by Ronica Black
“Don’t worry about it,” Carla said, leaning down toward the pan with the potatoes. “Those smell really good. I love them all fried up with onions and peppers like that.”
Janice perked up a little. “Do you feel like eating some?”
“I am tempted, I must say.”
“I made plenty.”
Why had she made enough for two? Was she somehow secretly hoping that Carla would return for breakfast?
“Is it all right if I grab a water?” Carla asked.
“You’re welcome to everything in this house, Carla.”
Including me.
She flushed. No, I can’t go there.
“You don’t have to ask.”
Carla grabbed a water from the fridge and returned to lean against the doorframe. She drank heartily, and a thin stream of water ran down her chin to her chest.
Janice again had to tear her gaze away.
I can’t even watch her drink.
“Sorry about last night,” Carla said, suddenly bringing Janice to rapt attention.
“Wha—?”
“I was pretty out of it.”
Janice waited for her to say more, to see if she’d let on to how much she remembered, if anything, but she didn’t.
“Oh, no biggie. You were really tired.”
“I don’t even know how I ended up in the bed. I’m assuming you had something to do with that.”
She doesn’t remember.
She doesn’t know what I said or what I did.
But I do.
And she knew she’d never be able to forget what it felt like to touch her skin for the first time, to run her fingers deftly across her face, to lean in and inhale the soul stirring scent of her.
“A little.”
“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”
She spooned the potatoes onto two plates.
“Don’t be silly.” She smiled at her, doing her best to seem unaffected, but Carla was staring at her intently. She fumbled with the spoon.
Then again, maybe she does remember some things.
“I had a little too much wine. I don’t drink often so it doesn’t take very much to affect me. And I tend to get rather honest when I drink and sometimes, a little…forward. Or so I’ve been told.”
Are you trying to tell me that anything you may have said or did was solely the result of too much alcohol?
Maybe I’ve been right all along.
She was simply drunk.
“Ready to eat?” She carried the plates to the table and retrieved the silverware. She was wound tighter than a top and she fumbled with the utensils and dropped them onto the table. She recovered quickly though and forced another smile.
Carla hitched her thumb back toward the hallway. “Sure, I’m just going to go jump in the shower real quick.”
Janice laughed, her nerves right on the edge of hysteria. She couldn’t sit there and wait and suffer through this craziness. And she for sure couldn’t sit there and eat with her after her shower, when she’d smell so good it would make her toes curl.
“Um, no.”
“No?”
She was just as surprised as Carla was at her assertiveness, but she was doing so to protect herself, to somehow try to contain the wild current that was just waiting to burst through the damn and surge through her veins.
“You’re going to eat while it’s hot.” She sat.
“But—”
She needed for this moment to be over so she could escape without spontaneously combusting all over her carefully decorated country kitchen.
“Carla Sims, I know you have manners. So, you need to use them and sit and eat this food while it’s good and hot.” She eyed the chair next to her. “Go on, sit your pretty little hind end down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Carla pulled out the chair and sat, smiling like the devil himself.
“I ain’t playin’ around, Carla,” she said, but her stern attitude was already fading.
“Oh, I know. You’re as serious as sin.”
“That’s right.”
They both ate in silence for a while until Janice decided to give up her stringent facade.
“I had forgotten that you run.” She took a bite and watched as Carla did the same. “I thought you’d left for the day.”
“Without saying good-bye?”
Janice shrugged.
“I would’ve at least left you a note. After all, I do have manners, remember? Which is why I didn’t want to sit down and eat with you all sweaty and gross.”
“You’re not gross.” More like yummy. She quickly sipped her juice.
“What are your plans for the day?” Carla asked, finishing off her water.
Janice rose and began filling a glass of juice for her. “I’m glad you asked.” She put the juice away and returned to the table, handing Carla her drink. “I need to go grocery shopping, so you need to tell me what you like to eat.”
Carla held the glass as if it were foreign. “You don’t have to serve me, Janice.”
Janice rolled her eyes. “Don’t fight me on these little things, Carla. You’ll lose. Badly.”
She shook her head. “I always forget how impossible everyone is here when it comes to having guests.”
“Like I said last night, it’s southern hospitality and I know you’d do the same for me in your home.”
“Not to this extent. I’d let you get your own juice and carry your own luggage.”
“You would not. You would treat me just like I’m treating you. Doing things for people, especially guests, is how we show love around here. It’s been that way for generations, and whether you want to admit it or not it runs through your blood just like that red mud outside does.”
“I know where I come from, Janice. I don’t need reminding of my roots.”
“You can’t deny what’s in your blood. No matter how far away you go.”
“I’m not. Nor will I ever. But that doesn’t mean I can’t evolve and believe and behave differently than the way I was raised. I thought at the very least that you would be one to understand that.”
“You think I don’t understand that?”
“I don’t know. Do you? You’re sitting there arguing with me about how I would treat you in my home. Or how you think I should treat you, if I was true to my blood or my roots.”
“I’m only saying that you can’t forget where you come from.”
“I haven’t, Janice. This is where I was born. Where I was raised. That will never change. But it isn’t home.”
Janice looked at her, shocked at the statement.
“Phoenix is my home now,” Carla said. “It has been for many years.”
“But this is—”
“Where I’m from. It’s not where my heart is.”
Janice turned away, her words affecting her in ways she didn’t expect and didn’t necessarily like.
“Why does that upset you?”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’ve never been very good at lying, Janice.”
“I’m not lying. I’m—glad you’re happy. That you’ve found where your heart belongs.”
“You know, your happiness matters too. Have you ever considered that your heart might also belong somewhere else?”
Janice straightened and began gathering her dishes.
“I need to know what you’d like from the grocery store.”
Carla was quiet and Janice could feel her eyes on her.
“I’ll make you a list,” she said. “And leave you some money.”
“Carla, don’t. You know darn well I won’t take your money, so don’t make me fight you on it. I’m too tired and I’m cranky about ruining breakfast.”
She set the dishes on the counter and returned to the table for Carla’s.
“Okay,” Carla said. She offered her a soft smile. “I may be hardheaded sometimes, but I know when to back down from a beautiful woman.”
She called me beautiful.
Carla took in the last
spoonful of her potatoes and handed her plate to Janice. She finished chewing before she spoke.
“Thank you. It was really good.” Her eyes were deep and seeking, like they had been beneath that tree the day of the funeral.
What is it that she’s searching for?
“You’re really good to us, Janice. Really good to me.”
“I—supper’s at six,” she said, turning to head back to the sink. How could she tell her how much she cared without giving away just how deeply that care really went? The way Carla looked at her sometimes, she’d see right into her. “I’ll keep it warm for you if you’re late.”
She heard Carla stand from her chair. “I should be here on time.”
Janice waited, expecting to hear her move. But there was only silence.
“Maybe someday,” Carla said, “when you make it out to my home, I’ll be able to repay you for your kindness.”
She closed her eyes, Carla unknowingly bringing up the very thing that had gotten to her at breakfast. It was another dream of hers that had paralleled her fantasies of Carla until the two eventually had intertwined.
Me. In Arizona. With her.
It sounded so good coming from her. Her voice bringing a long held dream to life.
But it was still just a dream. She couldn’t allow herself to get overly excited in thinking it might actually be a possibility.
She opened her eyes and was careful to steady her voice.
“You wouldn’t have to do that, Carla.”
There was another brief silence until Carla spoke again.
“Maybe not. But I’d like more than anything to get the chance to try.”
Janice heard her walk away then, and for a few long seconds, Janice felt like she’d taken her heart away with her.
Chapter Eleven
The screen door groaned as Carla pulled it open and rested her hand on the front doorknob. Janice had told her, a few times this past week, that she didn’t have to knock before she entered. That as her house guest, she should feel welcome to come and go as she pleased. Still, Carla hesitated. Not because she didn’t feel welcome or comfortable, but because she worried about walking in on Janice at an inopportune moment, the vision of her in the threadbare tank, haunting her. Janice hadn’t worn it since, and Carla wondered if it was something that haunted Janice too. The way she’d avoided eye contact when she’d emerged from her bedroom the following evening in her pajama pants and a much darker, thicker T-shirt, had led Carla to believe that maybe it did.
She knocked on the front door and Janice hollered. Carla stepped inside, and two things hit her senses at once. The warm, welcoming smell of supper, which she’d come to look forward to upon her return every evening, and the sound of old, crackling jazz. She followed the music to the den, loving the authenticity of the sound, like she’d stepped back in time when recorded music was raw and simplistic.
She saw the record player first and got lost for a few seconds in the way the lamplight reflected off the album’s glossy surface. Then she saw Janice, who was sitting next to it in one of her leather armchairs, reading a hardbound book.
“Etta James,” Carla said. “Her voice can soothe the sharpest of inner turmoils.”
“You know Etta James?” Janice asked as she adjusted the volume.
“Of course.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You seem surprised again at my interest in music.”
“I didn’t think someone like you would be aware of artists like her.”
“Someone like me?”
“I mean—” She seemed to struggle for the right words, frantic-like, something Carla had noticed her doing a lot of recently. She seemed terrified of saying the wrong thing. Was it because of her? If so, why? Janice had never been hesitant to speak her mind before. It was one of the things Carla had always admired her for. “I meant, someone younger.”
Carla couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m only seven years younger than you. And besides, everyone, regardless of age, has varied tastes in music. I play Etta sometimes in my classroom when the kids are first arriving in the morning and they love her.”
Janice shook her head, as if she needed to hurry and explain, like she’d quite literally said the wrong thing. She opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped. And then, something came over her with the flash of her eyes. She visibly relaxed and the sense of worry that was always quick to surface, seemed to have vanished.
“But they weren’t aware of her before that, were they?”
The impish grin Carla had seen so much of growing up spread across her face. She hadn’t seen it in so long, she’d forgotten how much it affected her. But now the effect it was having surpassed anything she’d felt before. Maybe it was her sudden change in demeanor. The way she was sitting, all calm and confident, or the way she was looking at her, like she was the one who was now amused by Carla. Whatever the reason, it was sexy.
Janice was sexy.
And she was watching her with that damn grin still on her face. Waiting. Waiting for Carla to respond. She seemed prepared to wait a lifetime if need be. As if to prove it, she slowly crossed her legs. But it seemed to Carla to be a move made for more than just comfort. Carla could’ve sworn she’d done it for her, knowing she’d look, wanting her to look. Was this the tank top all over again? No, she’d seemed oblivious in the tank top. This was calculated. Intentional. It worked. Carla couldn’t resist trailing her eyes down the shapely form of her legs, helplessly lingering on the noticeable curves of muscle until she came to the painted red toenails on her elegant looking feet.
“That wasn’t my point,” Carla said, her body temperature rising.
“No, but you inadvertently proved mine.”
She scratched her cheek with fingernails that were red like her toes, and unexpectedly, Carla had an intruding thought as to what they would feel like grazing down her back in the throes of passion.
She could almost feel the fiery trails they’d create running down her skin.
“They liked her and looked her up,” she said, despite the direction her mind had turned. “Asked me to play more of her. Some downloaded her songs. That happens a lot when I play something they haven’t been exposed to. So, my point is, that regardless of age or anyone’s differences, people can have an array of tastes in music. All it takes sometimes is a little curiosity.”
There was a subtle wildness in her eyes now, an uninhibited energy, that seemed to brighten their color, which was further accentuated by the matching blue-green of her blouse.
“You’re saying I shouldn’t make assumptions.”
She closed the book in her lap and set it on the end table next to the record player. Carla saw the gilded letters along the spine.
The Poetical Works of Lord Byron.
“I was very surprised that you did. A woman of your intelligence.”
She laughed. “So intelligent people can’t make assumptions like that?”
“They can. And they sometimes do. But they know they shouldn’t. And you…you’re too open-minded for that. Too insightful. Or so I thought.”
“Perhaps it’s my small town mentality.”
“Perhaps.”
“Thank God for you then. You came to save me. You can crack open that mentality and fill it in with your big city insights.”
“I don’t know. You sound like you might be a lost cause.”
“Doomed to spend eternity stuck in the confounds of my mind?”
“And here. In this town.”
The impish grin faded, and she looked at her for a long while. Carla hadn’t meant to be insulting, but she knew she had been. She didn’t, however, understand why she’d pushed things with her.
Janice got up and turned off the lamp and came to stand before her. The lack of light didn’t seem to bother her, nor did their close proximity. She dug in her pocket and took Carla’s hand. She placed something cool in her palm.
“House key. So, you really can come and go as you please. And if yo
u knock on that door again before you come in, I’m not going to reassure you with an answer. To me, your refusal to accept my well-stated welcome into my home is more insulting than your opinions about me and my mentality.” She started to walk away.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said, following her.
She was headed for the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I didn’t think that was your intention. Not initially anyway.”
“I was half-kidding, honestly.”
She laughed a little as she switched off the oven. “Half.”
“I’m tired,” Carla said. “I’m not thinking clearly. Dealing with everyone and being back here…”
“I know you’re stressed.” She slid on oven mitts and pulled a casserole dish out of the oven.
“Yes.”
“And homesick.”
Carla sank her hands into her pockets. “A little, yes.”
Janice retrieved two plates and removed the tin foil from the top of the dish to spoon out the steaming contents. It was chicken casserole. One of Carla’s favorites from childhood. Janice had somehow remembered and made it for her.
She’s so generous and kind.
And I’m an ass.
“I’ve never been to Phoenix,” Janice said. “Or spent much time in any big city really, but I can understand, somehow, even with my limited mentality, how going from a place like that to here could be a big jolt. I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re from here and know what to expect or not.”
“You have no idea,” Carla said softly, getting the silverware from the drawer. “It’s like two different worlds.”
Janice carried the food to the table, then poured them both a glass of sweet tea. She joined Carla at the table.
Carla watched as she forked a bite of the casserole, blew on it, and then slid it into her mouth. A minute ago, she would’ve been captivated, stirred by the beauty in her every movement, no matter how subtle. A minute ago now felt like a lifetime ago.
“I heard your comment about your limited mentality,” Carla said, forking herself bite after bite only to dump it again and again. She couldn’t bring herself to eat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of the things I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you, and I definitely do not think of you as small-minded or anything like that.”