Good Wood (7 page)

MY OBNOXIOUS ALARM squawked at me from my phone on the bedside table.

“Dammit! It’s Saturday.” I groaned at my stupidity for setting it in the first place and rolled over to silence it. Seeing the date large as life on my screen, I flopped onto my back and buried my face in my pillow. It was my wedding anniversary. Or I should say it
used
to be.

There was no sleeping after that rude awakening. As I trudged to the restroom to brush my teeth, I couldn’t help but reflect back on my quickie Vegas wedding. I’d barely known Draven for two months when he popped the question on a sunset cruise. We’d been nearly inseparable since the night we met. I’d been in my first job as sous chef when he slithered into the trendy night spot where I worked. He’d brought some clients in to seal a deal. Our executive chef was out sick, which left me in charge of the kitchen and I was trying out a couple of new dishes. It wasn’t the safest career move, but I thought better to ask forgiveness than beg permission. Drae loved my food and sweet talked the manager into meeting me. Sparks flew before either of us spoke a single word. We had mountains of chemistry, no doubt about it. Lust at first sight.

It wasn’t surprising that he’d wanted to elope. His family lived on the East Coast and mine were all in Texas. So three years ago, I’d impulsively boarded a private jet and joined the mile high club. A few hours and a rented dress later and I became Mrs. Draven Cirone.

After a few pictures with “Elvis”, we’d returned to Mandalay Bay to consummate our union. Sex was what we were always best at. A quick shower later and Draven set off for his business meeting. I was bored, so I wandered down to the casino floor and stumbled upon a tattoo shop. My wedding day seemed like an excellent excuse for my fourth tattoo. Draven always said the dolphins and the dove on my back were ‘cute’, so I found a pretty verse and had it placed on my left shoulder blade. Then I hurried back to my hotel room to change into the sexy red lingerie he’d given me as a wedding present.

When I got back to the hotel room, he was already there waiting. I could tell he was angry before he’d uttered a word. He was smoking and pacing the room. I asked him if he’d had a rough meeting and he demanded to know where I’d been. Smiling to relieve his concerns, I showed him my oozing tattoo.

“That’d better be Henna.” He snapped, scratching his finger across it. I screeched in surprise and pain and winced away from him. Flicking his cigarette across the room onto the carpet, he stormed out the door. I raced to stomp out the cigarette before it burned the place down, and then I just stood there…catching my breath and clutching at my throbbing back. Trying to decide what to do…where to go…whether to stay or figure out how to get an annulment.

I was wide awake in bed when Draven resurfaced hours later with a dozen long stemmed red roses. I was facing the window when I felt him crawl into bed.

“Molly. I’m so sorry, Doll.” I tensed when he gently touched my arm. He pressed himself against me, brushing my hair aside as he whispered into my ear. “I fucking hate myself for hurting you. Please forgive me. I
really thought
it was fake. You’re so beautiful; I don’t understand why you want to destroy your perfect skin with these things.” He gently kissed my aching shoulder very near the fresh ink. “I love you more than anything. I was just all jitters from the wedding and you know how jealous I get. When I came back and found you gone, I lost it. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

I rolled over to face him, wincing, but desperate to see it in his eyes. I needed to witness his regret. I wanted to see that he was sorry. Desperation and remorse were blatant in his eyes.

“I closed the deal, Molly. It’s a multi-million dollar acquisition. Let me take you to Picasso to celebrate.”

I allowed him to take my hand and lead me to the bathroom where he took his time, cleaning and dressing my tattoo. He picked out a cocktail dress for me to wear. Thirty minutes later he was showing me off to his associates in full view of the Eiffel Tower and the fountains at Bellagio. He never stopped touching me, stroking me reassuringly, even as we ate. My glass was continuously topped off with Cabernet Sauvignon until I could no longer feel anything, let alone my healing shoulder.

I’ll admit this newlywed bliss wasn’t my first sign that our marriage was a bad idea, but it was one of the shiniest. Draven had such a dynamic presence that he’d blazed into my life like a comet and swept me off my feet along with him.

I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, hoping the bad taste of Draven would vanish down the drain along with it.

I bought into all of his bullshit, but in my defense, Drae is a conman of epic proportions. His apologies were so arduous that at first it seemed unthinkable that they weren’t heartfelt. He was a constant contradiction. He loved to throw his money around, but was remarkably cheap about the oddest things. He’d been a master manipulator, and his presence in my life made my family situation worse than ever. Though they’d only met him once, the twins both despised him. The feeling was mutual. When things got bad between us, Draven referred to them as backwater hicks. I slapped him across the face for that one. He responded by smashing our bedroom mirror and leaving home for three days.

The past aside, I couldn’t blame Draven for my current state of affairs. Like a pathetic doormat, I’d willingly surrendered every bit of myself to make a bad situation work. When things failed anyway, I’d found the good sense to amputate him from my life like a gangrenous limb. The personal cost had set me all the way back to square one, but it seemed like a fitting penance for rushing into my marriage and ignoring my instincts.

Noting the dark circles under my eyes, I tossed on my robe and padded into the kitchen. We’d made so much money at the hotel jobsite, that I’d hired a second part-time crew to help me on weekends down on Sixth Street. I knew I couldn’t keep the pace up forever, but I was close to saving enough profits for a down payment on a second truck and then I wouldn’t have to.

While my Keurig brewed me my first cup of family-tolerater, I whipped up the batter for my signature pink champagne cake. It was Mom’s favorite flavor and some major ass kissing was in order. I owed her big-time. Not only for having been an all-around shitty daughter, but more recently for allowing me to crash in her guest room until I could find an apartment.

For a family that got together regularly, being the kid that came back once in a blue moon made you stand out as the pariah. But with school, working, and my fledgling marriage, I had trouble slowing down long enough to visit. I’d come back once with Draven. I wanted my husband to meet my family. That had been an awkward disaster.

The other times I’d come alone. Dad had picked up the tab for me to attend Le Cordon Bleu, and to thank him I graciously returned for his funeral. I was pretty sure my family would hold a grudge forever about me not spending enough time with Dad before he died. But I know that Dad would have understood. The two things he and I had most in common were a passion for cooking and naked ambition.

When Mason called to tell me that Dad had had a massive stroke, I hopped on the first available flight back to Texas. The entire way home, I worried that I wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time to tell him I loved him. As it turns out, I was right.

The scene at the hospital had been an ugly one. Mac and I said some pretty shitty things to each another. Mason usually kept the peace, but he and dad had been very tight and he was too distraught to step in. The fact that Draven had been ‘too booked with meetings’ to come along added napalm to the fire.

“What’re you doing here?” Mac lashed out the moment he saw me, practically shoving me out of Dad’s room. Mom cried out in alarm and Mason didn’t even look up from his spot in the corner.

“Fuck you, Mac!” I choked out past a sob. “He was my dad, too.”

“Oh now he’s your dad. Well, he’s already dead and there’s no secret inheritance, kid. Run along home to your pretty boy husband and leave us hicks alone.”

“Mac!” Mason’s wife, Robin gasped her eyes wide with shock.

“You’re an asshole.” I glared at him, my face scalding with shame. My year old marriage was already rocky, and considering how infrequently I’d made it home since leaving for college, I couldn’t muster up much righteous indignation.

“And you don’t belong here. This time is for
family
.”

“You need to stop, Mac. Now.” Robin left her husband’s side to come over to Mac, placing a hand on his shoulder. It seemed Mason had fallen mute, and I have never forgotten how Robin stepped in to defend me. “Let’s go have a cigarette.”

“He kept asking for you and asking for you. Why’d you even bother, Molly?” His voice cracked on his parting shot, and he seemed to have lost most of his venom, Mason’s wife finally dragged Mac out of the room and I got to have my breakdown over Daddy’s deathbed. Seeing the shriveled husk of my once tough-as-nails father made it impossible to breathe.

By the time we had to pick out a casket, Mac and I were talking again, which was a good thing because Mom and Mason weren’t functioning. We might be the two family hotheads, but we rally well. He and I had to make all the decisions with the funeral director.

In the two years since Dad’s death, Mom forged on with the enthusiasm of a Spartan. She sold the restaurant for a healthy profit and threw herself into the grandkids. Mason and Robin’s three youngsters kept her running from soccer tournaments to dance recital. Mason’s busy children made up for the fact that Mac only saw his son every other weekend and that I had no kids at all.

Thinking about all of that made me feel like crap. I decided to do something to cheer myself up. Always one to multitask, I painted my nails a pretty coral color while the cake cooled. I had no one to impress anymore, but sometimes a little color just makes a girl feel like a lady. I wasn’t ready to date or anything, but I was ready to dote on myself again. Promising myself a professional mani/pedi on my next day off, I texted Stacy telling her that we needed a girl’s day out. All work and no play made me kind of a cranky boss.

I did a little laundry and finally heard the timer ding. As I dolloped on a thick layer of pink frosting, I glanced at the clock and gasped. I needed to move my ass or I’d be late. Mason’s oldest daughter was turning seven and the whole family was gathering at his place in ‘the burbs’ for a party. I threw on a pale pink shirt, some capris and flip flops. Sick of the bandana look, I tossed my hair in a low swept ponytail and headed out.

When I pulled up, it was obvious by the number of cars clogging the street that most of the free-loading redneck cousins had shown up. Mac played catch with his son while Mason flipped burgers on the oversized grill near the house. I called to Mac to come help me with the cake so that I could carry my gift. He made a big show of nearly dropping it and I about had a heart attack. Both Mac and his son laughed at me, of course. As we neared the house Mason hung up his cell phone with a surprised expression.

“You’ll never believe this.” Mason called to Mac. “Joe just called. He’s stopping by later.” Mac blinked in shock.

“No way!” Mac belted.

“Seriously. He just called to ask what to bring’ the birthday girl’.” Mason replied with a broad smile. Mac grinned fiendishly and he turned to me taking the stairs backwards. Though I wanted to vomit as I watched him, he effortlessly balanced the cake on one hand.

“Molly’s
true love
. Try to be nice, short shit.”

“I’m always nice to everybody but you.” I shot back, pissed that my cheeks caught fire at the mere mention of Joe’s name.

“Oooo…burn, Dad.” Mac’s mini-clone laughed. Mac picked a cherry off of my cake and flung it at his son.

“Don’t be
too
nice, Molly! That boy has been
around
.” Mason called after us and I let the slamming of the front door reply for me.

Not many people were inside since the main attractions-the heated in-ground pool, the hot tub, and the bouncy house-were all in the back yard. Two of my slutty cousins and Mason’s wife, Robin, gathered at the kitchen island. The sluts were topping off their cocktails while Robin busied herself with hostess duties.