“Where’d you go?”
“To feed and water the animals.”
“You should have woken me up. I would have helped.”
“Woman, I know you. You would not have helped. You would have complained. You would have made jokes. You might’ve even broken a nail, but you would not have helped.”
“I wasn’t built for physical labor. I mean look at my arms. Like chicken wings. I’m more of a bring lemonade to the crew type of girl. For a while there, Daddy tried to make me into a horse trainer, like Oz, but he gave up. He told me I was an unserious person. And thinking back on it now, that was a fair assessment.”
“Sometimes our parents know us better than we know ourselves.”
“I think that’s true when we’re younger, but as an adult I don’t think my father has a clue about what motivates me.”
Her words unlocked a core memory for me. The last time I’d had a semi real conversation with my father was right before I went off to college. My mother encouraged him to check in with me. Our stilted discussion included him reminding me to always use a condom, don’t fall to peer pressure, and whatever I did to not sully the family name. That was years ago. Today our conversations focused on three topics—sports, the nursery, andfood. My father would probably forget my birthday if my mom wasn’t around to remind him.
Fancy cast her eyes in front of her, looking off into the distance. “This is a nice view.”
“I bought the house because of that view.”
Fancy leaned her head on my shoulder and started to hum low. Not going to lie, I almost creamed my pants. This was perfect. She was perfect and in the short time she was here, she made this house feel more like a home, despite the frilly drapes and dog-shaped umbrella stand.
When she started to sing, I just closed my eyes and listened. Singing was like sharing a piece of your soul, oftentimes telling the listener more about a person than just words alone could. Anytime Fancy sang a cappella you could sense her vulnerability in each note. She was the reason Whiskey Wild was so successful, because from the first guitar string she hooked you.
“Sing with me,” she requested.
I grimaced with a slight shake of my head. “You’re doing fine.” We used to sing together all the time, but nowadays I only sang after several glasses of liquid courage.
“Please.” Her big mink eyes pleaded.
It was nearly impossible to say no to that pouty face. Humoring her, I sang along with the familiar words. I could carry a tune, but my skills were no match for Fancy’s. She was a powerhouse and when her deep raspy voice sang a song, you felt it in your bones. Fancy just came alive when she sang. Tapping my foot on the steps, we fell into familiar cadence.
She swayed from side to side, beaming up at me as my bass harmonized with her soprano. Fancy couldn’t help but perform, shimming her shoulders and rocking her hips. We didn’t need an audience, she would entertain the trees, and they’d pendulate in appreciation. Fancy jumped up, dancing barefoot in the dirt while I slapped my knee to keep the beat. Our melodies driftedinto the soft morning breeze. She was the fire, and I was the match. Without her flame, I was useless.
Fancy fell into my arms as the last refrains died on our lips.“It doesn’t make sense but love rarely does.”She kissed me and my heart was set ablaze. The way her mouth moved was deliberate, like she was giving me time to grasp the unspoken words behind our lip lock. Her fingers fumbled over my belt buckle and I was ready to fuck her in front of God and Katt who stopped for a lazy stretch before continuing on her way. The landline in the house rang, interrupting the action.
“Ignore it,” she begged.
Pushing her hair from her face, I objected. “Can’t, it could be important.” I wanted to. I really did, but not many people called the house number, so when it rang I picked up. Standing, I carried Fancy inside, depositing her on the couch.
“Hello?” I said.
“Good morning, Edison, sorry to call so early on a Sunday.” It was Fancy’s mother, and I felt like a kid who’d got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“No need to apologize ma’am.”
Fancy rolled her eyes mouthing the word “Ma’am?”
“Is Fancy with you?”
“Yes Mrs. Palmer, I’m looking at her right now. Do you want to speak to her?” I hit the speakerphone and Fancy’s back straightened.
“Oh no need to bother. I just wanted to make sure she was safe. Didn’t want to assume.”
“I apologize. We should’ve called. I feel awful about making you worry.” I noticed my belt was still undone and cringed like this was a video chat and I’d been caught red-handed trying to diddle the rancher’s daughter.
Fancy chimed in. “I’ll be back Monday morning Momma.”
“Is that okay with you Mrs. Palmer?” I asked respectfully.
