We climb in and get situated, and I crank the heat on full blast. “Are you good?”
She pats my hand as we leave the country church.
Mom always gets emotional when we visit the cemetery, which is reason enough not to do it. I think she finds closure in visiting Dad and taking care of his final resting place. It’s like she’s loving him when he can’t fight back. There’s something beautiful and heartbreaking about that at the same time.
“How were your cobblers?” I ask, trying to take her mind off the graveyard.
“Delicious, of course. I took them to the assisted living facility for Madge’s birthday. They were throwing her a get-together, and her niece called to see if I’d make the desserts because Madge just loves my baking.”
“Yeah, well, who doesn’t?”
She beams. “That’s high praise from Madge Randolph. She had a pie recipe featured on a bag of flour back in the day. That woman could cook.”
“Alfie told me to tell you that if you had an extra piece, he’d gladly take it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She huffs, falling back against the seat. “I would’ve saved him one. Maybe I’ll make him a whole cobbler. Does he like blackberries or would he prefer cherries?”
I glance at her and make a face. “How the hell would I know, Mom? Do you think we sit around chatting about what kind of fruit we prefer in our cobblers?” I roll my eyes playfully before looking back at the road.
“Maybe I’ll make both, and you can take him a piece and see which one he likes best.”
“Or not.”
She shrugs. “I can run them to the gym myself.”
“The hell you can.” I shake my head at her. If she thinks she’s setting foot in Alfie’s, she’s sadly mistaken. “Stay away from the gym.”
“Don’t you tell me what to do, little boy.”
“Okay,” I say, teasing her. “Who’s being a shithead now?”
“Brooks Xavier Dempsey—watch your mouth.”
I laugh. “Listen, I love ya, and that’s precisely why you can’t go to Alfie’s. It would look horrible for me to beat the shit out of someone in my own camp—but I’d do it. I’d do it and not think twice. None of those fuckers are good enough for you.”
“And none of them are my age except Alfie.”
“So? Men are animals, and you’re hot.” I glance at her and smirk. “I mean, we share genetics, so, of course, you are.”
She hides a smile.
I make a right onto the highway toward town. The dreary sky and increasing winds hint at an incoming storm. It’s been one storm after another this winter, and I’d like to say I’m over it. But how can I complain when the last storm delivered a lingerie-wearing Dr. Audrey Van?
A grin slips across my mouth.
That woman is fascinating. Smart, but naive. Strong, yet skittish. I suspect that she’s capable of just about anything, yet seemed bewildered that I’d assume such a thing. It matches what Gray told me about her, but I’m having a hard time understanding how a woman so beautiful and brilliant could be so … insecure?
I grip the steering wheel.
And that list? What the fuck was that?
I thought it might be a story, at first. Maybe she was a closet fiction writer, and these were things her heroine was going to tackle. Because there was no way in hell I would’ve thought she needed to makehaving an orgasm with a mana task. There must be men lining up to have a chance with her. She could have her choice of any guy on the planet. If she’s not fighting them off with a stick, I call bullshit.
“Thank you for taking me out there,” Mom murmurs. “I know you don’t understand why I want to take care of his grave.”
She’s right. I don’t get it. No part of me can begin to fathom why she wants to givethat manany of her time—especially when he’s dead. If it were me, I’d piss on his grave and forget he existed.
“I didn’t go out there for him,” I say. “I went for you.”
