by Jody Pardo
“Trust me, little sister, when you are in the middle of the desert with guys shooting at you for no good reason with bombs strapped to their chest in the name of some radical movement or religion, you will miss Mom’s sweet tea and lemon bars.”
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up.” Suddenly, Beth got quiet, drooping her head down. I lifted her up by her chin.
“Beth, I’m okay. It's okay. I’m not going to freak out on you. Mom makes really kick ass lemon bars. I missed them and all of her quirky ways. It's those little things that you think about when shit gets real.”
“I still think you should give Christina a call. She likes you.”
“Aren’t you the same sister that was complaining about your bestie always trying to hook you up on blind dates?”
“This is not a blind date! You're my brother, and you guys have hung out already. How is that a blind date? It’s a completely different scenario.”
“Whatever you say.”
“She is coming over later.”
“Really? Why are you pushing this?”
“Totally wasn’t me. She is helping Mom with some Rotary Club thing. Just a heads up.”
I wasn’t sure what exactly the Rotary was, but it was like the Masons for women. Not that I knew what the Masons were about, either, but they had their hands into everything and both factions were frequent sponsors for anything and everything around town.
“I’m guessing you aren’t gonna get me out of here today then?”
She feigned innocence.
“Me?” Placing her hand upon her chest and fluttering her eyelashes, she continued, “Why, I don’t know what on Earth you mean, big brother.”
“Yeah, right. You can’t pull that Southern belle crap on me, little Miss Mischief.”
“I have to work tonight, so you are on your own.” She popped up off the couch, planted a chaste kiss on my cheek, and be-bopped out the door.
Beth was right and Mom was neck deep as the event chairman for the renovation of the Legacy Falls station celebration. Thankfully, it was not just Mom and Christina, but there was a gaggle of women from the Rotary club that flooded the house like clockwork at 6 PM sharp.
There was a definite advantage to the flock of women that invaded our dining room—plenty of coffee and treats. Each woman came bearing a covered dish of something sweet, and the dining room was filled with confections. Mom’s lemon bars, of course, were my favorite followed a close second by Mrs. Taylor’s cinnamon pecan danish with fresh pecans from her trees and Mrs. Jones' peanut butter fudge. Cookies of all flavors, little fruit tarts, and finger sandwiches were perfect bite-sized bits of heaven.
Ladies of the South wouldn’t gorge on sweets but coffee for the Rotary with “snacks” was expected. After all, it was Legacy Falls: hospitality central of the South. Christina made caramel mini bear claws. They were sticky and gooey, and I was pleasantly surprised at the hint of chocolate in the center.
As the women wrapped up their meeting at 7 PM, I returned to the dining room to see what all was left of their confections. I spotted one last lemon bar and the mini bear claws and went in for the kill. The sound of a woman’s throat clearing made me turn around, my mouth stuffed with a whole bear claw as caramel ran down my chin.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Mmmfff mm for wrrrrffyyy gggdd “
“What was that? I’m sorry, I don’t speak Yogi.”
I chewed quickly and swallowed hard, the crispy edge of the pastry scratching my throat on its premature way down. I cleared my throat and tried that again.
“These are really good. You make them yourself?”
“Yeah, they're my poppa’s recipe.”
“I never had bear claws with chocolate in them.”
“They are Rolos.”
“Really? Huh. They give it a little extra something something.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“What could be bad about chocolate?”
“Said no woman ever.”
“Exactly. I am going to have to run like five extra miles with all these sweets, but I can’t stop eating them. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I got home.”
“I don’t know where unless you are hiding it in your shoes or your pockets or something. You look the same to me. In fact, I think you can afford to eat a few more.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m fighting my inner fat kid right now.”
“Hey, hashtag yolo, right?”
“I don’t think that is an acceptable response for my Master Sergeant.”
“Well, whenever you have to report, let me know, and I will send you along with some, and you can let the bear claws speak for you.”
“Hell no. I refuse to share.”
“Goodbye six pack, and hello suitcase.” Christina tapped my still-firm abdomen. My definition was fading, but the muscle memory was still very much present. She suddenly tensed up and backed away with her head down. I rubbed my belly and stepped back into her space.
“I’m fluffy now. It’s okay; I’m enjoying the treats. It’s been a long time since I have had home cooked sweets. The kosher Oreos and stale Girl Scout cookies we get drop shipped to us are awful by the time we get them. This is the life.” Rubbing my distended belly again, Christina looked up at me through her long, curled eyelashes.
“You have a little …” She reached up slowly and perched up on her tippy toes to reach the corner of my mouth with her hand to wipe away a strand of caramel with her thumb. I grabbed her wrist and stuck her thumb in my mouth sucking the remnant caramel off.
“I was saving that.” Her jaw laid open and slack while her eyes were wild, wide, and transfixed on my mouth. “Christina.”
She merely squeaked and retracted her hand from my grasp. Shaking her head out of her self-induced trance, she looked at her hand and quickly wiped it on her pants.
“Ew, ew, ew … Lord knows where your mouth has been.” Miss Sassy had returned. For a split moment, I thought I saw a softer side so I took the plunge. Wrapping my arms around her small waist, I lifted her up to meet me face to face. Her small rigid frame pressed against mine and before she could react, my lips engulfed hers, my tongue darting out seeking entrance into her sweet cavernous mouth. She sighed into my mouth giving me the entrance I sought. Remnants of salted caramel, rich dark chocolate, and sweet confectioners’ sugar scorched her taste into my brain. I lapped at her inner cheeks seeking every sweet corner. When the sweet taste faded, I kissed the corners of her mouth gently in completion and lowered her limp body to her feet.
Her eyes fluttered open with awakening, and her hands flew to her mouth. Redness flushed her cheeks as they drew up past her fingers, revealing the smile beneath her small palms.
“I guess you liked the bear claws,” she squeaked out through her fingers.
“Very much so. Thank you.”
“You're welcome, and thank you too.”
She stood there staring at me for a minute before grabbing her purse and scurrying off.
“See ya later. Tell Beth I will call her later.”
Peter -1 Christina -0. She is all bark and no bite.
I sat on the couch and polished off the rest of those bear claws while catching up on episode after episode of American Idol and Big Bang Theory. I toggled back and forth every hour or so between the two practicing my Al Bundy stance. In between laugh tracks, geek humor, and musical selections, my mind kept drifting back to Christina.
I didn't want Christina to be scared of me.
I kept trying to replay that night at my sister’s apartment back in my head over and over trying to find the trigger. I couldn’t find one. I had slept with my platoon and my weapon by my side and under my pillow for the last eighteen years. That was the first time I was unarmed at any time. That was the first time I had been asleep in a room with anyone other than one of my brothers in arms.
Most nights, I didn't remember the nightmares. The only evidence would be my twisted sheets, waking up armed at the ready in my
underwear or one of the guys throwing something at me to shut up. I didn't know if they ever stopped, but the thought of someone getting hurt by being around me sleeping scared me.
My weapon was locked up and secure in the bottom of my closet. My knives were tucked away in a drawer. That didn't stop me from hurting Christina. My hands were just as lethal. I just needed to stay awake and be careful and no one would get hurt.
When I returned home, I went back to my childhood bedroom, while the contents were mine, I felt detached. All the remnants of my former life before the Army were all here. My letterman letters and spelling bee medal hung from the mirror over my dresser, along with a picture of my senior prom date and I, dressed to the nines. My parents had always given me space, and aside from my mother setting my clean laundry on the foot of my bed, she rarely came into my domain.
Maybe that was it. I just needed to ease into it and get used to having a civilian in the room with me. I turned off the TV and walked up to my room. Placing my clothes in a folded pile on my chair in the corner of the room, I pulled on my lounge sleeping pants draped on the back of the chair from the night before, scratching at the creases my slightly tighter jeans had imprinted on my waistline. I flipped the knob’s lock perpendicular and prodded back to my bed. Why am I locking the door? I’m home. I turned back and flipped the knob’s switch back to the horizontal position.
I shrugged it off and crawled beneath the covers. It was muggy and warm as the temperature skipped spring and ran straight to the humidity of summer. Nevertheless, I found comfort in the cocoon of blankets and soft high thread count of quality sheets. My foot poked out the foot of my bed, and I retracted it quickly into the inner sanctum of my blanket pile. I laid in bed, restless. My leg shook, and I tossed and turned from side to side trying to find my comfy spot. Finally, I disentangled myself from my disheveled bed of blankets and stripped it bare to the fitted sheet.
I smoothed out of the all the lumps and creases of the mattress cover then lined up the top sheet with the head of the bed. As I smoothed and tucked the end trim of the sheet under the footer of the bed and folded each hospital corner, my nerves settled. I laid the cornflower-blue blanket on top and folded the top sheet down over it. Next, I layered the two afghans my mother had crocheted for me years ago in high school as she tried to keep warm and stay productive during many nights watching my high school football games in the cold.
I looked down at my fresh, tightly-made bed and a long sigh escaped my lips. Still edgy, I flipped the lock to perpendicular locked position. I grasped the knob and tested the lock. Feeling silly and defeated, I rested my head against the door. Baby steps.
Pulling one corner of the blanket heap back, I slipped in-between the cool sheets. My toes were held down by the tight hospital corners, my pulse slowed, and my breathing steadied as I drifted off to sleep.
Trying to get information out of my sister was harder than trying to crack a radical terrorist for intel. I asked about Christina, and she crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and replied, “Why do you want to know?”
“I wanted to thank her for the bear claws she made for me.”
“There you go again thinking the world revolves around you. Those were for the Rotary Club meeting.”
“They were in my house, on the dining room table, and so they were free game. I claimed them.”
“I know, you pig, couldn’t leave a couple for anyone else?”
“I’m saving you money. You will thank me later.”
“How is that saving me money? Now I have to go buy a bear claw. And the ones at the bakery don't have nearly enough cinnamon and they don't have any chocolate ones.”
“I am saving you time and money because now you don’t have to spend money on a gym membership and run fifty miles to burn off all the pastry dough and sugar I consumed.”
“Well, no one told you to eat the whole tray. Did you eat Mom’s serving platter too?”
“No, but I might have licked it once or twice before I put it in the dishwasher.”
“Ew, I’m never eating off that thing again. Thanks for ruining Thanksgiving too.”
“Good, more stuffing for me.”
Beth tried to sucker punch me, but I flexed, and when her hand connected she was met with solid muscle.
“Nice try, squirt.”
“God, I can’t stand you. Where do you put all that food? If I ate a whole tray of bear claws and lord knows what else you polished off yesterday—”
“There might have been a few of mom’s lemon bars left over.”
“Lemon bars too? And you’re not seven hundred pounds? What I would give to have that kind of metabolism.”
“Nah. It won’t last forever. I still do PT every day so it burns like crazy. One day, my body will wake up and realize we are not overseas anymore and I might be seven hundred pounds.”
She rolled her eyes at me and tried to pinch any excess off my flanks and gut. When she couldn’t, she play slapped me against my chest a few times and told me I sucked before looking for leftover sweets in the kitchen.
“So, you’re not gonna tell me?” I called after her as I heard the refrigerator door open. “Come on.” Waiting for her reply, I listened for the door to close again. Beth reemerged with a glass of sweet tea.
“What’s it worth to you, big brother?” she cooed at me.
“Oh, no you don’t. Last time you said that to me I ended up in a cheerleader outfit and that makeup didn’t come off for days.”
“Fine. See you later.”
I grabbed her arm, and she nearly spilled her tea. “What do you want?”
“Let me go, you big brute.” My sister loved drama and the delicate debutante was one of her stellar roles. “What’s a girl gotta do to spend some quality time with her big brother and I don’t know—” she was setting her reel and casting her line “—go see a movie?”
“It better not be a Twilight or a chick flick marathon.”
“No, you will have fun. I promise. They only have one showing of Deadpool at the theatre in town. They actually had a vote at the town hall meeting that it could only be shown after 10 PM as not to tarnish young minds and the good Christian folk of our town.”
“Wow, I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“So do I have a date for Deadpool’s 10:15 viewing?”
“Fine.”
“I will pick you up at nine.”
“Why so early? It doesn't start until 10:15?”
“I don't want to miss the cool trailers. Also, I will show you where Christina works before we watch the movie.”
“Okay, it’s a deal; see you at nine.”
My sister drove a hard bargain, but that’s what little brat sisters were for. At least Deadpool was definitely better than The Notebook.
Amazingly, Beth was on time and less critical of my attire. She had on a blue sundress and these chunky bamboo looking sandals that laced all the way up her calves like she was a gladiator in a dress. An ivory wrap was on the passenger seat and I tossed it at her.
"Bringing a blanket to the movies? Are you going to fall asleep on me?" I teased.
"Hardy-har-har. Hello to you too, big brother. I see you are loosening up a bit. No starch in your boxers today?” I flipped her off and climbed into her Beetle.
“Maybe I’m not wearing any.”
“Ew, TMI. Can you get any grosser? What if we were in a wreck?”
“Just don’t crash, Dale.”
Beth pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town. “So, what’s the deal with you and Christina?”
“There is no deal. I just want to apologize.”
“Didn’t you talk to her at the house?”
“I was distracted by food.” Beth rolled her eyes and kept driving. “Besides, I just don’t know what to say.”
“So, do you know what to say now?”
Did I? I hadn’t really laid out a game plan. I didn’t want to be a creeper and show up at her house unannounced so I figured I would send
her flowers to her job or something. After making my deal with the devil in exchange for Deadpool, I didn’t think that far ahead. I did have an offering, though. I reached in the pocket of my lightweight track jacket and showed Beth my small bouquet of Rolos wrapped with a ribbon.
She glanced over to my hand while stopped at the red light. “What is that supposed to be?”
“A peace offering.”
“Rolos? Ever hear of 1-800-Flowers?”
“I would have sent flowers but you wanted to play this cat and mouse game. So, I brought these with me.”
“Whatever. It’s chocolate, I guess.”
“Well, it’s not February so there aren’t exactly chocolate hearts laying around. And strawberries are out of season.”
“Wow, I’m impressed; you actually gave this some thought.”
We pulled up to the movie theatre, and my frustration grew.
“You said you would show me where she works. Then I can plan ahead and have something delivered. We have plenty of time before the movie starts.”
“Don’t Hulk out on me, brother dear. I promised, and I will uphold my end of the deal. Let’s go.”
I shoved the Rolos back in my pocket and followed my sister’s lead to the theatre.
We stood in line behind a young couple purchasing their tickets, and when they proceeded to the door, Christina was on the other side of the glass. Beth was a sneaky rat fink. She stepped up and ordered our tickets and chatted with Christina. While she printed out stubs, I tried to find my voice.
“Aren’t you going to say hi, Peter? Don’t be so rude.” A tinge of pink pinched Christina’s cheeks, and I pulled out her ribbon-wrapped candy bundle and slid it under the glass.
“I’m sorry, Christina. Nice to see you again.” She picked up the bundle of long, sleek, caramel sticks and held them to her chest.
“This is so sweet. No one has ever given me Rolos.”
“Probably because my brother is a dork,” Beth teased. Christina’s head whipped around causing her long hair to fan across her chest like a cape covering her precious gift she cradled against her.