by Stuart, Amie
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and spoke over the top of her cup. “It just seemed like too much work to fight.”
I stretched out on the living room carpet, processing her words, a part of me wanting to tell her about Nichole, wanting to tell her that I understood that sometimes the world beats you down so low, it takes everything you have just to keep breathing and putting one foot in front of the other. It takes everything you have to stop yourself from laying down and dying. So fighting isn’t an option because you’ve got nothing left to give. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Can I ask you something?”
“It’s all I know,” she blurted out.
“Huh?” I turned my head and frowned at her.
“You’re going to ask what it’s like to be adopted. Everyone does—” she shrugged and rolled her eyes a bit, “—It’s all I know. I guess you could say it’s my normal.”
Her words cut into my heart even more. “No, I was going to ask why you didn’t try to find your real family.”
Her jaw tightened briefly before she spoke again. “It’s too hard,” she whispered roughly, her eyes on the carpet like she was confessing to murder or something. “I checked into it. The records are sealed.” She sniffed and added, “It’s different if you have a name, but I don’t even have that.”
“So you tried? Do you think about it, about finding them still?” I’d officially had too much wine to resist the temptation of asking questions I normally wouldn’t have dared. Even as I asked, even though I knew I shouldn’t, I tried to relate her answers to Nichole. I knew about the frustration of closed records. Louisiana sealed theirs, too. And they were stingier than a cheap whore about giving out information. I firmly believe they made it as difficult as possible so that people would give up. I remembered watching the news when Oregon opened their records. I remembered watching the cheering birth mothers on TV wearing T-shirts that said ‘We Didn’t Forget’ and crying myself to sleep for a week, crying tears of joy for the people who would be reunited because of the new law and tears of sadness for myself and Nichole.
“Sometimes I dream about it,” she whispered, stretching out on the carpet beside me.
I turned my head to look at her, and again bit my tongue against the urge to tell her about Nichole. Instead I wet my lips, covered her hand with mine, and softly asked, “So why don’t you try harder?”
She shrugged, her lower lip quivering. “I don’t know how.”
AS HE WAS walking out the door Wednesday evening for his second date with Toni, he was struck with another serious case of nerves. In one sweaty hand, he clutched his keys. What was he doing? He should just cancel. Turn around, climb the porch steps, and go change his clothes.
He looked down at himself, at his starched jeans and blue plaid shirt, one hand gripping the steering wheel. He could spend the evening with Ty, who’d been way too quiet lately. Or Zack and Jessa. His sister-in-law always managed to make him laugh.
He could call Kellie and leave a message, make up some excuse to call it off. It wasn’t as if Toni really wanted to get to know him anyway. Right? He honestly didn’t have a clue, but then again she had called. Yeah, from Kellie’s, and probably, with the little redhead urging her on. He started the truck and let the air conditioner cool down the overheated interior while he continued to debate with himself. Finally, he threw the truck in reverse and shoved shoved his case of nerves to the back of his mind, attributing it to Charlene’s latest letter begging for news about Rene.
Charlene swore again she’d been saved, as if finding God wiped away all of the sins between them. As if learning to pray made everything alright, or learning to read the Bible made her a better person. The fact remained his ex-wife had abandoned them, leaving three-year-old Rene alone in the house for God knew how many hours while he’d been working. She hadn’t even had the decency to leave their toddler daughter with his mother before taking off in her old Plymouth Fury. She’d just put up the baby gate as if that would keep a precocious three-year-old confined.
As he drove toward Toni’s apartment, he struggled to shove aside the memories of Rene curled up asleep on the kitchen floor, covered in sticky, red Kool-Aid, a stale peanut butter and jelly sandwich clutched in her tiny fist. He’d never forgiven himself nor would he ever forgive Charlene. Though more than once, he’d turned it over in his mind, especially right after she left, trying to figure out just why she’d left them.
He shook his head, closing the past behind a titanium door in his mind as he pulled into the Scenic Hills Apartments and parked.
The door swung wide, and Toni stepped out. Their eyes locked briefly before she turned to lock it behind her. Decision made. He unsnapped his seatbelt and slid out from behind the wheel, so that, again, he could open the passenger door for her. They arrived at the same time, and he allowed her to duck under his arm while taking in her shiny, bouncy, black curls and willowy jean-clad figure. An iridescent green T-shirt was tucked into her jeans. “Well.” She flashed her lavender eyes at him while securing her seatbelt. “Are you just going to stand there staring at me or feed me?”
“Feed you,” he murmured, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair, trying to shut out the almost overwhelming distractions that filled his head. The past and present tangled in an ugly knot, and for a moment, he had a difficult time separating Charlene and Toni.
Her eyes grew larger in her face as her lips tightened. “Is there a problem? Do I have a booger on my nose?”
He chuckled, firmly seating himself in the present—finally—and closing the door.
Dinner at Carmen’s Hacienda passed as pleasantly as their previous one. The restaurant was small and local, and quiet on a Wednesday night. Once again, he noticed Toni’s tendency to avoid anything remotely personal, but he let it slide.
“How old is Rene?” she asked between bites.
A tiny, pained smile slipped out as he rolled his eyes. “Twelve going on thirty-two.” At her frown of confusion, he added, “She’s not really into boys and makeup but she’s…challenging.”
“Aren’t they always at that age?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She’s my first…only. What about you? Kids? Husband?” She’d opened the door; he’d walk through it.
“Obviously not.” She took a drink then asked, “So she’s going into what grade?”
“Seventh. Her birthday’s in August.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned closer. “And what does an ornery girl who’s going on thirty-two want?”
He smiled back, laughing a bit, and said, “A horse.”
“So you are buying her a horse. Seems a bit extravagant.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Sonny was born on the ranch and Rene raised him. Bottle-fed him when he was a baby. I told her I was selling him, but I’m not.”
She shook her head, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile as she tugged on her earlobe. “When I was thirteen, I wanted my ears pierced.”
“Rene’s not interested in stuff like that,” he said. “My uh, my sister tries.” Then he got tickled at the memory of Rene and Delaney with their girl’s night. Tickled enough he had to tell Toni.
“Well, Rene’s not the only one who doesn’t see the point of a pedicure. Nobody sees them, so why bother?”
“I’d like to see them.” He chuckled as the waitress reappeared with their check, and Toni winced and shook her head.
The piano bar was a success, and he finally found himself able to relax in the face of her deep, smoky laughter at the antics of the dueling piano players. It was getting late, and he had a full day ahead of him on Thursday.
When there was a lull in the show, he leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Do you mind if we call it a night?”
She looked up at him startled. As if she had just realized they were sitting side-by-side, his arm draped across her shoulders. The expression in her eyes vanished in a few rapid blinks and was replaced with her usual cool noncha
lance. “No, not at all. I suppose you have to get up early to feed your critters,” she said, a smile twisting her lush mouth.
He fought the urge to reach down and taste her lips, his body responding to the warmth of hers pressed against him. Instead he stood and held out his hand. Silently, he guided her out of the bar, and they strolled back to the nearby lot he’d parked the truck in, slowly working their way through the tourist-filled evening crowd. The air was humid and thick and did nothing to calm the fever in his blood.
Somewhere up ahead a bluesy wail rolled out of a nearby bar. The sound apparently struck a chord with Toni, too, because her feet slowed, and like kerosene on a fire, the urge to hold her close and sway to the deep rhythm swept through him. With muttered excuses at the protesting crowd, he guided her toward the music. The doorman waved them inside the dimly lit interior after he quickly paid the cover charge.
“I thought we were going home, Flirty Boy.” She pulled up short just inside the door, as if she were having second thoughts.
He struggled for an answer, finally settling for the smartest quip he could find under such short notice. “I hear-tell sleep is highly overrated.” With that, he got them both drinks and found them a tiny table to sit at near the dance floor, and the band segued into something new. Something about the deep, sexy music forced him to move his chair as close as possible to hers and settle an arm around her shoulders again. His fingers toyed with the soft material of her shirt and the dark curls that rested on her shoulder. He hadn’t allowed himself to do this earlier, too aware of how tenuous things were between them. But music changed that. He could feel his arousal, uncomfortable in its intensity, and he was thankful the bar was so dark.
But he couldn’t resist the urge to hold her close and make love to her on the dance floor.
He set his bottle on that tiny table and stood, tugging her by the elbow until she followed suit. He ignored the question in her eyes as he led her to the tiny, crowded dance floor, settled his arms around her waist, and pulled her as close as he dared. He closed his eyes, dropped his head, and buried his nose in the top of her silky hair. The touch of her hands on his shoulders was light, almost hesitant, as they swayed to a deep, sexy groove that made him wish they were alone somewhere together. Naked. And sweaty. He smothered a groan.
Her body molded against his, as if she’d been carved especially for him, and he resisted the urge to cup the cheeks of her ass and pull her closer, afraid she’d slap him or worse at the feel of his erection. The song ended and another began. She relaxed and allowed him to hold her a while longer, through that song and a few others until the band struck up something too fast-paced for cuddling. He leaned back and looked in her eyes. “Ready to go?”
Her purple eyes were smoky and soft in the dim light as she wet her lips and nodded. Without even bothering to return to their table, he led her out of the bar, and they slowly and silently made their way to his truck. He got her settled in and paused briefly to rest one hand on her thigh. It was late, way later than he’d intended, and their time together was almost up. She looked up at him, her lips pursed. He knew if he asked her, she’d deny what she’d felt on that dance floor but he wouldn’t have believed her. Would probably have called her bluff. Instead, he said nothing.
He leaned over, finally giving into the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Her lips stayed closed beneath his, and he gently probed with his tongue, his blood boiling at the feel of their soft weight beneath his. He tasted and tested, licked and nibbled, and all the while his hand remained on her thigh just above her knee. As if to move it would break the spell. His other hand slipped around her neck and stroked the fine hairs at her temple. Beneath him, she shivered, her body never relaxing, never giving, only allowing him to take. Despite the fever in his blood, the kiss left him cold and empty. This wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t how he wanted things to be between them. He raised his lips from hers and moved away, unwilling to look in her eyes. Not wanting to see what was there, in case it was something he couldn’t bear to face.
“I’m sorry.”
The drive home was long and silent.
I SPENT WEDNESDAY night pacing the living room, fretting and fuming at Daddy. Worried beyond belief that The Witch would put out. I barely managed to get my homework done, and welcomed the distraction of a visit from Aunt Jessa, who came sneaking in the back door around nine.
“Still doing your homework?” she asked, softly closing the door behind her.
I sighed and looked at her, struggling to not give away the internal struggle going on in my head. “I’m almost done.”
She settled her tiny body at the table beside me. Her and Uncle Zack hadn’t been married that long, but as much as I loved Aunt Jessa, I’d found myself stifling twinges of jealousy at my cousin Travis’s sharp shift in loyalty from me to his new stepmother. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“So,” she drawled with a guilty little grin. “You heard?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Come next spring, Travis would have a new brother or sister. I chose not to examine another twinge of said possible jealousy that twisted through my chest.
“If it hadn’t been for your Uncle Zack, I’d probably still be walking around ignorant as hell. He’s the one who noticed I was grumpy–or grumpier than usual. It’s early days, really early, and we’d hoped to keep things under wraps for while,” she added softly. “So please don’t say anything to anyone outside the family.”
I wrinkled my nose at her. “You mean, you could lose it?”
“Only being a month or so along, it’s still a possibility.”
“Are you scared?” I blurted out. I could have bitten my tongue.
“Not really. I figure the chances are slim…and what will be will be. Are you glad summer school is almost over?” she asked, changing the subject. “You only have two days left.”
“Yeah, I’ll be glad to get the hell away from Lightener and Skinner.”
“I’m not your Dad. Don’t swear at me. Speaking of which, where’d he take off to tonight?”
“On a date,” I grunted.
“Is this the new one? The bartender?”
“You mean the one that won’t put out?”
Her dark eyebrows slowly rose. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with not putting out. I’m going to be very frank, since you’re officially a woman now and all, and since you brought it up. Your Uncle Zack’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, and you know what? I’m glad. Call me old-fashioned, but your virginity is a prize, Rene. It’s your prize to do what you want with, but you can only give it away once. Maybe to some people it’s no big deal,” she added with a shrug. “When and how you choose to do that is up to you, but choose wisely. You deserve better than a sloppy whatever in some guy’s pickup.” Lips pursed, she continued, “And maybe it’s time your dad met a nice woman who offered him more than just sex.”
“She’s a witch. The Wicked Witch of the West.” I clamped my lips shut and frowned, ignoring her lecture about virginity and making my displeasure as obvious as possible. Without opening my mouth and spewing a stream of cuss words. If I got too out of hand, she might not let me spend time with Travis. Even though Aunt Jessa could swear with the best of them, she didn’t hold with swearing in front of Trav. “I think the only reason she won’t sleep with him is because she knows that’s how to keep him around and interested. Men are dogs. And they always want what they can’t have. I’m never having sex.”
Sighing, she sat back in her chair, her face expressionless and studied me. “How in the world did a little twelve-year-old girl get to be so damned jaded.”
“Come live with my Daddy,” I shot back.
“Rene, if you think men are the only people who go around treating people shitty, you’ve got a lot to learn, sweetheart.”
“Uncle Rowdy ain’t no better than Daddy.” I crossed my arms and waited for her to comment on that.
“Sometimes, adults choose to do things t
hat are none of their children’s business. Your daddy’s sex life, as well as your Uncle Rowdy’s, are none of your business, Rene. Or anybody else’s. Including mine.” Her chest rose and fell as she sighed. “That’s not to say I don’t care or that I agree with how they spend their free time, by the way—” She stood, her back rigid, and headed for the door “—but judging is easy. Too easy if you ask me. And for what it’s worth, I stand by what I said. Dating a nice woman might be good for him.”
“Well, what about when his business infringes on my business, is that right?”
She paused, her hands on the doorknob and sighed. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” She leaned against the wooden door and turned to face me.
“I know damn good and well Daddy slept with Ms. Halloran, and half the reason that fucking bitch Skinner had it out for me so bad was because Daddy wouldn’t go out with her,” I said. “So don’t stand there and lecture me about minding my own business when you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about because you don’t have the whole story!”
OUR LITTLE DETOUR at the blues bar, and Tim’s kiss in the parking lot had left me shaken and weak-kneed and hungry for things I knew better than to want, so when we reached my apartment, I slipped out of the truck and bolted for the front door. I needed to get as far away from him as possible, as quickly as possible.
Call me a coward, but I slammed the door and locked it in one fluid motion. I leaned against it and pressed my hand to my chest, as if that would slow my heart, and resisted the urge to peek through the peephole. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only two or three minutes, I heard his truck drive away.
With a sigh of relief, I double-checked the lock, kicked off my shoes and dumped my purse beside the door. I quickly changed into a worn T-shirt and shucked off my jeans. Beneath the bathroom’s harsh sixty-watt bulb, I studied myself. I don’t know what I expected to find but was surprised to discover I looked normal despite my swollen lips, which I’d bitten all the way home. How the outside could look so normal, while on the inside I felt so different, I had no clue. I flicked off the light and gathered my blankets to make up my bed. I didn’t bother to fold out the sleeper sofa, but curled up beneath my bedding instead. I ached with, of all things, unrequited desire, and I had no one but myself to blame.