She would never forget that day, not as long as she lived.
The week of Christmas had arrived with six inches of snow and Dre sat on a red cushioned stool, chin cradled in her small hands while she watched her mom chop the macadamia nuts that she’d let Dre shell. They were making her favorite cookies in the whole wide world. Peanut butter with white chocolate chips and macadamia nuts. Even though she would only get one for dessert they were better than any other cookie. “How come you don’t need a recipe?”
She flashed that affectionate smile she always wore with her daughter. Bella Larson was a beautiful woman with smooth caramel brown skin and a shoulder length bob she wore bone straight. That day she had on jeans that showed off her long shapely legs and a hideous holiday sweater featuring a snowman with a 3-D nose. “Because these cookies are your favorite and you ask for them at least six hundred times a year.”
She’d giggled at her mother’s words because she always exaggerated. “Only my birthday and Christmas, Mom.”
“And when you ace a test, which is always. When Shayna comes over and on days that end in ‘Y’.”
She laughed again because she always laughed with her mom. “Stop making things up Mom.” She remembered thinking that she wanted to grow up and be just like her mother. Beautiful and kind and able to do anything. She could cook any food ever and she could fix clothes really fast. She always looked pretty and smelled good and no one was as smart as her mom. And no one made prettier pictures.
When the dryer buzzed Bella looked to her to pull the clothes out and replace them with the ones from the washer. “Go on and earn your cookies.”
Eyes wide she jumped from the stool. “Cookies? More than one?” At her mom’s nod she dashed down the hall to the cramped laundry room, pulling handfuls of clothes from the dryer and dropping them into the weird cloth hamper to earn her extra cookie before running back to join her mom. “All done!” Back then she’d done everything with an energy and exuberance that exhausted her to even think about today but that day she’d been so full of life. So happy. “Do you think I’m gonna be pretty like you when I grow up?”
She’d rolled her eyes. “You’re already beautiful honey. If my hair curled like yours I’d never let a flat iron touch it again. And this face, I’d give anything to have such pretty lips and high cheekbones.” She bent over to kiss her cheek and Dre closed her eyes, taking in that scent of honeysuckle that always surrounded her. “Just remember to smile and the world will know how beautiful you are.”
At ten years old those words had meant everything to her. “You think?”
“I know, Dre. I’m your mom and I know it all.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t know how to update your blog,” she teased even though she enjoyed the hours they worked together every weekend to keep it up to date.
“And I don’t need to because I have my very own computer genius.”
“You don’t think it’s weird? Billy and Erick said girls aren’t supposed to like computers.”
She frowned and walked around the counter after putting the first batch of cookies into the oven. Wrapping her arms around her little girl she looked down at her. “Don’t you know girls can do anything boys can plus we can have babies. We are the real bad asses.”
Dre smiled. “You said a bad word.”
“Because I’m a bad ass. Just don’t say that word at school.” She winked and pulled her into rub soothing circles on her back. “You’re a good girl Dre, a smart girl and I don’t want you to ever forget that. Be as smart as you can and don’t change that. For anyone.”
“I won’t Mom. I promise.” It was a promise she’d been determined never to break.
“Now go grab those clothes so I can teach you to properly fold your clothes. If you put them up right away then you won’t have to iron them.”
“I’m never ironing when I’m a grownup. It’s weird.” She squirmed from her mom’s embrace and went to get the overflowing laundry basket. She’d dropped it a couple times when she tried to pick up a stray sock or a wash cloth. “We have too much stuff,” she groaned half way back to the kitchen. “Hey Mom, maybe we could have a--. Mom?” Slumped over the counter, she looked like she had just fallen asleep for a minute. Something she often did after too many hours in the kitchen. “Mom take a nap. I can pull the cookies from the oven and I’ll make sure to use the big oven mittens.”
She still didn’t move. Didn’t budge or even acknowledge she heard her daughter’s offer.
“Mom you’ll get a crick in your neck,” she tapped her shoulder and that’s when she saw it. The small stream of blood leaking from her nose. “Mom? Mom!” She began shaking her in earnest but she wouldn’t wake up. “Mommy please wake up.” She jumped up and grabbed the phone from the wall and called 911. She gave them her address and explained. “My mom passed out and now there’s blood coming from her nose and she isn’t answering me.”
She couldn’t even recall what the nice dispatcher had said because she’d been frantic trying to wake her up. “Mom get up, please. I’ll fold all the laundry and put it away and you won’t have to make cookies for me so you can rest. Okay?” Tears blurred her vision and she buried her face in the comfort of her mom’s lap. “I’ll do whatever you ask but you gotta wake up, okay? I won’t even tell Dad you said a bad word.” As the truth became clear she sobbed harder until her body shook with the force of her grief. She didn’t remember the ambulance or the paramedics, only the constant pressure in her chest. The sadness weighing her down.
“Do you have someone you can call?” The blue eyed paramedic kept a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“M-m-my dad.” I picked up the phone and dialed his cell. “Hey Dad, it’s me.”
“Sweetheart I can’t talk right now.”
“But Dad it’s about Mom.”
“Honey I’ll call you back.” Then he disconnected the call.
She looked up at those now frowning eyes and shrugged. “You couldn’t save my Mom?”
“No sorry kid.”
That had been the worst damn day of her life, and it still held the number one spot. But that grief had been compounded when her dad had finally come home smelling like some cheap cloying perfume. She hadn’t paid much attention to it when he wrapped her in his arms because she’d been numb and hadn’t even wanted his sympathy or his caring. She wanted her mom. “And I hadn’t gotten her,” she slurred into the chilly night air after a long afternoon of drinking while the past wouldn’t let her go.
Just five months after her mother had been put into the ground her father, Sheriff Al, had brought home a woman with big blue eyes and a kind smile. Too bad she smelled exactly the way he had the day her mom died. “Fucking White Diamonds,” she spat into the backyard. Over the years she’d grown to hate that scent more and more. Every time Annie wore it she felt a rage she couldn’t control bubble inside of her.
“Is there a reason you’re drunk as hell and yelling at the fireflies?” Shayna stood at the base of the wooden steps with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.
At least it looked like a scowl. Maybe two of them, she thought. “Yes Shayna and they’re called memories.” Not that her friend would understand, she forgave everything.
“Memories of what,” she asked, exasperation drenching what little concern her voice held.
“If you don’t want to know don’t ask Shay. I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“Fine,” she sighed, “I’m sorry. Tell me.”
“Seeing Al the other day tore something inside me Shayna. I finally told him the truth and now I can’t stop reliving that fucking day.” Her voice sounded far away but she still heard the torment, the anguish in her voice.
“Told him what?”
“Why I hate him. And her. Why I’ll never be able to forgive him.”
Shayna took the seat beside her on the glider and took the tequila from her hands. “Maybe this triggered the memories.”
“Nope, been having them
since that morning at the diner with you and Kira.”
“Shit Dre that was nearly a week ago.”
“Told you. Can’t stop.”
“Okay,” she replied sounding more serious and worried than she had a moment ago. “I thought he knew why you hated him.”
She shook her head and pushed a few curls out of her face. “No one knows. Not you. Not Erick. Only my therapist in L.A. and Sarah.”
“Erick’s mom?”
“Yep.”
“Dre you know you can tell me anything.” Her voice softened and her green eyes were filled with sympathy.
“Don’t. Don’t be nice right now Shay, I can’t take it.” She yanked the bottle back and took several long gulps. “The day Mom died when he finally made it home he smelled weird. Like perfume but not the honeysuckle mom always wore. I was so sad and numb I hadn’t really thought much about it. Until he brought Annie home and she smelled just like that. Meeting her had jolted me back to that day, damn olfactory memories,” she muttered darkly. “That’s when I knew. Why he wouldn’t talk to me while Mom was dying. He was with her. Probably fucking her while my mom was fading away.” She swiped at the lone tear that fell down her cheek, clenching her jaws tight to stop any others thinking they might make an appearance.
“Dre,” she sighed, voice full of sympathy. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Because everyone acted like I should get over it, that he had a right to move on.” He did have that right, she knew, but she didn’t have to like it.
“I can’t believe you carried this alone all this time. Shit, Dre.” She wrapped her thin arms around her friend and pressed her face into her hair, offering up soothing sounds and the occasional ‘son of a bitch’ in regards to Sheriff Al. “Now it all makes sense.”
“What does, my bitchery?”
“Yeah, kind of.” They both burst out laughing at her sheepish expression. “You were always a little bit bitchy but it got worse over the years. When you moved away it wasn’t so bad but I’m guessing that’s because you didn’t talk to them at all?”
“You’d be right.” She took another swig from the bottle before Shayna took it back and set it on the other side of her. “Where are the kids?”
“Mom and Dad took them to dinner and a movie.”
“Then maybe you should imbibe.”
Shayna laughed. “You’ve done enough for the both of us. You’re gonna be hungover tomorrow.”
“I don’t get hangovers. I slept with Erick.”
“What!”
“You heard me. Last week I think. He came by, we argued. He kissed me and one thing lead to another.” She let her head hang back and looked at the stars twinkling in the sky. “I must be some kind of dummy. Sometimes I wish I could just be a star so I could burn bright for millions of years before a brilliant and beautiful death.” Her words made her sigh. Life would be easier as a star. “I shouldn’t have done it I know that. But…,”
“You couldn’t help it,” she said knowingly.
“Shit, that’s how you feel about JT?”
She nodded, slowly picking up the bottle and taking a sip of her own.
“Then I definitely shouldn’t do that again. You gonna take him back?”
“I don’t know Dre. I don’t want him back but I feel like I can’t help how I feel.” She felt her friend stiffen, bracing for her cutting remark.
Too bad she would be disappointed because Dre had no judgment to give. “They’re both bad for us and we’re too smart to be this stupid.”
Shayna laughed. “You think so?”
“I do.” She felt sure of that much, at least. “Sounds like we both have some drinkin’ to do!” Snatching the bottle from her best friend she raised it in the air. “To best friends, broken hearts, new careers and our shitty taste in men. May one of those things improve with age.”
“Amen,” Shayna poured a portion into one of the unused shot glasses on the table and tipped it down her throat.
Chapter Fourteen
Erick hated Saturdays. From his teen years and into his twenties Saturday had been the day he slept in after a long night of partying. He could roll out of bed late, usually sometime after noon if he didn’t have to work early the next day, eat something, take a shower and then go get Dre so they could figure out how they would spend the day. Sometimes, on his favorite Saturdays she would show up at his house and when he stumbled down to the kitchen, having coffee and cake or pie with his mom. It had always been a welcome sight.
The sight he’d thought he might get to see for the rest of his life.
Instead he was behind the bar at Maverick’s checking his liquor inventory. The restaurant would open in less than an hour. Several members of the wait staff stood around pretending to fold silverware or readjust condiment shelves on the tables while counting down the clock. The chef in back was in full swing, barking orders at everyone in the kitchen. The waiters and waitresses knew that anyone in the kitchen would be put to work and they avoided it at all costs. When the busboys forgot, they lived to regret it.
And he, well he stood behind the bar pretending to look at the spreadsheet he’d finished twenty minutes ago. He couldn’t focus on anything. His mind was elsewhere. On a petite firecracker with a blade for a tongue. He hadn’t seen her in more than a week, closer to two weeks when he thought about it. Not since they’d reconnected, he thought charitably though, knowing Dre she would just call it what it was. Fucking.
He didn’t care what she called it, for now, he just wanted to do it again. Needed to be with her again in a way that meant she wasn’t scowling or sniping at him. He needed to see her laugh again, to be the reason she laughed. And he knew what he needed. Time. With their history, both good and bad, time together was his way back.
“Hey Boss, we got a live one.” Chad was his best waiter and a total prick in that way only guys like him could be. “Apparently she can’t wait fifteen minutes,” he shrugged and shot what could only be described as an evil smirk at the door.
And just the woman I’ve been thinking about. “Open the door,” I told him.
“Chill man, she can wait. She’s not even that hot.”
“Open the damn door Chad.”
He blinked once and pasted on his charming smile, shrugging before he turned to open the door. Erick watched Chad, knowing the man would soon regret his nonchalance. “Sorry sweetheart, I-,”
“I don’t give a damn. Run along pretty boy.”
Stunned, Chad stared as she ducked under his arm and marched to the bar where Erick stood with a wide eyes stare as though he’d conjured her up. “I know he’s pretty to look at but do you have to hire such assholes?”
Erick shrugged, sure his smile was big and goofy and annoying. “He’s good at his job.”
“Give me a month and I’ll train a monkey to replace him.”
He knew better than to touch that because nothing he said would cool her fire. It would eventually extinguish itself. “Not that I’m not glad you’re here but, what brings you by?”
“Your website is worse than atrocious. Was it last updated in the nineties?” At his glare a smile curved her lips. “Okay fine but the early two thousands, like 2001, maybe 2003 at the absolute latest. Anyway, I’ve made some changes.”
“Already?”
The look she gave him said she thought he was a moron. “The purpose of visiting a restaurant website is to find out when they open, what kind of food they have and how to get there. If people have to wait for that info they’ll move to the next option that Google says is close by.”
“I don’t want more memory or broadband or disk space. Or whatever,” he grunted.
“Or bell bottoms, Betamax and TV dinners.” At his scowl she gave her most innocent look. “Oh, are we not just naming old ass things? My bad.”
“You know what I mean.”
She rolled her eyes and flipped open the laptop. “Just look. If you don’t like it I’ll change it back.”
Bent o
ver the screen he watched closely as his website loaded quickly and the sounds of a busy dining room filled the air. Sounds of laughter, eating, low conversation sounded like a wedding reception or family dinner. The grill page sizzled and flames licked the perfect piece of filet on top. Each page had a striking image on top and some engaging sounds that made you want to stay, but the food was the highlight.
“If you want actual photos of your dishes or at least your signature dishes we can change some out,” she added without looking up from her tablet.
“It’s great Dre. I love the new map feature.” A steak icon traveled the path from point A to Maverick’s so no one had to call for more specific instructions. He hoped. “And the drinks menu, bigger font and more pages.”
“People love booze and your kitschy names are memorable.”
“A compliment?”
“A fact,” she replied. No hint of a smile.
“Thank you anyway.”
“Any problems?”
He scanned the pages once again, double checking information for spelling or typing errors, going over noticeable changes with greater care. “One. We don’t accept orders or reservations online.” He knew the expression she wore and felt both wary and satisfied something so her hadn’t changed in their years apart. She was gearing up to tell him something he didn’t want to hear.
“I noticed but,” she raised her hands to ward off the words hanging on the tip of his mouth. “Hear me out before you say no. Restaurants with online ordering increase revenue by thirty percent. And people under fifty prefer to make online reservations. It’s quick and easy and they don’t have to talk to someone.”
“But someone has to keep up with it and I don’t want to give any of my people a reason to dick off online all day.”
Dre shook her head and muttered under her breath something about “luddites,” and “old farts”. “You already have a tablet up there for reservations and walk-ins, right? Then I’ll set it up so the reservations automatically go on the hostess list and sync the calendars so you don’t overbook.”
Best Of My Love: (Love in Emerald Creek) Page 13