“That’s none of your concern,” I admonish. “Or rather, it should be your concern. You should be investigating where this child came from and why he’s missing. What happened to him? Does he have parents? A family? Are they missing him, or did he run away from them? Was he kidnapped or harmed? And how long has he been out there alone in the world, Aaron?” I feel myself growing hysterical with worry, and I clutch the pearls at my throat.
“It’s Deputy Sheriff, Mrs. Simmons.” That’s all he has to say to me?
“What’s the boy’s offense?”
“Caught him stealing food outside the Piggly Wiggly.”
My mouth falls open while my chest clenches. Poor thing. “How was he stealing food outside the store?” It’s too cold for produce and products outside the building.
“He was in the dumpster.”
I stiffen in my seat. “Let me get this straight. He was in the dumpster, scrounging for food, and that warranted an arrest?”
“Well, he’s not really under arrest.”
“But did you cuff him? Toss him in your vehicle? Turn the lights on and drive him here?”
“Maybe not the lights part—”
“Did you handcuff him?” I’m aghast.
“He could have been dangerous.”
“He’s all but nine years old.” I take a deep breath, placing my palm on my chest as my heart hammers within.
“What’s going on here?” Deputy Sheriff Chris Williams steps up to where I’m seated, and I turn on him.
“Chris, how could you let this happen?” For a moment, he stares at me, shocked at my accusation. Chris Williams is the son of an acquaintance of mine, Debbie Williams, who is a local second grade teacher. His daddy is a decent man, having looked out for his only boy by using his pull with Sheriff James to help get Chris into the department when he was of age.
“What’s going on here?” Chris directs again to his fellow deputy, and then blanches at the explanation Aaron gives about cuffing a nine-year old. Chris scrubs at his forehead, pinching the skin a bit before his eyes meet mine.
“Mrs. Simmons—”
“Now don’t you Mrs. Simmons me, Chris. Your mama would be ashamed of this situation. She is a schoolteacher. What do you think she’d say?”
“Yes ma’am, I agree, and—”
“And I don’t reckon your daddy would approve either,” I continue.
“No ma’am, he definitely wouldn’t, but—”
“No buts Chris. Where is my boy?” I’m almost shrieking. Malik must be so frightened and obviously hungry if he was digging in the trash.
“Hughes, get the kid.” As Aaron hoists his lazy body out of his chair, Chris leans toward me.
“Mrs. Simmons, I apologize for all this. Hughes is brand new and . . . excitable. Let’s just say the department has a budget. We don’t always get the most qualified applicants given what we can pay. Sometimes it’s impossible to know a person’s character until they’re in the field, but that’s really no excuse. I’ll take this to my grave and deny I said this to you, but we have to do with what we have. Hughes is a warm body on these late-night shifts. It’s either he fills the spot or no one does. It just is what it is.”
Chris’s words do nothing to appease my ire, but I try to understand.
A gruff voice from the front area demands to speak to the sheriff at the same time Malik rounds the corner off a hallway under the firm hand of Aaron.
“Malik!” I squeal, and the boy runs to me. He smells six-ways to Sunday, but I draw him to me, pressing his little head to my chest.
“You had no right to frighten him,” I scold Aaron, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Traffic duty the rest of this month,” Chris adds, his voice more assertive than I’ve ever heard.
“You arrested a child. You scared him half to death, and he’s obviously hungry and afraid. Where’s your compassion?”
Aaron mutters, “I wouldn’t say scared to death—”.
“Not another word from you,” Chris interjects, his irritation and annoyance with his co-worker apparent. Perhaps Chris is growing into his own. He might make a fine sheriff one day after all.
“What do I need to sign? I’m taking him home with me.”
“Now, Mrs. Simmons, I can’t just turn him over to you. I need to follow protocol and find out who’s responsible for him,” Chris turns back to me.
“I’m responsible for him,” the gruff voice returns, and I spin to face the front area of the department. Chet stands tall on the opposite side of Flo’s reception counter.
“Mr. Chesterfield?” Chris questions. “Great to see you again.” Chris’s face softens and I’m hopeful he’s familiar with Malik’s case.
“You can call Veronica Mason with the Department of Child Services if you need further evidence of the child’s current placement,” Chester informs Chris.
“Flo, get Miss Mason on the phone,” Chris directs, sounding important in his own right. At this point, though, I just want to take Malik out of here. I’m stroking his head, smoothing back his oily hair and wrinkling my nose again at the stench coming off him.
While we wait for Chris to get the confirmation he needs, Chet is ushered around reception and crosses to Aaron’s desk. Thankfully, Aaron hasn’t spoken again.
“What are you doing here?” Chet asks me, keeping his voice low.
“They called me.”
“How?” His gruff voice turns gruffer as he glances around the room.
“I gave Malik my business card for sticky situations just like this one.”
Chet glares at me. “We’ll deal with that later,” he warns, keeping his eyes on me.
Chris finally returns with some paperwork for Chet to sign and gives us permission to leave.
“Stay out of those dumpsters, kid,” Aaron chides under his breath, and I’d like to skin his hide for acting like this innocent child is a criminal.
We decide to leave my car at the sheriff’s department and ride together in Chet’s truck back to Harper House.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” I address him, keeping my voice quiet as Malik falls against my side.
“Where else would I be?” he quips. I don’t have the faintest idea what he does with his time. Between running a business that he doesn’t talk about and owning a bar where he seems to spend most of his time, I don’t know much about his daily life. I also know he hasn’t called me.
He shifts on his seat and swipes a hand through his hair. “I’ve been staying at the house. Spending my days searching everywhere I could think a kid might run.”
I glance down at Malik, knowing he can hear us and wishing he would answer the million-dollar question. Why did he leave Harper House? And where has he been these past two days? Better yet, where is he from?
When we return to the house, Maura immediately sweeps Malik up in her arms and whispers sweet things to him.
“You need a shower, little man,” she teases him eventually and guides him up the stairs to the bathroom. I want to follow. I’m afraid to let him out of my sight, but it’s not my place, and I’ve never felt so helpless.
“How about a drink?” Chet mutters, and I nod, following him into an office off the front hall.
“This is Maura’s private stash,” Chet says after reaching into her desk for a key and opening a locked upper cabinet to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. He pours a thick sliver for each of us. After offering me a glass, he takes a seat at Maura’s desk, which faces the front window, and I take a seat in an accent chair.
“Why are you so drawn to this kid, darlin’?” Chet asks, and I stare into the amber liquid in the tumbler in my hands.
“I don’t know exactly.” I wish I had a specific answer to give him, but I don’t. Am I misguided? Am I trying to replace a loss from over twenty-six years ago? Another child, lost before his time to be born. We learned he was a son. Mask in place, Scotia. “There are so many troubled children out there. Karl’s mission was to keep them healthy, b
oth physically and mentally.”
Using Karl as my excuse explains things best. The task of my husband wasn’t always easy, though, because of who he was inside and the position he was in.
“Why don’t you have more children, Scotia?”
“That’s intrusive,” I bite. It’s been a difficult question to answer over the years, and my standard answer normally revolves around God and Darlene. The dear Lord only sought to bless me with one baby, and she was perfect. But it wasn’t the whole truth.
“Just answer the damn question.” Goodness, this man can bust my bonnet. His sharp tone startles me.
Mask in place, I want to warn myself, but the shield is stifling me, and I just want to breathe. This man has opened me up in more ways than one, and my heart is on the line with him. But there’s something else happening to me. I feel raw and edgy inside.
Perhaps it’s Malik’s disappearance and the potential of losing him forever.
Perhaps it’s the man sitting before me, glaring at me, and if I don’t risk myself, I might never gain him either.
I can’t close off my emotions tonight. I’m tired of heavy secrets, living half a life, and protecting an empty heart desperate for love.
“Karl always used condoms.” Chet has heard me say this before. “He was promiscuous but discreet. He knew the importance of protection both for himself and for me, not that we often . . . you know. He didn’t want to ever risk infecting me, which was sweet until you consider the truth. My husband was fucking around.”
“Jesus, how could you be so blasé that he cheated on you with other women and returned to your bed?” Chet takes a long drink of his whiskey, emptying the glass, and I’m a bit startled by the offense in his tone on my behalf. I lick my lips before the remainder of my confession slips free.
“Because he wasn’t with women.”
Chet is startled into silence, which is what I expect. He’s processing what I’ve said as he stares at me from Maura’s desk chair. What do you say to such a confession? I shift in my seat, taking another sip of the strong alcohol before I speak.
“My husband was gay.” I answer the question he isn’t asking to be clarified. “We were married for almost twenty-three years when he died, and I knew his sexual orientation most of our marriage. I was his cover story. We had an agreement. We were each other’s best friend, and it was awful.” I let out a deep breath, releasing years of pressure within that exhale. “Twenty, thirty years ago, you couldn’t be a pediatrician and a homosexual. It just couldn’t be done. The stereotypes. The stigma. He wasn’t into little boys. He liked grown men, but his desires and his profession conflicted.”
I take another deep breath, feeling myself on a roll with this admission.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to accept that the man you love can never fully love you like you want? Like you feel you deserve? It wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t truly bisexual, but he occasionally gave me what I needed, and God, did I have needs. You have no idea how lonely I’ve been.”
A tear slides along my cheek. The confession rolls off my shoulders like a weighted blanket finally falling free. I’m not certain why I’m crying, though.
“Does anyone know this about him?”
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told.” I’d never told a single soul. My sisters had a hint that my marriage wasn’t all it was intended to be, but they don’t know the full truth. Not one person knew Karl’s orientation outside the men he fucked and the few he loved along the way. “I swore I’d take it to my grave, but I’ve just told you.”
Chet sits forward in the chair he occupies, and it occurs to me what I’ve done. I’ve just bared my soul and given away my biggest secret to a man filled with secrets.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I mutter, suddenly regretting my admission despite the freeing release I feel at finally—finally—sharing the information with someone. Mask in pl—
“You shouldn’t have told me.” Chet seeks confirmation.
“Yes.” In the dim light of Maura’s office, I don’t look up at him. I take another sip of the throat-burning whiskey instead.
“Why not?” Chet asks, his voice rising a bit.
“Because I—”
“You don’t trust me. Is that it?” he interjects, cutting me off before I can explain. He has a habit of doing this to me.
“No, it’s just—”
“What?” he practically shouts, and I turn my head toward the partially closed door.
“I don’t want you to judge me,” I argue back, keeping my own voice lowered.
“Are you serious? How could I judge you for your husband’s sexuality?”
“Well, you’re so nosy about children and condoms, and I just—” Before I finish, Chet is out of the office chair. His large body moves so quickly the piece of furniture rocks back and forth with his release. He reaches forward for my glass, placing it on a small side table. Then he’s kneeling on one knee before me, brushing a thick thumb over my cheek to wipe away another errant tear. He shakes his head.
“What am I going to do with you, Scotia Simmons?”
I shrug. Am I that hopeless to him?
“What did you get out of it?” he asks, after staring at me for a long minute.
“I became a part of Green Valley society. The wife of a respected doctor from a wealthy family in the community.” Listening to myself, I hear the words as they might sound to him—shallow, heartless, cold.
“Money and status are really important to you, aren’t they?”
When you come from nothing, it certainly is, but that’s not something else I plan to share with him tonight. Let him think I’ve been entitled all my life. I don’t care. I don’t need his judgement. Mask in place, Scotia!
“Don’t do that,” he warns, shaking his head again.
“What?” I snap.
“That wall-building thing. You’re shutting me out.”
“Why do you even want in?” I question, feeling defensive and vulnerable in the same breath.
“Don’t have any idea, just like you can’t answer about that kid—” Chet begins, nodding toward the door, implying Malik. “But there’s just something about you.” His thumb continues to caress my cheek, and I turn my face into the tenderness.
“You must think I’m pathetic,” I state.
“Nah.”
“Hopeless,” I mutter.
“More like I have hope for you yet.” His lips slowly crook upward, and another tear drips from my eye. He leans forward and gives me the softest of kisses. It’s featherlight, and I open for more when a soft knock on the door interrupts us.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to say good night.”
Chet’s hands instantly drop from my face, and he pulls back as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.
“Sure . . . good night.” My head swivels back and forth between Savannah and him, noting he’s suddenly tongue-tied with a touch of pink in his cheeks.
What is this?
Is he embarrassed he got caught kissing me?
What in the hell is he doing with me, then?
I can’t go through this again. With all I just confessed to him, I can’t have a man who wants to be invisible. A man who only shares half himself with me and hides the rest. I don’t want half a man. I want a whole heart, dammit.
Once Savannah spins away from the door, I shove at Chet, knocking him off-balance from his one knee.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, but I’m already standing. I need to get out of this house, but I rode with Chet.
“Savannah! Wait?” I call out, hoping to get a ride to town with the other woman.
I can’t do love in the modern era. I’m not a casual-sex kind of person. I’d had casual sex with my husband our entire marriage, and that was a rare, rare occasion. I want something real. I want someone who belongs to me. Someone who wants me . . . and only me.
Chapter 19
When the Student
Schools the Master
[Scotia]
“Mama?”
“Darlene, baby.” I’m breathless from both lunging for my phone in my office and relief in hearing my daughter’s voice as I haven’t heard from her in two weeks.
“I’m sorry it’s been a bit,” she immediately apologizes.
“I know you’re busy,” I assure her. As a new doctor, her schedule is ridiculous. My baby girl works hard. Her father would be so proud of her.
“That’s one reason I’m calling now. I don’t have much time. I’ve been very busy, but I wanted to tell you that Henry invited me to go with him to his family’s home for Thanksgiving.” The excitement in her voice should thrill me, but I can’t ignore the disappointment I feel. Darlene is my only immediate family.
“Which one is Henry?” I tease. I want my daughter to be an independent woman of means and strong-willed in manner. I’m proud of her for selectively dating. I’m equally thankful she did not settle on that Beau Winston. She needs to play the field, unlike me, and experience a variety of men before picking one.
I was raised to believe the man in a woman’s life determined her worth. You need a man, my mother stated. Her voice haunts me. When you’re married . . . When you have children . . . Your worth is in your home.
Darlene’s laughter pulls me back to the conversation. “Henry’s the medical student I told you about last time, Mama. I really like him.” Her admiration is evident in her voice, and I’m happy for her. “But I do feel bad. If you want me to come home, I can.”
While I appreciate her saying what she’s said, her tone drastically shifts with her offer. She doesn’t want to come home.
“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll spend time with Aunt Naomi or Aunt Beverly,” I counter even though that’s the last thing I’ll be doing. I’m not going to invite myself to either of my sisters’ homes. They each have new memories to make with their new beaus on the upcoming holiday.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll be just fine,” I lie, gritting my teeth to force the practiced smile I’ve used most of my life. The forced energy works as my words sound more agreeable than I feel. “You just go have a good time with your Henry.”
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 16