Mrs. Johnson looked me over. “I bet he is. It’s nice to meet you, Stocks,” she said, pulling me in for an unexpected hug.
“Mrs.Johnson? As in Monica’s mom?” I asked, stunned. “Not her sister?”
She smiled. “Oh, honey, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine.”
I wasn’t trying to flatter her, I was serious. She looked like she might be in her late forties at the most. “But you look so young.”
Patting my arm, she ushered us inside. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you black don’t crack? None of us age.” While I was thinking back to every black person I’d ever met and trying to figure out if she was fucking with me, she asked, “Can I get you guys anything to drink?”
Still practically buzzing with tension, Naomi shook her head. “No thank you. Is she in her room?”
“Yes. She’s expecting you.”
“Thank you.”
Naomi stormed off, and Mrs. Johnson put her arm up to block me from following. “Stocks, why don’t you come with me so we can give those two a little privacy. I have a feeling they’re about to throw down, and we don’t need to witness their drama.”
Relieved, I let out a breath. “Thank you, ma’am.”
She led me into a modest kitchen. Painted in a cheerful yellow with a well-worn table, the room was clean and smelled like home baked cookies. I took a big whiff and smiled. “Something smells delicious.”
Smiling, she grabbed an oven mitt and retrieved a sheet of cookies, setting them on a cooling rack. “I bake when I’m worried.” Gesturing at the filled Tupperware containers resting on the countertop, she added, “I’ve been worried a lot lately.”
I could make out muffins, cookies, brownies, and bread, and the smell was making me salivate. “If I grew up here, I would have been five hundred pounds by the time I graduated high school.”
“You must have been one of those worrisome kids.”
Realizing how my statement could be misunderstood, I chuckled. “That came out wrong. I don’t think my parents worried about me at all, but I have quite the sweet tooth and everything in here looks amazing.”
She perked up at my compliment. “Have a seat at the bar and I’ll get you a plate. Coffee?”
“Yes please.”
She poured us each a cup and I doctored mine with cream before digging into the goodies she set before me. “Tell me about yourself, Stocks.”
Baked to chewy perfection, chocolate melted in my mouth and sent me right to heaven. “Mm. I’ll spill every last secret for another one of these cookies. What do you want to know?”
Laughing, she grabbed another cookie from the sheet and set it on my plate. “How do you know my daughter? Were you in the Air Force as well?”
“No ma’am, I was in the Marines. I met her at Naomi’s housewarming party.”
She leveled a look at me. “You picked her up at a party?”
“Uh…” Suddenly uncomfortable, I had no idea what to say.
Mrs. Johnson cracked a smile. “I’m messing with you. Monica is a grown woman. I stopped worrying about her conquests long ago. Although, you better believe I’m praying for that girl.”
Conquest. That was a good word for it. “She actually picked me up.”
Mrs. Johnson stared at me for a second before shaking her head. “Of course she did.” Her smile faded. “She always knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to get after it. I miss that dogged determination. Are you a part of this military biker club Naomi speaks so highly of?”
Swallowing, I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And do you think your club can help my daughter?”
Strangely enough, I’d been thinking about that question during the drive down. “We help veterans all the time. Link, our club president, has offered Monica a room for as long as she needs it. She’ll be safe there, surrounded by veterans who can relate to her. We have a counselor who seems to know his stuff, and a service dog who can sense when people get elevated and knows how to calm them down.”
She frowned. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
