ETERNAL

by Cecy Robson

  “I’ve been telling her that all week,” Landon interjects, making my already heating skin scorch.

  “You should listen to him,” she tells me.

  “You should,” Landon agrees.

  It’s taking all I can not to stomp my feet.

  The woman steps off at the first level. “Y’all have a good night,” she says.

  “Good night,” I stammer, unlike Landon who has no problem speaking.

  The elevator zooms down. “Was that necessary?” I ask.

  “Which part?” he asks. “The part where you should go to bed, or the part where it might be dangerous to sleep alone in your condition.”

  “I don’t have a condition,” I say.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he tells me. “That there was a professional in the healthcare field. If she’s telling you to go to bed with me . . .”

  “She said nothing of the sort,” I interject.

  “Who are we to argue?” he adds, ignoring me. He huffs. “Hell, that woman might have just saved your life.”

  I’m trying not to grin and doing a terrible job. Somehow, I manage to compose myself as we reach the parking deck.

  Landon nudges me. “You really have to stop doing that,” he says.

  “Doing what?” I ask, knowing he’s baiting me.

  He leans into me. “Undressing me with your eyes. It’s getting embarrassing for the both of us.”

  Another blush heats my face and spreads further down. “Landon,” I say. “I’m not undressing you with my eyes.”

  He frowns, following me as we step out. “Why not?”

  “I . . .” God, he’s cute.

  “I mean, I’m pretty muscular. You women like that kind of thing, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, much less deny it because no, I’m not blind and why would I? “And you seemed to like how I flexed and moved.” He dances his brows. “You remember my moves, don’t you, Luci?”

  “Stop it,” I tell him.

  “Stop what? Whispering sweet nothings in your ear?”

  “Landon,” I warn.

  “Calling you out for all that ass-ogling you’re doing?”

  “I don’t ogle.” Much.

  “You can’t mean stop making you blush?” he offers.

  “Yes, that too,” I say, my body responding in turn.

  “Or are you referring to me giving you more hickies?’

  I turn around slowly. “You want to give me hickies?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah,” he replies like it’s obvious.

  “I don’t want to jump back in bed with you,” I tell him. It’s true, to a point.

  I still dream about the way he touched me, and how it felt to sleep against his chest. I still dream about a lot of things when it comes to Landon, including how he held me when we first danced and how he made me laugh like no one else. But that was Kiawah. In Kiawah, I didn’t have Fernie and all the issues that surround her.

  Landon is from a good, stable family. I’m not. I never have been. Mamita did her best, but the little she saved for retirement wasn’t enough for two people and she hadn’t expected to raise another child.

  More times than not, we went without. That’s not something Landon can say. Oh, certainly, he’s experienced his share of poverty through the eyes of those he and his family helped. But I don’t want to be someone he feels he needs to save, and I never want to be someone he pities.

  As kind as Landon is, Fernie and her condition aren’t issues I want him aware of. The day he offered me money, he meant well. But I couldn’t help feeling that I’d come across as weak and helpless.

  I don’t want or need to be rescued.

  I just want to be loved.

  “What if I’m asking for more?” he questions.

  “Pardon?”

  If I was an attorney, I’d ask the judge to find that smirk guilty. “I said what if I’m asking for more than just sex? I mean, not that I’m asking for sex.”

  “You’re not?” I give him the once-over. “You could have fooled me.”

  He nods, appearing to think matters through. “I mean sex would be nice. You seemed to like it fair enough, and it was okay for me too.”

  “Oh, good,” I say. “I was worried when you took out your knitting supplies that you weren’t enjoying it.”

  “You have to admit, that doily came out nice.”

  We both laugh. I may not be the most confident woman in the world, and I may have my share of insecurities, but I know we made each other feel good. I know because every inch of his skin is ingrained to my memory.

  “So what do you think about the non-sex and the something more?”

  I stop beside my car. “As in a date?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You want to date me?” I ask, barely getting the words out.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Knitting time aside, we had fun.”

  “We did,” I admit before I can stop myself. “But I wasn’t planning on anything.”

  “Anything serious you mean?”

  I shift my weight. “I wasn’t planning on anything at all.”

  “Do you think I was?”

  This time, I’m the one smiling. “Then why did you have an entire squad of cheerleaders batting their pretty eyelashes and lining up to meet you?”

  I adjust the strap on my purse, lifting my chin when Landon strokes it lightly. “Why do you think I did?”

  I might have been laughing just now, but that humor is long gone. “Because they’re gorgeous and would be fools not to want you.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “It’s what I know, Landon.”

  My comment makes him smile. I miss his beard and almost reach up to pass my fingers along his smooth skin. “I almost hate to tell you you’re wrong, but I will,” he says, closely scrutinizing my response. “I made the decision to move and work in Charlotte a few months back. Becca and my family didn’t want me in a city where I barely knew anyone. That’s where the cheerleaders come in.” He grins. “If I met one, and things didn’t work out, no big deal. It’s not like they’d be working directly under me, unlike you,” he adds with a wink.

  I almost release a sigh since yes, Landon Summers is that sexy.

  “My family thinks I’m lonely,” he admits. He waits and says, “And they’re right.”

  I tilt my head. “You don’t have to be.”

  “Oh, I know,” he says, looking straight at me. “You don’t have to be either.”

  I glance down. “I mean you really don’t. Any woman would go home with you, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But you’re forgetting, you’re the one I asked on New Year’s, and you’re the one I’m asking now.”

  “I’m not forgetting,” I add quietly, that sense of misery I often feel gathering like a ball at the pit of my stomach. “My point is, being with someone or not, is a choice for you.”

  “But not for you?” he asks.

  I can’t look at him when I answer. “This isn’t a good time in my life to be with someone. I wish it could be, but it’s not.”

  “Why?” he asks, no longer smiling.

  “It’s just not,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t push.

  For a long few minutes he simply watches me. I expect him to be angry and walk away. But there’s a reason he’s occupied my every thought, and again he doesn’t disappoint.

  His arm slinks around my waist, pulling me to him. I follow his lead, my gaze seared to his. There’s no hesitation. I’d follow Landon to hell and back.

  My eyes close as his lips brush against mine. It’s barely a kiss and more of a whisper, yet I feel it down to my soul.

  “We had a lot of sex,” he murmurs against my mouth. “And I fucking loved it.”

  My heart stops.

  He stills as if he can read my thoughts, the ones that tell him how much I loved it too and how good it felt every time his hands wandered
and his tongue explored. Every caress, every thrust, is like a memory my body can’t forget. It lives within me, driving me mad.

  This morning, I woke from the movements of my writhing body and the thrusts of my hips, lifting to meet his.

  But he wasn’t there.

  He is now.

  His voice lowers, gathering a husky edge. “But when I say I want more, I mean it. Let me take you to dinner, or a movie. Hell, let me take you to both. We don’t have to spend the night, and maybe that’s better.”

  “Landon, I don’t know.”

  His soft lips grazing over my mouth silence my barely there words. “Luci, I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I met you. You helped me to see it, and you helped erase all the bad that came with it.” He swallows hard. “It took everything I had to let you go.”

  I expect one of those kisses that leaves me breathless, like the first one he gave me, the ones that followed in bed, and the one where we said goodbye.

  Instead his warm mouth sweeps over my crown. “Think about it,” he says. “You have time, and I’ll be waiting.”

  He releases me slowly, which is good. I would have fallen over otherwise. He steps back, giving me ample room to slip inside my car. I suppose I should say goodnight, and maybe he should, too. But I shut my door without a word and carefully ease out of my spot.

  Landon watches me pull away, oblivious to how hard my heart is beating as a result of his words and gentle caress.

  I turn onto the ramp that leads to the street level. I want to veer around, invite him to dinner at my home. I want to do a lot of things right now, like tell him how hard it is to leave him, and how I wish he hadn’t let me go.

  Yet when I reach the light at the next block, I realize I can’t. A woman in a brown coat crosses the street, gripping the small wire cart she’s pulling. She’s the same woman I’ve seen Fernie with. She’s also a harsh reminder why I can’t be with Landon.

  He doesn’t have a Fernie is his life. I do, and as long as I can, I have to take care of her.

  The street she heads toward is a side street, more desolate and away from prying eyes.

  Although I’m scared, I take a chance and follow. This street isn’t too far from the park. I pull against the curb, checking on the box of supplies I keep on the passenger side floor while I wait for her to catch up, careful to watch my surroundings.

  My box is relatively full. Every time I go shopping, I pick up items to keep in my car in case I pass Fernie on the way to work or back. But it’s been a while since I’ve found Fernie while driving, and I’m cautious about how much I carry into work.

  I fill a grocery bag with a few bottles of water, a small tube of toothpaste and toothbrush, and a few packages of snacks.

  The woman starts to pass me on the opposite side of the street by the time my bag is halfway full. “Excuse me, ma’am? Ma’am?”

  I have to yell a few times before I catch her attention. She pauses and I’m not sure she can see me, not with how dark this street is. I stiffen when she crosses the street, placing my car in gear and edging out slightly in case I have to make a quick getaway.

  “Hi,” I say when she reaches the window. “Are you on your way to see Fernie?”

  “Fernanda,” I clarify when she doesn’t answer.

  She presses her mouth in a tight line, her dark eyes eyeing my supplies. “Would you give this to her?” I ask. “There’s plenty for the both of you.”

  It’s only when she nods that I lower the window enough to pass her the bag. “Thank you,” she says, tying the bag and adding it to her cart.

  An oncoming car slows when the driver sees her, allowing her to pass. I’m not sure if this woman plans to give Fernie anything, or keep it all to herself. But she has a story, too, just like my mother, and just like me.

  I wait until the traffic clears and pull onto the road, shame burning its way through me. I wish that’s not what it was, but after living with an emotion this strong all my life, it’s as familiar as the lines and ridges across my hands.

  When I was little, I associated shame with anger and regret. Anger that it wasn’t my mother who walked me to school and regret that I wasn’t enough to keep her.

  I wasn’t even enough to have her miss me. If she called, it wasn’t to ask how I was. It was to guilt my grandmother into giving her money.

  “Where’s your mom?” the kids would ask me.

  “She’s away,” was my answer in grade school.

  “She’s sick,” became my reply years later.

  “She’s not coming back,” was what my family finally convinced me to say.

  Yes, shame is something I’ve experienced most of my life. But it’s not something I ever learned to live with.

  My eyes sting as I pull onto Johnston Road. I’m tired, God, so tired of hurting and worrying, but most of all carrying this shame.

  I don’t cry often when it comes to Fernie. After so many years of doing as much, I simply can’t.

  But today the tears come, only this time, they fall for Landon.

  I envy him. I wish I did come from the kind of family who is gentle with each other and does more good than harm. Instead, I’m taking care of a woman who doesn’t acknowledge me as her daughter, and who wouldn’t think twice about hurting me if it meant getting what she wants.

  The first time I tried to coax her into my car was one of my worst moments with Fernie. She seemed to be listening and agreeable to getting help. The more I spoke about the treatment center, the more she appeared to relax. I told her I’d pay for it, and not to worry. I told her she was going to be okay.

  We were only about a mile or so away when something changed in her demeanor and she lashed out, hitting me hard. I hadn’t quite maneuvered my car to the side when she leapt out, taking my purse and leaving me with a busted lip. I was only seventeen. But she didn’t care.

  That didn’t mean I didn’t care about her.

  My phone rings when I pull onto Providence Road. I hit the Bluetooth. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” Landon says. “Have you thought about it?”

  For once I’m glad he’s not beside me. If he were, he’d see my tears fall.

  “Luci?” he asks. “You okay?”

  “I’m really tired, Landon,” I reply, each syllable releasing in a quiver. “And this is really a bad time.”

  At first I think he disconnected. But when that familiar voice with the tremendous empathy responds, I know he again heard more than I intended. “All right, baby,” he says. “Just remember, when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.”

  He disconnects. I wipe my eyes, worried I’ll never be ready.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Landon

  I meant it when I told Mr. Ballantyne I’d keep it professional, and I’m not trying to be a dick. But with Luci so close, professionalism took a step down and skipped happily away, leaving me to step up and get to know this sweet thing a whole lot better.

  “Knock, knock,” I say.

  She glances up from her desk. As always it’s littered with neat piles of papers that never seem to get smaller, regardless how late she stays.

  “Hi.” Her attention shifts from the letter she’s skimming through to the bags in my arms. “What’s this?”

  “Lunch.”

  “For me?” she asks.

  “Yeah, but I bought a lot.” I shrug. “I was hoping some of the Jersey’s rubbed off and enough southern hospitality has sunk in so not only will you thank me for being a gentleman and buying you lunch, but insist that I join you.”

  She nibbles on her bottom lip just as she does when she thinks she shouldn’t give in, except in the end she always does. Good. It gives me hope we still have a chance.

  I think I should tell her how crazy it drives me, in all the right ways, of course. But then she might stop doing it and we can’t have that, can’t we, y’all?

  “Thank you for being a gentleman.” She clears a spot on her
desk. “But I must insist you join me.”

  “You sure?” I hold out a hand. “Far be it for me to impose.”

  She laughs, appearing shy. I don’t remember her being this shy around me back when we were alone at my place and the rest of the world seemed so far away. But the world here is front and center, appearing to drive us apart although I don’t understand why.

  Her job is important. I get it. Except there has to be more.

  “Do I smell Asian?” she asks.

  “Why, Miss Luci, that’s quite an impressive nose you have there.” I pass her a small white container packed with noodles. “Right there is the best Pad Thai this side of Charlotte. Your favorite right?”

  She reaches for the box and the pair of wooden chopsticks I dig out from the bag. “I do love it. But if memory serves, it’s your favorite,” she reminds me.

  “True,” I agree, opening the lid to my crispy duck. “But if I’m buying you lunch, I think it’s fair I buy something I like, too.”

  “It was very nice of you,” she says, her voice growing quiet as if she’s worried she’s said too much. She places her food down and removes her scarf, folding it carefully and placing it on the shelf behind her. I want to tease her and ask her about the hickies I know now are long gone. But I promised myself I wouldn’t push her and wait until she’s ready. I’m just hoping she’ll be ready for me sooner rather than later.

  The other week, when I called, I laid on the charm, hoping to make her laugh and coax her into dating me. But the way her voice splintered, just about broke my heart. She has a lot on her plate and I can’t help thinking she handles too much on her own.

  The work in the office keeps her busy, the attorneys, staff, everyone is always wanting and needing a piece of her. She takes it all in stride, putting out fires, offering support and assistance. No wonder so many people like her. But it’s what goes on when she leaves that concerns me.

  If you’re going to be a boyfriend, be a friend first. It’s what my mother always said. I didn’t pay much attention to it, until my sister Trinity started dating. It opened my eyes to how much women need a friend in those they entrust their hearts to. The thing is, it doesn’t always work in reverse. Some people aren’t worth giving your heart or your friendship to, my ex proved that. Luci, though, I don’t know, I’m hoping I can be that friend she needs as well as that something more.