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Chapter Thirteen
Samuel
My first day back after the long weekend is stressful and troublesome. Elma isn’t feeling so well, but insisted on staying to help me get caught up. There were two deceased individuals brought in this past weekend, and nothing really done. Not that I’d expected Aaron to do too much work on his weekend on-call. He’s more of a leave-it-for-Samuel kind of guy. But the entire downstairs looks as if a small storm blew through it. The embalming machine was left out and plugged in and the sink and countertop littered with latex gloves. This is exactly why I choose to do things myself, because I can’t always count on young Mr. Hanson to get the job done right.
Or without trashing the entire business in the process.
After the second family comes in to discuss funeral arrangements, I finally convince Elma to go home. It was bad enough she sneezed and coughed all over the conference room, but she left a trail of used tissues in her wake.
I guess like grandma, like grandson.
When I get the office cleaned up—and ran Clorox wipes over everything that would stand still—I finally close up shop and head home. I’m in desperate need of a shower, although, I should probably stop by the store and grab some new bath products. This way, I don’t have to use Freedom’s. I mean, it’s not like they smell bad or anything—quite the opposite, actually—but more of the fact I don’t need to be using her stuff. It already completely freaked me out when I saw her pink razor hanging beside my blue one, but the constant scent that’s so very Freedom has been lingering on my body the entire day, which is doing inappropriate things in my groin, especially when gathering with bereaving family.
But I can’t help it.
I smell her.
I want her.
My car pulls into a small pharmacy lot, practically on its own. Inside, I head straight for the soap aisle, and the first brand I find is the one she uses. I spy my former brand too, but I quickly bypass it so I don’t upset Freedom anymore. I’m not really a guy who follows animal testing and such, but I don’t want to willingly use those products. If she says it happens, I’m sure it does. Freedom wouldn’t lie about something like that.
There are a few other name brands for men, and after a quick scan of the print on the back to confirm they weren’t lab animal tested products, I settle on a shampoo and a bodywash in a clean, ocean breeze scent. I don’t really know what an herbal blend ocean breeze smells like, but it must be decent if they bottle it up and sell it for ten bucks a pop.
It’s after six when I finally pull into my driveway. The front porch light is on, but the lights appear to be dim inside. Freedom’s car is parked along the street, and to be honest, I’m not sure how she got it here. I assumed I’d have to run her to get her car tonight, but apparently someone else beat me to it. There’s also a second car there, a nondescript Buick I don’t recognize. I’ll have to ask Freedom about the car when I get inside.
After a quick stop at the mailbox, I insert my key into my lock, open the front door, and stop dead in my tracks. “What the hell?” I ask, completely stunned at the scene before me. Freedom is standing there, a woman wearing a sheet from the waist down lying on the massage table, as soft sounds of nature filter through my speakers.
“Oh, hey,” Freedom says, offering me a warm, welcome home smile, before turning back to her task at hand as if it’s perfectly normal to give a naked lady a massage in the middle of my living room.
“Freedom?” I ask, keeping my back against the wall as I try to look anywhere but at the scene in front of me. The lady is completely covering any vital parts, but it still makes me feel a little uncomfortable as Freedom rubs big circles across her oily back. “A word?”
She glances at the clock. “I’ve got ten minutes left here. Please wait in the kitchen.”
Ordering me around like she owns the place.
Typical Freedom.
I keep my back as close to the wall as possible as I make my way through the living room and to the kitchen. Once there, I practically sprint to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Then, I set it back inside and pull out a beer. I’m not a big beer drinker, but I’ll have one every now and again. Usually, at my mom’s with my siblings, but today, with Freedom on the opposite side of the wall giving a strange woman a massage, well, I say that constitutes a special beer-drinking occasion.
“Make sure you drink plenty of water,” I hear Freedom say. “Go ahead and get dressed in the bathroom, and I’ll meet you back in here.”
I hear a door shut, followed by Freedom breezing into the kitchen as if she hasn’t a care in the world. “Good evening, Sammy.”
“What the fuck, Freedom?” I practically growl, setting my beer bottle down on the table with a little too much force.
“Excuse me?”
“Why are you massaging a strange woman in my house?” I whisper-yell so said strange woman doesn’t overhear.
“What are you talking about? Priscilla isn’t a strange woman. I’ve been massaging her for years.”
“In my house?”
She crosses her arms, and I can’t help but notice the way her top dips down low. “No, in my house. But since I currently don’t have an apartment, I’m doing it here.”
“Without asking?” I ask, rubbing my forehead and willing the headache forming to go away.
“Umm, did you not tell me to make myself comfortable?”
