Aiken

I figured Sunday afternoon, while Claire was at Mary’s birthday party, I’d go to the cemetery.

Saturday, from a distance, I’d watched Claire work in her bay window with the light on, giving her the space she’d requested. I’d waved from my back porch when she’d taken Smitty out this morning and later wished her a good time at the party.

Then I headed out.

She’d either think I was stalking her or overstepping boundaries when all I wanted to do was see where my grandparents were buried. I wasn’t sure if it was the same cemetery where Abby was buried. Claire had mentioned the name, but I’d forgotten.

My grandparents had passed in a car accident when I was ten. We hadn’t known it happened until I googled my mom’s name in high school and an article came up. It was a brutal accident. According to the reports, the driver lost control of the car, and it went into a ravine. My mom had been listed as a survivor, but no additional information was given. My dad hadn’t seemed so broken up—there weren’t any more lovey-dovey feelings left there for him. As for me, I’d always held out hope of not only finding my mom, but a big extended family too.

Well, I’d learned that was out of the picture, and for a while, I’d let the whole thing go.

Now, I laid some flowers, pink and purple carnations because I didn’t know what my grandmother liked, over their tombstones, wishing they could talk. My mind drifted to the dairy farmer, Bruce Jones.

Knew a fella by that last name, Fordham. Crazy ol’ Jeannie married him. Went off to the Midwest after she got hitched. Her parents almost seemed happy she was gone. No one’s really seen or heard from her. Quite the rebel, that girl.

Hearing Mr. Jones speak about my mom shattered a few more beliefs I’d held about her being a good person. Her parents happy she was gone—really?

“Good finally meeting ya.” I slapped my hand on top of my grandfather’s grave. John George. That’s all I knew about the dude. His name. Nothing more.

With nothing left to say, I turned on my heel, the air humid, the grass smelling pungent. I took a whiff and let my gaze wander.

There it was:

Abby Richards.

Beloved daughter and friend.

Lost too soon.

Never forgotten.

Underneath the inscription, a rose was engraved, complete with stem and thorns.

The dates were too short of a timeframe for me to make sense of why that happened to such a young soul. My feet walked over, on their own mission, and my palm smoothed over the pale gray marble, stopping to let Abby know someone was there.

“Good to meet you too, Abby. I’m going to take care of your mom. Sound good? Yeah?”

My words were a whisper, and once they were out, I felt a weird relief wash over me.

Being a guy, I decided to leave before my body, mind, and spirit became mush with estrogen.

“See ya, Abby.”

Back in my pickup, I thought about the farmer again.

What had been wrong with my grandparents that they were happy when my mom left?

Or what had been wrong with my mom?

My truck rolled down Main Street, and I watched the coeds running to get coffee or beer…

I hadn’t done college this way, and watching them, I didn’t think I’d missed out on a thing. My dad always said I was an old soul. I was beginning to think he was right.

First, I heard the barking.

Next, came moaning and swearing.

Abandoning my dinner prep, I opened my back door to find Claire flat on her back in the middle of her yard, legs up in the air.

“You okay?” I stood over her, staring at her eyes, pinched closed.

“Fine. Just go away…gah, this is so embarrassing.” Her words were more of a whimper than anything else.

“Come on, I’ll help you up, and you can tell me what happened.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be stubborn, Claire. It’s not like Smitty can help you up. He doesn’t have opposable thumbs. You do know that?”

“Oh, I most certainly know. Don’t you know that you’re not supposed to move someone who is injured?”

She opened one eye and let out a groan.

I didn’t bother answering her question. After years of football and farming, I knew when you could and when you couldn’t move someone.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

I held out a hand to her, and she reluctantly put hers in mine.

“Up and at ’em.” I hoisted her upper body into my arms and steadied her on two wobbly feet. “What hurts?”

“Everything, but I’ll be fine. Need some Advil.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“No. Not ever.”

“What did you do?”

“Ugh, Smitty was chasing after some creepy animal, and I went to grab his collar and landed on my butt.”

“Ass.”

“He most certainly is not an ass…don’t talk about my dog that way.”

At my smirk, she said, “Oh, right, my ass.”

“Made you say ass twice.” I winked. “Now let’s get you in a hot bath with a glass of wine.”

“I’ll be fine, and I’m pretty sure you’re not going to see this,” she waved her hand up and down her front, “naked.”

“Maybe not ever,” she further affirmed.

“Wrong, wrong, and I’ll up you an extra wrong. Let’s hustle, lady, one foot in front of the other, in case you forgot.”

“I’m not what you’re used to, Fordham.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Richards.”

I held her waist as she walked up a few steps, Smitty behind us, no longer concerned with the creepy animal when his A-number-one girl was injured.

“Here, let me.” I shoved her hand out of the way and opened the door.

“Okay, thanks, I’m good now.” She stepped out of my grasp and walked slowly, hand at her lower back.

“You’re not getting off that easy.” I scooped her up and carried her in front of my chest, legs over one arm and my other around her back, up the stairs, peering into rooms.

“Here we are.”

I deposited her on the toilet lid and set about running water into the tub.

“Looks like you’re pretty good at this. You give a lot of women a bath?”

Not even looking at her, I ran my hand under the spout, testing the water. “Oh, I’m good at filling a bath…for me. Clearly, you’ve never worked a full day on a farm.”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever—”

“Can’t say that I’ve recently either, but filling a tub is like riding a bike. Now strip.”

“Seriously? A little privacy maybe?”

“Claire, you’re hurt. You need me to make sure you don’t fall again.”

“Likely story, farm boy.”

“I’m waiting.”

I stood and watched her lift her arms up, but I couldn’t wait…my fingers twisted in the soft cotton, grabbing a handful of fabric and lifting off her shirt, revealing a nude-colored lace bra and the most supple tits I’d ever seen.

She looked down, and I refused to let her. With my finger under her chin, I brought our gazes back together. Mine had to be searing. My flesh was running hot, my blood pumping at an alarming rate. Mentally reminding myself this wasn’t sensual, I told Claire to stand up.

She did, and I ran my hand down the side of her rib cage, my thumb lingering in a few spots. With my hands on the edge of her jean shorts, I traced my way to the front, unbuttoning the top button, sliding down the zipper, and cupping her ass while sliding them off. A matching pair of nude boy shorts stole my focus. My Adam’s apple rippled as I swallowed.

“I got it from here,” Claire whispered, bringing her forearm to cover her breasts as she unhooked her bra with the other arm.

“Come on, I’m one of the good guys.” I held her elbow as she slipped out of her underwear before I walked her over to the tub. “In you go.” I held steady while she put one foot and then the other in.

Before I shut the water off, I tossed in a few bath salts I saw on the shelf, trying to focus on their fizzing and not the beautiful woman in front of me. I was burning hard, and my jeans dug into every part of me, making it impossible to get comfortable. I turned, adjusted myself, and sat on the toilet lid.

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Surprisingly, she did. “I can’t believe I just got naked in front of you. I’m going to need wine. Didn’t you promise some?” The words were mumbled in between sighs.

“So, you like this idea of me bathing you? You think you can keep from drowning while I go fetch it for you?”

“Hmmm,” was all I made out as I stood to go grab the wine, thinking it was an opportunity to toss an ice cube down my pants.

In the kitchen, I spent a few extra seconds standing in front of an open fridge and freezer. Admittedly, I was succumbing to tactics from my teen years, but I needed to get a grip.

With wineglass in hand, I returned to the bathroom and found a resting, peaceful Claire. Eyes closed, mouth set straight, skin dewy, hair pulled back. She was gorgeous, and something about the pain she suffered tugged at my heart. Maybe because I knew loss too—not like hers—but loss nonetheless.

“There he is. My knight in shining armor,” she said with one eye cracked open, droopy smile across her face.

“I brought the good stuff.”

Taking a sip, she said, “Yes, you did.”

Settled next to her on the edge of the tub, I gathered some water in my hand and dripped it down her chest. Her skin pebbled, and her nipples peeked out from the water. “I want to tell you how stunning you are. Every fiber of me wants to delve into a long explanation of what I would do to you…with my hands, my tongue, my…God, Claire. I’m burning so hot for you. You have no idea.”

“Aiken…”

“But I knew you’d stop me, interrupt me, so I’ll say this. I have a crush on you, Claire Richards. A bona fide crush. A grown man like me like likes a grown woman like you, like we are in high school, but we’re not. We’re adults, as I remind you of often. I want to make you happy in every way. Physical, emotional, and physical all over again. And you’re going to let me one day soon.”

“I’m not some young chippy.”

“Hush, drink your wine, and relax.”

She did, and I watched, cupping water in my palm and allowing my fingers close enough to drizzle it on her. When she was done, out she came into a towel I had waiting.

“Hungry?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“Sleepy,” she whispered. “Been sleepy for so long. Miss my Abby.”

With her wrapped in a robe, I held her waist tight all the way to her bed, where I lay on top of the covers after she crawled under. With her head on my chest, I decided my shitkickers looked good next to her bed.