Fucking Christine. See, I want to help her. Shit, she lost her son, just as I have but it doesn’t mean for one second, I’ll allow her to fuck with Holland. Scott asked me to care for her, and it’s what I’ll do if I have to run interference on Holland’s part with her psycho mother-in-law, I’ll gladly do this. It’s not like it’s any different than the shit Christine has been pulling my whole adult life.
I’m settled into my room, the one Maguire insisted on paying for. I hate this, being indebted to my father-in-law. Yet, at the same time, it’s Scott’s way of taking care of me. The second Maguire suggested it, the mixed feelings of such an offer washed through me like water and oil, neither one mixing well together.
Living with Maguire will be the ultimate punishment. Everything he does reminds me of Scott. From the way he changes the oil to wiping his mouth after each bite of food, to washing his hands—and so much more. This is the older version of my husband in front of me.
Next, is the fact that Maguire is at the top of the most handsome men on earth list. His ruggedness, the way he changed the tires on the truck last week, to how he pours himself a cup of coffee, or how he puts Christine in her place, which I secretly love, have him elevated to a new level in my book.
This in and of itself, makes me feel ashamed. Ashamed that Maguire’s very nature sets my soul on fire. Is it that Maguire is my husband in an older man’s body that has me craving his touch, a sample of the goods if you will? Shame engulfs me at this idea. Did I really just contemplate this? My husband’s body isn’t even cold in the grave and I’m ready to find a replacement? No, this can’t be—the love I have for Scott transcends time and place.
“Get it together, Holland,” I order myself, catapulting from the bed, burning a hole in the carpet as I pace back and forth. “This is a bad idea, and horribly tempting.” I continue to speak to myself as if Scott is in front of me. “No, but it’s only a bad idea if…” Yes! That’s the answer to my prayers. It’s only a bad idea when two consent. I won’t be consenting; I have enough self-restraint. I have a lot more self-respect than to hop into bed with my father-in-law. Plus, Maguire does, too. And after all, this is what my husband wanted. I’ll take the job, take the apartment until I can find something in town I can afford, and we’d see each other as a family does, at holidays.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I say, “Good plan, Holland.” I almost believe it myself.
Chapter 6
“Don’t we have GPS?” Maguire scoffs at my obvious statement. I’m sitting on the small desk behind him at the rinky-dink complementary office space he’s planning our cross-country trip in. He’s printing map upon map, not to mention, the fifty-state atlas he bought this morning before the sun was up at the closest Walmart.
“GPS really should serve as a guide, darlin’.” He switches between calling me darlin’ like I’m a long-distance niece he sees every couple of decades to just Holland. He seems pained when he uses both in my vicinity—like my name is the forever reminder of Scott. “You never know if it picks up alternate routes and we’ve got to be prepared for every situation.” He turns in the swivel chair. A crew neck shirt is so tight around his biceps that I wonder if it will rip and expose his bare skin. “Anyway, I’m pretty confident in Scott’s truck—worked on it myself but, hell, we want to be safe.”
For some reason, being with Maguire, I’m as safe as when I was in Scott’s strong arms — no one could get to me then, and no one can get to me now. I roll my eyes, pushing myself off the desk. My skirt gets caught in the chair I have been sitting on. “Well, shit,” I state the obvious. He must have seen my cheetah print undies Scott loved so much on me. He turns his head quickly out of respect. First, he’d seen me in my birthday suit, now in my skimpy leopard thong. This is adding up for a great start to our trip.
I find it hard to speak at first, with a heated flush covering my face. “Me and my embarrassed ass are going to wait for you outside in the truck while you micromanage our trip.”
We’re running to this little diner up the road he has had most of his meals at for the past couple weeks, for dinner, then back to the hotel for an early night.
“Hey, Holland,” he calls, and I can still feel my cheeks burning, which must now look like strawberries. “Has anyone ever called you a smart ass?” he deadpans.
“Hell yes, all the time and guess what? You get my smart-ass-ness for three-thousand miles.” I turn to take my leave; happy he sees a little bit more of me. And, after my panty exposure, hell, he’s certainly seen a little bit more than I’d wanted.
The next morning greets me. I’m a mixture of nerves with an emotion of the unknown washing through me. When my eyes see the text, I’m already in tears saying goodbye to the life I led with Scott.
Sarah: Honey, Mark got home last night. We’re meeting you at the hotel before you leave. We can’t let you go without hugging you.
I laugh at this girl who’s become my sister. My heart lurches at all I’ll miss. The curtains I’ve been trying to make for their little girl is still just fabric I packed away in the hopes of finishing before her baby arrives in this world. I had planned to be there for the birth. I’ve taken birthing classes with her, in case Mark wasn’t home in time.
Mark has been Scott’s best friend from the moment they met in boot camp. It’s funny how friendship is sped up in the military. These people become your family fast.
Hopping up out of bed, I take the quickest of showers. Afterward, I get dressed, grabbing a pair of unicorn leggings and a long neon green top, which is about two sizes too big. But it’s comfortable, and for the next five days in Scott’s truck, it’s what I crave.
Not a second too soon, there’s a little knock on the door after I brush my teeth. Opening it quickly, there stands Mark and Sarah—our dearest friends. I don’t get a hello out before she and her huge belly envelop me in a hug. She’s already crying. Bringing my head up, there are tears in Mark’s eyes, too.
Mark couldn’t get back in time for the funeral. Typically, they’d not send him home at all, even with Sarah only four weeks from delivering. But when Scott was killed, Mark was injured—sent to Germany for rehab.
Sarah finally lets go of me, and I melt into the arms of my husband’s best friend. “Fuck, Holly! I’m so sorry.” Besides Scott, there’s no one else in the world that calls me Holly except Mark. “I couldn’t save him. I tried, please know I tried.”
Sarah, who’s now sitting on the bed, is crying uncontrollably. When she found out Mark was with Scott the moment he was killed, she’d told me after the funeral how guilty she felt that her husband was spared.
Cupping his face, I make him look at me. “No, Mark, it’s not your fault, not ever. And Scott wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” I go to hug him again, to be his comfort. But as I do, he’s yanked from me, and being pushed into the outside wall adjacent from my room. When I look at the strong arms that are about to tear him apart, I see Maguire.
Hands are roving all around Holland’s body. It’s all that I’m able to take in before I have the man that’s obviously forcing himself on her against the wall on the outside of the motel.
“What the fuck are you doing to my daughter-in-law?”
The kid, no older than Scott, pushes off of me. “Calm the fuck down, old man,” he chimes and I’m about to hit him until I recognize him.
“Old man? Huh.”
The boy I’m about to pummel puts his arms out and hugs me. “Shit, Maguire, for an old man, you’re strong as fuck.”
I turn to Holland, her hands on her hips. She’s not amused by all the commotion. “Mark, sorry, son,” I say, and I realize that Mark—Scott’s best friend is just another reminder of what I’ve lost.
This time, he brings me in for a hug, not just a greeting but one that encompasses both our grief. “Maguire, shit, it could have been me. One foot over was the difference in where we were standing. Scott should be with you right now.”
I’ve
never met Mark’s wife, but she appears behind him, carrying a watermelon in her stomach. Reaching her hand out, I don’t shake it. I hug her as if she’s family and she is. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she adds, tears in her own eyes. The words her husband has spoken had to have wounded her. Fate if you will, it’s a fickle bastard—the difference between life and death was a fucking foot.
Mark had flown out with Scott after his technical school, and this kid in front of me stole a piece of my heart. He doesn’t have a dad, and Scott felt he needed some sort of father figure in his life, and we bonded, quickly. As dedicated to the service and his wife as Scott had been to the Army and Holland, it was easy to care for this kid.
“Sorry I took a swing at you. I saw Holland crying and just reacted.”
He wipes a tear from his face and swings his arm around his wife. “It’s what Scott wanted—for you to watch out for Holly, to make sure she’s okay. And I knew there was no one better.”
We begin to say our goodbyes, and I’m hauling Holland’s luggage downstairs to the truck.
Looking over at her as I put the truck in drive, large tears free flow down her cheeks. “Holland, I can’t tell you it’s going to get better. I’m not sure it ever will. I miss him so much, but I can promise that I’ll take care of you and make sure you have all you need in this life.”
She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I know you will, Mr. Parrish. I know you will.” The smile on her face may be what I need to get me through the years without my son in my life.
“It’s pretty much a straight shot,” I say, her eyes staring out the window as it did when we left the hotel right off base from Camp Lejeune.
“Hmm?” she asks, not moving her head.
“The interstate, pretty much straight freeway,” I add.
“Um, okay.” Bending over, she grabs a pillow—and positions it against the window.
“Hey, you can’t go to sleep on me now,” I tease, finally getting her to look over at me.
The girl and her outfits crack me up. I guess she has on a pair of yoga pants. That’s what Kat says they are called. It’s not like Kat ever gets dressed up to come to my house. Hell, she barely even stays after she sucks my cock and I’ve filled her up. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement that I guess will have to continue at her house after Holland moves in.
Along with her yoga pants that are bright pink and have unicorns on them, mind you, is a bright neon green t-shirt that covers her ass. Shit, can I say ass when it comes to my daughter-in-law? This girl has me all jumbled up inside and I can’t explain why. I fuck women, not girls who have come into womanhood two seconds ago.
“I’m sorry, Maguire. You’re right, it’s not fair to ask you to do all the heavy lifting on this trip.”
“Oh, darlin’, it’s not that,” I say, shifting down into fourth gear as I take the exit for the gas station. “I can’t stand to see that pretty face of yours with any more tears.” Shit, did I just flirt with Holland?
She closes her eyes, turning her head away from me but the blush creeping onto her face is so fucking adorable.
“We need gas again?” she asks, taking out that fucking notepad and pen to write down the amount I’m paying on gas and snacks.
“Yep, though it certainly doesn’t get the gas mileage of a new truck, it’s not doing too bad. I won’t let it get below half a tank.”
Moving her full lips into something I’ve barely seen on her face in the past couple of weeks, she smiles. “Hell, you and Scott are so much alike.”
I love the memories she paints for me when it comes to Scott. It’s a punch to the gut sometimes when I have to remind myself he’s gone. But shit, the memories are all I have now. And whenever she points out the similarities, I know I had an impact on my son’s life.
She turns from me like she said something wrong. Grabbing for her hand, I pull at it until she turns her head. “Darlin’, please don’t ever stop talking about Scott. It’s how I can get through this. Remembering him, knowing I had a bearing on the man he was. I never thought I did enough for him. But shit, when you are around, reminding me, I almost believe it.”
Another tear escapes her eye. “I just miss him so much, Maguire.” She turns as if she’s about to say more, but she stops. At least she’s not calling me Mr. Parrish anymore.
“Having you to remind me of the man I raised helps me.”
Twisting her head to me, she merely returns, “Having you to remind me of the great son you raised helps me.”
Chapter 7
“We didn’t get out of the Carolinas today? Fiddlesticks, this trip will take forever.” I’d say she’s mumbling to herself, but she’s rather loud. Actually, her own whisper scares me.
“Yeah, it’ll take at least five days. I don’t want to push the truck too much. Plus…” What do I say? I don’t want to push her? She’s grieving after all. She needs her rest to take care of herself and hell—to be taken care of.
“I’m not some delicate flower. I won’t wilt.” Her hair is in her eyes but her words, the way she stresses I won’t wilt, makes her meaning clear. She can claim this all day long, and nothing will stop me from keeping my promise to my son.
“Listen, Miss, I’m just worried about you.”
“Miss?”
“Yeah, growing up, my dad called me mister. He’d call my girl cousins miss. I don’t think he even cared to learn any of our names.” It’s not a joke but she laughs anyway, and the air is a little lighter between us. “Come on.” I grab her bags before she can pull them from me. “Let’s get us some rooms.”
She stops in the parking lot and when she doesn’t follow me, I fib, just a little as I begin, “Don’t worry. I’m taking notes. And you can pay me back when Scott’s insurance comes in.” Her smile tells me I’m correct—this girl is just not strong, but stubborn as hell.
“Thanks, Mister,” she counters, and I laugh—happy that somewhere inside of her she’s found something that makes us just a little bit more comfortable with one another.
She doesn’t follow me to secure rooms for us. Rounding the corner of the motel office, I find her on the bench in her loud outfit, staring straight ahead.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask. She’s still a stranger to me yet family at the same time.
“It’s silly and I’ll seem ungrateful,” she replies when she twists her head toward mine. I’m lost in the almost dark chocolate brown of her eyes. They are different than any others I’ve seen, but as is everything of Holland Parrish, different should really be her first name.
“Oh, I seldom get my feelings hurt, darlin’. Seriously, the little smile on your face, it’s nice to see. I’ve gotta know what put it there.”
She scrunches her face together as if she’s hiding from me. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She looks away but her voice carries when she continues, “It’s just, you and Scott have this uncanny ability to find the most obscure and sometimes scary motels to call home for the night.”
It’s now I pick up on her southern accent and it’s cute. No, scratch that, it’s more than cute, but I shouldn’t think these thoughts about my son’s wife.
“Ah, yes! You’re calling my choice cheap,” I begin with a deep chuckle on the verge of escaping my mouth.
“See, I sound like a witch when you say it this way.” She’s looking away, and her voice oozes with concern.
“No, darlin’. I’m teasing you. But, believe me, Scott and I certainly shared this trait. It drove his mama crazy.”
When a loud burst of laughter bolts from her lips, she quickly covers her mouth with her hands as if she’s protecting a lifelong pledge with her best friend.
“Now, what’s that about?” I poke her side, playfully tickling her.
Her lips are pursed together and she’s scratching her head. “Um…it’s just—what didn’t upset Christine? Sometimes I think me breathing had her ready to take off my head.”
A tight smile crawls over my face. I have no doubt this is true with Christine—it had always been her way in life.
“If I’m not being too nosy, what happened with you two? Scott never knew. He said he barely remembered y’all being together.”
Now, it’s my turn to scratch my own head. I never wanted Scott to find out and I guess he won’t. What’s the harm in sharing it with Holland? “I never spoke of it and—well—Christine certainly would never tell him.”
“Oh,” she begins and it’s easy to decipher from what I’ve shared. “Was it just once?” I pause, not ready to answer yet. Speaking of Christine’s infidelity is still salt in the wound. It leaves me wondering in all this shit if Christine and I had stayed together, would our son be six feet under?
Pulling at my shoulders with one hand and rubbing my temples, I think of how to begin. “If it was simply one time, I probably could’ve forgiven her.”
“And she punished you, taking Scott away? Right?”
I never could prove this, but it’s how I always felt. “I’m not sure how to answer you.” I stand because reliving the nightmare I call my marriage to Christine isn’t what I want to do just weeks after burying my son. “Hey, you ready to get some dinner? I’m starving and would like to get a good night’s sleep. Want to be on the road by five.”
“A.M.?” Her voice almost cracks.
“Oh, not a morning person, darlin’?”
Her scowl has me laughing my ass off because like so many things that are Holland, it’s cute as hell.
Nine p.m. rolls around and my eyes are heavy. I’m about to welcome sleep when a loud rap at the door wakes me from an almost slumber.
Opening it, I recognize the desk clerk from earlier. “Hey, everything okay?” I question.
“Yeah, sorry to barge in. I saw you and your daughter earlier and y’all looked like a happy family.” I’m confused as to why hours later he’s sharing this with me. “After my shift, I stopped at the little bar down the street for a beer.” I was almost asleep, and this conversation is going nowhere. “Hell, I’m sorry, this is making no sense.” The man must be in his late forties and he’s fiddling with his jacket as he speaks. “Your daughter is down at the bar. I don’t mean to get in the way, but there are some unruly drifters who…” He hasn’t finished his sentence when I grab the truck keys and rush past him.
Like Father Like Son Page 4