At Peace (10 page)

It was something that I forced myself to do
after he died, keeping up my appearance. It was for him but it was
also for me. A way of not giving up when I wanted to do nothing but
that, give up, give in, stay down, beaten.

Though that morning, I made a bit of an extra
effort.

The girls got up and I made them pancakes.
They did their chores, cleaning their rooms and I went to the
grocery store. I was going to make my breaded pork chops and spiced
rice, Tim and Keira’s favorite. It took forever to make but it
would be a treat because Kate loved it too. Though Kate’s favorite
was my seafood risotto, my favorite as well. They’d started as
recipes from a magazine but, after years of experimentation, I made
them both even better, therefore I considered them all mine. This
was my thing, something else Tim would brag about. Our garden was
the most beautiful one on our block (even I had to admit that) and
Tim thought my cooking was the bomb and he bragged about both
freely. He liked to have people over and we did all the time but he
said it was so he could show me off.

The seafood would be too expensive,
unfortunately, so it was going to have to be pork chops.

When I went to the grocery store, Joe’s truck
was there. When I came back, it was gone. This made my stomach
clutch with fear and it made me act like an idiot. As I put away
groceries, vacuumed, folded clothes, loaded and unloaded the washer
and dryer and did ironing, I found reasons to go to the kitchen
window and look out to his drive, checking to make sure he came
home.

But he had to come home, for me. I might
have only ever had Tim but I wasn’t stupid. A man like Joe Callahan
didn’t wait up for a woman until two o’clock in the morning; he
didn’t throw her on his bed and have sex with her for four straight
hours; he didn’t react that way, reflexively especially, when she
told him she had to leave; and he didn’t want her to come back
unless he wanted
her
.

Which, I told myself, all meant he wanted me.
Not for a convenient fuck, there was more going on here and I knew
it.

That bitterness and humiliation had washed
away and something else replaced it. Something I didn’t expect, not
from Joe, hell, not from anyone, but something that I liked.

Tim and I had great sex our whole married
life. I was not his first, he had a girl before me, but I was his
last. We’d taught each other everything we knew. We were open,
honest, even adventurous and it was regular and often, not like
clockwork but spontaneous, fun, sexy. We both had healthy
appetites, Tim especially and he loved it that I met his appetite
(though, he didn’t brag about that or at least not that I knew
about).

But he’d never fucked me on the hood of a
car, one second working on an engine, the next going at it with me
like it was necessary for his existence. He’d never fucked me for
four hours straight like he was just as hungry for it as I was,
like he had to get his fill for fear the beauty of it would be torn
away, never to be had again.

And I understood that now. God, did I.

I didn’t take anything for granted, not
anymore.

I was going to get my fill.

When I went to the kitchen to start the
pork chops, I saw Joe’s truck in the drive and instead of that
settling inside me, my body electrified. I felt the specter of his
mouth, his hands, his shaft driving inside me and it was so strong,
I had to lean into the counter to hold myself up when my knees went
weak.

Shit, he was like a drug and I realized I’d
been jonesing for him all day.

I also realized, dumping the breadcrumbs and
spices into the Ziploc bag, preparing the breading for the chops,
that I liked him.

He shovel
ed my snow. He saw me outside shoveling my snow
and he knew I’d given up the chore to see to Kate and Dane and he’d
finished it for me, making it safe for me and my girls to pull out
of our drive.

And he remembered the conversation about
the condoms. And, even though I was guessing it was well out of
character, he’d tried to explain his behavior with Kenzie and he’d
had a good reason to be angry even though he took it too far in my
opinion. But he was an aggressively masculine man, she had to know
that and she’d played with it. She should have known better, she
should have seen that coming.

And he’d waited up for me, until late, and he
didn’t want me to go.

I liked that he didn’t talk much and I liked
that he let his face speak for him. I liked how big he was and that
he could carry me around and he did, that he could pick me up and
plant me in his truck and he did. I liked that he was rough with
me, no, I loved that. I wasn’t the mother of his children. I was a
woman, a woman he wanted and he made that abundantly clear and I
liked that too.

And I liked that sometimes he looked at me
and there was something working in his eyes, something I didn’t
quite get but whatever it was, it was about me.

And it was good.

I just knew it.

Joe Callahan couldn’t be more different than
Tim Winters and to my shock, I was okay with that. I wasn’t stupid
enough to think after the last, two crazy days that Joe was going
to be the next love of my life. But I wanted this, I wanted him, I
wanted to explore what was happening and I wanted it a lot.

And I couldn’t wait to get back to his house,
his bed, him.

Dane came over for pork chops and after, he
helped Kate do the dishes (another checkmark on the good column for
Dane) and then he and Kate settled in the recliners in the study to
do their homework. I sat with Keira on the couch in the living room
and read at the same time Keira was watching TV and I watched Dane
and Kate.

They were cute together. Dane was a handsome
kid and he complimented my pretty daughter. And he was gentle with
Kate. I liked the way he looked at her when she was talking like
there was nothing else he wanted to do but hear what she had to
say. But I especially liked it when she didn’t know he was looking
at her like he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever
seen and he couldn’t believe his luck.

So, okay, I liked my daughter’s boyfriend. I
smiled to myself, tilted my head to my book, didn’t read a word and
felt that hollowing out of my belly.

Just a little longer to wait.

* * * * *

I pulled on my violet underwear that was
liberally dosed with black lace. In fact, the ass of the panties
was all lace; there was only a lace-edged triangle at the front.
The demi-bra had such a deep edge of lace you could see my nipples
through it. The bottom of the cup and the straps were violet satin,
however.

Over these I pulled on my black satin
nightie, no lace or other adornment. It was just low cut so you
could see the bra and had slits to my hips on the sides so you
could see the panties if I moved.

I’d bought these for Tim about two weeks
before he was murdered and never worn them. I was holding onto them
for a special occasion like, say, when the girls were spending the
night at his parents’ house. He’d liked my sexy undies and nighties
and I’d made it a habit to wear only them for him.

After he died, I’d meant to throw the
lingerie out.

Now I was glad I didn’t.

I yanked on the black satin robe that went
with the nightie, not wanting to wear Tim’s robe to Joe’s. Tim’s
robe could stay on the door when I was with Joe. It might be chill
outside but Joe wasn’t that far away.

Before I left my dark room, I bit my lip and
put my fingers to my wedding rings. I hadn’t taken them off, never
considered it, but I wondered if I should now.

My eyes went to the picture on my nightstand
and I felt something move in me then settle. It wasn’t painful. I’d
already had the pain, nearly a year and a half of it.

It was life.

“You know I’ll always love you,” I whispered
to the picture.

The picture didn’t reply but I knew Tim knew.
I’d want this for him too if it was me who was gone and him who
remained, though it would totally suck. I wouldn’t want him to be
alone though. I’d want him to be excited, to feel alive, to live
his life and find happiness.

But I left my wedding rings on, I wasn’t
ready for that.

I walked through the dark house. It was far
earlier, just eleven thirty, but the girls were out, I’d already
checked. I disarmed the alarm and looked at the tangle of shoes by
the door. None of them would compliment my outfit so I decided
against shoes.

I hustled to the back sliding glass door,
opened it, slid through it, closed it and then hopped down the
steps, running slowly across the yard, the spring dew cold on my
bare feet.

His house was dark again, no light on
outside but I didn’t pause. I skipped up Joe’s deck steps and
before I hit the top, his sliding glass door was opened.

He stood in it, bare-chested, wearing jeans,
the top button undone. My breath caught and my step slowed as I
walked to him.

He didn’t move from the door when I stopped
in front of him and I watched, holding my breath, as his eyes
travel the length of me.

Then his arm shot out and hooked around my
waist, he pulled me inside and slid the door to.

His fingers glided into the hair at the side
of my head and his chin dipped down so his face was close to
mine.

“
Baby,” he whispered, “you aren’t wearing
any shoes.”

He called me “baby”.

And he was worried my feet were cold.

Yes, something was happening here.

I melted into him and put my hands on his
neck.

“I couldn’t find any that went with my
outfit,” I explained quietly.

His hand tightened against my scalp and I
watched in sheer fascination as he grinned. I’d never seen it but
from afar and that close, it was un-fucking-believable.

My stomach dipped but I didn’t get to enjoy
the view for very long because his fingers pressed in, pulling my
head up, I went to my toes and he kissed me.

* * * * *

The lingerie was pretty much a wasted effort.
Joe liked it, I knew, because he growled when he saw it, but he
didn’t take much time to enjoy it before he took it off.

He was just as energetic as last night and as
insatiable and I decided he probably got a nap.

I had not, so after round two, I wanted more
but I couldn’t hack it. I made this point by sliding off his body,
snuggling into his side, wrapping my arm around his belly and
resting my head on his shoulder.

His fingers gripped my hip.

“Buddy?” he called.

“Sleepy,” I mumbled.

His fingers gripped my hip harder then he
turned into me, my head slid from his shoulder to his pillow and
his other arm stole around me.

“Violet.”

“Yeah?” I whispered.

He didn’t speak but his body seemed weirdly
tense.

I tilted my head back and looked at him.

“Joe?”

“No one calls me Joe.”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you not like it?”

He didn’t respond.

“I like the name Joe,” I told him, moving in
closer.

His arms got tight.

I kissed the base of his throat then my head
settled back into the pillow and I fell asleep.

Done

Joe Callahan woke with Violet in his
arms.

This didn’t happen, ever. Even if he took a
woman to his home, which was rare, she didn’t spend the night. On
the more frequent occasion when he was in their bed, he left after
he was done no matter how creative they got with asking him to
stay.

He fucked them; he didn’t sleep with them, no
exceptions.

He dipped his chin while opening his eyes and
heard her hair move on the pillow. When he caught sight of her
face, she was looking up at him.

Good fucking Christ, she was beautiful.

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice as sleepy as
her fucking gorgeous face and he felt that one, single, quiet word
in his gut and in his dick.

He didn’t respond and she didn’t seem to
mind. She snuggled into him, tucking her face in his throat but her
hand slid up his chest, her fingers moving to run gently along his
jaw.

He felt her touch in his gut and dick
too.

This was a mistake. A huge, fucking, mammoth
mistake. Just like Kenzie but far worse. He knew it, he knew it the
minute he kicked Kenzie out of his house, turned to Violet, saw her
in those fucking ridiculous boots, sexy as hell nightgown and ratty
robe and realized who she was, what she was and that he wanted her.
He knew it when he walked across his yard while she was shoveling
the snow and he explained himself, something he never fucking did.
He knew it when he told Colt he’d take her home, knowing when he
did he was going to fuck her and standing at her side in the bar,
waiting for his opening, which she gave him again and again,
looking so fucking cute, sucking on her straw and then, Jesus,
knotting a cherry stem with her goddamned tongue. He knew it when
she went hot for him the minute he kissed her then she begged for
it rough. He knew it when he fucked her on his ‘Stang, no control,
his brain in his dick. He knew it when she crossed her yard for him
that first night he had her in his bed. He knew it the first time
she took him in her mouth, not sloppy, fucking Christ, the woman
could use her mouth. He knew it when she came on his face, no
inhibitions, shit, but she was unbelievable and she was his. His.
All of her, his.

But, most of all, he knew it the first time
she smiled at him.

He knew this was a mistake.

“I need to go,” she mumbled into his throat
and tilted her head back, pushing up a bit to come face to face,
her hand cupping his jaw.