by L. M. Pruitt
“Which is either a very smart move or a very dumb one.” I highlighted the sentence in question, copying and pasting it on a blank page. “Have Tammy and Kitty made it home yet?”
“Uh-huh. They’re doing homework.”
“So all is right in our little world.” I chewed on my bottom lip until it started to ache. “Except for this fucking sentence.” I winced. “Sorry, language. Except for this darn sentence.”
“I know not to say bad words.” He leaned back against me, his little body surprisingly sturdy. For some reason I always thought of Conway as delicate, probably because of the dresses and the doll, but he was tougher than he looked. “What’s wrong with the sentence?”
“Do you ever read something and it just doesn’t sound right?” I waited until he nodded before continuing. “It’s like that.”
“Oh.” He nodded again. “That’s harder to fix.”
“Yes, it is.” But I had to figure out how to fix the fucking thing and get it and the rest of the edits back to Allison tonight so she could plug everything in tomorrow so the issue could go to press on Wednesday. “So, no homework, huh? Did you do anything interesting in school? Make any friends?”
“No, we just went over rules.” He shrugged. “And it’s too early to know if I made friends.”
“Are you sure you’re only five? Because sometimes I have my doubts.”
“Yes.” He giggled. “I don’t want to wear a dress tomorrow.”
“Did someone make fun of you?” I glanced down at him, my stomach twisting in doubts. “Did they call you names or—.”
“No.” He frowned. “We have P.E. tomorrow and I don’t want to get my dresses dirty.”
“P.E.?” I stared at him for a moment before comprehension dawned. “Physical education. Oh. Sorry, I’m out of practice with school acronyms. They’ll come back to me after a while.” Satisfied I didn’t need to go yell at some parent for having rude children, I went back to editing. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
“No.” He kicked his legs absently, picking up the pen and starting to doodle again. “Can I sit here with you while you work?”
“As long as you’re quiet and you let me work.”
Which was how Abraham found us, although by the time he pushed open the office door I’d finally managed to edit the damn sentence and had moved on to the rest of the article which, thankfully, didn’t make me want to break out a fifth of whiskey. Glancing over at him, I said, “Hey. I was wondering where you were. Conway said you weren’t opening the bar tonight.”
“I learned if you give parents a place to drink on the first night school is back in session, there are a lot of kids late to school the next day and I get a lot of phone calls about how I’m diluting the moral fiber of the community.” He plopped on the sofa I’d shoved under the window, tossing a few of the oversized pillows on the floor. “How long has he been asleep?”
“Hmm?” I looked down to find my nephew was, indeed, fast asleep, all but drooling on my shoulder. “I have no idea. I didn’t even know he was asleep.”
“It’s okay. I kept Dolly awake as long as possible but when she started getting weepy, I had Tammy give her a bath and then I put her to bed.” He stretched out on his side, sighing and closing his eyes. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind hitting the sheets myself. It’s been a long day.”
“Hmm.” It wasn’t that I wasn’t listening, because I was. But I was also trying to adjust the layout for the print version so I didn’t have two stories about fast food—specifically a food truck and a quick-service chain specializing in salads—running one behind the other. I doubted I was the only one who would draw the connection between the two but I wasn’t willing to take the risk. “If you want to go home, it’s okay. I’ve got a few more hours of work to do.”
He was silent for so long I thought he’d wound up passing out on the sofa. When I looked up, though, he was staring at me with a blank expression and hurt eyes. “Do you want me to go home?”
“I didn’t say that.” And if I was being honest, I couldn’t even remember if there’d been some sort of inflection in my voice which might have implied that was my intent. I tended to block out everything when I was working, to the point where I would insult people without even realizing it. “If you want to stay, then stay.”
“I don’t want to stay if you don’t want me to stay.”
“Abraham, I may be damn near cross-eyed from editing but I’m not so tired I can’t tell when someone is trying to start a fight.” Careful not to disturb Conway, I pushed away from the desk, leaning back in my chair. “If I wanted you to get the hell out, I would have told you so using those exact words. Now, did I use those words?”
“No.” His mouth turned down in something which looked suspiciously like a pout. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking them.”
“In the past...eight days, has there ever been a time when I thought something and didn’t say it?” I waited a beat and when he didn’t answer, I said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So why don’t you tell me what the real problem is because something is telling me my off the cuff invitation isn’t the thing which has you spoiling for a fight.”
“I want to stay, okay?” The words burst out, his voice rising to an almost deafening level with the last word. He sat up, dragging his hands through his hair before covering his face. He sucked in a deep breath, holding it for long, long minutes before exhaling in a single shuddering sigh. “When you were in high school, what was the one thing you wanted more than anything?”
“To get the hell out of Cotton Creek.” I didn’t even have to think. I’d had the same dream since I was thirteen. “What did you want?”
“A family. A real one. Taking the kids to school and picking them up, doing homework, going to school events, to church, just... family stuff.” He dropped his hands between his knees and lifted his head, turning to face me. If I’d thought Dolly and her potential crying caused me to panic, it was nothing compared to the actual tears dripping down Abraham’s cheeks. “And it’s all here, all of it, and sometimes I think you’re just going to change your mind and then it’ll all be gone.”
“Abraham, I....” I trailed off, at a total loss as to what to say. So I clamped my teeth together and simply met his gaze with mine. After a moment, I said, “You fit.”
He scrubbed the back of his hand over his face. “What?”
“You fit—with me, with the kids... hell, with the house, which is kind of creepy since we hadn’t reconnected when I was picking out paint and tiles and furniture and crap.” I stood, balancing the still sleeping Conway on my hip and crossing the room to sit next to Abraham. Laying Conway on my lap, I took Abraham’s hand and said, “You fit, which is scary as hell for me because I’ve gone out of my way the past fifteen years to make sure I didn’t fit with anyone for longer than a night. But you—.”
“Fit.” He reached over, cupping my cheek with his hand, pressing his thumb to my lower lip. “I fit. And I’m yours. And you feel things. But you won’t say you love me.”
“If I gave you the words just because I knew they’d make you happy, you’d know it. We’d both know it. And part of you would always wonder if I’d said them because you wanted me to say them or if I said them because I meant them.” Risking Conway toppling to the floor, I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his. “When I say them, I don’t want there to be any confusion about whether or not I meant them. Okay?”
“When you say them.” He returned the kiss, keeping the gesture light. “Not if. I’m not sure if you’re trying to give me hope or trying to be a tease.”
“Just telling the truth.” I glanced down at Conway when he started to snore like a middle-aged man coming off a bender before looking back up at Abraham. “You know, the sooner I get my work done the sooner we can go to bed.”
“This is true.” Abraham stood, turning and bending, rolling Conway in to his arms before lifting him and bracing him against his shoulder. “I suppose I can occupy myself by starting on m
y quarterly taxes. I’m not ashamed to say the only thing which really and truly scares me these days is the IRS.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that particular fear, especially since it’s one I share myself.” I stood, leaning over Conway and pressing a soft kiss to Abraham’s cheek. “I’ll be up in a little bit, once I get things figured out.”
As I watched him leave, I didn’t know if I was talking about things with the magazine. Or things with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
We fell in to a pattern of sorts over the next few weeks. Every morning Abraham and I dropped the kids off at school and then went and grabbed breakfast from the diner. After that, he either dropped me back off at the house before going out to the bar to do paperwork or I went with him, taking my laptop and setting up at one of the booths while he handled inventory or the order or some other aspect of his business. In the afternoon, we picked up the kids, went home, and did homework before Abraham went back to work. I’d put the kids to bed, work on research for the next issue, and wait for Abraham. Friday nights we went to football games—Abraham had finally found someone he trusted enough to leave in charge at the bar when he wasn’t there—and then dropped the kids off at the house before staying the night at his apartment. Saturdays were playdates and chores. Sundays were church and then an afternoon of nothing.
After a month, it was hard to imagine I’d ever spent my time doing anything else. Or that I’d wanted to spend my time doing anything else.
I made it through the first round of parent-teacher conferences without having a nervous breakdown, although I did have a shot or two to settle my nerves when they were finished. As I’d suspected, Tammy worked hard and got steady grades but nothing flashy, Dolly coasted along but would probably make honor roll if she spent half as much time on schoolwork as she did on making up stories, and Conway would wind up skipping kindergarten and possibly first grade. The only reasons I held back there were his budding friendship with Jamie and the fact Miss Suzie Q was nothing short of fantastic.
Kitty made it through the first two weeks before going in to premature labor, giving birth to a healthy baby girl who weighed just shy of nine pounds. She’d waffled for a few days over whether or not to go the adoption route before finally deciding it was best for both the baby and her. She’d been weepy and mopey for a few days once she came home from the hospital but she’d started perking up when she went back to the school.
Beth and I had a standing lunch date on Wednesdays and always shared a few drinks of Friday night after the game. Dana managed to join us for lunch but not drinks and somehow it was never as awkward as I thought it would be. Every now and then one of them would say something which brought a stumbling halt to the conversation but for the most part we were doing good at forging a friendship of sorts.
Overall, things were good. Life was good.
But I still hadn’t said those three words Abraham wanted me to say.
He said them, all the time. Every morning. Every night. Randomly throughout the day. Always casually.
And it wasn’t just that he said them. He showed them. I don’t know when I mentioned how much I loved tiger lilies but I came downstairs one morning and there was a bouquet on the hall table. I hated Dolly’s math homework—more out of principle than because it was difficult—so five nights a week he sat down with her and helped her struggle through long division and multiplication and whatever the hell else was on the dozens of worksheets she brought home. Every Sunday, he went to church with us, because even though he wasn’t big on religion and neither was I, Tammy was.
He made the kids happy. He made me happy.
And yet.
And yet.
I was in the middle of mulling the situation over yet ago when Beth plopped down in the booth across from me, somehow managing to nearly poke me in the eye with her oversized sun hat. “Honey, you look as forlorn as a pack of wet cats stuck on a rock in the middle of the river.”
“Okay, now I know you had to have made that one up.”
“Well, yes, but it’s good, isn’t it?” She pulled off her hat and set it on the booth next to her, fluffing her hair up and smoothing her dress down. After a month of friendship, I’d discovered what I always thought of as preening was really just habitual grooming, so much so that Beth did most of it without even thinking. Beaming at me, she said, “Besides, it’s the truth. When I walked in, I would have sworn I saw a little raincloud hanging over your head.”
“Oh, I’m not that bad.” I slumped down in my seat, resisting the urge to hunch my shoulders. I couldn’t, however, keep from frowning. “And what if I am? It’s Wednesday. Wednesdays are blah days. You’re allowed to be moody on a blah day.”
“Well, I won’t argue with you about how horrible Wednesdays are, although I’m inclined to hate them because it’s the day I have to drive Ronnie over to Slisdel for ballet even though the poor girl has two left feet and is going to wind up more top heavy than me.” She broke off when our usual server brought over her coffee, handing Josie the menu and saying, “Oh, whatever, honey, surprise me. We’re having ourselves a pity party about the sad state of affairs that’s Wednesday and I just can’t make any major decisions right now.”
“Right.” Josie accepted the menu and the airy, over the top instruction with her usual stoic manner, turning to me with pencil and notepad in hand. “You being adventurous today, too, or sticking with the usual?”
“Biscuits and gravy, country potatoes, eggs over easy.” I’d planned on getting a waffle the way I always did but something about her comment irked me enough to have me changing my breakfast order even though I knew I’d regret it later. The sausage at the diner was hot enough to burn a hole through the most stalwart of stomachs and even though I’d always considered mine cast iron I wasn’t ashamed to admit in this case I was wrong. When Josie trudged away, her thick rubber soled shoes making a squeaking sound on the linoleum, I said, “Tell me you have some Tums on you.”
“I do but you and I both know it’s going to take more than some drugstore antacid to help you recover from Spencer Joe’s sausage.” Beth picked up her coffee and took a long sip, shuddering as the caffeine hit her system. “So, what bug’s crawled up your butt this morning?”
“You’ve been with Ben since we were... what? Fourteen, fifteen?”
“Officially, yes, although I like to remind him I told him when we were in first grade that I was going to marry him and damned if I didn’t do exactly that.” She set her cup down and leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and steepling her fingers under her chin. Somehow, she managed to scrunch her nose and widen her eyes at the same time, saying, “Are you trying to hint to me that I should be listening for wedding bells because, honey, the entire town has had their ears perked up for the last two weeks.”
“What?” I could all but feel the color drain from my face and if I’d been standing up there was a good chance I would have toppled face planted right on the floor. “What? No. That’s not what I said. Or implied. Or even wondered about under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol.”
“Calm down, Jeannie, there’s no need to panic.” And yet the gleam in her eyes made me think there was, in fact, a very large need to panic. “You may not have been in Cotton Creek in a while but you know how the town works and you have to admit, you and Abraham Hansom are definitely front page news.”
“Why, because he grew up on a fucking plantation and I grew up in a two bedroom trailer on the other side of the train tracks?”
“Uh, no.” Beth blinked and sat back. “Because you’re stupidly successful and you bought the old Fisher place and you tell people to go to hell as easily as most people breathe and Abraham runs a bar and restores cars when he’s bored and both of you look as if you should be doing photoshoots for ‘casual, cool, sophisticated couple slumming it in backwater town’.” She drummed her fingers on the table and frowned. “Now, not to be rude but where the hell did that statement come from?”
&nb
sp; “I’d blame hormones and say I’m on my period but that’s insulting to your intelligence and mine—to the entire gender, really.” I pushed my glass from right to left and back, watching it leave a condensation trail on the cheap plastic laminate and putting off the inevitable. “Let’s just say this town really did a number on my self-esteem and every time I think I’ve gotten past it... well, I find out I didn’t.”
“Oh.” She drew the single syllable out to nearly ten, her eyes going even wider as she nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I can see how that would make you go from zero to bitch in the blink of an eye.” She crossed her arms and nodded again. “Every now and then, Ben will say something that reminds me of Lynn and it takes everything I have not to kick his balls up in to his throat.”
“Oh.” It was my turn to widen my eyes and I dropped my hands to my lap, wiping my wet palms on my jeans. “Ah, congratulations on not following through. I guess.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Even if I did it, he’d know I didn’t mean it.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Lynn always had to be the best, you know what I mean? She had to be the skinniest and the blondest and the most popular. The only thing she wasn’t good at was getting Abraham to notice her, although in hindsight I guess it’s easy to see why she failed there.” She shrugged, shifting restlessly in her seat. “I know we were mean to you—hell, we were mean to everyone—but she was just as mean to me and Dana. And after she got pregnant and her entire life went downhill, she just got meaner.”
“Is that why you’re not friends anymore?”
“It’s funny. I was able to put up with her being horrible to me but when she started being horrible to my baby....” Dana trailed off, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “That was the line. I told her when she’s ready to stop being miserable, she knew where to find me. That’s been about fourteen years.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t really have friends growing up—or ever, if I’m being honest—but I have to imagine making a decision like that wasn’t easy.” I found myself twisting my hands in my lap and immediately stopped, annoyed with myself. “And I hope you can imagine why it’s hard for me to believe people are actually being friendly and want to be friends.”