here, in my aint Elma’s garden when Trish married Vinnie. Trish was living here, and she wanted to marry her rich Italian boyfriend at home. Gertie told me it was so all her friends could attend the wedding and be green with envy.
I grabbed a seat next to Marco, greeted everyone, and the conversation continued. One of the brothers was telling a joke, and that started a round of crude jokes at the table. Marco just sat back and took it all in. He had his reasons for not traveling. The WTF and the Mafuso family of brigands were constantly trying to entice him to travel. The Mafusos went so far as to sponsor his racing team, but to no avail. Marco was firm. He refused to go back in time. His vessel was a shiny red Formula One race car he housed on the rooftop of his apa
rtment building in SoHo. When I first figured out he was a time traveler, I looked him up on the Internet. He was featured in the top one hundred sexiest men alive article in People magazine. Here he was sitting at Thanksgiving dinner in Mount Vernon with my country relatives, oozing his machismo and making my knees tremble.
I blamed Caiyan. If he hadn’t left me high and dry, my libido would be swaddled in the aftermath of glorious sex rather than teetering on the edge of horny.
I loved being surrounded by my family. Many of my dad’s relatives were elderly, and a journey outside of Mount Vernon was too much for them. I think this was the reason Trish kept the “farm.” Unfortunately, my aint Elma was the only sibling who inherited the time travel gene. At least that we know of. There was no mention of anyone else in the family by the WTF, which monitors all the relatives of the families with known time travelers. Aint Elma was the last remaining relative to travel, until I came along. She never had any children, so the gene was passed down to me. The WTF is perplexed by this because the gene normally passes from a direct line. From a grandparent to a grandson or granddaughter, and normally skipping a generation in between. As far as we know, my grandpa didn’t travel, but no one really knows the truth. He died when my dad was young, and Mamma Bea won’t talk about him. She says it brings back too many painful memories. He passed away before the WTF was formed, so the records are a little sketchy, but when I traveled back in time and came face-to-face with the notorious Poncho Villa, there was an indication my line ran from both great-grandparents, so who knows.
It’s always a little touchy for Marco to come to Mount Vernon. Marco’s grandfather and Aint Elma were having a secret love affair. Marco was with her the night she was killed, defending her lover, his grandfather. Ever since, he rolls in and out of my life, creating this sexual heat that boils up from deep inside me and explodes out the top of my head. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have sex with Marco. I know he is curious and he wants the same, but he is also one of the wandering playboys who my life seems to be full of at the moment.
I was admiring the work cousin Trish had done to make this Thanksgiving nice for the family. My mom and cousin Trish were up on the back porch swing sipping cosmos and gossiping about New York fashion. All the older relatives were in the house because until the food was served, it was too “cold” for them to be outside. If it gets below sixty degrees in Texas, we call it winter. Today was a mild sixty-five degrees, so we were still at fall for my family thermometer. I found it ironic the older generation of my family who told stories of working on the cotton farms and in the oil fields from dawn until dusk, rain or shine, walking miles in ice and snow, couldn’t leave the warmth of the small house to mingle outside.
My dad and his brother were having some fun at a horseshoe pit. Mamma Bea named all her children after movie stars, I have Aint Loretta Lynn, Uncle Buster Keaton, and then of course my father, John Wayne Cloud. My dad was throwing a horseshoe and laughing at something Uncle Buster said. Aint Loretta’s husband, Wayne, stood nursing a beer, smiling at the crude remark. The only time Uncle Wayne smiled was if there was a dirty joke or a crude remark said.
“Marco, are you staying here tonight or are you going to ‘poof’ back home?” Gertie asked.
I gave her my best you better shut your yap look. The WTF made her take an oath after our last time travel. If she revealed the travelers, she could be imprisoned for treason.
“Guys don’t poof,” said one of the twins. The other one nodded his head in agreement.
Gertie waved her hand in the air. “Whatever. Are you staying the night?”
Marco looked at me, and I felt a tingling start in my toes and work its way upward, pausing long enough by my boy howdy to make me clamp my legs shut. He licked his bottom lip, stared straight at me, and said, “Some other time.”
Trish came out to the tent and held up a metal triangle, giving it a couple of clangs with a metal rod. “Dinner’s ready—y’all come and get it.”
You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t ever take the county out of the girl.
The twins looked at each other and made a dash toward the buffet table. It was like two rhinos charging the last blade of grass. Various relatives followed, and a line began to form down the side of the tent.
Gertie stretched and said, “I’m going inside to heat up the special dinner I brought.”
“You brought your own food?” I asked, because I knew how much Gertie loved turkey and all the trimmings.
“Yep, and it’s good and it’s low fat.” She sauntered off in the direction of the house, leaving me alone with Marco.
“How are things at the compound?” Marco asked.
“You know I can’t talk about that,” I said.
“Still with Caiyan?”
“Yes,” I answered, but my shoulders slumped, and I looked away.
“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?” He reached out and tugged a strand of my hair.
“No, it’s just that I haven’t heard from him in a while, and I’m worried something might have gone down.”
“Aren’t the wardens tracking him?” Marco asked, with a sarcastic air to his question.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying not to look directly into his blue eyes for fear of throwing myself into his arms for a comfort hug. “Every time I ask, they avoid my questions. I’ve been training there every weekend for a few weeks now, and I haven’t seen or heard from Caiyan the entire time.”
“You know that’s pretty common for him, right?”
I pursed my lips together. A few relatives started to sit down at the table next to us, making conversation about the WTF difficult. Their paper plates were stacked to the brim with food.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Marco said, standing up and holding his hand out for me. “Unless you would rather eat?”
“No, I’m good for a walk.”
I grasped his hand, and hot flames licked at my fingertips. We headed down past the hedge of photinias to the white picket fence my aint Elma used to divide her garden from the yard. My aint Elma had the most splendid garden. My outhouse lived in the center of the garden under a huge weeping willow tree. I am pretty sure it was the reason all the vegetables were huge and the flowers grew like they were wild. It’s where I first met Gertie when I was nine, and later Marco at sixteen. We found the gate, and Marco flipped the small latch, pushing the gate open for me. I paused a minute.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No, this is where I first met you, remember? You had a flashlight, and it was so dark.”
“July fourth, right?”
“Yeah, Trish’s wedding. The fireworks were amazing that night.”
I walked through the gate, and he followed. The vegetables had long since died. No one to maintain them, and without the magic infused from the outhouse, the back garden looked like any Texas backyard. We walked the part of the path that wasn’t overgrown with wild rose bushes and crabgrass.
The huge trees that shadowed the path kept the crabgrass down, and we walked without too much trouble, catching the occasional root or weed on the tip of my shoe. We walked hand in hand, not speaking. The warmth had settled down to a feeling of melting heat. The area where the old vegetable garden used to be came into view, and I sighed. “I wish I had known Aint Elma better.”
Marco didn’t make a comment on this because it was Aint Elma who was the other woman in his grandfather’s marriage. His grandmother was the one who raised him while his parents were off crisscrossing the globe. The mention of Aint Elma was a sore spot for him.
We passed through the garden area and turned left. The willow tree stood tall in all her glory. Her long branches swooped down to the ground and sagged, almost as if she missed the outhouse. “This is where my outhouse used to sit,” I said, pointing to the willow.
“I remember,” he said, and pulled me
toward the tall tree. Someone had placed a wooden bench at the base of the tree. He divided the hairlike leaves of the tree, and we ducked underneath. Alarm bells went off in my head. This kind of closeness with him could only lead to trouble. I hesitated, and he gave a hard tug. My shoe hit a clump of crabgrass, and I fell forward into his arms. He caught me against his chest, and his mouth came down on mine. The kiss started out gentle, and then the temperature rose slowly. My entire body began to tremble, and he parted my lips for a deeper kiss. At first, I held back. Mixed emotions of Caiyan and Jake swarming through my mind. I didn’t want to be a player. I always considered myself to be faithful in my relationships. But was I in a relationship? As this realization crossed my mind, I gave in to the heat and responded to the kiss. My inner voice screamed, What the hell are you waiting for? Go for it! The heat soared, and I felt the climax start from somewhere down deep inside. It grew like a ball of fire, licking and burning my insides until it spilled out and made me spasm with ecstasy. Marco pulled me back and held me at arm’s length.
“Holy shit, Jennifer.” Time stood still for a few beats while we stared at each other. I knew Marco was slowing things down, so the fire would die a lonely death.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, pulling the curtain of branches back and making a quick exit.
“Jen, wait.” Because of his height, it took him longer to maneuver from under the tree. When he caught up with me, he said, “Do you think we would combust if we ever had sex?”
I smiled, still trying to come down from the sexual high. “I don’t know, but I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.”