“I remembered you liked it. I’m shit at cooking, but I hope you enjoy it.”
I gave him a smile. “Thank you.”
“Mommy!” Zoey called from her blanket on the kitchen floor where she was playing with a wooden puzzle.
I scooped her up and put her in the high chair. “Uncle Joey made dinner. Are you ready?”
She clapped her hands.
The ziti had been wonderful, even better than my own. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I asked Joey as he took my plate.
He grinned. “My mother gave me some recipes.”
“How is she holding up without you? Did you tell her what’s going on?”
“She knows a little. Dad knows more. They aren’t happy—my mother may have mentioned I was ‘living in sin’ at one point—but they understand.” He rolled up his sleeves and started on the dishes.
I jumped up. “You don’t have to do that.”
He threw me a look. “I’m playing house.”
That stung.
“Besides,” he added, “I’m almost done anyway.” He turned and looked at Zoey, whose entire face demonstrated her messy massacre of the baked ziti. “You need a bath, little miss.” He laughed at her, but gave me a look.
“Go ahead.” Reluctantly, I agreed and bit my tongue from asking if he even knew the first thing about bathing toddlers. At times it was like trying to wrestle a wet cat that bites way harder than it scratches. After this week, however, and as much as I loved Zoey, I had too much to do for tomorrow’s class to worry about cleaning up with more than a few wet wipes.
After Joey whisked my daughter away, I cleaned up the high chair and the table, then spread out to lesson plan. Someday I’ll have an office at home, I thought hopefully.
In a matter of minutes, their giggles and delighted screeches could be heard well outside the bathroom door. I’d never heard Zoey so happy as she was playing in the bath, and it was hard to plan for my lecture on antebellum America for next week.
Despite my better judgement, curiosity killed the cat, and I decided to peek in on them. I eased the bathroom door open a few inches and saw Joey, leaning over the tub, sleeves still pulled up to his elbows, but the material was clearly soaked to his shoulders. His brown hair was damp as well, covered in a pile of bubbles as Zoey squealed with happiness at patting them on his head. He laughed and splashed her right back.
I rushed back to my grading, feeling like an intruder spying on their private happy moment.
Evan had never wanted much to do with Zoey—of course, she’d been too little, only three months old when he’d left us. I swallowed hard as I tried to concentrate on my notes.
Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door shut, and I hear Zoey babbling in her mostly incoherent toddler language as Joey told her it was time for bed. Their voices faded down the hall.
Joey reappeared in the kitchen with a small white device in his hand. He sat it down without a word, and I looked up at him. Wet hair, the front of his plaid button-up shirt soaked, he looked like he’d been standing out in the rain; if it had rained soapy bubbles.
“What is this?” I picked up the device and turned it around to see a black and white screen that revealed Zoey in her crib.
“Turn the dial on the side,” he said softly. I did and heard her babbling prattle, loud and clear.
“I have a baby monitor,” I said, looking up at him.
“I know, but I thought you’d rest better if you could actually see her.” He shrugged. “So, I solved the problem.”
“Joey, I don’t know what to say.”
He waved me away. “You look exhausted in class; we can all tell. Jason asked me today if you were dying.”
“Jason? Really?” I thought about that misogynistic and closed-minded student. He had a lot to learn this term, if his paper on ‘those blacks’ was any indication. I sighed. “Why were you talking to Jason?”
He shrugged. “He needs a lot of help.”
“Don’t write his papers for him.” I glared up at him.
“Pfft. I can barely write my own with you distracting me every day.”
“Me?” I stood and piled my notes together. It had been a long day, and I was tired. “How am I distracting?”
He gaped at me as I turned around. “Seriously? You don’t know?”
“Know what?” I bit my lip. I had an idea, but he was standing there looking sexy and I couldn’t resist being coy at the moment.
“You’re the giver of wood, Abby Jameson.”
“Joey!” I tried to act shocked, but I felt my cheeks heat. I didn’t even object that he’d used my maiden name. I had only been married less than a year, after all. Plus, this curvy girl felt flattered as hell. “How can you say that?”
“It’s true,” he began, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Say what you want but you’re sexy as hell.” He pulled his shirt off his shoulders.
Damn, he looked better in the light of the kitchen, even better than the night we had shared each other’s company in my foyer and finally, my bedroom. I blushed, my cheeks heating. He wasn’t Marines fit or cut anymore, and the few months he’d been back enjoying the comforts of home had taken a toll on abs that now barely protruded.
Still, he was a piece of work, and I felt it as my entire body responded to such a handsome man. Every bit of me knew exactly what was under every piece of clothing, and I wanted it, all of it. I wrapped my hands around the baby monitor, where I could see, and faintly hear, my daughter snoring peacefully.
Joey had wandered into the living room and was rummaging in his bag for a clean shirt. I followed him.
He frowned at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh, I don’t think you need that.” I motioned to the white shirt in his hands. “Or pants, for that matter.”
He licked his lips, and there it was, that hungry look again. “You sure?”
I gripped the baby monitor and fled away from him, back to my bedroom.
He followed.
Chapter 11
Abby Girl: I guess I missed you when you came stateside.
Jo-Jo: You did. Saw your mom. She said you were traveling for the summer.
Abby Girl: With some friends from college, yeah. I start graduate school in September.
Jo-Jo: Oh, what for?
Abby Girl: Teaching.
Jo-Jo: Sounds cool.
Abby Girl: It’ll be fun, I guess.
Jo-Jo: You were always smart.
Abby Girl: Look, Joey, I’ve meant to tell you for a while, but, yeah, I didn’t have your number.
Jo-Jo: …
Abby Girl: I’m seeing someone.
Jo-Jo: Okay. Why do I need to know this?
Abby Girl: Well, I thought you should know.
Jo-Jo: Is it serious?
Abby Girl: Pretty serious.
Jo-Jo: Alright. I’ve got duty. Later, Abster.
It was hard to keep the skip from my step Monday morning as our fourth week of the term dawned brilliant and bright. I could never forget the day four years ago she’d told me she was ‘seeing someone’ and I thought my life with her was over. I never knew if it was Evan or not; I was too afraid to ask. I hadn’t texted her for four years after that—a decision I regretted every day.
We stayed in over the weekend, enjoying pancakes in bed with Zoey bounding up and down on our rumpled comforter. It was hard to believe that an un-uniformed cop sat outside our house every day, watching for any signs of criminal activity. Abby touched base with Officer Knowles, but always with the same response: You’ll know when we know. I mentioned they probably weren’t even looking. Abby agreed, a faraway look in her eyes, and mumbled no news was better than worse news.
I was inclined to agree.
I watched Abby blossom over the next week. As the two-week mark since Zoey’s kidnapping loomed before us, one morning just before midterms I woke early and found her singing to Zoey in the kitchen. It was a silly children’s song, but the way she danced aroun
d the kitchen, as I watched from the doorway that separated it from the living room, brought a smile to my face.
“Itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout.”
Zoey giggled.
Abby spun and wiggled her fingers at Zoey. “Down came the raaaaaain and washed the spider oooout.”
Zoey clapped.
Abby’s hands waved over her head. “Out came the sun and…Ah! Joey!”
I chuckled. “Out came the sun, huh?”
“How long have you been standing here?” Her face turned bright red.
I shook my head and danced toward Zoey. “What mommy means is…and dried up all the rain,” I sang, “and the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again!”
“Daddy!” Zoey said, holding her hands out and giggling.
I picked her up from the high chair, turning to Abby, afraid of the anger I’d see on her face. Instead, and to my shock, she smiled widely at us and took Zoey from me, hoisting her on her lap. “Don’t you have a midterm in someone’s class to study for?” She smirked and turned back to the eggs she was frying on the stove.
“Hey, that reminds me,” I said, remembering my mother’s text from the night before. “My mother wants to have us over for dinner. Next Friday, yeah?”
Abby smiled again, and her face shone with pure adoration. I loved seeing her like that. “Sure—let’s hope it goes better than meeting my father.” A sad look passed over her face suddenly.
“Hey,” I said, tucking her wild blonde hair behind her ear. “My mom’s pretty cool. She knows everything and she’s okay with it. It’ll be fine. She’d love to meet you again, that is.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Okay!” Zoey chimed in.
“Oh, don’t forget I’m going out with Sam and a few of his friends this weekend.”
Abby winked at me. “As long as you all pass my midterm, I couldn’t care less.”
I laughed, but something about her look told me it wasn’t all fun and games. “You’ll be okay, right? The cop’s outside.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, staring at me intently.
“There’s always the Glock.”
“I’m not touching that thing, not ever.” She glared at me.
Even so, I gave her the passcode to get into it. She pursed her lips and turned to focus on Zoey, who was busy happily throwing eggs and cereal everywhere.
I turned and headed off to get ready for the day. As I exited the kitchen, I heard her whisper to Zoey, “He’s not daddy, not yet, honey, but maybe someday. And if he thinks I’m touching that awful gun, he’s out of his goddamn mind, now isn’t he?”
It was hard to step into the shower without smiling, even though I knew she hated having the gun around, she’d at least allowed it here, knowing it would make me feel safer. Whether they caught Malachai or not, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to go back to living at my parents. Those were things I couldn’t think about now, but with the way Abby had come around the last few weeks, I started to think about how I could make this more permanent in the future.
“How’s your classes going, bud?” Sam asked me as he twirled his beer in his hand at the bar later that week.
“Alright, I suppose.”
“You’re holding up okay?” He glanced sideways at me.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s tougher than high school. I never knew it would be this tough.”
“Finals are coming up,” Sam mused.
“Hey assholes,” Jason greeted us. He held up his finger for two shots, and I turned to see Jeremy flanking him, one of the other students from the business class Jason and I shared.
I still couldn’t believe how much Jason and Jeremy looked like twins. Both had graduated high school a few years ago but still insisted that tight t-shirts and jeans that displayed their former football god status was appropriate in college. They carried that arrogant jock status around with them like a second skin. I couldn’t believe I’d thought them military the first day they sat in class. Military members were much more respectful.
Still, I liked them. They were entertaining.
The fact remained they were still in community college, I reminded myself. They talked about football all the time, which I didn’t mind. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed hanging out with them. But why were they here, when surely the state university Randy attended could benefit from their skills?
I was honestly afraid to ask; but seeing their papers during peer review, I wasn’t sure I had to. Writing was my strong point, since Abby had seen to it in high school that I at least obtained a passable grade. Harassed me back then, even. So, I wasn’t horrible at it, but I’d mastered the use of a period at the end of the sentence. I had a feeling Jason and Jeremy skipped that crucial point somewhere in high school.
“Jase, how’s your term going?” I asked him.
Jeremy pulled up a stool next to him and ordered a beer. “It’s my third term, and I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait until finals. Fuck midterms, man,” Jason replied.
“Are any of you guys planning on taking summer term?” Sam asked. “I’ve got two more classes to finish up, but I’m walking in June.”
“Congrats!” I said. I couldn’t imagine looking forward to that—if only I could choose a major first.
“I have to,” Jason rolled his eyes and downed two shots. “If I want to transfer to state in the fall.”
“You’re going to state?” I asked. Maybe I’d been wrong about football, after all.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “We both are.” He motioned his head toward Jeremy.
“My brother goes there,” I mumbled into my glass. I mostly hate him for it, I thought. The G.I. bill would have paid for state but wouldn’t have left me any money for books or living expenses. My father was already paying one set of tuition and had made it clear he wouldn’t be responsible for two.
I was nervous thinking about the dinner with my parents next week. My mother would love Zoey, and with that, Abby, too. My father was the wildcard.
“My son, Terry, goes to the university,” Sam said, finishing his beer. “Loves it up there.”
“What’s it like?” I turned to him. Jason and Jeremy had also swiveled.
“Well, I’m just glad he got a scholarship,” Sam laughed. “He loved computers and building them, in high school he built a robot with A.I. Won some national competition.”
I slapped Sam on the back. “That’s pretty freaking cool, man.”
Jason humphed beside me and ordered two more shots.
“Computers,” Jeremy said, “what a dead-end, boring-ass job.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. Obviously, Word had him stumped, given the state of his analysis papers in business class.
“Wanna go shoot pool?” Jason asked Jeremy. Nodding together in sync, they clicked shot glasses, threw them back, and stomped off.
I knew from the last time we went out at the beginning of the term it was some weird bro-code for ‘let’s find a girl to bang’. In that moment, I realized I was happy about waiting so long to go to college. I’d found a girl, and we did more than just ‘bang’. Too bad she also happened to be my professor. I tried not to think about that.
“What about you, son?” Sam was asking. “How does your summer look?”
A brief image of Abby in a two-piece swimsuit, kicking up the sand and running after Zoey down the beach—which was only a two-hour drive from here—lit up in my head. Abby would be sexy as hell with a little string holding back her—and her little chubby roll rolling over her sweet—
“Joey?” Sam was still talking to me.
I flipped back to the present, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what I’m doing this summer. Classes, I guess.”
“I took a psychology class last term,” he said, “I think you’d like it. Psychology of aggression. We had a lot of Vets in there. They learned a lot about anger, where it comes from, and how to dissolve it.”
“Interesting,” I said, toying with my empty glass. One w
as all I’d have, Sam knew, as he ordered another and didn’t bother to get me one. I’d spent enough time around soldiers to know when they had had too much, so one and done was my rule. Even more so—one and wait two hours and drive home. From the female laughter I heard at the pool table across the bar, I knew I’d only have to drive Sam home this night.
But Sam had me interested in this psychology thing. “What else did you learn in that class?” I asked.
“Oh, the teacher was fantastic. We did a group project where we…”
I listened to him for the better part of an hour. Sam was a grease monkey who loved to talk about the shop he wanted to open, but this class had his eyes gleaming with excitement as he regaled the project, the papers, and even the case studies they looked at.
“I’m telling you, if I wasn’t so good with cars, I’d definitely check that out. You’re pretty good at talking to people, bud. You could be good at this.”
“I don’t know,” I said, uncertainly.
Sam finished his second beer. “Well, there’s always history. Yeah, you seem quite taken with it, if you know what I mean.” He winked.
I bristled at that, shoving my glass back toward the end of the bar. “I’m not sure what you you’re getting at?”
Sam smiled and leaned in closer. “Terry told me he heard you’re into some girl in our class. A chubby one? Is it Samantha who sits in front of us? Is that why she always wants to be in our group discussions? Or maybe Jessica, to our left, who always smiles at you when you’re not looking?”
My mouth gaped open, but I quickly shut it. “Who told you that?” He’s way off, of course, but that wasn’t a bad thing.
He shrugged and pushed away from the bar. “Is your brother Randy, by any chance?”
“Yes, but…”
“Well, Terry knows ‘im, I think anyway. He said Randy told him you were hooking up.”
“It’s Jessica,” I blurted, but I felt sick to my stomach. “Yeah, she’s a little minx, huh?” I was going to kill Randy. Maybe he didn’t know Sam was Terry’s dad, how could he know Sam was in Abby’s class? But damn it, Randy, I thought angrily, why did you say anything at all—to anyone? I’d kill him.
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