At Peace

Chapter Two Hunger

I drove home from the garden shop thinking a variety of things.

First, I was thinking that full-time paychecks didn’t mean much of a change to part-time ones, especially when taxes and insurance were deducted.

Second, I was thinking that I spent an awful lot of time while Kate and Keira were growing up wishing I could do things. Things like go to a movie whenever I wanted. Things like take a long, hot bubble bath when the spirit moved me. Things like reading a book without the word “Mom” shouted over and over again (as in, “Mom, where’s my backpack?” and “Mom, Keira’s bothering me,” and “Mom, I’m hungry”). Now, with Kate out with Dane all the time (or in with him at our house, which I preferred seeing as I could keep an eye on them, however I still didn’t see much of Kate during these times) and Keira, who seemed to be attempting to make an art form out of socializing, they were never home. I could go see a movie, have a bubble bath and read a whole book if I wanted to. But, of course, since life mostly sucked and not a whole helluva lot worked out for me, I didn’t want any of that anymore. All I wanted was my girls to be home.

I could have probably handled this better if Tim was at home or I knew he was coming home instead of knowing I was going to an empty house, a one-woman dinner and nothing but aloneness until weeknight curfew hit (eight o’clock) or weekend curfew hit (ten o’clock for Keira, eleven for Kate). Unfortunately, this wasn’t an option.

I turned down the street and my mind left these thoughts as I saw the lights on and the black pickup in the drive at Joe’s house.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath.

It bothered me that he was home, why, I couldn’t imagine. He’d be gone tomorrow and I didn’t care about him anyway. I doubted he’d come over and ask me to have a drink with him at J&J’s or that I’d even see him at all. And there was no snow to shovel, making me think he might be a decent guy even though I knew he was not. And I knew he shoveled my snow, I knew this because I asked Colt if he’d done it and he’d said no and I’d asked Jeremy if he’d done it and he’d said no and since my other close neighbors were either too old (Myrtle, the widow who lived across from Joe and Pearl, the spinster who lived across from me) or bitches (Tina, who lived next to me on the other side), it had to be Joe.

But him being home, seeing his truck in his drive, for whatever reason bothered me, I couldn’t deny it.

I turned into my drive and parked under the awning. The days were staying lighter longer but night was edging in, it was getting late. Bobbie had asked me to do a bit of overtime and I did it. I needed the money for one, for another, why not? There was no reason to go home when Kate and Keira were both out.

I grabbed my purse, exited the Mustang and I stopped when I heard a woman’s laughter. I looked right to see Joe in his black leather jacket and jeans, sauntering to his truck. Behind him was a woman in a skintight, black mini-skirt and a jeans jacket. She had loads of long, wavy blonde hair and she was petite but wearing a pair of high-heeled, black boots. She was trotting after him on a half-run with such grace it was like she’d been born in high-heeled, black boots. She was still laughing and I stood in my open door, one arm on the hood of my Mustang, watching as she caught his hand and skidded on her heels, pulling his hand to her. He turned, she tipped her head back and she must have said something, something I didn’t hear, something she thought was funny for she laughed again.

But I could swear, even with the distance, I saw the white flash of Joe’s grin. I didn’t know him very well but, if asked, I would have said it wasn’t physically possible for Joe to grin.

Then he folded her in his arms, enveloping her with his large body and his head came down, hers tilted back and they started making out.

A sharp pain gripped my heart.

It hurt to watch. It hurt a lot and yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

There was something about his big body in his dark clothes, his powerful arms around her, holding her close to his long frame, enfolding her in a way that was about sex (or leading up to it, probably) but looked like more. Maybe safety, protection, his dark head bent to her blonde one, all of this, for some reason, cutting me clean to the bone.

I wanted that for me. I missed that, God, did I miss it and I wanted it back and it felt, in that moment, I’d never have it again.

And that fucking hurt.

I tore my eyes away and as silently as I could so Joe wouldn’t hear, I closed the door to my car and walked to the side kitchen door. I was about to insert my key when the door was thrown open from the inside, the light switched on, Keira and Kate stood in the frame and they shouted, “Surprise!” at the same time I felt a strong arm curl around my belly from behind. I was lifted clean off my feet and whirled in the air.

I screamed, loud and piercing, my knees going up, my fingers curling around the arm at my waist as I was whirled yet again by whoever had me. Kate and Keira ran out of the house and jumped around us in dual teenage girl excited tizzies as we twirled.

We stopped moving and my feet were planted on the ground when I heard my brother Sam say softly in my ear. “How’s my big sister?”

When I heard his voice, I screamed again, this time loud and joyous, turning in his arm and throwing my arms around his neck. I held on, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck, jumping up and down while I did this as Kate and Keira, their arms around both of us, jumped up and down too, also screaming loud, ear-splitting, teenage girl squeals of delight.

Sam stopped hugging me so he could wrap all of us in his arms and his head tipped back so he could shout, “These are my girls!”

I looked up at my brother, his beautiful face; his warm, brown eyes; his light brown hair (that needed a cut, I noted) and my hands slid from his neck to wrap around his waist, I planted my face in his chest and held on tight.

“Most beautiful girls in the world!” Sam kept shouting. “That’s right! Drink it in! Sheer gorgeousness!”

I tilted my head back because he seemed to be talking to someone instead of shouting at no one and I saw his head turned to the left, toward Joe’s house.

My head turned that way too.

Joe and his woman, not locked in a make out session but instead simply standing close to each other, were looking our way.

“No female on earth prettier than this pack!” Sam declared. “You hear what I’m sayin’?”

I looked toward Sam. “Honey –”

He ignored me, still addressing Joe and his companion who were still watching Sam’s show. She was smiling, I could tell. Joe was not.

“You’re fine, must admit,” Sam tipped his head to Joe’s female friend, “but nothin’s finer than my girls!”

Keira giggled. Kate got up on her toes to kiss his cheek. I started pressing my huddle toward the kitchen door. My brother Sam was also tall and he was no slouch, he could probably hold his own with, say, Morrie, Feb’s brother. I doubted he could last a round with Security to the Stars and he might buy a round if he talked about Joe’s woman like that.

“Let’s go inside,” I coaxed.

Sam wasn’t done with Joe and his friend though. I knew this because he felt the need to announce to them, “Havin’ dinner with my family. All fuckin’ right!”

“Sam!” I snapped, finally forgetting Joe and his partner. “Hello? The f-bomb is off-limits around teenage girls.”

“Mom!” Keira cried. “They say it at school all the time.”

“Maybe so but they don’t say it in my driveway or,” I looked at Sam, “in my house.”

“Relax, shit,” Sam smiled, dropping his arms but turning and throwing one around my shoulders as he used his other hand to guide both Kate and Keira into the house in front of us like he herded teenage females for a living.

“Shit’s off-limits too,” I told Sam and he looked over his shoulder toward Joe’s house.

“Violet’s uptight! I’m here five minutes and she’s lecturing me,” he shouted and I shoved him through the door, turned toward Joe’s and started shouting myself.

“Sorry, really sorry, show’s over!”

“No probs!” the woman shouted back good-naturedly.

Joe seemed to be staring at me and he didn’t say a word.

I scooted inside and closed the door.

“He texted me!” Kate told me practically before the door closed. “At school, said he was coming to town and wanted to surprise you.”

“Took a long time gettin’ home, Vi-oh-my, waited frickin’ forever,” Sam noted. “What, you live at that garden center?”

“I was doing overtime,” I answered as I shrugged off my corduroy coat. I turned to put it on a hook by the door, an action which served double duty of allowing me to avoid the look Sam gave me.

“Uncle Sam made his world famous spaghetti carbonara,” Keira announced. “I was lookout. We shut off the lights when I saw your car on the street.”

I turned again to look at the kitchen and saw that my brother did make spaghetti carbonara and he also made the mess that came with it.

Kate rushed up to me and grabbed my forearm, pulling down on it, informing me, “He’s staying a couple of days. He’s gonna meet Dane.”

Lucky Sam, he was going to meet the awesome Dane.

“If that’s cool with you, Vi,” Sam said.

Like he had to ask.

It was cool with me. It was cool he stayed a couple of days or a couple of years. That wasn’t loneliness speaking. That was how much I loved my little brother.

“That’s cool.”

“Excellent!” Keira shouted.

“I’ll get the stuff for the pull out,” Kate offered then ran from the room.

“Keira, honey, set the table,” I told my other daughter.

“Sure,” she agreed, moving to the cupboard and Sam got close to me.

“We’ll talk about overtime after dinner,” he said quietly.

My eyes shifted to the side and up, caught his; I nodded and walked into my house.

We ate spaghetti carbonara at the dining room table and I only felt a twinge of hurt when Sam sat in Tim’s chair instead of beside Keira where he usually sat one of the million times he was around for dinner when we lived close to him in Chicago. I wondered if my girls felt this same twinge but watching them through dinner, I figured they were too excited by Sam’s visit to notice.

Sam made garlic bread and a big Caesar salad to go with the spaghetti and the whole thing was delicious, not only because it wasn’t dinner for one or I didn’t have to cook it but because Sam’s spaghetti carbonara could be world famous if the world was lucky enough to get a taste.

I was sipping my wine as the girls were finishing up eating. Both had been talking about their new school, their new friends and Kate, of course, shared a great deal about the fabulous Dane. Therefore they weren’t paying a lot of attention to their food.

I watched as Sam got up and walked to his bag which was on the floor by the couch in the living room. Bending at the waist to paw through it, he came back to the table with something in his hand as Kate popped the last piece of bread in her mouth and Keira finished her last bite of spaghetti.

Sam moved to stand beside Kate, slapped something on table and said, “One for you,” he slapped something else down and went on, “another for you.” He moved around the table as Kate picked the somethings up, inspected them, her eyes got huge and her mouth dropped open. Standing beside Keira, he repeated this process using the same words. “And one for you, another for you.”

“Oh my God,” Kate finally breathed, the cards held close to her face as if she could not believe her eyes and needed close proximity to the wonders she was viewing for them to be real. Her eyes were huge.

Sam came to me, put something by my plate and finished. “And for you.”

I looked down at the gift cards next to my plate as Keira shouted, “Five hundred dollars at Lucky!”

“And two hundred at MAC!” Kate put in on a yell, waving her two cards around.

I looked down at my gift cards. One was for five hundred dollars on a disposable credit card; the other was two hundred dollars at MAC.

In shock, I looked up at Sam but the girls had sprung from their seats and were jumping up and down again with their arms wrapped around him, jostling their uncle as they jumped.

“You gotta earn ‘em, babies,” Sam said, holding them close in his arms and kissing the tops of their heads. I watched him give them a squeeze before he ordered, “Clear the table and do the dishes, yeah?”

Kate didn’t mind chores. The minute she was asked to do something, she did it, didn’t procrastinate, she got it out of the way and moved on. Keira hated them and would procrastinate as long as humanly possible then bitch the entire time she was doing it. But for seven hundred dollar gift cards to her two favorite stores, she’d do the dishes. Hell, who wouldn’t?

Therefore, they both agreed on shouts, “Yeah!”

Then they raced around the table, grabbing plates and Sam grabbed me. He took my arm and lifted me out of my seat, nabbing the bottle of wine from the table as he did. I snagged my glass and Sam’s hand slid down my arm to curl around my fingers. He picked up his glass with practiced ease, carrying it and the bottle as he guided me to the study.

I’d put Tim’s old desk in there with our old computer and the girls sometimes studied in there at their Dad’s desk. I’d also put the two recliners Tim had in his man cave at home in there at angles in the corner and that’s where Sam took me. I curled into a recliner, my feet in the seat, knees to the armrest and Sam topped up my glass then his own then sat in the other recliner.

“Sam, the gift cards –” I began, knowing he didn’t have that kind of money.

Sam cut me off, saying, “Dad.”

I felt my mouth go tight.

“Vi, don’t,” Sam warned, “just take it and use it for somethin’ stupid. You know that’d piss Mom off most.”

It certainly would. Mom hated anything frivolous, most especially frivolous spending, and trendy clothes and makeup, for that matter.

“She know Dad gave you the money to buy those cards?” I asked.

“She will when she balances the checkbook.”

“Dad’ll catch it.”

“Dad doesn’t care.”

I looked Sam in the eye. “And I don’t care either. Too little, too late.”

“Vi –”

I shook my head. “Too little, too late, Sam.”

I looked toward the kitchen watching the girls tidying up, their thick, healthy, long, dark hair gleaming under the overhead kitchen lights; their flawless, youthful skin glowing; their thin, coltish but blooming teenage girl bodies moving with unconscious grace. I took in my girls as they moved around, girls who had very little to do with their grandparents after my parents disowned me when I got pregnant at seventeen, announced I was keeping the baby and marrying the father, something they disapproved of immensely, or at least Mom did, then I asked Sam quietly, “Dad want them to know it’s from him?”

“That’s your call.”

I sighed, thinking I’d tell the girls, it was only fair, but I wouldn’t like it.

“Vi,” Sam called and I looked at him. “Why you workin’ overtime?”

This made me sigh again.

Then I answered, “Because Kate’s got Dane, she’s wrapped up tight in him, even though they’ve only been dating a few weeks. And Keira’s made friends with the entirety of the eighth grade class. They’re not home much and I’d rather make some extra cash putzing around a garden center than come home to an empty house.”

I watched my brother’s eyes go soft and looked away.

Sam read me and changed the subject but he chose one that was no less uncomfortable even if it was not nearly as sad. “You hear from him?”

“Nope,” I answered instantly.

“Nothin’?” Sam sounded surprised.

“Nothin’.”

I felt Sam lean into me so I looked at him as I took a sip of my wine.

“I been snoopin’ –”

I felt my body grow tight, fear clutching my insides and I leaned into my brother. “Sam –”

He shook his head. “Someone’s gotta do somethin’. He’s not done with you.”

“That someone doesn’t have to be you.”

“Vi, someone’s gotta do somethin’.”

“Let the police deal with it.”

I watched Sam clench his teeth, seeing his jaws flex out at the sides and it was his turn to look away.

“Sam, promise me you’ll let it go,” I said softly.

“Can’t.”

“Sam –”

His eyes locked on mine and he repeated, “Can’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m bein’ careful.”

I leaned in further and hissed, “You don’t mess with this guy.” Sam didn’t answer and I put my hand to the armrest and got even closer to my brother. “You know, you know, what happened to Tim, and he was doing his job… you know you do not mess with this guy.”

“So I let him mess with my sister?”

“He’ll forget about me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit.”

“Sam –”

“Bullshit, Vi.”

“Think about Melissa.”

“She agrees with me somethin’s gotta be done.”

My brother had been with his girlfriend Melissa for ten years. They lived together for nine of those ten years but never married. They talked about it all the time but they were always enjoying their lives too much to get around to doing anything about it. Mel and Sam had both been close to Tim, adored him. Sam felt like Tim was his brother, Tim had felt the same. We were all tight. When Tim died, they took it hard, nearly as hard as me and the girls. And Mel had attitude, just like Sam. I knew that Sam spoke the truth when he said Mel agreed something had to be done, not only because they’d loved Tim but because they loved me and the girls.

“Talk to Barry,” I suggested.

“I’m talkin’ to him.”

“What’s he say?”

“He understands a brother’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

Yes, Barry would understand that. Barry was as crazy as Tim and Sam.

“Sam, Barry’s a cop and he said he won’t rest –”

“And he isn’t.”

“Then let Barry do his work.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need help.”

“Not from you.”

“Just leave it, Vi.”

I looked into my brother’s hard face for a few seconds then I turned away, swallowing and thinking maybe it wasn’t good we were so close. Maybe it wasn’t good I loved him like crazy and he felt the same way. Maybe it wasn’t good Melissa thought the world of me and my girls.

I pulled in a breath, let it out and took another sip of wine.

Then I let it go. I had no choice and I knew it. Sam was stubborn, always had been, so I whispered, “Tell Mel to come down with you next time, yeah?”

“Will do,” Sam whispered back then changed the subject again. “Who’s the big guy next door?”

My eyes moved to my brother. “What?”

“Big guy next door with the blonde chick? She your neighbor, is he or both?”

“He is. Joe Callahan.”

“Good neighbor to have,” Sam remarked.

I felt my eyebrows inch together. “Why?”

“Looks like he could crush a rock with his fist.”

“Why does that make him a good neighbor?”

“Also looks like someone you do not want to mess with.”

Sam wasn’t wrong about that.

“Again, why does that make him a good neighbor?” I asked.

“People don’t let shit happen in their ‘hoods that shouldn’t happen. He’s your neighbor, that asshole thinks to mess with you down here; I figure this Joe guy’d wade in.”

The thought of Joe Callahan getting involved in my troubles sent a chill up my spine. “Let’s just hope that asshole doesn’t think to mess with me down here.”

“He does, you should have a word with this Joe.”

That was not going to happen.

“Sam –”

“Maybe I’ll have a word, explain things, ask him to keep an eye out.”

I leaned forward again and snapped, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t, okay? Seriously.”

My brother watched me then asked, “You got a problem with this guy?”

“No,” I lied quickly. “He’s just not around very often and I came down here to escape that whole mess. I don’t want everyone in my business.”

“Vi –”

“I don’t, Sam. If something happens then I’ll talk to Colt. He’s a cop, lives across the street. He’s a good guy, a good cop. It’ll be fine.”

“The dude who had that serial killer after him?”

“Yeah.”

Sam shook his head. “Christ, he’ll just love it if that asshole bleeds into his town after that mess went down.”

Sam wasn’t wrong about that either.

“Can we just enjoy your visit and not talk about this shit?” I suggested.

“We can after you answer one question.”

I sighed again then asked, “What?”

“You need money?”

Sometimes it was irritating how well my brother knew me.

I did need money. Things were tight, not to the point where food wasn’t on the table but to the point where it was a constant, nagging worry at the back of my head because I could give my girls what they needed but not a whole helluva lot of what they wanted and that sucked.

“I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

My voice got soft when I lied, “Yeah, Sam. I’m good.”

“Okay, then you use that two grand I set on your nightstand to make yourself a pretty garden.”

I felt my eyes get wide and my mouth drop open but I didn’t speak.

“And you can’t refuse it,” Sam continued. “It’s from Mel and me and Mel’ll go ballistic, I come back with that money.”

“Sam, I can’t take that.”

“You don’t, I’m up shit’s creek with Mel.”

“Sam –”

He leaned forward again. “How many times you and Tim bail me out, hunh? How many?”

“But –”

“More than two grand’s worth, a fuckuva lot more.”

“I can’t –”

“Payback, babe.”

“Sam –”

His hand came out, hooked me around the neck and pulled me across the space between the kitty corner chairs so my face was in his face.

“Payback,” he whispered.

I pressed my lips together to fight the sting of tears in my eyes. Before Melissa, Sam had been a wild one, always doing stupid shit, always coming to Tim and me to bail him out and we always did. Even though it had been years and we never expected anything in return, Sam would feel that weight pressing on him. It would live with him, right under his skin. He needed to do this, I knew it, so he could work that weight out from under his skin and I needed to let him.

I pulled in breath through my nose, nodded and I watched my brother smile.

The next morning, Joe’s truck was still in his drive but his house was quiet.

The morning after that, the morning Sam left, Joe’s truck was gone.

“Shit, Vi, sorry, I got a callout,” Colt said after he flipped his phone shut and shoved it in his back jeans pocket. He was seated at the barstool next to me at J&J’s Saloon.

I looked down at my mostly finished cranberry juice and vodka. It was my third; Morrie was currently making my fourth. I hadn’t moved from my stool for awhile so I didn’t know the extent of my drunkenness but I figured, since I didn’t drink much, I was closing in on pretty smashed.

“That’s okay,” I told Colt who was my designated driver seeing as I came to the bar with him and Feb after she caught me getting my mail from the mailbox after coming home from work. We’d called our hellos then she’d suggested I go in with her and Colt to J&J’s for a night out.

I’d said yes because it was Friday and on Fridays normal people went out to have a drink, socialize, unwind.

I’d also said yes because Kate was out with Dane and she’d asked for an hour extension on her curfew because there was some party she just had to attend. All the other kids had later curfews and she explained she’d look like a dork if she had to be home by eleven. I’d allowed this because I was a moron. I knew this party wasn’t about kids sedately drinking punch and discussing possible college applications they wished to submit. I just hoped my responsible first born would act responsible. I also hoped her boyfriend, Dane, who seemed more into Kate than she was into him (if that was possible), would take care of my daughter.

I’d also said yes because Keira was at a sleepover which meant Kate and Keira being out, the house would be empty and I’d rather be at J&J’s having a drink sitting by Colt, who was a nice guy (and proved to be a fun guy, in a light-hearted, teasing, big brother kind of way) and not home by myself yet again.

“You want me to drop you home now?” Colt asked.

Morrie slid my drink in front of me and I smiled at him then looked at Colt and, still smiling, shook my head. Colt looked at my drink then at me and he smiled back.

He turned to Morrie. “Can you get Darryl to take Violet home?”

“I’ll get a taxi,” I said quickly because I might have been heading straight toward smashed but it was Friday night and the bar was packed so I knew Morrie couldn’t afford to let his employee Darryl take a trip out to play driver to me.

“That’s cool, Vi, Darryl can take you or I will,” Morrie stated, smiling at me.

Man, he was so nice, they all were.

“Really, I’ll get a taxi,” I smiled back.

“I got her,” a deep, rumbly voice said from behind me.

I twisted on my stool, looked up, up, up and saw, standing behind me, Joe Callahan, his hair longer and more unruly, wearing his black leather jacket, a black t-shirt stretched across his wide chest, faded jeans and black motorcycle boots.

“Yo Cal,” Morrie greeted as I stared at Joe.

“Yo,” Joe greeted back.

“Great, Cal, thanks,” Colt muttered, I looked from Joe to Colt and watched Colt call to the back of the bar, “Feb, baby, got a callout.”

“All right, honey,” she called back. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Colt replied, grinning at her then he slid off his stool, lifted a hand to squeeze the back of my neck, he nodded to Joe and Morrie then he took off.

Through this I sat there thinking firstly, that Joe freaked me out a bit considering he could come up behind me and I never heard him coming and secondly, that I didn’t want him taking me home.

I put my elbow to the bar, my head in my hand and I aimed my mouth at my straw. Capturing it, I sucked up cranberry juice and vodka and considered this dilemma.

“Beer?” Morrie asked Joe before I came to any conclusions about my dilemma.

“Yeah,” Joe replied and slid in between me and the empty stool beside me which meant he came in close to me as well as cut me off from the bar as Colt and I were sitting on the last two stools by the wall.

He didn’t sit though. He stood there even after Morrie opened a bottle of beer, set it on the bar top and walked away. Then he still didn’t sit, just took a pull on his beer, his body mostly facing me but his torso was twisted to the bar.

Then his torso twisted to me and he looked down into my eyes.

“You talk to her about condoms?”

Again, it seemed he was starting a conversation in the middle but, even mostly drunk, I knew what he was asking.

“No.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at me and I also knew what his silence meant.

“Kate’s responsible,” I explained though it was none of his business and even though my daughter was responsible, I was declaring this mostly hopefully.

“Were you responsible?” he asked.

“No,” I answered truthfully and pointing out the obvious.

He kept looking at me then he took a pull at his beer.

I aimed my mouth at my straw, captured it and sucked up some more drink.

I released my straw and asked, “Did you shovel my snow?”

His blue eyes leveled on mine. “What?”

“That day, when it snowed, did you shovel my drive?”

He didn’t answer at first then he said, “Yeah.”

When this knowledge was confirmed, I pulled in breath not knowing what to say because this was a nice thing to do and he didn’t seem like a nice guy then I settled on, “Thanks.”

He didn’t reply.

I was sucking up more vodka and juice, my head still in my hand, my elbow still at the bar when he spoke again.

“Your man gone?”

My chest got tight and my eyes lifted to his.

“What?”

“Your man, came home last week. He gone?”

I blinked at him thinking about Tim coming home and how impossible that would be, and how beautiful, then I realized what he meant.

“That wasn’t my man. That was my brother, Sam.”

He nodded and took a pull of beer. I stared at him.

Then for some stupid reason I asked, “What about your woman?”

His eyes came back to mine but he didn’t reply.

“The one you were with that night Sam came,” I prompted.

“Nadia?” he asked like I’d know her name.

“The blonde.”

“Nadia,” he stated.

“She around?” I asked, not knowing why but also thinking that I wanted to know the answer and not knowing why about that either.

“Nope,” Joe replied.

“Oh,” I whispered and aimed my mouth at my drink.

We were silent a good long while, me halfheartedly sipping at my drink, Joe standing and taking intermittent sips at his beer. This was not comfortable for me. I felt the need to fill the silence but found I had nothing to say. However, watching Joe, he seemed comfortable in some kind of zone where he, his beer and the bar were one and he was content with that.

Finally I figured out what to say. “You don’t have to take me home, I can get a taxi.”

His eyes again came to me and he noted, “You live next door.”

“Well… yeah.”

“Buddy, I can take you home.”

“What if you want to go home and I want to stay?”

“I’ll wait.”

“What if I want to go home and you want to stay?”

“I’ll come back.”

Yeesh, he had an answer for everything.

“That’s silly.”

“Why?”

“Because it is.”

This was lame but with that much vodka in me, and considering I didn’t drink much, it was all I had.

I figured he thought it was lame too because he didn’t bother to respond.

I captured my straw with my mouth and took another drink.

We lapsed back into silence, Joe turning back to the bar and leaning two elbows on it, cradling his beer in both his hands until I found another topic of conversation.

“So, I’m guessin’ Kenzie’s keepin’ her mouth shut.”

Joe’s head turned and he looked at me. “Yeah.”

“Everything cool with your clients?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re home a lot more than normal,” I remarked stupidly since I didn’t want him to notice that I noticed but at the same time I was bizarrely worried that Kenzie Elise was costing him clients and that was why he was home more than normal.

“Yeah,” he said then said no more and I’d run out of steam on that particular conversational gambit.

When I fell silent, Joe turned his head away and, keeping one elbow to the bar, with his other hand he lifted his beer to his lips and arched his neck back to take a pull. This fascinated me for some drunken reason. He had a muscular throat and I could see it as it arched and worked with his swallow. Furthermore, his jaw was on display, I noted how attractive it was and that was fascinating for some drunken reason too.

I tore my eyes away from his throat and jaw and caught on the little tray of fruit Feb, Morrie and Darryl used in the drinks. Wedges of lemon, lime, cocktail onions, olives and maraschino cherries.

“You know,” I started to inform Joe and just his head turned to me again, “back in the day, you could impress a guy just by tying the stem of a cherry in a knot with your tongue.”

Why I said this, I had no idea. I just couldn’t sit there, silent and sipping my vodka and cranberry juice while he did the same with his beer. It was just too weird. I couldn’t hack it. I had to talk about something.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“You do that often?” he asked.

“Not really,” I answered since I was with Tim and only Tim, back in the day and then forever, but it had impressed Tim. “Seems strange to me, why that’d impress a guy.”

Joe made no attempt to enlighten me.

“It’s good you all grow out of that,” I noted sensibly.

“Give you fifty dollars right now, you do it.”

I blinked. “What?”

He straightened, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open and pulled out a bill. Then he placed it on the bar between us and I saw it was a fifty dollar bill. I looked up from the money to him when he spoke.

“That’s yours, you do it,” Joe said as he shoved the wallet back in his pocket.

“Are you serious?” I whispered.

Joe didn’t respond verbally, he just reached out and nabbed a cherry by the stem, turned and held it out to me.

I stared at the cherry. He was serious.

“Fifty dollars to knot the stem with my tongue?” I checked, just to make sure.

“You can’t do it.”

“I can do it, I’m just…” I paused, coming off my elbow I reached out and took the cherry from him, “out of practice.”

Joe didn’t say anything and I wondered how I got myself into this. I was going to be sitting there moving my mouth around like an idiot while Joe watched and probably in the end not knotting the dumb cherry stem.

But I couldn’t back out now. It wasn’t about the fifty dollars, it was about my pride.

I plucked the cherry off the stem with my teeth, looked anywhere but at Joe as I chewed and swallowed, took a sip of my vodka and cranberry juice to clear my mouth in preparation for my endeavor then popped the stem in.

Within seconds, I’d done it. It wasn’t hard at all. I guessed it was like riding a bike.

I slid the stem from between my lips, showed him the result and set it on my cocktail napkin.

His clear blue eyes were on the stem when I asked, “You impressed?”

His head tipped to my glass. “That your last?”

I stared at him a second not following then I asked, “Last drink?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…” I tried to gauge if he was trying to say he was ready to go home since he was my ride. It would be rude to make him stay longer when he wanted to leave so I answered on a question just in case he was ready to hang out awhile since I wanted to hang out awhile. “Yes?”

“Drink up, buddy.”

I guess he wasn’t ready to hang out awhile.

I was weirdly deflated the cherry stem knotting thing hadn’t impressed him. Tim thought it was the shit.

I lifted my drink and put the straw to my lips, sucking back the rest of my vodka at the same time Joe’s fingers wrapped around my upper arm. He slid me off the stool as I kept the glass in my hand, straw to my mouth and sucked. I also kept sucking on my straw as Joe grabbed my purse from the bar and handed it to me then slid the fifty from the bar and shoved it in my front jeans pocket.

I looked up at him when he called, “Morrie, Violet paid or is she on a tab?”

“Tab,” Morrie answered.

I was realizing that I might be drunker than I expected seeing as I was standing which everyone knew made you drunker after you sat for a good while and imbibed. Therefore, since I was assessing the level of my drunkenness, I didn’t intervene when Joe dug his wallet out of his pocket, pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar.

“That doesn’t cover it, I’ll catch you later,” Joe told Morrie.

“You got it, dude,” Morrie replied.

Joe shoved his wallet back in his pocket and pulled the drink out of my hand even though I was still sucking the dregs out through the straw (making that slurping noise). He put it on the bar, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door.

He was parked on the street several car lengths down from the bar. He bleeped the locks as we approached and when we got there he pulled open the passenger side door.

For some reason his truck seemed significant to me and my first ride in it even more significant so I just stood in the door, staring at the seat I should be planting my ass in and not moving because I was both unbelievably scared and utterly thrilled. Neither feeling made a lick of sense but I had them both all the same. It was like, if I got in his truck and the door closed on me, my life was going to change radically.

“Buddy, climb up,” Joe sounded impatient when I just stood there staring in his truck and he used my hand to push me closer to the seat.

I tipped my head way back and looked at him. “You have a nice truck,” I informed him mostly in an effort to stall.

Joe ignored my compliment and ordered, “Climb up.”

“Maybe I should walk home,” I suggested.

Joe stared down at me a second then he let go of my hand, bent at the waist, slid an arm behind my knees and one around my waist and, within half a second, my ass was in the seat. Another half a second, the door was closed.

Joe Callahan just lifted me bodily into his truck.

I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“What’s the matter with me?” I whispered into the cab and opened my eyes to see Joe had rounded the hood. He opened his door, swung his big body behind the wheel and slammed his door.

We were both in and that feeling of fear assailed me, along with the thrill but the thrill was edging out the fear. I was in the passenger seat of a car, it wasn’t me driving, it wasn’t me responsible. It was me who got to sit back and relax and be taken home.

And I was in that truck with Joe Callahan. Joe Callahan who was scary and thrilling all in himself. He was more man than I’d ever known and I spent most my adult life around cops. His maleness filled the cab, dangerous, assertive, assaulting my senses. I didn’t like him, I was pretty sure of that fact but I admitted, drunk and sitting in his truck, that he fascinated me and not because he was Security to the Stars but because he was Joe Callahan.

“You wanna buckle up?” Joe asked and I turned to see he was facing me, forearm on the steering wheel, the truck was running and Joe was looking as impatient as he sounded.

He wanted to get home.

I wanted to know where he got those scars on his cheek.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and buckled up.

Joe put the truck in gear and pulled into the street.

“This is nice of you,” I said as he drove.

Joe didn’t answer.

I realized Joe wasn’t much of a conversationalist at about the same time I realized the truck was nice. It was clearly top of the line with all the bells and whistles and he took care of it. It wasn’t just shiny on the outside but the inside was clean and looked brand new. The ride was quiet and smooth and Joe drove the big truck like he was born behind the wheel of a pickup.

As he drove silently, I was again reminded how nice it was just to sit back and let someone drive me home. There was no particular reason I was having this feeling since, not but a few hours earlier, Colt and Feb took me to J&J’s. And Tim always drove, I couldn’t remember a time when we went somewhere when he wasn’t at the wheel. This never bothered me, I didn’t care if he drove, it only bothered me when he wasn’t around to do it anymore but, after nearly a year and a half, I’d gotten used to it. Now I realized I missed it.

I was so deep in these thoughts I didn’t notice that we were on our street until Joe turned into his drive and something new hit me. Like being in the truck with him, the sensation was strong, it was scary and it was thrilling. After seeing this truck in his drive on and off for months, even before knowing Joe, but definitely after, and now sitting in his truck, in his drive, staring at his house through the windshield, a vantage point I never thought I’d have, I felt something I didn’t understand. There was something profound about it, something I couldn’t put my finger on but, for some weird reason, it felt life-altering.

I jumped when Joe’s door slammed and I found myself nervous. I turned and fumbled with my buckle, getting it released only when Joe pulled open my door. I hitched my purse up my shoulder and hopped out of the truck. Joe had his hand on the door so I moved out of the way, he threw it to and I looked at him to give him my thanks again for the ride but he was moving.

I stood there for several beats as I watched his big body walk across the yard toward my house.

Even though I lived next door, in Joe Callahan style, he was going to walk me safely home.

I didn’t know what to feel about this but had no time to figure it out and no choice but to follow him, pulling my purse from my arm and digging through it to get my keys as I walked. I had my keys in hand, the correct one between my fingers and Joe was standing in the light I’d turned on by the side door when I arrived. I stopped, Joe took the keys from my hand and he slid the key into the lock, turned it, slid it out and opened the door.

I swallowed nervously as the beeps went for the alarm. Moving just beyond him, I twisted my torso into the house, punched in the code and the beeping stopped. I took a deep breath, pulled my torso out of the house, turned and tipped my head back to look at him.

In the outside light, the night shrouding us, he looked sinister again just as much as he looked rugged and interesting and something new assailed me. It was that fear, that thrill but there was something else. Something insistent, needy, like a hunger I didn’t quite understand and my mouth went dry at the power of it.

“Thanks for the ride,” I whispered, unable to speak any louder.

Joe didn’t respond nor did he move.

I didn’t know what to do. I had thought he was eager to get home but he had his opportunity to escape and he was just standing there, staring at me in that way of his, something working behind his eyes.

Then I realized that I was being rude.

“Would you like to come in…?” I hesitated then finished, “for a drink or something?”

At first, Joe didn’t reply.

Then he said softly, his tone strange, like he was talking to himself even though I was right there, “You already think I’m a dick.”

I felt my heart beat faster and I whispered, “Joe –”

Joe cut me off. “So, don’t matter tomorrow morning you still think I’m a dick, ‘cause now, even though you’re drunk, I’m gonna take you inside and fuck you ‘til you ache.”

My heart stopped beating and my breath stopped coming which was bad, considering Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me into my house. He stopped to close and lock the door then he tossed my keys on the counter, pulled my purse off my arm and tossed that on the counter too then he dragged me through the kitchen, the dining area, the open study and straight to my bedroom.

I didn’t struggle. I didn’t do anything even when he stopped in my room, let my hand go and shrugged off his leather jacket, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands came to my little corduroy jacket and he pulled it down my arms.

“Uh…” I mumbled, lifting my hands belatedly as he moved closer, “Joe –”

But my hands hit his hard chest then my arms were squashed between our bodies when one of Joe’s arms sliced low around my hips and he yanked me to him, his other hand fisted in my hair, twisting tight. I felt an illicit pain against my scalp that I shouldn’t have liked but I did. I liked it a lot. So much I felt it not only in my scalp but throughout my body. His fist in my hair positioned my head, tugging it back but tilting it to the side so when his mouth came down on mine hard I was right where he wanted me.

And I wanted to be there. There was no other thought, not to protest, to push away, to fight. I just wanted to be there, pressed against him, his arm around me, his hand in my hair and his mouth on mine.

I opened my mouth, his tongue spiked in, I liked the taste of him, the feel of his tongue and my body liquefied in his arms. My hands forced their way from between our bodies so my fingers could slide into his thick, overlong hair and I pressed deep into his big body. I gave no thought to what I was doing and who I was doing it with. I gave no thought to anything. I just felt and what I felt was unbelievably good.

His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was greedy, demanding and I liked it, so much I mewed in protest when he took his mouth away but didn’t protest when his hands went to my t-shirt and yanked it over my head, pulling it free and tossing it away. He moved into me, turning me, guiding me to the bed and I went down on it. Joe towered over me, pulling up a calf to yank off my boot then my sock then he went after the other one and did the same. Without delay, he leaned in, his hands went to my buckle and he’d undone it and my jeans and had them down my legs before I could take two breaths.

And I was breathing hard, already turned on. I came up to sitting which meant I collided with Joe when he came down on me and that’s when it really started.

I yanked his shirt out of jeans and pulled it over his head, his arms lifting to help me. I tugged it free and threw it to the floor then his hands came back to me and his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. I wanted them and all they were doing to my mouth, my neck, my ears, it was brilliant, my body was alive, vibrating, like I’d woken up from a seven hundred year sleep but what woke me was an electric shock. At the same time I wanted what he was doing to me back from him. I used my hands, my nails, my mouth and tongue everywhere I could touch, every inch I could taste.

It was wild, almost a struggle. I couldn’t get enough of him, take enough from him. No matter what I got, I wanted more, like a craving that hollowed out my insides, needing to be filled.

Joe was the same but he was stronger, keeping me on my back no matter how I tried to roll him. Along the line he disposed of my panties then he got my bra cup down and drew my nipple into his mouth sharply. My back arched, my fingers fisted in his hair as his tongue jabbed at my nipple then sucked it in fiercely and I fucking loved it.

“Yes,” I breathed and he moved to the other side, scraping my bra cup down again and repeating what he did to the first, his fingers having replaced his mouth at my other nipple, they pinched and twisted. It was rough but it felt brilliant and my hips rose in a reflexive demand.

“Joe,” I whispered, suddenly needing him inside me, my hand moving from his hair and sliding down the sleek skin of his back, to his side, his waist but his crotch was too far away.

He came back over me and his mouth took mine in another hard, bruising kiss and my hand found him, palming his groin, finding him hard, I moaned into his mouth and bucked my hips.

“Fuck me,” I pleaded, rubbing my hand against him, opening my legs.

He didn’t hesitate, his hand pushed mine aside and he undid his jeans.

“You on the pill?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“No,” I answered and felt the tip of his cock pressing against me. I wanted it inside me so badly it was an ache, my hand slid into his jeans, curling around his tight ass in an insistent demand.

“Fuck it,” he groaned and drove in deep.

I gasped then held my breath as he filled me. He was huge. So big, it was a shock to be that full.

Then I had to start breathing when he started moving, driving deep, filling me full again and again, rough, hard, almost brutal, his big hands going to my hips and lifting me to plant himself deeper. Then I wasn’t breathing, I was panting.

My nails dug into his back, my hips rising, helping him to go deeper. I wrapped a calf around his waist, digging my heel into his back to leverage my hips, my other leg wrapping around his thigh.

“You’re so big,” I whispered.

“You like it,” he pointed out the obvious and I made no response, I couldn’t, that’s how much I liked it.

“Harder,” I gasped, wanting it harder, wanting the pounding never to stop, but even demanding it, still thinking he couldn’t fuck me harder. There was no way he could fuck me harder but I was wrong, he could and he did.

It built fast, it had been a long time, I felt it coming and I wanted it. I reached for it, the nails of one hand scraping his back, the other hand fisted in his hair, begging, “Fuck me harder, Joe.”

His mouth was at mine, his breath ragged when he murmured, “You like it rough.”

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good,” he muttered, kissed me deep and fucked me harder.

It was happening, I could feel it and when it started, I tore my mouth from his, arched my neck, my back, and announced on a throaty, breathy moan, “Joe, I’m coming.”

“Christ,” Joe bit off as it hit me, it was so huge, my body shook with it and I tightened my limbs around him, pulling him close.

I felt him thrusting as I came, suspended in the glorious moment, beautiful.

I was coming down when his thrusts became even more powerful then his hand left my hip, his fingers sunk into my hair, fisting and twisting again, his mouth slammed down on mine and he groaned, his hips driving into mine once, twice, three times then, on the fourth, he planted himself to the root and stopped.

His lips slid from mine, down my cheek, my neck, where he buried his face and he stayed fixed deep. I lay under him, bearing his heavy weight, feeling full of his cock, immune to anything but his body, his heat, his weight, his prick. There was nothing in the world but me and Joe Callahan and I liked it like that.

Then suddenly he slid out and his weight was gone, his heat, his body, all vanished and it was just me in the bed.

I blinked at the suddenness of it then closed my legs, rolling to my side, curling up, my eyes moving to him in the dark. He was standing at the foot of the bed doing up his jeans. Nothing entered my mind. I could still feel him between my legs, my brain fuzzy with drink and sex, my body sated. He bent to the floor then straightened, pulling on his t-shirt.

Mindlessly, I watched as his hand went to his back pocket, he yanked out his wallet, flipped it open, pulled something out, he returned his wallet to his pocket. My brain still not having kicked into gear, I didn’t move as he bent over the bed, putting a hand in it by my belly, the fingers of his other hand sliding up the inside of my forearm which was lying on the bed. When he reached my open palm, I felt the edges of a card against my skin as he curled my fingers around it.

Then he trailed his fingertips down my hip and outer thigh as he said, “Call me, buddy, anytime you need a ride home.”

My body locked at his insinuation but I had no chance to ask a question or make a retort, he disappeared and, seconds later, I heard the outer door closing.

I laid there a long time, curled mostly naked on my bed, the air in my room chill as the knowledge seeped into me that I just let me next door neighbor, Joe Callahan, a man I disliked, fuck me so hard I ached. I’d even begged him to do it.

And it seeped into me that, after thirty-five years, I’d just taken my second lover and I’d done this like a slutty, drunken barfly, letting a guy I barely knew and didn’t even like pick me up, take me home and fuck me so hard I ached. Hell, he didn’t even need to work at it, he just dragged me out of the bar, I followed him to my house and then he dragged me to my room.

And it seeped into me that this guy, Joe Callahan, thought he could do that to me whenever it struck my fancy to let him, calling him to service me and then he’d pull out, leave me mostly naked and alone and not even kiss me before he left. And I couldn’t fucking blame him.

And this knowledge seeped into my bones, bitter and humiliating.

I heard the front door open and I froze.

Kate was home.

I whirled into motion, jumping off the bed, pawing through my clothes on the floor, I found and yanked on my underwear. Then I ran to the bathroom, pulled Tim’s robe off the hook on the door and shrugged it on, feeling for the first time the soft, warm flannel against my skin like a burn.

I tied the belt tight and walked into the living room, pulling my hair out of my face, hoping to God my daughter couldn’t read the heinous deed I’d done in my expression or the line of my body. I looked to the DVD clock under the TV in the living room and saw it was two after midnight. My responsible Kate was home on time and her boyfriend, who I didn’t want to like or trust, had brought her home by curfew.

I headed to her room, the light coming through the door which was opened a crack.

I stopped at the door and knocked softly.

“Yeah, Mom,” she called and I pushed the door open and stood in its frame, my arms wrapped around my belly.

“Hey baby, have a good time?”

She was texting someone and I knew it was Dane even though he just dropped her off. Her head came up from her phone and she grinned at me.

“Yeah,” she said softly, her face just as soft.

Oh fuck.

“Dane have fun?” I asked.

She nodded and looked back down at her phone. She hit send, slid it shut and tossed it on her nightstand.

“I like him, Kate, he’s a good kid,” I told her, her head twisted to me and she studied me a second before she dealt a blow she didn’t know she was dealing and, if she did, it would cut her to the quick. Kate felt. She felt everything but she felt other people’s pain far more than her own, one of the few things she got from me.

“You think Dad would have liked him?”

I hid my flinch at her question and I did it by thinking about her question.

I’d made a pact with Tim early on that we’d always be open and honest with our girls. A pact that he regularly broke as they grew older and he found he had trouble with the facts of life and relaying them to his daughters, seeing as they were female. A pact, since I was female, I was able to keep.

“No,” I told her, her face fell and I went on. “But only because you’re his little girl and you always will be. He wouldn’t like him, not now, but he’d come around because Dane’s a good kid.”

Her face brightened, just slightly, and she asked, “You think?”

I walked in, got close to her, wrapped my hand around her head and pulled her temple to my mouth.

“I know,” I whispered and kissed her before finishing. “Get some sleep, honey.”

Her body had leaned into mine with my embrace but she pulled away when she replied, “All right, Mom.”

“Sleep tight.”

“You too.”

I walked to the side kitchen door, locked it, armed the alarm and then moved back to my room and got in bed wearing Tim’s robe, thinking that sleeping tight was an impossibility with what happened that night.

I was right.

“Home for dinner!” I shouted my order to my girls from my room as I heard them preparing to go to the mall and I finished preparing to go into work.

It was late morning after the Joe Incident. Bobbie had called and asked me to put in a few hours. She might have gotten a good full-time worker when Sabrina quit but that still meant she was down a part-time worker and hadn’t found anyone she liked to replace me and since Bobbie didn’t like many people that would probably take awhile. Overtime was beginning to be a regular thing but I wasn’t complaining.

“When are you done?” Keira shouted back.

“I’ll be home after five,” I answered, again on a shout.

“Cool! Later Momalicious,” Keira shouted.

“Bye Mawdy!” Kate yelled.

“Be careful!” I yelled back, flicking the covers over my bed and a small, white business card flew up into the air.

I stilled and stared at the card as I heard the door slam in the other room.

The card had settled back on my bed. I saw the print on it and it was blurry because I was not focusing as I stared at it. I was feeling the bitterness and humiliation that leached into my bones last night, bitterness and humiliation I’d made a huge effort to ignore all morning, start burning.

My breath started coming fast and shame bled into the acid that had taken root in my marrow.

Last night I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t so drunk I had a hangover. I wasn’t so fucking drunk I shouldn’t have stopped it.

But I didn’t. I not only let it happen, I participated and I’d begged.

Not thinking (I never did when I got angry), I snatched up the card and then went to my jeans which were still on the floor. I pulled the fifty out of the pocket then I dropped the jeans on the bed and marched out of my room. Then I marched through the house out the side door.

Joe’s truck was in the drive.

I had no intention of facing him but I had every intention of making a point.

I was heading toward his mailbox when I heard the music and I switched directions, walking up his yard to his drive, instantly changing my mind about facing him. I saw the garage door open, the music coming from there. Black Sabbath, not Kenzie Elise loud, just loud enough to hear.

There was a car in the garage, the hood up. I couldn’t see what kind of car it was, all I could see was Joe bent over it, working on the engine.

I walked right up to him and when I got close, his head turned to me but his torso stayed bent over the engine. When it did, before he could say a word, not that he was going to, I stopped and tossed the card and fifty in his direction. They fluttered through the air but I didn’t wait to see his reaction, didn’t say a word, didn’t watch where the card and bill landed, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t get very far. A firm hand curled around my upper arm and I was yanked back.

“What –?” I snapped not finishing because he whirled me around and pulled me into the garage. “Let me go!” I demanded as he reached up and, with a violent wrench, he pulled on a cord causing the apparently well-oiled garage door to rumble on its rails and crash down.

There we were, alone in his dark garage with his car and Black Sabbath.

Me and my stupid temper.

“Take your hand off me!” I bit out, twisting my arm and he did, he let me go.

He took his hand off me but only to lift it and, as he did the night before, exactly the same, his fingers fisted in my hair and his other arm wound around my hips, pulling me into his body.

“What are you –?” I started but his mouth came down on mine in a punishing kiss that surprised me, scared me and excited me, the last one far, far more than the first two.

I didn’t want it to happen, didn’t expect it would happen, not in a million years. In fact, looking back at it later, which I did a lot, too much, I didn’t know how it did happen. But one second he was kissing me, the next second he was shuffling me to his car, he yanked the rod out that was holding the hood up and it came crashing down. The sound jolted me but not with fear or surprise, with excitement as Joe pulled my jeans skirt up to my waist, yanked my panties down and they fell to his garage floor then, his hands at my ass, he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and he planted me on the hood of the car, his hand between us, working his fly, my hands in his t-shirt, roaming his skin.

Then he was inside me, fucking me on the hood of his car, fucking me like the night before, hard, deep, rough, violent and I loved it. I lifted my hips to greet it, my hands curled on his ass to encourage it, my tongue tangled with his in my mouth to build it.

Then I came, not as hard as the night before but different, sharper, shorter, not better, but just as fucking good.

His hips bucked into mine long after I came. He was still kissing me and I locked him tight in my limbs as I took his thrusts until he buried himself to the hilt, growled in my mouth and the taste of that growl nearly made me climax again.

He stayed planted inside me as it hit me I’d done it again, on his car, in his garage no less. I turned my head away but he didn’t seem to mind. He just used this opportunity to glide his tongue along my neck which, it killed me to admit, felt so fucking good it made me shiver.

Then he pulled out and yanked me to my feet.

I was looking to the side and down at the floor but I wobbled, my knees weak from my orgasm and his big hands spanned my hips to steady me. There was something about this, something tender, something so un-Joe that I couldn’t hack it. I yanked free, stepping away, pulling my hair out of my face, beyond humiliated. So far beyond it, I didn’t know what that was. At the same time I felt fucking great, I felt electrified, alive and I hated myself for that but I hated him more.

I leaned down and snatched my panties from the floor, clearing my mind, thinking of nothing but getting the fuck out of there. I yanked them on, shimmied my skirt down and, without looking at him, walked swiftly to the side door.

I didn’t make it. His arm hooked at my belly, his other one wrapped around my chest and he yanked me back into his body.

His lips at my ear, he murmured, “I want you in my bed tonight, buddy.”

I shook my head once, a terse, angry shake even as his words slid through me like a different kind of burn, hardening my nipples, tickling between my legs, bringing back that feeling I had last night, that hollow feeling, that hunger, even though I’d just had him not five minutes before.

I pulled out of his arms, reached out, yanked open the door and ran straight to my house.

I lay on my side, curled into a ball which was my seven hundred and fifty-fifth position of the night.

The room was dark, it was the dead of night and even though I barely slept the night before, I was wide awake.

Not comfortable, I turned and looked at the clock.

One forty-seven in the morning.

I closed my eyes and whispered, “Fuck.”

Joe was next door in his bed, maybe waiting for me.

This was all I could think of from ten o’clock, when I slid into bed with a book I couldn’t focus on, to now.

I shouldn’t go, couldn’t go, I shouldn’t even want to go.

Even knowing this, I threw back the covers and went to my closet. I pulled out a long cardigan, my brain battling itself as I shrugged on the sweater and walked out of the room.

I headed to Keira’s room first. She was a heavy sleeper, like me. Nothing woke her and nothing used to wake me, at least when Tim was in the house, now I woke at the barest sound.

I pushed open her door and whispered, “Keira?”

I looked at her bed, no movement.

I walked in. She had the room at the front of the house, Kate’s room sandwiched between the hall and mine. Keira’s room was girlie, not frilly but full of pinks, purples, daisies and posters of boy bands and teenage vampires. Her clothes were strewn on the floor, her desk a mess. Her curtains were drawn but I could see the darkness of her hair against her pillow. Tim’s hair. Both of them got Tim’s hair, Tim’s eyes, Tim’s lean frame. They’d lucked out.

I stifled the urge to touch her hair, kiss her cheek, left the room and crossed the hall to Kate’s room.

Kate was like Tim, she slept light. She was a worrier, like Tim and now, like me.

When Tim was alive, I didn’t worry, not ever. I felt, if we were all together, nothing could harm us. We’d take our knocks but we’d survive them. This feeling had a lot to do with Tim taking care of most everything. This feeling was now gone because he was gone, not taking care of most everything and because we’d never be all together again.

I pushed open her door. Kate’s room couldn’t have been more different than her sister’s. Champagne colored walls, black accents, sophisticated except for the posters on the walls. They were for bands I’d never heard of but whoever they were they actually wrote their own music and played their own instruments. Her floor was clear, her stuff organized.

I only whispered her name when I was close to her bed.

“Kate.”

I saw her dark hair on her pillow and she didn’t move either.

I wanted her to move, to roll to her back and say, “Mom, stop acting like a slut.”

She didn’t, she slept and I left her to it.

I walked to the side kitchen door and slid on some Crocs. Then I unarmed the alarm. Then with my hand to the door handle, the sane, good Mom, good person part of my brain won out. I dropped the handle and walked toward my room but my feet took me right by my bedroom door to the sliding glass door at the back of the study. My fingers unlocked it, slid it to the side and I stepped out into the chill night air. I closed the door and walked to the steps of the deck, down them and into the grass.

I turned to Joe’s house.

Through the dark, I hurried to his house knowing this was wrong, it was stupid, he was probably asleep by now anyway.

But my feet kept moving.

His deck was deeper than mine, jutting out further, but it didn’t travel the length of his house like mine did. Mine was rectangular, his was square. The steps on mine were at the front, his at the side and I ran up them, counting them as I went, four steps, then I found myself standing at his sliding glass door.

There was no light on. If he was waiting for me, wouldn’t he turn on the light?

He would, anyone would. No one who shoveled a woman’s snow from her drive would make her meet him for a clandestine sexual assignation at his unlit dark deck. In fact, his whole house was dark.

It was clandestine but he wouldn’t want me to sprain my ankle, would he?

No, he was sleeping. Time to go.

I turned and headed toward the stairs and my heart skipped when I heard the sliding door open but my feet kept moving toward escape. I was almost at the stairs when I was caught with an arm around my waist and pulled back into the heat of his long, hard body.

His rumbly voice sounded in my ear. “Where you goin’, buddy?”

“Joe,” I whispered, my voice trembling and I could say no more.

He let my waist go but grabbed my hand and yanked me into the house. Sliding the door to, he turned to me and bent, lifting me at the knees and waist, he carried me through his living room, down the hall and turned right. Then he carried me to his bed and threw me on it. I bounced only once because, if there was going to be a second time, this was thwarted when his body came down on mine.

His hand was in my cardigan at the shoulder, pulling it down.

“I –” I began.

“Shut up,” he cut me off.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Then his mouth came down on mine.

I was on my knees, Joe underneath me, his hands at my hips, pulling them down to his face.

I had been bent over him, using my mouth and hand on his beautiful shaft at the same time his mouth was on me but what he was doing between my legs with his mouth took my full concentration so I’d given up and when I did Joe had turned me around and settled me back down.

Now I arched my back as the orgasm washed through me. He tugged my hips, his mouth kept working me, voracious, prolonging the climax exquisitely.

Even when I was done, Joe lapped at me and that felt so good, I had to lean forward and clutch the headboard or I would topple over.

Then he moved me, pushing me off but not letting me go, sliding me down his body so I was on top of him, my forehead in his neck, his hands moving on my skin.

He wasn’t done, which was so shocking it could even be record-breaking. I could feel him hard against me and that was impossible. Since I walked in (or, more aptly, been pulled in, carried in, then thrown on his bed), we’d gone at each other like teenagers. I’d had four orgasms, Joe, three. I’d lost count of the positions, lost track of the sensations. Each time we finished, his hands and mouth kept at me, that hollow feeling would come back and I’d need it sated. I’d need to feed the hunger that overwhelmed me, a hunger for him. I’d do anything to satisfy it and I did.

I felt no embarrassment once it started. I didn’t feel like a slut, a bad mother, a terrible person. I didn’t worry about my nudity or if he liked what I was doing. This shit was natural, like I was born to be in Joe’s Callahan’s bed and it was natural to him too, like Joe Callahan was born to be in me.

When his hand slid up my side and in, curling around my breast, I lifted my head to kiss him but caught sight of his alarm clock.

“Shit,” I whispered, maybe the first word I said since he caught me outside other than “Joe,” “Faster,” “Harder,” “Yes,” and “More.”

Joe hadn’t said much at all, then again, he was using his mouth for far better things.

Now his neck twisted and he looked at the clock then at me.

“What?”

“I’ve gotta get home.”

“Why?”

“I have two girls.”

“They awake at six o’clock?”

I smiled at him and, weirdly, his big, warm body stilled under mine and his eyes dropped to my mouth when I did.

“Okay, no, there’s no way they’re awake,” I answered. “But we also have nosy neighbors.”

His eyes slid up to mine and his hand slid from my breast, around my side, up my back and into my hair as he asked, “So?”

“So, Tina Blackstone is a bitch. She sees me coming from your house in the morning wearing a nightie and a cardigan, she’d talk.”

He didn’t respond but he didn’t need to, his face said it all.

Therefore I answered his unspoken repeat of, “So?”

“I know you don’t care but, like I said, I’ve got two girls. It wouldn’t be good if Tina Blackstone talked.” I pulled myself further up his body and touched my lips to his then said softly, “I’ve got to go.”

His hand fisted in my hair and the pads of his fingers dug into my hip, just for a second, then his arms went loose.

But that second counted.

It counted a whole helluva lot.

I slid off him and scrambled beside the bed, feeling suddenly conscious of my nudity. I gave him my back as I pulled my undies up then slipped my nightie over my head. I shrugged on my cardigan at the same time I twisted my feet, toeing my Crocs to right them and then sliding them on.

“Buddy,” Joe called and I turned to see him lying on his side, his elbow in the bed, his head in his hand not, obviously, conscious of his nudity or at least not self-conscious about it.

I didn’t blame him.

His body was far more beautiful out of clothes than in them. Like his face, its perfection not marred by the scars but instead made more appealing, his long, lean, muscled body was not spoiled by the long, jagged white gash that sliced diagonally across his tight abs and the creased, darkened circle of skin halfway between his right pectoral and his shoulder.

“Come here,” he growled softly.

My feet took me to him, I put a knee to the bed and leaned in and Joe did the rest. His hand, lying on the bed, came up, hooked me behind the head and he pulled me closer, so close, my mouth was on his.

“I want you back tonight,” he ordered.

He wanted me back.

I smiled against his mouth.

When I did, his eyes grew intense then his head slanted. I lost sight of his eyes when mine closed because he kissed me hard, open-mouthed and so long, he came up from the bed, his other arm curved around me and he pulled me to him. When I landed on him, he twisted me so my back was to the bed and kept kissing me.

His kisses were so good, I forgot I was supposed to be leaving until his lips disengaged from mine and his face disappeared in my neck.

“Don’t we have nosy neighbors?” he asked my neck.

“Shit!” I cried, rolled him to his back and tore out of his arms.

I was nearly on my feet by the side of the bed before I stopped, put a hand back in the mattress, one at his scarred cheek, leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

Then I gained my feet and, not looking back, I ran from the room, down the hall, through his living room, out the sliding glass door and to my house.

I was feeling so fucking great, instead of running, I could have skipped.

The day passed like it was coated with molasses.

I’d thought to get a nap but once I got home from Joe’s, even though I’d had virtually no sleep for two nights, I found I was incredibly energized.

I stripped my bed. I put in laundry. I made a grocery list. I paid bills. I took a shower and did myself up like I always did, even after Tim died.

Tim liked my hair smoothed out with the hair dryer. He liked it when I put on makeup even if he preferred it light. Tim liked it when I made an effort with clothes. Tim said I was the sexiest cop’s wife in history and he said it in a way where I knew he believed it completely and was proud of that fact. He liked it when I’d come into the Station, he got off on the fact that the other guys found me attractive (or, at least, he told me they did). I was his, he told me, and he had something beautiful, he told me that too. Never, not once, not even when I was heavy with Kate and Keira, did he make me feel anything but beautiful.

It was something that I forced myself to do after he died, keeping up my appearance. It was for him but it was also for me. A way of not giving up when I wanted to do nothing but that, give up, give in, stay down, beaten.

Though that morning, I made a bit of an extra effort.

The girls got up and I made them pancakes. They did their chores, cleaning their rooms and I went to the grocery store. I was going to make my breaded pork chops and spiced rice, Tim and Keira’s favorite. It took forever to make but it would be a treat because Kate loved it too. Though Kate’s favorite was my seafood risotto, my favorite as well. They’d started as recipes from a magazine but, after years of experimentation, I made them both even better, therefore I considered them all mine. This was my thing, something else Tim would brag about. Our garden was the most beautiful one on our block (even I had to admit that) and Tim thought my cooking was the bomb and he bragged about both freely. He liked to have people over and we did all the time but he said it was so he could show me off.

The seafood would be too expensive, unfortunately, so it was going to have to be pork chops.

When I went to the grocery store, Joe’s truck was there. When I came back, it was gone. This made my stomach clutch with fear and it made me act like an idiot. As I put away groceries, vacuumed, folded clothes, loaded and unloaded the washer and dryer and did ironing, I found reasons to go to the kitchen window and look out to his drive, checking to make sure he came home.

But he had to come home, for me. I might have only ever had Tim but I wasn’t stupid. A man like Joe Callahan didn’t wait up for a woman until two o’clock in the morning; he didn’t throw her on his bed and have sex with her for four straight hours; he didn’t react that way, reflexively especially, when she told him she had to leave; and he didn’t want her to come back unless he wanted her.

Which, I told myself, all meant he wanted me. Not for a convenient fuck, there was more going on here and I knew it.

That bitterness and humiliation had washed away and something else replaced it. Something I didn’t expect, not from Joe, hell, not from anyone, but something that I liked.

Tim and I had great sex our whole married life. I was not his first, he had a girl before me, but I was his last. We’d taught each other everything we knew. We were open, honest, even adventurous and it was regular and often, not like clockwork but spontaneous, fun, sexy. We both had healthy appetites, Tim especially and he loved it that I met his appetite (though, he didn’t brag about that or at least not that I knew about).

But he’d never fucked me on the hood of a car, one second working on an engine, the next going at it with me like it was necessary for his existence. He’d never fucked me for four hours straight like he was just as hungry for it as I was, like he had to get his fill for fear the beauty of it would be torn away, never to be had again.

And I understood that now. God, did I.

I didn’t take anything for granted, not anymore.

I was going to get my fill.

When I went to the kitchen to start the pork chops, I saw Joe’s truck in the drive and instead of that settling inside me, my body electrified. I felt the specter of his mouth, his hands, his shaft driving inside me and it was so strong, I had to lean into the counter to hold myself up when my knees went weak.

Shit, he was like a drug and I realized I’d been jonesing for him all day.

I also realized, dumping the breadcrumbs and spices into the Ziploc bag, preparing the breading for the chops, that I liked him.

He shoveled my snow. He saw me outside shoveling my snow and he knew I’d given up the chore to see to Kate and Dane and he’d finished it for me, making it safe for me and my girls to pull out of our drive.

And he remembered the conversation about the condoms. And, even though I was guessing it was well out of character, he’d tried to explain his behavior with Kenzie and he’d had a good reason to be angry even though he took it too far in my opinion. But he was an aggressively masculine man, she had to know that and she’d played with it. She should have known better, she should have seen that coming.

And he’d waited up for me, until late, and he didn’t want me to go.

I liked that he didn’t talk much and I liked that he let his face speak for him. I liked how big he was and that he could carry me around and he did, that he could pick me up and plant me in his truck and he did. I liked that he was rough with me, no, I loved that. I wasn’t the mother of his children. I was a woman, a woman he wanted and he made that abundantly clear and I liked that too.

And I liked that sometimes he looked at me and there was something working in his eyes, something I didn’t quite get but whatever it was, it was about me.

And it was good.

I just knew it.

Joe Callahan couldn’t be more different than Tim Winters and to my shock, I was okay with that. I wasn’t stupid enough to think after the last, two crazy days that Joe was going to be the next love of my life. But I wanted this, I wanted him, I wanted to explore what was happening and I wanted it a lot.

And I couldn’t wait to get back to his house, his bed, him.

Dane came over for pork chops and after, he helped Kate do the dishes (another checkmark on the good column for Dane) and then he and Kate settled in the recliners in the study to do their homework. I sat with Keira on the couch in the living room and read at the same time Keira was watching TV and I watched Dane and Kate.

They were cute together. Dane was a handsome kid and he complimented my pretty daughter. And he was gentle with Kate. I liked the way he looked at her when she was talking like there was nothing else he wanted to do but hear what she had to say. But I especially liked it when she didn’t know he was looking at her like he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he couldn’t believe his luck.

So, okay, I liked my daughter’s boyfriend. I smiled to myself, tilted my head to my book, didn’t read a word and felt that hollowing out of my belly.

Just a little longer to wait.

I pulled on my violet underwear that was liberally dosed with black lace. In fact, the ass of the panties was all lace; there was only a lace-edged triangle at the front. The demi-bra had such a deep edge of lace you could see my nipples through it. The bottom of the cup and the straps were violet satin, however.

Over these I pulled on my black satin nightie, no lace or other adornment. It was just low cut so you could see the bra and had slits to my hips on the sides so you could see the panties if I moved.

I’d bought these for Tim about two weeks before he was murdered and never worn them. I was holding onto them for a special occasion like, say, when the girls were spending the night at his parents’ house. He’d liked my sexy undies and nighties and I’d made it a habit to wear only them for him.

After he died, I’d meant to throw the lingerie out.

Now I was glad I didn’t.

I yanked on the black satin robe that went with the nightie, not wanting to wear Tim’s robe to Joe’s. Tim’s robe could stay on the door when I was with Joe. It might be chill outside but Joe wasn’t that far away.

Before I left my dark room, I bit my lip and put my fingers to my wedding rings. I hadn’t taken them off, never considered it, but I wondered if I should now.

My eyes went to the picture on my nightstand and I felt something move in me then settle. It wasn’t painful. I’d already had the pain, nearly a year and a half of it.

It was life.

“You know I’ll always love you,” I whispered to the picture.

The picture didn’t reply but I knew Tim knew. I’d want this for him too if it was me who was gone and him who remained, though it would totally suck. I wouldn’t want him to be alone though. I’d want him to be excited, to feel alive, to live his life and find happiness.

But I left my wedding rings on, I wasn’t ready for that.

I walked through the dark house. It was far earlier, just eleven thirty, but the girls were out, I’d already checked. I disarmed the alarm and looked at the tangle of shoes by the door. None of them would compliment my outfit so I decided against shoes.

I hustled to the back sliding glass door, opened it, slid through it, closed it and then hopped down the steps, running slowly across the yard, the spring dew cold on my bare feet.

His house was dark again, no light on outside but I didn’t pause. I skipped up Joe’s deck steps and before I hit the top, his sliding glass door was opened.

He stood in it, bare-chested, wearing jeans, the top button undone. My breath caught and my step slowed as I walked to him.

He didn’t move from the door when I stopped in front of him and I watched, holding my breath, as his eyes travel the length of me.

Then his arm shot out and hooked around my waist, he pulled me inside and slid the door to.

His fingers glided into the hair at the side of my head and his chin dipped down so his face was close to mine.

“Baby,” he whispered, “you aren’t wearing any shoes.”

He called me “baby”.

And he was worried my feet were cold.

Yes, something was happening here.

I melted into him and put my hands on his neck.

“I couldn’t find any that went with my outfit,” I explained quietly.

His hand tightened against my scalp and I watched in sheer fascination as he grinned. I’d never seen it but from afar and that close, it was un-fucking-believable.

My stomach dipped but I didn’t get to enjoy the view for very long because his fingers pressed in, pulling my head up, I went to my toes and he kissed me.

The lingerie was pretty much a wasted effort. Joe liked it, I knew, because he growled when he saw it, but he didn’t take much time to enjoy it before he took it off.

He was just as energetic as last night and as insatiable and I decided he probably got a nap.

I had not, so after round two, I wanted more but I couldn’t hack it. I made this point by sliding off his body, snuggling into his side, wrapping my arm around his belly and resting my head on his shoulder.

His fingers gripped my hip.

“Buddy?” he called.

“Sleepy,” I mumbled.

His fingers gripped my hip harder then he turned into me, my head slid from his shoulder to his pillow and his other arm stole around me.

“Violet.”

“Yeah?” I whispered.

He didn’t speak but his body seemed weirdly tense.

I tilted my head back and looked at him.

“Joe?”

“No one calls me Joe.”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you not like it?”

He didn’t respond.

“I like the name Joe,” I told him, moving in closer.

His arms got tight.

I kissed the base of his throat then my head settled back into the pillow and I fell asleep.