by Kelly Moore
He walks through the door, and I can’t help but admire him. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans that hug his body. My gaze travels to the bulge in his pants. He smiles when he catches me. “See something you like?”
I swallow so hard it makes me cough. “Do you like embarrassing me?”
“Yes, I do. I love the warm pink in your cheeks.” He steps closer. “And I don’t mind you gawking at me.”
“I wasn’t gawking,” I protest. “I may have lingered a moment too long, but I assuredly was not gawking.”
He takes my hands and faces me. “Then let me gawk at you.”
My entire body feels like it’s on fire under his stare.
“Do you always wear long sleeves?”
“Yes, I like the way it feels on my skin,” I lie. He’s wearing a mustard-colored T-shirt, and his sleeved tattoos down his arms are mesmerizing. “These are a beautiful work of art.” I take one of his arms and hold it out to get a better look. On his forearm is a large tattoo of a clock with Roman numerals on it. It has cracks in the face and long delicate arms set at 8:42. There are intricate designs surrounding it. It’s all done in black and white. On his upper arm is an open eye with each lash perfectly designed. In the iris, there is a reflection of a woman’s body. She has a paintbrush in her hand and in the mix of all the darkness, there is a splash of red paint dripping down the corner of the eye. Swirls of white drop down into the clock, creating depth.
“What does all this mean?” I point to the time.
“Eight forty-two was the time I graduated from college. There was a time in my life that I never thought it would happen.”
My brows draw together. “Why not?”
“I’m dyslexic, and I struggled for years learning to read and how to process what I was seeing. It all came so easy for Patrick, but I had to fight to get what I wanted.”
Sadness fills his eyes as he says his brother’s name. I wonder if that was an issue between them.
“I know what you’re thinking. I loved my brother, and that was never an issue. He always supported me and tried to teach me to read. He used to do my homework for me and read to me so that no one would know.”
I move my finger further up his arm to the patch of red. “What does this mean?”
“The red is for love, the blood that runs through my heart. One day, I will find the woman that is my other half. I’m always looking for her.”
“You know, sometimes when you look too hard, you won’t find it.”
“I do know. I had all but given up on finding her.”
I take his other arm and hold it out. On the forearm is a large skeleton key surrounded by roses. On the upper arm is a compass that covers the entire arm, wrapping around the back.
“This has meaning too?”
A knock at the door stops him from answering. “Come in,” he says.
His mother, dressed in a light blue dress, comes bouncing in the room. “Your father has made it home. Please come join us for dinner.”
Her southern drawl is so inviting, you can’t help but like her. She’s so pretty, but there is a deep sadness etched into her face. Losing a child has to be the worst thing in the world. I don’t know how you ever get over that loss. Even through her sadness, she is kind and sweet.
She takes my hand and places it on her elbow. “Come on, sweetie. I can’t wait for us to be friends.” Will shakes his head and follows us down the stairs. We walk to the back of the house into a grand dining room. The table alone seats twelve people, which every seat but three are filled. She introduces me to her family, most of which are her siblings. There is another room off to the side filled with children sitting at an equally large table. At the very end of the adult table is a man with a solemn look on his face. He’s dressed in a black suit with a matching tie. He swirls a glass of amber fluid in front of him.
Will walks over to him and shakes his hand. It seems rather formal. “Hi, Dad,” he says. I see the resemblances in their eyes, but his father’s eyes lack the joy and freeness I see in Will’s. I’m sure it has to do with losing his son. According to Will, his favorite son.
He shakes Will’s hand, but there is a coldness toward him. Will waves me over. “I’d like you to meet Maggie. She’s a friend of mine that will be staying with us a few days.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor.”
He nods and gives a brief smile. He’s quite the opposite of his Southern belle wife. Will pulls out a chair next to his mother for me to sit in between him and her.
The food is served on silver platters, which is funny because it is all Southern food filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and biscuits. Not something I would think would need silver, but it fits both of their styles. It does not escape me how lovingly he looks at his wife periodically. She’s very touchy-feely with him, and she seems to adore him.
The room is filled with chatter and a million and one questions being thrown in my direction. Will tries to deflect most of them. I’m so engrossed in his conversation with one of his uncles that I don’t even know when he put his hand on my knee under the table. I find it very comforting and don’t want him to move it. His fingers toy with the inside of my leg, which makes it very hard to concentrate. I hear people’s voices, but all I can do is feel his touch. I let it soak in. The feel of his fingers on my bare skin is causing goose bumps all over my body. My breath hitches as I imagine his fingers gliding upward, skimming across my skin, burrowing underneath my cotton shorts, and pushing my panties aside to gain entrance to my core. My heart starts racing at the thought. I pick up the glass of water instead of the red wine in front of me and gulp it down, hoping that it cools me off and the slow simmer of my blood.
“Are you okay?” Will asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I squeeze his hand under the table that is still resting on my thigh.
He chuckles, knowing damn good and well what effect it had on me. He removes his hand and continues with his conversation.
His mother, on the other hand, turns and focuses all her questions on me as Will’s father stares and listens to every word.
“I’m curious, how did you and Will meet and how long have you known each other?”
“We met this morning on the train.”
“My son must have charmed you,” his father says without cracking a smile.
“Oh stop, leave her alone,” Caroline says. “Ignore him,” she says, squeezing his hand.
“He is quite charming,” I answer him.
“Are you down here to visit family?”
“No. I was on my way to Southport for the summer. I rented a house right on the water.”
“I love Southport. It’s such a quaint little town and secluded from the neighboring cities.”
“What kind of work do you do that allows you to have the summers off,” his father asks.
“I’m an elementary school teacher.”
“That’s such a noble profession. Do you have any children of your own?” she asks.
“No. I think the twenty children in my class have taken care of me wanting any kids right now.” I laugh out.
“You should cancel your plans and stay on Tybee Island. It’s a barrier island about eighteen miles from here. It’s secluded too and absolutely breathtaking. I could get you a sweet deal on a little one-bedroom house there. I trade favors with the owner. He and his wife love to come into town once a month, and I put them up in one of our bed and breakfasts.”
“I don’t know…I’d lose my deposit.”
“Yes, but you would have this place for free all summer.” She pats my arm.
Chapter 3
“It’s getting late, Mother,” Will tells her when he sees a yawn escape my lips.
Everyone retired into the grand living room area after dinner. Will’s dad has perched himself in a leather recliner, and I’ve been nestled on the end of the couch with Will and his mother.
“I know dear, but I’ve loved visiting with you. It’s b
een a while since you’ve been home.” She lays her head on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow is going to be a long, hard day for all of us, and we should try to get some sleep.”
She wipes a tear that’s running down her cheek and Will kisses her forehead. “I know, Mom.”
He gets up and shakes his dad’s hand, bidding him good night. I find it odd how different he is with each parent. His mother is sweet and talkative and dotes all over Will. His dad seems to stare off into the distance a lot and speaks very little except to Caroline. He didn’t even interact with Will very much. It makes me wonder why he treated the boys so differently according to Will. I mean, how could you not like Will? He’s adorable, well-mannered, smart, good-looking, and obviously loves his mother.
He’s quiet as he takes my hand and leads me up the long staircase. “Are you okay?” I ask him as we stand in front of the guest bedroom.
“Yeah. I guess it’s hitting me that Patrick is really gone.”
I instinctively wrap my arms around his waist. My head fits perfectly under his chin. “I know this must be very hard for you and your family. I could see how strong you were being for your mother.”
“My mom is one tough lady. She went through so much with Patrick, trying to help him. She’ll survive, but it’s my dad I’m worried about. Even with everything Patrick put him through, he lived vicariously through him.”
I take a step back to look up at him. “Why’s that?”
“Patrick was always a good athlete, the perfect student, and everyone loved him. Then there was me, the stupid one that struggled to read.”
“You’re not stupid. I would say you’re very smart to have figured out how to deal with your dyslexia and graduate from law school.”
“Yeah, well he never really saw it that way. My dad was an all-star quarterback in college and never struggled with anything. I, on the other hand, never really found interest in sports. I was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong with me.”
“As far as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you,” I say as I scan his body.
He lifts my chin and places a soft kiss on my lips. Nothing heated, but very sweet and tender. “Don’t look at me like that again or I will take you back to my room,” he says with closed eyes as he presses his forehead against mine.
I contemplate his words for a moment, wondering if that is something I could do. Before I can answer him, he kisses me one more time. “Good night, Mags,” he says and walks away.
I feel an ache in my heart at him calling me Mags. My brother is the only one that ever calls me that. I slip into my room and call Phillip. I should tell someone where I am in case of any emergencies.
“Hey, Mags. Did you make it to Southport safely?”
“Um, actually, I’m in Savannah, Georgia.”
“How did that happen?” He laughs. “That’s way further south.”
“I met this guy on the train…and…I…well, he invited me to join him in Savannah for a few days.”
“Maaaags, that’s not like you at all.” His voice goes up a few octaves when he drags out my name.
“I know. It was totally spontaneous on my part.”
“Please tell me you checked him out first.”
“I did, and he’s not a serial killer.” I giggle. “He’s a lawyer in New York City.”
“That’s even worse, Mags.” He chuckles.
“No, it’s not. He’s a pro bono attorney.”
“Great, so he’s poor.”
“Money isn’t everything.” I don’t bother to tell him that his family is extremely wealthy from the looks of things.
“I’m only teasing you. Have fun and get into a little trouble.”
“I’m only here for a few days, and then I’m heading to Southport. There will be no time for trouble.” I laugh at him.
“There’s always time for trouble. Love ya, Mags.” I can practically hear the trouble-causing smirk.
“Love you too, Lip.”
I change out of my clothes and hop into the massive bed that has cool, soft, silky sheets. I curl in tight, and it doesn’t take long until I fall asleep fast but wake up in a cold sweat. I dreamed I was in the hospital being wheeled in on a gurney, and all I could see were the fluorescent lights overhead as I was being rushed through the hallway. It seemed so real, but I’ve never been sick. I’m just grateful that I woke up before my nightmare became worse.
It takes hours of tossing and turning, feeling uneasy, but I finally fall back asleep.
The smell of bacon wakes me up. I roll over, and Will is sitting on the side of the bed with a tray of food in his lap. He’s staring at it like it’s something foreign. He’s in a pair of dark black slacks and a white button-down. I tuck the blanket under my chin and touch his shoulder. He jumps and nearly spills the food on the floor.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” I should be the one that’s jumpy with a man sitting in my bed.
He rights the tray. “I came in here to wake you up and make sure you had breakfast before our day gets started. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to bother you. Then I sat here and thought about all the times Patrick and I would make our mother breakfast in bed when we were younger.”
I touch his arm, and he turns toward me; it’s the first time I’ve seen him cry. He quickly wipes his face, trying to hide his tears. “Hey, it’s okay to cry.” I take the tray from him and lay it on the end of the bed and then I hold him in my arms as his tears soak my pajama top.
I find my fingers toying with his dark silky curls that lay on the back of his neck. He sniffs and sits up, wiping his nose on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” There is an awkward silence that falls between us. “That bacon sure smells good,” I say to try to lighten the mood.
“Oh, yeah,” he grabs the tray, “Mom got up early and cooked for everyone.” He places the tray on my lap.
“Wow, there is enough on here for four people,” I say, looking at eggs, bacon, hash browns, a pile of biscuits, and waffles.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I took a little bit of everything.”
“If you think I can eat this much, I need to go on a diet.” I laugh.
“Don’t you dare. Your body is perfect the way it is,” he says as his gaze travels over me, warming me.
“Have you eaten already?”
“No, I thought I’d wait for you.”
I pull back the covers, exposing my legs in my short pajama bottoms. As usual, I have on a long-sleeved top. “Come join me.”
He grins, slips off his dress shoes, and climbs in beside me, pulling the covers back up over us. I lay the tray in between us, partly on his lap and partly on mine. We devour the food without saying a word. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten breakfast in bed with a man before. It feels intimate.
There is a knock on the door seconds before it comes flying open. Caroline is talking as she enters the room. I try to pull the covers up further and look over at Will to see his reaction. All he does is smile at me.
“You two need to get a move on it. We have to be at the funeral home in an hour.” She lays a suit on the end of the bed. “I think Patrick would look better in this suit than the one I took for him earlier.”
Will gets up and hugs her. “The one he is in will be fine, Mom.”
“Well, you need to change your white shirt. You have jelly on the collar.” She points to it, and he looks down trying to see it. “Either that or it’s lipstick.” She winks at me and walks out.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes she has no boundaries.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that, but I really like her, and I love the way the two of you treat one another.”
“Are you close to your mom?”
I want to steer clear of the subject of my parents. “You know, I should really get dressed,” I say, hopping out of bed.
“Yeah, you’re right. I need to change my shirt.” He’s looking down at the jelly stain on his cri
sp white collar. I walk over to him and place a soft kiss on his cheek. He raises his hand, and his fingertips trace where my lips were. Our eyes lock briefly, then I playfully push at his shoulder.
“Go get ready.”
I’m sure my light blue dress with sheer long sleeves is not fitting for a funeral, but I wasn’t planning on attending one when I left New York. Summer casual is all I brought with me so it will have to do. As I make my way down to the bottom of the stairs, my short black heels make a clicking noise on the shiny marble floor. I hear voices coming from the dining room and the sound of dishes clattering.
Will’s mother is straightening his tie as children are scampering around the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the other side of the house. Will’s dad is entering a room across from the kitchen. I haven’t had a tour of the house yet, and I wouldn’t wander to any of the other levels, but I’m curious to see what else is in this mansion.
I walk over to the door where his dad went, and the faint smell of cigar and leather hits me. His dad is sitting on a soft looking leather couch with his arm resting on the back and his feet on a glass coffee table. I try to walk out before he sees me, but he draws his feet to the floor when he hears me take a step backward.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, I guess I got lost.”
“Please, come in, and call me Patrick.” He motions for me to take a seat on the couch with him.
Patrick was named after him. Maybe that is the strong connection he had with him. I take a few steps and notice a large glass cabinet with rows and rows of books. The smell of the old leather-bound books has me wanting to touch them. I stand in front of them and admire his collection.
“They are all first editions,” he says.
My mouth gapes because they had to cost a fortune.
“Do you like to read, Maggie?”
“Yes, it’s one of my favorite things to do in my free time.”
“Feel free to borrow any of them.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t. These are rare finds, and I’d hate to damage any of them.”
“Books are made to be read, Maggie.”