by S. E. Hall
“I’d say we need,” this will be a challenge eons away from my forte, “welcome mat, porch swing, paint for the front door cause eck, peephole cause uhh scary, pots and plants and maybe a pretty flag. Anything else?” Maybe I’m not so bad at this after all! “Oh, and a table for by the swing for drinks and stuff. And a rocking chair!” I finish, wistfully picturing it.
“Daddy!” Sommerlyn yells and Marshall trots over. “I need your truck keys. Hope and I have big items to get.” He digs them out of his pocket agreeably and smiles down at Hope. “You ladies need help loading stuff, or money?”
“No, no!” I bust in, holding up a hand. “Cannon and I will pay for everything, let me go grab a card out of my purse. And the men at the store will load them up. There are lots of jobs, so we’ve gotta spread our troops thin.” I giggle.
“No, no to you,” Marshall kindly contradicts me, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket. “Me and the Missus thought money’d make a great housewarming present.” He hands the envelope to Sommer. “Just what she asked for and bring her back the change, Saks Fifth Sommerlyn.” His brow crinkles.
“Daddy, you wound me. Oh wait, Liz, what color for the rocker and front door?”
See—here I was thinking I nailed it…curveball.
I glance around and find Cannon watching me from across the yard with a look of sweet adoration. I chin nod him and he saunters over, Levis and boots making the simple act pornographic. “Siren?”
“What color rocking chair for the porch and front door?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder at the spot, debates, then turns back to me. “White rocker, maroon or royal blue door? You pick.”
“Royal blue,” I instantly tell the girls. “And,” I subtlety elbow Cannon in the ribs, “your parents are paying with our housewarming present.” I regard them both with a huge smile. “Thank you.”
“Thanks, Moms.” He hugs and kisses her. “Thank you, Dad.” One-armed man thing.
“Come on, Hope! See y’all!” Sommer calls over her shoulder, and they’re off.
One project down.
“Jarrett!” Nessy hollers this time and I swear I don’t recognize the man who sprints to her side. I repeat, Jarrett Playboy Foster sprints to her side. “You got any money?”
He shrugs. “Couple hundred, why?”
“Our labor is our housewarming gift. We’re gonna need the card,” Vanessa says to the ground, ashamed. “We’re taking the master bedroom, since a bed may become a priority, unless you like sleeping in rocking chairs.” She snickers. “What color you want it painted and stuff?”
Cannon wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “You pick this one, love.”
I lunge, gripping my waist. “I don’t feel so good,” I croak.
“Lizzie?” He dips his head to look at me, worried.
I shoot up and point at his eyes. “Ness, see that color right there, that light, bronzy molasses? That color.”
“Gotcha!” She smirks.
“So getting it for that later,” he grumbles in my ear and I lean up to kiss him soundly.
“Sorry, had to nail it. Love you.”
I quickly google furniture types and colors on my phone to show Vanessa, hand her my credit card, and Libby passes them their list.
And we’re two down.
And so it goes—Dad, Conner, and Bryson take Conner’s house, all possible things needed purchased since he mostly bought supplies to make a fort—and a treehouse—last time we tried shopping. Who needs a bed and what not when you can just live like Bear Grylls, right?
Libby takes the kitchen; we decided on a muted yellow and whatever color dishes and small appliances she liked…which oddly, seems to make her day. Alma takes the flower beds since she loves that sort of thing. And in a mind altering twist, Vaughn appears before me, sullen and apologetic, and offers to mow, weed-eat, and trim hedges. I thank him with a hug and a ruffle of his hair and tell him that’d be great. Marshall takes to meeting the fence and security team at the end of the driveway, coordinating and overseeing both projects.
Just when things seem sublime, Rhett and my Uncle Bruce pull up together and make it that much better. As they get out, Bruce’s face is hesitant and cautious, but I square up and walk fast to embrace them both. “How?”
“Cannon called,” Rhett explains.
“Told me everything,” Bruce adds. “Loved my sister, proud as hell of you, and plan to have a beer with your dad later. End of. Where you need us?”
“How about the living room? Cannon?”
He chuckles. “Right behind ya.”
“Why don’t you give them specs on couch, chairs, end tables, TV, rugs? Kinda a man thing. I’m going shopping with my soon-to-be stepmother for my bathroom and guest room. Thank you both for coming, and helping.” A slobbering sap, I hug and kiss them both then run to search down Laura as fast as possible so I can hide my happy display of threatening waterworks.
“I’ll do back deck and walkways and clean the flues for fires, babe!” Cannon yells, getting a thumbs up over my shoulder.
***
Maybe I dreamt it, because I wake up in a new, fabulous bed practically identical to my request, décor all around, including pictures on the walls, which are painted the exact shade of Cannon’s eyes that I kinda shamefully captured…but I have an image of actually collapsing in the hallway from exhaustion in my head.
Imagine what the rest of them must feel like.
What feels most like Heaven is the lean, hard body draped across, around, and under me. “Morning, babe,” I whisper in his ear, lavishing kisses up his thick, corded neck.
“Morning to you my love. Your turn for coffee delivery or go back to sleep,” he says croakily and swats my butt.
“Did you happen to find me in the hall and carry me to bed, oh brawny man of mine?”
“Guilty.” He chuckles softly, a morning rasp making it an even sexier sound than usual.
“Thank you. I love this house,” I sigh happily, “everything turned out so perfect. We’ll have to host a barbeque or dinner to thank them all.”
“Sounds great. Just as soon as the discs in my back slip back to their normal positions,” he mumbles into his pillow.
“Roll on your stomach,” I nudge him, then straddle his back and start massaging. Either tight with strain or shear physical perfection, his muscles are hard against my fingertips, making it difficult to really penetrate.
“Feels great, babe,” he moans. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I dip my head, placing kisses intimately across his back. “I should probably check on Conner,” I suddenly worry.
“Alma stayed the night with him and an alarm sounds in here if any of his doors open.”
He thinks of everything.
“But feel free; a hard-on against a mattress isn’t exactly comfortable.”
“Then roll back over,” I hum sexily.
He does with a sleepy smile, none the less seductive. “Gonna have to do all the work, Siren, I’m sore as shit.”
“I think I can handle that.” I take off my shirt, pull my panties aside, and glide down on him in one motion, all the way home.
“Mhmmm,” a deep growl rumbles in his chest. “You feel so sweet and snug, Lizzie. Give it to me good, babe.” He props both hands behind his head, smug smirk in place as he watches me ride him gently, but effectively.
When we’re both depleted, glistening in sweet sweat, kissing every spectacular part of each other, I make a breakthrough decision, my love for him infinite and never-ending. As we lay tangled in our bed, I roll to my side, propping up my head in one hand and taking his left in my other. “Cannon Powell Blackwell, will you marry me?” I propose.
“Anytime, anywhere, as many times as you want,” he raises our joined hands to his mouth and kisses mine, “but I will be asking you, my beauty. Be ready for a grand display of romanticism.” He tsks and smiles, shaking his head. “Look at you, you witchy thing—trying to take my glory. What am I g
onna do with you?”
“Love me,” I whisper. “Do every single thing the best couples in the world do, with me, at least once, and pretend you like it.”
“Let’s hear this list.” He pulls me back on top of him, my head sneaking into its spot under his chin, both his hands finding their spot, one on each cheek of my naked ass.
“Well, I don’t have the whole list ready right this minute, but I’ll be compiling it. You just have to agree to do it.” I giggle and kiss the end of his nose.
“I promise, Lizzie love, anything you want.”
“Oh shit, wait!” he panics. “I don’t want to hang from a Ferris wheel until you agree to date me.” He puppy dog frowns, begging me for a pass.
Geez, I thought something was on fire.
“We’re already long pasting dating, and watching The Notebook with me was enough. Free pass on death hangs at carnivals.” I wink, staggering off him and up to get dressed. “But you are so orchestrating a band and singing your way down the bleachers to me while I pretend to be a high school girl on a soccer field.”
“Please,” he rolls his eyes, “at least challenge me.” He stalls, one finger in the air. “I’m not drinking any poison, though, my Juliet. That’s all; those two are kinda biggies.”
***
Six amazing months after that night, there’s a beige and red rug in the spot Cannon and I first christened our home, which is where I’m sitting and folding laundry when Vaughn knocks on the edge of the screen door.
“Come on in.” I smile, waving him inside.
He drags his feet, head down, shoulders strung tight as a bow. “Need any help?” he mumbles at the floor.
“No, but thank you.” I love Vaughn. After our “Come to Liz,” we’ve made giant strides, developing a pretty close relationship. He’s a good boy, a little over sixteen now, and he’s worked through a lot of misplaced anger. “Vaughn, what’s up?”
“Is, um, Cannon here?”
“He is, down in the studio.” The studio is our basement, which we converted when we felt the need to still collaborate. “Head on down, unless there’s something I can help you with?”
“You’re kinda my sister now, right?”
“No, not kinda. I am your sister, Vaughn, and I love you. And I changed my mind, I could use some help.” I pat the rug beside me. “Let’s figure it out over laundry.”
He lifts his head now, a relieved and grateful smile peeking through the uncertainty. He plops down beside me and digs in folding. “Promise not to tell my parents?”
“Nope, not if it’s illegal or harmful. They need to know about that, and I’ll go with you to tell them, but tell them we will. Other than that,” I nudge his shoulder with my own, “then yes, I promise.”
“What, uh about…” he looks out the window on the other side of the room, “sex?”
I should remind him Cannon’s in the basement. I should pierce out my eardrums, or…be a good big sister and keep my shit together. I mean, I was his age when I did.
“If you’ll listen to the very important parts, then this is one of those conversations that can stay between us.”
After six minutes of silence and him refolding the same washcloth the entire time, I clear my throat and steel my spine. “Vaughn, was there something specific you wanted to talk about or ask?”
“How do you know, when it’s okay? How’d you know? How old were you? Where were you?” Man, he really went for it—and all in one breath.
“Okayyy,” I drawl cautiously. This is one of those moments where I can truly mentor him into a fine young man or severely fuck it up. And we know my problem with the think first, talk later ailment. “I’m going to be honest with you, Vaughn, because you’re mature, intelligent and I know you can handle it. All right?”
His head bobs frantically, eyes eager for some help, honest information, and most importantly, to be treated like an adult instead of a child.
“I was your age when I did it the first time. It was only once, in my bedroom, with a dear friend that I trusted completely, and still do. It wasn’t really sex—I can’t, and won’t, explain…but it was more two friends who shared everything else. Make sense?”
“Yeah.” He looks away and then back, biting the skin at the edge of his nail, which I raise a hand to halt.
“As for the other question, I think if it doesn’t smack you in the forehead that this. Is. Her, then it’s not. Ya know?”
“Like you and Cannon?”
“Yes,” I tap his nose, “exactly like that. Can I ask you some questions now?”
He pops his shoulders and grabs a towel to fold this time. “Sure, I guess so.”
“No, not guess so. Yes or no, Vaughan. I will respect your boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“Have you already had sex?” That actually hurt my throat to ask. He shakes his head and I can breathe again. “Is she your girlfriend?” Shoulder shrug, next towel grabbed. “Would you feel weird looking at her the next day?”
“Yes,” he spouts instantly.
“If she got pregnant, could you take care of her? Would you be happy knowing you’re connected to her for the rest of your life?”
His face turns a pasty white as his jaw hits his knee. “No freakin’ way!”
I hold my face straight, unchanged. “Have your answer?” I ask.
“Yes,” he stands, “cold showers it is. Thanks, Liz. Can I ask you other stuff when I need to?”
“Always, day or night. Love you, smart guy.”
“You too. Going to Conner’s, see ya!” He rushes out the back door.
“You’re going to be the best damn mother in the whole world.”
I jolt, jerking my head back over my shoulder to find Cannon tucked back in the hallway, leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed.
“You couldn’t have done that any better. I love you, Lizzie. Every day you find new ways to impress me, even when you don’t know I’m watching.”
I feel my cheeks heat with a flattered blush. He starts to make his way to me, but chaos finds us first.
“Sister! Bethy!” Conner rushes through the back door. “Some of those darn fish smashed the tank and wet got all over my floor!”
“Put shoes on, love,” Cannon suggests as he heads out to clean up tank takedown number…I think this makes three.
Chapter 38
As I stand before the full-length mirror, I don’t say yes to the dress—it’s actually way too long and lacy for me—but I say absolutely to having a piece of my mother here with me today.
The ring she left Cannon, my grandma’s, is back in the safe deposit box. I never even met the woman, so I felt strange wearing it. Instead, my finger is adorned with a ring Cannon designed for me, a beautiful princess-cut solitaire on a thick, white gold band, “My Siren” inscribed inside.
So the dress is old and borrowed. My ring is new. And blue? A ribbon, the color of Conner’s eyes, a piece of his tie he wears today, is twined through my still brown hair that now graces the swell of my shoulders.
Cannon proposed, because he’s as stubborn as he is chivalrous and just couldn’t let mine stand alone, under “our” tree in our backyard and that’s where we’re getting married today. His father and Conner are his best men, then my father and Jarrett will also stand with him.
On my side, my Men of Honor, Rhett Foster and Uncle Bruce the Moose. Beside them, Libby, Sommerlyn, Laura, and Vanessa.
Hope is my flower/ring girl. Bryson and Vaughn are the handsome ushers in their gentlemanly suits, and my dear, wonderful Alma will marry us; determined not to have a small role, she ran out and got ordained.
Still haven’t met Lisa, the missing link daughter, but I’m sure Laura keeps her apprised of everything that happens at the crazy Carmichael house.
My father knocks on the door, prepared to give me away, even though he’s only just gotten me back, before taking his spot in Cannon’s line.
I laugh in the face of conformity. My. Way.
&nbs
p; “Come on in, Dad.” I turn and smile. He’s very handsome, and yes, I look as much like him as I act, which is becoming a point of pride for me more and more every day. The salt and pepper growing around his ears now looks distinguished to me, and there’re no signs of Botox in his aging, yet still debonair face.
“Oh, my Elizabeth, you are a vision.” Out pops the handkerchief. “A vision of a strong, courageous, gorgeous young woman who clawed her way to the finish and got exactly the happiness and adoration she deserved. There is no one more deserving in all the world, and I’m so proud of you, daughter. I find any words to try and tell you just how much inadequate.”
“Thank you.” I hold open my arms for a hug. “I love you, Dad. I missed you. I miss her, too, but I respect you for sticking around and waiting on me. Thank you.”
“Hush now.” He laughs, wiping his eyes. “I know you don’t want for money, so here is my gift to you on this special day.” He pulls two envelopes from his breast pocket. “Go ahead, open them.”
The first one, well, I falter, stumbling backward, and he helps me sit on the chaise. “Oh Dad.” I swipe his hankie from him before I cry all over the documents for a center he’s having built in Sutton, “The ACC Guidance Center,” full counseling, psychiatric, and medical services for people dealing with depression and/or addiction, as well as their loved ones.
“And yes,” he gives a soft titter, “it will be filled with huge, colorful fish tanks.”
“Life goes on,” I whisper.
“So it does, my lovely daughter, so it does.” He clears his throat, abruptly handing me the other envelope. “Should’ve given you this one first, a measly two weeks in Tahiti, ta-da.”
We enjoy a long overdue, hearty laugh together, until finally, it’s time. “Shall we?” He offers his bent arm, which I rise and take. “You, nor he, could have chosen any better, darling. Cannon is a fine man, as close to worthy of you as one will ever get. I’ll tell you what I told him, Elizabeth. Never give your body to another. It’s a fleeting, hollow replacement and the guilt and pain lasts much longer than the tryst. Communicate, talk, write a note, text, call, fly a banner behind a plane, but never try to mask one problem with another. Drink socially, if you’d like, but never to forget. Always keep your memory free and clear to remember back to how you feel right now. And if all else fails,” he stops our walk to the backyard and grasps both my cheeks, “call your daddy. He’ll fix it.” He kisses my forehead, his tears dripping onto my nose. “I love you, daughter. I never dreamt I’d get to be a part of your wedding day. Nothing, ever, will replace it as my life’s culmination; it’s the best moment ever in store for me.”