End Detour [The Mystic Museum 4] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Loc Glin

  “I thought you liked it here, Mika.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why do you want to leave?” Nadine seemed hurt.

  “I’ve already had this discussion with Harold. I might as well see how you feel about it.”

  “I’m listening.” Nadine settled into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Shamika rolled her eyes. “I haven’t been grilled like this since I lived at home.”

  “It’s what happens when people care about you.” Nadine’s smile punctuated the truth of that statement.

  “I want to go home, back to New York, to tie up the loose ends that are dangling there. If I’m moving here, I have to pack the things I want to keep that are in my apartment. I need to change my address with the post office and the bank.” She looked over at Harold. “I know I can change my address with the post office by mail, so don’t say it.” She looked back at Nadine. “Mrs. T., I don’t have any close friends there, but I do know people. It’s only right to let them know I’m not dead. Don’t you think so?”

  Nadine looked at her son. “She’s right, Harold. You can’t fault her for doing the right thing.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. T., he just wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “When do you want to go?” Nadine asked.

  “The next time Mr. H goes into town.”

  “Tomorrow?” Harold’s voice was filled with dismay.

  “The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.” She moved close to him and bumped her hip into his. In a whisper for his ears only she said, “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  That made him smile.

  Shamika knocked and Harold opened his bedroom door. His expression hadn’t changed much since the foul facade he’d worn through dinner. He was still wearing that ridiculous scowl. His chest was bare and he was wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. She stepped forward. “Are you trying to scare me away with the look on your face?”

  “No.” He stepped back and let her enter the room.

  She squared her shoulders and sighed. “Let’s get this out in the open. I want to put it behind us. You don’t trust me, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” He looked away from her, which was telling.

  “Well, that’s reassuring.” She put her hands on her hips. “Look I’ve told you I’m coming back, I’ve promised you that I’ll come back. I want to marry you, Harold. There’s not much more I can say or do than that. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “It’s just hard. Cecily got into real trouble in New York. It’s not just trust, it’s fear for you, too.”

  “I’ve lived there for a long time, Harold. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. You have to trust me about that, too.”

  “It seems like I’m the only one doing the trusting around here.”

  “Is that what you think?” She hoped her tone told him how absurd she thought that was.

  “Yes.”

  She poked her finger into his chest. “Well, let me straighten you out about that. Which one of us is uprooting their life, changing everything? Me! And what guarantee do I have that you won’t change your mind? You’ve said that you want to marry me, but I’ve been deceived before. He never said he wanted to get married, but we were together a lot longer than you and I, and he left without any warning. What would make me believe you won’t do the same thing? I’ll tell you what. Trust. I trust that you are the person I think you are, good, kind, loyal, and trustworthy. Are you telling me that you don’t feel the same way about me?”

  “When you put it that way, it sounds so simple, but it’s not. I’m afraid of losing you. I know it’s irrational.”

  “It is irrational, I agree with that, but I’m glad you care enough to be worried about me.”

  “I worry.”

  “I can see that. Maybe we can take your mind off that worry for a little while. I did promise I would make it up to you.”

  “Yes, you did. What do you have in mind?” He took her into his arms. His dimpled cheeks made her smile.

  “I was thinking you could kiss me to make up for your sour disposition.” She slipped her arms around his neck.

  “I think I can manage that.” He held her in a sweet embrace. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a jerk.” He kissed her forehead and tilted her chin up with the side of his curled index finger, his thumb gently pressed into her chin. “Can you forgive me?” He touched his lips to hers. She melted toward him, her body molded into his. She marveled at the rock hard muscles of his upper arms and the solid planes of his chest as her hand roamed over them. She’d never known such a man.

  When his tongue asked for permission to play in the warm recesses of her mouth, she was more than willing to permit its entry. She enticed it inside with a quick little flick of her own. In the space of their next breath the fire between them ignited.

  She reached inside his boxers, searching for his manhood. He didn’t break the kiss as he began unbuttoning and pulling her blouse out of her jeans. He slipped it over her shoulders and it fell to the floor. Her jeans followed. She stepped out of them and her slippers at the same time. She pushed him backward toward the bed as he unhooked and removed her bra, leaving both of them in their underpants.

  His calves butted up against the bed, almost toppling him over. Shamika lowered herself to her knees, taking his boxer shorts down with her. “You just got lucky. I’m in the mood for a midnight snack.”

  “So am I.”

  “You’ll have to wait your turn.” Her mouth closed around his cock and she fondled his balls. He groaned. That sound from him created heat and moisture in her pussy.

  “I’m not a very patient man tonight. You’re going to have to share.” Removing his cock from her mouth he lowered himself to the bed. She whimpered at its loss. He lay down, his head propped up on pillows. “Sit on my face so I can lick your clit.” His tongue danced over his lips.

  She straddled his prone body, backed up over his torso and lowered her bottom half onto his waiting lips. His warm hands and fingers splayed wide across her ample buttocks, squeezed her soft flesh and gently caressed the sensitive skin. His hot mouth ravaged her now throbbing clit. She leaned forward and down, and clasped his thick, pulsing cock. With lips a whisper away from his penis she said, “That feels so good. Your mouth was made in heaven.” She moaned and her pelvis took up a soft rhythm matching the pace set by his tongue.

  After a few moments he said, “You were made in heaven. You taste like ambrosia, so fucking sweet.” He went back to his tender ministrations.

  Sweet talk spurred her on to suck his cock with a passion she’d never experienced before. Making love with Harold awoke feelings she’d buried. Wanting to please him as he pleased her was an emotionally consuming desire. Yes, she was falling for him, she did love him. She wouldn’t allow her fears to alter this feeling. That realization, coupled with his talented tongue, pushed her into a tumultuous orgasm. Her hips bucked and she would have screamed if her mouth hadn’t been filled with his cock. She breathed deeply through her nose, trying to catch her breath. Sadly she had to empty her mouth in order to do so.

  “I love it when you lose control like that. Get under me, I need to pound into you. I want to fuck you so much it hurts.”

  He was hovering over her an instant later, his cock sheathed in a protective cocoon of a tickler condom. “They told me this condom will make you writhe with pleasure.”

  “I’m already writhing.”

  “So you are.” He chuckled. “My intentions are to make you so crazy for me that you lose your mind and your heart to me.”

  She looked deeply into eyes filled with sincerity.

  “I already have.”

  She reached up and brought his lips down to hers. “I’m surprised you can’t see that.” She whispered the words into his mouth.

  “I’m trying. Be patient with me, Mika.”

  “You have my heart, believe that.”

  He groaned and captured her lips in a ravenous kiss a
s he penetrated her depths in a single possessive stroke. “I am yours, Shamika Adams, never doubt that.” He supported his weight on his elbows. With their eyes locked in passion and love, they shared their bodies, meeting thrust for thrust, passion building until the proof of their love erupted. Satisfaction and fulfillment sprinkled over them and they sighed. Contentment reigned.

  “Wow,” Shamika said.

  “I’ve never felt anything like that before.” He slipped out of her and moved onto his side gathering her into his arms, spooning.

  She snuggled into him. “Neither have I.”

  They made love two more times before exhaustion finally forced them into the land of dreams.

  Holding Shamika’s hand, Harold leaned against the passenger door of the pickup truck. “How long do you think this will take?”

  “Two weeks, maybe two and a half. It will take at least two days to get home by bus and train. I should be able to take care of everything in about a week, and then another few days to get back here.” She shifted on the bench seat.

  “I’m going to miss you.” He moved his thumb over the back of her hand.

  “I’ll miss you, too.” She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you every day. I have your cell number.” Harold opened his mouth. “Don’t worry, I have the telephone number to the house.”

  “Are you reading my mind now?” He chuckled.

  “No, your mother is.” She laughed. “She stood over me while I entered it into my cell. I can see where you get all this concern from now.”

  Hugo cleared his throat. “We need to get on our way. We don’t want Mika to miss that bus.”

  “Yes, we do,” Harold whispered.

  Shamika squeezed his hand. “No, we don’t. Kiss me goodbye, you foolish man,” she whispered back.

  Harold’s kiss was interrupted by Billy tugging on his pant leg. “I want to say goodbye, too,” Billy whined.

  Harold lifted Billy up to the window. His dirty hands gripped the space made by the open window. “Please come back soon. It won’t be the same here without you.” He kissed her cheek and then Harold lowered him to the ground.

  “I will, I promise,” Shamika assured the boy. Billy ran back to the house as happy as a boy could be.

  “Come back,” Harold said as he squeezed and released her hand. As his father drove away, Harold’s heart thudded in his chest. He couldn’t control the fear and anguish he felt as he watched the pickup disappear from his sight.

  Chapter 10

  Shamika hung up the phone. She’d called Harold two times. Once on the bus and once after she’d boarded the train. The bus ride from Moscow, Idaho to Spokane, Washington lasted less than two hours. The transfer to the train in Spokane had gone smoothly. She’d have to make another transfer in Chicago to get to Penn Station in New York, and then she would be home. It was late, people were beginning to settle in for the uncomfortable night they would spend trying to sleep. She didn’t travel much, and she didn’t like to fly, so it worked out well that Moscow was in the middle of nowhere. It had an airport of sorts, but she hadn’t bothered to see if there was a flight she could have taken. Moscow was a university town and therefore rather populated, not by New York standards, but at 23,000, more or less, it was quite large for this part of the state.

  She’d settled into her coach seat on the train and called Harold again. The countryside passed by curtained in darkness as the train clattered onward at a steady rate.

  After a few minutes with the signal flicking in and out she had to end the conversation, “Harold, I’ll call you later. I have to find someplace to charge my phone.” She pushed the end call button.

  She’d cut him off, she hoped he wouldn’t take that the wrong way, but she wanted to ask someone what she could do before there was no one to be found.

  The next morning she called him again. She had to call the house phone because there was no cell reception on the farm. She waited while Billy ran to get Harold. By the time Harold got to the phone she was losing the signal. “Harold, I don’t know when I’m going to be able to call you again. I’ll keep trying, but if I can’t get through, I’ll call when I get home. I know I’ll have reception there.”

  “What did you say? Mika, I can’t hear you. Mika?” She heard Harold saying as she lost the signal.

  “Crap, now he’s going to really worry.” There’s nothing I can do about it. He’ll just have to get over it. She slipped the phone into the pocket of her hoodie.

  In Chicago she had a little trouble finding the train line she was supposed to transfer onto. Chicago is a metropolis just like New York, and the people seemed just as uncaring and rude. It must be urban mentality.

  Once she settled into her new seat she looked for her phone. She figured she had to have reception here. She emptied the contents of her huge purse, and checked every pocket, twice.

  The phone was gone. Had she lost it, or had someone stolen it? It didn’t matter which. Now she had no way to get in touch with Harold. The numbers were saved to her contact list and she had no idea what they were.

  Long distance information might be able to help, but she didn’t know the address of the farm. Hugo had told her that he was taking her to Moscow because it was the only place she’d be able to get a bus or train for New York.

  Right now, try as she might, she couldn’t remember the name of the small town that was closest to the farm. It would come to her, she was sure of that. Until then, she’d try not panic. She settled in for the twenty hour ride she still had ahead of her, at least this time she was armed with a book to stave off the boredom.

  She turned the key in the outside door of her apartment building. The door creaked as she opened it. Out of habit she checked her mailbox, emptied it, and stuffed the contents into her purse. Up three flights of steps and next to the last door on the left side of the hall was where her small apartment was located. The lock clicked open just as it had countless times before. If she should feel melancholy about leaving it she didn’t. After the last few weeks, it didn’t even feel like home anymore. She silently thanked that witchy woman Minerva for whatever it was she’d done to send her to Idaho. The whole episode couldn’t be explained rationally. She wasn’t going to seek Minerva out to find out how it had happened either. It was some kind of miracle. She would leave it at that.

  She tossed her hoodie on the small, worn sofa and laid her purse on the table. She dropped her keys into the purse, only to have them pop back out because the mail blocked their entrance.

  Shamika tsked, pulled the mail out, and dropped it on the table. The envelopes and flyers spread over the table top. While moving them around with her fingertips she saw the usual bills. A lavender envelope caught her eye. She recognized the return address. The handwriting was her mother’s, but the address was her aunt’s.

  With trembling hands she ripped open the glued flap. Her heart was pounding. Why would her mother send her a card? They hadn’t been in touch for years. The face of the card read, “Happy Easter,” complete with a bunny rabbit, baby chicks, painted eggs, and tulips. The card was suitable for a six-year-old. Considering that and the fact that it was June, she was confused, curious, and apprehensive. She flipped it open and read.

  Dearest Shamika,

  I realize that we haven’t been on the best of terms over the last five years. Actually we haven’t been on any terms at all. It’s time to put our differences behind us. You are family, and family matters. I miss you and could really use your support right now. A lot has happened in the last two years, things I do not want to put into a letter.

  If you could find it in your heart to come home, I would be so grateful. It doesn’t have to be for good. A short visit would be fine. I don’t care where you live, as long as you’re happy. I know we have been unbending about that in the past, but we have finally come to see that it’s not our decision, it’s yours. Please let us back into your life. Your father has had a heart attack. We don’t know how much longer he will be with us. We wo
uld like to be a family again, before it’s too late.

  You will find us at Aunt Susan’s house.

  All my love,

  Mom

  Shamika collapsed into the chair next to the table. She stared dumbly at the card she held between her trembling fingers. Heart attack? Her father had had a heart attack? Tears welled up in her eyes. The last time she and her father had talked they’d had angry words, said hurtful things. She’d inherited her pride from her father, her stubbornness, too. Those two traits had kept her family apart long enough. Her mother was right. They needed to be a family again before it was too late.

  She and her father had argued about her remaining in New York. While consumed in a fit of temper and stubborn pride, he had given her an ultimatum. Come home now, or don’t bother coming back again. She’d reacted in an angry fit of her own. Five years had passed. How stupid she’d been. She loved her parents and missed them with all her heart. She’d told Harold she wouldn’t go home, but she was going to go after all. Thank God her father hadn’t died. She would have been filled with guilt if their foolish disagreement had kept her from ever seeing him again.

  How would he feel about seeing her again? The letter said “we,” but Shamika could read between the lines. Her mother was forcing her father to agree. Ironically, she didn’t think there would be a problem now, because she was leaving New York. She wasn’t going home, but the objection had been to her living in New York, not living away from home.

  Inspecting the postmark date on the envelope, she found it was dated two weeks ago. While biting her lip, she crinkled her brow. There was no time to waste. Tomorrow she would go to the bank and see her landlord. For the post office, her aunt’s address would have to do for now. Shamika didn’t want to give her parents the wrong impression by having her mail sent home. There was nowhere else she could forward her mail to. Aunt Susan wouldn’t mind, at least she hoped she wouldn’t. From now on, she vowed to stay in touch with her family. She would say goodbye to a few people and leave for Deerfield the next day. Shamika swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. Soon she would see her parents again.