Chapter Seven
“Welcome back, lovers. You’re tuning in to Let’s Talk about Sex with Dr. Hot and the Honeypot and tonight’s theme is Cherries Jubilee. Give us a ring, tell us about your first time. Losing your virginity is a rite of passage, a milestone on the road to growing up and becoming an adult. Whether you waited until your wedding night or gave it up under the bleachers, it’s a memory that stays with you, good or bad. Did you see shooting stars? Or was it more of a crash and burn? Did you knock teeth and lock braces? Was it all moonlight and roses? So far, all of our callers have been women. Let’s hear from you guys out there. Call me, lover.”
Charlie arched her foot, pressing it deeper into Bastian’s hands, biting back a moan of pleasure. Dr. Hot had hands of gold in more than one way. She’d once read about a woman who could reach orgasm from a foot massage but had never managed the feat herself. If he kept working his thumbs that way, though, she just might. A giggle grew as she wondered what that would do for the show ratings. The FCC’s reaction she could already figure out.
“So break the ice for us. Tell us about your first time, Doc. Did you see shooting stars?”
“Honey, I was a typical sixteen-year-old boy. Of course I saw stars. I saw stars when the wind blew hard.” Leaning back, his eyes closed as if reliving the moment, and Charlie was entranced. A dreamy tenderness washed over his face, easing the tiny lines around his eyes and lifting his lips in a smile. “It was in her parents’ living room on the couch, listening in case her little sisters woke up and praying her parents didn’t come home early. They weren’t the ones who were early. That would have been me. Again, a typical sixteen-year-old boy.” The admission brought a blush.
“Your poor girlfriend. What was her name? Deanna?”
“Yeah, Deanna. She taught me a lot more than English Lit that year.”
A fleeting light crossed his eyes, and Charlie tasted a tang of jealousy. Not for some teenaged study partner but for a memory without her. She pulled her feet from his lap, a knot forming low in her belly. How could a twenty-year-old memory make her envious?
“I take it there weren’t many shooting stars for Deanna that night.”
Bastian shook his head. “’Fraid not. Again, I was a sixteen-year-old boy. I didn’t know a clitoris from a carburetor.”
She gaped at him before collapsing back into her chair, howling with laughter. She wasn’t envious of that little unfulfilled moment. Dark pink stained his cheeks but his eyes sparkled with mirth. In the control booth, Justine shook her head, an indulgent motherly expression on her face.
“Ah, Doc, this is why we love you. You’re so honest it hurts. I hope you’ve figured out the difference.”
“Rebuilt your engine, didn’t I?”
Together, they’d stumbled their way around her salvaged classic Firebird’s motor, bringing it back to perfect working order two years ago. But his words implied more, the double entendre heavy and barely concealed. The glint in his eyes dared her to correct him. He’d been under her hood in more way than one since then.
“That you did. My Firebird runs like a dream. But it has more raw horsepower than most drivers can handle. Do you really think you’ve got what it takes to make that engine purr like a satisfied kitten?”
The intensity of his perusal sent jitters up her spine. “Marry me and find out.”
The warning look she shot him was met with a wink. They’d agreed not to discuss the wager until the last fifteen minutes of each show, but Bastian wasn’t letting her forget he was a man on a mission.
“Let’s take a caller. Hello, lover, you’re on the air with Doc and Honey celebrating our Cherries Jubilee. Tell us your story.”
“Actually, I’d rather ask a question.”
“Sure, sugar. Go ahead. What’s your name?”
“Just call me Mom. Lord knows, I think it’s the only name I answer to anymore. I’ve got four girls. The youngest is just nine but the oldest is seventeen so this is worrying me. I know kids experiment with sex and I’m trying to talk to them about birth control and everything. But I’m afraid I’m just encouraging them instead. Where do I draw the line?”
“Neither Doc nor I have kids so this is a little out of our area, but drawing from my own misspent youth, teenagers don’t need any encouragement. They’re going to do what they’re going to do. Nothing you can do is going to prevent it, Mom. So give them the tools to handle it, to be responsible for their choices. Don’t make their sexuality something shameful or something to be hidden. Let them know the door’s open if they want to talk, and listen when they do.”
“Hi, Mom,” Bastian chimed in. “You’re doing great just talking to your kids about sex. Many parents don’t. Sex isn’t dirty and it shouldn’t be taboo. Give your kids the facts, the real ones not scare tactics, and demystify the allure. The forbidden is always more appealing. But let them know that it’s a choice that comes with risks, not just physical but emotional. You don’t get a do-over. Once you do it, there’s no going back to holding hands. Innocence is fleeting, but there’s nothing as sweet. Good luck, Mom.”
Charlie stifled a wave of longing at Bastian’s words while disconnecting the line. Innocence was a far-distant memory for her. She wondered if it was a sweetness she’d ever really tasted.
“Hello, lover, You’re on the air with Doc and Honey. Do you have a Cherries Jubilee to share with us?”
A deep masculine voice regaled them with a hilarious story, including premature liftoff. The two men bantered back and forth with jibes at themselves in younger years, Charlie watching the man at her side. How she wished she’d met him as an innocent. Wryly, she scoffed. She’d have probably chalked him up as too goody-two-shoes and went on her merry way.
His hard laugh broke into her thoughts. “Oh yeah, got to love high school and hormones.”
“I’m telling you, Doc, if you want to give a kid a boner, stand him in front of a blackboard. For a while, the smell of chalk was enough to get things moving, you know?”
“I hear you, Zack. You take care and thanks for calling.” Bastian grinned at her. “Sorry, Honey. A bit of male bonding there. Seems teenage boys are the same the world over, walking woodies.”
“The phenomenon isn’t restricted to an age limit.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Speaking of taking…ever get the honor?”
Bastian’s grin slid into a confused frown.
Charlie verbally nudged him. “Come on, Doc. We won’t tell anyone. Pop any cherries in your past?”
A soft line appeared at the corners of his lips, a tender, private sort of smile that soured Charlie’s stomach. She suddenly wished she’d never asked.
“Just one.”
“Make her see shooting stars? Or were you still fumbling under the hood?”
“No stars the first time but I made up for it later,” he said.
“Oh, a twofer?”
Bastian laughed. “Well, yeah, that plus I married her.”
Lisa. The perfect doctor’s wife. Charlie was surprised to have to smooth away a sudden lip-curl that threatened. Whoa, where had that come from? She didn’t dislike Lisa, just found her too soft and sweet. In her bitchy moments, she’d wondered what a younger Bastian’d seen in the petite brunette. In her nicer moments, she could see the appeal of fresh-scrubbed beauty. But knowing that she’d put that gentleness in Bastian’s smile—and that Charlie never could—sapped all the sweetness out of Honey sliding into a commercial break.
“Doc, line three.”
Justine’s disembodied voice sounded through the intercom and both their heads snapped up. Dread slithered into the room. Personal calls were always discouraged, but getting one after midnight never brought good news. Not even the hospital called here, they used his cell number. He’d only received one call during their show and that involved the sudden death of a colleague.
His anxious gaze locked on hers for a brief moment, seeking support. She gave it without question. Bastian wheeled his chair backward with a strong push and grabbed the phone beside the printer.
“Dr. Talbot…shit, Boo, don’t scare me like that.” Relief sapped harsh lines from his frame for a split second before he stiffened again. Apprehension stabbed at Charlie’s belly but the secretive way he turned away from her blocked it from settling. She scowled at his back. Bastian was up to something.
“…until you run out…No…In my top desk drawer there’s more…The pediatric unit…Yeah, thanks. See ya.”
The receiver hit the cradle and she pounced. “Secrets?”
“More like presents. You’ll see soon enough.” Rolling back to the console, he refused to look at her. “I’ve got an entire weekend of surprises planned for you.”
“You have to work Saturday and Sunday.” Her reminder brought his eyes to hers.
“No, I switched shifts with Brett.”
“You can’t do that. You’ve got less than two weeks left at the ER. If you messed with your schedule that means—”
“I pull a double tomorrow and next Wednesday. Not a big deal. I’ve done it before. I did worse during my residency.”
His shrug might suggest nonchalance to others but Charlie knew better. He hated working double shifts and rarely initiated a trade. Bastian was nothing if not organized. “Why are you doing this? Whatever you’re planning could have waited.”
Swiveling his seat, he leaned close. His buttermilk thick voice washed over her. “Some things couldn’t be rescheduled, so I adapted the best I could. You’re worth it.”
“You’re going to be exhausted.”
“Probably, but it’s a small price to pay. I can’t wait to see your face.”
“Tell me now and I’ll act surprised.”
“No. Live and wonder.”
There was so much more she wanted to say. But the commercial break was over and the words were all jammed and jumbled in her head. Years of practice let the Honeypot tones fall from her lips with hardly any thought as her mind tossed deeper reflections back and forth.
“Caller, you’re on the air with Doc and Honey. Care to share your Cherries Jubilee tale with us?”
“No, I want to hear about you and Doc.”
“Now, sugar, at the top of the show, we agreed not to discu—”
“Oh, I know the Wed or Bed thing and I hope Doc wins, but how did you two meet? What was that first time like when Doc met Honey?”
Bastian’s wide smile warmed the room and hers added to it. “Doc bit me.”
“He bit you?” The caller’s astounded voice screeched through the phone lines. “Like an apple?”
Loud male laughter propelled her heart somewhere south of her chest.
“Something like that. Do you remember, Doc?”
“Late August, a Saturday, somewhere around noon. City Park over by the fountain. Remember it well, Honey.”
His eyes locked with hers and the magic of memory transported her back to a sunny day years ago. Charlie told the tale but she could see Bastian reliving the same memory.
“It was totally random, one of those cosmic things. Some friends and I were spending the day in the park as mimes. We’d set out an old bowler hat, follow people around, do the silent comedy thing and then go to lunch on whatever we made that day. It wasn’t a bad way to make a couple bucks. But everyone cut out early because it started getting too hot. I was restless and stuck around. I wanted to see how much I could make on my own.”
Bastian smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear and she faltered, losing her place in the story.
“Uh, as a mime, you want someone to mock who will interact with you but not take over. You learn to be a good judge of character. I spotted this tall blond man in a wrinkled white coat who looked like he hadn’t slept in a million years.”
“About right.” Bastian’s soft voice caressed her. “I had a half hour for meal break and had to escape the hospital. The park’s just across the street. I went out to just soak up some sun, grab a pretzel and get a breather.”
“I followed him. Doc has a kind of ambling stride when he’s being lazy. I mimicked it and he turned around and caught me.” She recalled the sparkle of amusement in his tired eyes. It echoed now in full happy shine.
“I needed a smile that day. So we played. She pretended to eat my pretzel.”
“He caught my invisible ball.”
“We did jumping jacks.”
“We made faces.”
“We played peek-a-boo.”
“Doc gave me an imaginary flower.”
“Then my pager went off.”
“I figured he’d wave and walk away but instead he held his hand out in front of my face, palm down, just an inch from my nose.”
“Of course, Honey did the same, an inch from my nose.”
“And he bit my finger.”
“And she screamed.” A dimple appeared beside his lip.
“I never expected him to go all rabid dog on me. The crowd loved that someone had made a mime break character and speak. I made over a hundred dollars in fifteen minutes.”
“And I made a friend forever.” Bastian stroked the back of his hand along her cheek.
“Since he was the reason I did so well, I found out his name and that he was still on duty. I took him dinner as a thank-you. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Her life changed that day and she hadn’t known it until much later. Their first shared meal of meatball subs and chips was the first of countless, the laughter the beginning of thousands of laughs, the connection the foundation for a friendship that evolved into more.
Classic movies and cartoons came first, a shared secret passion no one else seemed to understand. Lisa would roll her eyes and leave the room when Bastian pulled Steamboat Willie or The Jazz Singer from the shelf. Out of those classics, conversations grew that spanned every niche of their lives. Often they would talk through the night. The bonds got stronger but had never pinched. Remembering a time before Bastian was like seeing life with a hole in the center, a spot waiting to be filled. He was as vital to her as oxygen, water and air.
Air. As in airwaves.
Jerking her attention back to the caller’s chuckling, Charlie finished up the call and took another. And another. And another. Emails followed, full of teasing laughter and jibes. Mindless chitchat to cover her racing heart.
“Time for a breather, lovers. Sit back, catch your breath and Doc and I’ll be right back. It’s time to check in on the Race for Yes, Wed or Bed. Has either submitted? Did Doc give it up? Am I changing my name? Stay tuned, back in three.”
The theme song eased into static and she raised her face to the partition in silent communication. Justine nodded and tapped a few keys.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”
Bastian’s wary tone brought her tongue to her lip. “Now whatever gave you that idea?”
“Knowing you. What do you have up your sleeve, Charlie?”
Eyes deliberately wide, she pointed to her shirt. “Hello? Sleeveless. Not real observant tonight, are you?”
“I noticed you avoided talking about your first time. Makes me wonder why.”
Charlie focused on straightening papers on the clipboard. Knowing Bastian, he’d probably tried to make Lisa’s first time something special, given her a dose of extra love in his loving. That was just the type of man he was. In comparison, Charlie’s first time fell way below the mark.
“I told you about that a long time ago.”
“Not really. I know you were fifteen and his name was Bobby. That’s about it. Oh, and it was in the back of a truck. What, no shooting stars?”
Her snort was far less than feminine. “Hardly. More like the day after Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, Bobby was a nice guy, it just was weird. I felt like a frog.”
“A frog?” Chin in hand, he leaned on the console and studied her with an indulgent smile. “This I’ve got to hear.”
A shrug softened her sigh. Fine, if he wanted to know the nitty-gritty then he had to expect to get the dirt as well. “Buck naked, flat on my back, spread-eagled, legs pinned open by an overgrown marine leaving huge bruises on my thighs. Frog in a biology class.”
“Marine? I thought you were fifteen? How old was he?”
“Oh, twenty-two, I think, maybe twenty-three.”
Bastian’s brows slammed together. The glare he settled on her was hard. “Twenty-two? He was an adult, he should’ve known better.”
“Yeah, well, that was kind of what I was hoping for, you know?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what you wanted, he knew it was wrong. That’s borderline molestation. Or statutory rape. You were jailbait. He could have gone to prison for that.”
“It was bad but not that bad. Lighten up. I knew what I was doing as much as you did.”
“Two kids fooling around are a lot different than an adult taking advantage of a child. He shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Well, he did. Poorly. Why is this bothering you? It’s over and done with.”
His lips were a tight slash outlined in white. “No grown man should ever touch a child and you were a child, Charlie.”
“Wearing a C cup.”
“I don’t care. It was wrong.” His eyes flew to hers. Under the anger, something lurked inside, a compassion so deep it scared her. “And he hurt you. For that alone, he should be taken out and shot.”
“A lot of girls hurt their first time.”
“But they don’t have bruises.”
The belated protectiveness touched her and hushed her words. “Some men leave them and not just on your thighs. Not everyone is as noble as you’d think. But I can take care of myself. I have for a long time.”
“Shouldn’t have to,” he muttered.
A smile twitched one corner of her lips. Bastian had solid, definitive ideas on what made a man. Private rules, codes of ethics and some internal invisible ruler he measured everyone against, most stringently himself. Not that he’d ever tell someone they didn’t measure up. It wasn’t in his nature to be outwardly critical. After learning of his sterility, he’d come to define the word man as something other than penis-owner.
How many times had she listened to him rant about some injustice in life? Like the teenaged scum who’d knocked up four different girls yet shunned condoms because they weren’t “natural”? One entire televised football game had been muted as he railed against the players who owed back child support and refused to pay though they were worth millions. And once, when a newborn was found in a Dumpster and brought to the ER barely breathing, she’d held the heavy punching bag while he beat the shit out of it, bitching at the unfairness of it all.
Slowly he came to realize those rules applied to both genders and didn’t signify a real man but a decent human being. Decency and kindheartedness made the difference, not fully functioning reproductive equipment. He’d accepted the hand he was dealt but still, that rigid code of morality was there. Now it was directed more inward than outward. He strived every day to prove to himself that he was worthy of the title man.
He was more than worthy of it. It was what made him who he was…and she loved him for it.
Charlie blinked away sudden shininess in her eyes and slid into her Honeypot mode.
“Welcome back, lovers. Are you ready? Are you panting in anticipation? Has Doc realized the error of his tightly zipped ways and caved to my womanly wiles? Did I fall victim to his prescription for a white veil and a gold ring? Who said yes first?”
“Wasn’t me.” Bastian chuckled.
“Me either. But I did get you something. I found you a new theme song. Want to hear it?”
“Don’t think you’re going to give me much choice, are you?”
“No way. This is for you with all my lust.”
The push of one button filtered in the rapping tones of 2 Live Crew’s “Me So Horny” through the room. First his mouth fell open. Then his eyes widened in horror as the explicit lyrics sailed over the airwaves. Charlie bounced and popped in her chair, singing along with the prostitute’s accented lyrics. When he’d suffered enough, she slid the volume down and spoke into her mike.
“Me love you long time, Doc.”
“You’re evil.” Head shaking, he blew out a slow breath. “But you aren’t the only one who’s been busy. I thought you needed a new theme song too. This is for you with all my love.”
Shocked into silence, Charlie watched him nod to Justine, and the soothing strains of the Dixie Cups’ “Chapel of Love” overshadowed the rap beat. The all-girl band sang of going to the chapel and getting married in innocent tones. Amazement sank into her bones. He’d outdone her, known her tactics and used them against her with help from Justine. The “gotcha” look he beamed at her illuminated the room.
“I really love you and we’re going to get married. We’re going to the Chapel of Love, Honey.”
The lyrics sounded like a promise. The volume faded, eased by Justine, who grinned through the partition, enjoying this one-upmanship game. Charlie had to search for her tongue. She found it buried in bravado.
“All right, musically the score is even. I’d say, zero to zero. No wait, I think I might have scored a point or two last night. I almost got you naked. What do you think? And be honest. Santa is watching.” Dangerously close to sharing too much personal information on the air, she knew she was playing with fire.
He gaped at her. “You are evil. Okay, I’ll give you two points. But I’m claiming two for myself.”
“Really? For what?”
“I showed you a way to get rid of your headaches.”
Seemingly innocent, his words fell like a bomb. He fought the fight to win and the prize was her heart. Measuring the intensity in his face, she conceded. “Okay, two points all.”
“We’re tied, Honey, and here’s a warning. Brace yourself, because I’m going rock your world in a few days.”
“Awfully big words.”
“I have a medical degree. I know a lot of big words.”
Conviction revved his voice from jazz to swing with a piercing trumpet blast. Low in her gut, a tremor grew and a small whisper echoed. Maybe this time she had bitten off more than she could chew.
Her swallow squeezed down her tight throat before she faced the console. Reaching for the familiar, she latched on to flirtation. “It’s not the size of the word that matters, Doc, it’s the way you use it. Although I’d much rather have a nice big adjective than an itty-bitty pronoun, if you get my meaning.”
His laughter lifted the tension, easing the mood back into play. Thrust and parry. Jab and retreat. A bit more banter, a little more flirting and the show faded to a close.
“Good show, guys. Doc, your face was priceless. Wish I’d had my camera.” Intoned from above, Justine’s amused words echoed before clicking off with a snap.
“Glad to provide your entertainment for the night, Justine,” Bastian called. Whirling on Charlie, he shook his head. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Hey, I’m not a shock jock for nothing.” Reclining on her chair, she smiled up at him. “I’m just warming up, too.”
“Yeah, well, bank the fire for a while. I’ve got to go get some sleep before I do this double.”
A double followed by his regular shift meant thirty-six hours. He would only be off a few hours before their show on Friday. She wouldn’t see him until then. Before, it wouldn’t have bothered her. But now she minded a great deal. It seemed like too long to be parted from him. Concern bloomed in her stomach as she trailed after him to the hall.
“How about I bring you dinner tomorrow night? Save you from the cafeteria food.”
“Sounds great. Are you cooking?”
Of all the talents Charlie had, her skills in the kitchen were not ones she bragged on. No one would die from eating her cooking, but they wouldn’t be writing any recommendations either. “Maybe. If not, Mom will be. I’ll make sure it’s edible.”
“That’ll work.” Pulling her close, he pressed a brief but firm kiss to her mouth. “I’m starting to feel like just your best friend again. It’s been hours since I kissed you.”
“Then shut up and do it right.”
“Bossy.” His smile lasted until his lips danced over hers.
Kissing was a lost art form for many, an act lost in the frantic race to more. Bastian took his time, tasting each corner of her mouth before sipping again from her lips. Each touch was a delicacy to be savored. She couldn’t remember any kisses before his that titillated her senses and sent her brain spinning. It was like getting buzzed without the wine. Clinging to the hard line of his shoulders spiced that wine and increased the hum.
“You two are so adorable.” Justine snickered.
Bastian reluctantly pulled away and cleared his throat. “Ready to go? I’ll walk you out.”
“No, I’ve got some more stuff to wrap up. You go on. Ron’s still on the road so I’m in no hurry to get home.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.” He dropped a quick peck on Charlie’s cheek. Both women watched until the door clicked shut behind him before laughing.
“He’s so cute. You’d think a man who sees people naked for a living would’ve forgotten how to blush.” The adopted-motherly love rang clear in Justine’s voice.
“He’s a paradox, all right. He can talk blow jobs on the air but turns pink over a kiss. I think he separates himself, you know, clinical versus personal. And I like his personal just the way it is, sweet. Dr. Hot aside, Bastian is still pretty shy.”
Charlie swung back in the broadcast room with Justine on her heels. As she did her wee-hours show intro, the older woman typed some sequence of keys into the computer. The printer whirled to life in the outer office.
“I hate the end of the month. Nathan and his damn spreadsheets. If he is so all-fired worried about ratings, he should get rid of that crappy morning crew and get some real personalities in here. They put you back to sleep, not wake you up.”
Used to the monthly grumbling, Charlie let her spew for a few minutes. When she had vented enough, Justine sank into Bastian’s chair and sent her an inquiring look. “So, going to marry him?”
“Don’t know.” Charlie shrugged. “Thinking about it.”
“You could do a hell of a lot worse, you know.”
“I know.” Idly flipping through memos on the clipboard, she studied the manager over the brim. “How’re things with Ron?”
The pause was too long, drawing Charlie’s frown. Justine kept her eyes trained on the status bar blinking on the computer screen. “We’re working on it.”
After a bit of radio commentary and selecting a three-song block, Charlie turned to her manager. “You okay?”
Justine melted into the chair. “Some days yes, some days no.” Her mouth opened to say more but then snapped shut. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about my marriage troubles. You’re trying to figure out if you should get married. I don’t want to scare you.”
“You’re not going to scare me any more than my mother has. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was just too young when we got married. Maybe I lived through my boys too much and have that empty-nester shit happening. Everything just feels stale. Little things irritate me about him. Like we’ve been married for over twenty years, he should know by now that his socks are in the left-hand drawer. Why does he insist on waking me up to ask every damn day?”
“Maybe he just wants to talk to you.”
“Once you’ve been married as long as I have, talking’s overrated. I know everything he’s going to say, right down to the pauses.” Justine typed another sequence of keys and hit Print. “I know it’s me. I’m just bored with everything. Maybe I need hormone therapy or something. I’ve always wanted a mustache.”
Charlie worried her bottom lip. “What about Ron? Is he bored too?”
“Who knows? I doubt it, as long as he has supper on the table and a weekly nookie break, he’s fine. We’re talking about the man who owns twelve identical blue shirts.”
Stomach churning with anxiety, Charlie rubbed her temples. “Do you love Ron? I mean, like you did when you got married.”
“Who knows? I love him, but back then I think I was in love with love. Now, we’re comfortable, bland but filling, like chicken soup.” When Charlie didn’t speak, she cocked her head and fixed her with a hard look. “Why? You wondering about Doc?”
Unable to find the words to explain her racing thoughts, Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m feeling or thinking half the time anymore. I’m just confused.”
“You know what I think your problem is? You two did it backward. Most people are attracted to each other, do the bedsheet bingo, fall in love, get married. Then they have to learn to be friends if they’re going to make it through the rough spots. You two met and became friends, fell in love without the hanky-panky and settled into a routine. You were so busy being just friends you didn’t recognize the falling part. Now it’s there and you’re afraid to go back and pick up that last step.”
Conversation paused while the Stones sang about satisfaction and Charlie lined out another three-block. Justine fetched her paperwork and keyed in more numbers. The rhythmic scratch of a highlighter filled the silence as numbers were tallied and analyzed. She dug into the console drawer for the Tylenol, swallowing four with a gulp of cold coffee.
“Maybe you’re right,” Charlie murmured a long while later. “Not a great way to start a marriage, huh, picking up leftover pieces?”
“I don’t know, I guess it depends on what you do with those leftovers.”
A heaviness formed in her gut. Leftovers. Her mother made soup with leftovers. Chicken soup. Comfortable, bland but filling chicken soup.
“Boo, wake up.”
Caz blinked his eyes and groaned before rolling over. “Go away.”
“Come on. I need your help a minute.” Bastian grabbed the blanket and yanked it off with a sharp snap. He got an eyeful of back tattoos and bare ass. Whoa, way too early for that much nudity. He dropped the sheet back over Caz’s butt.
“What time is it?” Mumbled into the mattress, the words were hard to understand.
“Almost six.”
Caz pushed himself up on his arms to squint at his brother then collapsed back down. “I just went to bed an hour ago, leave me alone.”
“Come on or I’ll be late for work. Put some clothes on, too.” He exited the room and waited in the hall until Caz joined him, stretching and scratching his bare stomach. He’d donned low-slung sweat shorts that threatened to fall off his hips. Tangled and knotted, his long hair obscured most of the left side of his face as a jaw-popping yawn showed his back molars.
“All right, I’m awake. What?”
“Attic.” Bastian already had the landing door open and was climbing the stairs.
“Attic? Jesus, Bastian, there are spiders and shit up there.”
“Get up here.”
He heard the low muttering long before his brother joined him. Face twisted in a grimace, Caz looked around the neatly stacked room and shuddered. “One spider, man, and I am outta here. I don’t do arachnids.”
Bastian pointed to the huge steamer trunk sitting on top of several footlockers. “I need to get in my old footlocker and I can’t move the steamer by myself. So grab a handle and quit bitching.”
“What the shit do you need in there for?” Caz looped a hand around the strap and tugged but was jerked back. He eyed the heavy trunk with furrowed brows. “What the hell’s in there, a dead body?”
“A dead body would weigh next to nothing as long as this thing’s been up here.”
“Not if it was Aunt Clarice. She was huge.”
Bastian shot his brother a hard stare. Whisking the hair from his face, Caz shoved at the trunk with a grunt. It didn’t budge. “Wonder what it is?”
“I have no idea. Mom packed this stuff up years ago.”
“Mom weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. No way she moved this thing.”
“She probably packed it once it was on top.”
“So let’s unpack it and then move it.”
“It’s locked and if there’s a key, it’s long gone.”
Caz glanced around, spied an aluminum baseball bat and went to grab it.
Bastian stilled his reach with a fast hand. “It’s an antique, Boo. You’re not breaking into it. Just grab that side, okay?”
The chest barely moved under their tugging. They locked eyes and nodded, tightened their holds and counted. On three, they pulled and the straps came off both sides.
“Shit,” Bastian spat, dropping the wrecked handle.
“Oh well, broken now. Stand back.”
Bastian had just enough time to flinch away as the bat smashed into the lock. It clanked to the floor with a dull bang. Lifting the damaged lid, Caz laughed.
“Hey, found your old weight bench, all of it. And who bowled?” Four brightly colored bowling balls rested on a bed of huge metal discs and poles.
Bastian raised his brows. “Granddad. Why would she box all this stuff up?”
“With Mom, who knows?” Caz shrugged and started unloading weights. In minutes, the trunk was light enough to be moved to the floor. Bastian swung the blue footlocker around as Caz reached for the black one. The faint scent of cedar flooded the room from almost identical boxes holding vastly different treasures.
“What are you looking for?”
“Some things for Charlie’s surprise.” Palming a small object, he showed his brother.
Long blond hair rippled with a head shake. “You’re delusional but whatever. Hey, look. Remember this?” Holding up a Magic 8 Ball, Caz grinned and shook it with a watery swish.
Bastian looked up from his keepsakes and snickered. “You loved that damned thing. I used to tell you it was possessed by gypsies.”
“I threw it at your head more than once. I’m surprised it never cracked.” Caz laid it aside and dug further into his box. Rolled posters and magazines shifted with loud scrapes. A small intake of air sounded and he pulled out a cigar box.
A tremor started in Bastian’s gut as his brother cautiously pried the long-dried tape off the box and lifted the lid. Caz’s bare shoulders stiffened. A long minute passed. A twitch developed over his lip. The lid snapped shut and he handed the box over.
“Get rid of that, will you?”
Bastian cracked the lid. Two small bags of dried, shredded leaves were tightly bound by stained rubber bands, a leftover stash of pot from long ago. Their mother would never have thought to invade her youngest’s privacy by opening the box. Bastian slammed the lid shut and nodded. “No problem.”
“Wasn’t my drug of choice anyway, but it’s better not to have it around. Probably stale, right?”
There was no way Bastian could have missed his brother’s eyes trained on the box or the bouncing of his left leg against the floor. He tightened his hold on the faded cardboard. No, I’m not letting you slide back down. Stay strong. You’ve come too far.
“Stale, right, probably. Anything else you need me to get rid of?” Stillness reigned for a moment. Bastian held his breath. Caz blew through his mouth in rhythmic bursts. Recognizing the exercise, Bastian waited until the fixated gaze dropped and tensions ebbed.
“No, that’s it. I didn’t hit the hard shit ’til I moved out. Probably why it’s still here. Didn’t need training wheels anymore, went straight to the Harley and crashed.” His voice rasped with strain.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” Caz sniffed, looked at the box under Bastian’s arm again and plastered one hand to his chest. His thumb swooped over the name Grace. Whoever the woman was, simply her name gave Caz strength. Calm washed in and Caz nodded before rummaging back inside the footlocker. “Yeah, I’m good. Leave it alone.”
Bastian repacked most of the items in his trunk, snapped the lid down and dusted his hands. Grabbing the few selected things and the cigar box, he stood. Sheets of penciled music notes had stopped his brother’s digging.
“You know, some of these aren’t half-bad. I’d forgotten about them,” Caz murmured, papers clutched in a shaky hand.
“I’ve got to get to work. Turn the light off when you leave.”
Before descending the stairs, he looked back. Caz hadn’t moved. Engrossed in the scores, he sat tapping rhythms on his knee, head bopping to unheard melodies. He chased his demons with song while Bastian flushed dried temptation away.