by Cora Brent
Jack and Anya were the real thing. Whenever I wasn’t dodging the sight of Easton I was staring at the two of them. In his wife’s presence Jack was loving and eager to please. When holding his little daughter he was patient and doting. He was a stranger to me.
Briefly, toward the end of that happy Christmas day, I was alone with Anya. She had looked upset when I walked in on her slumping against the wall in the kitchen but she recovered as soon as she saw me standing there. I was starting to feel guilty that I hadn’t done a thing to earn the affection she seemed to feel for me. Anya was good for Jack. She’d made my father happy and it was high time I told her I appreciated her for that. But the words sounded silly and I ended up being sorry I’d said them. Anya didn’t even respond so I left the room with a tray of cookies and returned to watching the hours tick slowly past. Which they did. Hours were reliable that way.
Rocco and Getty took off once the food was gone. They asked if I wanted to head down the block to hang out for a while but I just couldn’t get excited about beer and mockery at the moment so I shook my head.
The sky had cleared although the temperatures were still bitter. I was sitting in the cold darkness alone when Jack joined me in the backyard.
“It’s late,” he said, pausing next to the chaise lounge I’d dragged onto the back patio.
“It’s early,” I answered, zipping up the navy blue coat I’d left behind seven years earlier when I’d headed to the southwest, leaving Lutztown and Jack Giordano behind. “Thanks for the picture. I don’t know how I never saw that one before. It’s great.” One of Jack’s gifts to me was a snapshot of me and him that had been blown up into an eight by ten photo and elegantly framed. I was probably around five there, which would have made Jack barely out of his teens. In the photo I was sitting on his lap over on the old redwood picnic bench. Everything around us was green. It was probably summer. We were looking at each other and smiling, a rare candid moment when Jack was behaving like a father.
“You like it?” he said. He sounded surprised.
“I do.”
“Anya found it in one of my mother’s old albums. She said it would look good if she had it enlarged and framed. It was all her idea.”
He probably hadn’t meant for his words to sound dismissive, but they did. Why was Jack always intent on telling me things I didn’t really need to know? Like when I was in first grade and I asked him how come he never stayed with any of the women he dated for very long. At the time he was standing in the driveway working on an old truck. He stared into the car’s innards as I waited for an answer. He finally said that he didn’t want any of those stupid girls to stick around because he got sick of looking at the same fucking thing every damn day.
“Thank her for me,” I said and heard a chill creep into my voice. “It was nice of her.”
“I will.” He looked up at the sky, toward the North Star. “I’m hittin’ the sack. Don’t stay out here too much longer, Claud. It’s frostbite weather.”
“Jack. Can I ask you something?”
There were no lights on but I could feel him staring at me. “You can ask me anything.”
“Why did you keep me?”
He paused. “What?”
“You could have given me up, especially after Sarah split. Why didn’t you?”
Once again Jack didn’t shrink from the truth, although he did sigh a little. “Your grandparents wouldn’t allow it. They said even if I never did anything else worth two shits, I was going to take responsibility for you.”
Of course I’d known that, somehow. I’d just never heard it said out loud before. It made sense. After all, what kind of a teenage boy would embrace fatherhood?
“I won’t stay out here much longer,” I said, turning away.
Jack started walking back to the house. “Remember to lock the door before you turn in.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
“Good night, Claudia.”
Ten seconds later the screen door whined shut. Twenty-four years old and I was still looking for answers anywhere but inside myself. When Jack was my age he had a nine-year-old child. Had there ever been moments when he blamed me, even hated me? Were there moments like that even now?
I stood up. Jack wasn’t my problem. I was my own problem.
He’d left the porch light on for me. The kitchen light too. Or more likely Easton was still awake. But no, Easton had probably gone out. By his standards the night was absurdly young.
I listened to the faucet drip for a few minutes and didn’t hear anything stirring inside the house. The thought of plodding back upstairs for another cold lonely night was unappealing.
Among the other junk stuffed into the garage apartment these days was a box full of books I’d treasured as a child. Jack had asked me yesterday what I wanted him to do with them and I’d shrugged, figuring he could pass them down to Allie if he wanted. But now I had a strange craving to see them first.
I wasn’t too sure just how packed the garage was so my first step inside was cautious. Someone had left the light on and all I saw at first were boxes. Then I saw Easton.
He was sitting in an old vinyl chair that had been a favorite of Carmine’s. It was torn in several places and bleeding out stuffing but Jack probably kept it for sentimental reasons. Easton didn’t seem bothered by the chair’s sorry state. He looked comfortable there, paging through an old picture book about the New York Mets. I blinked because the scene was so unexpected and yet too familiar. I’d been here before. I’d walked in to find him just like this once.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” I said, but I let the door shut behind me.
Easton slowly closed the book. “But you found me.”
“I thought you must have gone out somewhere.”
He threw the book on the floor and watched me. “Take your jacket off.”
“It’s cold.”
“Do it anyway.”
“What for?” My heart was racing. I knew exactly where this was going and that I wasn’t going to stop it.
He raised his eyebrows gave me a wicked grin. “Because I want to watch you do it.”
Slowly I slipped the jacket from my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “Had enough?”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
I swallowed. “What do you want?”
Easton had a knowing smirk on his face. “You know what I want. You want it too.”
The whole verbal exchange was like a poorly scripted porn clip but I didn’t care. This was going to happen. I would let it. He was right; I wanted it. “Enlighten me.”
Easton let one hand travel over his crotch and he pressed. “I want to know if you’re as wet as you were yesterday morning.”
“Yes.”
“I figured. Take your dress off.”
“Right here?”
“You can come a little closer. Take it off. Now.”
Insanity. That’s what this was. It didn’t get much more tawdry than screwing around in your father’s garage on Christmas night with a guy who was totally inappropriate.
I untied the belt knotted at my back and savagely pulled the dress away from my body, kicking it away. Easton still had his hand pressed against his dick but a shadow crossed his face.
“Claudia,” he said when I knelt between his knees.
“I’ve told you before I don’t like it when you speak.” I pushed his hands away and fumbled with his pants.
He grabbed my shoulders. “Stop.”
I stood up and removed my bra. Easton let out a thick moan and pulled me into his lap. At that point I didn’t even care who he was. I just wanted to be lost for a little while in a whirlwind of senses. Our mouths were locked together in a kiss that could only be described as ferocious. I slid down to the floor and tried to haul him down there with me. The floor was merely cement covered with epoxy and it was cold as a corpse’s cheek. I welcomed the shock of it against my naked back.
Easton had his shirt over his head and tossed aside
with one impatient move. His eyes were hungry with desire as he slid my panties down and got on top of me. Every inch of him was muscled and hard, not just the important places. That body was a thing of beauty and right now I just wanted it to help me forget about anything more significant than my next orgasm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and he was leaning on his elbows, looking down at me with a puzzled frown.
“Nothing. Shove a condom on and fuck me.”
“Just like that?”
“Since when do you need foreplay, Easton?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Claudia, you can talk to me you know.”
“I did. I told you I wanted to be fucked.”
He exhaled, glared at me irritably, and rolled off.
I scooted backwards and grabbed my dress, covering my breasts with it. “You’re really going to do this again? It’s perverse. You just wanted to get me to the brink so you could humiliate me like you did yesterday.”
He put his shirt back on calmly. “You’re not on the brink, not right now.”
“How the hell would you know?””
“This isn’t my first rodeo, babe. I can tell when a girl’s putting on a show.”
“I don’t understand.”
He threw me a disgusted look. “Why are you acting like an idiot virgin? You’re not into it, Claudia. I can tell the fucking difference you know.”
“So what?”
“So you’ve got some kind of bug up your ass tonight and I’m not going to fuck you while you lie there like a dishrag and count the minutes until it’s over.”
“Screw you,” I spat, “like it really matters whether I’m into it or not? You’ll get what you want.”
He stood up. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked and his voice was baffled, hurt. “That I’m incapable of having real feelings? That I’m just a hard shaft forever searching for a place to stick it?”
I pulled my knees to my chest and dropped my head. I could feel Easton’s accusing eyes watching me. I was a bitch, a hardheaded coldhearted bitch. He sighed and started to leave.
“No,” I said softly before he reached the door. He stopped and waited. I cleared my throat. “That’s not what I think of you, Easton.”
He picked my coat up from the floor and brought it over, sinking down carefully at my side. He kept his eyes down while I pulled the coat over my naked body and wrapped my arms around myself. I couldn’t get warm enough. Not even close.
I felt Easton’s strong arm wrap around me and I inched closer to him, resting my head against his chest.
“Claudia, what’s the first Christmas you remember?” he asked in a quiet, dreamy voice.
I thought about it. “I guess I was about four. Rocco and I were camped out in the living room on Santa watch. He fell asleep early but I was pretty determined. At some point my eyelids grew too heavy and I dozed off. I must have heard a noise in my sleep because I bolted upright. And there was a man standing in the living room, wearing a black leather jacket and eating the chocolate chip cookies we’d put out for him.”
“Santa?”
“No. Jack.”
Easton laughed.
“He noticed I was awake and he crouched down next to me. He was all excited and he said, ‘Come on, Claud, let’s go outside.’ He picked me up and cradled me like a baby. At that point my grandmother came barreling into the living room and hissed, ‘Giacamo, where do you think you are taking that child?’ She always called him by his full first name when she was mad. He told her it was snowing out and he wanted to show me. She shook her head and told him to put me back where I was because it was freezing and he was drunk and she didn’t want to deal with any of it. Jack ignored her and brought me out to the backyard anyway. The snow was only a bare dusting, not like what we had today, but to me it was magical. It’s the only other time I remember snow on Christmas. I should ask Jack if he even remembers that night. I bet he doesn’t.”
It was the most I’d ever said to Easton all at once and he listened to every word. He held me close and I started to feel warm again, especially when our fingers laced together and stayed clasped.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Probably also about four. Anya would have been eleven and I realize now that she likely didn’t believe in Santa anymore. It was before my mom got real bad and my father was still at home. Anya was sitting on the edge of my bed, reading aloud from How the Grinch Stole Christmas, when I heard a noise on the roof. Anya stopped reading. She squealed and dove under the covers, saying that it must be Santa’s reindeer up there. She was in on the joke of course. I was terrified, thinking that I wouldn’t get any presents because I was still awake.”
“What was it? The noise?”
“My father throwing rocks on the roof.”
“Clever.”
“Yeah.” The memory seemed to quiet him. He’d been young when his father split. As far as I knew they had no relationship now.
I was still thinking about holidays and family. “Christmas isn’t really such a big deal with me anymore,” I said. “You know that I don’t usually even come home. Either I’ll hang out at a friend’s house for a few hours or else I just sit in front of the television with a carton of Chinese food. There are a lot of Christmases that aren’t really worth remembering.”
He nodded. “I get it. With Mom sick and money so tight we went a long time without celebrating either. I guess that’s why Anya is so determined to do it up big now. She wants things to be different for Allie.”
“She’s a good mom,” I said thoughtfully, wishing for the first time in a long time that I’d had a mother to make my childhood special too.
“She’s a great mom,” said Easton and I could hear in his voice the love and affection he had for his sister.
When I leaned toward him he seemed surprised. The kiss was the gentlest one we’d ever shared. But when I shifted slightly an exposed part of my backside made contact with the frigid floor. I’d half forgotten I was naked beneath the coat.
Easton hadn’t forgotten though. His arm tightened around me as his eyes flickered down. Slowly I opened up the coat and his other hand gently cupped my right breast. He bent his head and licked the nipple before kissing my chest and moving his lips up to my neck.
“Yes,” I moaned and he found my mouth while his hands traveled all over my body. He felt so good. I was throbbing, wanting him so much. He gently pushed the coat from my shoulders and put his mouth on my breasts while my hands wandered down his powerful back.
“I’ll remember this Christmas,” I whispered to him. “I’ll always remember it.”
He took his mouth away and picked me up in his arms. “Me too,” he whispered back. “Forever.”
Beyond all the boxes and clutter there was an old couch in the corner of the garage. Easton carried me there and set me down gently. I wasn’t cold anymore. I was on fire as he stripped his clothes off, pulled a condom out of his wallet and wrapped my legs around his waist. I arched my back and cried out a little as he entered me. It wasn’t the same as it had been with him before. It was even better. In those brief, strange days of summer we were always in a frenzy to get as much as we could as quick as we could. We knew it couldn’t last. At least I did. I knew that now too, but Easton’s movements were tender, unhurried, and he was silent as we enjoyed each other. We were both savoring the moment. It belonged to us. No matter what else happened we were destined to keep it. Always.
PART THREE: JULY 2013
~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EASTON
“Yeah, almost there. Just two inches south. Shit.” The heel of a palm dug into my lower back and hit the spot that had plagued me since the fourth inning. I gritted my teeth as the muscles were worked loose. Tully, the team physical therapist, was one strong bastard and he had a heavy touch but he always got the job done.
“Better?” Tully eased up and the ache in my back evaporated. I figured I might have a bruise there tomorrow though.
I sat up on the table and stretched, feeling pretty damn good. “Thanks, man.”
Tully was short and round, with forearms the size of bull shanks. He rocked back on his heels and grinned behind his smudged glasses. “You better get out there. Press breaks down the door and you’re on the hook for another one.”
I fixed a towel around my waist, slapped Tully on the shoulder and headed for the lockers. Most of the team had already left but a few stragglers hung around and heckled me something fierce.
“Motherfucking SHUTOUT!” howled Tiber Aspen, the shortstop.
“Complete game motherfucking shutout,” I corrected, smiling as I dressed.
My first season down in the minors had been rather lackluster. Maybe because there was some stiffness in the elbow or maybe because I wanted the major league so fucking bad I could smell it, I had a bunch of shitty outings and ended up being traded to San Diego. I trained like the devil all winter and came roaring back in spring of last year with eight wins in a row and a 1.26 ERA. It was enough to catch the attention of management and I got called up at the end of last season when the starting ace Cam Dorsey went on the disabled list for a few weeks due to chronic back issues.
Speaking of Cam, he had stuck around just to glower on the far side of the locker room. He was a four-time Cy Young Award winner but now that he was in his late thirties and on his fifteenth season in the majors a few things were falling out of place. He was pissed about it. Pissed at the fans for booing when he walked out of the dugout, pissed at the press for not kissing his glove anymore and mostly pissed at any pitcher who threatened to usurp his legacy. He was a dick, but a dick who was probably bound for the Hall of Fame someday.
He shut his locker and left without saying a thing and that was bullshit. Protocol demanded at least an acknowledgement of the fact that I’d shut down the best batting lineup in the National League. A few of the other guys wandered over and slapped me on the back even though there’d already been a lot of that out on the field after I got Los Angeles to fall down one, two, three in the top of the ninth and the home crowd went berserk.