Authors: Mae Wood
I opened the door and hopped into the car. “Going off campus?” He nodded and pulled the car into traffic. “So, is this business or pleasure?”
“Today you are simply my beautiful girlfriend who I’m taking across state lines for immoral purposes.”
“Oh! So, Mann Act violation? Excellent.”
He laughed. “I cannot believe you know the name of that law. Is that still even a law?”
“I don’t know. Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a nerd.”
“In the best possible way. No, I thought I’d swap out cars for this weekend. We’ll ride to the benefit with my parents and George will drive. I didn’t think you’d want to be in the middle of the backseat of my dad’s car crammed between me and my father.”
“You got that right. No Brannon sandwich for me.” The words fell from my lips and I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Oh, that sounds terrible. That wasn’t what I meant. Ewww.” I was red from embarrassment from head to toe.
Trip chuckled. “No, I know you’re more of an open-faced sandwich kind of girl.”
“Definitely. So, no immoral purposes to our lunch?”
“None intended on my part, but apparently you’ve got sex on the brain.”
“Sorry,” I demurred.
“Don’t apologize. I like how you think.” He winked at me. “So, I think I told you that I keep a few cars in a garage in Southaven, just over the state line. It’s not like a collection, so don't go getting your hopes up. I just didn’t have room at the house because of my bicycle stuff.”
“And now my car.”
“And now your car,” he affirmed. “What do you want for lunch?”
“I need to be back in about an hour and a half, so it can’t be long. We can stop someplace like Newk’s for sandwiches and salads, or we can fix sandwiches at home.”
“Open-faced sandwiches?”
I nodded. “Perhaps.”
“Oh, hell yes.” His right hand found my thigh and began to explore.
“Trip,” I plead. “I only have so much self-control. It’s the middle of the day and we’re in traffic.”
“Someone is hot to trot today. I thought I would have worked it out of your system last night.”
“I doubt that is even possible.”
“Excellent. Okay, we’ll mind our manners, switch out cars and then head home for lunch. One question for you, Miss Tanner. When you said home for lunch, just whose kitchen did you envision us fixing open-faced sandwiches in?”
“Fine,” I conceded. “Yours. You win.”
“Best thing I’ve heard all day.” We lapsed into an easy banter as Trip filled me in on a century ride in Kentucky he and the guys were doing in a couple weekends.
“Well, that’s good because with this trial, I’m going to be pretty MIA from now until it’s done.”
“What do you mean MIA? It’s all local, so you’ll be here.”
“Yes, I’ll physically be here, but I’ll be working, sleeping and sneaking in runs.”
“So no chance for one last St. George visit before winter sets in?”
“Probably not. But don’t let my schedule hold you back.”
“And you won’t come to Kentucky with me for the race?”
“And do what? I can’t cycle a hundred miles. Am I supposed to stand at the finish line to hold a sign?” The look he gave me was telling. He really did expect me to be there, standing at the finish line. “I mean, if it’s really that important to you, I’ll do it.” We pulled up to a warehouse and he placed the car in park.
“Sometimes I just feel like I’m the one putting in all the effort.” He climbed out of the car, leaving me dumbfounded in my seat.
Oh, shit. He’s right. When have I done anything for him? It’s been all about me. He’s constantly putting me first. I’ve got to fix this. How do I fix this?
I climbed out of his small silver convertible and walked through the open door Trip had disappeared into. The fluorescent lights were warming up, so the large space was still dim. “Trip?” I called. My voice echoed in the metal building.
“Hey, I’m here.” He walked out behind a boat.
“A boat?”
“That’s my dad’s fishing boat. Most of the things in here are his.”
“And your mom doesn’t let him drive much anymore, right?”
Trip nodded. “Yes, I know it seems crazy to keep all this, but that’s my dad.”
“Is that a dune buggy?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me why. I’ve never even seen it run. It’s been here my whole life.” The space was as large as a couple basketball courts and was littered with man toys. The dune buggy, at least three boats I could see, including a paddle boat, what I was pretty sure was an ultralight, a smattering of motorcycles, a few Vespas, probably left over from Trip’s brief ownership of a Vespa dealership, and rows upon rows of cars. Some vintage, some new.
Well, hello, Jimmy. Next time on Hoarders: Buried Alive, Billionaire Transportation Freak Edition.
“So what’s yours?”
“That Lexus,” he said, pointing to a standard black sedan. “That Midget,” he said, pointing to an old MG convertible in British racing green, “a couple Vespas and the Rover.” A large silver Land Rover was parked near an overhead door. “We’re taking the Rover. It’s got a third row, so I’ll sit in the way back. You and Mom can have the middle and Dad can sit up front with George.”
“And we’ll leave the Mercedes here?”
“Unless you want to drive it.”
“No thanks. I like my little Audi.”
“You want the MG?”
“What?”
“You’ve been looking at it.”
“Oh, no. It’s so cute and I’m not driving what is clearly a collector’s item.”
“And you’d be right about that. First car I bought myself. I don’t even want to know how much money I’ve spent keeping it running. It’s as old as I am.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Same vintage. But you’re welcome to it.”
“I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”
“Okay. Whatever you want, Marisa.”
What about what you want?
“I changed my mind.”
“Good. You want the MG? Let me find the keys.”
“No, screw the test run. You still looking for a roommate?”
“Is it the MG that did it?”
“No, it’s not the MG.” I knew he was teasing me. “Come on, let’s get home so I can make us sandwiches.”
Chapter Twenty-six
I skipped out of work early, around four o’clock. I went to my condo and packed. Packed for the rest of the week. My favorite lotion. Extra elastics for my ponytails. My lavender bathrobe. Three work dresses. Shoes. Running clothes and socks. A suit just in case I had a last-minute court appearance. And my make-up. When I was done my bedroom and bathroom looked like a bomb had gone off and my suitcase was threatening to explode.
As I looked at the suitcase, sitting on top of my bed, I got nervous. Really nervous.
Am I having a panic attack? This is what I want so why am I freaking out? He’s not going to cheat on me. He’s not going to leave me. He’s not going to do anything bad to me ever. Or Bitsy would kill him
. I faintly smiled and got my head on straight. I took some deep cleansing breaths and grabbed my phone.
“Hey, chicka” I said when Erica answered.
“What’s up?”
“Well, I left work early to pack things to kind of move into to Trip’s house.”
“Well, that must have been some lunch date. Good for you. What caused you to change your mind?”
“Well, I realized there was no good reason not to do it. But now I’m having second thoughts.”
“Better now than in a year when you’re standing there on your dad’s arm in a long white dress.”
“Please.”
“No, really. So this isn’t about you and Trip, right? You know that. You guys have been inseparable for months now. This is about you. Trip isn’t Paul. And it’s probably a little about me and Josh, too.”
“And it’s also about his ex-girlfriend. They lived together for a few months.”
“When did that end?”
“A year ago.”
“So you’ve both got baggage. Welcome to the real world. Did you really think the guy you’d end up with would be some sort of virgin who had only lived with his parents before you?”
“No, and I know it’s silly. And we talked about it. It’s not like I’m selling my place or redecorating his. His house makes more sense because it’s bigger than my condo and he has a garage for his bikes. Not like my running shoes take up a lot of space no matter where we are.”
“And you’ll be pissed at yourself forever if you don’t give this a go.”
“I know that. That’s part of why I’m doing it.”
“I hope you’re doing it because you want to.”
“I’m doing it because I want to and he wants me to and I want to make him happy because he makes me happy.”
“After that little spiel, if you aren’t rocking a ring by the end of the year, I’m going to be shocked. Now, go on and live your life. Just make sure he gives you the best closet in the house. Josh has the closet in the guest room. Best decision I ever made. The walk-in master is all mine.”
“You are Machiavellian. I love how I tell you this big life news and your advice is about closet space.”
“Give me a call in ten years and tell me I’m wrong. Okay, I’ve got to run. Homework and dinner are calling my name.”
“Bye.” I ended the call and felt a million times better.
Now that’s how I should be for Trip. Fuck it. I’ll make Kentucky work.
I pulled up into Trip’s garage just before six o’clock. I carried my suitcase upstairs and settled into the walk-in closet, shoving Trip’s suits and shirts to make room for my clothes and dresses.
Be bold.
I pushed his boxers and undershirts to the side of a dresser drawer and placed my panties and bras in next to his things.
Breathe.
I claimed a drawer in the bathroom for my hairdryer. As I was unpacking my make up on the bathroom counter, the doorbell rang.
Okay, so my options are hide or go answer it. Breathe. Be bold.
I walked downstairs and opened the door to a woman in her sixties dressed in a long neat black skirt and a nurse’s scrub top. Her salt and pepper hair was pulled into a tight and low bun.
“Hello.” I said.
“You must be Marisa. I’m Ophelia Winters. I’m sorry to disturb you. Trip said it was okay to stop by.”
“Oh!” I stepped to the side. “Come on in. You didn’t disturb me.”
Not like Bitsy did. Thank God.
“I’ve got the laundry.”
“Oh!”
Can I say anything other than ‘oh’? Come on, get it together.
“Let me help.”
“No, ma’am, you don’t need to do that. I just saw the car in the garage and didn’t want to startle you. I understand from Mrs. Brannon that I’m supposed to call Trip before I come over.”
Now I feel a little silly about that memo. I don’t want his family to think I don’t like them or that they are no longer welcome in his home.
“Oh!”
Stop saying that!
“No, you come on in. Let me help. And yes, I’m sorry. I’m Marisa Tanner. It’s nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and we shook across Trip’s threshold.
“Nice to finally meet you, too.”
I nodded in agreement. “Okay, so let’s go get the laundry.” I followed her out to an older model blue minivan. She opened the sliding door to reveal two hanging bags of freshly laundered and starched dress shirts and suits and other clean clothes, stacked in a hamper. “Here, I’ll get some if you can take the others,” I offered.
“You really don’t have to help, ma’am.”
“Ms. Winters, please don’t call me ma’am. Please call me Marisa.”
She smiled. “Okay. If you’ll call me Ophelia.”
“Done. So, Ophelia,” I said, draping a bag of shirts over my forearm. “I understand you’ve been taking care of Trip since he was little.”
“Yes. And I understand you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.” I blushed and she smiled.
Well, that’s forward.
Likely accurate, but forward.
I walked through the front door. “Good. It’s about time that boy of mine found someone.”
I need to change the topic. Now.
“I’m quite fond of him as well. How long have you worked for the Brannons?”
“Well before Trip was born. I started helping.” She quickly shut her mouth. “Years.”
“So you took care of Caroline, too?”
She tilted her head at me. “Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name spoken without heartache attached. Where are you from, Marisa?”
“Here. Actually Collierville.”
“And you’re one of the company’s attorneys?” She started up the stairs.
She’s taking them to his closet. Where I’ve just parked my things.
“Yes, well, I don’t work at Branco. I work for myself. Branco hires my law firm.”
“Smart girl, then. Have I been buying the kind of yogurt you like?”
I paused.
Halfway up the staircase. Crap.
“Yes, really, thank you, but you don’t have to do that. I can do my own grocery shopping. And I’ll put away his clean things.”
“Honey, this is my job.” She smiled to herself. “You know what? Why don’t you fix us some iced tea and I’ll put away the clothes and then we can visit for a little.” She kept walking up the stairs.
I need to cut her off. She can’t go up there and find all of my things. What will she think? This could be really bad.
“Oh, I don’t want to keep you. I can do this. Plus, Trip will probably be home soon.”
“It’s Tuesday. He’s with his momma and daddy for dinner.”
Fuck. She’s right. They eat dinner together on Tuesdays. He didn’t say anything about it over lunch though.
I slung the clothes over one shoulder and pulled my iPhone out of the back pocket of my jeans. Sure enough, I had two missed calls from Trip and a few text messages inviting me to join them for dinner at six-thirty at Pig and Barley.
“You’re right. Dinner at six-thirty with his parents.”
“So, we’ve got a few minutes, then. I’ll get to it.” She continued her ascent.
“Um, I’d really be more comfortable just taking his things up myself. Truly, please let me.”
Please, please, please. Don’t go into his bedroom. I don’t know if he wants his parents to know about this.
“Marisa, growing up did you have anyone help in your house?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Well, this is my job, taking care of the Brannon family. I’ve been doing it for almost forty years. Since my son started Kindergarten. A friend at church had been keeping house for a nice young lady who needed someone to help watch her baby because her husband worked so much and she was working, too. They’d had a string of young girls helping, but they needed someone who knew about babies. So, that’s how I started working for Mrs. Brannon.” I followed Ophelia down the hall to the master bedroom, my anxiety increasing with our proximity.
“She worked?”
“Honey, she’s a CPA,” she replied, stepping into the master bedroom and heading directly to the closet. “An accountant. Worked here in Memphis for International Paper. You didn’t know this?”
“No.”
Bitsy is a CPA?
“I had no clue. That’s really impressive.”
“She is a very impressive lady. She stopped working when Trip was born. Then all of that with Caroline.” Ophelia shrugged and hung the shirts in the closet, balling the plastic overwrap in her hands. “Plus, Mr. Brannon travelled quite a bit with the company.”
“So, you were their nanny?”
“Yes. Trip, he’s one of my own. May not be my blood, but he’s one of my children. Can I trust you with him?”
Wow. She doesn’t pull punches.
I took a deep breath. “I will do my best.”
“Good. Now, back to where I was. Mrs. Brannon wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me at first. She’s a coal miner’s daughter.”
My head snapped up from the suits I was pulling out from under the plastic. “Literally? Like Trip’s grandpa worked underground?”
“Yes. Mrs. Brannon is from West Virginia. Some small town. You should ask her about it sometime.”
“That’s probably very different than her life now.”
“It is. And judging by this closet, your life is different now.”
I blushed again and looked at my feet.
Well the cat is out of the bag
.
“So please let me do my job. Don’t fret over it. Don’t worry about it. Just let me do what I do.”
“You’re being so kind, but there is really no need.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it, and while you might think you don’t need my help, you just don’t know it yet. But as soon as you start popping out babies, you’ll be glad.” Ophelia’s off-hand comment lingered in the air, which became heavy with silence.
“Yup, yeah, so I’ve got to get ready if I’m going to meet them for dinner on time.” I quickly hooked the hangers of the items I was holding on the rack and walked out of the closet. I knew I was being rude and I didn’t care.
If one more person presumes to know what’s going on with me and Trip, I’m going to start crying.
“I’m sorry for saying that, Marisa. I don’t know your situation and I shouldn’t have said that,” she said softly, stepping out of the closet. “If you want, I’ll leave the hamper and you can put away the rest.”
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you and thank you for not saying anything to Bitsy. I don’t know,” I began, wondering how to convey to Ophelia that I didn’t know what Trip was telling his mom, if anything.
She waved me to be quiet with her hands, indicating that I didn’t need to say more and she didn’t want to hear it. “Anything I can pick up special for you at the grocery?”
“Some decaf coffee would be nice. I’m not picky about the kind.”
“Wonderful. I’ll do that. Oh, and one of your dresses was in with his suits, so it went to the cleaners, too. It’s in there somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Marisa. I’m glad you’re here.”
***
I handed my keys to the valet at Pig and Barley and pushed through its roughhewn wooden front doors. I looked to the bar and my eyes immediately landed on Trip’s ass. He was standing at the bar, leaning on his elbow with his back to me.
I know that ass.
I walked up and gave it a playful smack. His head swiveled towards me in surprise and his face lit up. “Marisa, Mom.”
Mom.
Fuck me. Again. It’s not like I didn’t know she was going to be here. Why did I do that?
“Just fucking with you.” He leaned in and placed a quick hello kiss on my cheek. “Not that I wasn’t just fucking you a few hours ago, too. I love fucking with you,” he whispered in my ear before pulling back.
And I’m a goner. And his parents will be here in a minute. I’ve got to get a grip.
“I met your other mother today.”
“Is that some sort of riddle that I’m not getting?”
“No, I was over at your house and Ophelia came by with your laundry.”
“And were you fully clothed this time?”
“Yup.”
“Disappointing.” I punched his bicep. “She instigate the Spanish Inquisition?”