The Devil Made Me

by Lorena May

  Slowly, she opens it. Desert. White sand. Not a tree in sight. Mountains. The roar of gun-fire. Shouting. Darby turns the page. There he is. Dark eyes, the skin crinkling at the corners. His black hair is longish, curling around his neck. A slight stubble has formed on his strong jaw. Sensuous lips curl into a smile.

  Darby feels herself grow cold, the pain filling her chest. She slams the album shut. Curling her legs against her chest, she falls back into her stiff, black leather couch and flicks the TV on.

  Chapter 33 ~ Jen

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Darren packed his belongings and moved into a hotel room, sure that I would change my mind. I haven’t. Finally, he’s accepted that, and has found an apartment near the office. He takes Logan to foot-ball games, and comes to visit both kids regularly. All of us have suffered. We’ve cried, lashed out, retreated within ourselves and stumbled through our days. But now, months later, I know I did the right thing. I have a feeling of liberation. I’m relaxed and secure. Although it cut me deeply, Darren’s affair with Kim gave me the courage, the permission, to do what I needed to do.

  It’s Friday night and Lillia, Logan and I are finishing dinner when the phone rings. It’s Sean. I feel myself flush when I look at his name on my phone. Over the past weeks I’ve only seen him at school when he’s picked Corrie up. I’ve caught him giving me a penetrating stare when he’s thought I wasn’t looking. Does he like me? Once, when our hands brushed, I felt a tingle in my belly that I was careful to hide. Did he feel it? And why is he calling me now?

  I struggle to keep my voice natural when I answer. “Hello?”

  His voice is warm and casual. “Hi, Jen, it’s Sean James calling.” As if I didn’t know who it was!

  “Hi, Sean. How are you?” I sound chipper; in control.

  “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Would you and your kids like to come out to the farm tomorrow? I have a surprise for you.” He chuckles a little.

  “A surprise?” Now I hear a squeak in my voice.

  “A good surprise,” he says, and I can almost hear him grinning. “I know you’ll like it.”

  “I can’t wait to see what it is! We’d love to come. What time?”

  I see the eager looks on my children’s faces. Are they hoping it’s Darren? When I tell them we’re invited to the farm, though, they’re delighted. I’m relieved.

  THE CROW OF A ROOSTER competes with the gravel rumbling under my tires as we enter the farm-yard. The back door on the house springs open. Corrie runs across the verandah and down the steps wearing a little blue dress, her dark curls flying. My kids jump out of the car the instant we’re parked.

  “Mrs. Cox, Auntie’s here! Come!” she chirps, hugging my legs as I emerge. Auntie? I bend to hug her back, ruffling her hair. Logan has already run to see the animals in the barn, and Lillia comes to my side to greet Corrie. The little girl grabs us each by the hand and tugs us toward the house. We follow behind her, laughing.

  When I reach the bottom step I stop short. There, standing in the doorway is Marnie. I gasp. “Marnie! It’s so good to see you.” And I mean it from the bottom of my heart. She opens the door and I race up the stairs to hug her. I’m overcome with emotion, and I can’t let go. Her large frame feels skeletal and fragile, but she hugs me back and I feel her shaking; sobbing along with me. Finally, we part and I look into her face. It’s lined and care-worn, but she has the same guileless look in her eyes; the same sweet innocence I took advantage of so many years ago.

  Sean stands, leaning back against the kitchen counter, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Why don’t you two make yourselves comfortable while you catch up?” he says, gesturing towards his cozy-looking living room. “Come on, Lillia. Let’s go see what’s going on in the barn today.”

  Marnie and I sink back into the soft over-stuffed couch, and the words pour out. I tell her how sorry I am for the way I treated her. I realize, but don’t say, that I was afraid I was too much like her. Naïve, sheltered, uncool. I didn’t want to be associated with her, unpopular as she was, so I mocked her and distanced myself.

  She talks a little about her life on the streets where she was finally accepted. Booze and drugs took away the pain she felt. She became numbed, and her belief that something was wrong with her; that nobody liked her, was bearable. With the use of drugs and alcohol she could face life. The problem was, soon she couldn’t live without them, and she’d do anything to get that next hit. She slept under bridges, on park benches and in stranger’s beds. Black eyes, bruises and broken bones were the result of relationships with other addicts. Stints in jail followed bouts of public drunkenness, shop-lifting, fraud charges for using stolen credit cards . . . During her last stretch in jail she met a friend who convinced her to go to the Salvation Army Rehab Centre. She spent twelve weeks there. They taught her to care for herself; self-respect. Recently she re-connected with her parents who suggested she come help Sean, a single father and busy farmer. He, of course, welcomed her with open arms. She feels useful here. She’s loved and needed.

  We talk and talk until the sounds of excited children fill the kitchen. Corrie bursts into the room where we sit. “Daddy’s making lemonade and ham sandwiches. Want some?” We follow her into the kitchen to the big, round table covered in red and white checkered oil-cloth.

  “Hey, guys,” Marnie lifts a Monopoly game from the side-board behind us. “Want to play a game?”

  They drink lemonade and munch on thick, delicious sandwiches. Before long, all four are immersed in buying properties and charging rent. Sean beckons to me and I follow him out to the porch where we lean against the railing looking out at green fields, listening to the lowing of the cattle in the barn-yard. A gentle breeze eases the heat of the afternoon.

  He turns to look at me with his bright blue eyes. Affection glows in them, and he reaches to tuck a lock of my hair back. My breath catches and I feel a warmth spreading throughout me.

  “It looks like things went well between you and Marnie,” he says.

  “You know,” I ponder a moment to put my thoughts into words, “of the three of us so-called butterflies I betrayed her most. She and I were best friends. We were both misfits. It was like once I managed to pretend coolness I didn’t need her any more. Like I was afraid of being nerdy by association. I not only dropped her, I tormented her. I added fuel to the fire.” My eyes fill with tears, and my throat chokes up. “But she forgave me. Instantly. She hugged me the moment I saw her. That’s incredible!”

  He looks deeply into my eyes, then moves toward me. He takes the glass from my hand, setting it on the balustrade. His big arms encircle my back. He is warm and solid. I lean my head against his shoulder and he strokes my hair, kisses my head and murmurs, “Jen.” I can feel the desire radiating between us, and I melt into him.

  “It’s too soon,” I murmur, but my body aches for him. I feel his hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer. My body is all nerve endings; all desire.

  He wraps my hair around his hand and lifts my face. The way he looks at me makes me dizzy. Our lips meet; his soft and sensuous. His breath smells of lemons and salt. We have to stop! The kids could come out!

  I feel my legs buckle as I pull away from him. He grins his crooked grin. His breath is raspy. “We’ve got all the time in the world, you and I,” he says as he brushes my cheek with his hand. We stand like that for a long moment. Then we turn and, side-by-side, look out into the yard where strutting chickens cluck and kittens frolic. We glance at each other and smile, listening to the laughter of Marnie and our children resonating from the kitchen. Our hands touch. Across the cultivated fields, just over the hills, is a perfect rainbow.

  Seeking Scarlett

  Seeking Scarlett

  A Darby Greer Romantic Mystery, Book 2

  By Lorena May

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:SEEKING Scarlett

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

 
; Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 1

  ~Em~

  A glass of draft on a worn, wooden table. She watches the tiny bubbles rising; a stream of miniscule orbs rushing up – up – up to the thin layer of white foam at the top. Finally, they slow. Gradually they still. The foam dissipates into a dark, amber liquid.

  Em lifts her own glass and swigs a large mouthful, relishing the malty bitterness of it. She sprawls on the bench, her back against the wall, feeling invisible. And she nearly is. Her dark green sweater, mop of curly chestnut-brown hair, olive-colored skin, and thin body blend into the darkness of the room. She wears no make-up, no jewelry and her face is fixed in a frown.

  Vivid, emerald green eyes scan the pub. She surveys the band on the stage. The guitarists in front bend toward one another, strumming hard on their instruments, competing with gusto. Em’s face breaks into a rare smile as she watches them jig and twang, faster and louder; two talented kids strutting their stuff. She drinks another gulp of beer.

  Where is Scarlett? Not that Em needs company. Her own silent presence is enough. Sitting back, numbing her mind, letting the music flow over her is a balm. Her boots tap a rhythm on the wooden plank floor, and she lets her head rest back on the log wall behind her. Rain thrums on the roof; a steady tap tap tap. Around her the buzz of conversation, sprinkled with distant laughter, is soothing. She is not alone, yet doesn’t have to make conversation either. Perfect.

  “Your sister coming?” Em looks up into smoky-grey eyes, twinkling with mischief. The bar-tender, a wiry, tousle-haired man stands by the table, looking down at her. His stance, his face . . . everything about him suggests tomfoolery. She shifts her eyes to the beer across from her.

  “She will,” Em mumbles.

  “Pretty lady like you shouldn’t be alone.” Laughter simmers in the bar-tender’s voice

  Is he making fun of me? Em looks up. He is holding a tray of empty glasses as he looks down at her, his head cocked to the side, smiling crookedly. Is his accent Arabic?

  Glowering, she ignores him until finally, he chuckles and says, “You want a beer just signal.” He waves his free hand in the air, gives her one final nod and walks away, swaying a little to the music as he holds his beer tray high. She watches him stop at another table, laughing and chatting with a group of girls barely old enough to be in the pub. Flirting. His face shines with exuberance. The two young women giggle, their eyes gleaming as they kibitz with him. In the dim light of the bar Em can almost see their faces flush. What a buffoon, she thinks.

  Slowly, she looks around. The tables are full now. She recognizes, but does not know, the mostly local folk heartily laughing and talking, ignoring the band that is working so hard to entertain them. A tall, nicely filled out Christmas tree – a white spruce, probably locally cut – decorated with twinkling lights gives the room a festive feel. A few brightly wrapped presents surround it. Are they real? Or just empty boxes?

  Finally! There is her sister, emerging from a hallway that leads to the restrooms. Has she been in the bathroom all this time? No, not Scarlett. Em watches her stand and look around. She walks toward the bar, head thrown back, long blond hair swishing prettily. From across the room her laughter trills raucously, even through this large crowd. Scarlett stands, hips slung, elbows on the bar, talking to the bar-tender. And she has a beer sitting here waiting for her. Sighing, Em reaches across the table to grasp Scarlett’s beer. Well, if she’s not going to drink it . . .

  A bevy of young men surround Scarlett, their eyes greedy, mouths slack, taking in every suggestive move she makes. She turns to face the stage with an outward thrust of her body. Pivoting hips move to the music that blares throughout the room. Her beautiful face shines. With eyes, half-closed, long, fake eyelashes seductively batting, lips pouting, she’s the picture of alluring sexiness. Scarlett dances her way across the floor toward her sister. All eyes are on her as she raises her arms, drink in hand, and swivels, moving wantonly, her tight, red dress shimmying up curvaceous legs. Finally, she plops herself onto the chair across from Em. She sets her glass down with a thump, and rests her elbows on the table, thrusting her chin into her palms.

  “Oh Emmie. I’m sorry for taking so long.” Her big, blue eyes are sincere as she bats them coquettishly at her older sister. “You know me. Ever the gad-about.” She flips her long hair over her shoulder with one quick shake of her head.

  Em cocks her head, looking deeply into her sister’s face. “Scarlett, you scare me.”

  Scarlett takes a sip of her beer, wipes her mouth with her forearm and laughs. “Oh, Em. Lighten up. I’m fine!”

  Em grunts, casting a glance around the room, noting the number of virile young men fixing their eyes upon her sister even now as she intentionally ignores them, ever aware. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble dancing around like you do.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Scarlett fixes her sister with a grim stare for a moment. Then she takes Em’s hand in both of hers and smiles. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, by the way. You know how I hate coming here alone.”

  “No problem.”

  “Here, let’s get a selfie of us two lovin’ being together!” Scarlett jumps up and totters around the table to slide onto the bench beside her sullen sister. Slinging her arm over Em’s shoulder, she leans her blonde head into her sister’s chestnut one. “Smile!” she chirps. Em turns her lips up slightly. Click. Scarlett pecks her on the cheek. “Love ya, little sis,” and she moves back to her chair across the table, her eyes sparkling as she studies the photo on her phone. “Here, I’ll send it to you. A reminder of us.” Em hears the buzz on her phone as it receives the picture. She doesn’t bother to look.

  Guzzling another slug of beer, she scrutinizes the tavern. Suddenly her eyes flicker as she gapes into the corner of the room. “Scarlett, don’t look now. But is that Jed over there in the corner?”

  Scarlett’s brow furrows. “Jed?”

  Em continues staring. Her face blanches. “Jed. Dad’s friend. The one who . . .”

  Scarlett jerks. Her eyes flare, color draining from her face. She turns her head to look. Wide-eyed, she gawks. Gasping inaudibly, she looks back to face her sister. “It’s him,” she whispers.

  They sit, silently staring. A scruffy-looking, middle-aged man with heavy features and greying hair pulled into a pony-tail, thinning in the front, sits at a table against the wall across the room. He is dressed in faded jeans, cowboy boots and an old black leather jacket He leans forward at his table, heavy brow furrowed, deep in conversation with a worn-looking woman sitting across from him.

  Em jolts upright. “I don’t think he’s seen us. Should we leave?” Though the noisy pub masks her voice, she speaks in a whisper. Not wanting to be seen watching, they scrutinize the woman from the corner of their eyes.

  “Can that be Rose?” Scarlett murmurs, peering sideways at the woman.

  “My god. It is. Poor Rose.” Em lowers her eyes to look intently at her stubby fingernails.

  Suddenly Jed shoves his chair back and, eyes glittering, stares boldly at the two sisters, who are whispering and leaning into each other. They turn their gaze to face the opposite direction, holding their breath, wishing they were invisible. He stands, glaring a moment, then walks toward them and looms over their table. Em can feel her heart pounding as she stares at her beer.

  His voice is deep and grating. “Well,
if it ain’t Dave’s two little girls all growed up.” He’s face twists into a sneering grin.

  Scarlett stares right back at him. “Fuck off Jed. We don’t want anything to do with you.”

  He’s clearly taken aback. “Well that ain’t a nice way to treat an old friend.”

  Em has mustered the courage to look at him now. He’s still a commanding figure, thick and muscular, though his face is lined and he’s grown a pot belly.

  Scarlett is scrappy tonight. “We remember you well,” she says haughtily. Her lip curls as she looks at him through cold, dead eyes.

  His bearing becomes menacing. “And if you know what’s good for you you’ll keep everything you remember to yourself.’

  Scarlett’s face is filled with disdain. She gives him the finger. With one last intimidating move, he shoves the girls’ table. They grab their beer to keep it from spilling. He turns, and charges across the bar and out the door.

  Rose sits for a while, apparently oblivious. She is thin, fragile looking, folded into herself. Her lined face is contorted in misery as she sits, taking the odd swallow of beer. Long, stringy grey hair falls into her face. A face that’s lived a hard life. She was a pretty woman once. Now she looks world-weary. Slowly, she rises, fumbling to pick up her purse and put her jacket on.

  “She’s leaving.” Scarlett turns to look directly at the woman who is slinking through the exit. Tears fill Scarlett’s eyes. “I wish we could help her.”

  “We can’t.” Em’s voice is gruff, but her eyes are glassy.

  The band is playing a Charles Daniels’ cover, ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’.

  “Wow! They’re good!” Scarlett jiggles to the music, taking in the masterful fiddling by the two fiddlers, their heads bobbing to the drummer’s beat. Although she blissfully dips and shimmies her shoulders as she sits on the edge of her seat, there’s a restless twitchiness about her. She’s as tense as the fiddle strings onstage. Her eyes shine as the band finishes. Clapping and hooting, she leads the audience in applause.