by Lydia Rowan
“From the looks of it, you spend all your time keeping this place like a cathedral. I’m never going to get grandbabies that way.”
“Unless you and Daddy have secrets, I don’t think you’re going to get grandbabies at all, Mama,” Blakely said.
“You say that, but from the looks of it, you’re keeping company with somebody. That nice man who helped us at the swap if I had to guess.” Her mother smiled at her conspiratorially, clearly seeking confirmation.
Blakely couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips, and her mother’s deep, throaty laugh indicated she hadn’t missed it. But Blakely couldn’t muster the ability to feel sorry about it. She and Cody were exploring the chemistry between them and having fun while doing it. She wouldn’t deny it or pretend she was unhappy about it, not even with her mother. But she did need to slow the other woman down before she got too excited about the prospect of Blake and Cody married with seventeen kids.
“Well, regardless of who I may or may not be ‘keeping company’ with, don’t get your heart set on any grandbabies or weddings.”
“Oh, you’ll change your mind. I used to be just like you and then I met Daddy.”
She very seriously doubted that her mother had ever been like her. But it seemed a good opening.
“So before him, you didn’t have so much stuff?”
“Oh no. Everything I had could’ve fit in a single bag.”
“So what happened?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. We've lived on the property for such a long time, it just seems like things found us.”
“That’s a lot of things, and I know for a fact that you help some of them make it home,” Blakely said.
“Sure, but what’s wrong with that? We both worked hard, what’s wrong with us enjoying what we have?”
“It’s so much, though, too much,” Blakely said, feeling her stress rise.
“Obviously something is on your mind, Ree, just like it was when you were out to the house, so just say it. That’s what’s wrong with you; you just tiptoe around. Put it out there,” her mother said.
“Fine,” Blakely responded, feeling a sudden burst of anger. “You and Daddy live in squalor, have my whole life. Made me live in it too. Had everybody in this town talking about the nasty Bishops. He got pneumonia because of all that stuff in the house! And it doesn’t seem to bother you one bit. That’s not normal,” Blakely said.
She leaned back, not realizing she had edged closer to her mother as she spoke.
“Who says what’s normal? Who says what’s squalor? And why do I care what anybody thinks?” her mother said, remarkably calm given what Blakely had just said.
“And what about me?” Blakely said. The floodgates had opened and years of questions she’d never asked, things she’d never said, came rushing out.
“What about you? You know we love you, more than anything,” her mother said.
“Not more than your stuff!” Blakely yelled.
Her mother gave her a quelling look. “Lower your voice, young lady,” she said in an icy tone Blakely hadn’t heard since elementary school.
Even though her stomach twisted with nerves and she’d clenched her fists tight, perhaps to give her resolve, perhaps to keep herself from waving her hands around in a display that would catch the eye of any friendly neighbors or passersby, her mother’s reprimand had the intended effect. Yes, she was an adult now, one who’d been dreaming of saying these very words or ones like them for years, but even though she was an adult and despite the fact she was right, the chastisement left her feeling like a disrespectful child.
She lowered her head and her voice. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to yell.”
Her mother stared at her sternly, and after a few moments seemed placated by the apology.
“Now like I said, you know that Daddy and I love you more than anything, but we’re going to live our lives.”
“Even if he has to suffer for it?” she said.
She’d always believed that no matter what, their love for each other would trump their love of their stuff, make them see what no one and nothing else could.
Her mother waved away her concern. Blakely could see the excuse forming as clearly as if she spoke the words. “We’re getting old, and old people get sick. Nothing to be done about that, but it beats the other options.”
“Even if I have to suffer for it?” she said quietly, hoping that if maybe her father’s health didn’t matter to her mother, her daughter’s well-being would. She knew it was unlikely, and Blakely had long ago decided her feelings on the matter, any pain that them “living their lives” might have caused their only child, were insignificant. She’d told herself that she accepted it, but a stubborn part of her still hoped that she was wrong.
She was not.
“How did you suffer?” her mother said. “You had a house, food, parents who loved you, nobody beating on you. Which is more than a lot of people can say.”
“I also had to deal with smelling like a trash heap and being the laughingstock of this town, and even now I still deal with it, the looks, the whispers,” Blakely said, voice low.
“You never smelled like no trash heap. And who cares what those busybodies think?”
They’d never discussed this so openly, and Blakely hadn’t delved this deep, but she couldn’t hold back now, prayed that if begging and scolding didn’t work, maybe the cold truth would.
“Mama,” she said quietly, “you just can’t smell it anymore.”
“We live in that house every day, and I smell just fine,” her mother said incredulously as if she couldn’t believe that Blakely would suggest something so ridiculous.
“No, you don’t,” Blakely whispered, her voice flagging as she said the words.
Her mother stayed silent but shook her head with disbelief. And Blakely was struck with disbelief of her own. She had always assumed that her mother knew about that stench, and not just the smell of the house but the cloying odor that had permeated their clothes, the car, the smell that now seemed to be a part of both her parents, had assumed that her mother had known and just didn’t care, but the shock and denial that she saw now told her how wrong she’d been. And it made her realize how deep the denial went, how much worse it was than she’d contemplated, the realization almost overwhelming.
Her mother blinked and then a serene look crossed her face, one that shook Blakely more fundamentally than screaming or tears ever could. She took the last sip of her soda and then stood. “Well, I didn’t come here to dredge up the past, remind you of the filthy folks you escaped, or dirty your beautiful home. So I’ll just go back to my dump.”
Her chest constricted, and she was reminded why she avoided this topic, why she avoided them. Treading lightly had never helped, and truth didn’t appear to either. It seemed things were always destined to end with hurt feelings and guilt and with nothing ever changed.
“Mama, I…” she said, still trying to salvage something from this conversation, unwilling to let go of what she knew was a fool’s errand.
“No. You said your piece. And that’s fine. You won’t have to worry about us anymore.”
She walked toward the steps, soda can in her hand. Blakely wanted to hug her, scream, do something, but she stayed still.
“I can take that,” Blakely said, gesturing toward the can.
“No. I’ll recycle it, and I saw this television program about making chimes with the rings.”
“Okay,” Blakely said, deflated.
She watched as her mother got into the van and drove away. After she’d gone, Blakely stayed put. Cody, the wonderful evening they’d shared, seemed a lifetime ago. And now, as she sat, it wasn’t memories of him, anticipation of seeing him again that filled her mind. No, her mind was now a jumbled mass of thoughts and questions and deep down, hope. Maybe if she’d said the right thing in just the right way, she could have gotten through. Intellectually, she accepted that there were no magic words, no secret code that would get he
r what she wanted and what her parents needed. But in her heart, she couldn’t help but hope. The tug-of-war between hope and despair was exhausting, made her want to scream or cry or hide until everything just went away. Given that none of those options would help her current predicament, she settled on going to the grocery store to get more bleach.
••••
She was relieved to find the parking lot of the grocery store relatively empty, and as she wiped down the shopping cart with disinfectant wipes, a sense of calm began to set in. By the time she started walking down the aisles, some of the tumult of this morning had receded.
“Hi, Blakely.”
She turned at the sound of her name and smiled brightly when she recognized Ariel Mallick, the person who’d issued the greeting.
“Hi,” Blakely said enthusiastically. “How have things been since the wedding?”
Blakely had briefly seen Ariel, escorted by her cute-as-a-button daughter Dani, at Joe and Verna’s wedding, and then again at Joe and Verna’s house, but hadn’t a chance to talk to her alone at either event.
Blakely usually tried to do her grocery shopping at odd hours just to avoid this type of occurrence, her tolerance for impromptu run-ins with townspeople still as low as it had been when she was a kid, though she was working on it. But Ariel was one of the few exceptions. Blakely liked Ariel and enjoyed her company immensely, and Ariel was unlikely to quiz her on her parents, her past, or Cody, which made her an ideal person to run into.
“You know. Just going day by day, but I have Dani to keep me out of trouble.”
She smiled and glanced over Blakely’s shoulder.
“And speak of the devil,” Ariel said.
Blakely turned and followed the path of the other woman’s gaze, smiling at the sight of the four-year-old decked from head to toe in pink and purple. That smile turned to a frown when she saw whose hand the child was grasping.
“That’s your mother-in-law?” Blake asked.
“Yes,” Ariel replied, shooting Blakely a long-suffering look. “You’ve met, I assume?”
“If by met, you mean I’ve been chided, nitpicked, or upbraided for one thing or another, but only for my own good, then yes, we have.”
Ariel looked up to the heavens as if for strength before she glanced back at Blakely, a patient smile on her face. “Yep, I can see that you and she are very well acquainted, then,” she said.
Blake shifted slightly, her mood now somber. “I heard about Daniel, but I didn’t make the connection before for some reason. I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, patting Ariel on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” the other woman said softly, and they stood silently in the heaviness of the moment.
“Mommy,” the little girl exclaimed as she ran across the aisle, lifting the melancholy.
Ariel kneeled down to hug the little girl. “Hi, sweetie. Were you nice to Grandma?”
“What kind of question is that? Danielle is always delightful, at least when she’s with me,” the elder Mrs. Mallick interjected snidely.
Blakely wanted to slink away but propriety kept her in place, something she cursed when the older woman pinned her with an assessing stare.
“Blakely, how nice to see you still in town.”
Blakely bit back her groan. The woman had just seen her at Verna’s wedding. Was Blakely’s reputation so bad, she and the other members of the Ladies’ Council thought she’d left already? She’d bought a house for goodness’ sake, probably a foolish move on her part and a fact that she was very much lamenting at the moment but something everyone in town knew. But rather than say any of the things that ran through her head, Blakely murmured indescribably, choosing to engage in hopes that Mrs. Mallick would grow tired and move on if Blake gave her something.
That hope proved futile.
“Well, it’s good you’re back. Maybe you can help your parents. It’s a shame that such nice people have to live that way.”
Blakely felt her muscles tense at the other woman’s words and quickly glanced at Ariel, who shot her a commiserating look.
“Well…” she started, but Ariel rescued her.
“We should get together sometime,” Ariel said.
Blake smiled. “Yeah, we should. Verna mentioned a small get-together.
The elder Mrs. Mallick scoffed out her disapproval, but both Blake and Ariel chose to ignore it.
Blakely looked down at Dani. “And it was nice to see you too,” she said, extending her hand to the little girl, who shook it vigorously and then smiled.
“I’ll give you a call,” Blakely said and then she turned and walked out of the grocery store.
When she reached her car, she realized she hadn’t purchased anything she’d intended to, but the thought of going back inside held no appeal. Though the others whispered, Mrs. Mallick had always been one of the few to say what she thought out loud, and Blakely had no interest in or patience for further opinions today. It didn’t matter to them, any of them, that her parents had had their problem long before she’d been born. No, the focus always seemed to be on how much it had intensified when she’d left.
Which meant, at least as she interpreted it, it was her fault, plain and simple. And her responsibility, one that she had shirked for decades. And the worst thing was that deep down, she believed it too. Still, she didn’t need anyone telling her about her parents or what she should do for them, not that that would stop anyone.
Sometimes, she freaking hated this town.
Chapter Nine
“Hello?”
Her sexy voice slinked over the phone line, slid down his spine, and settled at his cock, bringing with it a resurgence of the need that had been with him since he’d last seen her.
“Hey, Ms. Bishop. You busy?”
She laughed lightly, the husky sound raising his desire. “The mischievous part of me wants to play hard to get, tell you that I’m unavailable to talk, but the part of me that’s been playing that night in your house over and over again in my mind is in charge. So no, Cody, I’m not busy.”
“Wise answer. Maybe I can borrow you for a couple of hours?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Good. I’ll be at your house in ten minutes,” he said.
After good-byes, he disconnected the call and then gathered the last of his supplies. He’d driven out to the shopping center to the specialty grocery store and told the clerk to get him the best. Now he had wine, cheese, crackers, and some kind of fruit thing he’d hoped she’d like, though it probably would have been smarter to actually see if she was available before he’d gone to the trouble.
But if her words were any indication, Blakely was as anxious to see him as he was her, a fact that stirred genuine happiness to go with raging arousal. He kept himself from running to the car, but he made it to Blake’s in six minutes rather than the agreed-upon ten. She was outside waiting for him, looking as impeccable as always in a bright blue top and denim skirt.
“How gentlemanly,” she said when he parked, walked around his car, and opened the door to usher her in.
“I have my moments,” he responded when he got back into the car.
“And where is this unexpected trip taking us?” she asked.
“The most beautiful place in the world,” he responded, to which she smiled brightly.
He reached the spot and again followed Blake as she led him down the path, though this time he was laden with goodies. When they arrived, she watched, wide smile on her face as he spread out a blanket and arranged several bags around it.
“Ms. Bishop,” he said, gesturing at her to sit.
With a little laugh, she lowered herself onto the blanket and then ushered him next to her.
“What brought this on?” she asked, trying to sound skeptical, but the smile on her lips betrayed her.
“You seemed to enjoy it last time we were here. I thought a second trip would be fun.”
She closed the distance between their faces and moved her lips over his, kiss
ing him with an unrestrained passion that, if he hadn’t known better, didn’t seem to fit with her normal demeanor. He returned the kiss and let his hand play up her smooth bare leg.
“I hope to enjoy it a little more than I did last time,” she said.
“Is that why you wore a skirt?”
“Easy access,” she said.
“And genius,” he responded.
Then he resumed the kiss, moving his hand between her thick thighs and touching the already damp fabric that covered her. He could make out the contours of her cunt through the fabric, plump lips, cleft that hid her sweet pearl, all of the skin completely smooth. He remembered how his cock had jumped when he’d first seen her, skin bare and shiny with her wetness. He’d been preoccupied then but had promised himself he’d taste her, see if that tender skin was as soft against his lips as it was against his fingers, and he intended to do just that.
He removed his hand and lifted her shirt and bra, releasing her breasts. Full but not large, her breasts were topped with dark brown nipples. He blew a puff of air across them, watching as they crinkled into tight buds, letting out a chuckle at her reaction. He’d found that her nipples were highly sensitive and when he stroked and sucked just right, Blakely would moan and writhe in the most beautiful way. He stroked his tongue across them and then moved, kissing his way down her rib cage and then lower, paying special attention to the curve of her hip bone as he lifted her skirt, grasped her knee, and pulled, opening her to him.
“Cody,” she said.
The tentativeness in her voice stopped him in his tracks and he looked up at her.
“Please don’t…I don’t like that,” she said.
He was torn. He wanted to taste her, had imagined doing just that more times than he could remember, but even more, he wanted to know the why, wanted to understand what made her hold back. His gut told him that she didn’t trust him, not enough anyway, but her shrouded eyes, which were still lit with passion but less now than there had been just moments ago also told him that she wouldn’t open up about it.