by Freya Barker
Well, right now has arrived with Neeta’s question.
“Love kids,” I tell her honestly. “Had dreams of having my own once, and then it felt like time just ran out. You get older, life happens, I had my mom to look after, there just never seemed to be a right moment. Recently I’ve been wondering...”
I let my voice drift off and look surreptitiously at Jake. There’s nothing surreptitious about the way he stares at me; not a hint of rejection shows, just open curiosity.
“You can always adopt if your eggs are too shriveled,” Grant offers with a wave of his hand. “I told Richard just last week I want to look at adopting some rug rats. He’s not getting any younger, and I always wanted a family of my own.”
I slide my arm in his and put my head on his massive shoulder. “Maybe try not to refer to your future children as rug rats?” I tell him. “But I think you’d make a wonderful parent.”
“And you’d make an amazing mom,” my slightly inebriated friend returns.
“Thank you, but the truth is, I’m not sure how kids would work now. The shelter is taking up so much of my time, and it’s not even set to open until the end of February. It’ll only get busier.”
I’d been surprised when I heard Guild Film Productions wanted to donate Kyle Steele’s earnings from Basics to finance the homeless shelter. Of course, the company played it up for ratings, and made it sound like they were granting the star of their movie his final wish. It’s all about the ratings, even Kyle’s funeral had been a media frenzy, and although Basics won’t be released for another six months, the hype around the movie is already high.
Drexler called me a week later, just when I was building up courage to contact him at Jake’s urging. He said since I put this whole shelter thing in motion, I might as well show him what I had envisioned. With Jake and Hillary’s help, and lots of research on zoning, building permits needed, government rules and regulations etcetera, I had a plan off to him the next week. I received a one-line message back within hours.
It said: Now make it happen.
So I did. I made it happen, with a shitload of help. It’s so far the most singularly rewarding thing I think I’ve ever been involved with. But aside from caring for my mother, it’s also the most time consuming. Already I sometimes feel Jake and I don’t get enough time together.
Adding kids to that mix is bound to make it worse.
I HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK last night.
Woke up with a steady thump in my skull and was ready to cancel all activities for the day and stay in bed, but Jake wouldn’t let me. He watched me swallow down a couple of pills with the water he brought me, and then force-fed me bacon and eggs.
“See?” he said smugly, when I walked out of the bathroom after a cool shower he suggested would make me right as rain again. “Now put on your coat. You know your mom is probably already waiting by the window.”
I snort, because the only reason Mom waits by the window on Sundays is that Jake comes with me. Mom’s healed surprisingly well from her fall, but her mind is far gone now. She hasn’t forgotten how to flirt, something she still does with Grant to this day, but her new favorite subject is Jake.
When we drive up to our regular spot underneath her second floor window, I don’t see her face peeking out from the sheers.
“Mom?” I call out when we walk into the empty room, Jake following in behind me. The door to the small bathroom is open a crack and odd sounds are emerging. I carefully push the door wider and peek around the corner. “What on earth?”
My mother swings around, shock on her face, just as Jake looks over my shoulder. She is standing barefoot with her pant legs rolled up to her knees, in the middle of a substantial, and growing, puddle of water, apparently trying to shove her cane down the toilet.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
“Watcha up to, Connie?” Jake adds.
She looks from one to the other and settles on Jake. Figures.
“Cleaning up.”
I’m not sure what it is she’s cleaning up, but it’s making a mess.
Jake moves faster than me and with a quick, somewhat disgusted peek in the bowl, puts an arm around Mom’s shoulders, guiding her from the tiny bathroom. “Why don’t you tell me all about it and we let Rosie clean up the mess, shall we?” he coos at her, shooting me a wink in passing.
Fucking wonderful.
It would appear my mother had an accident, and instead of calling nursing staff to help her, she tried to hide the evidence. This by flushing her soiled underwear down the toilet.
Mom will not wear Depends. She refuses adamantly. There are times the woman forgets her own name, but she does not forget her pride. Of course the toilet is plugged up, and I’m guessing from the amount of water flowing over the bowl, she’s tried several times to flush.
It takes maintenance an hour to get there after I discover she’s shoved her soiled underpants too far down the drain for me to retrieve, and by the time the man is gone, Jake has coaxed Mom to bed and she is peacefully sleeping. She probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow.
“Thanks for your help,” I snipe at Jake when we walk out.
“Figured it would be good practice for you,” he tries to joke. I assume he’s referring to wiping butts or whatever, a play on last night’s discussion about kids, but I’m not amused and not afraid to show it.
Following me around the truck, he grabs my arm, swings me around, and pins me to the passenger door with his body.
“Bad joke,” he whispers with his lips on mine, before cupping my face in his hands. “Truth is, if your mom was in full control of her mind, that situation would have been embarrassing. I was trying to preserve her dignity, distract her, pretend I was oblivious. The way she is now she may not have cared, but I do.”
Just like that any irritation, any anger, is gone. I cover his hands with mine and lift my mouth for another, much better kiss.
“You’re a good egg, Jacob Hutchinson. Hey!” I yelp when he pinches my butt.
“Killing my street cred, babe,” he says with a smirk, as lifts me into the passenger seat.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and look up at my mom’s window as he backs out of the spot and turns onto the street.
“You would, you know?” Jake says a couple of minutes later, hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. “You’d make a great mom.”
No reference was made to the whole kids discussion from last night, until his poor attempt at a joke a few minutes ago. Nothing was mentioned and now he hits me from left field with this remark. I’m not sure whether it’s anxiety that we’re actually going to have this conversation, which is causing the nervous fluttering in my gut, or whether I should just stay away from Grant’s spicy enchiladas. I need a second to take a deep breath before I speak.
“I’d try to be,” I say softly, turning my gaze out the passenger window. “I would’ve liked to have that chance, but it just doesn’t seem to make sense at this point; with everything going on in our lives.”
Neither of us says anything else until Jake pulls into our driveway with a beautiful view of the mountains in the back.
“We could make it work,” he says, after turning off the engine and shifting in his seat to face me. “If you wanted to, we could make it work. We just have to sit down and talk it through.”
“You want this? Kids?”
He shrugs his shoulders and smiles as he reaches and pulls me over to his side, and takes my hands in his.
“Not kids in general maybe, but possible kids with you? Yeah, I think I do.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
TIME TO SHOW MY LOVE and appreciation to the usual suspects;
My agent, Stephanie Phillips of SBR Media, who was the driving force behind me writing Hit&Run.
My editor, Karen Hrdlicka, and alpha reader and proofreader, Joanne Thompson, who as always held my hand.
My publicists, Debra Presley and Drue Hoffman of Buoni Amici Press, who start working on p
romotion and marketing months in advance.
My amazing formatter, CP Smith, who turns my ratty manuscripts into little pieces of art.
My awesome beta team who share their welcome opinions and offer suggestions.
The fabulous blogs and early reviewers who help get the word about my books to you.
And of course you, my readers, who are my motivation, my drive, and my gratification.
A mountain of gratitude to you all.
Lots of love!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
FREYA BARKER INSPIRES with her stories about 'real’ people, perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy, but just as deserving of romance, thrills and chills, and some hot, sizzling sex in their lives.
Recipient of the RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for best first book, “Slim To None,” Freya has hit the ground running. She loves nothing more than to meet and mingle with her readers, whether it be online or in person at one of the signings she attends.
Freya spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
https://www.freyabarker.com
ALSO BY FREYA BARKER
ON CALL SERIES:
BURNING FOR AUTUMN
COVERING OLLIE
TRACKING TAHLULA
(coming October 2019)
ROCK POINT SERIES:
KEEPING 6
CABIN 12
HWY 550
10-CODE
NORTHERN LIGHTS COLLECTION:
A CHANGE OF TIDE
A CHANGE OF VIEW
A CHANGE OF PACE
SNAPSHOT SERIES:
SHUTTER SPEED
FREEZE FRAME
IDEAL IMAGE
PORTLAND, ME, NOVELS:
FROM DUST
CRUEL WATER
THROUGH FIRE
STILL AIR
LuLLaY
(a Christmas novella)
CEDAR TREE SERIES:
SLIM TO NONE
HUNDRED TO ONE
AGAINST ME
CLEAN LINES
UPPER HAND
LIKE ARROWS
HEAD START