Secondhand Sinners (8 page)

“You’re a good mother,” he interrupted, catching her completely off guard.

“What?”

He closed his hands around hers. “When I was online, I read some stuff about what it’s like to be a parent of a kid like Jack. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Who said I was handling it? I’m a divorced woman who hasn’t worked in six years. I don’t even have a high school diploma, and I certainly don’t have any marketable skills. I devoted seven years to a man who left me for a woman five years older than me…that’s right. She’s older than me. It seems all I have to show for it is this incredibly challenging, brilliant, annoying child who will probably never understand what love means.”

“You’re handling it. Really well.”

Emily left her hand in Miller’s. She didn’t dare move, didn’t want to do anything to shatter the fragile calm that was settling in on her as she inhaled the intoxicating aroma of fresh air and Miller’s aftershave. Memories of them together in another life wafted around her like the scent of the wildflowers and budding leaves. They were wild once.

“You remember old man Phipps?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Emily thought for a minute. “The history teacher?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t thought about him in years. He was ancient.”

“Abby’s in his class this year.”

“No way. He must be about a hundred years old!”

“He’s forty-eight.”

“Shut up.” Emily started to laugh. “You’re lying.”

“No,” Miller said, his mood instantly lightened. “He wasn’t much older than we are now when we had him.”

“I guess that means we’re a few years away from being ancient.”

He looked at her sideways and grinned. “Hell, I hit ancient two years ago.”

Emily relaxed. The Miller she remembered, the one who always knew how to put her at ease and had haunted her for the last fourteen years with nightmares of
what if
,
had broken free of his bad memories and was back. Suddenly, she didn’t want to leave.

“Who else?” she asked, wanting to sit for a while longer on the porch with her hand in his. “Tell me about someone else.”

“Well,” Miller said, looking up like he was thinking, “as you know by now, Alan’s back in town. He joined the Air Force a few years after Daniel died, did his four years, came back, and moved in with Hoyt and Verna.”

Ugh. Next topic. Emily did not want to talk about Alan.

“Hoyt’s in the home now, though. Broke his hip a few months after Verna died, and Alan’s wife got tired of taking care of him, so off to the home he went. She split about a year ago.”

“Why’d she leave?”

“Must’ve gotten tired of Alan sleeping with every woman in town.”

“Oh.” The way Miller emphasized the word
every
told Emily Sara was one of those women. No wonder he clammed up when she brought up Sara earlier. It was probably still painful for him to even think about her. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Guess she figured it was easier for me to walk in on them than to tell me she wanted to leave. Sad thing is, I wasn’t even surprised. With Alan, though? That was cruel.”

It was time to move on to another topic that didn’t involve Alan. “Who else?”

“You remember Harry West?”

“Yeah.”

“He and Suzanne Hillside got married. Then they divorced.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Then they got married again.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“They’re divorced, for the time being.”

“What about that guy who always wore overalls to school? I can’t remember his name. Whatever happened to him?”

Emily didn’t care how much time was passing as she sat on the porch steps listening to Miller tell stories about all the people she used to know. She didn’t even realize Jack was no longer running around in the yard until she heard Abby clear her throat behind them. She and Miller looked back to find the teenager standing in the doorway in pajama bottoms and a tank top.

She yawned and stretched. “I’m going to bed. Jack’s sound asleep on the couch. He was really tired so you probably shouldn’t move him. Think I’m going to go up and listen to some music while I go to sleep. Good night.” She hurried away.

“Wow,” Emily said. “She’s good.”

“You have no idea.”

“How old did you say she was?”

“Thirteen. Going on twenty.”

Emily listened to the muffled sounds of Abby hurrying up the stairs and then the slow drag of a window above them opening.

“She opened her window,” Miller whispered. “Next she’s going to play a Lady Antebellum song.”

“How do you know?” she whispered back.

“She thinks it’s romantic.”

When a slow country song started to play, Emily stifled her laugh.

“I’ll tell her knock it off,” Miller said.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered and covered Miller’s mouth with her hand. “It’s sweet, and she’s not hurting anyone.”

Miller pulled her hand off his mouth but didn’t let go of it. “She probably wants us to dance.”

“Then let’s dance.”

Miller’s eyebrows furrowed. “You wanna dance?”

Hell yes, she wanted to dance. She wanted to remember what it was like to be held by him, which would remind her what it was like to be loved by him. It had been so long since she felt like anyone loved her that she was willing to let herself pretend for a few minutes that Miller could possibly still care for her.

She shrugged. “If you do.”

“Okay then.” He stood and offered her his hand. “Let’s dance.”

She took his hand and followed him up onto the porch. When he wrapped his arms around her, she rested her head against his chest, closed her eyes, and gave herself over to the fantasy. After three songs, the music stopped and Abby’s window closed.

Miller sighed. “I guess we should go in.”

Emily nodded. “Probably.”

Miller carried Jack upstairs to his room. Emily pulled back the covers so Miller could lay him in the bed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

After he left, Emily stood in the middle of the room feeling a little disoriented. She didn’t have anything to sleep in. She stuck her head out the door and whispered, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get another one of your t-shirts to sleep in?”

Miller nodded. “Help yourself. Second drawer from the top.”

Emily found a worn gray t-shirt in the drawer, stepped into the bathroom, and put it on with Miller’s warmth still surrounding her and his words: “You’re a good mother,” echoing in her head. She climbed into bed with Jack and hoped she would fall asleep before the urge to cry over her lost past overpowered her present desire to pretend like she was right where she belonged.

CHAPTER NINE

Miller

It was one in the morning, three hours since Miller and Emily put Jack to bed upstairs in his bedroom. Adrenaline and mental images of Emily in his t-shirt kept him awake. Which shirt did she put on? He imagined it was blue. He could see her wearing his blue t-shirt, which would hike up to her hips when she got in the bed. In his imagination she had on white cotton underwear, the kind that looked like tight little shorts.

He tossed from his side to his back, adjusted his pillow, and tried to think of something less sexy.

Need a new saddle for the horse?

No good. Emily had sat on that saddle with him, which was the reason she was in his bed with his t-shirt hiked up.

Cleaning the toilet?

Even worse. That made him think of being in his bathroom, which was where she probably changed into the t-shirt, and that made him think of her with no shirt on.

Reading the instruction sheet from Abby’s box of tampons because she needed help understanding how they worked? Yep. That’ll do it.

With the images of Emily pushed into the back of his brain, he started to think about how close he was to telling her about Abby’s adoption when she asked who his daughter resembled. He was so mad at himself for not telling her. Telling her, though, was too risky. She could freak out, cause a scene, and then Abby would find out.

He should have been more insistent with Sara that they be open with Abby about her adoption. He always questioned the idea that her self-esteem would take a hit if she knew she was adopted. He deferred to Sara, however, because he figured she would know best since she was raised by her grandparents. She obviously wasn’t too concerned about Abby’s self-esteem when she left, though. That was his fault. He’d proposed to Sara and asked if they could adopt Emily’s baby knowing she would say yes because she loved him and assumed the baby was Daniel’s. He figured, if the baby started to look like him, he’d call it a coincidence or claim he couldn’t see the resemblance. Well that was one lie he never had to tell. Hindsight really was a bastard.

Something was still bothering him. Levi’s comment about the night Emily left being the best thing that ever happened to him. He thought Emily left because she felt guilty that Daniel killed himself after she confessed she really loved Miller and was going to have his baby. He never considered there was some kind of abuse.

Damn it.
He was thinking about her again. If he fell asleep right away, he’d only get four hours of sleep. He kicked the covers off. There was no way he’d be able to fall asleep in jeans. If he could strip down into his boxers and get into his own bed he’d be…lying next to Emily…who was in sleeping in his t-shirt.

He got up and grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. He leaned against the counter and finished off the bottle in four gulps, then he heard faint footsteps on the stairs. Fearing it was Emily, he adjusted the painful wood in his jeans and sat down at the table. When Jack walked around the corner with crooked shorts and wild bed-head, Miller relaxed.

Jack looked at him with one eye open.

“Whatchya doin’?” Miller asked.

“Some stars are billions of light years away.”

“Is that so?”

“I like
Looney Tunes
. Marvin lives on Mars. Mars is the red planet because it has red dust. Does your TV have
Looney Tunes
?”

Miller couldn’t help feel something for the boy. Compassion. Pity. Bewilderment. Jack did have a little fit earlier while Emily was asleep because they didn’t have one of the channels he wanted to watch. Abby wanted to wake Emily up. Miller suggested they ride the horses back to the stable to distract him so Emily could get some asleep. He loved the idea that her head was resting on his pillow, and he wanted her to stay like that long enough to leave a trace of the smell of her shampoo. He was really looking forward to falling asleep to the fragrance of spearmint.

“It’s late, Jack. Does your mom let you watch TV in the middle of the night?”

Jack shrugged. “When she’s crying.”

“Does your mom cry a lot?”

“I watched
Bugs Bunny
four times last week.”

“Well I don’t think I should let you watch TV now. You should be sleeping.”

“My mom’s crying, so I get to watch
Looney Tunes
.”

“Your mom’s crying right now?”

“Yeah.”

He was an ass. She was up there crying while he was imagining having sex with her. “Think we should go check on her?”

“No. She’s asleep.”

Was this some kind of
Who’s On First
skit? “Is she crying or is she asleep?”

“She
was
crying. Now she’s asleep. But I still get to watch
Looney Tunes
.”

“Does your mom know you watch cartoons when she’s crying?”

Jack threw his head back like Miller was the reason for the miscommunication between them. “I don’t watch cartoons. I watch
Looney
Tunes
.”

Miller held his hands up in surrender. “All right. Let’s go see what’s on.”

They walked into the living room, and Miller flipped on the TV. “What channel does it come on?”

“Boomerang. ‘Eh, what’s up doc?’ That’s Bugs Bunny’s catch phrase.”

Miller picked up the remote. “I don’t know what Boomerang is.”

“Boomerang. 298.”

“298?”

“Yep. Boomerang. 298.”

He pulled up the guide, scrolled down until he found channel 298 and punched the enter button. After some flickering on the screen, he found himself staring at Bugs Bunny dressed in drag. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“‘Well I’ll be damned,’” Jack repeated. “Is that your catch phrase?”

“No, and you shouldn’t repeat it.”

Jack lay on the sofa where Miller had been and repeated, “
Well
I’ll be damned. Well
I’ll
be damned. Well I’ll be
damned,
” emphasizing a different word each time he said it.

“You’re going to get me into trouble.”

“‘Well I’ll be damned.’” Then he focused on the TV screen.

Miller noticed that the last time he said it was almost in the exact intonation that he had used. Now that Jack was on the sofa, he had nowhere to sleep. He wanted to be in his own bed, next to Emily. He went back into the kitchen and paced the distance from the refrigerator to the sink a few times. Then he went back to check on Jack, who was already asleep. He glanced at the stairs, took a deep breath, and went up to check on Emily.

He stood in the doorway and knocked softly. It was his room. He had every right to walk in, didn’t he? It’s not like he was there to stalk her. He simply wanted to check on her. He walked in, shutting the door quietly behind him. She was asleep on her side. The covers were pulled up to her chest, and the moonlight that streamed in from the open shutters revealed she had chosen his old gray t-shirt. That was even better than the blue one.

He knelt down and pushed a few strands of hair off her face. That was when he saw the spot of wetness on her pillow. She’d probably cried herself to sleep.

He combed his fingers through her hair and impulsively kissed her cheek. He needed to stand up, walk away from the bed, and out the door. If he didn’t do it immediately, he would have to fight the growing urge to climb into bed with her. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. He’d count to three…no…five…and then get up. He was on eight when she opened her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” Miller whispered back. “I was checking on you. Jack said—”

“Jack? Where’s Jack?”

“He’s asleep downstairs. Said he needed to watch
Looney Tunes
.”

“I’m sorry he woke you.”

“He didn’t. Jack said you were crying. Are you okay?”

“No.” She reached for him, wrapping her hand around his neck and pulling him closer.

She kissed him. No…that wasn’t kissing. She was begging him. With their mouths still locked in a kiss, she reached down with one hand and unbuttoned his jeans with a twist of her fingers, a move he found sexy and intimidating all at once. He unzipped and stepped out of his jeans while she pulled the covers back for him.

He climbed on top of her, and they started kissing again. This was really happening. Shouldn’t they talk about it first? Lay out their expectations so that no one got hurt? He had spent hours imagining all the ways he would make love to Emily, including one very creative, highly implausible situation involving the front porch swing. Faced with the reality of it, though, he wasn’t so sure. It would have to be good, which meant he’d have to go longer than he was physically capable, given his celibate lifestyle of raising a teenage daughter. He should have taken Heather Rees up on her offer the last time Abby stayed over at Jessica’s house.

He pulled away. “I think we should talk about this. I don’t…I mean…”
Shit.
He was a coward. “What do you want to happen here?”

She hooked her legs around his thighs. “I want you to make love to me.”

He was a man in the desert who had just discovered the oasis he was staring at was real. Men in the desert didn’t find relief by sipping water from their hands; they took a deep breath and plunged their faces into the water. Which was exactly what he did. He kissed her, looking for relief from his parched state. The more he kissed her, the more he craved. This had to happen. Had to. If it didn’t, he’d become delirious from dehydration.

She pushed on his chest. “You’re too heavy. Would you be okay with me on top?”

Her on top? Yes, he could handle that much better. He rolled off her, and she pulled his boxers down and off his legs then her own underwear. Then she got on top of him, straddling his hips.

Emily looked down at him with her hair falling to one side of her face. He’d forgotten how beautiful she looked over him. He remembered a time when he thought he’d be the only person who’d ever get to see her like that. She took his hands, slid them under the old gray t-shirt and up to her breasts. They were so soft, he was afraid to handle them. How long had it been since he touched a breast? When he had sex eighteen…no…nineteen months ago, it was so quick his date didn’t even take her shirt off. Which was a good thing because Abby called five minutes later to say she wasn’t feeling well and wanted him to pick her up early from the sleepover.

“You can touch me, Miller. I’m not going to break.” Then she gasped when he squeezed.

“What?” he asked, afraid that his hands were too rough for her soft skin.

“I forgot how good it felt to have your hands on me.” She pulled the shirt over her head and threw it to the floor.

He hoped she wouldn’t notice that his hands were trembling. He wanted to touch every single inch of her, but he was afraid to do anything that would send him to a point of no return too early. He put both hands on her hips and squeezed, trying to keep himself from thrusting against her. It was impossible. He squeezed harder.

She leaned down and kissed his chest. Then she took a little bite. He couldn’t believe she remembered how much he liked that. He held her hair back so he could see her lips brush across his chest and her teeth take playful bites at his skin. He had to let go of her hair after a few of those amazing bites and find her hips again as he fought to stay in control of his own body.

“Ouch!” She sat up and clutched his wrists.

“Shit. Sorry.” He let go. “I’m about to lose control here.”

“Already?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Oh.”

He couldn’t see her face well enough in the shadows to read it, but she sounded disappointed. He wanted to make it better. “I’ll be okay,” he lied. “But…whenever you’re ready is fine.”

“Are you sure? I really want you inside me.”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Emily felt amazing, better than he remembered. He tried not to move, hoping that could help him go longer, but she was moving in a slow, rocking motion that was so arousing, he didn’t think he’d last thirty seconds. He tried to think of anything but the fact that he was inside her while she moved on top of him. Baseball, football, mosquitos, the barbed-wire that needed to be replaced on the west fence, the Pythagorean Theorem.

She moaned. “This feels so good.” She started to move faster.

He put his hands back on her hips to try to slow her down. She slapped them away. He grabbed her thighs, closed his eyes tight, and pressed his head against his pillow. “I can’t…”

“No,” she begged. “Wait…wait…” She braced herself, palms to his chest and moved deeper. “Oh…oh…oh…okay.”

She dug her nails into his chest and trembled, and he could tell she had come. He squeezed her thighs, gave one strong thrust, and let his body have what it had been thirsting for. Every joint in his body locked while his groin throbbed in contractions so intense flashes of light exploded across his vision and then he went blind. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t think, and could barely breathe, like all his organs had shut down from lack of blood that had rushed to the one area of his body that had been so neglected.