“No!” I cried, reaching out again to grab her arm as the phone rang. “Don’t tell Bray and Brent.”
“Are you high?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline. “There is no way I’m not sharin’ this. This is huge. Half the single women in the Evergreen moved to the Evergreen because Mitch lives there, silly bitches, since he does not dip his toe in his home pool. Derek told me he has a strict rule, no Evergreen babes. He doesn’t need to be bumpin’ into old booty calls every time he goes to the gym. Now, he’s hooked up with you and you’re right across the breezeway. The whole Evergreen is gonna be all over this.”
I felt my heart slide into my throat and my lungs started burning as I heard Roberta say, “Pierson’s Mattress and Bed, how can I be of help?” Then she went on to say something that made my heart swell in my throat so it started choking me, “Well hey there, Mitch! How the heck are you?”
I turned woodenly to her to see she was staring at the counter and grinning ear to ear.
“Yeah, she’s right here and I gotta tell you, you called just in time. She just had another customer hit on her,” Roberta informed Mitch and my hand flew out to curl around the edge of the counter as I stared at her aghast. “Happens all the time,” Roberta shared. “See, he may come back, sometimes they do, and I hope you don’t mind but I fibbed a little, told the customer she was dating a police detective who never missed a workout. You don’t do you? Ever miss a workout?” she asked curiously, settling in with a hip to the counter like she was going to gab with Mitch all day and I heard LaTanya giggle. “Right, that’s what I thought,” Roberta muttered, her smile going broader but her eyes getting a little glazed then she snapped out of it and finished, “So anyway, if he comes back, I can tell him she’s on the phone with her man, is that cool with you?”
That was when I found my voice but just barely so it came out as a whisper when I demanded, “Bobbie, give me the phone.”
“Oh great, glad that’s cool with you,” Roberta said to Mitch.
Oh God!
“Bobbie,” I said louder. “Give me the phone.”
“What?” Roberta asked. “Sure. You too. Hope to see you later.” Pause then, “Bye Mitch.” Then her head came up, her shining eyes came to me and shared, “He never misses a workout just as is suspected.”
LaTanya hooted with laughter.
I snatched the phone out of Roberta’s hand, glared at her, pushed in front of her and gave both my friends my back as I put the phone to my ear.
“Mitch?”
“Hey sweetheart,” he said softly, I could hear laughter in his voice and I felt that familiar whoosh in my belly.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“It was, until your friend told me a customer hit on you. That happen a lot?”
“Um…”
“It happens a lot,” he muttered.
“Uh…”
He was back to sounding amused when he remarked, “Good to know your girl’s got your back.”
“Um…” I mumbled then pulled myself together and asked, “Why are you calling?”
“Wanted to give you a brief. Got the kids. We’re at the Station. They looked through some photos. The good news is, it isn’t the Russian mob. The bad news is, we have no clue who it is. Showed the kids some photos of your cousin’s known associates, nothin’ sparked. Bud’s workin’ with a sketch artist now.”
“Is Billie helping?” I asked.
“No, she had a rough night and followed that up with a rough morning. Showed her mug shots but that’s as far as I wanted to take it with her. Hank, a friend of mine, came in with his woman. Now Billie’s drawing in an interrogation room with Roxie.”
“Thanks, Mitch,” I said softly. “I think that was the right thing to do.”
“Yeah,” he replied just as softly then asked, “You’ll be home around seven?”
“Just after,” I answered.
“I’ll get the kids fed. You got a taste for something for dinner?”
“I’ll pick something up on the way home.”
“No, baby, I’ll cook. I need to run by the grocery store with the kids anyway. Could pick up anything you want.”
I wasn’t breathing nor was I listening. I was stuck on Mitch telling me he’d cook just like he told me he cooked for me once or twice (or more times) a week for the last ten years of my life.
And I liked the way it sounded.
“Mara?” he called and I shut my eyes tight then opened them.
“I’m here.”
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Really, uh…I’ll just pick something up.”
“We both gotta eat,” he told me.
“You can eat with the kids,” I told him.
“Billie’s decreed she wants fish sticks and Billy’s decreed he wants whatever Billie wants. I stopped eating fish sticks when I was eleven and finally convinced my Ma I hated ‘em. So, I’m not eatin’ with the kids, I’m eatin’ with you.”
“Mitch –” I started to protest, sounding exactly like I was about to protest.
“Mara, baby, quiet,” he said softly, my mouth closed partly because he called me baby but mostly because he said my name softly. When he got silence he went on. “How’s this? Tell me what you don’t like and I’ll cook whatever I want just as long as it isn’t something you don’t like.”
“Um…” I began then stopped.
“Not hard, baby,” he whispered.
“Uh…”
“You like chili?” he asked.
“Um…” I mumbled and he chuckled.
“Mara, sweetheart, do you like chili?”
“Yes,” I forced out.
“Then I’ll make chili and cornbread,” he decided and the instant he did I started to get hungry because that sounded really good. What sounded better was going to Mitch’s and eating dinner with him whether he cooked it or not.
“Mitch –” I murmured but stopped speaking and my back went straight when I heard a shouted, “There you fuckin’ are!”
I whipped around just as Roberta whispered, “What on earth?” and I saw my Mom and Aunt Lulamae bearing down on us.
I watched them charging through the sea of beds noting they hadn’t changed, not a bit, except for the fact that they’d aged thirty years in the thirteen that had passed. Both of their hair was dyed blonde. Mom’s a brassy, straw blonde with at least an inch of steel gray mixed with dark roots. Aunt Lulamae’s was a mixture of blonde and chunks of brunette. She called it streaked but she did it herself so it looked more like stripes. They were baring way too much cleavage considering not only their breasts but also their skin were sagging. Their skin was also leathery and overly tanned even though summer hadn’t quite started. They were also both wearing skintight everything: Mom, Capri pants and a scoop-necked t-shirt; Aunt Lulamae jeans and a flouncy blouse that was unbuttoned way too far down and the buttons that were done up were straining. They both had on too much makeup as in enough to cover the faces of the entire squad of Denver Broncos cheerleaders during games for at least half the season. And they were both teetering on high-heeled, platform stripper shoes.
Good God. There they were. At my work.
“You little bitch!” Aunt Lulamae shrieked when she got close.
I did nothing, said nothing, just stood there staring at them in horror mixed liberally with fear.
“Jesus, is that the Trailer Trash Twins?” Mitch asked in my ear.
“And who are you?” LaTanya asked the Trailer Trash Twins.
Aunt Lulamae shoved her hand, palm up, about half an inch from LaTanya’s face. LaTanya’s head jerked back about half a foot, her hands went direct to her hips and her brows snapped together.
Uh-oh.