Play It Safe (8 page)

She tipped her head to a chair with its back to the door and invited, “Sit down. I’ll make you some eggs.”

She’d make me some eggs?

How would she do that in a wheelchair?

I didn’t ask even though I wanted to know.

“Really,” I shook my head, “thank you but no. Gray has been very kind, I’ve taken a lot of his time already and I’m really not a breakfast person. Especially not this early. But again, thank you.”

I wondered if I was laying on the gratitude too thick. I could tell by her assessing eyes, her blank face and her aloof manner that she didn’t like what she saw in me. I was used to this, especially from women and that especially was most especially from older women. They had experience. They saw things other people didn’t see. She didn’t like what she saw in me. She didn’t like that her grandson hit the breakfast table with an angry cut over his eye that had to be closed by plasters. She didn’t like that her grandson hit the breakfast table with a cut over his eye and the news he had a girl in their guest room.

She didn’t like her grandson with me.

“At least have coffee, some toast,” she encouraged.

Hells bells.

I had never been a guest in anyone’s home but I suspected it would be rude to say no three times.

“Thanks,” I whispered, moved to the chair she indicated as Gray scooted his back.

“I’ll get it,” he muttered.

“No,” I said quickly and sharply though I didn’t know why and I shouldn’t have done it.

Gray’s eyes cut to me and I felt his grandmother’s on me. His brows were slightly drawn; he was confused at my tone.

“Please,” I said quietly, “don’t interrupt your breakfast for me. I can pour a cup of coffee.”

He studied me a second, jerked his chin up slightly, settled back in his chair and pushed himself to the table.

I went to the coffeemaker that had a half-full pot and had also been pulled to close to the edge of the counter likely so Grandma could get to it should she want to wheel herself over there to refresh her cup. Beside it was a stand with a bunch of mismatched but all interesting cups (and all
big,
apparently ranchers or orchard people liked their coffee) hanging from hooks.

I nabbed a cup, turned it on its bottom on the butcher block counter and grabbed the pot. Then it hit me and I turned to the table.

“Does anyone need a warm up?” I asked, lifting the pot.

Gray looked at me and answered, “Thanks, I’m good, Ivey.”

“I could use a warm up,” Grandma Miriam said.

I nodded, moved to her, warmed up her cup then moved back and got my own.

I barely had my bottom planted in the seat by Grandma Miriam before Gray offered, “Least have some toast. You gotta try Gran’s preserves.”

I looked to the pot of jam.

She cooked eggs.

She made jam.

In a wheelchair.

I thought this was very interesting.

“That sounds great,” I murmured and before I could protest, Gray was out of his seat, in a cupboard and he came back with a small plate that had frilly edges and flowers printed on it, leaning across the table to put it in front of me.

The toast was already buttered, perfectly toasted, light and golden. I grabbed a slice, tagged the jam and prepared it. Then I splashed milk in my coffee, spooned in a sugar. Silently I went about eating and sipping.

Great coffee. I was right about the toast, perfect. And the jam was amazing. Jam, I thought, was jam. But I was wrong.

Granny nightgown. Homemade preserves. Strawberry wallpaper. Wilted flowers here and there.

 I loved Grandma Miriam and it was just my life that she would never love me.

“So, how old are you, Ivey?” Grandma Miriam asked and my eyes slid to her.

This was not good. If she wanted to affect a third degree, I was sitting at her table. I was drinking her coffee. I’d slept in one of her beds. I was eating her preserves. And her grandson had bled for me.

I couldn’t avoid it.

Darn.

“Twenty-two,” I answered.

Her eyes moved over my face before coming back to mine to compliment, “You have very pretty hair.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“And unusual eyes,” she went on. “Lovely.”

“Thanks,” I repeated on a whisper.

“Did you get those from your mother or your father?”

Steel slid down my spine and I had to do the impossible, give in at the same time fight it.

“My mother with the eyes. I don’t know where I got my hair.”

She held my gaze, unwavering.

I pulled mine away and ate my toast.

I didn’t look back at her when she asked, “Where do you hail from?”

“We moved around a lot,” I evaded.

Silence then, “I see.”

Yep. I was sure she did.

I finished the toast, sat back, eyes to the table and sipped coffee.

Moments slid by then again from Grandma but not to me, “Best get Ivey into town, sweetheart. I’ll do the dishes.”

I didn’t eat breakfast but I figured I should at least offer so I chanced looking at her again. “Why don’t you let me do that? My way to say thanks for toast and preserves, coffee,” my eyes slid through Gray to the window as I finished, “and everything.”

“That isn’t necessary, Ivey,” Grandma Miriam said and I looked at her.

She wanted me in town, out of her house and hopefully, as soon as I could manage it, out of her grandson’s life.

“It isn’t any trouble. I’m sure I could have it done in a few minutes and be out of your hair.”

“Got nothing else to do, child,” she replied quietly. “Now, you get on into town with Gray.”

In other words, get on wherever just get on.

I nodded and stood.

In short order I had my jacket on, my scarf on, my purse strapped on, Gray had my bag in the back of his truck and we were on our way to town.

It was very early morning and still dark so I still couldn’t figure out what it was, where he lived. Ranch or orchard. But it didn’t smell like ranch though I couldn’t say I knew what that smelled like. Still, if there was livestock close, it had to smell like
something.

What I did see was that his truck was not only beat up it seriously needed a cleanup. Someone had a sweet tooth if the plethora of candy bar wrappers were anything to go by. They also had a taste for salty if the big, empty chip bags were any indication. There were also crunched pop cans, wadded what looked like receipts and gum wrappers, the car mats were caked with mud and there was a thin layer of dust everywhere.

I took my mind off what I was certain in a weird but fascinating way would be cleaning up his truck and the fact that I really,
really
wanted to do it and I pulled myself together.

“How’s the cut?” I asked.

“Not the first. In this town, probably not the last. I’ll survive,” Gray replied again intriguingly and again I wanted to ask and again I wouldn’t.

“You stick around, she’ll come around,” he said quietly and I looked from the road to him.

He looked good in profile.

I already knew this. Still, it hit me and in a way I knew instinctively it always would hit me. If I lived a life that was the kind of life I was free to make connections and we connected, we held strong, I knew his beauty, no matter how time wore on it, would always hit me. It might eventually come as a surprise, still, there would be times it would hit me.

“Sorry?”

He glanced at me then back at the road. “You stick around awhile, Gran, she’ll come around.”

Oh my.

He wanted me to stick around. He wanted his Gran to have a chance to come around. He actually thought that would happen.

I looked back at the road too but when I did it, I did it fighting tears.

Gray kept talking.

“She’s had six men in her life, three of them good. Her Daddy, her husband and my father. All three of those men are dead.”

I closed my eyes.

His father was good, probably like him.

His father was also dead.

I did not like that.

Gray kept going and I opened my eyes.

“Leaves three sons who are no good. Part of how they’re no good, including my Dad, they got shit taste in women. Their choices but still, she bore the brunt of that. She’s cautious, trained that way by a mean Momma and then a lifetime of puttin’ up with bad women. But, you stick around, she’ll come around.”

His grandmother read me like a book. She’d never come around.

And he was clearly like the men in his family. If he was attracted to me, he had shit taste in women.

He’d also said “including my Dad” which meant his Mom was a bad woman.

I didn’t like that either.

I said nothing.

Gray kept driving.

We made it to town and he pulled into the parking spot outside my hotel door. I already had my key out.

Casey’s car was nowhere to be seen. He was having a very good night.

Lucky him.

Hand on the handle, I turned to Gray, opening my mouth to say a firm farewell and tell him he didn’t need to help me with my bag.

He was already turned to me and he got there before me.

“You stick around, VFW steaks tonight.”

I stared, confused at his strange words.

Then I asked, “Sorry?”

“You stay another day; I’ll pick you up, five thirty. VFW, every Friday night, they do steaks.” He grinned. “This is meat country, darlin’, best beef you’ll find near anywhere and VFW steaks are the best I’ve had, bar none. You don’t wanna miss that.”

Was he asking me out on a date?

Definitely shit taste in women.

“We’re leaving today,” I told him.

“You stay, you get steak,” he told me.

“I like steak, Gray,” I said softly. “But we’re leaving today.”

His face changed, got that look, that gentle near to tender look and I braced.

“Ivey –” he started, leaning toward me but I shook my head and interrupted him.

“You know me,” I whispered.

He leaned closer. “Dollface –”

I shook my head again. “You know, Gray. Don’t be your Daddy. Be smart. Find a nice girl to take home to your Gran. You know I’m not that.”

His face changed again and the “near to” part evaporated. It was all tender.

God. Beautiful.

I could take no more.

I whipped around, opened the door and it creaked loud. I hopped out, shut it on another creak, hearing his creaking because he opened it. I ran around the back of the truck, leaned in, reached, grabbed my bag while I heard his door creak closed. I dashed around him, head down, hair hiding my face and went to the hotel room door.

I had my key in the lock when I felt his body close to my back and, lips at my ear, he whispered, “Don’t, Ivey.”

I closed my eyes but still turned the key.

Then I opened my eyes, opened the door and shot inside.

I closed the door on him without looking back.

Lived My Life for You

Four hours later…

“I’m in love!”

That was Casey.

He had his arm around me, my feet off the ground and he was swinging me around.

This was new.

Brand new.

And this was not good.

Really not good.

As for me, I had both our bags packed and waiting by the door.

Casey slammed me down on my feet, let me go, stepped back and I looked up at his face.

He was beaming.

I wanted to cry.

“God, sis,
God,
wait ‘til you meet her. She’s
the shit.
I mean, never met a woman like her.
Never.
Funny. Sweet. Funny.
Hot.
Did I say funny?”

“Casey –” I started and he jerked away, moving to the bags.

“Need some money, babe. Nice dinner for my girl tonight.”

My heart clenched.

“Casey, we gotta go,” I told him.

He had my bag and was walking toward the bed.

He knew better. Our money was not in my bag. It was also not in my purse. He was due back. I’d put it in a safe place. It was tucked in my bra.

“We’re not goin’,” he declared, dropped my bag and zipped it open. “Hundred dollars. Good wine. Juicy steak. For my girl,” he muttered, pawing through my bag.

“I had trouble last night,” I announced and his head jerked back, his eyes cutting to me.

“What?”

“Got bored, went to the bar, was shooting some pool. Local guy thought he could best me. He bet me. He lost. He didn’t like it.”

Casey grinned and straightened.

“He lost?”

Of course he lost. Casey knew better than to ask that.

“Yeah, and he didn’t like it.”

“How much he lose?”

“Casey, it doesn’t matter. He didn’t like it. Things were hot here before. Now they’re hotter.”

Casey rounded the bed and approached me. “How much he lose, sis?”

“Like I said,” I leaned in, “
it doesn’t matter.
He came around last night, another local guy saw it go down, knew this guy was trouble, took my back. There was a commotion in the parking lot, the owner of the hotel got involved and so did a cop. He sized me up. We have to
go.
”

Casey was now close but he leaned back. “A cop?”

I nodded. “A cop.”

“He say shit to you?”

I shook my head. “No, but he took one look at me outside my hotel room and the guy accused me of hustling. I didn’t, the local guy who stepped up for me confirmed this but this cop is not dumb. We gotta go.”

Casey studied me.

Then he asked, “How much you win, Ivey?”

I sighed, then started, “Casey –”

“How much…” he leaned in this time, “
did you win?
”

“Five hundred dollars.”

He grinned and leaned back, muttering, “Fuckin’ awesome.”

“Casey, really –”

“Give me a hundred,” he lifted a hand, palm up. “No, hundred and fifty. I’m gonna buy my girl flowers.”

I stared.

I needed gloves.

While Casey was carousing, to stop from being bored, I needed books.

A man bled for me and if I was going to spend any of the money
I
won, it would be buying him another warm scarf. Or a hat. Or, I didn’t know, fifty candy bars. Or, maybe, sending some flowers to his Grandma who hated me then getting out of town which was what she wanted most out of me.