by K. A. Tucker
“I take it your mother and you had a difference of opinion?” The curiosity is thick behind her light tone.
“Annabelle had a very clear picture of what her daughter should be and I certainly wasn’t it.”
Wilma is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that, Reese.” There’s a pause. “What about your father?”
“I barely remember him. He took off when I was five and I haven’t heard from him since.” It’s funny, admitting that to Wilma isn’t as painful as it normally is. I shrug. “It’s fine. I have Jack now. He’s a pretty decent replacement father.” I smile as I say that, wondering if he sees me as more than just that wayward girl he rescued.
Wilma reaches up to pluck an extra-large tangerine off as she drifts back to our previous conversation. “When Ben got injured, I thought he’d come back home, but he decided he wanted to become a lawyer. I was surprised, to be honest. He never seemed like one to sit in an office, surrounded by paperwork. He’s always liked working with his hands. A part of me wondered if it was the bad blood with his own father that kept him away.”
“He comes to visit you regularly though, right?”
“Oh, yes.” Her head bobs up and down ardently. “Almost every weekend during the season, which is half the year. He calls me every single day, too. Ben is just about the best son a mother could ask for. Sure, he was a handful growing up, what with all his chasing girls and mischief. But he’s the most loyal, honest young man. That’s not just his mama saying that. It’s the truth. The boy is a terrible liar, even on those rare occasions when he probably should lie or just keep quiet. Now, if I could just get him to settle down with a nice girl, I’d be thrilled.”
“I don’t know that Ben’s in any rush to settle down.” Ever. What would it actually be like to have Ben 100 percent of the time, with no worries? Would he be who he is today? Would he change?
I feel her eyes on me. “He’s just afraid that he’ll be like his father. He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt someone like Josh hurt me. The thing is, Ben isn’t capable of hurting a woman like that. His heart is just too darn big.”
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’m asking. “Why . . . I mean, how did you put up with it for all those years?” I’m dying to know what would possess a woman like Wilma—who seems so strong and self-sufficient—to stay with Ben’s father for so long.
A thick silence fills the air. I glance over to see her sad smile, a far-off look in her blue eyes. “Because I fell in love with a man. And then I held on to the memory of him, long after that man was gone,” she murmurs, a soft, sad smile touching her lips. “It wasn’t always like this. Joshua was the handsome, intense boy in high school that all the girls wanted to date. I thought I had died and gone to heaven when he walked up to me after class one day and asked me to go to the drive-in with him that weekend. I mean, I was the plain Jane orange farmer’s daughter. What could he possibly see in me? I can still remember that first night—the smell of his cologne, the blue of his eyes, his quiet smile, the way it felt to have his arm around me. You’d think he was a movie star or something, the awe I felt. It was ridiculous.”
“I was like that with my ex-husband,” I murmur softly. Right down to the shock and awe.
A hand reaches out and pats my forearm lovingly. “Ben mentioned something to me about that. I’m so sorry.” Pulling back, she goes on. “Joshua and I got married right out of high school and moved onto the grove with my parents. I was an only child and I knew I was going to run this place. Joshua knew he wanted to make furniture, so it was perfect. I was pregnant with Josh Junior within two months. The others followed like dominoes. Did Ben tell you that I had all five children in seven years?”
I nod.
“Joshua had a very healthy appetite.” She chuckles. “I guess Ben didn’t fall far from the apple—well, orange,” she holds up a fruit—“tree in that regard.”
Oh my God. I duck my head, appreciating the wide brim of this hat to hide my red ears.
“As you can imagine, with five children running around this place and trying to take over the whole business from my parents, who were older and ready to retire, it was busy around here. Joshua seemed content building furniture and selling it. He was never a really ‘hands-on’ kind of father, but I knew it was because he had an absent father himself. He didn’t know how to play with a child.” I watch her pick through the tree for a moment, observing how swiftly she zeros in and plucks the ripe fruit, as if she could do this in her sleep.
“I had no idea he had started drinking in there. Josh was a quiet, broody man to begin with and I was naïve. I didn’t know the signs. I didn’t grow up around that sort of thing. The only alcohol in our house was champagne on Christmas morning.” She heaves a sigh. “I blamed myself for a long time. I figured I wasn’t enough for him, that I wasn’t attractive enough anymore, my body stretched out with having all these babies. Josh was still in good shape, aging gracefully. I was too preoccupied with the children and work to put on makeup and lace. When he started going out at night and coming home with lipstick on his collar, I was devastated. But I looked the other way. I cried. I convinced myself that every woman must deal with this sort of thing. And I prayed. I thanked God for giving me my life and my children and asked for his help to make me a better wife so my husband didn’t need to drink or go to other women anymore. I was stupid,” she admits more softly. “When I finally accepted that my husband had serious alcohol problems and I confronted him about it, it only got worse. He lashed out, telling me to leave him be, that he could stop if he wanted to but that it helped him suffer through the monotony of this life. And then he started drinking more.
“And then the accident in the wood shop happened. I assume Ben told you about that?”
I nod again, quietly picking as she goes on.
“I lost Joshua after that. The man I fell in love with was gone for good, leaving me with a memory I didn’t want to let go of. Not until last night, when I saw the look on my baby’s face, when I realized all that I had lost by believing that if I just held on long enough, we could go back. That everything is worth saving.”
I hear the first sounds of the dune buggy engine in the distance, the familiar dips as it shifts into gears, each one bringing the rumble closer. It sounds like Ben’s got the needle buried.
Wilma smiles sadly. “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m in shock—I know it. All I can think of right now is that it’s going to be so nice to have all my children here, under one roof again. Even under the circumstances.” I help her load the filled crate onto the trailer as red and yellow come into view, a cloud of dust billowing.
Her hand, small but deceptively strong, grabs hold of mine. “I don’t care what that boy has told you. He cares a great deal about you, whether he has admitted it to himself yet or not. I’ve seen how he is around women and he’s just different with you. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” She smiles as she pats my hand and then lets go. “Don’t give up on Ben just yet.”
The dune buggy comes to a skidding halt. “Mama, you disappeared on me.” Ben grabs onto the roll bars and hoists his giant body out in a very “Dukes of Hazzard” way, cautious eyes shifting between me and Wilma. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I’m helping Reese, of course. What does it look like I’m doing, Benjamin?” she retorts snidely.
“Lorna Parker’s waiting for you at the house with more food.”
“My gosh. Thank goodness we’ll have a full house. I don’t know how else we’re going to get through all this before it spoils.”
“Maybe you should stop making more, then,” Ben remarks with a head shake. “The timer on the oven started beeping, so I took out the meatloaf. I dunno if it’s done yet, but it sure smells good.”
“Perfect. Thank you, son.” She pats his cheeks once and then climbs into her truck. She’s gone in seconds.
“She seems to be holding up well,” I note.
“She’s in shock. If you have any requests—cookie
s, cakes, a leg of lamb—now’s the time to ask. The woman probably won’t stop cooking for the next week.”
“I think I’ll have to try that next time I deal with a catastrophic event.” It’s a lot healthier than Jim Beam and, after what I’ve witnessed this weekend, I’m considering swearing off hard liquor for the rest of my life.
Ben rounds the trailer and starts shifting the boxes around, the muscles in his arms straining against the weight. “You’ve done a lot.”
“Remind me when my body hurts tomorrow,” I mutter, turning back to the tree. Who knew picking fruit could be so strenuous? But with all stretching and reaching, I know I’m going to feel it.
Strong hands land on my shoulders and begin kneading softly over the balls and down my biceps. I groan and lean back into his chest.
“What’s with this hat?” Ben exclaims, yanking it off my head and tossing it onto the wagon before resuming his attention to my body.
“What? Your mom doesn’t want my beautiful, flawless skin damaged,” I explain, enjoying the warmth of the sun almost as much as I’m enjoying Ben’s proximity.
“So . . . what were you two talking about?” I hear the smile in his voice but there’s also something else there. Wariness.
“The usual.”
A pause and then, “Are you going to make me drag it out of you?”
I close my eyes, wondering what that would entail. “Just that you’re madly in love with me and you just don’t know it yet.”
Ben rests his chin on top of my head as he folds me into an embrace. And snorts loudly. “Even on the day her husband kills himself, that woman’s intent on marrying me off.”
I reach up to blindly pat his cheek, the reminder of this morning sobering. “How are you doing? Are you in shock too?”
Ben’s arms fall from me as he steps forward to stand in front of a tree, reaching for some ripe fruit on a high branch that I can’t reach. “I don’t know what the fuck I am, Reese. Confused, that’s what.” Those square jaw muscles harden as his bows his head. “Mama tells him that she’s finally had enough, that she wants to be free, and so he goes and kills himself? He sets it up like a goddamn stage, with the doors wide open and him sitting in the middle. How is Mama supposed to react to that? She’s going to feel guilty as hell, that’s how! She’s hiding it well, but I know she’s feeling guilty. Was that a ‘fuck you’ to her? To me?” Ben’s head dips and he takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t mean to yell. I’m just . . .”
“It’s okay. Yell all you want, Ben.”
He reaches up to rest his hands on top of his head as his mouth opens to speak, only to falter. And then he explodes. “I’m fucking ecstatic that he’s gone, Reese! How wrong is that? I mean . . .” His arms drop so heavily that his hands slap against his thighs. He starts pacing. “When I saw Mama crumpled in a heap like that, I thought she had had another heart attack. I couldn’t get to her fast enough. And then I saw him slumped in that chair—dead—and the only word in my head was ‘finally’! Finally, after everything he’s done to her, after all the pain he’s caused her and this family, and how much we’ve lost around here, the fucker is out of our lives!”
His tone softens a little, his voice cracking. “While my mama is standing there, sobbing over his death, I’m ready to sing halle-fucking-leuiah.” I can almost see the guilt weighing his shoulders down. “What kind of person does that make me?”
“Normal, Ben. He was a shitty father and husband. Even your mother knows that.”
“Really?” He turns to look at me. “What if you got a call that Annabelle died. Would you want to throw a party?”
Good question. Annabelle . . . dead? I’ve never given it much thought. What would I feel for a woman who seemed incapable of feeling anything for me? “I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh.
We fall into silence as Ben leans back against the wagon.
Finally I hazard to ask, “What’d the note say?”
He purses his lips for a moment. “That he was sorry for . . . everything. He wishes he could have been a better husband. That he wants her to stay on the grove and be happy again.”
A lump spikes in my throat. “How does a person veer so far off course?”
“Alcohol . . . depression . . . fear . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Why did it take a bottle of aspirin and a death wish for Ben’s father to admit his faults? What if he had just said these things years ago? I guess maybe he didn’t see what was wrong. Or kept denying it. Until it was too late. “At least he gave her that.”
“Yeah. There was also an envelope with a life insurance policy they took out years ago. A pretty big one, too. One that will pay out, even after a suicide.” He smiles sadly. “It’ll help her fix the house up.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “That’s great news!”
Ben turns to give me a funny look.
“What?”
He says nothing, though. He simply holds a hand out. When I take it, he pulls me in to him. Lifting me up onto the edge of the trailer, he wastes no time pushing my legs apart to slide his body between them. “I know it’s been a shitty day but, I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” All I’ve wanted to do is wrap my hands around that giant heart of his and protect it from any more hurt. Hurt like I saw last night. The kind that you feel when you’re faced with the deeply rooted bitterness that Ben has had to face for years. I wonder if it’s better or worse than the indifference I see when Annabelle looks at me.
I’m expecting Ben’s hands up my shirt in seconds, but all he does is rest his forehead against my chest. And so I coil my arms around his head, press my cheek against his hair, and watch the afternoon sun shift along the horizon in silence.
“I should have just called him. I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Ben mutters, pulling into Jack’s driveway that night.
“I told you. He already knows I was with you and what happened. He’ll want to pay his respects in person.”
Ben heaves a resigned sigh.
“He’s not going to fire you!”
“Well, doing it today would be in poor taste, I guess.” Ben slides out of the driver’s side reluctantly and trails me inside.
Both Mason and Jack are waiting for us in the kitchen. Jack’s on his feet instantly, walking forward with a morose expression and his arms out to offer a confused-looking Ben a manly hug. Mason is close behind. “How can we help?”
“Well, I think Reese already mentioned me needing a week off. My brothers and sister are trying to get flights in, but I’m not sure when they’ll make it. I can’t leave my mother alone.”
“Done,” Jack states simply.
Ben swallows. “Thanks, Jack. That’s a relief. I just drove back to drop Reese off and get some clothes and I’m heading back up tonight.”
There’s an awkward pause as three sets of eyes flash to me—Mason’s filled with curiosity, Jack’s with reluctance, and Ben’s baby blues with . . . I don’t know what that look is, but I’ve been getting it a lot today.
“My mama sent you her meatloaf as a small token of thanks,” Ben adds, handing Mason the box of food that Wilma packed up. News in the small community spread quickly. By the time I made it back to the house, the fridge and freezer were brimming with food from friends, and Wilma was still cooking.
“Well, tell her that was unnecessary, but it’ll go to the same good spot it went last time.” Jack’s soft chuckle fills the kitchen as he pats his belly.
“Well, I should get going.” There’s another awkward pause as Ben glances at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I’m thinking: What’s the standard protocol for saying goodbye here? Because I know what I want.
I want him to kiss me.
Clearing his throat, Ben finally offers, “Thanks for all your help today, Reese. Mama sure appreciated it. You’ve got to be tired.”
Exhausted, actually. I don’t know how she does that day in and day out. I simply n
od and watch his retreating back as he disappears out the front door.
And it hits me. I’m not going to see him for an entire week. At least! Is he feeling any of what I’m feeling right now? Or is Wilma wrong? Is this just his regular friendship, with a bit of a personal tragedy kicker thrown in to wreak emotional havoc? And what if he is feeling it and he doesn’t like it? Wilma’s been introducing me as Ben’s girlfriend to anyone who will listen, including the priest from her parish who stopped by as we were packing the car up to drive back to Miami. There’s a really good chance that Ben is looking to hightail it out of here.
Maybe into someone else’s bed.
Shit. Am I developing real feelings for Ben Morris?
“I forgot something in the car.” It’s comes out sounding stilted and obviously untrue. I glance at Jack as I pass by. He’s just staring at me. I try not to rush out the door, but I’m pretty sure I’ve failed at hiding my hurry.
Ben’s tall frame is just about to fold into his driver’s side as the front door clicks behind me. He stops and watches as I take tentative, stiff-bodied steps toward him, my stomach a mix of butterflies and dread, not sure what’s going on in his head. This “thing” between us was easier when I didn’t care. Now . . . I’m pretty sure that I do. God, I don’t want to be another Mercy, another “friend” that he’ll need to gently turn down.
“I just . . .” My voice drifts off as I reach him. What the hell do I say now that I’m here? “I’m really sorry about your dad. About all of it. Not just today.”
His head cocks to the side as he regards me. “Reese, are you falling in love with me?”
“No!” I yell with a touch too much vigor. I feel my face burst into flames as he starts chuckling. “Shut up, you asshole.”
“Dude! My dad just killed himself today and you’re calling me names?” His terrible attempt at humor makes me cringe. “All right already, come here.” An arm hooks around my back and he pulls me into a tight hug, my face pressing up against the softness of his T-shirt. All of his shirts are soft and comfortable and worthy of melting into. I inhale deeply, catching that soapy clean smell that I’ve already missed.