by Freya Barker
“Easy,” Dino cautions, managing to guide my fall so that I end up half on his lap, half on the floor. I’m beyond caring about the picture I make, with my wrinkles, cellulite, graying hair, and lumps. I’ve just had the best bloody orgasm in possibly forever, and nothing is going to spoil the blissful afterglow for me. His arms come around me, and he chuckles deeply as I close my eyes and snuggle against his chest, sighing contently.
We sit like that for a bit, while I catch my breath, when I slowly become aware of my surroundings and Dino’s careful shifting underneath me. Oh my God. I scramble out of his arms and on my feet, snatching my shirt off the floor and tugging it quickly over my head. A bit mortified, I take a quick look at Dino, who’s casually leaning back on his arms, the substantial bulge in his jeans on blatant display, and wearing an amused smirk on his face. I’m at a loss for words. What does one say in a situation like this? Thank you?
“Thinking too hard again, sweetheart,” he says, getting up off the floor easier and with much more grace than I was able to muster.
“I’m...” I start, but don’t get any farther as his bulk crowds me back against the counter. Again. His hand comes up to brace the side of my neck, his thumb distractedly brushing along my jaw. “You...” I try again, cursing myself that my normally healthy vocabulary seems to completely elude me right now. Dino throws his head back, and for the first time, I get to witness the beautiful transformation of him when he dissolves in deep rumbling laughter right before me. Any worries I had about leaving him in his obvious...state, disappear as I feel my face crack into a responding smile.
“No worries, Beautiful,” he chuckles, leaning his forehead against mine, his brown eyes focused. “Believe me when I say that was entirely my pleasure.”
I’m not sure what to think. I’m used to a fair trade off when it comes to sex, best case scenario. In all other cases, the guy generally makes sure to get what he wants out of it. I don’t know what to do with one who gives, but doesn’t seem to expect anything in return.
“I’ve got enough to tide me over,” he breaks into my thoughts, creeping me out with his ability to read me. “I’m not worried I’ll be left in the cold,” he adds. “I have a feeling you’re well-equipped to give me the ride of my life when the time comes.”
Something tells me maybe I should be a little offended at the presumptuous comment, but I don’t really feel it. From Dino’s mouth it sounds more like a compliment.
“Deal,” I voice, as I smile up at him as he leans down for a quick kiss on my lips.
“I should get home,” he points out. “Promised the kids I wouldn’t be long.”
“Of course,” I agree, sidestepping him to tag my PJ pants, still puddled on the floor. A quick glance at the clock shows it’s only ten fifteen. Feels like it’s been much longer than the forty or so minutes since he got here. I follow him to the front door where he stops and turns, pulling me close.
“You gonna be okay?”
I look up at him and give him a nod before following it with the words. “I’m fine. Better than okay,” I admit. His responding smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. I love that look.
“Good. So I’m dropping off Jonas at seven on Thursday?”
“No, actually,” I say, stepping back a little. “I’d rather you let him come on his own.” I watch as Dino’s face grows serious and I quickly place a soothing hand along his jaw. “It’s important,” I emphasize. “I know you want to look after him, but he needs to learn to feel the weight of his responsibilities and that includes getting himself here and home.” The sigh he releases seems to come all the way the from his toes. “Besides,” I push a little further. “It’s probably best for your kids if they don’t see us together for the time being.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” I throw back at him. He knows as well as I do that kids can generally read adults like a book, and they’d instantly know something was up. They’re still too raw to be able to deal with having us in their face. Or maybe that’s me...
“Fine,” he says curtly, but his arms are pulling me close again. “But promise you’ll call me.”
“You know I can’t talk about what I discuss with him, Dino.” I place my hands on his chest. A chest that feels so good under my hands but I haven’t even been able to really touch yet.
“Not asking that, Pam. I’m asking to hear your voice.” I take in his serious face and my armored heart swells in my chest. He openly shows me the uncertainly in his eyes, and the trust he offers me by doing that is humbling.
“Of course,” I promise, lifting my face for a kiss, which he readily supplies before slipping out the door.
It’s not until later, when I’m lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, that I realize how unguarded and free I was around him. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that around anyone. The fear of having my past exposed is always a huge concern, but the fact that Dino knows there’s something, yet he won’t press for the information, is enough to have me relax my mask.
Imagine that.
CHAPTER NINE
Dino
“Syd, do you mind plating that order for table three? I’ve gotta make a quick call.”
Sydney, Gunnar’s wife, is working tonight while her husband stays home with the kids. She likes coming in on Thursdays as often as she can. She’s got a thing for the Thursday night special and usually comes up with the menu. In the last few years, the kitchen has gotten more and more crowded. Instead of just myself with the occasional help of Viv, now we have Syd and Ruby as well, who both have a good handle on the kitchen. It gives me a little more flexibility, which I have to say, has helped a great deal with recent changes on the home front.
I grab my coat from the hook and step outside. We’ve had a few flurries, here and there, but nothing with staying power. It’s cold though—there’s always a breeze coming off the water that seems to pick up intensity as it moves between the buildings on either side of the alley. I sit down on the step and dial Jonas’ number.
“Yo.”
“Bud, it’s no more effort just to say hello, you know that right?” I shake my head at my son’s standard answer.
“Hello, Father,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from his words and tone, but I’m not going to bite. Not tonight.
“Are you home?”
“Got in five minutes ago. The brat’s not here though.”
“Gina’s at Marcy’s house, working on a project. I’m picking her up at nine thirty. There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry.” In the background I hear the bottles in the fridge door rattle as he dives right in. “Didn’t Pam feed you?” I ask, trying in a not so subtle way to find out if he kept his appointment with her. Luckily for me, Jonas is not too quick on the uptake and answers easily.
“She made roti wraps. Curried chicken was da bomb.”
“So how come you’re still hungry?”
“Lasagna, Dad...”
Right. I guess in Jonas’ world, that is explanation enough. I feel better, though, knowing he kept his word. It still doesn’t stop me from asking; “Everything go okay?”
“Fine,” he snaps, confirming I should’ve kept my mouth shut, because he’s immediately in a foul mood. “Gotta go. Got shit to do.”
“With shit I hope you mean homework?”
“Duh. Hanging up, Dad.”
Before I have a chance to say goodbye the line’s already gone dead. A smile creeps onto my face anyway. Even with attitude, I’m grateful to have gotten more than grunts out of him, and discovered that Pam does a mean curry—I’m gonna have to get her to make some for me some day.
Since I left her house earlier in the week, I’ve been swamped. Gunnar and I spent two days going over the orders for Christmas. We like to get those done in plenty of time, to avoid the risk of missing out. This is the busiest time of the year for most our suppliers, and even though The Skipper is closed on Christmas Day, we’re already booked up for Christmas Eve. Syd
puts on a charity dinner every year, and the day after Christmas we put on a big brunch buffet, which is always well attended. So between preparations for that, regular work, cleaning and laundry at home, and driving Gina to and from Christmas concert rehearsals, I’ve barely had time to breathe.
I’ve lain in bed these past nights, tempted to call her, but I didn’t want to force it. I know she’s a bit hesitant about us being in any way involved while she sees my son in a professional capacity, so I didn’t want to make it more awkward. But if she doesn’t get in touch tonight like she promised, I’m calling.
Syd’s back is turned when I return to the kitchen and hang my coat back on the hook. Her shoulders are slumped as she distractedly scrubs at a pan in the sink.
“Tired?” I ask as I walk up, putting a hand on her back. She turns her head and looks at me with a weak smile before focusing her attention in front of her again. I don’t miss the glint of tears in her eyes.
“I still miss him, you know,” she answers softly, and I know she’s talking about her son, Daniel. The little boy died as the result of a tragic accident years ago, and Syd had gone through hell and back after. “Sometimes it hits me how good I have it—how lucky I am to have gotten this second chance at life, but inevitably the guilt follows soon after. Especially when we’re coming up to the holiday season. Did I ever tell you he loved dinosaurs?” She turns a watery smile my way. “He was barely able to say ‘Mama’ but he would point his finger at the pictures in his book and say ‘Dino.’ By the time he was three, he knew the difference and managed to get his little mouth around most of the names.” Her head drops, her shoulders roll forward, and her arms wrap around her middle, as if curving herself around the painful memories. I pull her away from the sink and turn her in my arms, letting her cry it out against my chest. “He would’ve loved you,” she mumbles in my shirt.
“Because of my name?” I ask gently.
“Probably,” she says on a chuckle, which turns into a sob, and she presses her face in my shirt. “Sometimes it just so difficult to breathe. I feel so weighed down by guilt, over moving on. This morning I was in Target, doing a little Christmas shopping for the kids, and I saw this set of soft dinosaur toys. My first thought was that Caden would love it. It took until now to realize Daniel wasn’t first to come to mind anymore. It makes me so sad.”
Caden is Syd and Gunnar’s one-year-old little bruiser. Syd’s pregnancy had been a bit of a surprise, and it turned out a very happy one. Gunnar has two children from a previous marriage who love Syd, but the arrival of Caden created a permanent connection for all of them. They became a family.
“Who’s to know Daniel didn’t have a hand, somehow, in picking that toy?” I suggest carefully. Not that I’m big on supernatural stuff, but I can’t help but think if we give off energy when we’re alive, that energy would still be around after we die. A soft breeze hitting your face, leaving a smile in its wake. Maybe a sound or smell that brings a memory to life. “I bet if he could’ve picked a gift for his baby brother, it would’ve been exactly that, don’t you think?”
“You know I love you, right?” Syd says, as she leans back to smile up at me through her tears. I smile back shrugging my shoulders.
“Kinda partial to you too, Chickie.” I give her a little squeeze.
“Do I need to ask what you’re doing groping my wife?” Gunnar’s voice sounds from the doorway.
We both turn in his direction and Syd’s arms slip from my waist, as she starts moving to her husband, who’s bouncing a sleepy Caden on his hip.
“What are you doing here?” Syd asks him, but her eyes are focused on her little boy, who immediately stretches out his arms when she’s within reach. She easily takes him from Gunnar’s arms into her own.
“The little man wouldn’t go to sleep, kept calling for his momma, and I was kinda missin’ her, too.” His arms fold around his wife and child, when he notices the tears. “I’m thinking maybe Momma was missin’ us, too, little man,” he says, kissing the top of his son’s head before doing the same with Syd.
“Are you good here, man?” he directs at me, a look of contentment on his face.
“Go.” I wave my hand at the door. “Take them home.” Gunnar keeps my eyes for a second, giving me a lift of his chin as he leads his family out.
I could lie and say seeing them doesn’t affect me, because it does. It used to be where I was the only one with someone to go home to, miserable as it was, but now the tables have turned. All my friends seem to be getting a second chance here, and I realize I’d give my left nut for a go at one, too.
Pam
“You hungry?” I toss over my shoulder as I move through my house toward the kitchen, Dino’s son reluctantly following.
I frankly wasn’t sure he was going to show up, but I’m thrilled he did. Both for him and myself. Selfish, maybe, but I want a chance to pull this kid back from the sequence of bad decisions I can see him making. Call it penance for letting another boy much like him slip through my fingers years ago. By the time I saw what was happening, it had been too late for him, but it’s not too late for the kid leaning awkwardly against my kitchen doorway.
I confess I put extra effort into dinner tonight. In part, I guess, because the boy’s father is a chef, and he’s likely used to pretty decent cooking. I’m not a slouch in the kitchen, and I can generally hold my own, but for some reason this particular meal is important. I need to win him over, even if it’s with food. It’s the only thing I know for sure to get a teenage boy’s attention. So I mentally cross fingers and toes as I slide a plate with my curry roti in front of him and hold back a smile when he picks on up and takes a healthy bite.
Dinner is silent, and that’s okay. Silence is underrated. It affords you the opportunity to assess and process your surroundings and the company you’re in. Jonas isn’t volunteering, and neither am I. By the time both our plates are empty, I’m pleased to see him get up, collect the dishes, and set them in the sink. It implies a level of comfort I was hoping for.
“Do you drink coffee?” I ask, as I get up and join him at the sink. “I usually make decaf, but if you need a boost, there’s a few cans of soda in the fridge. Not sure what, so have a look.” I turn my back and pop a pod in my coffee maker. He hasn’t said anything, but I hear the fridge door open and smile to myself when I hear the hiss of a can opening.
“What am I doing here?”
They’re the first words he’s uttered since knocking on my door. Not a hint of the defensive attitude he displayed standing on my porch earlier. I keep my back turned and shrug my shoulders, feigning a level of indifference I don’t really feel.
“To give you a chance to talk,” I say almost casually.
“Why?” he asks, and this time I turn around to face him.
“Because I have a hunch you don’t feel you can talk to anyone else.” He takes a minute to mull it over before raising his eyebrow at me suspiciously.
“What’s in it for you? You doing this for my dad?”
I suppress a smile, because I was expecting him to question my motives. This is also where it gets tricky, because I want to be as honest with him as I can.
“In part,” I confess, “but also in part because I saw you in a place I know you didn’t want to be. I see you as more than the sum of your actions.” I pause a moment, wondering how to best phrase my thoughts. “But mostly I want to listen for me.” I take my cup and start moving in the direction of the living room, listening to the fall of his footsteps as he follows me, as I knew he would. I take the couch, and Jonas slumps down in one of the club chairs across from me. His body language displaying a detachment that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are intently focused on me. He’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“You remind me of someone,” I disclose. “A good kid who had some shitty things happen to him; he didn’t know how to deal with. He got swept up in something he had no control over, but that changed his life. Not for the better.” It’s hard talking about
this, but for this to work, he needs to know I come from a place of knowledge—of understanding.
“What happened?”
Oh yeah, the million dollar question.
“Let’s just say he has all the time in the world to ask himself that same question. And believe me, he does.”
A flicker of understanding passes over his features before he carefully rearranges them back to his preferred blank mask of indifference.
“I wasn’t going to do anything stupid,” he says defensively. I don’t bother responding, because we both know better than that. My silence finally gets to him and he shoots me a glance before lowering his eyes again. “I didn’t know,” he confesses softly. “He said I had to take part in some kind of initiation ceremony, but I swear I didn’t know that’s what he had planned. I freaked. I saw the girl on the bed when I walked in, and I was going to walk right back out, but then I saw the gun. I was scared.”
I shove a box of tissues sitting on the coffee table in his direction, pull my legs up on the couch and sit back, quietly listening to the kid purge every sin, real and perceived. His guilt is a visceral thing, and I can see the poison of it eating at him. By the time eight o’clock comes around, he’s done. We haven’t even touched on how he ended up involved with people he knows are no good for him, but this is a good start. I show him the bathroom so he can clean up a little, he’s quietly cried through the entire session.
“Should I come back?” he hesitantly asks when he comes out. Despite the way he phrases it, I know he means ‘Can I come back?’ and that makes me ridiculously happy. This is exactly what I meant when I told Dino I wanted Jonas to come on his own. My guess is the kid has felt out of control of his life for a long time, it’s important he claims it back.