by Nicole Snow
I'll do it because every minute we spend together, I don't want this to end.
It's later the same week and he's up early. I come down at my usual time, expecting to find Marshal in his shop.
But he's not alone in the kitchen today. There's a woman at the table with curly blonde hair, sad blue eyes, and full Monroe lips. Jealousy shoots through me. I duck around the corner, grateful honeybee isn't up yet, and eavesdrop shamelessly.
“Believe me, Marshal, I've tried. Spent way too much on the investigator last year,” she says, frustration in her voice. “The army won't re-open the case. They say there's too much classified material still. And everything is cut and dry. God, if you hadn't told me what you saw over there, I wouldn't have even known. I'd have thought Adam died honorably and –“
“He did, Bev. The dirt doesn't take away from his sacrifice. Now, forget it. We don't need to go there again. Told you a million times: save your funds. Those fucks in the kangaroo courts won't do crap unless it involves bad press. Too much politics. We won't find any justice throwing money down a black hole.”
“So...where do we, then? Is this just how it is? Maybe I'm being stupid. I should just let go, get on with my life.”
My breath hitches as he stands. I duck behind the wall, but not before I see him grab her hands, pulling her closer than he's done with anyone.
Except for me.
I'm holding the oxygen in my lungs for what seems like forever, slowly counting, praying this isn't an ex-girlfriend. Or, God forbid, a baby mama.
“Adam didn't marry a stupid woman. Look at me, Bev. Right the hell here.” He's growling. “Leave it to me. Stop worrying. Do you got enough money for Mikey? How's that lung thing?”
“A little better this year.” She sniffs tearfully. “We're...we're getting money from the state and it's helping a little. Not as much as I'd like. But please, Marshal, you can't. You've already done so much. I'm not asking you for more loans.”
More? My ears are turning red. It's none of my business, really, but I can't figure out what's actually happening here.
“I haven't done enough. That's the real truth. Whatever you need, Bev, just say it. Any time. I'm good for it.”
“Glad I could stop by, at least. It's a long trip up from Missouri. I'm going to his grave a little less than I'd like. I'd be a fool to lose touch with his friends, too.” She sniffs again.
“Adam's friends will always be mine, woman. Always welcome in this house. Don't you forget it. He served, honorably, and he paid the ultimate price. I'm gonna make sure that wasn't in vain.”
“I know, Marshal. Lord, every single day, I know.”
It goes quiet. I try to relax, knowing this isn't anything crazy or serious, but when I look into the kitchen, he's holding her.
Very close. Very tight. Looking straight through the wall with his face perched over her blonde hair.
“Anything comes up, you call. I'm happy you came by today, too. I've had...a lot going on lately. Needed the kick in the ass, seeing you again, to remind me what's really important.”
“Take care. If you ever come south, you've always got a place to crash.”
“Same. You're sure you want to go all the way to Des Moines?” He looks at her. The woman nods. “I'll get Mia a play date with Mikey one of these days. That's a promise.”
“You take care of yourself, Marshal Howard, you hear?” She takes a step or two away, still holding both his hands. “Next time we meet, I want to see you with somebody. Place could use a woman's touch.”
“Actually...” He pauses. “Nah, forget it. I'll walk you out to your car. Don't forget the box!” He grabs something off the table, a small wooden container. I watch them head out through the screen door and down the snowy steps to a silver van.
It's several minutes before Marshal returns. I stand by the stove, brewing coffee, unsure whether to chastise myself for being stupid or him for being secretive.
I don't feel threatened by her anymore. Whatever it is, it isn't romantic. There's no goodbye kiss with this woman, no longing, just raw emotion and an old gratitude I don't understand.
Of course, jealousy shouldn't be a thing in the first place, however misplaced.
Maybe I'm just bothered because it's a sign of yet another secret hole in his life to trip over.
I still don't know who Marshal Howard really is.
Who is this man I'm sharing the best sex of my life with? The only sex of my life.
Who is he behind the rough stubble I love to run my fingers through and the smoking blue eyes? Beneath the loving father with the vicious exterior, there's a stranger.
“Morning, darling,” he says, stepping inside, something wrapped in tinfoil under his arm.
He walks past me to the counter, pulling out the cutting board. Fresh banana scent fills the kitchen as soon as the package opens. He turns, grabbing a couple plates, a warmth I've only started seeing lately in his eyes. “Banana bread? It's fresh baked by –“
“Bev, I know. Who is she?”
His eyes narrow. “Were you spying on us?”
“Nothing like that. I just came down and heard you talking. Sounded pretty serious. Like something you'd want me to stay out of. I didn't want to intrude.” My cheeks are red fire. Am I being a major league bitch over this?
“Bev is Adam's wife,” he says, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth and swallowing loudly. “Widow, I should say. He was in my unit. We still talk, and every so often, she comes this way. Couldn't stay long this time around. She's got a sick father upstate and needs to get back to her kid.”
“It's good,” I say, tasting the bread he's left in front of me. It truly is. I haven't had anything like it since I used to stop in the little Amish bakeries north of here. “What about the case you two were talking about? Sorry, I overheard...”
No, I straight up listened. I tried to get into his business, and it's not time for that in this relationship yet. Whatever this relationship even is.
He stops, his back to me, pouring his coffee slower than he should. “It's nothing, Red. Old issue with VA benefits.”
I don't know why, but it doesn't sound right. Or truthful.
I fix my eyes on his, searching, watching as he hides his beautifully damaged face behind the mug, taking a long sip. “You're sure?”
He tips his head, releasing a long sigh, almost a groan. The mug bangs against the counter, sloshing hot coffee everywhere. “I asked you before, last time we got into it around New Years – if I knew shit about your brother, would you want it?”
There's a hole opening in the pit of my stomach. I think about Jackson, Ginger, the precious little boy or girl growing inside her. Then mom, and dad chasing after her, trying to nurse her back to a healthy mind that may never exist again.
If he has some dark, horrid secret about my brother...is it worth it? Can I handle it?
“We'll talk about this later,” Marshal says, stepping past me, yanking his hat off the hook. “Need to get to work.”
Once again, he's swept the ground out under me.
It's getting late and he hasn't come in for dinner. His loss, I suppose, because the rosemary beef stew bubbling to a finish in the slow cooker smells heavenly. Even Mia asks for a heaping portion. I ladle food in bowls, warning her to let it cool. The oven dings for the French bread I've baked to go with the meal. Just in time.
I'm blowing on my first bite when the phone rings. My brother's name lights up the screen and I wrinkle my nose after the morning's drama. But I have to answer.
“Yeah, Jackson?”
“I'm only gonna ask this once, you fucking idiot: what made you think letting mom paint the Castoff was such a brilliant move?”
“One second.” I freeze. Mia chews her food happily, humming to herself, oblivious to the hell in my ear. I tuck the phone against my shoulder, whisper a few words, tell her I'll be back in a minute.
Oh, if only this would be so brief.
Once I'm around the corner, I resume. “J
ackson, calm down, I –“
“You what, sis? Thought you'd bring a crazy man you've decided is cool because he signs your checks into our mentally ill mother's home? Let her spend hours with him, alone, painting that asshole in our parents' bedroom?”
I swallow. My patience hangs by its very last thread.
“Christ. When I said you could take the job, and blow off helping dad, I thought you had some common sense.”
“You don't control my life!” I snap. “Look, it was mom's idea, this whole thing. She lit up the first time we came by. He helped me drop your truck off, no less. She wanted to paint him and Mia, and she wouldn't take no for an answer.”
“You didn't tell her no? Goddamn.”
“No, Jackson, I didn't. She's still our mother, and in case you hadn't noticed, keeping her cooped up alone with dad all day isn't working. This might. He said she's a lot happier lately, even when the sketches don't come out just like she'd hoped. She's inspired for the first time in years.”
“You're too close to that asshole, sis. Fuck. I never should've let you screw off playing sitter, trusting you wouldn't bring him anywhere near our family.”
“He's not a monster!” My voice cracks. I wish he'd understand. Someday he might have to, if whatever's happening with Marshal lasts. “Look, this isn't easy, I get it. There'll always be bad blood between you two. Fine. But that stupid fight you had years ago? The one that turned the town against him? He doesn't deserve it. Not then and not now.”
“Doesn't deserve it?” I can't tell if he sounds confused, or if he's about to explode. “Sis, the asshole you're so soft on tried to humiliate me in front of the entire town. He spit on my fucking service record and he did it publicly. Implied I did atrocities overseas, serving this country, and –“
“So, did you?” I'm shaking my head.
I don't know what to believe. I don't know what I want to.
“You're serious?” His voice is like sandpaper. “Fuck you, sis. He's really got you brainwashed if you're even asking that question. Forget the shit with mom. I'll deal with it myself.”
“Jackson –“ My phone makes a clicking noise. “Hello?”
I hold it away. It's disconnected, just as I thought, blinking his name and number a few last times before fading away. Stuffing it back into my pocket, I storm the kitchen, wishing I could open the door and hurl the damned thing out into the nearest snow drift.
I slow before I get to my seat, surprised. Marshal sits at the table, a fresh bowl of piping hot dinner in front of him. He bites the end off a piece of French bread and looks at me. “Damn good on a cold night like this. We're supposed to be snowed in later. Least we'll have plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.”
My soup is cooler. It's good, but I'm not enjoying it as much as I wanted to before the call. Mia asks for seconds, and he gets up, ladling more into her bowl before rejoining us.
“What's the matter, Red?” he says, staring into my eyes. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing. I'm glad you like it.”
“Honeybee, cover your ears for a second,” he says, leaning into me. “Bullshit, darling. I know a woman gnarled up in knots, and I'm looking at her. What the fuck's wrong?”
“It's just...my brother called. He found out about mom's sessions with you and Mia, I guess.”
His eyes narrow. Flexing his fist on the table, he reaches with his other hand, gently pinching my arm. “And what? He's pissed?”
“Well, yeah.” I nod. “He thinks you're dangerous. Evil. Totally unfit to set foot in my parents' house.”
“Lucky me, you know better,” he says.
I look up, surprised how well he's taking it. “I don't know what to do, Marshal. The last thing we need is Jackson up my butt about bringing you around our mother.”
“It'll work itself out. This crap always does,” he rumbles, a strange smile materializing on his rough lips. “He gives you more trouble, tell him we'll work it out man-to-man. I'm sure he'd love a rematch.”
“Marshal, no!” It takes several seconds to see his grin, realize he's joking. I think. “I hope he doesn't do anything stupid. He said he'd deal with mom and her art, whatever that means.”
“Man's got a fuck of an ego. I've spent enough time around your ma to see she's not howling at the moon crazy. Just depressed and under-motivated. She's never been real interested in your brother sticking his nose in her business, I think. He'll do nothing.”
I pause, thinking. “No, you're right. He can't just waltz in and make mom do anything. Nobody can. That's half the reason she's never gone in for major treatment. She put up a huge fight every time, and dad never had the heart for it, so...”
“She's getting better. Saw her working on something that wasn't just Mia's smiling face last time we were there. Looked like a big bunch of white trees and some mountains.”
“I hope so. It'll be a miracle if she ever does landscapes again.” I squeeze his hand, bringing it to my face. His caress helps. I refuse to let the lonely tears I'm holding in fall because I don't want him to wipe them away, delaying his dinner any more. I also don't want to ruin it for the bashful little girl next to us.
“Daddy?” Mia perks up, rocking in the chair, her hands still pressed tight to her head.
Smiling, Marshal takes her little arms and puts them down. “Thanks, honeybee. Let's eat. Even I've had it with this grownup crap tonight.”
That makes three of us.
It's a good old fashioned Iowa snowstorm like I haven't seen in years.
It's getting late and we're just putting Mia down for the night. Yes, we.
For the first time, Marshal lets me sit next to him on her bed. We take turns reading from the big story book in his hands, a weathered old volume of fairy tales that looks like it's been passed down for a long time.
It's the end of sleeping beauty. All is right with the kingdom, the enchanted princess, the handsome prince, and their twins.
“Silly. Imagine if it were so easy – making babies with just a kiss.” I tug at his hand and smile. We're sitting in the kitchen after the story, late night coffee in our hands.
“Yeah. Imagine.” His eyes pin down mine, bringing scalding blood to my cheeks. “I sure as hell wouldn't wait to break the spell before carrying you off, if it were up to me.”
“No?” My fingers tug gently at his. It's sweet to see him like this, mind fixed on meaningless what-ifs instead of the many real poisons weighing on his mind.
“No. Red, listen, I've been meaning to have a talk. I want you moving in.”
Blinking, I shake my head, doing a slow sweep around the kitchen. “I thought I did?”
“I mean permanently, darling. I want you in this house full time. Whatever you need, I'll provide, but I don't want to sign your checks anymore. I want to send you to school full time, do whatever it takes to get you working where you want. I want you happy, safe, and mine.”
A nervous pit opens up under me. It's a happy one. Taking his hand again, I'm shaking, trying to decipher his words through my own wishful thinking. He can't be asking for...oh God, what is he asking?
“Marshal, whoa. That's...really, really sudden. We've only been together a few months.”
“And they've been fucking bliss. Happiest I've been since the war, since I've had to fight for the good days with Mia. Happiest since ever. Don't tell me any different.” His eyes are so bright. Twin blue moons; hypnotic, gorgeous, and powerful. “I get it, Red. You're a lady of class, you want this to go off proper, so here goes.”
Slowly, he stands, unwinding our fingers. I watch him walk across the room to the old radio on the counter. He flicks it on. Soft rock guitar twangs out, not at all what I expect. Country, some cowboy bellowing out his love for the one who got away. It's a change from the rambunctious, heavy beats he listens to in his shop.
Then he's next to me again, sliding my hand into his, a mysterious smirk on his face. “Give me this dance, Red.”
It's not a request. Or a dream, unbelievable as it
is.
I instantly rise, grinning as I fall into his arms.
The impossible is happening.
I'm dancing with the man who dragged me into his bed, into his life, and apparently, now into his soul, too. He's a swaying, smiling contrast. A bundle of blue-eyed pain, gorgeous in his imperfections, scary in the changes rippling through his massive soul like river rapids.
I lay my head against his chest. Hear his heart hammering his ribs, and I wonder why he's nervous.
Then it hits me: he's planned this. Whatever it is, it's thought out and deliberate. And yet, I'm the one who's fighting to stay calm, moving with him as he leads me around his little kitchen, grinning like a sixteen year old idiot at prom.
“Want to know something, Red?” He leans in, stubble tickling my neck as he whispers in my ear. “You're the first woman I've ever bothered dancing with. I kept to myself in school and all through the service. Had my fun, yeah, but never made it serious. Sex was a distraction from the bullshit. From the cruelty. Nothing more.”
He lets me fall, holding onto my hands, gently tipping me backward. Then he jerks my body to his again. There's a vicious grace in his movements. His eyes are a constant glow, experts at leaving me small and wet and wanting.
But it's more than just another master seduction tonight. It has to be.
There are too many secrets in his eyes. Too big a confession bleeding in his whispers. Too much need in his embrace, winding tighter all the time, all the better to angle my head just so for the fiery kiss he traces on my lips
His forceful, teasing tongue takes my knees out from under me, leaving me breathless before I can ask any questions.
Holy hell yes.
Both his hands encircle mine before it's over. He's still holding my hands as he sinks to his knees, his gaze even firmer than before. He has my full attention. My fullest, and then some.
The snowstorm whipping against the windows could cave the roof in, and I still wouldn't look away.
“Sarah. Sadie. Red. It'd be a damn shame to ruin such a nice evening, but I'd be a jackass not to try. You're right about everything, more than I ever let on. But tonight, you said something dead wrong. We're not moving too fast, darling. I believe with all my heart we're moving at the speed God intended, and if this is too fast, too ridiculous, too reckless, it isn't meant to be. I believe you're ready to admit you're wrong, once you hear what I have to say next.”