by RaeLynn Blue
His week since his fabulous dinner had crawled along as if handicapped by the event. He dwindled away his evenings playing Sudoku and watching movies, but even these intense actions failed to stem the thoughts of Harper. So, to rush the arrival of a new day, he’d gone to bed early each night, shortly after his evening run. There, too, he could find no peace. Plagued by steamy thoughts and dreams so vivid, he awoke the next morning with his lower abdomen covered in the dried evidence of his lust for her.
Masturbation was a lonely act. Regardless of how vivid the fantasy or how real the orgasm, the aftermath left an emptiness that permeated the rush of pleasure.
Feeling like a teenager at the memories, Nathaniel shifted in the seat, and opened his eyes. He glanced toward the house again and seeing only the living room light on. What could he do when his subconscious mind languished in lust for Harper? He’d head into the bathroom, shower, and dress and leave for work.
Work, physical and sometimes hard. At least there all sizzling notion about Harper could be restrained. Kept busy and focused on goals, Nathaniel had very little time to devote to the cocoa-skinned beauty with the kind heart. Surrounded by sweaty, irritable and sometimes gruff males didn’t liken itself to sexy imaginings of his son’s teacher.
A car zipped by and the headlights’ glare forced Nathaniel to check his watch. Ten minutes late. Tara never actually released Scott to him on time. It annoyed him, but saying anything to her about would only make her deliberately extend just how late she released Scott next time. Tonight was different. They had a movie to see, some comic book hero film, and Nathaniel didn’t want to be late getting a good seat. His time with Scott had to go off without a hitch, not that everything would be perfect. Nathaniel had long since stopped believing in miracles and make-believe. Still, making up for lost time was complicated enough without minor infractions like tardiness and a verbal argument with Tara derailing the process.
“Come on, Tara,” he muttered to himself.
A good thing I left forty minutes early. I figured she’d try to punish me after my outburst at Monday’s meeting. And this is petty but true to form for her.
At that moment, the front door slowly opened. The porch’s light bathed the square, screened-in porch in a dim yellow glow.
At least she cares enough about Scott not to send him down the walkway entirely in the dark.
Beneath the crusty, over-processed exterior, Tara loved Scott. The glitch was she loved herself more, much more.
Instead of seeing the lone shadow of his lanky son, two figures stepped through the screen and proceeded to drift toward his truck. The scarlet circle of Tara’s cigarette floated eerily in the gloom. The cigarette’s gleaming tip, an angry red eye surrounded by somber night, came steadily closer. A trail of hazy white smoke fanned out behind Tara, but just as swiftly was consumed by night.
Great. The darling demon smoked and grumbled like a chugging locomotive as she made a beeline right for him. Trapped. Damn. What’s wrong now? More child support? What the hell does she want to talk about?
Since Nathaniel re-entered the folds of society, he tried to severe the unhealthy bond between them, not because he despised his ex-wife. He disliked her plenty, but as the mother of his child and a person he once vowed to love until death parted them, Tara had to be tolerated. His love for Tara died years ago when she allowed her lover, some guy named James, to set Nathaniel up for a drug charge. Nathaniel never did illegal drugs, but the crack had been discovered in his car, beneath his seat.
Nathaniel mentally extinguished the mounting memory before it gained too much momentum.
Too late to do anything about it now. She didn’t stand up to her lover, nor did she tell the district attorney, the cops, or anyone that the shit wasn’t his.
Yeah, false charge and a crack head boyfriend would definitely put a strain on a relationship. It made good fodder for films, but not real life.
Instinctively, his mind sought out a happy, pleasurable image or experience to dwell on. He’d learned this coping mechanism while in the cage, when he needed to escape the mayhem and the muck of prison life. It sometimes became too much, especially since he didn’t belong there—he hadn’t committed a crime.
Harper winked onto his mental canvas as he first saw her over a week ago. Supple brunette strands surfing the forced air breezes. Brilliant, honey-brown eyes, plush lips stained a rich wine and a scent like lavender, soft and gentle.
She smiled in his memory and automatically, Nathaniel returned it in reality. His cock bobbed happily and stiffened at the mere mention of her name in his head.
So with a cool detachment he could only summon when dealing with Tara, he climbed out of his sleek Nissan Titan, walked over to the curb and waited. Tara reached the end of her walkway, and with a shove propelled Scott to him. Nearly falling, Scott wheeled right into Nathan who gave him a brief hug.
“Later, Mom,” Scott’s apathetic whine grazed the crisp fall air. He threw a hand up in a wave before turning back to his father. “Hi, Dad.”
Nathaniel smiled, his heart warmed by the tiniest touch of enthusiasm. Scott flashed a brief grin before heading to the passenger side door. Hoisting himself into the cab, Nathaniel noted how Scott looked away from Tara’s narrowed eyes. Scott’s arms crossed over his chest and he stared stonily out of the window.
Good. We’re making headway. Slow, but some. Since the parent teacher conference Scott’s been less disruptive in every class, especially Harper’s. We’re definitely going to talk about it over pizza, after the movie.
He remained standing, even though Scott’s energy and impatience began to grow. With careful eyes, sharpened by the hazard time in jail, Nathaniel watched her. He could smell the bourbon from the brief five-foot distance between them. Tara. No wonder Scott was so glad to leave.
Tara swayed with the breeze, a weak branch—one ready to be broken off. Chilly air rustled through the thick oak and dual magnolia trees. Even as the coolness slipped across his blonde buzzed strands, the faint hairs on his neck stood in erect alertness. Something sour scurried up his throat, but he clamped his teeth together so hard his muscles ached.
“You…you…think…you so damn…smart,” Tara slurred and dragged each word out so that the short accusation seemed to take nearly ten minutes to complete. “Gotcha some whore with an educated.”
Nathaniel fought to keep the scowl from his face. He didn’t correct her. Harper Perry was many things—smart, sexy, kind—but a whore she most certainly wasn’t.
Instead of allowing Tara to successfully bait him, he said, “Sorry, Tara. Dunno what you mean.”
“I saw ya all into that black bitch teacher. Embarrassin’ how you dun damn lowered yaself,” she croaked.
Anger growled inside him. He released a heavy sigh and shoved his hands into his jeans.
If anything, I’ve come up in terms of beauty and quality of person. But you wouldn’t see that now or when the light of sobriety grazed your ass.
“Dunno what you mean, Tara, and far be it for me to argue with a drunk.”
Her eyes became slits and she took one unsteady step forward, prompting Nathaniel to take one solid step back, away from her and the danger she presented. When Tara became mean like this, anything could happen. Nathaniel didn’t want to be in anything that may involve the police. Not that he didn’t trust the boys in blue to treat him fairly, he did. His credibility would have been ruined.
“Whatcha’ call me?” she asked, tittering on the curb’s edge in her dingy sneakers and faded jeans. “You do one chasin’ afta some black project bitch.”
“That’s twice, Tara, you’ve called her names,” Nathaniel rumbled, voice thundering like an approaching storm. His cool demeanor evaporated like ice on a hot plate. “I don’t know what’s got your goat, but put it to bed.”
Facing contorting into hatred so deep, Tara hardly resembled the woman who’d just been standing there. With her index finger jutting at his chest, Tara snarled, “Yeah. Dat cunt got it
comin’. Scottie flinks and Ima have her job.”
Nathaniel’s blood boiled, and he opened his mouth to issue a warning of his own, when Scott opened the passenger side door.
“Come on! You two hate each other, so what are you talking about?”
“Be one more second,” Nathaniel called jovially, shoving his rage down into his belly, where it churned in uneasy swirls.
He turned back to Tara. “You leave her alone. Or I will be prompted, Tara, to get real serious about those papers,” Nathaniel warned. “And that tape.”
Tara’s eyes became the size of saucers. “Git!” She waved him off with her glassy eyes locked on his. Mouth gaping in what she must’ve believed was a smile. She stood there waving her fingers in unsteady circles.
Without a word, Nathaniel stalked to his truck and climbed in.
“Seat belt on?” he asked Scott, huffing out the last of his ire.
“Yep.”
Nathaniel clicked his belt and cleared his throat. He cut a glance at Scott.
“Oh, sorry dad,” Scott said. “Yes, sir.” He grumbled beneath his breath. Nathaniel let it go.
“Better,” Nathaniel said and tousled Scott’s blonde hair.
He pulled away from the curb, fighting his urge to run up on it and over Tara. But that wouldn’t solve any of his problems and only create new ones. Not with Scott in the vehicle. Not ever. She’s already stolen so much from me. I’ll not let her take more, especially not Harper.
If Tara meant to harm Harper, he had to intervene. But how? Harper made it clear that being involved with a parent called in a lot of questions and put her under a microscope. No, she can’t throw away her career. Not for me—an ex-con. No, she deserves better.
But if he left Harper alone, Tara would win again. Not over my dead, decomposing corpse will I allow her to take this opportunity from me. I like Harper and maybe given time and a chance, I could grow to love again. I’d like no better teacher than Harper.
“Dad?” came the hushed inquiry through the thick swirl of his musings.
“Yeah?” Nathaniel blinked and left his subconscious to tease out a solution to his dilemma.
“How come you didn’t, you know, write me and stuff?” Scott tossed in a disheartened shoulder shrug that tried to convey his apathy, like it didn’t matter. But it did.
I was wondering when you were going to ask. I’ve dreaded this day forever, but you deserve to know the truth. “Truth is, Scott,” Nathaniel began choosing each word carefully, “I did. I wrote you letters and sent you cards I made for you. I tried to call you many, many times, but I didn’t always have the right number. Remember too son, you were just a little guy then, five years old when I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you. I love you. I never stopped caring, not even when trapped inside hell.”
Tara was the reason for the disconnect between him and his son, and had made sure he knew none of his letters got through. She kept moving and changing phone numbers so often that finding Scott had taken a private investigator. But, blaming her for this would only pull Scott between Tara and him; he wanted to soften that unhealthy bond eventually, but for now it remained.
Scott turned wide eyes from the blurred landscape to Nathaniel. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Nathaniel replied around the lump in his throat. It both pained him to know Scott had spent the last six years believing his father didn’t love him. “Gimmie a chance,” Nathaniel held out his fist, “to be your dad again.”
Scott searched his father’s profile intently before answering. “Yeah, whatever,” he replied lazily and pounded his father’s fist with a light tap. Nathaniel grinned into flashes of oncoming headlights. Warmth spread through his chest. Surliness lingered, but not Scott’s usual sharpness today. “You know what Ms. Perry told me today?”
“No, what?” Nathaniel’s grin grew broader at the mention of Harper’s name. Curiosity over what she said overrode the usual emotional responses that arrived when he thought of her or heard her throaty voice on the phone.
“She said that I had smarts, and I should use them more often.”
“Smarts? So, what’s wrong with that?” Nathaniel could tell by the stain of disapproval on his face, Scott didn’t like it.
“I ain’t smart,” he complained.
Nathaniel blew out a puff-mixed sigh. “You are.”
“Man, whatever,” Scott balked, folding his arms over his bony chest retreating.
“Harp—uh, Ms. Perry is trying to prepare you for next year. Go easy, son,” Nathaniel explained.
“You just sayin’ that because she’s your girlfriend,” Scott accused.
Nathaniel forced a laugh. “No, she’s not my girlfriend.” One date doesn’t a girlfriend make, son, though I want it to be true.
“That’s what mom says.”
“Yeah, well, your mom’s mistaken,” Nathaniel said as neutrally as he could and pushed all his irritation at Tara back down before it spewed out of his mouth.
“Yeah? How come you’re all red in the face?” Scott mocked him.
“Because, I’m, well, I’m embarrassed.”
Whatever Scott thought his father was going to say, it wasn’t that. “You are?” Scott questioned, surprise changing his voice. “Why?”
“Why? Well, because it’s embarrassing for me, after I discussed your behavior with your teachers, for you to continue to misbehave.”
Scott slouched down in the passenger seat. “Whatever.”
“No, Scott,” Nathaniel said gently. “Whatever is how you’ve played it, but that doesn’t work. Not for you or your future. So tonight’s movie will be your last, if the acting out continues. Don’t get me wrong. You’ve made huge gains in your grades, hence the movie tonight. But the acting out, especially in math, has got to stop.”
“No…” Scott groaned.
“Yes. We’ll do other things like…like…fishing.” The boy sunk into sulky silence. Nathaniel felt a twinge of guilt. But as the parent, he had to address Scott’s continued misbehavior. Now that he had, they can concentrate on having fun. And it kept his mind off of you and Harper. Fair play next time, Nate, fair play.
The corner became illuminated with the hundreds of bulbs lightening up the front panels of the movie theater. The parking lot resembled a car lot, stuffed to the gills with vehicles. Nathaniel nudged his son as he circled looking for an available space to park his Titan. It couldn’t fit into any snug spot.
“We’re here!” Nathaniel blurted out, and playfully jabbed Scott’s shoulder. “T-minus twenty minutes and counting. We’ve got to get popcorn, soda, and chocolate covered peanuts before they lower the lights.”
“Chocolate covered peanuts? Awesome!” Scott’s eyes scanned the bright movie theater lights and pedestrians making their way across the street from the parking lot. “Oh, I mean, whatever dad.”
Nathaniel grinned; for a brief moment his son showed a natural response before he covered it up with apathy, a glimpse of the child underneath the forced grimace. Harper, I wish you could see Scott now. How excited he is, and better, he is here with me.
Somehow Nathaniel knew she would’ve enjoyed it.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning, 8701-D Elm Street, home of Harper Perry
It’s only been one week and three days since the conference. Really, he wasn’t that great to still be buzzing in my brain like this. Yes, he’s a hunk and yes, he made me melt into a puddle at his booted feet outside of Mario’s, but damn it. That was several days ago!
With her hair pulled up and her face free of makeup, Harper padded around barefoot through her condo’s kitchen with her mug of steaming coffee clasped in her hand. She passed the bar and the three leafy green stools as she crossed from the warm beige tile onto the French vanilla plush carpet. The light carpet complimented the deep chocolate end tables and Italian leather sofa. Worn by years of her taking naps on it, it still managed to steal the spotlight in her little boxy room. The plasma screen television hung above two reclin
ers in matching leather as the sofa. Gifts from her parents when she first bought the condo, she had them for years. She often slept on the sofa during a movie, a football game or even to the late news. Slumber in her bed felt lonely. Could be the huge queen size bed dwarfed her as an individual, and the couch’s limited space made her feel less alone. With her favorite pillow and comforter, Harper would wrap herself up like a cocoon and sleep less fretfully on the sofa.
Amongst the cream and chocolate design, simple vases, African masks from Ghana and Ethiopia lined the walls, mixed with African American modern art. Her collection had grown since moving to North Carolina, but despite how comfortable, cozy and calm she made her home, it never seemed to chase out the whispers of loneliness from her ears. Amber candles shot scents of vanilla and honey into the air. Her bedroom had become a miniature office; lesson plans, teaching manuals, resources, and college education books lined the floor, the bookshelves and the desk in her bedroom, transforming it into something similar to her classroom. During the nights when her hunger to have someone to hold had kept her awake, she would get up and work. Read her email, write new ones, blog about her teaching life and check her Facebook page, before heading into the living room and diving onto her sofa. She’d eventually fall into a light sleep from sheer exhaustion.
I’ve got to get out of the house. Go see a movie, get a facial, or something to stem the tide of Nathaniel Pearson threatening to drown me, consume me—hell—devour my drive to do something productive.
Try as she might to actually go do something Friday evening, she found herself waiting for his call. She’d spent the rest of the evening, jumping each time her phone rang, and straining her ears when in the bathroom for the familiar ringtone she’d assigned to his number on her cell phone.
This has got to stop. Harper went to the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed out onto the fresh morning. Quiet and peaceful, the day unfolded without much fanfare from her. Although Nathaniel hadn’t called her, she knew this was Scott’s weekend and they had a late evening of movie and pizza planned. Still his not calling her made her feel less important, an afterthought that could be so easily forgotten for good. Harper switched the University of Tennessee mug from one hand to the other and sighed.