Текст книги "Storms Over Secrets"

Автор книги: J. A. DeRouen

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“What do you mean?”

Mom and Mo approach, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I don’t want to talk about Sarge today. Mo reaches down and places a kiss on my forehead and a quick squeeze to my neck. “Hey, baby boy.”

“Hey Mo,” I say as I grab her wrist and squeeze. “Those chickens keeping you busy?”

Where Mom is petite and blonde, Mo is tall and slender. She's part Houma Indian, so she’s blessed with thick, dark, pencil-straight hair, and a rich complexion that’s the envy of sunbathers everywhere. While complete opposites in appearance, my moms are the two most in-sync people I’ve ever met. They are a living, breathing example of a relationship based on true love and unwavering respect.

The chickens, the orchards, and tending to the land in general has always been more of Mom’s thing, but Mo helps out more, now that she’s semi-retired. Mo is an emergency room doctor, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be able to fully give it up. Although they don’t need the money, she still picks up a shift or two every month at the hospital.

“Nah, they’re just a bunch of old biddies. Nothing I can’t handle,” Mo replies with a wink. "There are a few areas of fencing on the chicken coop that need repair. Would you mind taking a look at it?”

“Of course,” I say. “Supplies still in the barn?”

“They sure are,” Mo says as she extends her hand to Celia to help her up. Before I know what’s happening, Mom and Mo each have an arm looped through Celia’s and they’re hauling her off in the direction of the main house. “We’ll just take Celia back to the house for a visit. You can meet us when you’re done.”

“Okay,” I mutter, utterly confused by the turn of events. They usually worship the ground I walk on, but today I’m no better than the chicken shit littering the coop.

What the hell?

I’m sweaty, I’m dirty, and I’m more than a little irritated with my parents. If I know those two, they’ve probably leaked my deepest, darkest secrets to Celia in rapid succession. Well, in all honesty, I’m an open book. I’m a loud and proud, butt-scratching, balls blowing in the breeze kind of guy, so I guess I shouldn’t worry about what they’ve told her. But I cringe when I hear the cackling filtering through the door the second my foot hits the first step.

I just know they’re laughing about me. Those are Cain-induced cackles; I have no doubt.

I grab my balls, figuratively, of course, and power through. I bound through that door, a man with nothing to hide. I live in the light, dammit! I have nothing to be ashamed of. Only, the cackles die into utter silence the second they hear my approach, and I blow out a sigh of concession.

I knew it!

As I round the corner into the kitchen, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of Mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, although now they smell more like betrayal. I eye each of them suspiciously, and their lips are pursed, holding in laughter that I’m sure will fly any second.

“You’re both dead to me,” I say with an evil glare trained on my parents.

And I’m met with an explosion of laughter. I wave them all off with a swing of my arms and storm out of the room.

“Cain, don’t be mad at us. Come eat some cookies, honey,” Mom pleads, none too convincingly, through her barking laughter.

“I’m going to shower!” I holler as I tromp down the hall. “You two need to think about what you did.”

My scolding only serves to set off another roll of howling laughter.

No respect. None at all.

“Near to You” by A Fine Frenzy

Present Day

“YOUR MOMS ARE so cool,” Celia says with a smile as we walk down the drive.

“Yeah, they’re something else. I must admit, I’ve been blessed.”

“Was it ever … was it ever difficult?” She sees my confused look and sighs. “I mean, did kids ever give you crap about your parents? I know children can be very cruel…”

I shake my head and smile down at her. “No, not really. We lived in New Orleans until I was fourteen. Anything goes there, so no one ever gave it much thought, I guess. While I knew we were a little bit unconventional in comparison to other families, people are pretty accepting of alternate lifestyles there. We moved to Providence when Sarge, my gramps, needed a little … extra help. By the time we moved here, I towered over the other kids. Nobody fucks with the biggest kid in class. I joke with Mom and Mo that they showed up at the sperm bank demanding the sample of the tallest man in the bunch. That way, they knew I could take care of any assholes that crossed my path.” Celia’s eyes widen in surprise, and I chuckle. “Of course, that’s not what happened, but I still like to tease them. I can’t deny my size probably worked in my favor. Well, that, and being captain of the basketball team, running back of the football team, and an all-around charming mother fucker.”

Celia nods her head with pursed lips and squinted eyes, feigning seriousness. “You should never underestimate the importance of being a charming mother fucker.”

Call me a pervert, but those dirty words coming out of that sweet little mouth shoot straight to my cock. I need to change my thought process before I end up with an ill-timed dick tent.

Deer guts. Dog shit. Old saggy titties. Whew, problem solved.

“And just where are we going, Cain Bennett?” Celia asks as we stroll farther down the driveway.

I widen my eyes and shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence, and Celia giggles. The gravel crunches under our feet, and I look down at her swinging arms as she half walks, half skips. I take a chance and grab her hand, and do a mental fist pump when she doesn’t pull away.

“You know what I think?” she asks with a mischievous smile. “I think this is your attempt to get me away from your moms. I’m collecting way too much ammunition for your liking. Why have you never told me about the toilet seat incident?”

My feet root to the ground, and she jerks back with my sudden stop. “Oh no, they didn’t,” I say quietly, while murderous thoughts roll through my brain. “That was no laughing matter. I had to get stitches. Stitches! No five year old boy wants to see a needle coming at his rooster.”

Celia doubles over in laughter, clutching her stomach. “Your rooster? Really?”

“When I was five? Yes, I called it my rooster,” I explain with a huff. I bend at the knee to meet her eye to eye. “Now that I’m a grown ass man? I think anaconda is more appropriate.”

Her cheeks blush a pretty shade of pink, and she lowers her lashes to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, hush,” she says, with a shove of my shoulder.

I take back my hold of her hand, and keep walking in silence. My big, indelicate mitt swallows her dainty fingers, but nothing has ever felt so right.

“Do you know they wanted to stitch me up at home? Can you believe that? My dick gets nearly cut off by a rogue toilet seat, and Mo thinks she can sew it up in the kitchen. That’s what I get for having an ER doctor as a mom,” I say as I shake my head in utter disbelief.

“Well, it’s a good thing that cooler heads prevailed,” Celia says, smashing her lips together to curb her laughter.

“Keep it up, Tink, keep it up. I fail to see the humor in that story. It’s every man’s nightmare. I couldn’t take a piss without holding the toilet seat up with my hand for years, and I only stopped then because I had grown tall enough to make the trajectory of the toilet seat a non-issue.”

That tiny piece of information unlocks the floodgates, and I stand, hands on hips and head lowered, as Celia howls with laughter. I can’t believe Mom and Mo did this to me. I’m trying to woo Celia, and now she’s laughing her ass off at my maimed rooster. Not very woo-worthy … not at all.

“Ya done?” I ask when she finally quiets down.

Her lips form a pretty pout as she lunges and wraps her arms around my waist. She gives me a tight squeeze and looks up at me with those blue doe-like eyes. “I’m sorry, Cain-Cain. Do you forgive me?”

“Now they’ve done it. They’ve crossed the line this time,” I say, shaking my head, plotting the imminent demise of Mom and Mo for revealing my childhood nickname, among other things.

She lets out an infectious giggle and bats her lashes at me. I clear my throat and squeeze right back before I grasp under her arms and pull her high above my head. She peeks down at me, sunshine filtering through her wispy blonde hair, eyes dancing, and glittered feet poking me in the stomach.

She looks magical, angelic, almost dreamlike. Without any forethought, acting on pure instinct and overwhelming need, I bench-press her down to my lips, capturing her bottom lip between mine. I gently suck, the taste of candied lip-gloss tempting my taste buds, and the scent of summer and honeysuckles flooding my senses. It’s soft and fleeting, just a whisper, and leaves me wanting more—so much more.

“But you? I’ll always forgive you, Tink,” I whisper as I raise her higher in the air. Her smile falters, and her eyes grow misty, so I swing her around behind me until she latches onto my neck and her legs wrap around my waist.

I carry her the rest of the way to the fig trees, loving the feel of her body pressed against my back. Her cheek brushes against the rim of my ear as she bounces with each step. Her breath dances down the curve of my neck, as she giggles and taunts me with “giddy-up” and “faster Cain Cain, faster.” Her fingernails clutch my shirt and scrape my chest. Her thighs squeeze my waist as she holds on to me, the same way I imagine she would if…

Fuck! Cow udders. Yellow toenails. Old man ear hair.

“We’re here,” I squeak, three octaves higher than my regular voice. She hops off my back with a graceful bounce, seemingly unaware of my “struggles.”

“Fig trees?” she asks.

“Yep,” I answer as I search out the most shaded tree and tug her underneath to sit with me. “This is the most peaceful place on Earth, I swear it.”

I prop my back up on the tree trunk, and Celia lays down, head in my lap and her feet crossed at the ankles. She closes her eyes and breathes in, the tiny hint of a smile playing on her lips. “We should have brought Biz. He would love it out here.”

I let out a laugh and shake my head. “I don’t think so. I tried that once and believe me, it’s a mistake I won’t make again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Close your eyes and listen,” I say, and she does what I ask. “Do you hear the birds?”

She nods, keeping her eyes shut. “It’s so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

“There’s every kind of bird you can think of out here—robins, cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, and so many more. The figs attract them. They love the sweet fruit as much as we do, and really, can you blame them? It’s a bird conservatory, most of the time. Imagine an excited Biz raiding birds’ nests and angry momma birds pecking the shit out of him. The two of us barely made it out of here alive,” I say with a chuckle.

She lifts up on her elbow and laughs. “I can just picture it—you scooping up Biz and making a break for it, all the while shielding your head from the dive-bombing birds. I bet you two were a sight.”

“You could say that,” I agree as I pluck a couple of figs off the tree and hand her one. They’re warm from the sun, and when my teeth pierce the skin, the sweetness of the flesh and seeds fill my mouth. I eat the fig in one big bite, leaving only the stem, which I toss behind me. I look up at Celia and realize she’s watching me intently, fig still sitting uneaten in her hand.

She smiles and lifts the fruit to her lips and takes a tiny bite, closing her eyes and chewing slowly. Her eyes open, and she smiles at me. “Thank you for today. When I’m with you … I forget to be sad.”

I quietly watch her as she finishes her fig and tosses the stem over her shoulder. I reach up for two more and hand one to her.

“You’d better be careful, Tink. That’s a dangerous thing.” I keep a solemn expression, looking down and shaking my head.

“Is it now?”

“Oh yeah. Do you know what comes after forgetting to be sad?” Her lips twitch as she holds back her smile and lifts her eyebrows in question. “Actually wanting to be happy. You think you’re ready for that?”

She gently taps the fig to her bottom lip, and she blesses me with watery eyes and a smile. “I don’t know, but I think I’d like to try … with you, I want to try so badly,” she whispers, then takes a bite of her fig, her eyes never leaving mine as she chews slowly.

I reach for her, brushing my thumb across her cheek, and she leans into me. She closes her eyes and exhales softly, her lips parting as a breath escapes her. My hand continues the journey, landing with a firm grip on the back of her neck. Unable to resist another second, I pull her to me and meet her halfway. I press my lips to hers, softly at first, and taste the ripened fig juice and lip-gloss lingering between us. She responds to me with equal pressure, hesitant but curious. Needing more, I lick her plump bottom lip, then push into her mouth, sliding my tongue against hers. She whimpers softly, and I swear to Christ, my dick gets so hard at the sound, I’m afraid it’s turned to petrified wood. She inches closer, and her hands grasp my hair as I devour her. Not a word is spoken, but it’s the most intimate conversation I’ve ever had.

I grab her hips and tug until she falls on top of me, hardened nipples grazing my chest. I run my hand down her perfectly rounded ass, gripping tightly and pushing her into my hard cock. My eyes roll back in my head from the delicious friction.

She pulls away slightly, then presses her lips back to mine before pulling away again, landing on her knees. She rests her forehead against mine and keeps her eyes closed. “Wait,” she exhales. “I can’t … I shouldn’t … I don’t know…”

“It’s okay, Celia. Just breathe. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours,” I say, running my hand down the length of her arm and taking her hand, giving her the time she needs to gather her thoughts.

She shakes her head and opens her misty blue eyes. I see through her, inside the deepest parts of her, and she can’t hide the war within herself. The push and pull. The want and regret. The battle I’m fighting to win is taking its toll.

“My heart isn’t mine to give. I wish it were, but I lost it a long time ago. I don’t think I can be what you need. What you deserve. I’m not available for that sort of thing,” she whispers softly. Her expression is pained, and I want to fight her. I want to tell her how wrong she is—her heart isn’t lost, it’s only confused. I will fight her on this, but now is not the time. I give her a slight nod and let the issue lie … for now.

“C’mere,” I say, raising my arm in invitation. “Lay back and listen to the music.”

She scoots closer and puts her head back in my lap and closes her eyes. I rest my head on the tree and do the same. The birds put on a hell of a concert. As time passes, Celia’s breathing evens out, and I think she’s been lulled into an afternoon nap. I’m not far behind when Celia shifts slightly, grabbing my attention.

“They worry about you, ya know?” she whispers.

“Mom and Mo?”

“Yeah. They think you’re a grazer—that you’ll never settle on anyone.”

“Is that so?” I chuckle and roll my eyes.

“Yep,” she answers with a giggle. “Mo says you’re a cow grazing the field. You chew the cud, spit it out, and keep on moving.”

“Women are the cud in this analogy?”

“It seems so.”

I let out a sigh. “I’m not a grazer, Celia. But I refuse to make promises I can’t keep.”

She remains quiet. From the outside looking in, I guess I look like a grazer of sorts, and I’m not sure how to make her understand my point.

“The thing is, I had a girlfriend in college. By girlfriend, I mean I was faithful and had a good time with her. Unfortunately, it meant something different to her. She saw an engagement ring, wedding bells, and two-point-five kids with the last name Bennett. There were lots of tears and hurt feelings when things ended. I take responsibility for that—I wasn’t clear from the beginning. Kimberly didn’t deserve that.”

“So now?”

“Now?” I shrug my shoulders and smile. “I keep things light. When my feelings change, so will my approach. Until then, I won’t promise anything more than a good time. Promises are just pretty lies.”

“Promises are pretty lies,” she whispers, then turns away from me, curling her knees into her chest.

“Hey now,” I say, tugging a wisp of her hair. “Where’d you go?”

She breathes in deeply and shakes her head. “I’m here.”

Every time I feel I’m making progress with Celia, something pulls her away from me again. I can’t get a hold of what’s on the other end of this tug of war. The only thing I know for certain is I’m not fucking letting go. I’m gonna break through this fog, and she’ll see what I’ve known all along—she and I could be great together. Who am I kidding? We’d be fucking amazing. Epic.

“The question is, are you ready for the real show?” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows and a tap on her back, coaxing her to sit up.

“There’s more?”

“Pfft,” I say with an eye roll. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve always got something up my sleeve, girl.”

I stand and dust off as she giggles and joins me. I turn around and motion for her to jump on my back, and she hops on without hesitation.

“Now, bringing Biz out here is absolute mayhem, but there’s no reason we can’t make a little ruckus, right?” I ask, turning to meet her eyes.

“I … guess ... so,” she answers. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

I shoot her a mischievous smile and wink as I spread my arms wide. Fingertip to fingertip, I can touch trees on both sides. I grab branches on both sides and give them a hard tug, then holler as I shake down the house.

“What the…” Celia yelps as the birds shoot out of the trees—a spray of color, feathers, and caws showering us in unison.

Celia bursts into laughter as I break out into a full run, grabbing branches all the way down the row. Feathers brush our faces like raindrops, and several strategic ducking maneuvers keep us from getting pummeled. I turn back and see Celia’s head thrown back on a howl, fist pumping the air. She’s never looked more beautiful.

When I reach the end of the row, I bend over and grab my knees to catch my breath. Celia tightens around my neck and waist, hanging on as giggles overtake her. I stand up and turn around to survey the damage. Feathers of every color litter the ground, some still fluttering in the air. The melodic music from before has morphed into full-on squawking, and I fear there may be retaliation in our future.

“Celia, I think we should get out of here before this turns into a Hitchcock movie,” I whisper as I take silent steps of retreat.

Her eyes grow wide, but her smile stays firmly in place. “I think you’re right—about the Hitchcock movie … and about earlier,” she says as she gives my body a tight squeeze.

I smirk and chuckle as quietly as possible. “What am I right about this time, Tink?” I whisper.

“I may just want to be happy.”

With every word, she makes my heart pump that much faster, that much stronger.

I’m gonna teach you to live again, Tink, just you watch.

“Running to Stand Still” by U2

The Past

I REACH THE end of the corridor and find the office door open, and I know he’s waiting for me. I stop short of the entryway and take a moment to collect myself—to plant the phony smile on my face. It’s the smile everyone expects from me, and I’ve never been one disappoint. I rap my knuckles lightly on the doorframe before giving myself too much time to dwell.

“Ah, Celia, my illustrious valedictorian. Come in, come in, have a seat,” Mr. Bernard, my school’s guidance counselor, says as he walks around his desk and sits down in one of the guest chairs, tapping the other seat with his hand.

“Hey Mr. Bernard. I know I’m supposed to give you a copy of my graduation speech today, but it’s not quite ready. I’ve been so busy, and I need a little more time—”

He taps my knee in comfort. “No worries, I know you’ve been busy, my dear.”

I look away, unable to meet his eyes. I have been busy, but that’s not the reason I don’t have a speech to show him. The truth is, I’m finding it exceedingly difficult to be inspirational lately. How can I deliver a speech about bright futures and following dreams when I feel mired in perpetual darkness?

“Thank you, sir.”

“So, it’s Northern U in the fall, I hear. Full scholarship, of course.” I nod my head and force a smile. “Well, they’re lucky to have you.”

“I’m honored they chose me.”

“The next four years are some of the best, Celia. You be sure you get your head out of the books every once in awhile and enjoy it, ya hear me?”

“I will, Mr. Bernard. I’m so excited for the fall,” I lie, but thankfully he doesn’t take notice.

I can’t muster up an ounce of excitement for the future, because I’m living day to day at this point. Who can think of frat parties and dorm life when I’m constantly worried about Lucas? About Grams? How can I be excited for the future when I can’t shake this ominous feeling? What if keeping Lucas’s secret is the worst decision I’ve ever made?

The smallest things are a struggle for him lately. He obsesses over his thoughts being stolen. He’ll only eat packaged foods now, for fear he’s being poisoned. If there is even the tiniest indication the packaging of the food has been tampered with, he refuses to eat it.

“You’re dating the Landry boy, right?” I nod my head at him, and he beams. “High school sweethearts—my wife and I dated in high school, too. You two make such a sweet couple.”

I lower my eyes in what I’m sure Mr. Bernard mistakes as bashfulness. The truth is, Lucas’s and my relationship has evolved into something very different lately. We’re partners in crime—co-conspirators. The moment I made Lucas that dreadful promise, the dynamic of our relationship shifted. I’m the inventor of excuses, the creator of distractions, and the author of endless lies.

“I just saw him grab a plate of food before you walked into the kitchen, Audrey. I’m sure he’s eating upstairs.”

“He’s been chatting on the phone with another student all afternoon, Mr. Gene. They are trying to work through a new assignment they just received.”

“I had it all wrong, Grams. Lucas is just really stressed, that’s all. I jumped to conclusions—everything is fine.”

Yes, I’ve become adept at evading questions, redirecting suspicions, and swallowing the unrelenting guilt that threatens to choke me every day. My deceit fools our families, but it also chips away at our love, bit by bit. In his eyes, where I used to see love and affection, I only see fear and darkness. His touch used to remind me of home. Now, I feel uncertainty and a frenetic current of electricity—a live wire, unpredictable and chaotic. No, we are no longer the sweet couple I remember.

“I bet he’s wowing his professors at Northern U. That boy is destined for great things.”

“Yes, sir, he sure is,” I say as my cheeks ache with effort, my smile feeling like an actual chore.

The truth is, I can’t remember the last time Lucas attended class or worked on anything that looks remotely like coursework. There are no independent assignments—his email is full of correspondence from his professors wondering why he’s missing in action. I’m honestly shocked administration hasn’t called the Landry house and demanded an explanation. They have invested a great deal of money into Lucas. He is by far the smartest person I’ve ever met, but now his thoughts, and his notebooks, are riddled with paranoia and delusions.

“Are you going to live on campus? Honestly, it’s the best way to experience campus life.”

“I’ll stay at home with Grams for now. I want to be there for her,” I say.

“How’s your grandmother doing? I hear she’s been home for a while now.”

“She’s amazing,” I say, with the first genuine spark of excitement. “She’s improving every day, getting her independence back a little at a time. She’s done everything short of kicking me out, but I’m not ready to leave her just yet. She’s given up so much to raise me. I want to do this for her … I need to.”

My refusal to move to Providence in the fall is a constant bone of contention between Grams and me. After coming so close to losing her, I’m not ready to let go. She doesn’t have to understand it, but it’s the way I feel. She’s the only family I have left.

Even if Grams never had the stroke, I still don’t think I could leave Lucas. He’s in no shape to move out of his house right now. His secret would be found out for sure if he moved into the dorms. And even though his family doesn’t know about his problems, I get a small amount of comfort knowing they are in the house with him. I think their presence keeps him from completely unraveling. He has to keep it together if he wants to continue to fool them.

“I think that’s very admirable of you, Celia. You’ve taken on a great deal of responsibility as of late, and I have to admit, it’s worries me sometimes. Always remember there is no shame in asking for help, okay?” Mr. Bernard lays his hand on top of mine and squeezes gently. “Whether you’re a student at this school or not, you can always come to me if you need anything. You’re not alone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bernard. I’ll remember that,” I say, standing up and placing my purse strap on my shoulder.

I appreciate his kind words more than he will ever know. I’ve never felt so alone in all of my life, and I want nothing more than to confide in him. His offer is a life raft in a black, stormy ocean.

If only I could reach for it.

I walk quickly to the door, willing myself to keep quiet and get the hell out of there. “I’ll get the speech to you by the end of the week, I promise,” I say over my shoulder as I dart from the office.

I don’t even hear his response. I drop my head and keep walking toward the parking lot. I unlock the door and hop into Grams’s old Buick, eager to get home and check on things. These days, I never know which Lucas I’m going to get. He’s become temperamental.

I don’t particularly care for driving. I never have. I’ve always happily hitched a ride with Audrey or Lucas, but I’ve recently started driving to and from school. Creating a bit of distance between Audrey and me is difficult, but I hate lying to her. So instead of lying, I opt for avoidance. Needless to say, she’s not taking it well.

“I’m leaving in three months, and my best friend doesn’t even care!”

I’m so happy for Audrey, really I am. She’s been dreaming of attending Ole Miss for as long as I can remember. But part of me thinks she’s deserting me—like she’s leaving me behind to deal with this mess while she moves on with her life. I know it’s ridiculous, completely ludicrous to blame her when she’s completely in the dark, but I wish someone would explain that to my heart. Because my heart is so angry.

I pull into the driveway, no recollection of the turns and stops I made to get here, and hurry up the front steps. For the last few weeks, Grams’s nurse’s aide leaves at noon, a testament to how well she’s been doing. Before heading over to see Lucas, I toss my bags in the corner and walk to the back of the house to check on Grams.

“Grams, I hope you didn’t give Miss Freda too much trouble this morning. I know how you like to turn up the soaps to tune her out,” I call out as I pull out my phone to shoot Lucas a text.

She doesn’t answer me, and I can picture her rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath.

“That damn woman never hushes her blessed mouth.”

“Grams?” I call out again when she doesn’t answer.

I grab the remote off the recliner and tap the power button to silence the infomercial echoing through the house. I toss the remote on the coffee table and walk down the hall toward Grams’s bedroom.

The next few seconds come to me in wicked bursts. Indelible flash frames of heartache and anguish.

Flash.

A slipper-covered foot sticking out of the bathroom into the hallway, toes facing down.

Flash.

The incessant, grating sound of a phone left off the hook, the call never made.

Flash.

A smear of blood on the corner of the cracked Formica counter.

Flash.

Grams, face slack, arms twisted in an unnatural angle, and blood trickling from her temple, in a heap on the bathroom floor.

Then everything goes dark…