“First, my apartment here in Pittsburgh, then Mama Jo’s. It’s only about two hours from here.”
She turned to stare at him, then she stammered an emphatic,
“No.”
“Why not? You used to love Mama Jo and I know the feeling was mutual. Besides if she finds out that you were in town and didn’t stop in…she’ll turn me inside out.”
“I don’t want to see her,” Cassi said, but there was fear in her voice that he didn’t understand. “Take me to a hotel.”
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She refused to answer. Her mouth pinched and she appeared mutinously silent.
He pulled over to the shoulder, startling her, and demanded to know what was wrong. When he received nothing, he was perplexed. “What did Mama Jo do to upset you like this? She thought the world of you.”
“I know that,” she said.
“So?”
She whirled to face him, tears sparkling in her eyes. “So I don’t want to see her disappointment. Don’t you think I deal with enough of that on my own just by looking in the mirror? I can’t deal with Mama Jo’s disappointment, too. I know you probably told her about the last time we saw each other. I said some bad things and some of it was insulting to Mama Jo and I hate that of myself. I just don’t know if I can handle seeing her right now.”
Thomas was floored by her admission. He recalled that night. She’d been partying pretty hard. She’d called him to come and get her from a party. She’d been strung out on cocaine and whatever else had been floating around the place. But when he’d gotten there she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to leave.
He’d been pissed. Not only at her actions, begging him to come out there at 3:00 a.m., but her actions up to that point, too. She’d been sliding further and further from the person he knew into this drugged-out socialite mess who drank too much, partied too hard and refused to take responsibility for anything. Her so-called friends were no different, which was why he refused to have anything to do with them. He’d yelled at her and tried to drag her into the car. She’d refused. And in her mental state she’d said a few harsh things about his childhood and his foster mother.
Looking across at her, seeing her obvious shame, he realized he’d forgiven her a long time ago. He knew that hadn’t been her saying those things. But he could see that she was a long way away from forgiving herself. He also knew that until she faced her shame and dealt with it, it would never go away. The best way to do that was with tough love. “Well, then, this is a perfect opportunity to get it off your chest,” he said, ignoring her outraged groan. “You have to deal with it sooner or later. Sooner, in my experience, is better than later. Besides, I already called and let her know that after I picked up a few things we’d be on our way.”
“You’re a sonofabitch, Thomas Bristol,” she shouted. “You can’t force someone to deal with their is sues just because it fits within your time schedule. You’re a stubborn mule of a man, you know that? Hard headed, too,” she spat.
“As hardheaded as the woman beside me.” He laughed when she turned away from him. Hopefully, Mama Jo had hot corn bread waiting. Cassi had always been a fan of Mama’s cooking.
“Decent place,” she noted, her gaze bouncing over the manicured lawns that in spite of the winter were still green and lush. Perhaps they were fake, she mused.
“Thanks.” He pulled into a parking spot and exited to open her door.
He led her to the second floor of the unit closest to them and unlocked the door. The air smelled like musty apartment, as if no one had lived there in months. It was bare, with little on the walls, and lacking in personality. She wrinkled her nose. “Your decorating style stinks,” she announced.
Caught off guard, he closed the door behind them and locked it, probably from habit. “What do you mean?” he asked.
She gestured to the room. “This. It’s so boring. Where’s the pizzazz? The signature style that says, ‘This is my space. Love it or leave it’?”
“This is rich coming from the woman whose decorating style from what I could see in New York was abject squalor.”
“Hey, that wasn’t my style. That was just what was available in my price range. What’s your excuse?”
“I don’t care that much about that stuff. It’s just a place to—”
“Sleep and eat?” she supplied for him, and he nodded.
“Exactly. And since I’ve been trailing you for the past two months, I haven’t had much reason to hang out here. Besides, some weekends I drive to Bridgeport to spend time with Mama Jo so she’s not all alone.”
His concern for Mama Jo warmed her heart but she didn’t let it show. She simply tucked it away in a private place where all the rest of her true feelings for Tommy resided.
He gestured toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right back. I just need some fresh clothes and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Take your time,” she muttered, not the least bit ready to face Mama Jo. Heavens, she’d almost do anything to avoid that homecoming. She was ashamed of her past behavior, and Mama Jo was the only one who could make her feel the burn of it. She wandered to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Empty except for a few beers. Talk about a bachelor pad. She opened his cabinets and peered inside. A whole lot of boxed macaroni and cheese met her eye. He’d always loved the stuff, though Mama Jo swore it would probably cause a brain lesion or something equally horrible with all the preservatives. Cassi had been surprised Mama Jo even let it into her house when they were kids. She was of the homemade persuasion when it came to cooking. In fact, the foundation of what Cassi knew how to make came from Mama Jo’s kitchen. “I’m gonna tell on you,” she chortled to herself about the macaroni and cheese. Maybe she could deflect the attention from her to Tommy.
Meandering from the kitchen she moved down the short hallway and peered into the guest bedroom, which he’d turned into a small workout center. That explained the chiseled abs she found most delightful and distracting.
She took a left and entered his bedroom. Goose pimples rioted along her forearms as she found him standing there stripped and changing into a fresh set of clothes.
“I know a way to spice up this room,” she noted casually, trailing her fingers over his neatly made bed.
He grabbed a shirt from his drawer and looked away to find a pair of socks. “I can only imagine…” But as he turned to face her, his jaw went slack as she’d completely divested herself of her clothing and was standing there nude.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze feasting on her every curve. “We don’t have time…”
Her mouth lifted in a playful smile. “Darling, have you never heard of the quickie? I’m sure we have plenty of time.”
A feral grin split his face. “Hell, yeah,” he growled, dropping his shirt so it landed in a heap on the floor as he tackled her on the bed. She squealed in delight, her fingers dancing along his waistband, eager to pull him from his jeans. He cupped her breasts and buried his face against the soft flesh, pressing fevered kisses to the sensitive skin. “You’re a bad influence on me, I think,” he murmured right before sucking a tight, budded nipple into his hot mouth.
“I know,” she admitted, not the least bit sorry. “But as bad influences go…I’m pretty good, wouldn’t you say?”
He answered with his mouth…everywhere.
Cassi sank into the bed and lost herself in the feel of being totally possessed by a man who was obsessed with her pleasure first and wondered if it were possible to keep him in her bed, perpetually sidetracked for the rest of their lives. Her sigh turned into a moan as he put her legs over his shoulders and plunged so deep she nearly saw stars. He rode her hard, drawing out an orgasm so intense she lost her breath, and she was sure her heart stopped.
“Tommy,” she said, when she could finally speak, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could, reveling in the feel of their hearts beating frantically together.
“Yeah, babe,” he managed to say as he rested his sweat-dampened forehead against hers.
“Let me know when you’re ready for round two.”
He looked up to gauge if she were serious and when she grinned up at him, he rolled until she was on top, her mound resting slickly atop his already-thickening shaft, his grin matching hers. “I’m ready when you are, sweetheart.”
And Cassi reveled in the fun of the sequel of a not-so-quick quickie and the art of avoiding emotional quicksand.
Cassi swallowed. Maybe he was right. Mama Jo had always had a big heart. She’d have to to become a foster parent and then willingly adopt three of the boys with the worst personal histories. Just from their backgrounds alone, the boys screamed “head cases” but she’d handled each one with a grace and skill that defied logic. In truth, Cassi had always secretly been in awe of the small black woman.
Tommy walked up the stairs and she trailed behind him. He knocked once and then walked in like he owned the place because this was his childhood sanctuary and Mama Jo didn’t stand on ceremony.
The minute she stepped over the threshold and the familiar smells of the old farmhouse assailed her nostrils, the memories popped up sharp and vibrant. She could close her eyes and see herself sitting over by the black potbellied stove where Mama Jo would have a kettle chirping to keep moisture in the air and coffee percolating at all hours because you never knew when guests might arrive. Mama Jo had Southern hospitality ingrained in her bones. She believed in two things with the fervor of a devout Christian. One, always offer a guest coffee or sweet tea; and two, a home-cooked meal would solve most problems.
She was the black version of Paula Dean, and Cassi had always secretly wished that she’d been born in a house like Mama Jo’s instead of her own. What Mama Jo didn’t have in material items she made up for with love and plenty of good food.
And right now, Cassi was terrified of how Mama’s opinion of her may have been damaged from her actions so long ago.
“We’re here,” Tommy hollered, his voice ringing through the house.
“Come on in and close the door behind you so we don’t catch our death from a draft,” a voice said, floating in from the kitchen area.
Tommy did as instructed and they headed toward the back of the house. The scuffed and worn floor-boards groaned under their weight, making it impossible to sneak up on anyone in this house, and they entered the kitchen.
Myriad savory smells filled the warm room, and there was Mama Jo, stirring a pot of something and gesturing at Tommy to come and kiss her cheek, which he hastened to do. Then she turned to Cassi and she gave her a good long look over the top of her glasses. Cassi felt stripped to the bone with that sharp gaze. The woman could probably work for the government in interrogation. She hadn’t said a word yet but Cassi had the overwhelming need to confess every little dirty secret she held to her breast.
But then Mama Jo returned to her pot and without commenting on anything from the past, said to Cassi, “Well, now, don’t just stand there, missy. You know where the plates are. Do you remember how to set a proper table?”
She blinked and then stammered, shooting an unsure glance at Tommy, “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Mama Jo nodded approvingly. “Well, then what you waitin’ for, honey? We can’t eat this dinner in our laps now can we? Grab the soup bowls, too.” Then she turned to Tommy. “Make yourself useful and go get the sweet tea from the outside refrigerator, son.”
Tommy winked at Cassi and went to do as requested, leaving the two women alone. Going from memory, Cassi went to the cabinet and grabbed the plates and flatware. Aside from the sound of whatever was bubbling in the pot and simmering on the stove, there was nothing but silence. Cassi kept waiting for Mama Jo to say something, but she didn’t. She kept whatever she was thinking to herself and it was driving Cassi crazy. Frankly, she’d rather the woman berate her up one side and down the other for being such a screwup than suffer the silence.
“You look good, Mama Jo,” Cassi offered tentatively, placing the bowls on the table.
“Mmm-hmm,” was all she said to that. “Brown isn’t your color, child. Hand me that bowl, please. I can’t quite reach it.” Cassi reached the bowl on the top shelf and handed it to Mama Jo. “Seems you’ve been up to all sorts of mischief, I hear.”
Her cheeks burned and she glanced around for Tommy. Where the hell did he go for that sweet tea? The neighboring county? “Uh, well, a little. I’m trying to make things right, though.”
Mama Jo nodded and ladled the thick stew into the bowl and handed it to Cassi to put on the table. Then she pulled fresh biscuits from the oven and put them in a red gingham bread basket. She handed the basket to Cassi just as Tommy returned carrying the pitcher of sweet tea. “Ah, there we go. Nothing fancy tonight, just good old-fashioned stuff that’ll stick to your ribs for a time. Come on, now, take a seat and let’s catch up.”
A wide smile wreathed the older woman’s face and a pang of wistful longing followed. When Mama Jo took someone into her heart she didn’t let them go easily. Her love was fierce and generous but Cassi felt she’d forfeited that privilege the day she said those awful things. Tears pricked her eyes and Mama Jo, sharp as ever, caught the glitter before she could wipe it away.
“Have a biscuit, Cassi honey,” she instructed, passing the biscuit basket. “There’s nothing that’s so bad that can’t be fixed with fresh butter melting on a hot biscuit.” She took a biscuit herself and tore it apart to slather it with butter. A bite later, after she’d slowly chewed and enjoyed a very perfect biscuit, she said, “Now, tell me about this trouble you’re in.”