Storms Over Secrets

by J. A. Derouen

  She pushes up on her toes and peeks over my shoulder at Celia, who’s standing quietly behind me. Mom shoves me aside, my time in the spotlight over. A huge grin spreads across her face as she surveys Celia. “Introduce me to your friend, son.”

  I nod quickly and wave my hand toward each of them. “Mom, this is Celia Lemaire. She’s one of my tenants, but she’s also become a friend. Celia, this is my mom, Lila Bennett.”

  Both of their faces shine with bright smiles as they clasp hands. Before Celia can pull her hand back, Mom pulls her close and wraps her in a tight bear hug.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Celia. I’ve heard so much about you,” Mom gushes as she throws me a wink.

  “Oh, really?” Celia eyes me suspiciously.

  “Don’t worry, Tink, I didn’t mention that crazy fetish you told me about.”

  Celia’s cheeks pink up, and she slaps my shoulder. “Cain, that’s not funny!” She turns to my mom with wide eyes. “He’s lying, I swear.”

  Mom chuckles as she loops her arm around Celia’s and starts walking toward the barn. “Don’t worry, dear, I’ve met my son a time or two. A lot of hot air, that one. I, on the other hand, have a plethora of ammunition on him. Did he ever tell you about his undying love of boy bands as a teenager?”

  Celia starts to giggle, but slams her hand over her mouth when she gets the evil eye from me.

  “I don’t care what you say, JT is the shit. He can sing, dance, and act—he’s a triple threat,” I defend as Celia’s eyes widen in amusement.

  “You’re absolutely right, honey. There’s nothing strange about that … not at all,” Mom says as she eyes Celia, shrugging and shaking her head.

  At this none-too-subtle barb, they both roar with laughter. I kick up dust and follow behind as I grumble to myself.

  “While I’m having a blast, and believe me I am, I have a question. Where are we going?” I ask as I stop walking and toss up my hands.

  “Mo’s at the chicken coop, dear. I’m bringing Celia to meet her. Put those two hounds behind the fence, would you? We can’t have them following us.” She turns back to Celia, effectively dismissing me. “Those two trouble makers will terrorize my sweet chickens, for sure.”

  I turn back toward the house and spot Jabbers and Biz close to the gate. I grab the dogs by the collar and usher them into the enclosing. When I turn around to meet Celia and Mom, I realize I’ve been left in the dust.

  “’Oh Cain, I missed you so much,’” I mutter under my breath as I tromp toward the chicken coop.

  Damn women.

  “Oh, I love them. They’re the cutest things I’ve ever seen. Aren’t you, sweetheart? You’re so precious, aren’t you?” Celia baby talks, telling me she’s spotted our newly born litter of kittens.

  When I round the corner, I find her sprawled out on the dusty ground, trying to coax the kittens out of their hiding place in a stack of lumber. The pile is fairly high, so there are plenty of nooks and crannies for the kittens to hide. If they don’t want to be caught, Celia doesn’t stand a chance. I may have spoken too soon, though, because a lone orange kitten is brave enough to approach and sniff Celia’s outstretched fingers. I crouch down next to her to watch the show.

  “You’re such a beauty, aren’t you, little one? Can I scratch your head?” Celia coos, and the kitten begins to purr as Celia gives it a little scratch behind the ear. A giggle escapes her lips. “That’s quite a motor you’ve got.”

  “I think that kitten may have stolen your heart,” I whisper, trying not to spook our visitor.

  Celia sighs and slumps her shoulders dramatically. “I think you’re right. I’ve fallen in love. I want to scoop this little one up and take her home.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. I have a strict no pet policy, Celia,” I say sternly, leaving no room for discussion. Her wide, sorrowful eyes cause a tiny kink in my armor. “But I promise I’ll bring you to visit any time you want, okay?”

  She nods in agreement, but her bottom lip juts out in a precious little pout. I raise my head and only then see my parents, huddled together by the chicken coop, watching the two of us intently with hopeful expressions. Those two will be burning up my phone tonight with questions; I can already see it.

  “Did you meet Mo?” I ask, tipping my chin toward my parents.

  “Helen? Yes, Lila introduced me. You call her Mo?”

  I chuckle and nod my head. “Lila’s Mom, and Helen is Mo. I can’t call them both Mom, can I? Or I guess I could, but that would be confusing, yeah?” Celia nods. “So that’s what I’ve always called her.”

  The kitten crawls into Celia’s lap and curls up into a tiny ball, purring loud enough to drown out the meows of his brothers and sisters. I chance a quick pet, and the fur is as soft as a whisper in a way only a kitten’s fur can be. My hand brushes Celia’s leg in the process, and I resist the urge to grab her hand in mine.

  “Lila invited me to Sunday lunch at your grandparents’ house,” Celia says. She obviously sees my disapproval, because her hopeful expression morphs into a frown. “But I can tell her I’m busy. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not, I’d love you to come. I love spending time with you. It’s just that Sarge, my gramps? Well, he can be a handful.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mom and Mo approach, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I don’t want to talk about Sarge today. Mo reaches down and places a kiss on my forehead and a quick squeeze to my neck. “Hey, baby boy.”

  “Hey Mo,” I say as I grab her wrist and squeeze. “Those chickens keeping you busy?”

  Where Mom is petite and blonde, Mo is tall and slender. She's part Houma Indian, so she’s blessed with thick, dark, pencil-straight hair, and a rich complexion that’s the envy of sunbathers everywhere. While complete opposites in appearance, my moms are the two most in-sync people I’ve ever met. They are a living, breathing example of a relationship based on true love and unwavering respect.

  The chickens, the orchards, and tending to the land in general has always been more of Mom’s thing, but Mo helps out more, now that she’s semi-retired. Mo is an emergency room doctor, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to fully give it up. Although they don’t need the money, she still picks up a shift or two every month at the hospital.

  “Nah, they’re just a bunch of old biddies. Nothing I can’t handle,” Mo replies with a wink. "There are a few areas of fencing on the chicken coop that need repair. Would you mind taking a look at it?”

  “Of course,” I say. “Supplies still in the barn?”

  “They sure are,” Mo says as she extends her hand to Celia to help her up. Before I know what’s happening, Mom and Mo each have an arm looped through Celia’s and they’re hauling her off in the direction of the main house. “We’ll just take Celia back to the house for a visit. You can meet us when you’re done.”

  “Okay,” I mutter, utterly confused by the turn of events. They usually worship the ground I walk on, but today I’m no better than the chicken shit littering the coop.

  What the hell?

  I’m sweaty, I’m dirty, and I’m more than a little irritated with my parents. If I know those two, they’ve probably leaked my deepest, darkest secrets to Celia in rapid succession. Well, in all honesty, I’m an open book. I’m a loud and proud, butt-scratching, balls blowing in the breeze kind of guy, so I guess I shouldn’t worry about what they’ve told her. But I cringe when I hear the cackling filtering through the door the second my foot hits the first step.

  I just know they’re laughing about me. Those are Cain-induced cackles; I have no doubt.

  I grab my balls, figuratively, of course, and power through. I bound through that door, a man with nothing to hide. I live in the light, dammit! I have nothing to be ashamed of. Only, the cackles die into utter silence the second they hear my approach, and I blow out a sigh of concession.

  I knew it!

  As I round the corner into the kitch
en, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of Mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, although now they smell more like betrayal. I eye each of them suspiciously, and their lips are pursed, holding in laughter that I’m sure will fly any second.

  “You’re both dead to me,” I say with an evil glare trained on my parents.

  And I’m met with an explosion of laughter. I wave them all off with a swing of my arms and storm out of the room.

  “Cain, don’t be mad at us. Come eat some cookies, honey,” Mom pleads, none too convincingly, through her barking laughter.

  “I’m going to shower!” I holler as I tromp down the hall. “You two need to think about what you did.”

  My scolding only serves to set off another roll of howling laughter.

  No respect. None at all.

  “Near to You” by A Fine Frenzy

  Present Day

  “YOUR MOMS ARE so cool,” Celia says with a smile as we walk down the drive.

  “Yeah, they’re something else. I must admit, I’ve been blessed.”

  “Was it ever … was it ever difficult?” She sees my confused look and sighs. “I mean, did kids ever give you crap about your parents? I know children can be very cruel…”

  I shake my head and smile down at her. “No, not really. We lived in New Orleans until I was fourteen. Anything goes there, so no one ever gave it much thought, I guess. While I knew we were a little bit unconventional in comparison to other families, people are pretty accepting of alternate lifestyles there. We moved to Providence when Sarge, my gramps, needed a little … extra help. By the time we moved here, I towered over the other kids. Nobody fucks with the biggest kid in class. I joke with Mom and Mo that they showed up at the sperm bank demanding the sample of the tallest man in the bunch. That way, they knew I could take care of any assholes that crossed my path.” Celia’s eyes widen in surprise, and I chuckle. “Of course, that’s not what happened, but I still like to tease them. I can’t deny my size probably worked in my favor. Well, that, and being captain of the basketball team, running back of the football team, and an all-around charming mother fucker.”

  Celia nods her head with pursed lips and squinted eyes, feigning seriousness. “You should never underestimate the importance of being a charming mother fucker.”

  Call me a pervert, but those dirty words coming out of that sweet little mouth shoot straight to my cock. I need to change my thought process before I end up with an ill-timed dick tent.

  Deer guts. Dog shit. Old saggy titties. Whew, problem solved.

  “And just where are we going, Cain Bennett?” Celia asks as we stroll farther down the driveway.

  I widen my eyes and shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence, and Celia giggles. The gravel crunches under our feet, and I look down at her swinging arms as she half walks, half skips. I take a chance and grab her hand, and do a mental fist pump when she doesn’t pull away.

  “You know what I think?” she asks with a mischievous smile. “I think this is your attempt to get me away from your moms. I’m collecting way too much ammunition for your liking. Why have you never told me about the toilet seat incident?”

  My feet root to the ground, and she jerks back with my sudden stop. “Oh no, they didn’t,” I say quietly, while murderous thoughts roll through my brain. “That was no laughing matter. I had to get stitches. Stitches! No five year old boy wants to see a needle coming at his rooster.”

  Celia doubles over in laughter, clutching her stomach. “Your rooster? Really?”

  “When I was five? Yes, I called it my rooster,” I explain with a huff. I bend at the knee to meet her eye to eye. “Now that I’m a grown ass man? I think anaconda is more appropriate.”

  Her cheeks blush a pretty shade of pink, and she lowers her lashes to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, hush,” she says, with a shove of my shoulder.

  I take back my hold of her hand, and keep walking in silence. My big, indelicate mitt swallows her dainty fingers, but nothing has ever felt so right.

  “Do you know they wanted to stitch me up at home? Can you believe that? My dick gets nearly cut off by a rogue toilet seat, and Mo thinks she can sew it up in the kitchen. That’s what I get for having an ER doctor as a mom,” I say as I shake my head in utter disbelief.

  “Well, it’s a good thing that cooler heads prevailed,” Celia says, smashing her lips together to curb her laughter.

  “Keep it up, Tink, keep it up. I fail to see the humor in that story. It’s every man’s nightmare. I couldn’t take a piss without holding the toilet seat up with my hand for years, and I only stopped then because I had grown tall enough to make the trajectory of the toilet seat a non-issue.”

  That tiny piece of information unlocks the floodgates, and I stand, hands on hips and head lowered, as Celia howls with laughter. I can’t believe Mom and Mo did this to me. I’m trying to woo Celia, and now she’s laughing her ass off at my maimed rooster. Not very woo-worthy … not at all.

  “Ya done?” I ask when she finally quiets down.

  Her lips form a pretty pout as she lunges and wraps her arms around my waist. She gives me a tight squeeze and looks up at me with those blue doe-like eyes. “I’m sorry, Cain-Cain. Do you forgive me?”

  “Now they’ve done it. They’ve crossed the line this time,” I say, shaking my head, plotting the imminent demise of Mom and Mo for revealing my childhood nickname, among other things.

  She lets out an infectious giggle and bats her lashes at me. I clear my throat and squeeze right back before I grasp under her arms and pull her high above my head. She peeks down at me, sunshine filtering through her wispy blonde hair, eyes dancing, and glittered feet poking me in the stomach.

  She looks magical, angelic, almost dreamlike. Without any forethought, acting on pure instinct and overwhelming need, I bench-press her down to my lips, capturing her bottom lip between mine. I gently suck, the taste of candied lip-gloss tempting my taste buds, and the scent of summer and honeysuckles flooding my senses. It’s soft and fleeting, just a whisper, and leaves me wanting more—so much more.

  “But you? I’ll always forgive you, Tink,” I whisper as I raise her higher in the air. Her smile falters, and her eyes grow misty, so I swing her around behind me until she latches onto my neck and her legs wrap around my waist.

  I carry her the rest of the way to the fig trees, loving the feel of her body pressed against my back. Her cheek brushes against the rim of my ear as she bounces with each step. Her breath dances down the curve of my neck, as she giggles and taunts me with “giddy-up” and “faster Cain Cain, faster.” Her fingernails clutch my shirt and scrape my chest. Her thighs squeeze my waist as she holds on to me, the same way I imagine she would if…

  Fuck! Cow udders. Yellow toenails. Old man ear hair.

  “We’re here,” I squeak, three octaves higher than my regular voice. She hops off my back with a graceful bounce, seemingly unaware of my “struggles.”

  “Fig trees?” she asks.

  “Yep,” I answer as I search out the most shaded tree and tug her underneath to sit with me. “This is the most peaceful place on Earth, I swear it.”

  I prop my back up on the tree trunk, and Celia lays down, head in my lap and her feet crossed at the ankles. She closes her eyes and breathes in, the tiny hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We should have brought Biz. He would love it out here.”

  I let out a laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think so. I tried that once and believe me, it’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Close your eyes and listen,” I say, and she does what I ask. “Do you hear the birds?”

  She nods, keeping her eyes shut. “It’s so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

  “There’s every kind of bird you can think of out here—robins, cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, and so many more. The figs attract them. They love the sweet fruit as much as we do, and really, can you blame them? It’s a bird conservatory, most of the time. Imagine a
n excited Biz raiding birds’ nests and angry momma birds pecking the shit out of him. The two of us barely made it out of here alive,” I say with a chuckle.

  She lifts up on her elbow and laughs. “I can just picture it—you scooping up Biz and making a break for it, all the while shielding your head from the dive-bombing birds. I bet you two were a sight.”

  “You could say that,” I agree as I pluck a couple of figs off the tree and hand her one. They’re warm from the sun, and when my teeth pierce the skin, the sweetness of the flesh and seeds fill my mouth. I eat the fig in one big bite, leaving only the stem, which I toss behind me. I look up at Celia and realize she’s watching me intently, fig still sitting uneaten in her hand.

  She smiles and lifts the fruit to her lips and takes a tiny bite, closing her eyes and chewing slowly. Her eyes open, and she smiles at me. “Thank you for today. When I’m with you … I forget to be sad.”

  I quietly watch her as she finishes her fig and tosses the stem over her shoulder. I reach up for two more and hand one to her.

  “You’d better be careful, Tink. That’s a dangerous thing.” I keep a solemn expression, looking down and shaking my head.

  “Is it now?”

  “Oh yeah. Do you know what comes after forgetting to be sad?” Her lips twitch as she holds back her smile and lifts her eyebrows in question. “Actually wanting to be happy. You think you’re ready for that?”

  She gently taps the fig to her bottom lip, and she blesses me with watery eyes and a smile. “I don’t know, but I think I’d like to try … with you, I want to try so badly,” she whispers, then takes a bite of her fig, her eyes never leaving mine as she chews slowly.

  I reach for her, brushing my thumb across her cheek, and she leans into me. She closes her eyes and exhales softly, her lips parting as a breath escapes her. My hand continues the journey, landing with a firm grip on the back of her neck. Unable to resist another second, I pull her to me and meet her halfway. I press my lips to hers, softly at first, and taste the ripened fig juice and lip-gloss lingering between us. She responds to me with equal pressure, hesitant but curious. Needing more, I lick her plump bottom lip, then push into her mouth, sliding my tongue against hers. She whimpers softly, and I swear to Christ, my dick gets so hard at the sound, I’m afraid it’s turned to petrified wood. She inches closer, and her hands grasp my hair as I devour her. Not a word is spoken, but it’s the most intimate conversation I’ve ever had.