Utterances

by Jo Michaels

  She shrugged. “The book’s never been wrong before. It only takes and gives as much as it needs to, I think. Either way, we’ll know by the time Mom’s birthday rolls around, right?”

  “That seems to be the verdict.”

  “Let’s go out for a celebratory dinner.”

  “Hell yes.” His smile was so big it lit up his face like a spotlight had been aimed there. “Wanna call some friends to go with us?”

  That question put a damper on her mood, and she shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “How would we ever explain what we’re celebrating?”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.” Engine started, he pulled away from the curb slowly. “Wait!” He snapped his fingers. “I have a better idea!” Rather than head for the apartment, he pulled a U-turn and drove toward the city.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, laughing.

  “You’ll see. But let’s ditch these disguises in the nearest trash receptacle we can find, okay? My head itches like crazy!”

  Simone’s head was itchy, too, so she pulled off the wig and shook out her hair, running her fingernails over her scalp. Once he’d ditched his, she did the same on his head.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

  She scratched until her arm got tired, and then she moved her hand to cover his on the shifter. As she watched the mountains roll by, she sighed and smiled. One little girl had her life back, but Simone was all too aware of the thousands suffering from some disease or another, holding on to life with all they had in them, praying someone would find a cure. When the sheer weight of the responsibility she held in her hands came to light, tears broke free and carved their way down her face.

  Unable to stop it, she sniffed.

  “What’s wrong?” Tristan asked.

  In response, she turned toward him and gave a little smile.

  “Talk about it later?”

  “Yeah. I’m not ready yet,” she answered.

  “Okay, but we will talk about what’s bugging you. I want to be the person you talk to about everything but me.” He winked and gave her hand a squeeze.

  It was going to come down to a decision, she knew. Love Tristan forever, and get rid of the book, or read until she couldn’t anymore, and pass the baton when she died. Putting something as powerful as a cure that kills in anyone else’s hands and laying the responsibility of using that power to do good things on someone else’s shoulders, intentionally, wasn’t something she’d considered until then, and she wondered if Tristan would take it or if he’d pass it on. After all, she’d come across the book quite by accident; no one had handed her a death sentence.

  Those thoughts caused her to fall into an even deeper depression, but when he pulled into the theater parking lot—the one where they’d gone on their first date so long ago, she smiled. It was perfect.

  Hours later, they started home, full of hot, buttery popcorn and a storyline that had them both cringing until the end. She walked beside him to the truck, her head on his shoulder, and remembered watching the couples move together in the same way the first time she’d been at that theater. Finally, she had what she’d wished for, and she was positive hers was the best one out there.

  It took them a little longer to get back to the apartment with the traffic in the city, but Yvette hadn’t made it home yet, and Tristan suggested he and Simone cook something nice while they waited. In a flash, they had salmon searing, a rice pilaf boiling, and greens cut and cooking down in a pot with a little chicken broth.

  Yvette walked in, Waymon in tow, just as the food was about to be done.

  “Something fishy going on in here?” she yelled as she shut the door.

  “Very funny, Mom,” Simone said. “Welcome home, and welcome back, Waymon. Good to see you.”

  “Thank you. Good to be here.”

  Yvette hugged her daughter. “I thought it was clever. What’s on the menu?”

  “Food.” Spinning away, chuckling, Simone made her way back to the kitchen to help Tristan serve.

  While they ate, Mom raved about how fabulous the food was, and Simone got Waymon’s address for the invite.

  “How are things coming with the party planning?” Yvette asked.

  “We’re done. Cake ordered and everything. I only need to add Waymon to the list of invitees. I kinda figured you’d forget to invite him.” Air quotes were given to the word forget, and everyone at the table laughed.

  “You were right. She hadn’t mentioned it,” Waymon said.

  “Birthday parties are for kids. I’m too old for all this.” She dropped her gaze to her plate.

  “Mom, listen, a year ago, I didn’t think you’d make it to your next birthday. Hell, I wasn’t sure you’d make it to now a few months ago, but here we are, and if any birthday is worth celebrating, it’s this one. Don’t you think?” Simone reached out and grabbed her mother’s hand, running a thumb over the back in a circular motion. “I love you, and I’m going to love this celebration of your life more than any other we’ve had.”

  When Yvette lifted her face, she had tears threatening to escape her lids. “You’re right. I’m sorry I’ve been such a baby about it. Let’s do it, and let’s do it big!”

  “Perfect. You’ll be happy to know, I’ve invited the whole family!” Simone picked up her glass and held it out. “Daddy, too. Cheers.”

  Yvette’s jaw dropped, and she stared at her daughter.

  Everyone else clinked their glasses and sipped. When Simone put hers down, she pressed her lips together and cocked her head to one side in question.

  “Your father? But why?”

  “Because, honestly, the man’s a douche, and he needs to see what he’s missing out on.”

  “Ohhhh. I see. Well, I don’t really want him here, but when you put it that way…”

  “And, Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re going to look like a princess. Complete with crown.” Simone winked, picked up her glass again, and took a long drink of her juice. “He’ll feel awful, and I’ll get a little satisfaction watching him eat himself alive with guilt.”

  Waymon’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll be here!” He held his glass up. “Cheers, Simone!”

  She grinned at him and rang her glass with his, happy beyond measure to find someone else who would scheme with her and who understood exactly why she needed to do what she was doing.

  Yvette looked between the two of them several times, her own eyes narrowed. “You two are kinda devious. I think I like it.”

  Tristan hadn’t said a word, but when she made that comment, he squeezed Simone’s thigh under the table and shot her a conspiratorial grin.

  “Do you want to know what your party theme is?” Simone asked.

  “Sure. By all means,” Yvette responded.

  “Fairy tales.”

  “You mean we’re wearing costumes?” Waymon asked, one side of his mouth pulled up.

  “I do,” Simone answered. “And my mother is going to be Sleeping Beauty, or Aurora. Because it means the dawn, and when I watched the sunrise this morning, my mom was the only thing that came anywhere close to being as beautiful.”

  They finished dinner and cleaned up, everyone working together to make the process as smooth and quick as possible.

  Later, when Simone and Tristan cuddled in her bed, she asked him what he thought of the conversation at dinner. He told her she’d done well, and then he pulled her close, sliding his hand under the back of her tank top to rub the skin there while he kissed her. It drove her to distraction, but she kept her raging hormones under control as well as she could. He pulled away eventually, and he pushed her hair off the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

  “You said in the truck earlier you had something on your mind, and you were crying. I’d like to know what was up, if you wanna talk about it now,” he said.

  It was a subject that was nearly impossible to broach, but she did her best to explain what
she thought about the book and the person in control of it, and she word vomited her thoughts about what would happen when she died. How she’d choose who was going to get it next.

  His face fell as she rambled on about death and commitment to a cause, but when she touched on the subject of never stopping, he put a finger on her lips. “You’re going to get rid of it though, right? Before you reach that point?”

  “No. I thought we’d reached an understanding about that. I’m going to keep on until I can’t anymore.”

  “You’re right. I did say I’d deal with it and promised not to leave you, but, Simone, this is really hard to watch from the other side. You know. You’ve been there.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “When your mother was dying. It’s the same thing, sweetheart, only I’m not losing a parent to a horrible disease, someone who’s supposed to love and care for me, I’m losing someone else I love, someone I chose to love, to a choice they made without me. I feel like the decision has been ripped right out of my hands.”

  “No, your decision wasn’t made for you. You made it when you stayed and promised to be next to me. It’s something you can undo.”

  “I can’t undo my feelings.”

  “Maybe not, but you can walk away from me now and not have to be brokenhearted or watch it all happen, right?”

  He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and held it there as he stared at her.

  There were no more words for a long time.

  Finally, he took a deep breath. “Okay. I thought we’d agreed to talk about it again after we did this thing this time, but maybe I did agree to stay no matter what. It’s just scary as hell. I usually lose my girlfriends to other guys; I never thought I’d lose one to a cause.”

  “You’ve never dated anyone like me.”

  “I know that’s right.” He pulled her body to his and tucked her under his chin. “I love you. Always and forever.”

  “I love you, too, Tristan.”

  They fell asleep that way, Simone finally at peace with the decision she’d made. Her dreams were filled with smiling, laughing children, their loving parents all around.

  She smiled, waking up for a moment to find her way back to Tristan’s side, and she snuggled in close, breathing in his aspen scent.

  Two weeks flew by, and the Saturday of Yvette’s birthday dawned.

  Simone decided to go as Cinderella, with Tristan agreeing to be her Prince Charming. They rose early and got dressed in their usual clothes in order to make a very special trip before the festivities began. Nerves bouncing all over the place, Simone grabbed her backpack and stuck the envelope from the attorney inside the book.

  “You sure you wanna do this?” Tristan asked.

  “I’m positive.”

  “You know, she may break you in half with the force of the hug she’s gonna give you for this.”

  “Hey, don’t think I don’t understand gratitude. Virginia Jones nearly suffocated me already. I’ll duck, weave, and direct her toward you.” Simone threw a wink over her shoulder as she walked toward the door.

  “Don’t be so sure about that. Gretchen’s a big woman. It’ll be hard to circumvent her charge—like dodging the horns of a bull.”

  “I trained as a matador in a previous life.”

  He barked out a laugh and stuck the key in the door to unlock the truck. “Oh, hush, and get your butt in.”

  Their conversation during the ride centered on the party, and both were wondering what Waymon would show up wearing. He hadn’t dropped a single hint as to his costume.

  “If he comes as Prince Charming, we may have to have a sword fight,” Tristan said.

  “Understood. You gotta defend your honor, right?”

  “To the death!” He fist-pumped the air.

  “Good thing I got you a Styrofoam sword.”

  “You suck all the fun out of everything.” His pretend pout made her laugh, and it earned her a wink and a squeeze of the hand.

  Everything fell silent as they got close to the soup kitchen, and Simone’s nervous energy was expelled via tapping her fingernails on the door, right under the window. When he pulled up and cut the engine, she nearly came out of her skin. Twice, she dropped her backpack.

  He came around the truck and picked up the backpack the second time, holding it open so she could retrieve the envelope and then slinging the bag over his shoulder and taking her arm.

  “You look good with a tiny, flowery backpack. Gives you a feminine edge,” she said.

  In response, he flicked one hand out, held it parallel to the ground, tossed his hair, and gave her his best catwalk, spinning around with his arms up at the end.

  Her anxiety broke, and she started laughing and crying at the same time. In a moment, his arms were around her, pulling her close.

  “It’s okay. Let it out. You’ll feel better once you have.” He rubbed her back and swayed.

  Inside, she felt like her very cells were at war with one another. She wanted to do a good thing, but she was feeling overwhelmed already with the attention that hadn’t even started. It was causing a riot of conflicting emotions to war with one another for attention.

  But after she cried, she did feel better. Being in Tristan’s arms helped, too. She took a deep breath and released it before stepping back. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  He grinned, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “Let’s go.”

  They walked to the back door and knocked.

  When Gretchen answered, she started to smile, but then she sobered and clasped her hands. “Oh no. What’s wrong?”

  Simone clutched the letter more tightly while Tristan requested a moment of Gretchen’s time—in her office.

  Face still pale, she nodded and led them down the hall and through a door.

  One tiny desk, several file cabinets, a laptop, and a chair were the only items in the room. Rather than sit, she spun around as soon as the door was closed and squeezed her eyes shut. “Whatever it is, Lord give me strength, I can handle it.”

  Simone stepped forward and pushed the letter into Gretchen’s hand. It took her a moment, but she plucked the article away and held it up. “What’s this?” Her face betrayed her fear.

  Simone instantly felt horrible about just handing someone a business envelope with no explanation behind the gesture. She rushed to explain. “Oh, no! Nothing bad. That’s for you, for this place.”

  Slowly, Gretchen lifted the envelope and broke the seal.

  It was like it was happening in slow motion, and Simone held her breath, giving Tristan’s hand a squeeze and biting her lower lip.

  Rather than pull the paper out, Gretchen pulled the envelope wider and glanced inside. First, her jaw slowly dropped as her eyes got wide, and then, water filled her lower lids before spilling over the edges and rushing down her face to drip off her chin. When she was finally able to lift her gaze from the check to her benefactors, she was crying openly. “Y’all…”

  That was all she seemed to be able to say. Her feet moved forward, and her arms opened.

  Simone quickly pushed Tristan into the woman’s embrace and chuckled behind a hand as he gasped for air.

  When she let go of him, she went for Simone, but the hug must’ve been mostly petered out by then because it wasn’t suffocating at all. It was loving and gentle, like a mother would cradle a child.

  “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you so much. This is a blessing from the Lord. I prayed every night for something wonderful to happen, and it has.” Gretchen snagged a tissue and blew her nose. “Y’all don’t know this, but I only had enough funds and supplies to keep going another month. We were close to shutting down.”

  Not a word was said about Fran and her divulging of information. Simone figured it would be better that way. No reason to out the eavesdropper when something good came of it all.

  Tristan cleared his throat. “Sorry, Gretchen, but we need to get going. My father is planning to bring the donation of food by
later. We have a very important birthday party to attend.”

  Still crying, Gretchen nodded and led them back out the way they’d come, a smile plastered on her face. “We’ll miss y’all today, but we got an extra or two out of the state this week, so we should be okay.” She doled out a couple more hugs. “I’ll tell everyone you said hello.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Yeah, thank you,” Simone repeated.

  They scurried away, hand-in-hand, feet light as air.

  Once she was in the truck and buckled in, she breathed deeply and let her body relax into the seat. “Okay, now we need coffee, stat. Then, it’s on to get ready for the party!” Her palm collided with her forehead. “Oh my God! I totally forgot! We still have to get the cake!”

  “Coffee first. Then cake. Then party dress.” Tristan pulled the truck into reverse and backed up, his lips pressed tightly together, shoulders forward, like a man on a mission.

  Twenty minutes later, they had their coffee and were cruising toward the bakery. Her mouth was filled with the warm flavor of vanilla as she tipped the cup back and took a long swig of the buttery drink. It calmed her as it flowed down her throat and into her stomach.

  “That good?”

  She sat up and opened her eyes, completely unaware she’d closed them in the first place. “Oh, yeah, that good. I’m so tired.”

  “Must be that hot guy that’s been invading your bedroom every night, keeping you up late.” He winked.

  Coffee nearly spewed out of her nose when she laughed, but he was right. She got a tingle in her lower belly that moved to her inner-thighs pretty quickly. “You’re so bad.”

  “Me? Well, that’s a first. I’ve never been the bad boy before.”

  “You know what I mean.” How she wished they were in her room right then and not about to pick up her mother’s birthday cake.

  They pulled into the parking lot and got out. When Simone saw the sign on the door, she groaned out loud. “They don’t even open for twenty minutes! What kind of business doesn’t open until nine am on a Saturday!”

  “It’s fine. We’ll listen to music and wait. Not a big deal, babe.”