Page 22 of Sterling Clay

“Hey, Dutton,” I coo. “We’ve made an Oreo cookie out of you. A sandwich between your mama and me.”

He doesn’t respond but I sense Mavis shift.

“And you know what they say about an Oreo cookie.” I pause for an answer, hoping to distract the kid but he doesn’t respond. “The filling is the best part. Which means you’re the best part of this cookie.”

Without a thought, I lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head. He smells fruity, like strawberries maybe.

Still no response from him, but Mavis relaxes beneath my arm. I wrap my other arm around them both cocooning them in and feeling comforted myself. I don’t dislike storms. I rather admire them at times and appreciate the necessity of them. Right now, I’m thankful for this one.

Grateful that it’s allowing me to sit on this bed and cradle Mavis and her kid.

I’ve never quite felt like this before. My need to protect in contrast with another person who is doing the protecting. Because there’s one thing I’m certain of, Mavis wouldn’t let a hair on Dutton’s head be harmed. Calling her mama bear fits, as he is her cub.

I’m just wondering if they might have room for a papa bear somewhere.

The thought is ridiculous, and I tip back my head, closing my eyes since there’s nothing else to do but wait out the storm. Slowly, Dutton slumps between us, falling back asleep as the thunder moves on and the lightning subsides. The rain is more of a steady shower, thudding on my roof in a rhythmic patter that has me nodding off as well.

With Mavis still tucked beneath my arms, holding her child while I hold her, I slip into a dream where they are mine.

+ + +

In the morning, a loud annoying ringtone rouses me. My head lolls forward. My neck cracks from the awkward angle I slept in all night. At some point, Dutton burrowed back into his pillow. Mavis rests beside him but I remained upright, vigilant while asleep.

As the ringtone blares, Mavis sits upright, does a double take at my position, and then scrambles over both Dutton and me to reach her phone on the nightstand beside me. When she pauses to pick up the device, and turn off what I assume is an alarm, she straddles my outstretched legs.

“You’re a lovely sight to see first thing, butterfly,” I tease. Her jet-black hair sticks up on one side of her head. Her eyes are soft. Her mouth lush.

Her head lifts, eyes wide, brows deeply pinched. “Why would you call me that?”

I shrug, uncertain, but the name seems fitting.

Sleepily, she assesses her position over me. Those dark eyes do a quick scan of my bare chest and her legs split over my lap before she scrambles in a way that causes her to lean awkwardly off the bed and nearly tumble to the floor. Her foot lands on the hard wood and she wobbles. I catch her hip to steady her.

“You stayed?” Her question is one of surprise and my answer surprises me.

“I stayed.” I didn’t want them frightened again during the night. Nothing will get to them with me here. Which means I need to be more present.

“About dinner—”

Her raised hand cuts me off and I take a second to assess what she’s wearing. She stole my shirt again. The thigh length tee exposes her legs, and my gaze drops to her light-pink polished toes. She’s a vision in my T-shirt. Her nipples erect, evidence of no bra. I want to explore what else she has underneath the shirt, but when Dutton stirs beside me the desire drops.

“I need to get dressed.”

“Where are you going?” The question comes out without a care to the accusation within it.

“I have an appointment with the insurance company today.”

I straighten on the bed. My lower back is killing me from having slept at an upright angle. My neck is certain to have a crick in it. I glance down at the zonked out kid beside me. “What about Dutton?”

“Meredith Mulligen is going to watch him for me.”

“Meredith Mulligen?” Everyone in this town knows Meredith’s secret. The one not quite so well kept about the seventy-year-old woman selling sex toys out of the second-floor apartment over her yarn shop, The She Shed. Years ago, the shop had an additional -e and -p in the title, making it The Sheep Shed, a place specializing in yarn and knitting supplies. When Meredith took over the shop, she used her living space on the upper level to supplement her daytime business. With the -e and -p fallen from the original sign, she left the spaces empty. Called the absence, character. She’s a character.

As Mavis nods, while checking her phone for the time, I ask, “Are you certain that’s wise?”

I have nothing against sweet Meredith, who lost her husband young and has been preaching to the women of this community, behind closed doors of course, that self-pleasure is the preferred pleasure. I’d like to disagree. While I don’t mind my hand on occasion, I prefer the touch of a woman on me. Her hands. Her mouth. Her inviting, open thighs.

But then again, Meredith isn’t talking about men pleasuring themselves. She’s all about female empowerment.