Saturday, April 27, 2013
Wind in White Birch - Issue # 17
Hello all! My name is V.L. Locey. I am a self-published and traditionally published author that lives in the mountains of Pennsylvania with my husband of over twenty-one years, my seventeen year old daughter, a herd of dairy goats, chickens, geese, ducks, turkeys, two dogs, two cats, and a partridge in a pear tree. For more info about me and contact links, check out the author bio tab up above.
Enough about me, let`s get back to Wind in White Birch and our lovers Jonah and Dana.
Wind in White Birch
“Rhett, please, just stop being so nasty about this,” I snapped, chugging through Clairton on Friday afternoon. We passed closed stores and restaurants, many boarded up years ago. “It`s not like you`ll be at G-G Helen`s for months or anything! It`ll just be a couple hours and then Jonah and I will pick you up when we`re done dinner.”
“I hate Grandma`s house. It stinks!” he pouted, arms tightly folded over his chest. His bottom lip dangled down so far it was tickling his chin. “I want to go with you and Jonah!”
I inhaled through my nose as we crept up to a red light. “Rhett,” I said with all the patience I could muster. He had been miserable since I picked him up at school with his bag packed. For the life of me I could not understand why he was throwing himself like he was. It`s not like I hadn`t told him days ago of our plans. He was fine with the few hours we had laid out for dinner. The whole weekend was slated for family fun. What the hell more did the child want?! “You`re not coming with us,” I said yet again, my fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. “Jonah and I would like a few hours alone.”
I pulled up to the curb in front of my grandmother`s narrow box of a house. There were no driveways. You parked along State Street and prayed your car didn`t get rear-ended by the steady stream of tractor trailers. I barely had the Toyota in park before my son was out, closing the door in my stunned face and stalking up the skinny walk to his great-grandmother`s house. I counted to one hundred and sixteen before I went inside. The ambiance was about as you would expect. My grandmother was sitting in her chair, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide behind her bifocals.
“What`s the matter with him?” she asked. A door slammed upstairs. The house smelled of fried foods and moth balls. I turned sideways to squeeze around the coffee table and sit on the sofa.
“He`s upset about me taking a few hours of time away from him and Jonah,” I hypothesized. I really had no clue what was eating the boy. I looked up the narrow stairwell. Maybe someone had bullied him today. He was the sort of tiny, gangly boy that bullies were attracted to.
“He`ll get over it or he won`t,” she sagely said, her chair gently pushing her to her slippered feet. “You used to be the same way. Do you think he wants some skinny potatoes?”
I rolled my eyes. Yes, that was the Zajac way. Have a problem? Eat. Have a cold? Eat. Have a boil on your ass? Eat! Eat! And put some sour cream on that.
God, skinny potatoes sounded good. I could almost hear the thin slices of potato hitting the hot grease. I shook my head to dispel the erotic carbohydrate addiction. I stood up. I had about an hour to get back home and get ready for the arrival of an erotic Seneca addiction.
“I`m sure he would love some,” I walked to the kitchen. She was already digging potatoes out of the bin in her fridge. “I have to go. We`ll be here no later than ten.”
“Ten? That`s pretty late,” she muttered, inspecting a spud the exact same color as her hair.
“I don`t turn into a pumpkin until midnight, remember?” I smiled. She glanced over the top of her glasses at me. “Thanks for watching him. I don`t want Rhick and Jonah anywhere near each other if I can avoid it. ”
“Rhick needs to be run over by a trash truck.”
Ah, there`s that sweet, feminine Zajac love. Don`t it just warm your cockles?
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed.
I was doing the pantyhose dance when someone pounded on my door.
“Just a minute!” I shouted my knees tight against each other and my toes pointing inward. I was late. I knew stopping at the drug store would do this. I bounced around my bedroom, tugging and wriggling until the damned nude things got over my hips. I stood beside my dresser panting like a plow horse that had just finished cultivating the bottom forty. I tugged my old ratty robe on and ran to the door. Blowing out a breath while patting down my hair, I willed myself to appear unruffled. The door creaked open. I got very ruffled and all it took was a smile.
“Nice robe,” he said. I grinned then realized I had put my ratty robe on instead of my good robe.
“Pickled beet stains are all the rage in Paris this year,” I covered with, waving him in out of the cold. My heater kicked on. He stepped inside. I closed the door and turned around, wondering if I could somehow erase the image of this robe from his mind. He dropped his duffel bag, shook his long wool coat off his arms then turned to face me. My eyes couldn`t get enough of him.
And I thought he looked good in jeans and flannel! I love a man in a suit, and this one fit him to sheer perfection. It was a dark smoky grey two-button that made his ebony hair and eyes seem that much darker. A black shirt with a red tie looked incredible with the smoky Mohair. The cut was classic and emphasized his broad shoulders and lean waist. My lips got dry from the gas heat.
“Damn,” rolled out of my mouth. One side of his mouth ticked upward. He took a step towards me then stopped.
“You better go get dressed,” he said, “I remember what happens when I get your back against that door.”
“We have reservations,” I muttered.
“I figured we would,” he said, reaching up to gather his long hair into a ponytail.
“One kiss wouldn`t make us late,” I whispered, my fingers itching to get inside his suit. “Leave it down.”
“Yeah, it would,” he said dropping his hair per my wishes, “Because when I get you in my arms, it won`t be just one kiss.”
“Yeah, oh.” He winked. It was a real internal battle but I skirted around him then tripped into my bedroom, closing the door on him. Once the latch clicked I blew out a long steadying breath.
I glanced at the two dresses lying over the bedspread. One was a short-sleeved red that was very nice and had been to a few dinner parties when Rhick and I were still married. The other was a secret purchase made on my ‘Extreme Emergency-Only Visa’ two days ago. It was an irresistible turquoise shift under a matching flouncy outer sheering and came to the top of my knees. It was sleeveless and gathered behind the neck. I had seen it in Betty`s Boutique across from the book store and had to have it. I could have paid my rent next month with what I spent on the racy little thing, and that was with a twenty percent discount from Betty.
I thought of Jonah in that suit and my saliva-filled reaction to him. If we were only getting these few hours, I might as well do my best to make the man remember me when he was all alone in that damned lodge of his. Maybe he`d come around more often if he saw me dressed to impress.
Fifteen minutes later I floated out of my bedroom. Jonah had seated himself on the sofa, a magazine about independent presses and authors in his hands. I stopped when his dark eyes lifted from the article he was perusing. I knew I had chosen wisely when the periodical slid from his long fingers to the couch unheeded.
“You look sexy as hell,” the man said, his eyes caressing every inch of exposed flesh.
“Thank you kindly, Mister Big Deer,” I glowed, lifting out the sides of my dress to drop into a curtsy.
Oh yes, this dress was worth every lunch I would skip for the next month.