Carol sighed. “That’s when Mom broke down. Apparently Mrs. MacLean, the wife of the pastor of Mom and Dad’s church at the time when she was pregnant with me, berated mom for being in such a ‘sinful state at her advanced age.’ She told her that I likely was going to come out, at worst, deformed and, at best, mentally challenged. The woman told her that if she was stuck for the rest of her life dealing with a drooling, runny-nosed little freak it was nothing more than she deserved for fornicating at her age.” Carol sighed. Maybe there was a purpose in her reliving the worst day of her life. It had been more than six months since it happened, and she found she was able to look a little more—well, if not kindly at least circumspectly—on the events of that day. “You have to understand, my mother isn’t well read, and isn’t highly educated. She puts a lot of faith in certain people—people who are leaders, if you will. So when the pastor’s wife told her all of this crap, of course she believed her. And when I was born, that hateful woman apparently took one look at me and said, ‘Yep, there’s a little retard if ever I saw one.’”
“Oh, my God,” Edward said. “The woman actually used the word retard?”
Carol nodded. “According to mom, those were her very words.”
“That’s why your mother never seemed to demand much, and was so easily pleased? She believed you were mentally challenged.”
“Yeah, it all came out, then. Her shame, thinking she had done this horrible thing by making love with her husband, and thereby producing such an abnormal child. She felt so horrible, she never told Father, never told anyone. She never once questioned what that hateful, so-called Christian woman had said. She simply believed it. And then when the school told her I had a learning disability, well, in her mind that was confirmation.”
Warren sat back. “I think I understand why you’re so upset, sweetheart. It’s because in your mind, your mother never saw you.”
“That’s it, exactly! She never did see me. I was right there all of the time, talking to her and Daddy, helping where I could, getting the best grades I knew how to get, and she never, ever saw me. She looked at me, and all she could see was some kind of freak—something not normal.”
Warren shook his head gently. Then he picked up her hand and kissed it. “No, baby. All she could see, Carol, was her own guilt.”
* * * *
It had certainly been one hell of a day.
Edward closed his eyes and sighed as the jets of the hot tub swirled hot water around him. He needed this, and he knew their woman did, too.
It was very draining to lay oneself bare, even if it was done only in the presence of those who loved you unconditionally.
“Does your shoulder feel all right?”
Carol’s soft question from right beside him made him smile. She’d given up her protests of his climbing into the hot tub with them when he pointed out that Warren was perfectly qualified to apply a new dressing to his wound afterward.
“It looks angry red,” she said.
He opened his eyes and looked down. They’d taken off the overabundance of bandages that his cousin had applied. Warren and he had inspected the wound. There were no real signs of infection, but it was red around the edges. They’d have to keep an eye on it that the red faded rather than expanded. They’d then applied a see-through waterproof patch. The bullet had grazed his left shoulder—missing his head by mere inches Robert had said, but he would never tell anyone that. A swim might be out of the question for the next few days, but the hot tub was easy to manage.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Trust me. I’m a professional. I know these things.”
Her smile was weak, but there. It had actually been his idea to adjourn from the kitchen to the hot tub. They’d comforted Carol as she’d cried, and he thought getting naked and wet together would be very good therapy for her.
The fact that doing so put off my having to spill my own guts had nothing to do with it. Edward couldn’t say why he felt reluctant to tell them about his recurring nightmare.
It occurred to him then—and for the first time—that if they spent the nights the way they wanted to from now on, with Carol tucked in between them, there was a chance his lover and his brother would not only hear about his damn nightmare but witness it, too.
“This feels good.”
“Mother will tell you that originally, the Benedicts and then the Jessop-Kendalls had enormous wooden bathtubs built into their homes. Each family’s custom-made wooden tub was big enough for all three of them to enjoy, together. That’s why each successive house built ended up including a hedonistic master bathroom.”
“Did they ever get to experience the wonders of indoor plumbing?”
“They did,” Warren said. “I read in the first Warren Jessop’s journal that he and Joshua Benedict had worked together to install the modern convenience in both their house and the Benedicts’ just after the turn of the century.”
“I’ve been to the museum,” Carol said. She lay back and let her head rest against the inflated pillow they’d installed for her.
“If you’ve spent any time with our mother, you would have had to,” Ed said. “She loves that she’s curator of the museum.”
“Mmm.”
Ed was content to relax into the heat, too. He closed his eyes and leaned back. Carol found his hand and he wasted no time in taking hold. He threaded their fingers together and sighed with the contentment that filled him.
He couldn’t imagine going through what she had. He couldn’t imagine the disillusionment she’d felt when she realized the way her mother had seen her all these years.
One thing he could say with absolute conviction, and that was that his parents had loved him unconditionally. It hadn’t mattered to them what he chose to do with his life. They’d only wanted him to be happy. And his mother? Hell, she not only saw him clearly, she often had seen even those things he’d thought to keep to himself.
Thinking that, his conscience began to twinge. Carol had brought her baggage out of the closet and opened it for him and Warren to see. She hadn’t flinched, nor had she schemed to hope everyone had forgotten.
Well, fuck.
Ed sighed. “Six years ago this month, actually, is when it happened. We were called to an accident—a motorcycle accident out on Highway 84 near the Benedict-Hamilton county line.”
“I remember that one,” Warren said. “And I recall that you were really upset afterward.”
“Yeah.” Ed swallowed and told them both the horrible details. “I don’t know why this accident stayed with me, so,” Ed said. “I have no idea why this young man haunts me, more than any of the other, blessedly few, patients we’ve lost.”
“Sometimes our subconscious makes a connection and forgets to tell our conscious mind about it,” Carol said.
“I know you’re right. And I know that we did everything we could. The truth is, that young man was going to die no matter what I did.”
“You’re sure you understand that?” Warren asked.
“Yes. Yes, I am sure. It was a tragic loss. I went to the funeral home.”
“You never told me that,” Warren said.
“Because I knew you would worry about me—about the fact that I was taking this one young man’s completely preventable death way too personally, and way too hard.”
“I’ve listened to tales about the people present and past of this community.” Carol sat up, and faced him. “It’s that kind of job. Women come into the spa to be pampered, yes. They want manis and pedis and facials and wax treatments. But they also want to talk. Sometimes, when everyone is indulging in a gab session—three of us plus customers, it can get pretty lively. But one thing I noticed and I think this fed into why I moved here after I’d been working here for a month. Yes, you all take care of each other—but you tend to feel responsible for those whose paths you cross—whether or not those people will become a permanent part of your life, or not.”
Ed stared at her for a long moment. Could it be as simple as t
hat?
“Maybe, this young man stands out for you because of the greater tragedy his accident caused. You went to the funeral home? You would have seen teenagers clinging to each other, crying, as they faced—for many of them probably for the first time—the mortality of their generation, and by extension, of themselves. And I am certain that the young man’s family was deeply devastated. I’ve heard that there is nothing harder to deal with in life, as a parent, than the death of one of your children.”
“He was an only child.” Ed looked at her. “Joey Davies was an only child.”
“That makes it even more tragic. You would have left there with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. And I don’t think that is something that you—being of Lusty—knew how to process.”
“Smart lady,” Warren said.
Ed slid closer and cupped Carol’s face and used his thumbs to caress her cheeks. “How could anyone not see the intelligence, or the compassion in you?” He didn’t let her answer. Instead, he laid his lips on hers, his kiss as sweet and reverent as he could make it.
“Thank you, beautiful. What you just said really, really helped.”
“You’re welcome. Now maybe you could do something to help me?”
“Anything.”
“Come to bed and let me love you.”
Chapter 12
I’m glad I missed.
As Joe poured himself another glass of Jim Beam, he noticed the way his hand shook. He’d been shaking since he came back home this afternoon.
He started shaking the moment he had the man in the crosshairs of his rifle.
He told himself he was glad he missed, because doing it that way—from a distance—was the coward’s way.
Doesn’t my boy deserve better than a coward for a father?
Joe raised the glass and gulped the fiery contents. His boy deserved so much. So much! He’d been such a good boy, so smart and with a future as bright as the stars in the Texas night sky.
His boy did not deserve to die before he’d even really tasted life.
Beside him, the telephone rang. Joe looked at it, hating the noise, hating that it would ring and pull him from his thoughts. He contemplated not answering it—just letting it ring or, better yet, reaching down and unplugging the damn thing altogether.
Instead, he reached for the receiver.
“’Lo.”
“Joe.” She said his name on a sigh that he knew was a sigh of relief.
“Elizabeth.” He’d never called her Beth or Liz. She’d been Elizabeth to him, always, from that first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He’d never told her why. He’d never told her that she had been his queen, and so, like the Queen over in England, he’d called her by her full, regal name. Elizabeth.
“How are you, Joe? I thought of you the other night. I called, but you didn’t answer. I was worried.”
“I couldn’t talk then. You understand.” Joe knew she did understand him. He understood her, too.
He hadn’t wanted to talk to her then, either. He’d needed to keep his grief bottled up, because he feared that if he let it out, if he shared it or shared in her grief, it would become too much to bear.
He’d let her down. That had been just one more time in their years together when he’d let her down.
Now she sighed and this one was a sigh of sadness. Who knew that the simple exhalation of breath could have so many connotations, and so many meanings?
“I do understand, Joe. I miss him, too.”
“I know you do, Elizabeth. I know you do.”
“He loved you so much, Joe. He looked up to you. You were his hero, did you know that? He used to play in his room when he was just a little boy, pretending to be you.”
“He did?” Joe had never felt like a hero to his boy. Or had he? Sometimes it was so hard to remember those days, so hard to remember the happy years when his boy was alive. When they’d been a real family.
Sometimes, all that there was any more for him was the grief.
“He did, Joe. He loved you so much. And I know that he would really be broken hearted to see you like this. He would want you to remember him with…with a sense of gratitude for all that you had together. He would want you to think of him and smile. You have to let go of the grieving, Joe.”
“I can’t let go, Elizabeth. I can’t let go of this.” He didn’t tell her the rest of it. He didn’t want to let go, because if he did, it would be like losing his boy all over again.
“Joe? Won’t you let me make an appointment with Doctor Shepherd? I’d go with you. Please, Joe. You need help. Please let me help you. Let me do that, for you…and for Joey.”
“You’re a good woman, Elizabeth. I’m sorry I never told you that. You’re a better woman than I ever deserved. And you were such a good mother to our son. Thank you for that. Thank you for being a good mother to Joey.”
“You were a good father, too, Joe. Never doubt that.”
Maybe he had been, but he didn’t feel as if he had been, especially lately. But he would be. Maybe, if he did this one thing, his son’s spirit would rest in peace.
And then Joe could rest, too. Once he joined his boy.
He knew that would be soon. Suddenly he was very glad she’d called, glad he had the chance to say one more thing.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, Elizabeth. I hope you know that. And I don’t blame you for leaving me. I never really was good enough for you, anyway.”
“Joe, will you let me come over? We…we could talk about Joey.”
She’d needed him to talk about Joey, in the beginning. She’d needed to talk about her boy, and her loss. But he couldn’t let her, then.
He couldn’t let her now.
“Not tonight, Elizabeth. I’m…I’m tired. I’m so tired.”
She was silent for a moment, and if he closed his eyes he could see her, see that little wrinkle she’d get on her forehead between her eyes when she was worried about something. He knew she was worried about him.
She didn’t need to worry about him any longer…but he couldn’t tell her that.
“Will you think about going to see Doctor Shepherd? Will you think about seeing him for me?”
“All right, Elizabeth. I will. I’ll think about it.” He could do that much, give her that much, at least.
“Thank you. I’ll…I’ll let you go now. Get some rest, Joe. You sound worn out. You’ll feel better in the morning, after you have a good night’s sleep.”
“Thank you for calling, Elizabeth.”
“Joe, I…” She paused and he wondered what she was going to say. She sighed again. Resignation. “Good night, Joe.”
“Good night, Elizabeth.”
He waited until he heard the “click” that told him she’d hung up. Carefully, he set the receiver back on its base. As he did, his gaze wandered to the photograph that he kept on the table beside the phone. It showed the three of them together, with Joey in his football uniform, just after the state championship.
Just months before he died.
The image blurred as he recalled the joy of that day, as he took in his boy’s beautiful, joyous smile. Reaching for the photo, he nearly knocked it over. He clutched it, brought it to his chest and held it tight.
“I just want to hold my boy, just one more time. Please, God.” His whispered plea broke apart on his sobs.
He cried, unable to stop his tears, knowing that he was holding his son in the only way that was left to him.
* * * *
Edward Jessop had the cutest blush!
Carol shook her head. “Here I thought men would love the opportunity to have a woman act as their personal love slave.” Carol used the plush bath towel to blot the moisture from Edward’s body. She refused to let him—or Warren, for that matter—pamper her tonight. So she’d sat him down on the bench and was on her knees before him, performing the duties of a bath attendant.
They had no idea, the two of them, just what they had done for her by letting her talk, earlier. That sol
id, heavy burden that had been in the pit of her stomach since New Year’s Day already felt lighter.
Carol hadn’t even allowed herself to really think about what had happened at the beginning of January. She’d immediately gone online to find an apartment in Waco. Money hadn’t been an immediate concern for her. She’d built herself a nice little nest egg, just because it would have been foolish not to. For the nearly five years she’d been working, she’d spent very little of her paycheck on herself.
Carol had given her notice at the nail boutique where she’d worked, and taken a vacation day to drive to Waco to look at the apartments she’d short-listed.
Within three weeks she moved in to her first ever apartment nearly two hundred miles from home. Chloe hired her just two weeks after that.
Carol had been determined to box up the first twenty-two and a half years of her life and bury that box in a back corner of her mind. After she’d moved into her little house here in Lusty, she’d looked at her new hometown and her new job as a complete and total new beginning.
Even though she hadn’t wanted to, she knew now that opening that box of memories in the company of these good men had been the best thing she could have done for herself.
In such a short time they’d given her so much. All she wanted to do was give back to them. She wanted to please them, and to pleasure them.
“I have nothing against having a love slave,” Edward said. “I’d just much rather be the one doing the caretaking. I guess I’m feeling out of sorts because I can’t do much of anything tonight.”
She looked up from his feet and grinned when his cock began to get even harder than it was. Then she let her gaze travel up until she met his. “That feeling of frustration will likely only last a couple of days, at most. After that, you should be back to your regular, strong, he-man self. If you don’t push things, that is. Give yourself a couple of days to heal.”
Love Under Two Responders [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 12