“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shook his head but stated, “I’m seein’ a lot of her Mom in her. This isn’t good. And I don’t know if I can draw out those demons or if it’s ingrained in her.”
“And those demons would be?” I prompted.
“She wants shit, lots of it. Shit I can’t afford. Shit she doesn’t need. And she’s not happy she can’t have it.”
I tipped my head to the side and suggested carefully, “Child of divorce?”
He shook his head, not in a “no” but in an “I don’t know” and replied, “We’ll see.”
I took one arm from around him, slid it up his chest, his neck to cup his cheek and I shared, “Mom, Dad, Darrin, my headspace was fucked but they never gave up on me. I came out of it, they were there. Not long after, I realized they always were. I never forgot it and that meant the world to me. I don’t know, babe, I don’t have kids but my advice, just don’t give up on her.”
“Wouldn’t do that anyway,” he muttered and I suspected he wouldn’t. His eyes captured mine and he asked, “How long you stayin’?”
“Well, since Debbie’s here for a couple of days, tomorrow I’m having brunch with the family sans my bitchface sister and if I’m happy with their pulse, my plane leaves tomorrow afternoon. I’m not, my plans are up in the air.”
He nodded right before he leaned in, twisted and took me to my back and when he settled, torso on me and hips between my legs, he asked quietly, “Your medium-sized vases sell for two hundred a go, that mean you can afford to get your ass on a plane to visit The ‘Burg frequently?”
My heart skipped and it hadn’t done that in a long time. Beau never made it do that, not even in the beginning. It had been so long, I didn’t know which moron had made it skip last.
But it skipped then. Definitely.
“Yes,” I whispered.
His eyes looked deep in mine.
Then he whispered back, “Good.”
“I’m glad you came to ream my ass and sort my shit out, Mike,” I shared.
He grinned and returned, “Not as glad as me.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m more glad.”
His grin turned to a smile and he conceded, “All right, honey, you can be more glad than me.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
“Now, you gonna shut up and kiss me or what?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “I think I already explained you’re good with your mouth. Do you think I’m gonna answer ‘or what’?”
“You’re not shutting up,” he informed me.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Right.”
His smile got bigger right before I lifted my head to kiss him.
Mike met me halfway.
Chapter Three
The Food of Your People
A cell phone ringing woke Mike up.
It wasn’t his ring but he opened his eyes and looked across the empty bed. Dusty and her warm, soft body were gone.
She’d slept snuggled close to him all night. As he usually did, starting when No was born, he woke several times. He did this just to scan the vibe of the house. Sometimes, even if his senses told him nothing was wrong, he’d get up and do a walkthrough. He didn’t do this frequently but he did it. Paranoid, maybe, but he’d seen enough shit, heard a fuckload more, he loved his kids, it didn’t take long and he fell back to sleep easily so he did it.
And habit woke him three times in the night and each time Dusty was pressed close.
She felt good there.
Audrey didn’t press close. She did in the beginning but as things turned bad, he retreated. She got pissy and they ended their relationship with a yard of space between them in their bed. His back turned to her, hers turned to him.
Fuck, their bed itself was an example of the reason why their marriage deteriorated. She’d bought a six thousand dollar bed and very shortly after he’d discovered it couldn’t be returned. So they had a huge-ass bed in which they could have a yard of space between them, her buying that damned bed being why the space was there.
Since he’d got quit of her, he’d taken a number of women to bed but not his bed.
Except for Vi.
He hadn’t even invited any of the women he’d seen to his home. Although some of them he’d seen more than once, one he’d dated for five months. And he’d spent the night at their places but none of them he’d let snuggle him while he slept.
He knew why this was. He was seeking distance. He was keeping them at arm’s length.
Audrey did a number on his head, striking a blow to his ability to trust. Then came Violet who didn’t mean to strike her blow but she did it all the same. This made him wary. He wasn’t going to get too close. Especially not too close too fast.
That was the mistake he made with Vi. He ignored the signs and allowed himself to start falling for her too damned soon. He knew he was in a game of hearts, his opponent her now husband and the father of her youngest daughter, Joe Callahan. Fuck, he even knew he had no hope of winning.
He still went for it anyway.
But that shit stung, losing her. He had her weeks and Audrey years and losing Vi marked him whereas getting quit of Audrey freed him.
So he told himself, not again.
But Dusty was something else. When he woke and found her pressed to him, he didn’t gently roll Dusty away. He left Dusty right where she was.
The phone stopped ringing and he turned in bed. Then he looked through the room seeing nothing. It was early, the room was dark.
Then he looked to the alarm clock.
It was ten after six.
He reached out an arm and turned on the light, his eyes going to the mirrored doors on the closet opposite the bathroom. The door to the bathroom was open, the room dark, no one inside.
He looked to the floor and saw his clothes tangled with Dusty’s jeans, tee and panties and the closed pizza box.
Fuck, it was ten after six. Where was she?
He pushed up in bed, his eyes going to his nightstand and he saw it. A piece of hotel note paper.
He reached out an arm and tagged it.
Bringing it to him, he read:
Gorgeous,
Off to procure the food of your people.
Back soon,
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
-D
He felt his lips curve as he stared at the note.
The food of his people. He hoped she meant Hilligoss donuts.
His eyes moved over the note and he felt his face go soft. This was because he knew she probably dashed it off but still, the fucking thing could be framed. Her penmanship was artistic and interesting. But it was the hugs and kisses with her initial that were stunning. The x’s and o’s were done on a slant with a bunch of flourishes that attached them to the elaborately drawn “-D”.
Staring at the note, he remembered another thing that was Dusty. As a kid, she was always busy. She might hang out in front of the TV but only when people she cared about were hanging out in front of the TV. All other times, she had an abundance of energy and creativity. When she did her chores, she sang and even danced, filling the house with her sweet, pure voice and her exuberant kid happy vibe. She was also often at the kitchen table or on her belly in her bed drawing. Her Mom put these pictures up on the fridge and rightfully bragged about them frequently. Others, Dusty hung on the wall on her side of the bedroom in a way that looked good but appeared haphazard.
Debbie hated it, thought it looked a mess and bitchily said it was a fire hazard when it wasn’t. But Mike, even as a teenage boy, could look at Dusty’s pictures for hours. They were of everything. Flowers, fantastical shit she imagined in her head, landscapes of their farm, sketches of her family and Mike. The detail, the skill, the imagination, it was captivating.