Ideal Image: Snapshot, #2

by Freya Barker

  “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”

  “Because you asked me to look after the place for a reason. I assumed because you trusted me to do so, and that includes trusting my judgment about what constitutes enough reason to interrupt you when you’re looking after your family during a time of loss.” I’ve had it with this conversation. “Now as I said, your sister is fine—you can call her yourself to verify—and I’m sleeping in your house tonight, keeping an eye on the campground. I’ve got the dog with me.” I take a deep breath as I turn my back on the water and walk back toward the truck. “If there is anything to report, I promise, I’ll give you a call.” With that I end the call, tuck my phone away, and open the passenger side door. “Come on, boy,” I call out to Atsa. “Get in here.”

  The house is dark, and from what I can see, undisturbed, when I pull up and kill the engine. Atsa whines, and I let him out, grabbing my overnight bag off the seat. I take the fact that the dog is not barking, as a positive sign.

  Once inside, I flip on only the light in the bathroom next to the spare bedroom, and strip down to grab a quick shower. It’s not until I get out, and pick up my phone that I see a missed call and a text message.

  Stacie: Ben is calm(er) now. Going to bed.

  The message was sent just five minutes ago, so I figure it’s safe to call back. I pad over to the bed, pull back the covers, and flop down on my back on the mattress, just as she answers the phone.

  “You didn’t have to call back,” she says, the slightly husky quality of her voice wreaking instant havoc on my body. “I just wanted you to know everything is copacetic.”

  “You’re the only person I know who can make big words sound sexy,” I blurt out, resulting in a warm chuckle on the other end. She can’t see my hand grabbing the base of my cock firmly. “And of course I had to call back. What self-respecting man would pass up on a clear come-on like ‘going to bed’?”

  “It was not,” she sputters, but I can hear a smile in her voice.

  “Mak asleep?” I ask, letting her off the hook, for now.

  “She is.”

  “So you’re alone?”

  “She insisted on sleeping in my room. She’s just steps away on a mattress on the floor,” she whispers, and unless I’m imagining it, there’s a hint of regret in her tone.

  “Not fair,” I groan loudly, the sound of her voice making my dick even harder inside my fist. “Here I had plans to tell you exactly what I would do to you in that bed of yours. Describe in great detail how I would expose every inch of your body, tracing your skin with my fingers and lips. How I would drown myself in your scent until I couldn’t resist getting your taste on my tongue...” I have to stop myself when I hear her deep gasp over my own heavy breath. “I’m so hard for you, it’s painful,” I confess, wondering if I have shocked her or turned her on, but unable to hold back the surge rushing through my body.

  “Jesus, Nick.” Her voice is thick with something dark and spicy, which has my balls draw tight against my body, and a groan escapes my lips as my release squirts over my hand and belly.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter to myself, when I hear a deep sigh on the other side of the line. “I’ll make this up to you.”

  “Not fair,” Stacie repeats back what I said to her just minutes ago.

  CHAPTER 11

  SON OF A BITCH!

  First that old geezer nearly caught me up in the woods. I was getting away from him when I heard a dog bark and barely managed to get up that damn tree. I was floored when I spotted her walking up to the old man, with some big hairy mutt. Moments later they were joined by some tall bald dude. I had to sit there and watch them walk off, because of that damn dog.

  Now it’s a fucking camper. I’m losing my damn touch. How the hell am I gonna find out where that bitch lives, if I can’t get inside that cabin?

  I cut the chain on the shed; desperate to find anything that could help me get into that place on the cliff. I just about had the lock jimmied when those asshole hunters interrupted. Then this morning I saw a patrol car come driving past, that old man must’ve called in the sheriff.

  Time to find a bed somewhere in town. The risk of getting caught up here, sleeping in the back of my pickup, is too big.

  I COULD’VE GRABBED the motel in town, it’s not like I can’t afford it, but it would be too visible. My comings and goings for anyone to see, my damn truck in the parking lot.

  No, this is better. Some doped up chick, who is so eager for her next fix, she doesn’t look too closely at who she invites in. A few dollar bills is all it takes to find a bed for a few nights. Never mind that it comes with that skank in it, or her damn kids in the other bedroom, but if I close my eyes, it doesn’t matter what wet hole I stick my dick in.

  Besides, for now, it’s perfect for me. No one looks too closely in this place, and whatever they do see, they choose to forget.

  It’s also nice and close to the bitch’s house.

  Yeah, found it this morning when I was going to make another go at that damn cabin.

  I spotted a truck parked outside and watched as the bald asshole put that dog in the cab and got in himself. I fucking ran all the way back to where I left my pickup, just in time to see his truck drive by on the road below.

  I couldn’t believe my luck when he fucking drove straight to a small house, right by the river. I pulled onto the street just moments after, watching him pull up in front. Some little girl came bounding off the porch of the house, running toward the truck.

  The bitch’s got a kid?

  This is getting better and better.

  STACIE

  “Have fun!”

  I wave back at my daughter who has her face pressed to the small back window of Nick’s truck.

  To say I was irritated with Nick’s chipper greeting, when he walked in ten minutes ago, would be putting it mildly. I just spent most of the night tossing and turning in my bed, and when Mak woke up around seven, her mouth already running on about horses before her eyes were even open, I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I would get any more sleep.

  Adding insult to injury, Nick felt the need to point out I looked tired. I’m sure he felt the heat of my glare, although I’m not so sure his interpretation was accurate.

  I’m cranky, even as I am watching my daughter head off on her exciting adventure. My head is still tired, ready to catch up on some rest, but my body is buzzing with the hot and heavy kiss Nick planted on me. He sent Mak to grab her fishing tackle from the shed, and then cornered me against the fridge, making sure I couldn’t miss the hard ridge in his jeans. I may have whimpered at the feel, given that I had to live off my imagination all damn night long. Feeling the real thing pressed against my hip was so much better than anything I could’ve dreamt up.

  Fuck him.

  I should be worrying about pain, given that I had surgery a couple of days ago, but instead I rush into my bedroom to rummage through my hiding spot. I have mentally crossed all my digits, hoping that the batteries haven’t run out on the vibrator I haven’t used since moving here. The familiar buzzing is music to my ears.

  Sleep comes easy, after an intense, lightning fast orgasm that had been plaguing me since his call last night. The last thing I remember is turning off my toy.

  DESPITE THE THROBBING in my face, I feel refreshed when I wake up a few hours later.

  The loud bang of the screen door slamming on the other side of the house, followed by the hushed rumble of voices, has me sit upright in my bed.

  “Let her sleep.” I can hear Nick say. “The better she sleeps, the faster she’ll heal.”

  “Can I help you cook, then?” My daughter, always looking for opportunity to hone her negotiating skills. As a fellow lawyer, I’m sure Nick will appreciate the irony.

  I slip out of bed, straighten out the covers, and pad into the bathroom to freshen up before I join them in the kitchen. A quick glance in the mirror shows my hair a mess and most of my face covered, but the one blue eye looking back s
parkles, more alive than I’ve seen it in a while. That, combined with the gentle heat between my legs, reminds me why.

  I glance over my shoulder at the bed I just made, a feeling of unease taking hold. Walking back to the bed, I flip back the covers, run my hand between the sheets and lift both pillows, all without result. Nothing but dust bunnies under the bed when I drop down to my knees beside it.

  In a near panic, I pull open the drawer of my nightstand and there, neatly back in its black satin pouch, is my top-of-the-line, dual-purpose vibrator.

  I must’ve been really out of it, if I shoved it in my drawer. Mak often rummages through there in search of hair ties or ChapSticks I’ve been known to toss inside.

  For personal items, I have an old lunch box in the bottom drawer of my dresser, where I keep my nighties and my winter socks. The box holds a few items that are not really meant for the eyes of a nine-year-old. That includes two raunchy books, which I should probably switch out for some newer material, a half-smoked joint and lighter, a sample-size tube of lube, a small butt plug I once thought would be fun to try out, and my battery-operated boyfriend, which I quickly return where it belongs.

  By the time I walk into the kitchen, where I find my daughter shoulder to elbow with Nick at the counter cutting vegetables, the incident is all but forgotten.

  “GOOD GRIEF, I’M FULL,” I exclaim, leaning back in my chair with my hands folded on my bloated belly.

  “Wasn’t that the best, Mom?” my daughter, supreme vegetable hater, gushes over the fabulous skewers we just ate.

  Mushrooms, chunks of onion and peppers, slices of yellow squash, pieces of seasoned chicken, and finally cubes of some deliciously creamy cheese, all grilled, on a little propane grill Nick brought from home, on my porch.

  I’d never heard of cheese you could grill, but that stuff is delicious and rich. Halloumi, Nick called it, apparently from Cyprus. Well, I don’t care where it came from, but I want it as a staple in my fridge. I also want to buy a grill. But when I suggest the latter, Mak shakes her head sharply.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not? This can’t be that hard to make,” I argue, immediately on the defensive when my culinary talents are questioned. “You cut a few things up and put it on a stick, how complicated is that?”

  I’m shocked when I see big crocodile tears in my feisty girl’s eyes. I immediately reach for her but she jumps up and out of reach. When she stops halfway through the room and swings around, I can see those same tears tracking down her cheeks.

  “I don’t want you to blow up again,” she sobs, breaking my damn heart in the process, as she runs down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Oh, baby...” I whisper, my throat closing on tears.

  “That may have been my fault,” Nick’s voice startles me as he walks toward me from the kitchen, kneeling beside my chair so he’s face-to-face.

  “How so?”

  “She wanted to know why she had to keep her distance when I was grilling, so I explained how dangerous it could be. It never occurred to me—”

  “Of course not,” I insist, cutting him off before he finishes that thought. “I wouldn’t have either. Mak hasn’t really reacted much at all. This whole time, she’s been taking everything in stride, being the tough little trooper she is. I’m the one who should’ve known it couldn’t be as simple as that. I’m her mother, I’m the one who should’ve—”

  This time it’s Nick who cuts me off, not with words, but with a kiss that has me almost forget my own name.

  “Don’t,” he mutters against my lips. “When you get buried under a mountain of trouble, all you can do to stay breathing is tackle one issue at a time. There’s no room to anticipate, to be preventative, when you barely have a chance to react to what is in front of you.” I swallow hard when he gently cups my face, and stares into the single eye peeking out of my bandages. “You’re doing fine, and so is she.”

  “I should go talk to her,” I say, moving to get up.

  “This one’s on me,” he insists, as he stands up instead. “Let me try first.”

  NICK

  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t the sobbing girl in my arms.

  My foot was barely over the threshold of Mak’s room, when she came flying at me, jumping up in my arms. As a lawyer, I can’t help but wonder if I’m breaking any rules of conduct in handling her, but I can hardly drop her on the floor.

  Making sure the door stays open; I carry Mak to the bed, sit her down, and crouch in front of her.

  “Talk to me,” I urge her, but the poor kid can barely get a full breath in, let alone speak. I realize there’s more going on than the propane safety speech I gave her earlier. “Okay, I’ll talk to you,” I suggest instead. “I imagine what happened to your mom must’ve been really scary for you.” Her head stays down, but I don’t miss the little nod of agreement. “And it can’t have been easy to see your mom in pain.” This time it’s a little shake. “Did you know I knew your mom before you were even born?” That apparently piques enough of her curiosity to lift her red-rimmed eyes to mine, and I’m glad to see the tears have stopped. “I did,” I confirm. “Just from seeing her around, though. She always came across as a strong person, someone who could take care of herself, of others. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  If I hadn’t been watching her mouth move, I would probably have missed the whispered answer, but I’ll take it.

  “She was always here to take care of you, so it scared you—” I start, piecing together what caused her emotional outburst, but Mak surprises me.

  “We’re supposed to take care of each other,” Mak interrupts vehemently, promptly bursting into tears again. “Mom always says that it’s just the two of us and we have to look after each other. But she got hurt anyway.”

  “Hey...” I grab a handful of tissues from the box on her nightstand and mop at the wet mess on her face. “What happened to your mom,” I hesitate for a moment, deciding on the spot to use straight talk. It seems too important to whitewash the brutal reality of what this kid feels with gentle euphemisms. “The explosion that burned your mom was not something you, or even she, could’ve stopped. How could you? You had no way of knowing she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Accidents are like that: you can’t see them coming.” I give her a second to mull on that before I add, “And one more thing, I’m pretty sure when your mom suggested the two of you had to look out for each other, she didn’t mean to leave out your Uncle Ben, or Isla, or even Uncle Al.”

  “He’s right,” Stacie says, walking into the room and sitting down beside Mak on the bed. “It turns out we have way more people looking out for us than I thought.”

  “I SHOULD KICK MY OWN ass,” Stacie says when she finally comes out of Mak’s bedroom, where I’d left them half an hour ago.

  “Don’t,” I tell her, shifting over to make room on the couch for her. “Although it might be entertaining to watch you try,” I add, biting my cheek.

  “Be easier to kick yours,” she fires back, sitting down, but not before she gives my ankle a firm nudge with her foot. “Do you think it’s a professional reflex?” she muses, tucking her legs under her and resting her head back against the seat. “That we’re so used to weighing, measuring, and distancing ourselves from every word out of our mouths, we forget how to be real? I tried to reassure my daughter, and in doing so, because of the words I chose, I accomplished the absolute opposite of what I set out to do.”

  The deep sigh that follows has me reach out and stroke a finger along her exposed collarbone. It gets her attention.

  “Another professional hazard is analyzing everything to death,” I offer, watching her raise an angry eyebrow, which I ignore. “Here’s what I see: you have a precocious and sharp nine-year-old girl, who mirrors herself after her beautiful, intelligent, and responsible mother.” I watch as Stacie fights the smile that wants to break through. “Your daughter has been stomping around in your grow
n-up shoes...and tonight the kid came out.”

  “I’m starting to dislike when you’re making too much sense,” she quips, and I grin in response.

  “Maybe now would not be a good time to ask you to scrape a blade over my head, then?”

  “You were serious?” she asks, surprised. “You had me so confused at first, but I ended up deciding you must’ve been joking.”

  “Dead serious,” I admit, getting up and grabbing a plastic bag I’d left on the counter. I fish out a can of shaving cream and a sharp as hell, brand-new shaver. “Now should I be worried?” I ask at the glint in her only visible, bright blue eye.

  “Grab towels from the linen closet in the hallway and gimme that,” she orders, making a grabby motion with her hand and smiling much too gleefully.

  By the time I get back with towels, there’s a bowl of water sitting on the side table and a pillow on the floor between her feet.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  It’s a moment of truth for me. This is where old insecurities, belonging to someone I no longer am, come back to plague me. It’s not a surprise, since the woman in front of me represents everything I’ve always wanted but never thought I could have. I look at perfection when I see her, and inside I still see the old me. I still don’t measure up.

  In one swift move, almost angrily, I whip off my shirt and wait defiantly for judgment that never comes.

  “Aren’t you gonna sit down?”

  Mute, and feeling pretty fucking ridiculous, I sit down between her feet, as she indicates. I almost jump when I feel her hands land on either side of my neck, smoothing gently along my shoulders. Goosebumps break out over my skin and I have to focus not to shiver at her touch.

  I feel almost bereft when she lifts her hands to drape one of the towels over my shoulders.

  I don’t trust myself to say anything, when she apologizes for rubbing cold shaving cream all over my head, or when she hums quietly under her breath as she makes long strokes with the blade over my scalp. I press my lips together when all I want to do is groan, as the soft soothing touch of her fingers follows every scrape along my skin.