The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  A few of Evan’s cousins and his aunt stood with Dillon by the water. I stretched my arms, grateful I could pitch like a boy.

  I turned, taking a deep breath, and threw that shimmering white bouquet into the dark night. It glimmered with promises of our love and a future love yet to come.

  Note to self, when having a wedding on the beach, don’t line everyone at the bouquet toss near the water.

  I overshot. We watched it drift out to sea, getting farther away.

  Shit!

  “Dillon, go after it,” I yelled.

  “I’m not messing up my hair.”

  “What’s the matter, you afraid of the sharks, McKay?” Adam goaded. “Or shrinkage? Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you.”

  “I could beat you in my sleep, Adam.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Can’t beat me,” Rick said. “I swim every day. I’m a swimmer. I’ll get it.”

  “I hear a challenge, gentlemen,” Damien, not to be outdone, added.

  “It’s on,” Dillon said.

  I didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, shoes, jackets, ties, were coming off. In fact, all the guys stripped down until they were just wearing pants, rolled up to the ankles. Evan included.

  “Are they insane?” Mom gasped.

  “You’re just figuring that out?” Stevie said, as she bounced baby Bella in her arms.

  Did I mention my family was crazy?

  “Why do they want my bouquet? They’re all married, except Dillon.”

  “Not the bouquet, Little Bird. They want the bragging rights.”

  “Should we take bets?” Stevie asked.

  “Sure, get out the whiteboard.”

  It was close. They were all pretty damn fast in the water. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a school of huge fish making all those splashing waves. The race was close, but in the end, it was the one no one bet on who actually captured the bouquet.

  We all stared as the water dripped off him and he climbed out of the darkness into the light. He deposited the bouquet at my feet. Although I only had eyes for my husband, I had to admit he looked like a Greek god with his dark hair and muscular build.

  “Congratulations, Derek,” I said.

  “Thank you.” He turned back as the others were coming out of the gulf in his wake. “See, it’s all about monitoring your breath, boys. You learn those kinds of things when you become a doctor.”

  He picked up the bouquet, handing it to me but I shook my head. “It’s yours now.”

  “I just got it so you could throw it again.”

  “Doesn’t work that way. Once it’s thrown it’s no longer mine.”

  “Then I’ll give it to Dillon. I just wanted to win the race.”

  Indeed, he was out of breath. The swim had taken a lot out of him. Wait until he dealt with falling in love. Now that was a real challenge. What was it about men that made competition so appealing? Especially these particular men.

  “You got it fair and square, Dr. Wolfe, have at it. To tell you the truth, I’m a little relieved,” Dillon said, grabbing two towels off a lounge chair for him and Josh.

  “Me too,” Josh said. He whispered something in Dillon’s ear that made him laugh.

  “I don’t want it,” Derek insisted, handing it back to me. “We were talking smack. Just a joke really. A friendly competition between men.”

  I threw it right back at him and the poor boy caught it again. “You’re the victor of that competition. You went after the prize and you got it. The gods of wedding bouquets have spoken. Your fate is sealed, my friend.”

  Evan clapped Derek on the back. “Good luck, man. It’s one hell of a ride.”

  “And an amazing fall,” Rick said, taking Bella. He kissed Marley’s head.

  “And, brother, let me just say the journey is never what you expected,” Damien said, taking my mother into his arms.

  “And make sure you keep your sense of humor through it all. You’ll need it. She’ll need it,” Adam said, picking up Stevie and running off with her into the water. Her screams turned into shrieks of laughter as he splashed water on her.

  “Who is she?” Derek asked, not looking too pleased at the waterlogged flowers in his hand. He dropped them in the sand. “Damn, I cut myself.”

  Bobby picked up the flowers and threw them back at Derek, hitting him squarely in the chest.

  “You dropped your pretty flowers, Uncle Derek.”

  “Thanks, kid,” Derek muttered, clutching the flowers.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” I said. “We don’t know who she is yet, but I can tell you this, I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “None of us can,” Mom added.

  “Cheer up, Doc,” Evan added. “You won. That means you get the girl.” He pulled me against his chest in a possessive stance. “The next girl that is, not this one. Never this one.” He planted a kiss on my head, as if that needed to be spelled out.

  Before we had any more arguments, the music saved us, as it always did. The band struck up a rendition of We Are Family originally performed by another set of siblings—Sister Sledge.

  Sure, it was the cheesy song they played at all weddings. But hey, I’m the kind of girl who appreciates cheese in all its delicious forms, so it was just perfect to me. My family must have agreed because we all started dancing. As I looked around at these wild, passionate people I was lucky enough to call family, dancing under the canopy of twinkling stars in their bare feet, I figured out the one thing I’d never accounted for. That other P-word, which meant there was always hope in everything we did. It wasn’t just passion or even purpose, although they were important. Nope. The word I was thinking of was possibility. When there is possibility, there is room for everything else.

  Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

  What’s her Secret?: A Girl by Any Other Name

  MK Schiller

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Excerpt from Raven Girl

  The worst part of being a kid was that you never knew how good you had it until it was too late.

  Childhood was simple. My parents told me it was because I didn’t have bills to pay or mouths to feed, but it was more than that. It was because nothing was planned. When you didn’t plan for it, you didn’t worry about the consequences. They just happened naturally without the coercion, manipulation or mindfuck games that came with becoming an adult.

  I never planned for Sylvie Cranston to be my best friend. I never expected her to be the muse in all my dreams, or the girl who later haunted my nightmares. I certainly never planned to fall in love with her, but that was exactly what happened.

  Everyone told me I needed to move on. That was like asking me to pierce my own flesh and crush my empty, beating heart. They wanted me to toss it away and continue to breathe. How could a man function without his heart?

  Age 10

  “Caleb, the neighbors are moving in. Come on, I need you to carry the casserole.” My mother’s hurried voice echoed down the hall to my room.

  I didn’t think that woman knew the term ‘lazy Sunday’. I had no desire to meet the new neighbors let alone bring them a casserole. I wanted to get out of my Sunday suit and fish before it was time to worry about Monday.

  “Why can’t Mandy carry it?” I asked. My little sister and my momma were pretty much a package deal. Wherever Amelia Tanner went, Amanda Tanner followed. Mandy was my momma’s mini-me with long, curly red hair and dark green eyes that my father fondly referred to as sharply sweet. They even had the same pattern of freckles across their noses. However, my momma was elegant whereas my sister was as clumsy as a blind dog in a figurine factory.

  “It’s way too heavy for her, and I’m not risking it. I worked too darn hard on it. Now get your butt in gear and help me.”

  I begrudgingly walked out of my room to the foyer where the two females in my life waited for me impatiently. “Can I at least change first?”

  My mother sighed, pu
tting her hands on her hips. “They’re going to see you looking like a bum every day this summer. At least make a good first impression. I hear they’re from up north, and we want them to think of you as a perfect Southern gentleman, not the wild ruffian you are.” I shook my head, but didn’t protest. You didn’t argue with my mother. Even a peaceful protest was out of the question. “You know, there is no hospitality like the Southern kind, so let’s go show these folks how lucky they are to be living here.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, but it was exactly what I wanted to do. She smiled at me, ruffling my hair. “You never know, they might have a little boy your age.”

  “Geez, Momma, you act like I’m five. I’m not a little boy and I don’t need a playmate.”

  “You sure are throwing a temper tantrum like a little boy,” Amanda chimed in, who actually was five.

  “You will always be my little boy. Now come on,” my mother stated.

  I led the procession of Tanners, carrying the cheesy casserole dish that felt like it weighed at least twenty pounds. We marched outside our little brick ranch, walking all the way out to the sidewalk and crossing over the ten slabs of cement to the driveway of another almost identical brick ranch. It was easier to cut across the grass, but I knew better. My momma would have a few remarks if I dared cross the patch of grass between the houses. It was not proper. It was not neighborly. And we had manners. This philosophy applied even though the other house had been vacant so long it was more like weedy thistle than a real lawn. Still, my father mowed it down once a week for appearances’ sake when he tended to our lawn. “Can’t let the neighborhood go downhill,” he’d say. I knew with his promotion to sheriff, he would be working longer hours, and the chore would soon be mine. At least I’d only have to mow our lawn.

  I stepped aside so my mother could knock on the door. A moving van was in the driveway and several men were unloading it. The whole thing was a little weird. No one ever moved to Prairie Marsh, Texas. Sure, there were people who left to pursue life in other parts of the country, only to return homesick or bitter from their experiences, but it was a strange occurrence to see a new family here. We were a small town in the middle of nowhere, East Texas. Even at ten, I knew that much.

  A tall dark-haired man in black trousers and a crisp white shirt answered the door. This was strange too. People around here either wore Sunday clothes or regular clothes. This man was in semi-Sunday clothes. If you were doing heavy lifting, you definitely wore jeans. I doubted he would fit in.

  “Well, hello, we’re the Tanners, your neighbors next door. I’m Amelia. This is my son, Caleb, but you can call him Cal. And this little princess is Amanda, but please call her Mandy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry Cranston.” He shook my mother’s hand and smiled widely at Amanda. I one-armed the casserole dish to shake his hand, happy he wasn’t ignoring me like most adults. “Nice grip, son.”

  We walked into the three-bedroom replica of our house I’d always known as Mrs Miller’s place. Mrs Miller had died last year and her son had sold it, but that had been months ago. We’d begun to think the new owners had changed their mind until my mother had spotted the moving van this morning. The old house appeared new again. The oak floors were so shiny they looked wet, and the furniture was brand new with the store tags still on it. The whole house smelled of fresh paint and lemon juice. That would please my mother. She liked a clean house.

  I held up the casserole and thankfully Mr Cranston took it from me before I dropped it. I had no idea how my mother made that pan feel heavier than my dad’s old medicine ball in the garage, but she did. My dad always said, “The heavier the casserole, the better it is.” If that was the case, I was pretty sure my momma made the best casserole in the county.

  “I hope you like this,” my mother said, pointing to the pan.

  “It smells divine.”

  Did he say divine?

  “My husband, John, would be here too, but he’s on duty today. He’s the sheriff.”

  “I’ve heard. I’ll feel very safe living next to the sheriff.”

  “We don’t want to intrude. We know y’all must be busy today.”

  “It’s no interruption. The workers are still bringing in boxes.” Mr Cranston went to the kitchen and set the pan down slowly, as if he was afraid it might break. “Thank you for this. It’s been so long since we’ve had anything homemade.”

  “Oh, your wife doesn’t cook?”

  Mandy started snooping, picking up random items and turning them in chubby fingers. I grabbed her arm before she could touch one of the walls and smudge her grimy fingerprints on it. The ‘princess’ had a problem keeping her hands to herself. I stood with her against a corner, hoping my momma wouldn’t ask for a complete breakdown of the man’s dietary history.

  “My wife passed away six months ago. It’s just Sylvie and me.”

  Oh boy, this wasn’t good. My momma’s gossip senses were spinning. I knew she was already lining up a number of churchgoing single ladies to set Mr Cranston up with when he was ready.

  “I’m so sorry,” my mother cooed. I knew what that meant. I’d be bringing over a casserole to this man every week.

  “It’s been difficult on my daughter, but we’re adjusting.”

  “I can’t even imagine. A girl needs her mother.”

  “Can I offer you some coffee?” Mr Cranston said, gesturing to the round oak table by the kitchen.

  “Maybe one cup if you’re sure.” My mother took a seat. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering if I could ask to leave. Unfortunately, Amelia Tanner had other plans for me. “How old is Sylvie?”

  “She’s ten.”

  Momma clapped her hands together, forming a huge grin. “Cal’s ten. That’s wonderful. They’ll be in the same grade.”

  Mr Cranston smiled, but it looked more like a grimace, as if it was painful to make the muscles in his face work. “That’s great. She has trouble making friends. It’ll be nice that she’ll have someone her own age next door.”

  The last thing I wanted was to hang around some girl. Obviously, if she had issues making friends, there was a reason for it. Sylvie Cranston was going to be as irritating as a pound of blood-hungry mosquitoes trapped inside a camping tent.

  “Where is your daughter?” my mother asked, adjusting a loose red curl from the heavy bun that sat on the nape of her neck. My father said she looked like Reba McEntire, and my mother always disagreed, but it was funny that she wore her hair like Reba had in The Gambler.

  Mr Cranston’s eyes searched the room and he scratched his head like my father did when he lost his reading glasses. Did he not realize his daughter wasn’t here? “I’m not sure. She has a way of disappearing. She’s probably in the backyard.”

  “Cal, why don’t you take Mandy and go find Sylvie.” It wasn’t a question. I sighed, but caught myself when my mother turned her sharp green eyes on me. Momma always received compliments on her eyes, the same eyes Mandy had, but I always thought they looked mean, especially now. I had my father’s gray eyes and sandy-blond hair. Momma referred to it as ‘model’ hair, but I really didn’t care for that expression. “That way us adults can talk. Go on, you two.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I tightened my clasp on Mandy’s hand, knowing expensive items had a tendency of shattering in her presence. I also knew it would be my fault if they did. For some reason, I’d been assigned the role of my sister’s keeper.

  The former Miller, now Cranston, backyard was a carbon copy of ours, except we had a swing set and there was a noticeable shift between the lush green of our yard and the canary coloring of theirs.

  It didn’t take long to find Sylvie Cranston. She was walking along the back of the property where the grass blended into a field, which led to the woods behind our houses. If you followed it down the path for a short distance, it would lead to the best fishing lake in the world…or at least, my world. I wanted to be there right now.

  The girl was so skinny, I thought a strong gus
t of wind could knock her over. She was tall, though, with long brown hair that curled in a hundred different directions. She wore a long blue flowery dress that came down to her calves, and appeared to eat her up. It looked like something my momma would wear to church. There was a red bow in her hair that dangled as if it might fall out any minute and pink Converse shoes on her feet with black socks. It was weird. She was weird. I wondered if the Cranstons belonged to one of those nutty religions that made girls wear dresses all the time. That was just what I needed. Next-door cult neighbors.

  I thought she didn’t hear us because she didn’t look up. It didn’t stop Mandy, though. She bounded down the steps and ran straight up to Sylvie.

  “Hi, I’m Mandy and this here’s my brother, Caleb, but you can call him Cal. You’re in the same grade. We live next door. I like Barbies. My favorite color is pink just like your shoes. Maybe when we get to know you better, you can babysit me when you get older. My daddy’s the sheriff.” Mandy’s face reddened, matching her hair color, as it always did when she talked without taking a breath.

  Sylvie smiled and bent down so they were at eye level. It was then she took off the ear buds, and the lyrics floated in the air between us for a few moments until she turned off her Walkman. It was a familiar tune, but the name escaped me. The few lyrics I heard would stick with me until dinner that night when I slapped my hand to my forehead and yelled out, “Crazy Love, by Van Morrison.” I only knew it because my father sang it to my mother occasionally. It was definitely not the type of song one typically heard on a Sunday in Prairie Marsh.

  Sylvie didn’t say anything to Mandy. She just stroked her hair and sat on the ground. Mandy didn’t stop, though. She went on and on talking about the merits of Prairie Marsh like it was an urban metropolis of sophistication. She extolled our many attractions such as the Summer Saturday tractor pulls, the Fourth of July fireworks and the fact that we were due to get a Walmart next year. For her part, Sylvie listened and nodded, crossing her legs, tenting her hands and resting her chin on them, like she was actually interested.