“Well, I’ve booked the funeral for Friday. Pastor Phillips said he can do it. I don’t want to bother with a visitation. I don’t expect many people . . .” Her voice drifts off and her gaze becomes distant.
“Not for him, anyway.” As soon as I see her flinch at my words, I regret it. I’ve been really careful not to talk like that, not to let any of my feelings come out. It only hurts her.
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “I’m going to phone the insurance company today and get everything sorted out. Okay?”
She nods slowly. “I didn’t realize how expensive funerals have become.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mama. I’ve got money to cover that until the insurance pays out.”
“Oh, I can’t take your—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
She peers up at me. “How’d I get so lucky to have a son like you?”
Getting up, I kiss her again. “Because you raised me to be like this. And because I made a lot of money taking care of naked women at Penny’s.”
“Oh, Ben.” She shakes her head but then starts to laugh softly.
“I’ll be out in the grove. Call my cell if you need anything.”
As I’m walking through the door and into the kitchen, Mama calls out, “I’d like Reese to come to the funeral. Do you think she’d come?”
I shake my head with resignation, knowing what the woman is up to. “I’m not sure, Mama. I’ll ask her.”
The familiar rumble and squeaky brakes of the farm truck comes to a stop behind the tractor. Assuming it’s Mama, I don’t bother turning around.
“Ben?” My name rolls off an unfamiliar female voice.
Turning on my heels, I watch a twenty-something-year-old girl with white-blond hair and mile-long legs slide out of the truck.
Slamming the heavy door shut, she walks forward, her hand out. “I’m Hayley Parker. I’m here to help pick.”
I accept it with a quick shake. “Yeah, right. Mama said you’d be by. Thanks for offering.”
Sidling up beside me, she slides her hands into the back pockets of her shorts as her blue eyes take in the tree in front of us. “I used to work on a citrus farm, so I have practice.”
“Perfect. Then I won’t make myself look like an ass by trying to train you.” She’s pretty, there’s no doubt about that, in an all-American-girl kind of way. I’ve had plenty of them.
Her smile does a flip into a full-lipped pout as she reaches out and lays a hand on my bicep. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”
With a nod, I turn back to pluck a few high tangerines.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks, joining in to test and pull some fruit off the lower branches.
My hand freezes. Shit . . . That sounds like a setup. She doesn’t look at all familiar and I’m usually good with the faces of women I’ve screwed around with. I hazard a glance at her, to really look at her. How the hell did I miss the perky set of tits staring out at me from beneath that tight pink T-shirt before? Probably because of those damn legs.
“You were a senior when I started high school,” Hayley finally elaborates.
“Did we . . . know each other?” That’s my covert way of asking, “Did I nail you?” Because I’d be surprised. Fourteen-year-olds didn’t do it for me when I was seventeen.
“No. I mean, I knew who you were.” Her voice trails off as she blushes, her fingers stretched over multiple pieces of fruit as she strolls over to a crate to gently lay them in.
“I went to every single one of your games. I had the biggest crush on you back then.”
And . . . there it is.
I try to stifle my grin. She’s not the only one. I’m not trying to be a dick about it but when you open your locker to find folded love notes spilling out enough times, you can’t deny it. “You never said hi?” I tease.
She starts giggling as she moves past me, her arm brushing against mine. “No way! I was a scrawny little kid back then.”
And you’re not anymore. Is that what she’s hoping I’ll notice, wearing those tight black shorts? Point made.
“Can you please help me reach those ones?” she asks coyly, standing beneath a branch that extends out above her head. Her hands stretch up enough to lift her shirt, showing off a belly ring.
It instantly makes me thing of Reese. Reese doesn’t have a belly ring. Why doesn’t she have one? That seems to be the standard prerequisite before women move on to the more adventurous locations.
“Ben?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Peeling my eyes away from her piercing, I give my head a shake and shift over to gently pull the branch down. There’re plenty of ripe fruit within her reach. There’s no need for this whole orchestrated move of hers, where she’s standing well within my personal space, facing me, a small smile touching her lips, her eyes on me more than the task at hand.
If the girl knows me, then she knows exactly what I’m like. I never bothered to hide that fact from anyone. I have a strong suspicion that if I wanted to get laid right now, this girl is as good as naked.
There’s only one problem.
She’s not Reese.
Fuck . . . what is happening to me?
Am I actually turning this down?
Yes.
Yes, I am.
“Listen, I’m going to take the truck and head back. I’ve got some things I need to take care of.” Her face crumbles with disappointment, obviously realizing that this eight-year campaign of hers isn’t going to come to an epic conclusion in the grove today. Just in case she decides to throw herself at me—because I’ve had that happen before—I let the branch snap back up in the air as I take several steps backward. “Mama will be back out with the truck soon.” I don’t wait for her answer before I’m climbing in the pickup and hauling ass back home.
“Did you know that Lorna’s daughter has had a crush on me since she was fourteen?” I ask Mama as I jump out of the driver’s seat, back at the house. “’Cause anyone can see that.”
“Did Hayley find you all right?” She keeps her eyes focused on the planters she’s watering.
“Yeah, Mama. She found me, all right.”
“She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shake my head. “What’s goin’ on with you? One minute you’re trying to marry me off to Reese, the next you’re setting a blond trap for me!” A slow smile stretches across Mama’s face until it’s taking up most of the real estate. I don’t know that I’ve seen her this happy in a long time. “But you didn’t get caught in it, did you?”
“What the hell, Mama! Did you really want me to?”
The water pouring out from her watering wand dies in a dribble as her smile morphs into an exasperated glare. “I wanted you to see for yourself how Reese has changed you, son. Had you never met Reese, what would have happened out there?”
I’d have that girl bent over the side of the wagon right now—that’s what would have happened. My brows spike as I take in Mama’s expectant stare. Does she want details?
“Oh, Benjamin.” She waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve raised four Morris boys and dealt with your father for years. I’m no idiot. Those ladies at the drugstore always got a hoot out of me, filling my cart up with condoms for my active children.”
I smirk, remembering Jake and me walking into each other’s rooms the first time, holding out the boxes of condoms we’d each found on our nightstand. We figured out pretty quickly who had delivered them, seeing as our dad didn’t give a shit. Mama earned the nickname of the Trojan Fairy. Behind her back, of course. There was an unspoken agreement—Mama didn’t mention it to us and we didn’t say a word to her. From then on, we’d just leave a note on our nightstands when we were out, and a new box would appear a few days later, along with a note telling us that she didn’t condone this behavior and to be safe.
With a heavy sigh, I hang my head as I resign myself to the fact that Mama’s right. Reese has done something to me. “Well, I’m not going back out there, so you’d better rescue her with the truck or she’ll be grinding the gears of the tractor to get back. I doubt that girl can handle a stick.”
Not that kind, anyway.
“How are you possibly bigger!” Elsie says with a laugh as I throw her tiny body over my shoulder with no effort.
“I’m not. You’ve just started shrinking in your old age,” I tease, grabbing her bag with my free hand and carrying her toward the porch like a sack of potatoes.
She starts playing the bongos on my back with her hands. “Okay, seriously, Ben. Put me down.”
“Or what?”
There’s a long pause as her impish mind searches for something she has on me. She’s a lot like me in that regard. “Or I’ll tell this girlfriend of yours that you used to pretend you were Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing and you memorized all the dance moves.”
“Reese has got way worse material on me than that.” I drop her suitcase and swing her down off my shoulder to take in her cute face. She looks so much like a younger version of Mama—but with long, curly chestnut hair—that it’s crazy. “And she’s not my girlfriend, Elsie.”
“That’s not what Mom says.” She laughs at me as I roll my eyes and shake my head. I think I’m the only one of us that still calls her Mama. Reese is right. I do milk the youngest child thing for all it’s worth.
Elsie’s smile falters as her eyes dart to the barn. “It’s so weird to be back here, Ben. It’s been so long. Everything looks the same but it’s not anymore, is it?” She was already in college when my dad’s accident happened. We talked on the phone a lot after but she never came back. Of all of us, my sister has been gone from here the longest. She flew in to Miami to see me after my knee injury five years ago, when I was high on Percocet and hostility over a future lost. Aside from a trip out West to visit her three years ago, I haven’t seen her in person since.
“How is she doing?” I know they’ve stayed close, even though Elsie has refused to come out here. But still, not seeing your mom face to face for almost five years is crazy.
Before I can answer, the front door creaks open. We turn to see Mama step out, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s been in the kitchen all day. Whatever she’s making, it involves a lot of flour because she’s got white powder all over her cheeks and her chin.
That doesn’t dissuade Elsie from taking off immediately, running like a little kid into Mama’s outstretched arms, the sound of their cries filling the late afternoon air.
How’s Warner?
I lie back in bed, watching the screen on my phone, expecting Reese to be asleep but hoping that she’s not. Since Mama’s “experiment” with Hayley, I’ve pulled my phone out a dozen times to check in with Reese for . . . nothing, really. Just to say hi, to make her laugh, to have her make me laugh. But I could never decide what to say. Normally, I don’t know when to shut up.
The indicator changes to “read,” making my stomach do a flip. Fuck . . . I’m acting like a chick.
A few seconds later:
The law bot came looking for you in my office this morning. I’ve buried her body under your desk. You’ll have to clean that up when you get back.
My snort cuts into the quiet room.
Tell Mason. He’s better at cleaning than I am.
How is it up there?
Women are throwing themselves at me. You better get here quick.
I wait and wait and . . . it says “read,” but there’s no answer coming. I’m expecting some snide remark, calling me a pig or something. But the longer I wait, the more I’m starting to think that was a boneheaded thing to say. I do wish she’d just drop everything and race up tonight, but now she probably thinks I’m up here screwing girls.
Does she care, though?
I hesitate for just a second and then type out:
The funeral’s on Friday. Mama wants you to come.
I wait. She’s read it.
Still no answer.
“Fuck!”
I guess that came out a little too loud, because there’s a knock on my door a moment later. “You’re not doing anything gross in my old room, are you?” Elsie asks.
“I wish!” I holler back.
“Are you decent? Can I come in?”
“Yeah.” I make sure my sheets are covering the vitals as the door creaks open and my sister walks in.
“What’s wrong?” Elsie always seemed to like being smack dab in the middle of four brothers. Josh and Rob harassed the guys at school for looking at their “cute little sister,” but then she’d turn around and do the same for Jake and me, playing the protective sister. The funny thing is, in the end all four of us were protecting her. She was in the middle of a big Morris sandwich, with brothers chasing off ass**les from all angles.