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“Listen, Tammy. We’re on the same page. You like bees. She likes bees. That’s why I think you might know her. She’s beautiful, about nineteen. Freckles. And her smile…” Jesus, that smile. And her sugar-sweet cunt. Makes my balls ache just thinking about it.
“Last night, she introduced herself as Stephanie.”
Tammy yelps out a disapproving shudder. “This isn’t an escort service, sir!”
Fuck off, Tammy.
“Never mind. Enjoy your bees, honey,” I snarl, and hang up then stash my phone in my sports jacket pocket as I slam the door of the rental car behind me.
Unfortunately, all my pent-up fury and frustration gets funneled into my flat-handed pounding on the door. Even to my own ears, it sounds like SWAT is about to bust into the place.
My foster sister appears in the side window, looking startled, and clearly surprised not to see a dozen guys in Kevlar lined up on her driveway. When she sees it’s me, she presses her hand to her chest, blows out a relieved breath, disappears for a second and opens the door.
When she does, I get the first good look I’ve had at her in damn near ten years. She’s still got the same kind eyes, but the rest of her has changed quite a bit.
A lot of Peloton, a bit of Real Housewives. She welcomes me with a quick and uncomfortable hug. Not exactly a happy family reunion.
I try to push down the frustration of the day, and the disappointment at being greeted like that, and follow her inside. I’m shitty at small talk, but I give it a shot.
“This is a beautiful house. Come a long way, sis. Remember that house on Longmont? What a shithole. One bathroom, seven kids and the hole in the roof? Remember when it would rain—”
Patricia glances back over her shoulder, then sweeps her eyes side to side. She turns back to face me, lessening the distance between us.
“Listen. My husband does not know all the details of my background. And I’m trusting you not to tell him that I grew up like trash. In trash. Surrounded by trash.”
It’s a gut punch. Amazing how one word can take me back. We grew up poor, discarded. Unloved. But not until this moment did I ever think of us as trash.
“I won’t give you away.” I set my jaw, twisting my head until my neck cracks.
Maybe I should have worn another tux instead of an everyday, casual suit. Made sure not to embarrass her in front of her husband.
To hell with the small talk. Let’s get this over with so I can get back to what really matters.
My princess. My future wife, goddammit.
From the hallway, I see her husband sitting in front of a massive flat-screen that hangs above the fireplace, the Cowboys playing, with what more than likely is tequila in one hand and a cigar in the other.
Patricia clears her throat, getting his attention.
“Marshall,” she sweeps her hand from me toward him, “this is my husband, Raymond. Raymond, this is Marshall.”
Much to my surprise, Raymond gets up when I walk in and opens his arms to me. He’s as big as a bear.
“Goddamn, it’s nice to meet you,” he says, slapping my back like I’m some long-lost brother. “How many times have I asked about him, Patricia?”
“A few,” she answers with a tight, cool smile.
“And now here you are.” He pumps my hand again. “Tequila? Vodka?”
Shit, maybe I’ll get through this after all.
“Tequila. Straight.”
“Good man, good man. Have a seat. Make yourself at home. We’ll be eating soon, just need to wait for my daughter to get back from the store.” He puffs away happily on his cigar and adjusts his belt over his ample gut. “So tell me about yourself, Marshall. Patricia’s always been a bit cagey about the details of her growing up. I imagine the effects of being in foster care are something she doesn’t much want to revisit.”
The thing is, now, being here, in this beautiful place—this place that looks like real wealth, like real security—I finally kind of get it. Not completely, but kind of. The way we were is a threat to what she wants to be now.
“We didn’t grow up with much but I’m glad to say we’ve made the most of things.”
Raymond takes a seat across from me in one of a pair of leather sofas near the kitchen.
“What sort of business are you in?”
“Private security, up until recently. I sold my company and now I’m just…”
Raymond tilts his head. Reminds me of an overfed Golden Retriever.
“You’re just…?”
“Just figuring out what’s next, I guess.” I know what’s fucking next, I can still taste her. “Just bought a house outside New Orleans. And I’m really just hoping to settle down.”
It’s then that I hear the beep-beep-beep of the home security system. The little pad on the door announces, “Garage door. Open!”
