A Will and a Way

by Maggie Wells

“Yet.”

  The word hung in the air, mixing with the lingering scent of her perfume. He flinched when he heard the door close behind her. Somehow, he had to find a way to make her believe he was serious. About them. About her. Even if she was holding back from him. Refusing to let him through the door of her apartment, much less into her life. He didn’t know what to do about that other than try to wait her out.

  “Go,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter 12

  Betty’s steps slowed as she approached Harter’s. Fifteen minutes earlier, she’d finally been able to admit she was falling for Will, then she’d literally fallen to her knees ready to suck his brains out through his dick. And her selfish, spoiled, sad excuse of a son had to pick that moment to pop back into her life, and for what? A little mother-son bonding?

  Bullshit.

  The whole thing was complete and utter BS and she was pissed about it. Ticked off at herself and Donnie and Will and the world. Why did she have to keep handing her heart over to men who offered no more than a guarantee that they’d break it?

  She was flapping in the wind like a broken gate. One minute she’d been so keyed up and hot for Will she thought she might burst with it, the next she was breaking their relationship off. Just a little while ago, she was simply Betty, a single woman focused only on the pleasure she might find in her lover’s arms. Now she was Mom again. After three long years of waiting and wondering if her only child was alive and well.

  She sagged against the weathered brick building, pressing a hand to her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to soothe the near-constant ache there, or stem the spring of resentment that bubbled up inside her the moment she recognized her son’s voice. This was her new life. The life she was scrapping together from the tattered bits and pieces the Asher men had left in their wake. He thought he could just waltz right back into her life and she’d kill the damn fatted calf.

  Well, he was wrong.

  But as much as she loved Donnie, as much joy as it gave her to hear his voice, see his face, and hold her baby once more, she wasn’t the foolish, trusting woman she’d been when he’d left her.

  Tugging at the seams of her dress, she turned to sneak a peek through the plate glass window. His hair was longer than it had been since his father dragged him off to the barbershop to have his baby curls cut away. Streaks of gold burnished his red hair. He was too thin to look fit. The planes of his face were sharp and unforgiving. His father had carried a hint of adolescent softness well into his thirties, but Donnie had obviously chosen a rougher path. Though he had her cheekbones, Donald’s broad brow and square chin, the young man slouched at a corner table was little more than a familiar stranger.

  That was the part that hurt the most. She’d given him everything, built her whole life around their home and his happiness, and he rejected it all. Walked away without so much as a backwards glance. And now he had the balls to barge his way into her new life like he had a right to be there. As if she owed him explanations. Well, she had news for Donald Asher, Junior.

  She owed him exactly nothing.

  Squaring her shoulders, she bent her arm so her handbag nestled in the crook of her elbow and marched into Harter’s with her head held high. The bell above the door announced her arrival. Mrs. Harter’s grandson was working the counter. He paused mid-swipe, a wide smile splitting his face. He was gorgeous. Fair, wavy hair, Teutonic blue eyes, and a body he didn’t mind showing off in snug t-shirts. “Twice in one day? Sister Laurent was right. All those prayers to St. Jude must be working.”

  Betty couldn’t help but laugh. The coffee was delicious, but the audacious flirting kept her coming back day after day. Much to Will’s chagrin. “St. Jude?”

  “Patron saint of lost causes. Trust me, if I’da seen you before Will….” He let the thought trail off with an exaggerated leer. She shook her head in dismissal, but he just treated her to another grin as he gestured to a French press. “The usual?”

  “Please.” She waited while he filled a heavy ceramic mug near to the brim with steaming black coffee.

  He winked as he handed it to her. “Have I ever told you how much I like a woman who likes it bold and strong?”

  “Every day,” she answered, sliding a five across the counter. “And every day I over-tip because I like the way you flirt.”

  “Quite the system we have going here, Miz Asher. You just come to me anytime your day needs a little sweetening up.”

  “Thanks.” Cradling the mug between her palms, she walked over to the table where her son sat glowering. Silently, she slipped into the seat across from him.

  Donnie shot a meaningful glance at the mug, his handsome features distorted by a sullen frown. “I waited to order until you got here.”

  She gave him a tight smile, knowing damn well that meant he waited to order so she could buy. “Oh. Well, I suppose I’m used to doing things on my own these days.” She blew across the steaming brew then hazarded a sip. “If you’d like to get something, I’ll wait.”

  “I’m fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “You look thin. Have you been well?”

  He blinked then scoffed. “Really? We’re going to do small talk?”

  She stiffened, her shoulders rolling back and her chin coming up to meet the challenge. “I’m not sure that you’re the one who gets to be ticked off here, Donnie—”

  “It’s Don, and I’ll be ditching that the minute I can get the paperwork lined up to change it.”

  She let that slide. The bitterness between father and son predated Donnie’s abrupt departure from her life. Given what she’d learned about Donald in the days, weeks, and months since his death, she couldn’t blame her son for wanting to shed the legacy. Still, it was one more abandonment. One more reminder that she’d wasted twenty years of her life loving men who were so patently undeserving she was ashamed to have been their patsy.

  Clearing her throat, she wrapped her hands around the sturdy mug to keep them from shaking and fell back on a lifetime of training. “I was simply asking after your health.”

  “My health is excellent,” he replied, mimicking her prim manner of speech.

  He’d picked up that nasty habit at thirteen. It irked her just as much now as it had then, but she refused to let it show. If he thought he could turn up out of the blue expecting to find the same old doormat he’d wiped his feet on when he took off for parts unknown, he was in for a rude awakening.

  Pausing long enough to lower her internal thermostat, she plastered on the polite smile she hadn’t bothered using since she’d walked out of the garden club luncheon without passing the vinaigrette. “Where are you living these days?”

  He huffed another one of those bitter laughs designed to make her feel like an idiot, but she refused to buy in. Never again. Not after going through what she’d been through. She stared at the boy who’d once clung to her so fiercely she’d had to pry his chubby little fingers off her just so she could steal thirty seconds to empty her bladder. A surge of love pulsed inside her, as strong and vibrant as she’d been when she carried him. But then it iced over, chilled by the cool calculation she saw in the eyes she’d given to him.

  Her loving, affectionate boy was long gone, but for some reason he still expected her to be the same gullible woman she’d always been. Poor, unsuspecting fool.

  When she refused to cringe, he fell back on his second favorite weapon—sarcasm. “Imagine my surprise when I finally made it home to Percy, only to find my mama had sold the ancestral home,” he drawled.

  Anger sliced through her like a hot knife, but she wouldn’t let him see her bleed. Not because they were in a public place, but because keeping it close gave her the power. The last year had toughened poor, stupid Betty Jean Asher up. She no longer expected to be rewarded for genteel manners and impeccable behavior. Hard work and good intentions weren’t truly appreciated in this world. She knew that now. But one thing she
refused to relinquish was her belief in the truth. She no longer saw any reason to white-wash the events of her life. And she wouldn’t waste one more minute of her life mollycoddling the spoiled man-child who’d tossed away her love without so much as a good-bye.

  “I have no place for you to stay,” she said stiffly. “And I have no money for you.”

  “So it’s true?” he asked, incredulous. “That horse’s ass squandered it all?”

  Betty laughed and shook her head, once again amazed by the triumph of legend over fact. “I have no earthly idea why everyone thought there was some kind of family fortune to squander. Your daddy sold insurance. I worked in his office. Yes, we were comfortable, but we were never rich.” This time, she was the one who scoffed. “At least, not by the standards of anyone outside Percy.”

  “But Granddad—”

  “Liked to chase women and bet the ponies. Unfortunately, they both cost him a lot of money.”

  “Grandmother Caroline—”

  “Had a higher opinion of herself than Blanche DuBois, but you know the Talbotts didn’t have the proverbial pot. That’s why she had to stoop to marrying slick Stanley Stallings. ”

  “The house, the cars,” Donnie said, shifting forward in his seat and jabbing a finger into the tabletop to emphasize his points.

  “Ah, yes, we were living the dream, weren’t we? Debt up to our eyeballs and a kid with an overblown sense of entitlement.” She allowed herself one short, bitter laugh. “Why, you might even say we were the poster children for good old American family life.”

  Feet planted on the high moral ground, she took another sip of the aromatic dark roast. “You were quite the spoiled little prince, weren’t you? Five and a half years at Ole Miss. Those Jeeps you kept rolling didn’t come cheap, you know.”

  She tilted her head and studied him closely. She didn’t like what she saw.

  “I’d think living in a third world nation would have cured you, but I guess you’re more like your daddy than either of us ever imagined.” She tapped her nails against the side of the mug. “You couldn’t possibly have made it that long. Tell me, where have you been really? You look beach-y. Maybe Florida? Did you run away to Hollywood? Try to make it as a big star?” She gasped and widened her eyes. “Wait! Poker. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You were the best player in your fraternity. Wasn’t that what you told your Granddad?”

  Donnie shot from his chair. “You know what? Dad was right. You are a cold bitch.”

  Looking her ungrateful child dead in the eyes, she dredged up one of the last insults he’d hurled at her before he pulled his disappearing act. “Tell me, is that better or worse than being a bourgeoisie Barbie doll?”

  He ran a hand through his sun-streaked hair. “Look, I just need a little money.”

  “You’ll have to look for it elsewhere,” she said flatly. “I’ve given the last dime and my last damn about any Asher man.”

  “But you’re not too good to be giving it up to your boss, are you?”

  The words felt like a slap, but not because she was ashamed. More that she was embarrassed that she even considered giving up the pleasure she’d been enjoying with Will for the sake of playing it safe. Caution couldn’t hold a candle to passion, and up until the moment she let her inner ninny take over, she’d been having a fabulous time.

  Disgusted with herself and annoyed by the arrogant young man she’d spawned, she set the mug carefully on the table and stood. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Donnie Boy,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke the old nickname. She met her only child’s scornful eyes and graced him with the serene smile that won her the Homecoming Queen crown her mama wanted her to have so badly. “I’m so good the man can’t get enough.”

  Gathering her purse, she hesitated when she spotted the whorl of flame-kissed hair at his crown. How many times had she tried to tame that crazy cowlick? Why did she ever want to? That wayward tuft of hair was possibly the most appealing part of her son. Giving in to impulse, she smoothed it with the tips of her fingers, then stirred it up with a playful little flick.

  She waved toward the counter then hurried from the shop, desperate to make her getaway before the tears began to flow. Her heels clicked against pavement. Her purse slammed into her hip with each stride. She made it to the corner as the first intrepid drops spilled over her lashes.

  “Mom!”

  She stopped on a dime. She couldn’t help it. Every molecule of her being was programmed to answer his call.

  “Mom.”

  His voice was softer. She heard footsteps and knew he was closing the distance between them. At least physically. But she couldn’t make herself turn back. She didn’t want to. Her life was all about moving forward now. He was a grown man. He didn’t need her. He only wanted what he could take from her. He didn’t know or care that this was her turn. Never in a million years would he understand that she needed to be the one to do the taking.

  But Will understood.

  From the moment they’d met, he’d known exactly what she needed, and he’d given her the freedom to take it. He’d allowed her to seize everything she wanted without judgment or constraint. He let her take even the things she thought she shouldn’t want. Without a single string. No quid pro quo expected, though he made it clear it was certainly appreciated.

  And she’d tried to run away.

  Maybe she and Donnie weren’t so different after all.

  Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face the man she’d loved since before he was born. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother checking them. Perhaps it was about time she let her only child see her for the woman she was now that she’d shed the titles that never quite fit. Mrs. Donald Asher, chairwoman of the committee for this and the commission on that, and ribbon-cutting First Lady. She wasn’t the Southern Living version of Martha Stewart her mother had tried to mold her into, nor was she the naive fool who pretended she didn’t know her husband was screwing every woman in town.

  She was just Betty. Sometimes she didn’t feel like fixing her hair or wearing mascara. She never dreamed she’d consider concatenating columns of numbers on spreadsheets an accomplishment, or feel the triumph in squeezing another hundred pages out of a container of toner, but she did. She liked eating cold pizza for breakfast—carbs be damned—and drinking a second, and sometimes a third glass of wine.

  And, sometimes, between glasses two and three, she wholeheartedly understood the allure of a man willing to risk his eternal soul for the love of a woman. She wanted to believe in fate. But even if she couldn’t have the forever kind of love one finds in romance novels, she at least deserved to have her kid love her as unconditionally as she loved him. That was the one part of the old Betty she’d carry with her until the day she died. The only difference was, New Betty wouldn’t settle for scraps. From anyone.

  “I love you,” she said, her voice hoarse but resolute. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “What are you doing?”

  It made her heart ache to see him so shaken and confused, but the flash of boyish bewilderment quickly hardened.

  “I don’t get this,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to get.” She brushed cooling tears from her cheeks, then manufactured a weak smile. “Go live your life, Don. Figure out what you want and do what you need to do to get it.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say to me?”

  His incredulity was knife-edged and sliced deep, but she kept her spine straight and stiff, refusing to bend under the weight of his disdain.

  Instead, she gave him a sad smile. “Good luck?”

  “Good luck?” he repeated, his eyes as big as saucers. “You’re my mother.”

  He spoke the words as if she were a particularly dull-witted child. It was the same tone he’d learned from his father. He simply didn’t know it no longer worked on her.

  “I’m sorry, did I need to kiss a boo-boo and m
ake something all better for you?”

  For the first time, he actually looked flummoxed. “What happened to you?”

  “What happened to me?” She gave her head a pitying shake. “Well, let’s see. Since the last time I folded your underpants, my only son took off for parts unknown without so much as a ‘See ya later, Mom,’ and I found out my husband had been fucking every two-bit skank south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

  Donnie failed to react, and a ball of ice formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “But apparently that was only a surprise to me. No one batted an eyelash when I polled the Junior League ladies.” She blinked as the film version of her life finally flickered into focus. “To hell with Dermot Mulroney and his friggin’ wedding, I had my own Dennis Quaid. That was my Julia Roberts moment!”

  He took a step back. “What?”

  “How was I supposed to know your daddy’d been giving them something to talk about for decades? Backstabbing heifers,” she added, just because it felt good to let all the ugly she’d been holding inside her out at last. “I’m sure he managed to bang a few of them, too, but those women weren’t really his style, were they?”

  “Mom—”

  “No, he liked ’em lowborn like Tanya Sue Sherman. He couldn’t keel over while he was sticking it to Marianna Preston or even Laurel Hawthorn. No, he had to die while he was screwin’ that piece of bleached blond trailer trash—”

  “Mama!”

  Betty snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth clacked. Donnie hadn’t called her anything but ‘Mom’ or ‘Mother’ since he’d slipped his hand from hers and hustled off to the first day of second grade without a backwards glance.

  Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much bitterness she had bottled up inside her. A man in a dark blue business suit jostled her as he passed, but she didn’t give an inch. Fury burned in her cheeks and roiled in her belly, but she refused to be ashamed of her outburst. She was justified, and the world would have to deal with it.

  Donnie stared at her, slack-jawed and pale beneath his tan. Still, she stood her ground. Why should she be the one to look away? She’d done nothing wrong and everything right. All her life she’d done her level best to be the perfect daughter, wife, and mother. Look where that landed her. The worst of it was admitting to herself that she’d never felt as comfortable in any of those roles.